She drove at speed through Sheffield and, as usual, was caught up in traffic in Woodseats. By the time she arrived at Pat Campbell’s house in Bradway, dusk was setting.
Pat was a former detective inspector with South Yorkshire Police. She had taken early retirement for health reasons, but that wasn’t the true story. Only her husband, Anton, knew the real reason why she had given up the job she loved so much.
Matilda knocked on the door and waited. It was opened by a short woman with unruly grey hair. She wore black casual trousers and an oversized comfortable woollen sweater. She looked fashionable and elegant without really trying. She smiled.
‘Hello, I didn’t expect you to call.’
‘Not interrupting anything am I?’
‘No. Anton’s playing bowls. He asked me to go and watch but I don’t think I can handle the excitement,’ she said, her reply laced with sarcasm. ‘Come on in. Coffee?’
‘I’d love one.’
‘Come through to the kitchen.’
Pat’s home was neat and tidy. It was decorated in neutral colours and had a minimalist style. Pat wasn’t a fan of ornaments and walls covered with prints and framed photographs. The odd one of the grandchildren was fine, but all they amounted to was extra time dusting.
They took their coffee through to the conservatory which faced a very organised-looking garden.
‘My garden could do with your magical touch,’ Matilda said as she stood by the window.
‘It’s got nothing to do with me. It’s all Anton. I love looking at a nice garden, but I hate doing it. He can spend all day in there pottering. I generally stay in here with my feet up and a magazine,’ she smirked. ‘You look harassed.’
‘I feel it.’
‘How’s the search for the young girl going?’
‘It isn’t. The kidnappers didn’t call back.’
‘Oh.’
‘What does that say to your detective brain?’ Matilda asked as she sat on the wicker padded sofa next to Pat.
‘That she wasn’t kidnapped in the first place.’
‘That’s what I was thinking. Meanwhile, twenty-four hours have gone by and we’re no further on.’
‘Alibi for the parents?’
‘Mother was at home, father was working. They’re clean.’
‘Uncles, cousins, grandparents?’
‘We’re working on it. Look, Pat, the reason I came round was because of another matter.’
‘Go on.’
Matilda filled her in on the latest developments surrounding Carl Meagan. She pulled out her phone and showed her the photograph.
‘Oh,’ Pat said, slightly deflated. ‘I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting him to look like that.’
‘Neither was I.’
The photo emailed from the British Embassy showed a young boy with a mess of dirty blond hair. He was pale and clean, but his eyes were drawn and sad. They were blue, like Carl’s, but had a dullness about them. His lips were thin and chapped and his cheek bones were prominent whereas Carl had a chubbier face.
‘I suppose it could still be him,’ Pat said, not taking her eyes from the screen. ‘People can change a great deal in, what is it, just under four years. Don’t forget, for a child, four years is a long time. He’ll have had a growth spurt. He’s been living in a different climate, different foods, different weather. He’s bound to look drawn; he’s been away from his parents for four years.’
‘I know.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I don’t know. I want this lad to be Carl so much.’
‘He doesn’t look like the composite you had done of how he’d look now, does he?’
‘The ageing program can only take in so many factors. They generally show you what he’d look like now if he’d been living a healthy lifestyle.’
‘Well, he looks like he has been. There are no bruises. He doesn’t look like he’s been poorly treated. He looks older than eleven, but, being kidnapped is bound to age a child.’
‘Do you think we should show this to Sally and Philip?’
‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘We promised Sally we’d be upfront with her every step of the way. What’s happening next?’
‘Police Nationale are sorting out a DNA sample from the boy. They’re going to send it to us and we’ll see if it’s a match for what we have on file for Carl.’
‘And what about the people who kidnapped him?’
‘I’ve no idea what’s happening there at the moment.’
‘You do know that Sally’s going to want to fly straight out to Marseille.’
‘I know. We need her to be rational about this. Yes, it’s a step in the right direction, but we need to keep an open mind.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’
Matilda visibly relaxed. Although the atmosphere had thawed between her and Sally, things were still strained when they were in the same room together. Pat was the perfect buffer. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not. When?’
‘Some time tomorrow? I need to get home, have something to eat and a long shower. I’m knackered.’ Her voice broke as the relentlessness of the day’s dramas were taking their toll on her on.
‘You can have something to eat here if you like? I’ve had my tea but you can have what I’ve saved for Anton.’
Matilda smiled. ‘I don’t think he’d like that.’
‘Probably not, but it’ll teach him for dropping taking me out for a bite to eat for playing bowls.’
‘No thanks. I’m not going to be a pawn in your weird little squabble. Besides, Adele said she’ll pop over with a Chinese.’
‘Ok. I’ll see you out.’
***
There was something infectious about being with Pat that always made Matilda leave her house with a smile on her face. Since retiring, Pat had lightened considerably. She was approachable, good humoured and a pleasure to spend time with. They hadn’t worked together much when Pat was still a serving DI, but her reputation was of having been a ball-breaker. She stood no nonsense and she wasn’t shy about sharing her feelings, frustrations, and disappointments towards members of her team. The retired version was a complete contrast.
Matilda waved goodbye from behind the wheel of her Range Rover and headed for home. Hopefully, Adele had let herself in and was already spooning out the chow mein.
***
As Matilda drove up the makeshift driveway, she saw a car parked outside her house and the lights on inside. For a brief moment, it felt like she didn’t live alone. She even smiled. Then she recognised the car as belonging to Adele, and the smile faded. She’d have company for a couple of hours and then she’d be alone again. Matilda used to enjoy being on her own with a book and memories of her husband, but it was no longer enough.
‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ Matilda called cheerily from the hallway.
Adele came out of the kitchen, hands on hips and a stern look on her face. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been? I’ve been slaving over a hot stove for hours. A phone call would have been nice. You’ve been with that floozy again, haven’t you?’