So far, no videos of Elissa have emerged online, but that hasn’t stopped rampant press speculation. This morning’s Daily Express headline screams: HAS SICKO YOUTUBE KILLER STRUCK AGAIN? The red tops have reacted with similar hysteria.
How will Lena Mirzoyan cope when she sees that? How will Bryony Taylor’s mum react?
At 07.30, Mairéad updates her chief constable. An hour later, she receives a call from Avon and Somerset Police. In a lay-by just outside Downton, a delivery driver has discovered the Bedford CF’s discarded plates.
It’s an anticipated development, but not a good one. ANPR had already lost the van. Now, there’s no chance of the network reacquiring it. Fingerprints lifted from the plates match none on the national database.
At 10.00, Mairéad eats four cream crackers and somehow holds them down. Afterwards, she drives straight to Salisbury.
III
A Ford Focus in Wiltshire Police livery is stationed outside Elissa Mirzoyan’s home. The rest of the street is so crammed with cars it’s difficult to find a parking space. At least eight vehicles, including two outside-broadcast trucks, belong to the attendant press pack. A good-looking guy in a suit stands in the road, chatting to the driver of a Toyota RAV4. He smokes a cigarette as he talks, scrupulously careful with his ash. Mairéad recognizes him from Sky News. Ducking her head, she peers through the passenger window at Elissa’s home.
The house is a decaying thirties semi. Beneath cracked guttering and a badly warped roof, the water-stained whitewash is flaking away. The front garden is neatly tended, even so, and the windows facing the street are spotlessly clean. Lena Mirzoyan might lack money, but she doesn’t lack pride.
A uniformed PC stands on the pavement, tasked with holding back door-steppers. Mairéad flashes her ID and walks up the path. Judy Pauletto, the assigned FLO, opens the front door. They exchange grim smiles.
In the living room, Lena Mirzoyan stands by the fireplace, arms tightly folded. She’s wearing an expression that Mairéad has seen too many times before: stunned incredulity at how savagely life can change.
On the sofa sit Elissa’s grandparents. Mairéad recognizes them from the red-feather-boa photo. She introduces herself, then turns to Lena. ‘Please – take a seat. I need to ask a few questions. Some of them you’ll have been asked before, but I’d still like to hear your answers first-hand. When you’re ready, let’s start at the beginning. Walk me through everything that happened yesterday, right from the moment you woke up.’
Taking a deep breath, Lena does exactly that. She talks about the tuna sandwiches she made for Elissa’s packed lunch, how they left the house ridiculously early and decided to stop for breakfast en route.
‘Where was that?’
‘A place called Wide Boys.’
Mairéad knows it – an American-style eatery on the A338 approach road. ‘Do you remember anything particular about your visit? Anything at all that stands out?’
Lena shakes her head. Then she blinks. ‘Actually, the waitress was … She was a little odd. I mean, friendly, but … now I think about it, she took quite an interest in Elissa. Even asked if she got her green eyes from her dad.’
‘What did she look like?’
‘Big woman, early fifties, blonde hair. I’d recognize her, definitely. She was wearing contact lenses – at least that’s what she told us. Green, the same colour as Elissa’s.’
Mairéad notes it down. She’ll send officers to Wide Boys to interrogate the waitress and also to review any available CCTV. ‘After your breakfast, you drove straight to the hotel?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long did that take?’
‘I don’t know. Ten minutes? Fifteen?’
‘What did you and Elissa talk about on the way?’
‘The tournament, mainly. How she was feeling.’
‘Which was?’
‘Nervous. Excited.’
‘Do you remember anything about the journey?’
‘Not really.’
‘After you—’
Lena lurches forwards. ‘Stupid Nasty Prat!’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Before we pulled off for the restaurant, we nearly hit some guy trying to overtake us on the inside. I can’t believe I forgot! He cut in front and slammed on his brakes, almost like he wanted us to go into him. Stupid Nasty Prat’s what Elissa said. She made it up from the letters on his number plate. SNP 12, maybe, or SNP 16. It was a BMW – I remember that much.’
‘This is good, Lena. This is very good.’
Excusing herself, Mairéad contacts the incident room, directing officers to Wide Boys and instructing Halley to trace the BMW. Afterwards, she asks Lena’s permission to look upstairs.
IV
Standing in Elissa’s bedroom, it’s impossible not to feel emotional. The serenity of the space – airy and uncluttered – competes with a terrible silence. There’s a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, a narrow bookcase with volumes neatly ordered. On the wall is a butterfly-shaped clock with a glittery minute hand. Above the bed hangs a framed print of Mount Fuji against a cobalt sky; in the foreground, the branches of a Japanese cherry tree heavy with blossom. On Elissa’s desk sits an antique walnut jewellery box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Mairéad lifts the lid. Inside, on a bed of red velvet, lies a sea-shell bracelet and a Cadbury Crunchie.
She goes to the wardrobe and opens it. When she sees the clothes hanging up, she can’t help but touch them. The sleeve of a hand-knitted jumper feels warm, as if it’s only just been discarded. The heat is illusory but poignant even so. Mairéad can’t imagine how Lena Mirzoyan must feel when she comes in here. Always, motherhood has struck her as a voluntary expedition into terror. But Lena, sitting downstairs, is dealing with trauma beyond comprehension.
She sits on the bed. With one hand, she smooths the duvet. She thinks of the journalists outside, smoking their cigarettes. She thinks of her team, back in Dorset; the officers in neighbouring forces; staff from the NCA, from charities and external agencies. She thinks of Scott, his love and his kindness and his extraordinary patience. And finally she dares to consider the tiny scrap of life in her womb.
Mairéad puts her hands on her belly. Her gaze wanders to the wardrobe and Elissa’s rack of clothes. Impossible, now, to escape the feeling that these two lives are interwoven. Hold on, she thinks, please hold on.
In her pocket, her phone starts buzzing.
When Mairéad stands the room sways around her. She tastes bile and fears she’ll vomit, but within a few seconds the feeling passes. Hauling out her phone, she strides from Elissa’s room.
Elijah
Day 3
I
Closing the door on Elissa – our names are so similar! – I draw the deadbolts and secure the padlock. Then I scurry up the cellar steps. In the shadowed hallway I pause, peering past the half-open front door. I don’t see anyone outside, but I keep watch for a full five minutes before leaving.
In the twilight beneath the shedding trees, I carefully make my way home. The further I get from the ruined cottage, the harder it is to believe what just happened.