“Don’t you think it’s odd, you finding a letter from Piper among Emily’s things?”
“I was searching her room.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for drugs.”
“You think she’s using?”
“Like I said—I’m diligent.”
“You search your daughter’s room; do you read her emails?”
“Yes, as it happens.” He laughs at my surprise. “You don’t agree with my methods?”
“No.”
“When your daughter is sucking on a crack pipe in some filthy council estate, you can come and ask for my advice on parenting.”
“Where is Piper Hadley?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where is Emily?”
“She’s with her mother.”
He holds my gaze defiantly. “I didn’t take those girls. You people can plant whatever evidence you like, but it won’t make me guilty.”
The key turns in the lock.
The door opens. George is wearing a dressing gown and carrying a tray with a sandwich and a mug of tea. He puts the tray on a table beside my head. I stare at the steam, watching it twist and curl into nothingness.
My left wrist is handcuffed to the metal bedhead. I use the other to pull the bedclothes around me, but I can’t reach the sheet. I must have kicked it off when I was sleeping.
“You should drink something.”
There is a long silence. My chest tightens and I can’t breathe. George sits next to me and puts his hand near my leg, telling me to stay calm. His hand slides closer until his fingers brush against my thigh.
“You shouldn’t have run away. I want you to say you’re sorry.”
I don’t answer him.
His hand touches my skin where my pajama top and the trousers meet.
“Did you hear me, Piper?”
“Yes.”
“Say you’re sorry.”
I shake my head.
He strikes on my blind side, the punch sinking deep into my stomach, where he twists his fist under my ribs until I imagine that every organ has been ruptured and the blood and bile are spilling into my chest. I cannot breathe. He waits.
“Say you’re sorry.”
I blink again. The next blow lifts my body off the bed, holding me against the wall, convulsing.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I sob, trying to breathe.
I’m sorry you’re a sad sadistic prick. I’m sorry I didn’t stab you through the eye. I’m sorry I didn’t crush your skull with the brick. I’m sorry I can’t scratch your eyes out. I want to scream these things, but none of the words come out. Instead, I crumple to the bed and curl into a ball.
“That’s better,” he says. “Now we can be friends again.” He cradles me, rocking me back and forth, stroking my hair. “Would you like to meet Emily?”
I try to pull away, but he grips me harder.
“You didn’t… you promised me.”
“Why should I keep my promises to you?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Where is she?”
He smiles. “We’ll save that surprise for another day.”
Pushing himself away from the bed, he goes to the window. “Shall I tell you what it looks like outside?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Christmas—do you want to know what sort of day it is?”
“OK.”
“It’s overcast, but we might get some sun later.”
“Describe something else.”
“What?”
“Anything.”
“I can see a church steeple and a park. Some kid is riding a new bicycle.”
“It must have been a present.”
“Yes.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“I don’t watch many movies.”
“What about TV?”
“I like Strictly Come Dancing, but it’s not on over Christmas.”
“Do you watch EastEnders?”
“No.”
He looks genuinely sorry. Reaching into his pocket, he produces two white pills.
“I have to go out for a while. I’ll be back later. These will help you sleep. You shouldn’t have them on an empty stomach.”
“I don’t think I can eat anything.”
“When you’re stronger we’ll start all over again. It will be just like old times.”
48
DS Blake sprints down the corridor, taking the corner so quickly he almost loses control and has to leap an office plant. One of the uppermost leaves rocks to the floor like a dropped sheet of paper.
“We found it, boss,” he says, hammering on Drury’s door. The DCI has been sleeping. Blake continues. “Martinez has another house. It’s in Oxford. He rented it when he moved back from the States. He lived there until he won custody of Emily, but he never relinquished the lease.”