“It’s possible.”
“OK, OK, we’ll take another look.” Drury squeezes his nose and blows out his cheeks as though adjusting the pressure in his head. “I’m getting a head cold. My daughter gave it to me. If you ask me, rats got a bum rap for the plague. I blame kids.”
Phillip Martinez is causing a commotion downstairs at the police station, arguing with the desk sergeant, whose blood pressure is glowing in his cheeks. A dozen people are waiting to be seen. Emily hangs back, hands buried in the pockets of a donkey jacket.
Martinez looks relieved to see me. “Professor O’Loughlin, you’ll understand.”
“What will I understand?”
“We have important information. Emily does. There’s something she didn’t tell the police. She received a letter.”
“A letter?”
“From Piper.”
Drury is shaking out his coat and spins around as though struck. He yells at the desk sergeant to let Mr. Martinez and Emily through. A button is pushed. The door unlocks. Father and daughter are ushered quickly upstairs to the DCI’s office.
Emily hasn’t raised her eyes. She doesn’t dress like most girls her age. No clunky shoes, acid-colored skirts or livid lipsticks. Instead, she’s wearing a long skirt and baggy jumper.
I notice a music folder sticking out of her bag.
“What do you play?” I ask.
“The piano.”
“What grade?”
“Six.”
“She’s taking extra lessons during the holidays,” says Mr. Martinez. “Her teacher says she has perfect pitch.”
Emily looks embarrassed, wanting him to be quiet.
Drury enters, apologizing for the delay. I watch Emily sidelong, looking for more signs of inner turmoil.
Mr. Martinez does the talking. “She only told me about the letter this morning. I tried not to touch it. That’s why I put it in a plastic bag. I thought it might have fingerprints, you know, or DNA.”
Drury takes the letter and places it on his desk. The paper is poor quality and almost perished at the creases, but the sentences are still legible, written in fading pencil.
Dear Em,
Please, please don’t tell anybody about this letter—not my parents or the police. You have to promise. This has to be our secret.
Everybody knows we ran away now and hopefully they’ll stop looking soon. We’re living in London, by the way, just like we said. It’s a big house, but I’m not supposed to tell you the address.
Tash is OK. We both miss you. We’re sorry we left you waiting for so long at the railway station, but it’s probably best you stayed. One day when we’re all eighteen we can get a place together.
I guess my mum is happier now. She can concentrate on Phoebe and Ben without me getting in the way. They deserve better than me. I wish I’d been nicer to them.
Until we meet again.
Lots of love,
Piper xxxooo
I recognize the handwriting as Piper’s. The loopy letters and square capitals are penciled hard into the cheap paper, leaving specks of graphite glinting in the furrows.
“When did you get this?” I ask.
Emily brushes her fringe from her eyes. Her father answers for her. “I’ve told her she did the wrong thing. She’s very contrite. It won’t happen again.”
“When exactly did it arrive?”
Once more Mr. Martinez answers. “The envelope has a London postmark. The date is blurred, but it might be October 2008.”
I look at Emily for confirmation. She nods.
“Why didn’t you show it to anyone?”
“Piper told me not to. She made me promise.”
“That’s no excuse, Emily,” says her father. “You should have told me.”
Drury has picked up the phone, asking forensics to collect the letter and envelope. Tests will be done on the paper and the stamp.
“Does anything about the letter strike you as odd?” I ask Emily. She looks at me blankly.
“How did Piper know that you waited at the railway station? You didn’t see her there. It was never made public that you were there.”
Confusion fills her eyes.
“Who else knew that you were waiting for them at Radley Station?”
“Nobody.”
I look at Phillip Martinez. “Did you know?”
He shakes his head.
“Did you tell anyone, Emily?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“Where did you go afterwards?”
“I tried to call Tash, but she wasn’t answering her phone. I sent her text messages and went to the café where she worked on Sundays. I thought she might turn up.”
“Who did you see there?”
“I can’t remember.”