Page 25 of The Trap by Catherine
Angela pulled one of the archive boxes close and lifted the lid, revealing a mess of perfume and make-up bottles, an acrylic storage case filled with congealed cosmetics, a broken mirror, some birthday cards, and a tangle of cheap necklaces.
A plume of some pungent fragrance rose up from it and tickled her nose.
“Well, there’s the no photos,” she said. “On the shelves. And if all this stuff is here, I’m guessing they aren’t keeping her bedroom ready for her return either. They donated her clothes. If this is everything that’s left of hers, they must have thrown away most of it—and they haven’t taken any care with the stuff they did keep. Like in here.” Angela tilted her box so Denise could see into it. “It looks like someone went to her dressing table, held this at one end, and just swiped everything off it with an arm. And did they really look for her? It doesn’t sound like they made much effort. They seemed to accept pretty quickly that she wasn’t coming back.”
“Or?”
“Or what?”
“If I forced you to come up with an alternative theory,” Denise said. “Think back. Run through the entire interaction. From the moment Mrs. Long opened the door. What did you see?”
Angela quickly replayed everything in her head.
“The husband,” she said then. “Kerry’s father.”
“What about him?”
“This is his doing. Their attitude toward her disappearance, I mean. Father and daughter didn’t get on, and she’d had issues before, when she was younger. He didn’t want everyone knowing their business, so he’s certainly not going to want his daughter’s face splashed all over the news. He thinks she’s run off and he’s saying,Well, let her go, then. Feck her, if that’s what she wants to do to us.So they put away the pictures, throw away her things, and the golden son is elevated to only child.” Angela paused, thinking. “Maybe Mrs. Longcan’tlook for her daughter, or keep out pictures. She seemed nervous about the husband coming back, and about us being here without him. And this house is insanely pristine. And she has a long-sleeved cardigan on and it’s an absolute sauna in here.”
“Don’t get carried away,” Denise said. “Not everything is a crime waiting to be uncovered. The house could just be clean and Mrs. Long might just feel the cold. But otherwise, yeah. That’s what I’m thinking, too.” She straightened up with a groan. “There’s no clothing in here. Have you got any? I was hoping to find something with a bra size, or at least a few things that might tell us how much she tended to spend when she shopped. That bag you found was real leather. She definitely didn’t pickthatup in Penneys.”
“No. Nothing in here.” Angela poked around inside the archive box, just to be sure she hadn’t missed anything that fitted the bill. “Maisie said they gave away her clothes. We could ask if that was to charity shops. And we could show her the bag, ask her if she recognizes it.”
Denise shook her head. “We can’t do any of that, because we’re just here conducting a routine review, remember? I don’t want to risk upsetting anyone. Not until I’m sure, anyway.”
“Sure about what?”
But instead of answering, Denise jerked her head toward the door and said, “Come on. Let’s go,” and although Angela hadn’t spent that much time with Detective Pope, she already knew enough about her to know not to ask her question a second time.
They went back into the hall and found Maisie waiting for them at the other end of it, by the front door. She was still tugging on the locket around her neck and, now, Angela wondered if therewasa photo of Kerry Long here after all.
“Thank you so much for your time,” Denise said to her. “We’ll head away now, but... Maisie, can I ask you what might be a difficult question? It’s just that you seem fairly certain that Kerry left of her own accord. Is there a specific reason why you think that? Is it because of her past troubles, or...?”
There was a long, pregnant silence.
“I think she’s in Dublin,” Maisie said then, her voice just above a whisper.
“And what makes you say that?”
Her fingers closed around the locket. “Hope, I suppose.”
Denise nodded. “I under—”
“And the phone.”
“Sorry—the phone?”
“Yes,” Maisie said. “Kerry’s phone.” She turned to the console table behind her and opened the little drawer underneath it.
Behind her back, Denise and Angela exchanged a glance.
Angela’s said,Isthiswhy we’re here?
Denise’s said,Don’t say aword.
“We found it here the following day,” Maisie said, withdrawing a crumpled ziplock bag and holding it up so they could see inside: an old, muddy iPhone whose glass had been splintered in intricate webs, front and back, although no shards appeared to be missing. “She didn’t want to be contacted, you see. Kerry didn’t just leave her phone behind, she smashed it up and left it in our garden.”
ACCLIMATIZATION
