Page 21 of The Trap by Catherine
“So when would this happen?” she asked. “I mean, if I went ahead.”
“In an ideal world? Tomorrow. I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to be the first to break this, but the only way I’m going to get to do it like this is if I get this interview to go along with it. The powers-that-be don’t want a story about potential corruption in a task force, they want to see the pain it’s causing on the faces of real people. But ultimately, when—and if—we do this depends on you. And your powers of persuasion.”
Lucy was lost again.
“I know it’ll be a challenge to change the others’ minds,” Jack said.
Theothers?
He saw the look on her face.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t I clear? My apologies. It’s not just you that I want for the interview. It’s all of you. All three families. Tana’s parents, Margaret Gold, and you. You and Chris, if you want. But as you know, the others have always steadfastly refused to deal with me—and they continue to. That’s where you’d come in. I’d be relying on you to talk to them about this and change their minds.”
“But... But I don’t think that’s even possible.” Lucy had thought she was getting exactly what she wanted, and easily, but now it was sprinting well beyond her reach. “Why can’t it just be me?”
Jack’s eyes met hers and she read the answer in them.
Because she wasn’t enough.
Because Nicki alone just wasn’tenough.
“Well,” Jack said, moving to go. “I’ll leave you to it. You have my number. Do what you can and, well, you can let me know.”
GONE GIRL
The only house Kerry Long had ever lived in was your typical uninspired seventies Irish bungalow, sitting on a rise close to the road, somewhere in the Wexford countryside south-east of Enniscorthy. Its pebbledash was painted the color of undercooked salmon, in jarring contrast to its pitch-black PVC window frames, and most of the front garden had been sacrificed to the concrete gods, affording all the rooms to the front uninterrupted views of the occupants’ two parked cars. A similar bungalow sat directly opposite, but level with the road and mostly hidden behind a line of trees.
It had taken two hours to drive down from Dublin and at no point had Denise told Angela that this was where they were headed. Instead, she’d asked what time Angela was due to finish work and then, after she’d got an answer, if getting home late today would pose a problem. When Angela had said no, it’d be fine, Denise had turned on the radio at a level that discouraged conversation, and then there hadn’t been any more for the remaining seventy miles.
Not that Angela was complaining. She was out of the office on one of the warmest days of the year and she was doing some actual police work with none other than Detective Denise Pope.
Or at least she hoped that that was what was about to happen.
Denise had parked right outside the house, alongside the other two cars. All the blinds at the front of the house were down and the windows were closed. There was no sign of movement, or any noise coming from within.
“Do they know we’re coming?” Angela asked.
“They certainly don’t knowyou’recoming,” Denise said, getting out. “And no.”
“How come?”
Angela got out too, the heat a surprise after the artificially cold air inside the car. She immediately started sweating. Denise was heading for the front door now and Angela hurried to follow her.
“If I’d called ahead,” Denise said, “they might have rung the local boys to ask what was going on, and I don’t want them knowing I’m here.” She pressed the doorbell; it chimed loudly inside the house. “Let’s just see what we can get before we drawthemon us.”
“What are we trying to get?”
Through the frosted panes in the front door, they both saw a shadow move inside.
“Look,” Denise said, her voice low. “Ido the talking here, OK? Consider yourself on mute. We won’t under any circumstances be mentioning the items from the charity shop. And if you’re offered anything, say you’d love a glass of tap water. Don’t refuse and don’t ask for something else.”
The door opened to reveal a small, neat woman in her fifties. She had too much clothing on for this weather: a long dress, nude tights, and a cardigan.
Just looking at her made Angela sweat even more.
Denise stepped forward. “Mrs. Long?”
But there was no question that this was Kerry’s mother. The two women were so similar, it was like looking at Kerry’s photo in that article Angela had found online, only age-progressed.
