Pity, he told her. Ideally I would have liked to speak to both of you.
I dont suppose my husband would know any more than I do, she explained, leading him through the house to the large kitchen diner a common feature in the houses of the street. We hardly know them they only moved in a few weeks ago. But I suppose you already know that. Please, take a seat, she told him, indicating a stool at the breakfast bar.
And you popped round to introduce yourself? Donnelly asked, keen to speed things along.
Of course. This is a friendly street. We had a street party for the Jubilee and every Christmas we have a big party for all the kids at the local tennis club, that sort of thing.
But the Bridgemans didnt want to know?
You could say that. She seemed keener than her husband, but not exactly over-friendly.
So the husband seemed to be the one wanting them to keep their distance is that fair?
I suppose so, she answered. I assumed they were just shy and preferred to keep themselves to themselves.
Fair enough, Donnelly encouraged.
Exactly, but theyd only been here a few days when well, quite frankly, the arguments started. Believe me, the walls of these houses are pretty solid, but you could still hear them or rather him.
So it was Mr Bridgeman doing the shouting?
She joined in, but yes, mainly him.
Could you hear what they were arguing about?
Not really, although I did hear him calling her a lying bitch one time. I think at that point my husband and I vowed to have as little to do with them as possible and thats the way its been.
What about the kids? How did they seem?
All right, considering.
And the childrens behaviour?
Fine. The little girl
Sophia.
Yes, Sophia, seemed to have a lot to say for herself, but the little boy
George.
Yes, sorry, George was a very quiet boy, from what I could tell. But like I said, we dont really know them.
But on the occasions you did see them, Donnelly pressed, maybe in the back garden or out the front there, how did the parents seem towards the children? Donnellys chirping mobile broke the flow of questions and answers, making him curse under his breath. The caller ID told him it was Sean. He answered without excusing himself. Guvnor.
Where are you? Sean asked.
Door-to-door, as assigned. Speaking to the Bridgemans neighbours, who are being very helpful, he added for the benefit of the listening Mrs Howells.
Good, Sean told him. While youre doing that you should bear in mind the house has now been searched properly and the boy hasnt been found.
Donnelly cursed inwardly twice: once for not being right about the boys body being found in the house and again for not making sure DC Goodwin tipped him off about the search before he told Sean. The news must have come through while he was in with the Beiersdorfs. Damn it. Not to worry. His theory still held water. After killing the boy the Bridgemans could have easily moved the body from the house perhaps to a secure place while they waited for the heat to die down before getting rid of it permanently. Or maybe they had already disposed of it. Is that so, he finally answered.
Yes, and the one we have in custody is shaping up nicely, Sean continued.
Has he admitted it yet? Donnelly asked, disappointment at the prospect of being proved wrong mingling with satisfaction that the person responsible was in custody. He had no problem swallowing his pride for the sake of getting a conviction on some sick bastard kiddie-fiddler.
No, Sean told him. But he hasnt denied it either, and you have to ask yourself why he wouldnt deny it if he wasnt involved.
Because hes insane? Donnelly offered.
Not this one, Sean explained. Hes wired wrong, but hes not insane. Seems to want to play games too.
With us?
Apparently. Finish up where you are and try and get some sleep. Tomorrows going to be an early start and a late finish, as is every day until we find George one way or the other. Donnelly heard the connection go dead.
Sorry about that. Where were we? Donnelly asked Mrs Howells.
The Bridgeman children, she reminded him.
Aye, indeed. From what you could see, how did the parents behave towards their children?
OK, she answered. Although
Although what? Donnelly seized on it.
From the bits and pieces Ive seen, they were fine towards Sophia, but
But ? he pushed her.
Not Celia, but Mr Bridgeman always seemed a little well, a little cold towards George.
Any idea why?
As I said, I barely know them. Im just telling you what struck me from the little Ive observed.
Thats very interesting, Donnelly told her. But hes fine towards Sophia?
Kisses and cuddles on the doorstep when he comes home plays with her in the garden at the weekends.
Nothing unusual about a daddys girl. I have a few kids of my own and my ten-year-old only has eyes for her old dad much to the annoyance of her mother.
Its getting very late now, Mrs Howells said with a polite smile Donnelly had seen a thousand times before. I really ought to check on the children.
Have you ever seen him, maybe, hit the boy? Donnelly ignored her hints.
No. No. Of course not.
Ever see him touch George in an inappropriate way?
I really dont think I should say any more.
Anything you tell me will be treated as confidential, Mrs Howells.
Ive told you all I know. I never saw him abuse George in any way. Its just he was
Cold towards him, Donnelly reminded her.
Yes, she admitted.
And your mothers instinct told you something was wrong? Donnelly tried to seduce her with praise.
Yes I mean no. Im not sure, really Im not. Its late, detective. I must
Donnelly tapped the top of the breakfast bar before standing and fastening his overcoat against the cold that waited for him outside. Of course, he told her. Youve been a great help.
I just hope I havent misled you, she told him.
Oh, I dont think youve done that, Mrs Howells. I dont think youve done that at all.
Sean cursed his nine-to-five neighbours as he searched and failed to find a parking spot anywhere close to the front door of his modest three-bedroom terraced house in East Dulwich, bought just before the wealth spread into the area from Dulwich Village and Blackheath. Maybe Kate was right they should cash in while it was worth as much as it was and flee to New Zealand; perhaps then he would be able to afford somewhere with off-street parking instead of going through this nightly ritual of imagining his neighbours smugly tucked up in their beds while they thought of him having to park a couple of streets away. At least it wasnt raining. Finally he parked up and trudged back towards his house, passing cars that he knew would still be parked in the same places as he headed back to his own the next morning. Last home and first to leave same as usual.
His head was still buzzing with the days events: the office move, the new case, meeting the missing boys parents, and most of all the interview with McKenzie and all the questions hed thought of on the way home that hed forgotten to ask during the interview. He had only a few hours before it would be time to head back to work and pick up where he left off, and experience told him that if he was to get any rest at all he needed to unwind; sit alone and watch something on the TV unrelated to any type of policework while he consumed as much bourbon as he dared to slow his racing mind without leaving him groggy in the morning. To his disappointment, as he entered the house he sensed Kate was still up, a sinking feeling in his belly making him feel guilty for seeking solitude. He eased the door shut behind him and headed for the kitchen where he knew she would be waiting.
Youre late, she said, unconfrontationally. Or at least, later than youve been for a while.
They finally gave us a new case, he told her, trying not to show his excitement and relief at once again being gainfully employed, once again leading the hunt.
Oh, she responded, not hiding her disappointment.
They werent going to leave me alone for ever. He gave an apologetic shrug.
No, she agreed. I realize that. Its just, I was getting used to having you around a bit more than usual, and so were the girls.
Weve had a good run, perhaps we should just be grateful for that.
Grateful! Kate snapped, then immediately softened her tone: You were shot, Sean. I think you earned some time off.
Maybe, he answered, desperately wishing he could just be alone as he pulled a glass and a bottle of bourbon from a cupboard the kids couldnt reach and poured two fingers before emptying his pockets on the kitchen table and slumping into a chair on the other side to his wife.
Havent seen you do that in a while, she told him, her eyes accusing the drink in his hand.
I need to sleep tonight and thisll help.
If I didnt know better, Id say you look pretty pleased with yourself, she told him.
Whats that supposed to mean?
Sitting there, drink in hand, hardly speaking, holier-than-thou look on your face. He couldnt help but grin a little. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was enjoying being back in the same old shit. Yeah, that smile says it all.
Dont be so pissed off, he told her. Im a detective. They pay me to solve cases, catch the bad guys, save the day, remember?
Im pissed off because I was worried, Sean. I called you, several times, and left messages, but you didnt call back not even a text.
He lifted his mobile from the table and checked for missed calls. Sure enough shed called him several times. Sorry, he told her. I must have been in the middle of an interview.
I dont know, Sean it feels like were heading back to the bad old days: me here alone with the kids while you run around trying to get yourself We can do better than this, cant we?
Its only been one night, he reminded her.
You said its a new case, so we all know what that means. Sean didnt respond as a silence fell between them that only increased his yearning to be alone. So what is it?
Whats what? he asked unnecessarily.
Whats what? he asked unnecessarily.
The new case.
A four-year-old boy gone missing from his home in Hampstead, he answered, immediately regretting mentioning Hampstead.