‘At home.’

‘Your home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes. Why? What happened Friday night?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then what are you asking me all these questions for?’

Tomek shrugged. ‘Curiosity.’

‘Has something happened to her?’

‘Who?’ Tomek asked, being deliberately obtuse.

‘Angelica! Has something happened to my angel?’

Tomek let his brain absorb the sentence before responding, ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

The excitement on Shawn’s face quickly turned to rage, his expression filling with venom. He turned to Rachel, and pointing to Tomek, asked her, ‘What’s fucking going on here?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean, sir.’

Shawn slammed his palm on the table.

‘Are you fucking kidding me? What fucking bullshit is this? I don’t have to fucking sit here and take this.’ He started out of his chair, waited for either Tomek or Rachel to stop him, and when neither of them did, he slammed the chair into the table and stormed towards the door.

‘Didn’t you want to look at pressing charges?’ Tomek called.

Shawn paused, frozen, with his hand wrapped around the handle. The rise and fall of his chest was visible from the table, the sound of his breath louder than the air conditioning unit.

‘Fuck it,’ he said. ‘It’s you two I should be pressing charges against.’

And then he stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

With the noise of his heavy footsteps receding, Tomek turned to Rachel, and said, ‘My, my, what a temper.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tomek bumped into Rose Whitaker on his way out. The jewellery shop owner was flustered, disgruntled. She clutched her bag, tucked beneath her arm, tightly against her chest, and swivelled her head like a dog on high alert. She was in the reception area, anxiously waiting for someone to approach her.

‘I presume you’re here to speak to your husband?’ Tomek asked light-heartedly.

‘I almost didn’t come,’ she snapped.

‘No?’

‘It’s the last thing that fucking piece of shit deserves.’

Tomek sensed there was something else going on, something other than the inconvenience of having to close her jeweller’s early to pick up her husband who’d stupidly got himself arrested for assaulting someone outside a police station. If there was, she didn’t choose to elaborate.

‘I’m glad you’re here, actually,’ Tomek continued, then pointed down a corridor. ‘I was wondering if I could grab you for a few minutes to ask you some questions about your husband and Angelica?’

Rose rolled her eyes. ‘No problem. The fucking idiot can wait as long as I tell him to.’

That said, she followed him into one of the vulnerable witness rooms that were designed to be comfortable and homely for those that needed it most – children and victims of rape and trauma. Tomek gestured for Rose to sit on the sofa while he perched himself on the edge of an uncomfortable wooden chair that bruised his coccyx as soon as he sat on it.

‘Drink?’ he asked.

She declined with the shake of her head and then set her handbag on the sofa, finally relinquishing control of it in an environment she clearly felt safe in.

‘First time in a police station?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’ She scanned the room with equal amazement and concern, like she was viewing it through augmented reality. ‘Sorry, it’s just… weird, you know. Gives me the creeps.’

Tomek chuckled. ‘It’s fine. We get that a lot. It’s an unfamiliar and uncomfortable environment for ninety-nine per cent of the population. I think you’d be weird if you didn’t get weirded out by being here.’

An awkward laugh. ‘You’re probably right.’

Tomek moved the conversation on. For this he didn’t need a notebook or the notes app on his phone. He wanted to use the best app available: the one between his ears. He just hoped the lack of sleep over the past few days hadn’t messed with its circuitry.

‘Forgive me if this is an imposition,’ he started, ‘but I’m sensing some hostility between you and your husband.’

She scoffed. ‘You can say that again. Can you believe that bastard lied to me, lied to all of us?’

Tomek said nothing. Waited for her to continue.

‘That little rat wasn’t in Dublin the night Angelica went missing,’ she said.

His ears perked up.

‘No, that little shitbag was sleeping with another fucking woman. Some Irish bitch he met at a conference one night a few months back. They’ve been having an affair ever since. So every time he says he’s going to Dublin for work, he’s just been shagging this woman instead. Except this time, they decided to change things up. Do you know how? That poor excuse of a human being booked an Airbnb along Southend seafront. Fucking one mile away from our house! Not only was he shagging her behind my back, but he was also doing it right under my fucking nose. He might as well have done it in our own one!’

‘“Our own one” what?’ Tomek asked, confused.

‘Above the shop,’ she explained, ‘there’s a flat that we recently bought. We plan on turning it into an Airbnb, a cute little place for people to stay on the Broadway. It’s handy because I’m right beneath it, so anytime guests arrive I can check them in and check them out without any of the faff. We’re renovating it at the moment. Well, I say we, it’s me doing all the work, mind. It’s my name on the agreement, my name on the mortgage. I wake up, go to the shop, spend all day working in there, then in the evenings I go upstairs and do some of the cleaning, the plastering, the drilling, the sawing, the lot. Meanwhile, he’s shagging Miss Potato Head over there.’

Tomek had heard all he needed to on that. He didn’t want to upset her any more, and he didn’t want to pry more into what was clearly a raw and open wound for her (even though the gossip in him was intrigued), so he turned the focus of the conversation onto Angelica and her brother. As soon as the focus switched to her sister-in-law, Rose’s shoulders relaxed, her body decompressed, and the veins in her arms and temples quickly disappeared.

‘Tell me about them as siblings,’ Tomek said. ‘I’m keen to know what they’re like. Do they get on? Do they argue?’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because I got the impression he was a protective older brother, that he liked to look out for her.’