Silent Voices

demanded. ‘Where is she?’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know that.’ She sounded impatient. ‘But I have some ideas about who might be hiding her.’ This was Vera at her most infuriating.
    ‘What do you want me to do now?’
    ‘Come back to the Tyne valley,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way there now.’
    They sat in the lounge at the Willows looking out at the river. It had spilled over its banks and the raised driveway into the hotel was like a drawbridge over a moat, the only way in. A pile of sandbags stood in the car park. Ryan Taylor met Ashworth in reception and pointed him to the lounge where Vera was waiting. He said there’d been a flood alert. If it continued raining that night, the whole valley would be under water. There was a big tide forecast and that always made things worse, even this far inland. The hotel was on high enough land to be safe, but the last thing they wanted was guests stranded or health-club members not able to get in, so he planned to build a wall of sandbags by the side of the drive.
    After Vera’s response on the phone, Ashworth had expected her to be in high spirits. It had seemed from her words that the case was all but over, that they’d have an arrest before the day was out. But seeing her now, crouched over her coffee, a plate of shortbread on the arm of her chair, he thought she seemed tense. Almost undecided. Like a gambler unsure which call to make. Or as if she didn’t trust her judgement after all. There was a fire in the grate, but it was giving out more smoke than heat, and the room was cold. Her mobile phone was on the table in front of her. She glared at it.
    ‘Bloody social services,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on to Craig, the big boss. You’d think he’d be able to help track down where Mattie Jones was born. Apparently it’s a nightmare going back that far. Nothing computerized. He said he’d ring as soon as he had something.’
    ‘What’s going on then?’
    ‘If I knew that, pet, I’d ride in like a knight in my trusty Land Rover and rescue the fair maiden.’
    ‘Are you talking about Connie?’ Ashworth couldn’t stand it when Vera went all weird on him. It was her way of keeping her thoughts to herself. As if she didn’t trust him enough to share her ideas.
    ‘Well, her for one.’ She looked up at him. ‘Did you get any more details from Mattie about the place she grew up? Apart from the fact that it was in the country and near water? That wasn’t what I sent you in for, but it’s significant, isn’t it? It’s set me thinking . . .’ And she lapsed into silence. Joe was reminded of an old woman in a care home, rambling away to herself, losing her thread in the middle of a sentence. It came to him that if Vera did end up that way, he’d be the only person to visit her.
    She looked up at him and he saw that she was far from senile and was expecting an answer.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘I think there could have been more, but some woman kicked off in the ward and she lost concentration.’ He paused, added pointedly, ‘It would have helped if I’d known what you were looking for.’
    ‘No,’ Vera said, ‘that wouldn’t have helped at all.’
    ‘So what are we going to do now?’ He was starting to lose patience. He’d feel happier if he knew Connie and the child were safe. He had the feeling that it was their lives Vera was gambling.
    She didn’t answer immediately and again there was that sense of uncharacteristic indecision.
    ‘The place by the water Mattie was talking about,’ he said. The idea had come to him suddenly, looking out over the sodden parkland. There was no reason for it, apart from his instinct that the killer was linked to Barnard Bridge. ‘Could it be Connie Masters’s cottage? We know it’s a holiday let now, but someone must have lived there once. A family? Mattie’s mother?’
    ‘No point guessing, is there?’ she said, dismissing the idea without even considering it. ‘Could be anywhere. I need to make some more phone calls.’
    It seemed to him that her decision had been made. The dice had been thrown. He waited for her to elaborate, but she sat back in the deep chair, her eyes half closed. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he said after a while. He wanted to shake her. He wanted her fizzing with energy again, indomitable, taking on the world. He hated to see her so frail.
    ‘Go to Barnard Bridge,’ she said, ‘and keep an eye on Hannah Lister.’
    ‘You think she might be in danger?’
    Vera didn’t