Sally pushed a handkerchief to her nose and continued to cry. She said she wasn’t sure.
“Has she been unhappy about anything recently, or acting strangely?”
“She’s five years old, what would she be unhappy about?”
The interview continued for another ten minutes, by which time Goodman had ascertained what Chloe had been wearing, her relationship with Sally and Gareth and her friend Masie, and her parents. Her questioning also uncovered the fact that there were no relatives in the area, so it was unlikely she had gone to any of those, and that Chloe had never gone missing before.
Goodman listed all the places the Summerbys had so far searched without success. They grew very irritated – almost abusive – when she asked if they had searched their own house. She recommended that someone stay at home all the time, in case Chloe made contact or returned.
With tear-stained eyes, Sally Summerby finally added, “Wherever she is, she has her favourite doll with her. It’s called Molly.”
“Can you describe the doll?”
Sally Summerby broke down again, sobbing loudly. “I just want her back.”
Gareth hugged his wife before reaching for the rucksack under the table. He opened it and produced a small picture, which Goodman took to be Chloe holding the doll that Sally had mentioned. She was quick to spot it only had one arm. Goodman noticed Gareth Summerby had also retrieved something else from the rucksack, but held it in his clenched fist.
“How recent is the photo?”
Goodman hoped Gareth would answer. His input so far had been scant. Instead, Sally replied, “Two weeks ago.”
She placed the photo in the folder and turned to Gareth Summerby. “Do you have anything to add to what your wife has said?”
Gareth unclenched his fist, and a crucifix dropped onto the desk in front of them.
“God works in mysterious ways.”
Chapter Two
Friday 19th August
The house in Hume Crescent was late 1940s, council built, with modernized UPVC windows and doors. From what Detective Inspector Stewart Gardener could see of the exterior, it was cream painted and in a reasonable condition, but daylight may well reveal otherwise.
Gardener glanced behind him. A number of adults had gathered – not to mention teenagers – on the opposite side of the street near a playground. A rotund woman of indeterminate age stood beside a pram. She had a toddler on one arm with a mobile in her hand. How she managed to light and smoke a cigarette and hold a conversation, all while cradling the baby, was anyone’s guess.
Glancing at his watch, Detective Sergeant Sean Reilly sighed. “Midnight on a council estate in the middle of Batley. Can’t wait to see what’s in here.”
“Tell me about it.”
Gardener turned to the PC and flashed his warrant card before signing the scene log and opening the gate. The pair walked up the path. A uniformed PC stood on the path to the right of the front door, which was open. The illuminated porch revealed old-fashioned flower-patterned wallpaper with a faded carpet, chipped skirting and a worn doormat.
Sitting on a wooden dining chair to the left of the front door, wrapped in a blanket, was a woman with grey hair tied up in a bun. She, too, was smoking a cigarette. Despite the fact that it was not cold, she was shaking and mumbling, though Gardener made little sense of what she was saying. She’d obviously been disturbed by what she’d seen. He wouldn’t be there otherwise.
“Are you the attending officer?” he asked the PC.
“Yes, sir.”
Gardener glanced at the lady wrapped in the blanket. “Did she find the victim?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“Next door neighbour. That’s her chair and blanket as well.”
“Wouldn’t happen to know if she touched anything, would you?” Reilly asked.
“I don’t think so. She was well shaken when we topped up. From what I can gather, she went through the living room to the kitchen, and came straight back out again.”