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Back Gone Save as PDF
Chapters (77)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. Reading Group Questions
  76. Read More
  77. I

‘What does he do now?’ said Jameson. He watched as Rose-Butler stood and walked to the lifts. The Head of Security fast-forwarded the footage once more. There were no cameras in the bedroom corridors, only in the main public areas, so this was all they had. The lifts opened and closed and strangers got in and out, but neither Rose-Butler nor Sarah appeared.

‘Her room. I need to see it.’ Jameson turned to the security man. ‘Now!’

54

Bloom got off the train and checked her watch: 2.34pm. She had less than half an hour to get to the house, into the loft and find the file she wanted. It was going to be tight. Really tight. She’d left her case at Leeds station, knowing it would only slow her down. She wished she’d had time to collect her iPad, but she’d have to rely on good old-fashioned memory.

At the house she checked her watch again: 2.42pm. She’d made good time. Her feet hurt from running in her court shoes and it took a moment for her breathing to steady. She kicked her shoes off, not caring if they scratched the parquet floor, and ran barefoot to the landing and the loft hatch. Her mother kept the pole to open the hatch in the corner of the master bedroom and Bloom knew exactly where her old boxes were. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. There was only one document she needed to see.

But the pole wasn’t there.

‘Dammit!’ Her mother’s final few months before moving to the home had been clouded by dementia. It had turned a once-capable and routine-orientated woman into a paranoid shell of herself. A person who hid her jewellery in the freezer because she thought her daughter might steal it. Bloom scanned the rest of the room and then checked her own room, the spare room, the box room and the bathroom. Then she checked her watch: 2.48pm.

No time.

She dragged the linen basket from the bathroom and placed it under the hatch. It was about half her height. She might be able to reach. She lifted one knee up and then the other, found her balance and then shifted her weight, making sure the basket could hold her. It wobbled and she steadied herself. She reached up and hooked her middle finger through the loop, then leaned away from the hatch and pulled as hard as she could. It opened just a sliver. She leaned further back and pulled harder. This time it opened enough for her to fold her hand around the edge and pull the hatch fully open.