I throw my bag over my shoulder and bolt for the front door, leaving him no doubt open-mouthed in my wake. I only feel mildly appeased by the young woman walking down the street towards me with a Young People Matter brochure tucked under her arm. I sincerely hope she’s who Michael was really expecting.

21

As soon as I’m back in the safety of my car, I look at my phone to see that the same number has called me three times in quick succession and left a message. I’m shaking as I hold the phone to my ear to hear Detective Robson’s voice booming from my voicemail.

‘Hello, Mrs Chandler, there have been some new developments in the case and we’re outside your house now. Could you please give me a call as soon as you get this?’

The thought of her being at the house when I’m not there sends me into a blind panic, even though I’ve got nothing to hide; even less now that Leon knows what they know. Yet it still feels as if I’m a mouse with a cat clawing at my tail, holding me still before releasing me again.

I go faster than I should on the A290, spurred on by the Foo Fighters at high volume and my dark thoughts. As I pull into the gates of Tattenhall, I doubt the police will still be there, but as the cottage comes into view I see Robson leaning against her car in the driveway. The look on her face, when she sees me approach, is one of smug superiority.

‘Naomi Chandler,’ she says, as I open my car door. ‘We have a warrant to search your property.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I say, my brain scrambling to understand what she’s saying. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We have a warrant to search your property in connection with the disappearance of Michael Talbot.’

I feel like I’m stuck in a low-budget police drama and I almost want to laugh.

‘What are you honestly expecting to find?’ I ask.

‘Our investigation is ongoing,’ says Robson, studying me carefully. ‘But we have reason to believe that serious harm has come to Mr Talbot.’

‘And you think you’re going to find evidence that I’ve got something to do with that?’

‘I don’t know, Mrs Chandler. Will we?’ She cocks one eyebrow.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ I say in answer.

‘Well, I’ll be the judge of that,’ she says, moving me aside at my own front door.

I numbly fall back onto the porch, wishing I could melt into the wall, as two, three, four plainclothes officers make their way into the house, the last giving me an apologetic tight smile.