‘It was all teenage stuff,’ Tessa said. ‘Matt went to university and met Annabelle. Lindsey thought he’d been stolen away from her. She took it badly, but that’s all it was.’

‘In what way did she take it badly?’

Tessa stared at her. ‘Is this about the baby?’ she said. ‘Did Matt tell you about the baby?’

Wynne glanced at Dudek. He raised an eyebrow. ‘The baby? They had a baby?’

‘No,’ Tessa said. ‘That’s the point. Lindsey pretended to be pregnant so that Matt would stay with her.’ She held up her hands. ‘I know, it sounds bad. But she was a seventeen-year-old girl who thought she was in love.’

‘What happened?’ Dudek said.

‘The truth came out and Matt broke up with her. Then he met Annabelle – well, they’d already met, which just made Lindsey think he’d been cheating on her, which he said he hadn’t – and it was over with Lindsey.’

‘But she didn’t get over it?’ Wynne said.

‘She did, eventually.’

‘And yet she came to Norman’s christening? How did she know about it?’

‘Oh, God,’ Tessa said. ‘I’d forgotten about that. It wasn’t as though she was stalking them, though. It was sort of my fault. I mentioned it to her, and she showed up. I think Annabelle blamed me.’

‘Were you still friends?’

‘On and off. I saw her in town. She’d had a very hard time – mental health and substance abuse problems. But she’s much better now.’

‘She’s better now?’ Wynne said. ‘Are you still in touch with her?’

There was a long pause.

‘Yes, I am,’ Tessa said.

2

They drove away from the Westbrooks’ house. Tessa had given them an address for Lindsey Daley – now Meyer – and they had left her to explain to her brother why she had not mentioned they were still friends.

Lindsey lived a few miles away in a neat semi-detached house in Grappenhall. They parked outside and rang the doorbell.

A woman in her early thirties opened the door. She had shoulder-length brown hair and dark-framed glasses. She gave them a puzzled smile.

‘Lindsey Meyer?’ Wynne said.

‘Yes. That’s me.’

‘I’m Detective Inspector Jane Wynne. This is Detective Sergeant Dudek. We were hoping you could help us with our enquiries.’

‘About what?’

‘Annabelle Westbrook.’

A weary look crossed her face.

‘Come in,’ she said.

Lindsey showed them into the living room. ‘What happened to Annabelle?’ she said.

‘She’s missing,’ Wynne said. ‘We’re seeking any help we can get in locating her.’

‘I don’t know anything,’ Lindsey said. ‘I haven’t seen her in years.’

Wynne studied her face. If she was lying, she was doing it well. There was no sign of nervousness.

The door opened and a boy – maybe six or seven years old – came in. He was pale, and looked like he’d just woken up.

‘Mum,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry.’