Contents ( 71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
She got off at her stop and walked the short distance back to the house. Letting herself in, she called out but was met with silence. He wasn’t home. Puzzled, she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She dumped her bag on the table and filled the kettle. Flicked it on. Then she turned to open the fridge and stopped dead. The side door that led out into the garden was ajar. Was Tim in the garden? She stepped out, walked around to the back of the house.
The garden was empty. With a chill, Kate stood on the small lawn and looked up at the house. The windows stared back at her as a heart-stopping thought formed in her mind. Was anyone inside? Don’t be silly, she told herself. Tim had been on a later shift that morning, he’d probably come outside for breakfast, then forgotten to lock the door before he left for work.
She returned to the house and, standing in the middle of the kitchen, listened carefully. There was no sound from upstairs. Taking a large knife from the drawer, and feeling rather foolish, she walked slowly through the house. Ground floor first, then she crept quietly up the stairs to the two bedrooms and the bathroom.
There was no one there.
She lowered her hand and let out a small laugh. She’d have to remind Tim to lock up – anyone could’ve got in. She heard the front door open and Tim’s voice shout out.
‘Kate?’
‘I’m here.’ She came running down, forgetting she still had the knife in her hand.
‘What the . . .?’
‘Oh. Sorry!’ Kate explained about the open side door, but Tim was puzzled. ‘I didn’t go out there this morning,’ he said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’ He frowned. Looked around. ‘Has anything been moved? Taken?’
The relief she’d felt a mere five minutes ago was rapidly evaporating. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, moving into the living room. The crappy TV was still there, as was her ancient PC. But there was something wrong.
‘Did you use my computer this morning?’ she asked.
‘What? No. Why would I use your computer?’ It was true, he never did. He had his own tablet – much faster and newer than her PC.
She went over to the tiny desk in the corner of the room. Touched the pull-out tray for the keyboard. When she’d left it this morning, she’d slid it back under the desk. She distinctly remembered. Panicked, she checked the tower – it was still there. She switched it on and had to wait for the agonizingly slow old beast to start up. She scrabbled through her papers, college textbooks, research printouts, notebooks.
‘Some of my stuff has gone,’ she said. ‘To do with the case.’
The computer had finally resurrected itself and she clicked urgently, cursing when it didn’t respond quickly enough.
She opened up her latest file, the one into which she’d typed her case so far. It was still there. Stymied, she looked at it, until suddenly, she understood. She checked the file statistics. The file had last been opened that day, at 16.09 hours. Somebody had been in her house at just after four o’clock that afternoon.