She’s never completely trusted silence, but here in this church, she feels peaceful – she feels heard. There’s an effigy of Mary at the altar. Chloe walks towards it, she reaches out to touch the cool marble smoothness of it. Mary stares back at her, as if she knows, as if she sympathizes with the enormous task Chloe has in front of her. Are these the same eyes that Maureen and Patrick had stared into when they prayed for their daughter’s safe return? If only she knew. If only Chloe could have been the reporter who sat down and interviewed them. And that’s when it happens, a split-second moment that feels something close to divine intervention. Of course she needs to speak to the Kyles – there really is no other way. And it wouldn’t be such a stretch of the truth to interview them for their annual colour piece. But it would be a way into their house, a way to eke out the details detectives couldn’t, to discover the evidence others had missed. And by the time anyone realizes Chloe wasn’t strictly who she said she was, then Angie would be back and no one would mind. In fact, Chloe would be a heroine. Her dream of saving the archive would come true. She looks up to Mary, her gaze at once forgiving. The fact that this idea had come to her here – here, of all places – is surely a sign that it’s the right thing to do. That if God could forgive a little white lie, anybody could.

SIXTEEN

She wakes to find the sun streaming through her curtains, which already feels like a good omen. She spends longer choosing what to wear; it feels important to get it right. She settles on black trousers and a red silk blouse with a slit neck. She stands in front of the mirror as she tucks the top into her waistband. She pulls it out. Tries it again. It’s missing something.