‘I don’t know, sir, but her behaviour is erratic. That could be put down to the stress of her marriage, but she isn’t the most stable of people.’ I pause. ‘Think about it for a moment. Elise has an unpredictable working pattern and her family takes for granted that she is where she says she is. She could put on that uniform and go anywhere, for all we know. She might go somewhere else, even meet someone, especially given her husband’s series of affairs. Or she could just be hiding from her miserable marriage. We’ve never actually checked out her job.’

‘Then do it,’ the DI says quietly. ‘The next time her slippery husband tries to distract us, we’ll know exactly where we stand.’

*

When I check my notes, I find that according to Elise, the day Hollie died, she flew to Athens and back. I call her airline, waiting five minutes to get through to her manager and explain the reason for my call.

There’s a brief pause. ‘That’s right. She was rostered on an Athens flight that day. But hold on a moment … I need to check something.’ The phone goes quiet for a moment. ‘She was definitely rostered to go to Athens that day, but on that morning, she didn’t turn up.’

Chapter Forty-Nine

Elise

In the farm cottage, Niamh and I are still in limbo, waiting for one of the lawyers to get back to me, when my mobile buzzes.

‘Elise? It’s DS May. I thought you’d want to know that your husband has been charged and remanded in custody. I’ll let you know more in due course, but I wanted you to be the first to hear.’

My heart lifts. ‘Does this mean we can go home?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ DS May hesitates. ‘We’re searching your house as part of our investigation. I’m sorry about all this.’ She pauses again. ‘I’ll stop over later on and fill you in on everything.’

As the call ends, I stare in disbelief at my phone, then turn to Niamh. ‘That was DS May. The police have arrested your father.’

‘So we can go home?’ Niamh looks hopeful.

‘Not yet.’ I look at her. ‘The police have to search the house, apparently. She’ll come by later to let us know what’s happening.’

The colour drains from Niamh’s face.

‘What’s wrong, Niamh?’

She shakes her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Are you sure?’

She’s silent. Then she says, ‘I have some of Dylan’s stuff, that’s all. They won’t take it, will they?’

I frown at her, wondering how I hadn’t come across it. ‘What kind of stuff?’

‘Just things he wrote. Some of his drawings. Photos.’