The lights from the farmhouse were dim but illuminated the access road just enough to make out the potholes. Karen pulled up the address book on her phone. Scrolling through the contacts, she paused at the name Amethyst. Karen had nearly backed out of the first session when she’d learned the counsellor’s name. She’d suspected the office would be adorned with crystals and smell of incense and the therapy itself would be new-age mumbo jumbo, but the office had been decorated in shades of beige and white, and Amethyst had been very focused on evidence-based techniques.
Karen hadn’t seen her since they’d finished cognitive behavioural therapy. The therapy had helped her take a step back before making decisions. It had given her the tools to separate her thoughts and actions from her feelings. After talking to Nigel Palmer, Karen thought she could use a top-up session. It had been a long time since she’d felt herself sinking back into that single-minded approach. It was too late now but maybe she’d call in the morning.
Karen started walking towards the main road as she dialled Christine’s number.
Christine was her neighbour. A sixty-year-old widow who had never had children, she’d been over the moon when Karen, Josh and Tilly moved in next door. Josh had joked about it, and they’d giggled about their overenthusiastic and slightly nosey neighbour. But they’d grown close to Christine, trusting her to mind Tilly when they went out. Immediately after the accident, Christine had been an angel, cleaning, cooking and taking care of the house. When Karen could barely put one foot in front of the other, Christine was there by her side, quietly encouraging her to return to day-to-day life. Even now, if she needed something, the first person she would call on was Christine. And it worked both ways. Two months ago, Christine had had a cancer scare, and it had been Karen whom she’d asked to accompany her to the hospital for appointments.
Christine answered on the fourth ring. ‘Hello.’
‘Christine, it’s me. I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I could really use a favour.’
‘Name it,’ Christine said.
‘Could you pick me up and take me to the station at Nettleham?’
‘Where are you?’
‘The Palmers’ farm.’
Christine huffed under her breath. ‘What are you doing there?’
‘Did you hear about the little girls that went missing?’ Karen asked.
Although it had only been a few hours since Sian Gibson and Emily Dean had disappeared, Christine had her finger on the pulse of village life. She was a member of the WI and very active in the community. There wasn’t much that went on in Branston without Christine knowing about it – although this was Heighington and not far away, it was possible the news hadn’t yet reached the local gossip network.
‘No. What happened?’
‘Two girls went missing from Moore Lane Primary School. Nigel Palmer’s land backs on to the school, so I wanted a word with him.’
‘That’s terrible. How old are the children?’
‘Only ten.’
Christine took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Hold tight. I’ll be there in five minutes.’
Karen hung up and used her mobile as a torch as she walked down the narrow private lane, avoiding the dips filled with freezing water. The night was getting rapidly colder, and Karen’s breath formed small clouds in front of her.
As good as her word, Christine was there just as Karen made it to the main road. She slipped into the passenger seat and was immediately bombarded with questions that she did her best to answer, although at this stage of the investigation she didn’t have much information.
‘I should get back to Nettleham before the briefing wraps up,’ Karen said, checking the time on her phone screen as they headed towards Lincoln.
‘I hope you find them tonight,’ Christine said. ‘Poor little mites must be freezing. That’s if they’re still outside,’ she added ominously.
Karen nodded. ‘Most children are taken by someone they know, usually a family member.’
Christine gave her a sideways glance as they came to a stop at the traffic lights on Canwick Hill. ‘But you don’t think that’s the case this time?’
Karen exhaled deeply, puffed out her cheeks and shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But I’ve got a bad feeling.’
Christine shivered as she pulled away from the lights. ‘You suspect Nigel Palmer again.’ It wasn’t a question.
Karen took a deep breath and phrased her response carefully. Christine was a good friend but there were some aspects of the investigation she couldn’t talk about. ‘The circumstances are very different to Amy Fisher’s disappearance.’
Christine’s hands tightened on the wheel. She’d been close to Amy’s parents, befriending them soon after they’d moved to the area when Amy was tiny. ‘I know you can’t talk about the case.’
‘I haven’t given up on Amy, you know. It must seem like that because the investigation has been scaled back, but she hasn’t been forgotten.’
‘I know.’
‘Have you spoken to Janine and Bill recently?’ Amy’s parents had moved back to Scotland a few months ago. Janine had been convinced Nigel Palmer was behind her daughter’s disappearance.
A month before they left the village, the police were called to remove Janine from the Palmer farm. She’d been drinking and had hammered on the front door, demanding answers and refusing to leave until she got them. Nigel Palmer had threatened to press charges.
‘I’ve not spoken to them since they moved. I’ve called a couple of times, but they don’t return my calls. They don’t speak to anyone from the village any more.’
‘That’s not healthy.’
Christine gave a sad smile. ‘They’re just trying to deal with their grief the best they can and talking to me brings back painful memories, I suppose.’
Karen nodded. ‘Understandable. There’s nothing healthy about losing a child. They need to do whatever they can to get through each day, I guess.’
‘It’s hard for them to move on without knowing what really happened to Amy.’
Karen stared down at her hands for a moment before turning to Christine. ‘I need to be careful with this case.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I keep looking for a link to what happened eighteen months ago. I should be able to separate this case from what happened to Amy, but I can’t. I keep thinking there’s a pattern there, a reason behind it all, but I can’t see it. I feel so helpless, like I did after Josh and Tilly.’
‘You wanted to make sense of the accident, and no one could blame you for that. Sometimes terrible things happen for no reason.’
‘When I was talking to Nigel Palmer, I could feel myself wanting to push harder. I wasn’t cool and calm, I was furious. I’m worried I’ll lose perspective again.’
‘Losing Josh and Tilly was different. You wouldn’t be working this case if your boss didn’t think you could handle it.’
Karen looked out of the passenger window. Christine was right. She had spent months trying to analyse the crash that killed Josh and Tilly. She’d convinced herself it wasn’t an accident, even going so far as to accuse her colleagues in traffic of a cover-up, despite having no evidence to back up that theory. Things had spiralled quickly. It was only thanks to her DI at the time that she’d got the help she needed to recognise her feelings while understanding she didn’t need to act on them.