The Smuggler’s Daughter. Kerry Barrett

began to wail again and Mr Trewin patted her kindly on the hand. ‘Janey, we men are simple folk,’ he said. ‘We are often not worthy of the love our women give us. Your Amos has let everyone down.’

      There was a scratching at the inn door and with a disgusted glance at Mr Trewin, I went to let Tully in. He bounded inside, his claws clattering on the stone floor, and nosed his way around the inn.

      ‘He’s looking for Amos,’ my mother said, watching him through swollen eyes. ‘Amos would never have left without Tully.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr Trewin, picking up his hat and putting it on his head. ‘But it seems he has.’

      As though he’d understood every word, Tully sat back on his haunches, lifted his head up and howled mournfully. My mother followed, her sobs echoing round the empty inn. I tugged desperately at Mr Trewin’s sleeve, trying to get him to wait so I could get the pictures I’d drawn and perhaps make him understand what had happened. But he picked my fingers off one by one, as though I was dirty, and then brushed some invisible muck from his coat where I’d been clutching him.

      ‘I have to go,’ he said in that tone again. ‘Good day.’

       Chapter 2

       Phoebe

      London, February 2019

      I yawned and stretched at my desk, glad to be clocking off and not working the night shift. Saturdays were always challenging and I was pleased I wasn’t back in the police station until Monday morning now.

      ‘I’m heading off,’ I said to no one in particular, just as my colleague and friend Stacey – DC Maxwell – who sat next to me in the CID office, put the phone down and made a face.

      ‘Do you have to go now?’

      ‘What have you got?’

      ‘Missing teenage girl. Probably nothing, but uniform are all tied up with that brawl after the football.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Hanson Grove.’

      I pulled my coat from the rack and put it on. ‘I’ll go on my way home,’ I said. ‘Who called it in?’

      ‘Her mum. But according to PC Malone, she sounded a bit funny.’

      ‘Funny how?’

      Stacey shrugged and I groaned. ‘Give me all the details, and I’ll check it out.’

      ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

      ‘I’ll be fine.’

      As I walked to my car, I read the paperwork Stacey had given me. The missing girl was called Ciara James, and she was sixteen years old. I frowned. She’d probably just gone off with her boyfriend somewhere. This was a job for the neighbourhood PCSO, not CID. Still, it was on my way and it would only take five minutes.

      My car was iced up when I got to it. I had no scraper, obviously, so I had to improvise with my Tesco Clubcard and when I finally got inside, I had to peel off my wet gloves, and use them to demist the windscreen so all in all it took me ages to get to Ciara James’s house. It was gone 10 p.m. when I finally pulled up outside. There was a light on in the front room, though, so I knocked on the door.

      A man looked out of the window, frowning. He was wearing a thick jumper and he had reading glasses on his nose.

      ‘Mr James?’ I said through the glass, showing him my warrant card. ‘DS Bellingham.’

      He looked worried as he dropped the curtain and a few seconds later, the front door opened.

      ‘Is everything okay?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

      That was strange. ‘We had a call from your wife? She said your daughter Ciara is missing.’

      A shadow crossed his face, but then his expression changed to look more confused than annoyed. ‘Ciara’s not missing,’ he said.

      ‘Where is she?’

      ‘Cinema, I believe.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Her friend’s dad is dropping her home. I don’t like her getting the bus this late. I worry about her being out on her own. There are some dodgy people around. I’d have picked her up myself but I don’t like staying up late on Saturday because I have to be at church early in the morning.’

      ‘But your wife said …’

      ‘She gets muddled,’ he said quietly. ‘She takes pills to help her sleep and sometimes they make her misunderstand things.’

      I looked at him. He seemed totally genuine. And yet, there was something niggling at me. ‘Have you seen Ciara this evening yourself?’

      ‘No, I’m afraid not. I’ve been at my choir practice.’

      ‘At church? Which one?’

      ‘St John’s.’

      I nodded. ‘And your wife was here?’

      ‘I assume so. When I got home she was in bed. Perhaps she took a pill and couldn’t remember where Ciara had gone.’

      ‘Can I speak to her?’

      He made a face. ‘If she’s taken a sleeping tablet, I won’t be able to wake her.’

      ‘Could you try?’ I smiled at him. ‘I really should speak to her, or my boss will give me grief.’

      I was still standing on the doorstep, and the evening was bitterly cold. I didn’t wait to be asked, but just stepped inside. He looked like he was going to say something and then changed his mind.

      ‘Wait here.’

      I had a good nose round the hall while I waited. It was very ordinary. Dull, in fact. Neat and tidy. Ciara’s school photo on the wall, showing her to be a pretty but unremarkable teenager. Boots stacked neatly in a rack and three coats hanging from pegs. Three coats. I frowned.

      ‘Does Ciara have another coat,’ I asked as Mr James came downstairs again.

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Does Ciara have another coat?’ I gestured to the coat rail. ‘I presume that’s hers? But it’s very cold outside.’

      He screwed his nose up. ‘No idea, sorry. I don’t pay much attention to what she wears.’

      ‘Right. Is your wife awake?’

      A noise upstairs made me look up. A middle-aged woman was coming downstairs, wearing pyjamas and looking pale and sleepy.

      ‘So sorry to disturb you, Mrs James,’ I said. ‘We had a call that Ciara was missing.’

      She rubbed her eyes like a toddler. ‘Ciara is at the cinema.’

      ‘That’s right,’ her husband said. He looked at me and I saw a flash of something in his eyes – triumph? ‘You get back to bed.’

      Obediently, Mrs James turned and went back upstairs before I could stop her.

      ‘Terribly sorry to waste your time,’ Mr James said with a smile. ‘I trust my wife isn’t in trouble.’

      ‘Not at all.’

      We stood in the hall for a second. I looked at him and he looked back at me. All my instincts were telling me that something was off, but I had nothing. I wished Stacey had come with me. Another pair of eyes on this outwardly normal family would be useful.

      ‘If Ciara doesn’t come home, please call the station,’ I said.

      ‘Of course, thank you so much, Constable.’

      I forced myself to smile instead of correcting him about my rank. ‘Call