On my phone the blue dot blinks on, but it isn’t where I thought it would be in the garden. It is coming from the outer edges of Matt’s garden wall; I head over, but as I do, the dot skips over into the neighbor’s garden.
I hesitate for a second.
Anna isn’t in Matt’s house; the signal is coming from next door.
There’s a chance I might just be able to see the window from back here. I clamber up onto the wall dividing both gardens and use my arms to part the bamboo enough to peer through at the neighboring property.
But the house here is abandoned, the back doors broken, the paint peeling, weeds growing from the windowsills. And there is no window at basement level here.
I check the tracker again. The blue dot is showing the next garden along.
I heave myself over the wall and land in the unkempt scrub of the abandoned house’s garden and dash across to the next wall. The blue dot remains stationary. I part the prickly bush that backs the overgrown garden of the abandoned home and peer into the next garden.
This one is immaculate, the lawn green and lush. And then I seeit: the thin window, partially hidden, low to the ground, through the branches of a rosebush, the outline of Anna’s only window. Near it, set into the lawn, there is a narrow set of concrete steps disappearing down. The steps must lead to a door.
Thank God I didn’t call in Matt’s house or his nonexistent neighbor’s. The police would have missed this, but now I know it’s here.
A wave of vindication shoots through me, emboldening me. I check the back windows of the house for movement or inhabitants. The house looks so familiar, but I have seen so many recently, the memories blur and mix until I am not sure if this is a family home or a single man or woman’s house or anything at all.
When I am certain there is no movement, I try holding back the brambles to take a snapshot of the window but I cannot do both at once.
I push my way through the thick knot of it, scratching my hands and cheeks on the thorns, clothes snagging as I clamber down into the bushes behind the house, scraping almost every uncovered piece of flesh on my body in the process.
I check the back of the house again before breaking cover and dashing for the low window, where I drop down and, with shaking hands, snap a burst of photos of it. That done, I quickly rise, my eyes catching the concrete staircase leading down to what I assume is the entrance to Anna’s room. Without thinking, I bolt for it, flying down the steps as fast as I can.
At the bottom, I slam hard into a metal door, the clank of it echoing.
I open my mouth to call to her then stop. I might put us both in danger and I can’t get her out now, I have no key. There is nothing I can do now but gather evidence and run.
I raise my phone to snap the heavy metal door, and that is when I seehimin the reflection of my phone screen, descending the steps behind me. I hardly have time to flinch before the blow connects with my skull and a white-hot explosion of pain sends the world into blackness.
Chapter 44
She’s Gone
Matt opens his front doorto reveal Aoife Doherty, her hair and makeup red-carpet ready, clearly about to attend some sort of event or other. He is momentarily thrown. He’s seen her around, of course, but not for a while now, the woman who he has been trying to avoid.
Every time he ran into her for a good three-month stretch after she moved in, she’d launch into a long stop-and-chat that she seemed to think he was initiating, and appeared to find exhausting and galling. Perhaps she was so used to people beinginterested in heras an actor that she assumed everyone was just that,interested. But, Matt concedes, a lot of people can’t tell the difference between someone just being polite and actively flirting with them. Finally, thankfully, she seemed to get a boyfriend and left him alone.
But now here she is, and while he’s with someone he does actually like.
“Hi,” she says, staring at him with suspicion in her eyes. “I need Frankie…she’s in there, right?”
Matt suddenly gets it: Frankie has concocted a fake emergency to get her out of his house. Which explains how odd she was being just now. Matt infers Frankie did not actually enjoy their date yesterday after all, and may well have actually lost an earring and been forced to return for it. He cringes internally at the fact he offered her wine.
Matt’s embarrassment curls around inside him and makes him wish he kept to the idea of not getting involved with anyone ever again.
“You want me to go inside and get Frankie?” Matt clarifies, all of it sounding a little childish. “Could you not just call her?” he asks, eyeing the phone in Aoife’s hand.
Aoife sighs and shifts in her mules.
“Look, please just go get her. And for God’s sake, give her back her fecking cat.”
Matt frowns. “Her cat? What are you talking about?” he asks, then relents. “You know what—don’t worry, I don’t need the whole story. Wait here. I’ll go get her.”
Matt disappears back into the house, then reappears just minutes later.
“Okay, so apparently she’s not here anymore,” he says with a tight smile. “She’s obviously snuck out. Which I imagine you know more about than I do. You can come in and check if you want. I don’t know what’s going on but I think maybe call her?”
