Page 74 of The Friend Request

‘They need to talk to you,’ he says.

Two officers are in the kitchen. A woman – PC Heywood, her badge says – is sitting at the table with a notebook open and a pen lying flat beside it. A man is standing near the back door with his arms folded, younger, watchful. The kettle has boiled recently; steam still clings to the window above the sink. Someone has made tea. There are mugs on the worktop, and the overhead light is too bright. Everything in this room looks exactly the way it always looks – Olivia’s school planner on the side, the hook where she hangs her coat – and the familiarity of it is unbearable.

‘Mrs Stiller?’ PC Heywood stands. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Your husband’s filled us in on some of the background, but we need to hear it from you as well. Can you sit down?’

I sit. Alex pulls a chair out beside me and drops into it. His knee touches mine under the table, and he leaves it there.

‘Your husband tells us you’ve been staying at a rental property in Wales,’ she says. ‘And that something happened there tonight.’

‘Someone tried to break in.’ I sound hollow. ‘This evening while I was watching a film – they tried to force the back door. I thought they’d gone, but I was wrong.’ I stop. I sound like someone reading a report, not someone who was crouched on a kitchen floor four hours ago with her back against a door and her hands over her mouth. ‘They threw a brick through the window before they left.’

PC Heywood writes. The male officer shifts his weight but doesn’t speak.

I reach into my pocket to check the note is still there. The paper is creased and warm. I should pull it out, unfold it on the table, smooth it flat with my palm, and hand it over to the police. I should. But I don’t.

COME TO OUR OLD SCHOOL TOMORROW NIGHT. ALONE. NO POLICE.

YOUR CHILD’S LIFE DEPENDS ON IT.

PC Heywood studies me from across the table. ‘Is there anything else we should know about tonight, Kim?’

The way she says Kim, not Mrs Stiller makes me flinch. Is she trying to put me at ease, or charm me into revealing something she suspects I’m holding back?

‘I’ve already given you some background,’ Alex says. His voice is tight. Controlled in the way Alex gets controlled when he’s furious – every word placed, every syllable held between his teeth. ‘There’s a man – Ross. I never got a surname. Someone from Kim’s past. He’s been turning up, contacting her, and she didn’t tell me about it until recently. He’s the most likely person to have been at the cottage tonight. But if he was in Wales, who’s with Olivia? Is she alone somewhere in the dark?’

PC Heywood doesn’t react. She turns back to me. ‘Can you confirm what we know of your daughter’s movements today?’

‘She was with Alex’s mum,’ I say. ‘In Leicester. She’s been staying with her grandparents while I was in Wales.’

‘And what happened this afternoon?’

I look at Alex. He nods once, a short, tight movement, and takes over the story.

‘She went out,’ he says. ‘Around three, maybe half past. Told Mum she was meeting a friend. She seemed fine. Happy. Had her phone, said she’d be back by six.’ He stops. Presses his hands flat on the table. ‘She didn’t come back. Didn’t answer her phone. Mum called me at seven, and I’ve been ringing everyone we know since then. Nobody’s seen her. Her phone goes straight to voicemail.’

‘And she didn’t mention this friend’s name to anyone else? No texts, no messages?’

‘Not that we know of.’

PC Heywood writes something down, turns a page, writes again. The room is too quiet. The fridge hums and the clock ticks on the wall above the oven, and the note is in my pocket, pressing against my skin and making it crawl.

‘Kim,’ she says. ‘I need to ask you about this man from your past. It’s possible he could be involved and we need to explore every avenue here.’

‘Right.’

‘Your husband could only give us a first name. Perhaps you could give us the rest.’

Ross something. That’s all Alex has ever had – the surname slid past him at the party, and when I confessed at this table, I only ever said Ross. He never asked for more. I let him not ask.

PC Heywood knows I’m stalling. ‘Mr Stiller said you’d been in contact with someone, a man, and that this person has been⁠—’

‘Kim.’ Alex’s voice, beside me. Quiet but hard. ‘Tell them.’

I look at him.

‘Tell them everything,’ he says.

The expectation sits unwanted in the middle of the kitchen table. PC Heywood pauses, pen hovering. The male officer by the back door unfolds his arms. Alex is staring at me with an expression I know – the same expression I imagine he wears in meetings when a client has been caught lying, patient and relentless and already three steps ahead.