Page 50 of The Vanished

“I think we frightened him off.”

“I expect he has much to think about,” Geneva said.

“What’s there to think about? He has everything a man could possibly want.”

“And what do you know about what men want?”

Honor’s gaze was far too knowing for a girl of her years. “He has money and choices, Genny. What more could a man want?”

Geneva couldn’t argue with that. Jesse Bellamy did have choices, and his every decision would affect their lives in ways they couldn’t begin to predict.

THIRTY-ONE

SEPTEMBER 2023

Keswick, Cumbria

When Quinn woke, she had a missed call from Rhys from the night before, but nothing from Logan. At this stage, she wasn’t even expecting to hear from him, not really, but she was still hopeful. She would drive into Keswick after breakfast and check in at the police station. She was eager to speak to DI Malone, but also terribly nervous, and wished Gabe could come with her for moral support, but they could hardly bring the kids. And it would take all of Gabe’s attention and patience to deal with four restless children who didn’t have their devices to fall back on.

“Maybe you should take them for a walk,” Quinn suggested when they discussed their plans over breakfast. It was a beautiful day, and there was a path that wound around the lake.

“I’ll see what the kids want to do,” Gabe said noncommittally.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Quinn promised.

She spotted Emma watching from the window as she climbed into the car. The girl looked frightened and tense, and Quinn hated that she had caused her such worry. When a child lost someone they loved early on, their sense of invincibility was stripped away forever, their mind quietly reminding them that anything could happen at any moment. Unlike most girls her age, who still believed that nothing truly terrible could touch them, Emma knew better. She understood all too well that things did not always turn out all right, and people didn’t always come back.

Quinn rang DI Malone as soon as she was on the road.

“Thanks for calling,” he said gruffly. “I’ll get in touch with the station, so they will be expecting you when you arrive.”

The detective could have spoken to Quinn over the phone, but she suspected he wanted to see her face and gauge her reactions and body language. For all DI Malone knew, Quinn was in on Logan’s plan and was working to clear the path for him. But the path to what? If only she knew what he was up to. Logan had seemed completely himself in the days leading up to his disappearance, and he had responded to Emma’s text that very afternoon. Perhaps he had been hiding something, but her instinct told Quinn that whatever had occurred had been unexpected, and Logan had had no other option but to react.

When she arrived at the police station, Quinn gave her name and showed her ID to the desk sergeant. Once her identity was verified, she was escorted to a small office equipped with a desk, two chairs, and a computer monitor. A young plainclothes policewoman, who introduced herself as DS Coyle, stepped inside and took a seat next to Quinn. She had chestnut hair, soft brown eyes, and a pleasant smile. The DS wore a gray trouser suit, and her hair was parted on the side and pulled into a bun. To Quinn, she looked like a banker or an IT specialist, but she was sure the detective sergeant had put in her hours on the street and had earned her promotion.

“Someone from this station must be present during the interview,” DS Coyle explained.

Quinn found her presence comforting and thought the officer was there for Quinn’s protection as well, since she would hear everything that was said and could be called upon to testify if Quinn’s responses were in any way twisted to fit DI Malone’s narrative. DS Coyle turned on the monitor, accessed the correct screen, then clicked on the link DI Malone had sent through once it was time for the interview. Malone appeared on the screen a few moments later.

The detective looked to be in his forties and had thinning brown hair, dark eyes that were magnified by the lenses of his rectangular frames, and a fleshy face. He had a ruddy complexion and a thick neck that was almost entirely obscured by the collar of his blue shirt. He wore a striped tie and an Apple Watch.

“Good morning, Mrs. Russell,” he said. His tone was polite but not overly friendly.

“Please, call me Quinn.”

“All right. Quinn.” Malone did not smile to put her at ease. In fact, he looked suspicious and stern. “Have you had any more communications from your brother since the text message you received on the morning after his disappearance?”

“I have not.”

“Did he ever mention someone stalking him or sending him threatening messages?”

“No, never.”

“So, everything appeared to be perfectly normal until he’d suddenly done a bunk?” Malone asked.

“Yes.”

“Was he worried about anything?” the DI asked. “Money, perhaps?”