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Lifeless in his hand slumps my daughter’s plush toy. Mr Sloth.
‘Oh my God.’ The words leave me in a rising squeal. I cover my mouth.
Matt is on his feet. ‘Where?’
‘Just… at the edge of the pavement. Behind your car – out front.’ Neil’s brow knits. His eyes are pale blue pools of sorrow. He hands me the cuddly sloth. It is wet. I pick two mulched leaves from its fur and press the toy to my forehead, then to my nose. I inhale it but it smells cold, mossy. It doesn’t smell like Abi.
‘I’ll need to take that,’ Peak says.
I can’t see. ‘What’s happened to her?’
‘Looks like she definitely headed out,’ Matt says.
‘Mrs Atkins? Mrs Atkins?’ Peak is looking at me. I know he has a camera on his lapel because he told me so, though when this was, I’m not sure.
‘Sorry, what?’ I say, thinking that Neil must have gone out again, because he isn’t here anymore.
‘I was asking what time she went missing – can you remember?’
‘I went upstairs a little before eight. But she was perfectly happy so it would have taken her a while to become restless… she was completely settled, so let’s see, I came down at about quarter past eight? I can’t say exactly, not to the minute, but I’d guess the earliest she could have left would be five, ten past, but she would have called me. I would have heard her if she was getting impatient, you know? But she was definitely clipped into her pushchair. I thought I’d closed the front door but it must have banged open when I shut it.’
‘Can you tell me briefly what happened?’
‘I came downstairs. Her buggy was empty. The front door was open.’
He scribbles. I try not to be distracted by another siren in the street. I think I can hear Neil outside, talking to someone: businesslike, proactive, his voice sails through the open window above the sink.
‘And then?’ The police officer is still looking at me. Peak, his name is. ‘I’m not taking a statement, Mrs Atkins, I just need to gather as much information as I can, as quickly as I can. You’re doing really well.’
Sometimes the beats are episodic. Seconds go missing. Sometimes minutes get jumbled up. Matt remembers things differently. We argue as to what happened when.
It’s DS Bill Simmonds now. Mid-morning. His hair is dirty blonde. We are still in the kitchen and I am aware of repeating myself. Simmonds is telling me they’re conducting a door-to-door. He is explaining how they will organise the search, how it will spread progressively outwards, our home the nucleus.
‘Sarge.’ The woman interrupts, the one from earlier. I have forgotten her name. She is standing at the back door. Her hair is brown and tied back in a messy bun. ‘The PolSA’ll be half an hour.’
I look from one to the other. ‘What’s a PolSA?’
‘It’s the specialist search unit,’ Simmonds tells me.
‘And the dogs are on the way,’ the woman adds.
‘Dogs?’ I say. ‘Dogs, oh my God.’
This is escalating; it’s escalating too quickly.
DS Simmonds shifts position. ‘Try not to be alarmed, Mrs Atkins. In cases of missing children, it’s procedure to make use of these resources the moment we get the call. The dogs are trained to trace your little girl, and the specialist unit are here to help find her too.’
A sob escapes me. My head pulses, hot and white. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’
Matt is rubbing my back. He has been out on his bike, but now he is sitting on the stool next to mine. ‘Shh, shh, shh, come on.’ He is trying to be brave but he sounds like a boy.
DS Simmonds speaks to the female officer, low and brisk. ‘Check the gardens, yeah? Garages, sheds, as well as the houses. Ask if they’ve seen anyone driving too fast, any cars they didn’t recognise, anyone they thought looked suspicious, out of place, anyone seen a little girl, blue coat, cream bobble hat. Let’s get a photo sorted. Let me know if anyone won’t cooperate.’
‘I think a photo’s sorted, Sarge. I’ll check.’
‘Mrs Atkins.’ He has turned back to me. I know because his voice is louder. When I glance up from my lap, he is looking at me. ‘I know this is hard, but if you can try to talk us through it in as much detail as you can. We just want to make the search as effective as possible.’
I tell him, like I told PC Peak. I tell him as best I can. He scribbles, tips his head and talks into his radio.
