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“You weren’t worried about him at that point?”
“No. I was only worried about his headache, but I hoped a walk would clear it.”
“When did you become worried about him?”
“When I came downstairs after my shower, at about eight o’clock. And not straightaway, because of his phone being on the table.” I reach for it, pick it up, put it down again. “I presumed he was in the pool, he’s never far from his phone, so I made a pot of coffee and went to call him. But he wasn’t in the pool so I thought he must be in the study or the sitting room. But I couldn’t find him anywhere in the house and that’s when I began to get worried, because it was almost eight-twenty and he’d left around six.” I swallow. “Without his phone. So I went to the beach to look for him but he wasn’t there either and I thought that maybe he’d come back to the house while I was out, that we’d somehow missed each other. But he wasn’t here.”
“Did you have an argument, yesterday or this morning, maybe?”
“No, not at all.” I give an embarrassed laugh. “We’re still in the honeymoon period, we’ve only been married a few weeks.”
Officer Allson nods to Ned’s phone. “Have you checked it?” he asks.
“No, I don’t know the passcode. But there wouldn’t be anything on it anyway, he deleted his Instagram before we left to come here, he wanted a complete break from social media.”
Officer Garrat picks up the phone. “You have no idea what the passcode is?”
“I think he once said it was his mother’s birth date but I’ve no idea if that was true.”
“Do you know his mother’s date of birth?”
“No. I’ve never met her. She wasn’t too happy about our marriage, and he hasn’t seen her since. He was upset about that too.”
Officer Garrat looks at her colleague, who’s been typing on his phone. “Have you found it?”
“Zero three two three five seven,” he says.
“Right, let’s give it a try.” She types it into Ned’s phone. “Bingo.”
I watch, my heart thumping, as Officer Garrat scrolls around Ned’s phone. After a moment, she shows it to her colleague, who immediately leaves the room.
“Have you found something?” I ask anxiously.
The policewoman hesitates, then passes Ned’s phone to me. It’s open to his Instagram account. There are only two recent posts: the last one, posted at 6:05 this morning, reads“I’m sorry. Forgive me.”The one before that, from the previous Saturday, is a photo with the caption:
I know I said I was taking an Instagram break but I couldn’t resist posting this photo of Amelie that I took earlier today. Isn’t she beautiful?
I stare at the photo. I’m stretched out on a yellow-and-gray-striped sun lounger, wearing my red bikini.
“I don’t understand,” I murmur.
“Can you think of any reason why he’d be sorry?” Officer Garrat asks. “You said you hadn’t had an argument?”
I raise my head, cover my mistake quickly. “No, that’s what I mean, I don’t understand what he had to be sorry about.” Officer Garrat doesn’t say anything and in the ensuing silence, I let realization dawn. “You don’t think…” My voice falters.
Officer Garrat is kind, she says that her colleagues are looking for Ned now, that she’s sure they’ll find him sitting on a bench somewhere, unaware that he’s been causing me a lot of worry. She asks if she can make tea and I point to the cupboards and tell her where to find tea bags and mugs. While we drink it, Officer Garrat asks gentle questions about me and Ned, about our whirlwind marriage, about our relationship, about the allegation against him.
It must be about an hour later when Officer Allson puts his head around the door and calls Officer Garrat into the hallway. I hear the murmur of voices, wipe sweaty hands on my shorts. The waiting is unbearable.
At last, the two police officers come back to the kitchen.
“Mrs. Hawthorpe,” Officer Allson says gently. “We’ve had a development from our colleagues. I’m very sorry to have to tell you thata body has been found in the bracken at the foot of one of the cliffs leading down to the beach.”
I burst into tears. Officer Garrat finds a tissue, passes it to me. “We don’t know for sure that it’s Ned,” she says. “I’m sorry to have to ask—does he have any distinguishing marks?”
I nod. “He’s got a tattoo of an eagle on his lower back.”
“Anything else?”
