Matthew is making little pyramids from sugar sachets as DS Melanie Sanders enters the coffee shop, checking her watch. He has never been able not to fidget. It drives Sal mad. Right now he has challenged himself to have three pyramids standing at any one time. As soon as one collapses, he must make a new one before he tries to repair the old one. The table has a bit of a wobble on, adding to the uncertainty, and he is enjoying himself so much that he feels a ridiculous, childish pang of disappointment as he realises he has to stop.
‘Sorry to trouble you at the weekend, Mel.’ He stands and kisses her on the cheek, trying not to watch as the pyramids collapse with the movement of the table.
‘It’s OK. I’m working, actually.’ She is staring at the sugar sachets. ‘Force suddenly flush on the overtime budget?’ Matthew gathers up his
debris and places the sachets back in the stainless-steel stand at the centre of the shiny wipe-down surface.
‘No. We have DI Halfwit down from London on the case you’re so mysteriously interested in. I’m babysitting.’ She raises her arm for the waitress and glances behind the counter before ordering a cappuccino.
‘So you’ve warmed to him, then.’
Melanie pulls a face and pokes out her tongue.
Matthew can feel his smile. It is so good to see Mel. She was one of the few coppers at training college who refused to drink instant coffee, too. Produced a little cafetière on the first day. They both got teased mercilessly. When they worked together, she had an app on her phone to identify the nearest cafés with proper espresso machines. Their perfect breakfast was chip butties and good Italian coffee.
Matthew stares at her and realises how much he misses it. Not just working with Mel. Working on the force. The sense of team, of collaboration. This.
‘OK, Matt. So are you going to tell me now what’s really going on, ’cos I haven’t got much time.’ She is widening her eyes now. ‘The DI is down to speak to the Ballards again. Fresh stuff from the TV appeal, I’m assuming. They’re not telling me much yet, of course, but I’m taking the family liaison
officer out there straight after this. What’s going on? I really need to know why you’re interested, Matt.’
Matthew glances around the coffee shop and then produces from his pocket an evidence bag containing a postcard and envelope.
Melanie turns it over to read the message and frowns before glancing back at him for an explanation.
‘It was sent to Ella Longfield – the witness on the train. The flower shop woman. She called me in. There were two previous very similar cards that she threw away, unfortunately. Random postmarks. Liskeard. Somewhere in Dorset. And London.’
‘And she didn’t think to come to us?’
‘Trust me, I said the same, Mel, from the off. But she seemed convinced they were from Anna’s mother, Barbara Ballard. And she didn’t want her to get in trouble. Feels guilty.’
Melanie lets out a long sigh as the waitress brings over her coffee. ‘You don’t change. This should have been handed in straight away.’
‘Don’t be unfair. This is what I do now, Mel. And you wouldn’t have this at all if I hadn’t persuaded Ella. Anyway. We both know it’s more likely to be a crank than any kind of lead.’
‘Is that your gut, Matt? A crank? She had quite a bit of trouble on social media after her name got out.’
‘Yeah – a bit of a cock-up, that.’ Matthew is checking Melanie’s face as she turns the evidence bag over to examine the back.
‘We really don’t know how it got out, Matt. Honestly. But there’s been a lot of noise upstairs about it. Press office furious. Anyway. We put quite a lot of time into investigating the hassle. To reassure her. Trying to make amends. But the feeling back then was it was likely just trolls or kids. Maybe Anna’s school friends. Unpleasant, but nothing significant or linked to the enquiry. Or the two guys on the train.’
‘So you think this is the same? Just some nut trying to frighten her?’
‘I don’t know. Quite a lot of effort put into this.’ She is examining the card more carefully. ‘Doubt we’ll get any prints now but we’ll try. Run it through the system. Probably just a random nutter. So – talk. Why does this Ella think it could be the mother?’
Matthew tells her about Ella visiting Cornwall. The fracas. ‘And she didn’t think to tell us about that either. Great.’
‘I don’t think it’s the mother. I talked to her, Mel.’ ‘Jesus, Matt. This is a live investigation . . .’
‘And like I say, you wouldn’t have this handed in at all if it weren’t for
me.’
Melanie dips her finger into the froth of her coffee. ‘I’m not looking
forward to explaining this to DI Halfwit. You’re right, most likely another
troll. But he won’t like not being told.’
‘What’s his problem then, this DI? Doesn’t sound as if they’ve got very
far.’
‘He’s an arrogant pain. Looks about twelve. Wouldn’t mind that, if he
were halfway competent, but he seems distracted by some new Soho murder case. Also, he seems to think I’m his personal chauffeur every time they’re down here. Which isn’t often.’
‘So could you be vague when you hand this over? Help me out?’ ‘Keep your name out of it, you mean?’
Matthew tilts his head and feigns puppy eyes.
‘I know I’m a stuck record but you should have stayed in the force, Matthew. You know that, I know that, so you can stop with the butter- wouldn’t-melt.’
Matthew does not reply. Melanie is one of the few people who knows why he really left the force.
‘Come on, then. Share. What did you make of the mother, Matt? The family liaison officer reckons she’s straight.’
‘I agree. I don’t think she sent them. She didn’t slip up. I implied it was hate mail and she talked about them as letters, not postcards. But there’s something not right there, Mel.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She pretended to want to call her husband. But I could tell from the body language that she didn’t really want him there at all. Bit odd . . .’
Melanie narrows her eyes again.
‘So what’s the deal with the parents, Mel? Are they really both in the clear? And what’s come out of the TV appeal? Anything promising?’
‘I tell you what. How about we talk about you becoming a dad instead.
Much more interesting.’
