Free Sister, Missing by Sophie McKenzie

and my dislike of Shelby all out of my mind.
    As I systematically pored over every inch of the wardrobe, my brain was still working at ninety miles an hour. I didn’t understand why the kidnappers had suddenly decided to involve
Shelby. Maybe they thought approaching her directly would make her think twice about blabbing to the police again. Or maybe they’d always intended to involve us both if the original exchange
failed.
    I couldn’t work it out.
    There was definitely nothing in the wardrobe. It wasn’t full – just a few dresses and coats of Annie’s at one end – and some of Sam’s polo shirts and jeans at the
other. This wasn’t surprising, of course. Annie and Sam only bought the apartment in order to have a base to stay in when they visited me in London.
    I found an old leather jacket of Sam’s in the far corner, where it had fallen off its hanger. I searched its pockets, which were empty, then pressed it to my face.
    The lemony scent of Sam’s aftershave filled my nostrils, cutting through the dense smell of the leather. I suddenly hurt with the loss of him. Aside from Madison, I’d always got on
better with Sam than with anyone else in my birth family. He was far more laid-back than Annie – kind and sweet with Madison and he always treated me as a grown-up.
    I put the jacket on a hanger and placed it carefully back on the rail. I rummaged through a pile of jumpers, two drawers of underwear and a stack of CDs.
    There was nothing here of any value, as far as I could see.
    I turned to the rest of the room. I could hear Shelby banging about in the bedroom opposite. Jam was silent downstairs.
    Sighing, I crossed the room to the first of the two bedside drawers. One was full of clutter: a stack of romance novels, a nail file, some eyelash curlers and two tubes of hand cream.
    Guessing this was Annie’s side of the bed, I crawled over the duvet to the other. Everything was clean and dusted – Annie must pay a cleaner to come in regularly. The second bedside
drawer was neater, simply containing a bundle of bank statements, a few receipts and some yacht magazines. Definitely Sam’s stuff.
    I sat on the bed and pored over the papers. Weird to think Sam must have been the last person to touch them, just shoving them in this little drawer and imagining he would one day soon come back
to them. There was nothing of any value in here. Even the bank statements only referred to relatively tiny amounts of cash – just a few hundred quid going in and out over several months.
    I put the papers back in the drawer. But I couldn’t lay them flat. There was something right at the end of the drawer. I felt inside and drew out a small metal box. It was locked and there
was no sign of a key.
    I hesitated, then shook the box. Nothing rattled or clinked. Whatever was inside must be well padded. It could easily be jewellery – or cash.
    I had to find out what was there. Grabbing one of the nail files from the other bedside drawer, I prised open the lid.
    Two white envelopes lay inside.
    I picked them up. They were flat and light – no bulky objects inside.
    One envelope was addressed to Shelby, the other to me. Neither was properly sealed.
    I laid Shelby’s envelope on the bed and picked up mine. With trembling hands, I unfolded the piece of paper inside: one side of A4, in Sam’s elegant handwriting.
    Dear Lauren
    What I have just told you will have come as a shock but now you are old enough to know the truth. I never wanted to lie but Annie thought it was for the best and –
     once you had been taken from us – the decision was out of our hands.
    I am writing this letter so that the facts are down on paper, for you to come back to once the initial shock has worn off.
    My heart thumped. Clearly Sam had written this letter assuming I would read it after a conversation that, thanks to his death, had never taken place. I read on.
    I’m always happy to talk about what we did and why. This letter is not a substitute