Free Where the Memories Lie by Sibel Hodge Page A

lungful of fresh air outside. The interview room
    had smelled of cheesy feet. Not pleasant.
    ‘Do you want to go home and wait?’ Nadia asked.
    ‘No. I don’t want to go home with bad news. Ethan’s still
    blaming me for all this. He mostly ignored me on the drive back,
    and when I dropped them all off at the house before we came
    here, he stomped off, which is so unlike him. He’s not normally a
    moody sulker.’
    She put a hand on my arm. ‘I’m still sure there’s nothing to it.’
    I nodded. ‘Shall we get a coffee or something?’
    ‘I fancy a real drink.’
    ‘Yeah. Good idea.’
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    So we drove back to Portesham and parked up at the Kings’
    Arms, situated on the village green in front of the road that led to Abbotsbury in one direction and Weymouth in the other.
    I bought a red wine and a gin and tonic and carried them out-
    side to the beer garden where Nadia had bagged us the only table
    left. At six-thirty on a hot Saturday summer’s evening, the place was already heaving.
    I took a gulp of red wine, savouring the kick as the alcohol hit
    the back of my throat. Nadia downed a third of hers in one suck of
    her straw.
    I looked at my watch, even though I’d already checked it four
    times since I sat down. ‘What’s taking Sergeant Downing so long?
    He must’ve got there by now.’
    ‘Maybe she’s out shopping or something.’
    I pulled my phone out of my bag and checked the signal. Yes, it
    was fine. And the battery was fully charged. I placed it on the table and knocked back some more wine.
    Nadia’s phone rang in her mulberry-coloured Michael Kors
    bag. She delved inside and pulled it out, looking at the display.
    ‘It’s Lucas.’ She answered it and told him what was going on before hanging up. ‘He’s coming up to wait with us. I’ll get him a pint.’
    She finished her drink and stood. ‘Want another one?’
    ‘Yes, please.’
    After she’d disappeared off to the bar, my phone rang, sending
    my heart pounding again.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Hi, is this Olivia Tate?’
    I recognised Sergeant Downing’s voice straight away. ‘Yes. Did
    you find her? Was she OK?’
    He let out a soft chuckle. ‘Yes, she’s perfectly alive and well.
    Nothing to worry about.’
    A hand flew to my chest. ‘Good.’
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    ‘I asked her if she knew Tom Tate and she said she did.’
    ‘Really? How?’
    ‘He did some work for her about thirty years ago. An extension.’
    ‘Oh, right. I suppose I should’ve thought about looking through
    his building records to see if he had any customers by that name,
    and then I wouldn’t have wasted your time. I’m so sorry.’
    ‘Well, all’s well that ends well.’ He paused for a moment.
    ‘Alzheimer’s is a terrible disease. My mum had it. It was awful
    watching her losing her mind while her body deteriorated as well.
    I’m sorry you’re going through this.’
    ‘Thank you. For everything. You’ve been very helpful.’
    ‘You’re welcome. Take care now.’
    Ethan wasn’t there when I got home. Neither was Poppy.
    ‘Has Dad taken the dog out?’ I said to Anna, who was watching
    another documentary about death row on the laptop.
    ‘Yeah.’ She pressed ‘Pause’. ‘Where’ve you been?’
    ‘Nowhere.’
    ‘You must’ve been somewhere. ’
    ‘I was with Nadia.’
    ‘Oh. What’s for dinner?’
    ‘You can’t possibly be hungry after all the food you ate
    at the picnic.’ I’m sure my daughter has hollow legs. Oh, to have
    the metabolism of a teenager again.
    ‘I’m starving.’ She grinned. ‘Did you bring back any of Nadia’s
    muffins?’
    ‘No. There were none left. Chris ate the last one.’
    She pulled an unamused face. ‘What about the quiche?’
    ‘There’s only the burnt one. No one wanted that for some
    reason. Can’t think why. I bet Poppy will love it. Nadia gave me
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    some coffee cake, though, and some chocolate brownies. Dad
    should’ve put everything back in the fridge.