Free The Missing by Jane Casey Page B

hysterically. Valerie ran forward and whispered in Michael Shepherd’s ear. He nodded and got to his feet, supporting his wife. The pair followed Valerie to the side door that led out of the hall. As the door closed behind them, a confused babble of questions rose from the assembled reporters.
    ‘Is this the work of a paedophile?’ one shouted above the others and Vickers leaned back in his chair, gathering his strength before replying.
    ‘We don’t yet know …’ I heard as I opened the door at the back of the hall and slipped out. I couldn’t stand to hear any more speculation. The journalists were just doing what they had to do, but the atmosphere in the room made me feel uncomfortable. I was heartsick for the Shepherds and tired to my very bones. The rest of the press conference would be too much to bear.
    Lost in thought, I didn’t realise that the Shepherds were walking towards me, guided by Valerie, until they had almost passed by. I was standing beside the main door to the car park, where their car was waiting.
    ‘Mr Shepherd,’ I said impulsively, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
    He turned and looked at me, his eyes coal-black with hostility, and I shrank back against the wall. Valerie ushered him on with a pert little nod in my direction and I watched them go, open-mouthed. Then I realised – of course. He knew exactly who had discovered the body; he would have been told. I was the one who had taken away the desperate hope that she might be found alive and well. I could understand why he might be upset with me, even though it was far from fair.
    I swallowed, fighting for composure. I could cope, I told myself, with a bit of misdirected loathing, even though it stung.
    ‘Are you OK?’
    I looked up to see Andrew Blake leaning over me, concern on his face.
    ‘I’m all right. I just don’t understand why those poor people couldn’t be allowed some privacy. Was there really any reason to drag them out in front of the press like that?’
    ‘We’ve got to take advantage of the media interest at this stage, before they start criticising us for not finding the killer. The parents make good TV. We’ll be at the top of all the news bulletins.’
    ‘Practical as ever,’ I observed.
    ‘So what? It’s not like we can get on with doing anything useful at the moment. My boss is stuck in there, trying to cope with that pack of sharks. Every time I try to get out and do some actual policing, I get hassled by them. Not to mention the fact that they’re conducting their own investigation. They’re doing more interviews than we are. I’ve heard back from the guys who are doing door-to-door – the tabloids have got there first. They’re stepping all over this, getting in the way, and they’ll be the first to tell us that we’ve cocked it up when they’re the ones who are causing the problems.’ His voice had risen. He ran his hands through his hair and paced back and forth a couple of times before turning to face me again. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t shout at you. It’s not your fault.’
    ‘I’m used to it,’ I said lightly. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He looked quizzically at me, but I shook my head. I wasn’t going to elaborate.
    ‘It just frustrates me. The first few days of the investigation are the most important, and what are we titting about with? Play-acting for the media instead of actual investigating. And if we wanted to get press attention for something they could actually help with, we could whistle for it.’ He sighed. ‘But we still need to do it, just in case something comes of it. And if we didn’t give them information and access to the family, they’d be ten times worse.’
    ‘You don’t think the Shepherds’ appeal is going to be useful?’
    ‘It never is, in my experience. What sort of killer is going to come forward just because he sees the parents looking upset? If you’ve got the balls to murder a kid, don’t tell me that a few tears on camera are going to remind