Discarded M. Hunter (the snowy day read aloud TXT) 📖

in disgust, and the claw in her head dug deeper. They’d killed Chez because of her, and she would never forgive herself.

Chapter Twenty-Nine Now

M27, Hampshire

‘Are you sure this is the place?’ I ask, staring up the narrow, tree-lined lane.

‘This is the postcode I jotted down,’ Rick replies. ‘Let me see the image on your phone again. Maybe if I zoom in I can check it.’

I pass him the phone, double-checking the satnav system hasn’t made a huge error, but it is definitely indicating we’ve reached our destination. We’ve pulled into a small car park linked to a tiny church and adjacent vicarage.

‘I’ve checked online and the postcode covers more than just this road. I think this just happens to be the start of the postcode. Maybe there are more residential streets further along. I think I saw a sign for a campsite pointing this way, so maybe this Chesney’s or Cormack’s family lived there.’

I shake my head. ‘No, the article I read said his family were from Gosport, not Hayling Island.’

He is studying the imprinted postcode again. ‘Well, maybe I misinterpreted these digits. It’s definitely a PO11 at the start, but after that maybe what I thought was a 0RT is in fact a 0PT; it’s so hard to tell without seeing the original. You said your agent copied the image and emailed it, right? Does that mean she has the original that we could look at?’

‘Yes, she’ll still have it, but she’s working in London, and having come this far I really don’t want to wait for her to post it down.’

He passes me the phone back. ‘What do you think: is it an R or a P?’

I squint at the screen, squeezing my fingers out to enlarge the picture as much as the phone screen will allow, but it’s just blurred pixels at this range. ‘If I had to guess, I’d say it’s an R, but I wouldn’t rule out the possibility it is a P. I just don’t know.’

‘Could we phone your agent and see if she can maybe zoom in on the impression? Or maybe we could ask her to take a rubbing using tracing paper or something. Then we’d know for sure whether it’s an R or a P.’

It’s better than just sitting here wondering. If it is a P then we’re in the wrong place. Locating Maddie’s office number I dial it, and am relieved when she answers on the third ring. I put it on speakerphone so Rick will be able to hear directly.

‘Maddie, hi, it’s Emma, how are you?’

‘Up to my neck at the moment, Emma. Is it urgent or can I call you back later?’

‘Have you still got that photograph of Chesney Byrne?’ I say quickly. ‘It’s just I need to check something.’

‘Sure, hold on,’ she says, and I hear her fumbling on her desk, before coming back on the line. ‘Okay, yes, I’ve got it. Do you want me to send it down to you? I’m not sure I can get to the post office today, but tomorrow looks—’

‘No, it’s not about that,’ I interrupt. ‘I mean, yes, please do send it down when you get a minute, but can you check something on the original for me? On the back of the photograph near where the date is written, we think there is something that looks like a postcode imprinted. Can you see it?’

‘Hold on, I’ll have to put on my glasses… Oh, yes, there it is. Ha! I wouldn’t have known that was there unless you’d pointed it out. How on earth did you find that?’

I look up to Rick, but don’t acknowledge the question. ‘Can you read what you think it says? I’ve got the PO11 bit, but trying to figure out the rest.’

Maddie is making an unusual array of noises as she tries to find an answer for us, and I can picture her taking it in turns to put her nose on the page, before turning it towards the light coming through her small office window, and then back again. ‘I think it’s 0RT, but it really is very faint. Perhaps even the T could be a P. I’m sorry, Emma, but it’s so difficult to tell for certain. If you pushed me, I’d agree with 0RT, but I’m no expert.’

‘Okay, thanks, Maddie, I appreciate you taking a look.’

‘Can’t you just Google his name and date of birth?’

‘I’ve done that already and found him, but the date written isn’t his date of birth.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, I’ll send the original down first thing anyway. What’s the significance of this postcode business? Do you think that’s where he’s being held?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Maddie. There’s not many properties here, but you never know.’

‘Okay, well, don’t do anything dangerous. You still haven’t sent me the copyedits of Trafficked yet, so I don’t want any harm coming to my favourite client.’

‘I’m quite certain I’m safe here, but I appreciate your concern, Maddie.’

‘Have you figured out who’s sending you these pictures yet?’

‘Not yet, but I’m working on it. Thanks again, Maddie. Speak soon.’

I disconnect the call and look sceptically at Rick. ‘What do you think then?’

He sits back in his chair, pressing his hair into the headrest but keeping his eyes on me. He’s about to respond when my phone rings again with a number I don’t recognise.

‘Can I speak to… Emma Hunter, please?’ a woman’s voice says.

‘Speaking.’

‘Hi, I’m Detective Constable Caroline Knox, calling from Greater Manchester Police. You left a message saying you had information about the disappearance of Faye McKenna?’

‘Oh, um… Yeah, that’s right… Well, not exactly new information… Um…’

Her voice is soft but I instantly sense an element of frustration in her tone. ‘Well, you either do or you don’t.’

I wish Rick wasn’t next to me right now, able to overhear every word. ‘Sorry, let me explain. I’m a writer, um, and I specialise in missing children cases. On Friday I was sent a picture of Faye McKenna out of the blue,