Someone Who Isn't Me Danuta Kot (best books to read .TXT) 📖

steering wheel, her heart hammering. She remembered what Catherine Ford had said: A couple of young thugs in a car, a four by four, just driving round. Were they poachers or thieves or road-hog vandals, or…

The shock and her anger had done what the cold air had failed to do. She was wide awake, and alert. Slowly, she turned on the engine – the car had stalled in its mad skid into the hedge – and carefully pulled away. There was no sign of any lights, but her window was still wound down and she thought she could hear, somewhere in the distance, the sound of a bike engine.

What kind of things went on here at night?

Becca should have arrived at the house by now and even have found her way in. And if she hadn’t? She’d surely wait. She’d hear Milo barking and know that Kay wouldn’t be away too long, except she had been. Poor Milo had been on his own for hours, longer than she’d ever left him before.

Even so, Becca must be waiting. It wasn’t sinister that she hadn’t called when she found that Kay was out. Phone reception on Sunk Island was poor, and she probably hadn’t been able to get a signal.

Kay was driving faster now. The road was straight and the land was flat and open. The moonlight cast a faint illumination across the fields and caught the gleam of the drains. After the intrusion of the speeding car, the night was silent and still.

She told herself again that it would be OK. She’d either find a sleeping Becca in the house, or a pissed-off Becca waiting in the front porch, but it would be all right.

And Poppy?

She couldn’t do anything about that now. Poppy was in the best hands. Becca was on her own and needed her. The road curved to the right, the final route marker before she was back. She was round the corner – and saw chaos ahead.

Police cars were parked in the road, their lights flashing. There were people in her garden, small groups talking, making urgent gestures. A cold hand seemed to close round her stomach.

Becca.

Slowly, she drew up at the side of the road and got out. The police. Oh God, what had happened? In the background she could hear Milo’s barks, high-pitched and frantic.

She recognised Becca’s bike, parked in the road. She’d made it. But there was no sign of her.

‘What’s happening?’ Someone grabbed her arm. It was Catherine Ford looking scared and excited, a coat pulled over some pyjamas, boots on her feet.

‘I don’t know. What did you see?’

‘Nothing. It was just a few minutes ago. All this noise. And then lights. It’s trouble, I knew there was trouble.’

Kay didn’t have time to talk. She had to find Becca. Shaking off Catherine Ford’s hand, she headed for the gate, where a uniformed constable was standing. ‘What’s happening? Has someone been hurt? My daughter…’ She was starting to lose it. She breathed deeply and began again. ‘I live here. Has someone been hurt? My daughter was here. I need to know where she is.’

‘And you are…?’

‘Kay McKinnon. I moved in a few days ago.’ As her fingers fumbled in her bag for some ID, she wanted to bang her fist on something, start shouting, demand they tell her what had happened to Becca, tell her what was going on, but she had dealt with the police enough times in the course of her work, and knew how to act. Be calm, be clear, be factual. Insist on your rights, maintain your authority. She was Becca’s family – or the nearest thing Becca had to family.

Keeping up the facade of calm, she produced her driving licence and waited as the man studied it with what seemed like forensic attention to detail. ‘I can’t let you go in the house, Mrs McKinnon, not yet. Is that your dog? You can collect him.’

‘Has anyone been hurt? Becca was supposed to meet me here. My daughter. I’m worried about her.’

‘I’ll get someone to talk to you.’

Her heart plummeted. Something had happened to Becca and now they were getting someone to break the news. ‘Come on. It’s a simple question. Has someone been hurt?’

‘Did you say you’re Becca’s mother?’

Kay whipped round. A woman had come up behind her as she was talking to the uniformed constable. ‘I can deal with this,’ the woman said.

The young constable looked relieved.

Kay looked at the woman. She was wearing a dark trouser suit, her fair hair was cut short, and in the intermittent light from the police cars, Kay could see the frames of her glasses were bright red. ‘Her foster-mother, yes.’

‘And your name is…’

‘Kay McKinnon. Yours?’

‘I’m DC Dinah Mason. Have you heard from Becca?’

‘Yes. She came here – or she texted me to say she was on her way, and now I arrive to find all of this. That’s her bike over there. What’s going on?’

‘You’d better come with me.’ Dinah Mason guided her through the gate, away from the cordon and the small group of onlookers. The garden was even more crowded as more cars arrived. People seemed to be wandering randomly round the garden. She noticed a group of people around the fuel shed. The door was wide open, and a quick glance showed that they were working on the trap door.

Becca? Could Becca be…? ‘Please,’ she said to Dinah Mason. ‘Tell me what’s happened to Becca.’ She heard Milo’s distressed bark again. ‘My dog,’ she said.

Dinah Mason called across towards the house, and someone emerged with Milo on a lead. He yipped frantically when he saw her, and as she took the lead, he danced excitedly round her feet, then lifted his leg for what seemed like about ten minutes. Not for the first time, she wished he could speak, and tell her what he’d seen tonight.

‘First of all, Ms McKinnon, I need you to tell me where you’ve been this evening.’

Kay met her gaze. She could do battle, or