Chapter 22 The Woman—11 Months Ago
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you: She wasn’t. My daughter wasn’t like that,” Cynthia tells the policewoman. Then quickly corrects her use of the past tense: “She isn’t like that. She’s not the sort of person to quit her job and suddenly take off.”
The atmosphere is tense in Cynthia’s citrus-fresh suburban kitchen; this is her third warning from the local police.
Since her daughter’s disappearance one month ago, Cynthia has made her presence felt at the local station, to the extent that she has been warned to “take a breather.”
PC Mountford, the attending female officer, remains kind, dispatching having chosen her to attend for precisely this reason.
“Try to see this from our standpoint, a legal standpoint, Mrs. Derwent. Your daughter isn’t responding to your messages or calls, but she still appears to be very active on social media, and she’s paying her bills, so she must have some means of income.
Besides, no one else has reported her missing.
Her friends are still receiving social media responses from her—and it appears she did warn them she was changing her phone number due to a family issue. ”
Cynthia pushes her dry palms to her eyes and lets out an unintentional groan.
“I know all this, the stupid girls at her work think I’m the problem too.
They hardly knew her. No one is listening to me: I’m her mother, and I am telling you.
Look, she abruptly ended her tenancy at her flat and slipped off the face of the earth.
Tell me that’s not enough to at least look into it?
Let’s say this…if you just look into what I’m asking, that’s the last you’ll ever hear from me. ”
There’s a loaded moment in the room, the officers momentarily unsure if what she is asking is reasonable or, in some way, inappropriate.
The policewoman’s face sets a little. “There’s no reason to open a missing-person case.
Her landlord showed us her end-of-tenancy emails—it’s all perfectly legitimate.
People make impulsive decisions. It’s not illegal to ghost people, even your own mother, I’m afraid.
There’s no cause for police action here.
” Then, on a personal note, she adds, “I’m sure she’ll get back in touch soon.
These things tend to blow over. Were there any disagreements between you recently?
Anything that might explain her not answering your calls? ”
Cynthia bristles at the question.
“It’s nothing like that,” she answers carefully. “We never argued. We haven’t had so much as a disagreement since she was a teenager. She’s never been a particularly opinionated girl.”
The “girl” Mrs. Derwent is discussing is thirty-two.
PC Mountford clears her throat to speak.
A clearer picture is beginning to emerge of this woman and her ghosting daughter.
PC Mountford’s own mother’s words reverberating in her head: If you can’t tell who the arsehole is in the relationship, it’s probably you.
“Have you tried to speak to her boyfriend/partner?” Mountford asks. “Perhaps he might be a good go-between for you to repair the relationship?”
Cynthia hacks out a laugh, her features tightening. “She didn’t have a boyfriend! She was very much single.”
There is a leaden silence. PC Mountford shares a look with the male officer standing by the kitchen door. He raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head. It is clear Cynthia is being let into something confidential.
“Wait, what?!” Cynthia asks, incredulous. “You’re telling me she does have a boyfriend? When did he miraculously appear?”
PC Mountford is still looking at the male officer, an unspoken exchange under way; he dithers, then shrugs at Mountford.
PC Mountford turns back to Cynthia, clearly reluctant. “According to your daughter’s landlord, she’d been seeing him regularly for just over a year before she left.”
Cynthia’s neck mottles as she reddens. She feels her credibility evaporating, but she refuses to go out without a fight. “A year? This is absolute fantasy; I mean, think about it! How would I not know she’d been seeing someone for a year?”
The officers stare at Cynthia, the room pregnant with the answer to her question.
“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” Cynthia rejoins.
“You’ve convinced yourselves this is all down to me: the awful mother.
I’m someone to be lied to and avoided, at all costs.
A mother anyone would walk out on.” She looks between them.
“Well, it wasn’t like that. I’m not perfect but I know her.
And I know something is wrong. You should be out there looking for her. ”
PC Mountford lowers her gaze. The job can be depressing sometimes, she knows. People can be heartbreakingly myopic.
“Mrs. Derwent,” the male officer chips in finally, “would it make you feel better if we went and checked on your daughter at her forwarding address?”
Cynthia looks up. “There’s a forwarding address? Her landlord told me there was no forwarding address.”
PC Mountford rolls her eyes at the male officer.
“We can’t pass that on to you either without your daughter’s consent,” he clarifies, “but we can go and check to see if she’s okay.”
Cynthia swallows her pride and acquiesces. This is the first action anyone has suggested.
“Yes, yes, please. That would make me feel much better.”
PC Mountford gives Cynthia a consolatory smile. “Right, okay, then. But if all is well with her, we’ll put a lid on all this, yes?”
“If Anna’s safe and happy, of course. You’ll never hear from me again,” Cynthia agrees.
“We’ll swing by there this afternoon,” the male officer promises. “We’ll be in contact, okay?”
A sprig of hope lifts toward the light inside Cynthia, in spite of the fact that she knows, in her bones, that her daughter won’t be at this new address, because her daughter isn’t ignoring her; she is long gone.
And the seventy-two hours they had to make the most of that knowledge passed weeks ago.
Cynthia tries to push the statistics on missing persons from her mind.
She knows she shouldn’t say what she’s about to say but she can’t stop herself.
“And, if she’s not okay, if there’s no one there, at this new address? I think you should look into who this boyfriend is, because I’ve sure as shit never heard of him.”