Chapter Thirty-Seven
Josie
You know those days when you wake up with a sick feeling in your gut? The kind you can’t explain, but it lingers, like a warning that something terrible is about to happen.
Gil once told me Joanna had that exact feeling on the morning she disappeared. She said Joanna told her that life felt too perfect, almost as though something awful had to happen to balance it out.
That doesn’t apply to me. My life’s already a shitshow. Nothing worse could happen. Not unless the house literally collapses on top of me.
Geoff and I have barely exchanged a word since the thong incident. I want to sleep on the sofa bed in the living room, but I don’t want the boys to notice anything’s wrong. So, every night I lie next to Geoff, wondering, Did they do it in this bed?
But I can’t bring myself to ask.
Geoff and the kids are gone for the day. I’m on a late shift. I drag myself into the shower. I barely eat breakfast. I feel half-sick with dread, and wish this cloud of doom would pass.
The drive to the station feels longer than usual. My stomach churns the whole way.
‘Any news?’ I ask as soon as I step inside.
We all ask it. Every. Single. Day.
Dario shakes his head. ‘A few leads we’re chasing, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
He’s been kind lately, bringing me coffee and making sure I eat. We’re all under pressure with the Joanna Neal case. It’s been too long.
Most kidnap victims are either released by this stage, or found.
‘I was thinking last night,’ Dario says. ‘If you were going to keep someone, where would you hide them? Not in a suburban house, right? Too risky. What about a derelict farmhouse? We’ve got loads around here.’
‘Good point,’ Roy says. ‘Make a list. Let’s start checking them.’
I pour myself a coffee, still feeling off. I say, ‘You ever get that feeling in your gut? Like something awful’s about to happen?’
Dario gives me a sideways look. ‘No. Should I?’
‘Joanna did. The day she vanished. She said her life felt too good.’
He shrugs. ‘Sounds like superstition.’ He scrolls down his phone, clearly unimpressed.
Just then, Louise walks in with the post. She’s in her mid-twenties, efficient and smiley. I wonder, for a second, how old Geoff’s admin is.
‘Special delivery,’ she says, handing me a thick envelope. ‘Marked Attention: DS Blackford only.’
Great. Is Geoff filing for divorce already?
I pull off my jacket, sink into my chair, and tear it open.
Dario starts talking again. ‘Here are a few properties we could look at. This one—’
My horrified gasp cuts him off.
***
Gil looks around her flat and sighs. She is on an afternoon shift. Part of her feels she should vacuum before heading out. She’s let the place go since Jo’s kidnapping.
With a groan, she drags the vacuum out of the cupboard and starts cleaning.
Her gaze falls on a pile of unopened post on the hallway floor. Mostly bills and junk, but one lone envelope with her name scrawled across the front stands out like a flare.
She rips it open, heart pounding. Her vision blurs. Tears swell, spilling down her cheeks and into her mouth.
A sound tears from her throat. It’s raw, unfiltered, like something wounded and wild.