The Unmaking of Ellie Rook Episode 57

Ilook at straight at him. “What? What did you hear?” Liam holds up a hand. “I don’t want to make things worse for you.” His eyes, glittering with untold secrets, tell a different story.

“Believe me, things cannot get any worse.”

“Well, they’re saying that... that Rocky had a hand in your mum’s death. It stands to reason – we don’t know anything about him, his background or anything.

“He could have a criminal record. He could have done this sort of thing before.”

Cold is creeping up my spine. “What sort of thing?”

“Befriending a woman, and then when the going gets tough –”

I make an impatient noise. “Wait a minute – who’s saying this? Who’s making up this nonsense?”

His little-boy face takes on a certain smugness, like he’s stolen all the apples. “People have conversations in pubs, and sometimes they reach the right ears.”

“Police ears? You had a conversation in the pub with an off-duty cop, is that what you’re saying?”

Crumples

His expression crumples. “No! It wasn’t me!”

“Oh yes, I can see it now. You and Danny Findlater having a pint. He’s a DI now, isn’t he?”

He nods before he can stop himself. “It’s only what everyone else was thinking. And anyway, they can’t arrest him – not until more evidence comes to light.

“They’ve asked him to come in voluntarily, because he was off work sick the day she fell – if she fell – and he has no alibi.”

“But Liam, River was there, when Mum . . . when she fell. If Piotr was involved, he would have seen him.

“You’ve concocted a story, haven’t you? You’ve grassed him up.”

I keep my voice low, even though I want to snarl at him. What the hell am I going to do now? How the hell can I let Piotr take the rap for something that never happened?

Especially when the very subject of the missing persons inquiry is upstairs, sitting at my dressing table?

Liam drops the cigarette end onto the road and presses a hand against his chest. “So I get the blame for doing the right thing? I might’ve known you’d be on his side.”

“There are no sides.”

“Oh, I think there are.”

I stare at him. “You’re jealous? You think I’m sleeping with Piotr, so you thought you’d get your own back by peddling lies about him?”

I make a noise like a moan. “What have you done? I really, really don’t need this right now.

“There is nothing to be jealous about, because there is nothing – you and me” – I wave my hand back and forth between us – “NOTHING.”

“Get lost.” Liam makes an angry gesture with his hand and goes to storm off, but then he bounces back.

His face is pale and hard. “Just get lost. If you don’t want me, fine, but I’m sure as hell not letting you end up with some foreigner!”

Discarded

I gasp. My father’s words roll back through the tears. Get off my property.

“I belong to no one,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m my own person.”

It’s time I took control.

Back in the house, I hunt for the very thing I discarded just two weeks ago. I was too sure of my ground back then, still sticking to the old patterns.

No outside interference. Keep it in the family. But now all I can think of is Piotr, who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this mess.

The table is littered with debris that no one has any intention of clearing. I suppose I’ll have to do it eventually, but right now I have bigger things on my mind.

I move the stone-cold teapot and the milk jug. There’s no sign of the pastel leaflets – I remember dumping them in the bin – but there’s nothing else there either.

I go to the “junk drawer” and rifle through the old phone chargers and batteries.

And there I find what I’m looking for: PC Lorraine Sampson’s business card.

Lorraine crosses her legs neatly and sits back with an air of expectation. Across the table, I fidget in my father’s seat and wonder where the hell to start.

I feel like my rap sheet is written on my face in large print: lying about my mother’s disappearance; wasting police time; concealing a felony (and a felon); covering up a serious assault; and probably aiding and abetting a truant.

I don’t have time to dwell on it though. Dad will be back soon and I can’t bear to think about what he’ll say – what he’ll do – if he finds a cop in his kitchen.

Steeling myself, I take a deep breath, clasping my hands together like I’m praying.

“I think you’ve taken Piotr in for questioning, and you need to let him go. He didn’t do anything. I know he didn’t.”

PC Sampson hitches up a little in her seat. “Piotr?”

“Polish guy. Works here. Sorry, I don’t even know his surname.” I cringe inside.

She pauses for a beat; glances at her notebook. “Ah yes. We’ve had some new intelligence to suggest that he was quite close with your mother, so he attended for interview voluntarily this afternoon.”

“And? Being friendly with people doesn’t point to anything. My mother was friendly with lots of people.”

Ridiculous

No outside interference. Keep it in the family. But now all I can think of is Piotr, who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this

That isn’t strictly true, but this whole thing is ridiculous.

Surely PC Sampson can see that? “Ellie, you called me because you said you had some new information about your mother.”

She puts down her notebook and mirrors my position, leaning on the table. We must look very earnest.

A sly glance at the notebook reveals only a few squiggles on an otherwise blank page. All apparently low-key, but my heart is pounding with such force I feel sick.

More tomorrow.

Copyright Sandra Ireland 2019, extracted from The Unmaking of Ellie Rook, published by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd, at £8.99.