The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda (бесплатная регистрация книга TXT) 📗

She showered mechanically, breathing deeply as the piping hot water flowed over her weary muscles and feeling about a hundred and fifty. Were old people like Emily tired and sore like this all the time? It was a horrible, draining feeling.

Emily… Emily had said quite a lot about Paul. But… Nina stood still, remembering. She’d missed part of it. For a few moments in the middle of the conversation she’d been thinking about something else, hadn’t she, yes – the names on the list. She’d missed some detail about Paul. Emily had a phone in her bungalow, but quarter past six was much too early to call. Nina pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. She would wait till seven and phone the home, ask someone to check if Emily was up. And later she and Sam could go to The Elms. Her great-aunt might know something about Paul that would help find Naomi. Nina shivered. Talking to Emily was the only bloody thing she could do. The police weren’t going to let her and Sam go out and search housing estates, but no way could she sit around all day and wait. She had to do something to help find her child.

Sam still hadn’t surfaced, so Nina booted up his computer. Beth had e-mailed two photos for the police appeal. Taken a couple of weeks ago, one showed Naomi laughing as she played with Fifi the farmhouse cat, and the other a more earnest Naomi doing a jigsaw on a rainy afternoon. Nina sent them on to the police station, then sat sobbing over the keyboard. Naomi had been missing for twenty-four hours; the ‘golden hours’ were long gone.

‘Hey, come on. Come here.’ Sam was beside her, gathering her into his arms.

Thank Christ Sam was here. She wouldn’t have managed any of this without him. Nina told him about her feeling that Emily might have mentioned something about Paul.

‘Good thinking,’ he said. ‘And that goes with something that occurred to me in the night. You should take every one of those photos to show Emily, because one of them might remind her of something that could help.’

‘Hell, Sam, there’s hundreds of them. Do you think she’ll be able to get through them all?’

‘I’m sure she’ll give it her best. It means telling her what’s happened, but you have to do that now anyway.’

Nina pictured Emily’s kind old face and the lump in her throat grew again.

‘I need a mobile,’ she said dully. ‘I need to have a number for the police and Beth and Alan and – in case anyone has to contact me.’

Another thought struck her and she winced. ‘Oh God, I don’t know anyone’s number any more…’

‘You can borrow my old mobile,’ said Sam. ‘If you send everyone on your email address list a mail with the new number they can get back to you with theirs.’

He produced the phone, and Nina wrote her email and sat clicking through her address book. She arrived at Claire’s address and burst into sudden, shocking sobs. She would never send Claire another email.

‘Dear God, Sam – why, why, why didn’t Mum tell me about John Moore? None of this would have happened if I’d known.’

‘She couldn’t have known what he was,’ said Sam.

Nina closed her eyes. She would never understand it. How on earth had Claire managed not to know what her husband was? It didn’t seem possible.

Sam was watching her face. ‘Do you believe she was doing what she thought was best?’

‘Yes.’ It was a gut reaction. There was no way she could doubt Claire’s intentions.

David Mallony was out at one of the estates, but his sergeant broke the seal on John Moore’s door for Nina and Sam. He told them Sabine was still critical in the intensive care unit, and Nina felt her face blanch. Paul had injured Sabine to this extent before he’d lost it so completely. Now he’d be capable of even more craziness and violence…

The sergeant also showed them the text of the appeal due to go out on TV and online that morning. It was short, simply asking for information about Naomi, who was ‘with a distant relative in need of medical attention’. Nina read it, her lips pressed together hard. How many times had she seen a similar appeal and thought vaguely that at least the child concerned was with a relative? She’d had no idea. She swept the photos into a plastic bag and almost ran from the house.

At nine-thirty they were parking under the big tree at The Elms. Emily was waiting, the coffee table cleared in anticipation of the photos. She put her arms round Nina, patting her back in a frail, old ladyish way, and Nina only just managed not to cry again.

‘Oh Emily. We need to know everything you can tell us about Paul, please. We don’t know enough to find him and Naomi. And I think you said something last time but I can’t remember what it was.’

Emily sat back. ‘He was a strange child,’ she said frankly. ‘A sweet little boy, but as he grew older he became wild and distant. His mother was a nice girl when she was sober but she was an alcoholic, poor thing. I didn’t see much of Paul after you and your mother left. That broke up the family; there weren’t many Sunday lunch parties after that and I was too busy with my own life to worry about Paul. Then later his parents split up. He was sent to boarding school, I’m not sure when. After Jane’s death, I think.’

‘I see,’ said Nina. ‘We didn’t know that; he skated over it when he was talking to me and later he clammed up when Sabine asked him. Do you know why he was sent there? Was it because there was no one to take care of him or - ’

She broke off. Emily was frowning and shaking her head.

‘Well, there was that too, but I rather think there was something more. I remember shortly before Jane died – Paul must have been eleven or twelve – she had him at some kind of nerve doctor, a psychiatrist, I suppose. I think he was having problems at school, and I always assumed it was because of Jane’s alcoholism.’

‘A psychiatrist,’ said Sam, sitting straighter. ‘Jeez, Nina, that explains a lot. Childhood trauma can cause… um…’

Nina gave him a warning look. Emily still knew nothing about the paedophilia or the abuse, they should break the news gently. She soon saw that she had underestimated her great-aunt.

‘Young man, you’re talking in riddles,’ said Emily, frowning at him. ‘What trauma do you think caused Paul’s problems?’

Nina glanced at Sam and took Emily’s hand. It was time to tell the truth.

‘It seems his father and others abused him sexually when he was a young boy,’ she said, hearing the tremble in her voice. ‘At least Paul says they did, and at the moment it appears to be true. I’m sorry, Emily. There were paedophilic images on John Moore’s computer, too.’

Emily sat still, then gave a sigh. ‘There is such wickedness in the world. All you can do is hope you never come across it,’ she said softly. ‘And now we have. My own sister’s boy. And your father.’ She reached towards a box of tissues on the coffee table, her hand shaking visibly. Nina was unable to keep her own tears back, and for a moment they both sat wiping their eyes.

Emily tucked her tissue into her sleeve. ‘The important thing is to get your Naomi back. We can deal with Paul later. He needs help.’

Sam unpacked the photos, and Emily fetched her powerful magnifying glass. Nina sat beside her making a list, as she had done with Paul. Come to think of it, Paul hadn’t been happy doing this, so maybe there was something on one of the photos. He’d been very interested in the non-people ones too, so it was important to look at them all.

Nina had filled three pages of her notebook when Emily wilted. Alarmed at her aunt’s pale face, Nina rang the buzzer for the warden.

‘Yes, that’s quite enough for the moment,’ said the woman, helping Emily to her feet. ‘Come on, Emily love, you can lie on your bed and rest for an hour or two.’

‘I want to go on. We might find something important,’ protested Emily, and Nina squeezed her hand.

‘I’ll leave the photos and the pad,’ she said. ‘If you’re up to it later you can carry on yourself, and we’ll phone this afternoon anyway to see how you are. But don’t make yourself ill, Emily. You’ve been a great help, thank you so much.’