The Missing Wife by Sam Carrington

Author:Sam Carrington [Sam Carrington]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

31

THE PHOTO

Louisa had admitted defeat when she’d still failed to find evidence of a woman going missing in the Devon area during the years she’d searched – and time had run out, together with Noah’s patience, which meant she’d been unable to check other dates. Deflated from a wasted afternoon, she’d made the trip home on the bus and was now sitting on the sofa, coffee in hand, scrolling through her Facebook feed, despite promising herself she wouldn’t go on it again.

At first, she was horrified to find that she’d been tagged in a few photos from her fortieth birthday evening – inwardly cringing at the thought of what state she’d look – but then curiosity took over and she clicked on them. She studied each picture with an eye to finding Melissa in at least one of them. According to Oliver, the police said they’d looked at all the known photographs of that night and hadn’t found any with Melissa in, but she felt compelled to check herself. Her calls to a few of the people on her friends list hadn’t borne fruit – three of them saying they hadn’t seen Oliver or Melissa, two saying that they’d assumed Oliver was alone as he was so flirty. Louisa’s face had burned with what she thought was anger, but then burned further with the embarrassment that it was actually jealousy. The thought of Oliver openly chatting up her friends – or non-friends – had annoyed her.

Then there was Tiff.

Not only had Oliver been all over her that night, but she knew he’d also been to her house doing God knows what. Although she’d only seen him there yesterday, that didn’t mean that was his first visit.

It was certainly a hell of a way for a newly married man to behave – let alone one whose wife was missing. It just didn’t add up. Louisa typed out a Facebook message to Tiff:

Need to speak to you urgently.

No kisses. No fluff. Hopefully that would get her attention and elicit a response.

Noah stirred, then Louisa heard the revving up he did just prior to crying. She left the laptop open and went to his nursery to fetch him. He’d slept on the bus home from town, so she couldn’t complain – he’d given her a few hours of peace.

As she walked back into the lounge with Noah’s cries piercing her ears, Louisa glanced at the laptop. At the photo she’d clicked on before going upstairs.

She squinted. Now, standing further away, she noticed that what she’d thought was dark background was in fact a person behind the three women who were ‘dancing’ in the forefront of the picture.

‘Shhh, Noah,’ she said, bouncing him in her arms while she stepped closer.

The figure, a woman in a below-the-knee black dress, was blurred – caught as she was walking. Louisa blinked repeatedly, as if that would help focus the photo. It didn’t. But what she could see was the woman’s tanned legs.

Black dress. Tanned legs.

Noah’s cries intensified. ‘Okay, okay, baby.

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