Page 100 of Guilty Mothers

‘But she’s done nothing wrong. I’m going to call a solicitor.’

‘For yourself?’ Penn asked.

‘Of course not for me, you idiot,’ he hissed.

Penn let the insult and the derision in his voice pass. For now. As much as he would have liked to give the guy a taste of his own medicine, it did no one any favours to reveal what they suspected about this warped relationship.

‘Your mom has had access to a solicitor and she has chosen to speak to us without one.’

Logan looked horrified. ‘She’s done what? How could you have allowed that to happen?’

‘She’s a grown adult. She can make her own decisions.’ He paused. ‘She can, can’t she, Logan?’

His face darkened. ‘Of course she can. What did she say about me?’

‘Your name came up,’ Penn said and wasn’t lying. ‘But the content of our interview is confidential.’

‘Just wait?—’

‘Until what, Logan? Who has to wait? Who are you threatening?’ Penn asked, stepping into the man’s space.

Their eyes met and held, but Penn would grow old before backing down. He sensed that even without words the truth was passing between them.

Logan eventually stepped back. ‘I’m going to get coffee, but I’ll be back to wait for her.’

Penn didn’t doubt it. Logan was terrified to move too far away from the action. It was almost as though he felt he could control his mother’s silence by being in close proximity.

Trouble was, if they didn’t work out what was going on soon, they’d have no choice but to release her. Confession or not, they knew she hadn’t killed James Nixon.

And once they let her go, Logan would be waiting for her, ready to take her back to her prison, and the violence would be worse than it was before.

Without any confirmation from her about his abuse, there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.

SIXTY-SEVEN

Stacey took a deep breath before picking up the phone.

This one conversation had the power to start a journey that could lead to heartbreak or jubilation, and she had to force herself to tread carefully. The phone was answered on the second ring with a simple hello.

‘Mrs Anderson?’

‘Speaking…’

‘Hi, I’m Detective Constable Wood from the West Midlands Police.’

‘Okay,’ she said in a voice that had turned wary.

‘Mrs Anderson, I understand that your daughter, Rebecca, has been missing for twenty-five years.’

‘Correct.’

‘Do you mind if I ask you some questions?’

‘Are you a reporter?’

‘No. I am who I say I am, and I’m happy for you to ring Halesowen police station and check before you speak to me.’

‘Okay, I believe you, but do you mind telling me where Halesowen is?’