Chasing Innocence by John Potter Page A

counting off the seconds. She gave the children enough time to get to the end of the street twice. Then she turned and walked past the corner store towards the cul-de-sac.
    Eve Hill Way was a more recent addition to the square. The squiggle at the bottom of a capital Q . Cars were parked on driveways and on the street, lamp posts illuminating all with a sallow light. Almost every front garden contained piles of bricks and concrete slabs. All the houses were semi-detached, symmetrical twins with attached garages either side of a narrow alley. Estate agent boards dotted the street.
    Sarah picked a house for sale just past and opposite the Rover. Resisting every urge to run, she walked as if she really were a late night house hunter, stepping with purpose onto the pavement and then with relief into the alley. She took a deep breath and leaned against the concrete garage wall, cloaked in shadow, looking back across the street. She could feel pin pricks of sweat on her neck, a cold sensation spreading from the back of her skull. She watched the house, the Rover unmoving on the driveway, a downstairs light on behind drawn curtains. From the shop end of the street headlights illuminated the rain and cast reflections off windows. Simon’s front door opened.
    He had changed. It was him without a doubt, reminding her just how big he was, now wearing a loose T-shirt with football shorts and flip-flops. He scuffed over to the rear of the Rover and lifted out the box Sarah had first seen a lifetime ago. He closed the boot and carried it into the house, the blue sole of a flip-flop flashing as he kicked closed the front door. She was right, there was definitely something wrong with the weight in the box.
    She blinked rain from her eyes, her gaze intent and calculating, shifting from the Rover to the front door, to the alley and back again to the Rover. She slid back the sleeve of the fleece. It was ten thirty. She pushed away from the garage and walked across the street and into the alley beside the Rover and once more into shadow.

TWENTY
     
    The Locksmith pub faced an Indian restaurant and a club. The club’s pink neon sign shone above a fluttering awning and a queue of huddled people, the occasional shout and laughter. Adam noticed Brian exchange nods with the dark-coated bouncers.
    Inside, the Locksmith was small, a fruit machine, a few figures at tables or against the bar, a woman stacking glasses. Adam slid two whiskeys across the table and sat opposite Brian.
    ‘I take it you don’t work as a waiter then?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You said this pub was across from where you work.’
    Brian nodded. ‘Going to be a fun night. Everyone wet and cold and impatient. So tell me your story, Mr. Swanky.’
    ‘It’s Sawacki.’
    ‘I know. Tell me about your wife and what she saw.’
    ‘Can I ask you something first?’
    ‘Like?’
    ‘How do I know you’re the girl’s father?’
    Brian pursed his lips, pushing up his moustache. ‘You don’t.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So what?’
    ‘Maybe your daughter’s at a sleepover and you just forgot or something?’
    Brian looked hard at Adam, swirling whiskey around his glass before lifting it to his mouth. He swallowed. ‘Andrea’s a good girl. I get her two weekends in four. Saturdays we go swimming in the morning, or to the park. I work Saturday afternoons so she goes off by herself. She picks up my prescription from Boots along with a few bits and pieces and I usually get there just after four thirty. She’s never late, always early. Today she wasn’t waiting.’
    Brian moved his right hand on the table, covering it with his left. Adam was sure it had been shaking, although he very much doubted it was nerves.
    ‘So that’s why we have the same problem,’ Brian finished. ‘Now you’re going to tell me if that matches what you know.’
    ‘It does. Sarah was outside Boots. I should have met her but I was late.’
    The fruit machine played a tune and Brian picked up his drink with the right