The Creeper by Tania Carver

kind of upbringing he had. And he didn’t wish that on anyone.
    Phil stood on the doorstep, hesitated. Rose Martin was beside him, along with Cheryl Bland, the Family Liaison Officer. She was a small, blonde woman, mid- to late twenties, Phil guessed, but difficult to place with any accuracy as she looked even younger. Soft eyes. Phil imagined that was a bonus in her area of work.
    His Audi was parked in the gravel driveway. The house was detached, the plasterwork decorative, all fleur-de-lis and faux-heraldic roses. Pots of flowers lined the drive like herbaceous sentries. Twin potted bay trees flanked the heavy wooden front door.
    ‘What can we expect, then?’ he asked Cheryl.
    ‘They’re a nice couple. Decent. He might get a bit angry, wanting action, she’ll talk. About Julie.’
    Phil nodded. Thought once more of Eileen and Don. ‘Any brothers or sisters?’
    ‘One brother. Works out in the Middle East. Supertankers, something like that.’ Cheryl smiled. ‘She did tell me.’
    ‘And their names?’
    ‘Colin and Brenda.’
    Phil thanked her, rang the bell. Waited.
    A woman opened it, middle-aged and in good shape, but tired looking. She looked at Phil, then Rose, hope rising in her eyes. Then she saw Cheryl Bland and the hope died.
    ‘Mrs Miller?’ Phil said. ‘Brenda?’
    She nodded. Her mouth moved but no words emerged.
    ‘Can we come in?’
    ‘What’s happened? What have you got to tell me?’ She clung on to the edge of the door, her knuckles white.
    ‘I think it’s better if we come in.’ Cheryl moved forward, placed her hand on Brenda Miller’s arm.
    She jerked the door backwards, stood aside, her breathing increasing.
    They went in, Phil and Rose first, to the living room. Cheryl Bland, her hand still on Brenda Miller’s arm, steered her to the sofa. Cheryl sat, Brenda refused, staying standing. She looked at Rose and Phil as if only registering them now.
    ‘Who . . .’
    ‘I’m Detective Inspector Brennan and this is Detective Sergeant Martin.’
    ‘I know you,’ Brenda said. ‘You’re the one who was in charge of the . . .’ Her mouth hung open. ‘Oh God . . . you’ve . . . oh God . . .’
    The three police officers shared a look between each other. Phil nodded. He would take it.
    ‘Mrs Miller . . . Brenda . . . I’ve got something to tell you.’
    Brenda Miller’s breathing increased, her chest rising and falling, her hand to her neck.
    ‘We’ve discovered a body.’
    ‘Oh God . . . oh God . . .’
    ‘We can’t say for certain at this stage that it is Julie, however we strongly suspect it may be.’
    But Brenda Miller wasn’t listening.
    Because, like her world, she had collapsed.

19

    ‘W ell,that went as well as expected.’
    Rose Martin was sitting on the Millers’ front doorstep, a Silk Cut clamped between her lips. She was drawing the smoke down deep, as if reinflating her lungs after giving the kiss of life.
    Phil closed the front door behind him, sat down next to her.
    Brenda Miller had been helped to the sofa and brought round. Cheryl Bland had made tea and Phil, as tactfully as possible, had told her what had happened. She had sat there blank-faced, her mouth slightly open, as if punch-drunk from a twelve-round heavyweight fight.
    Rose drew in more smoke, put her head back, let it out in a huge, grey fountain, an artificial cloud against the blue sky. She turned to Phil.
    ‘It was a good investigation.’
    ‘I don’t doubt it.’
    ‘We did everything we could.’ There was a hardness in her eyes, almost an anger.
    ‘I’m sure you did.’
    ‘We had no leads. None at all. It was, literally, like she had vanished. We tried everything. We . . .’ She stubbed the cigarette out on the gravel, so hard the filter snapped off.
    ‘We’ll reinterview,’ said Phil. ‘Old boyfriends, work colleagues, family. Everyone. Go back to the beginning.’
    She was nodding, not hearing his words, just waiting for him to finish so she could start speaking. ‘Back to the