Nora (Part 3)

The phone rang so loudly that the walls vibrated. Muriel had been sat by it for hours, days, an eternity. Waiting for news. She had been sitting, tying up her shoulder-length hair, greasy from days of not showering, and then letting it fall again lankly. The man’s blurred face was smudged across her mind. She couldn't wipe it away.

            The ringing broke the image momentarily. She sat up quickly and grabbed the receiver. Despite her longing for information, she paused before pressing ‘Accept’. What if the news wasn't what she wanted to hear? She sighed sharply and stabbed the green button.

            ‘Hello?’

*

The field was miles from where the parade had been. She ran through the knee-high grass, clutching at her chest. Police officers were gathered around like a cult. Dave was behind them, his face white with horror. D.I. Whittin nodded to her as she ran, looking up from his notebook which was covered in red scribbles. His hair was different from their last meeting, his hairline more prominent. As Muriel approached, the small lump became visible.

            But it wasn't Nora. It wasn't. It wasn't Nora. She caught a glimpse before a wall of policemen pushed her back. They were making a mistake. Nora had glasses. Her hair was light, not mousy and dirty like this poor girl’s. This girl was thinner, taller. She looked older, less innocent. Yes, maybe there were facial similarities. Large eyes and the round cheeks. Yes, the lips were just the same. A perfect bow. Ears that slightly stuck out. But no, she was definitely a different girl. A poor, less fortunate girl. A girl she would hear about later, on the news, and say what a shame it was. Say that she couldn't imagine it being her daughter, not her girl. It wasn't Nora. She fell to the ground. It couldn't be Nora. Fat waves of tears fell from her face, dripping down her chin and neck. She wouldn't let it be Nora.

            Grief exploded from her as the realization sunk in. The sound was unrecognizable, a scream of horror. Something from a film. It broke the sky, the earth. The world was all wrong. She dug her nails into the thick wet soil. Her Nora.

*

The clock ticked dully through the solid silence. But Muriel’s mind was not quiet. She was numb, but full of questions. She wanted to know why, how, every detail. And yet she was terrified. Questions and fear fought within her. One week without a child. Could she even call herself a parent anymore? Had she failed at the job, been stripped of her title?

            The knock on the door was harsh and loud. It didn't wait for a response. Before Muriel had chance to stand D.I. Dresdon and D.I. Whittin were in the room with them, surrounded by their army. All faces were turned towards Dave, who sat meekly on the sofa, leaning back and clutching the arm of the chair tightly for support.

            ‘David Buckard,’ said D.I. Whittin, ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of Nora Buckard. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court.' He was grabbing Dave from behind, clamping his arms with metal.

            Muriel was screaming. Figures moved through the room like dancers, clowns. It made no sense. Suddenly D.I. Dresdon was in front of her. ‘Muriel, we retrieved new anonymous evidence from a camera phone of the day Nora was taken. Is this your husband?’

            The image was blurry, made up of large squares. But it was Dave. The dirty blonde hair, the curve of his slightly large nose. It was all there. He was looking around nervously, clutching the hand of her daughter. She screamed louder now. Beside the photo, in the same plastic wallet, was the note she had been sent.

            ‘The writing matches that of your husband, from the sample we took on the day Nora went missing,’ said someone. D.I. Dresdon? Whoever it was, they were right. How could she have not seen it? The letters curled and spiked like a spider’s web.

            They were dragging Dave from the room. He was screaming his innocence, his eyes wide with shock and fury. ‘Please, Muriel, love. You know, it wasn't me! Why would I do this?’

            Muriel looked at him, his limbs contorted as he struggled. Her voice was flat. ‘Why didn't you cry?’

            His eyes widened more. ‘What?’

            ‘Why didn't you cry?’ The words were a shriek now.

            His reply echoed around the walls as he was dragged from the house. ‘For you! I wanted to be strong for you.’