Chapter 6: Ryan Marsh
PC Hartley called back forty minutes later.
"We spoke with Ryan Marsh at his home address," she said.
"He denied being at your property."
My husband's head came up from across the table.
"He denied it?" I said.
"Initially, yes.
We advised him that we had footage placing him at the address and that a witness had already given a statement.
At that point he changed his account."
"Changed it how?"
"He admitted being present but stated that he had been invited and that no theft had taken place.
He claims the ring was given to him."
The kitchen went very quiet.
"Given to him," I said.
"By who?"
"He wouldn't say."
I looked at my husband.
His jaw was tight.
"That's not possible," I said.
"That ring was in my jewellery box in my locked bedroom.
No one gave him anything."
"I understand.
We've asked him to come in voluntarily to give a formal statement.
His mother was present during the conversation and she's advised him to cooperate."
"And the ring?
Do you know where it is?"
A pause.
"He states he no longer has it."
The cold thing in my chest got colder.
"What does that mean?"
"It may mean he's passed it on.
We're working on that.
I want you to know this is being taken seriously.
The witness statement from Jade is strong, and the Facebook post your husband found has been flagged — our team is looking at whether there's a pattern of similar incidents."
I thanked her and ended the call.
My husband pushed back from the table and stood up.
"He sold it," he said.
"Or he gave it to someone.
It could be anywhere."
"I know."
"That ring—"
"I know," I said again, quieter.
He walked to the window and stood there with his back to me.
We had a photograph of my grandmother wearing it.
Her wedding day, 1959.
Her hand raised slightly to show it off, young and laughing, my grandfather beside her.
I had looked at that photograph so many times that I could see it with my eyes closed.
"There's something else," I said.
He turned.
"If Ryan is saying someone gave it to him — the only person who could have given him access to that room is Chloe."
He was very still.
"She gave him the key," I said.
"Or she let him in herself before the camera was turned.
She knew where the ring was.
She'd been in our house a hundred times."
"She babysat for us," he said.
It wasn't an argument.
It was just the fact of it, landing again.
I nodded.
The front door knocked.
Not a police knock.
A quiet knock.
Uncertain.
I opened it.
Sandra was standing on the step.
No composure left now.
Her eyes were red and her hands were clasped in front of her and she looked like a woman who had spent the last two hours in a room with a truth she hadn't wanted to find.
"Can I come in?" she said.
I stepped back and let her through.
She stood in my hallway — in the hallway that still smelled faintly of strangers, that still had a scuff on the skirting board I hadn't noticed before today — and she looked at me and she said:
"Chloe told me everything.
All of it.
I need you to hear it from me before you hear it from anyone else."
My husband appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Sandra looked at him.
Then back at me.
"Ryan has had that ring since two o'clock this morning," she said.
"Chloe called me at half past two and told me what had happened.
I told her to come home.
I told her to say nothing."
The hallway felt very small.
"You knew," my husband said.
"You knew this morning when she came home."
Sandra closed her eyes.
"Yes."
"And you watched us," he said.
"You watched her go door to door in her wedding dress asking the neighbours if they'd heard anything, and you said nothing."
Sandra opened her eyes.
They were wet.
"I know," she said.
"I know what I did.
May you like
And I'm not here to make excuses.
I'm here because Chloe has told the police where Ryan took the ring, and I need you to know that I am going to do whatever it takes to get it back."
