Girl A

by Dan Scottow

  ‘She was seven years old.’

  ‘Yes, and she was wise beyond it. She knew exactly what she was doing. I spent many, many hours interviewing that girl, and I never once got the impression she was an innocent party. Her lies never washed with me. But I was in the minority. My superiors thought I had a vendetta against her.’

  ‘Why were you so sure she was lying?’

  ‘I watched her. I talked to her. I felt it was all an act. When she was alone and she didn’t know we were looking, she didn’t show an ounce of emotion. Her demeanour was totally passive. Like she was… bored. But the moment people entered the room, her face changed. She was as cold and calculating as any killer I have met. And I’ve met many.’

  Charlie fidgeted nervously with the hem of his jacket as he listened. Having a daughter of a similar age he struggled to see how it could be possible.

  ‘But she was so young,’ Charlie whispered.

  ‘Yes, and that’s how she got away with it. The jury couldn’t entertain the idea that she had been a willing participant in the murder. Done those terrible things to another kid.’

  ‘But you think she was?’

  ‘Oh yes. Absolutely.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Gut feeling. That little girl… she wasn’t right. I spent a lot of time with her. She was… well for want of a better word, terrifying.’

  Simms sipped his tea and coughed again, spraying droplets of phlegm down his front.

  ‘How can a seven-year-old girl be terrifying?’ Charlie was incredulous.

  Simms paused, considering the question. He looked Charlie straight in the face.

  ‘Her eyes. There was nothing there. No compassion. No sorrow. No fear. A psychopath in the making. I’ve not come across anyone else quite like her. And I hope I never do.’

  Charlie smirked, thinking Simms was being melodramatic.

  ‘Do you know what actually killed Billy Noakes?’

  Charlie stared at Simms, who didn’t give him a chance to reply.

  ‘Because I do. He was tortured and beaten, yes, but that didn’t kill him. They took their time with that boy. They ignored his cries and his pleading screams for his mother. They enjoyed it. What they did to him was… well, it was evil. There’s no other way to describe it. But what ultimately killed him… she took him up onto a balcony in that old hotel, about twenty feet high and she pushed him off. That boy had been traumatised beyond belief… what he must have gone through, nobody can imagine. And then she tossed him to his death. Like a piece of trash. He was… broken. We couldn’t let the parents identify the body. It would have been too harrowing for them. Had to rely on dental records.’

  ‘Why are you so sure it was her?’

  ‘We did some investigations at that hotel. It was dilapidated. The balcony was weak. We struggled to get any of our forensic team up onto that ledge. We had to use a cherry picker. The whole thing was so knackered, it wouldn’t support much weight. Kieran Taylor wasn’t a big lad by any stretch of the imagination, but he was much bigger than Kitty. We tried a sandbag the same weight as him on those floorboards and it went straight through. We tried a much lighter sandbag, around Kitty’s weight, taking into account the extra mass from a toddler and it held firm. There is no way Kieran could have gone up onto that mezzanine alone, never mind carrying a small child with him. No way at all. But Kitty… she could. She could easily have gone up there.’

  Charlie sat back down on the sofa.

  ‘How come this wasn’t used in court?’

  ‘It was. But the defence solicitor, Beverly Whitehouse, piece of work she was… she put up a good argument. She knew her stuff. Convinced the jury that this theory was not rock solid, that it was simply hocus-pocus to convict an innocent child. They looked into those big baby blues and believed what you and every other person has chosen to believe. There’s no way that sweet, pretty little girl could have done what they’re accusing her of.’

  They sat for a while, neither of them saying a word. Charlie couldn’t bring himself to speak. Simms seemed exhausted.

  ‘So you don’t know where either of them are now?’

  ‘I don’t. And I don’t care to know. That case has never escaped me. I haven’t been able to forgive myself… I didn’t do a good enough job to convict that girl. I will take that to my grave. But I have no desire to find either of those children. I dread to think what sort of adults they became.’

  Charlie stood up, smoothing down the front of his jeans.

  ‘Right, well I guess we’re done here. I’ll let myself out.’

  He turned and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway.

  As he walked away, he heard the creak of the wheelchair behind him.

  ‘Mr Carter…’ The gravelly voice sickened him.

  Charlie faced Simms.

  ‘I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in my life, the job I did. But what they inflicted on that little boy… it will stay with me until the day I die. It haunts me. It ruined me. Destroyed my faith in humanity. That two children could do… that. Did you know one of them carved the letter K into Billy’s torso? After he was dead.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘No. Those grislier details were kept out of the papers. But that’s what happened. Of course, with both their names beginning with K, we could never be entirely sure who did that to him. Though I have my suspicions.’ His eyes lingered. ‘Do you have a photo of your wife I could see?’

  Charlie hesitated.

  ‘If you’re totally sure it’s not her, then you can show me. What damage can it do?’

  Nodding, he pulled his wallet from his pocket, slipping a wedding photo out from the folds. He crossed towards Simms, handing him the picture.

  Simms stared at it, his eyes ominous. A grimace on his mouth.

  He handed the photograph back to Charlie.

  ‘Good luck, Mr Carter,’ he said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Charlie took the picture and placed it back into his wallet.

  ‘I’ve spent a lot of time looking into those eyes. I’d know them anywhere.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.’

  Simms cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘If you say so.’

  He stared at Charlie. Charlie couldn’t read his expression.

  ‘Do you have kids?’

  ‘Yes. We have a teenaged son and a six-year-old daughter.’

  Simms turned his chair and wheeled himself away without saying a word.

  As Charlie opened the front door Simms shouted out from the living room, ‘I hope you’re right. For your family’s sake.’

  Charlie clicked the door shut, Simms’ words ringing in his ears. As he walked down the garden path towards his Audi, he remembered the note he had received in the gym.

  How well do you know your wife?

  He unlocked the car and sat behind the wheel. The conversation played around his head.

  He knew his wife. He trusted her. She was not Kitty Briscoe.

  Simms was wrong. Charlie was sure of that.

  He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and typed in Beth’s name. The only result was her work profile and email address at Greys.

  Nothing else.

  He typed in her maiden name, Morton.

  Still no results.

  Charlie knew Beth didn’t engage in social media, she was a very private person.

  But he had never met anybody who didn’t throw back any Google results.

  No photos, no news.

  Absolutely nothing.

  He added St. Albans to the search. This was where Beth had said she had been living with her parents when the accident happened. He also typed in 1996–1997, an approximation of when he assumed the fire that killed her parents would have occurred, recalling she was around eighteen when it happened.

  Zero.

  No news stories. No headlines.

  Charlie frowned.

  He had never googled his wife before. He’d never felt the need.

&
nbsp; But he found it odd that a fire that killed two people wouldn’t have made it into at least the local press.

  He added house fire to the search. Still nothing.

  Charlie’s brow furrowed as he typed in various phrases and words, each delivering the same result. Eventually, his frustration beat him, and he threw his phone into the passenger seat, cursing under his breath.

  He considered embarking on the long drive back to Sussex, but the thought of another few hours on the motorway filled him with dread.

  He decided to find a bed and breakfast instead.

  He desperately wanted to talk to Beth, find out why the fire at her family’s home when she was younger had not made it into the news. He wanted to believe she was not lying to him.

  He needed this all to go away. But it would have to wait.

  For now, he needed to rest.

  26

  The light broke through the cracks in the curtains as Beth woke from her slumber. It seemed dull, diffused, and for a moment she assumed she had awoken earlier than usual for a Saturday.

  She glanced at the clock on her bedside table and it surprised her to note it was after eight.

  ‘Shit,’ she cursed as she dragged herself out of bed. Cooper would be desperate for the loo no doubt.

  She crossed to the window and opened the curtains. A short while ago, this action would have been alien to her, but now, it had become part of her daily routine.

  Thick fog enveloped the house, she couldn’t see anything, only a cloud of white. Her Range Rover in the driveway was little more than a dark shape in the haze.

  Beth threw on some jogging bottoms, a pale-pink T-shirt and her slippers. Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she tied it back off her face with an elastic band from the dresser.

  She exited her bedroom, knocking on Peter’s door, then Daisy’s.

  ‘Come on, kids. Time to get up!’

  She heard a groan from Peter’s room. On entering Daisy’s room, she found her daughter sitting in the middle of her carpet, playing with a doll. Her curtains were already open. She had dressed herself in a pair of blue denim dungarees with nothing underneath, a pink, frilly tutu and wellies with frog faces on the toecaps.

  ‘I’ve been awake for ages, Mummy. Look outside, it’s all white! You can’t see anything.’

  ‘I know, love,’ Beth said, scooping Daisy up from the floor into her arms. ‘It’s very foggy. I’ve not seen it like this for years.’

  ‘I don’t like it. It’s scary.’

  ‘It’s just fog. Nothing to be afraid of.’

  Beth carried Daisy out of the room. A blast of cool, damp air hit her as she descended the stairs, and she frowned. As she reached the bottom and stepped into the hallway, she hesitated. The house felt icy.

  The front door was wide open.

  ‘Peter!’ she shouted.

  No response. She hollered again.

  She heard Peter’s bedroom door creak open.

  ‘What?’ he yelled through a stifled yawn.

  ‘You left the front door open last night when you got home!’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘Well I certainly didn’t, and you were the last one in.’

  She heard weight on the stairs as Peter came to join her.

  ‘I absolutely did not leave the door open.’

  Beth popped Daisy down, and strode to the end of the hall, checking her car keys were still on the console table as she passed it. She stood on the threshold, looking out into a thick cloud of white in front of her face. She wrapped her arms around her body, shivering, then shut the door firmly.

  ‘It’s lucky we weren’t all murdered in our beds, isn’t it,’ she said sarcastically to her son as she headed towards the kitchen.

  ‘I didn’t leave it open. I swear.’

  Beth ignored him.

  ‘Mum!’ Daisy screamed suddenly, panic in her voice.

  Beth ran the remaining few steps.

  ‘What is it, Daisy? What’s wrong?’

  Daisy was standing by the French doors.

  ‘It’s Cooper. He’s not here. He must have excaped.’

  ‘It’s escaped, you retard!’ Peter muttered at his sister.

  Beth joined Daisy. Cooper’s bed was indeed empty.

  She knelt down, placing one hand onto the cushion. It felt warm.

  ‘It’s okay, he can’t have gone far. Peter, see if you can find him anywhere.’

  Peter did a cursory patrol of the house but returned empty-handed, shaking his head solemnly.

  Beth sprang into action. She hurried down the hallway, opened the front door, and out into the fog.

  ‘Cooper!’ she shouted.

  Nothing. It was eerily silent, Beth’s slippers crunching on gravel the only sound. She called out again. A muffled bark drifted from somewhere in the distance. He didn’t sound nearby.

  ‘Cooper!’ she called again, taking a few steps out into the driveway. She turned around the side of the house, stepping cautiously through the fog, arms outstretched in front of her. She couldn’t see more than a few inches ahead.

  Now and then a muted bark would echo around the garden, but Beth’s senses were out of kilter. She couldn’t tell which direction it came from.

  She didn’t even know where she was anymore in relation to the house.

  More barking. Frantic this time. Beth picked up the pace. She ran. The barking grew louder. Interspersed with the odd whimper.

  ‘Cooper!’ Beth was screaming now.

  Desperate.

  She could hear Peter and Daisy shouting somewhere behind her, disembodied voices floating through the damp clouds surrounding her.

  ‘Peter, Daisy, go back to the house!’

  They ignored her. They continued their search. Beth ran forwards. Something cold and wet hit her face and wrapped around her body.

  The shock made Beth scream, as she battled with whatever was trying to suffocate her.

  A familiar smell filled her nostrils. Fresh and pleasant.

  She had run into the clean bed sheets hanging on the line at the side of the house. She flung the wet bed linen from her, and it slapped into a pile on the ground.

  More barking, frenzied this time. Beth’s heart pounded.

  A high-pitched yelp. The sound of feet running on gravel. A car engine.

  Beth ran faster, sprinting now. She tripped. Losing her balance, she plummeted to the gravel below, wincing as her hands scraped along the path.

  She knelt for a moment. The ground was wet beneath her. She raised one hand slowly to her face.

  Red.

  Oh God, she thought, springing to her feet, examining herself.

  She scoured her limbs, searching for a wound, but finding none.

  And then she realised in horror.

  Cooper was silent.

  ‘Did you find him, Mummy?’

  Daisy’s voice was close behind Beth. She spun around.

  ‘Keep back!’ she shouted.

  ‘Mum, what is it?’ Peter sounded scared. Old enough to sense something was wrong.

  ‘Peter, take Daisy. Go back to the house. I’ll be right with you.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Go!’ Beth screamed.

  Peter put a protective arm around his sister’s shoulder and steered her away.

  Beth glanced about. All she could see was white.

  As her children’s footsteps on the gravel got quieter, she stood and listened. Holding her breath, eyes wide. Not a sound. No playful chirping of birds. No car; it was long gone.

  But still Beth listened.

  A scream broke the silence. A terrified, blood-curdling scream.

  Daisy.

  Beth dashed back to the house. The front door still open. She darted into the hallway where she could see her kids in the kitchen at the end.

  Daisy was crying, huddled into Peter, who enveloped her in his arms. He stroked her back gently, whilst staring straight into Beth’s eyes, a look of horror on his face.

  Beth hurrie
d inside. Peter motioned to the worktop with his head. She followed the direction of his gesture. Her eyes widened in terror as she realised what she was looking at.

  A pale blue-and-white polka-dot bandana. Cooper’s collar.

  Soaked in blood.

  27

  ‘Peter, take Daisy up to her room. Read her a story.’

  Beth’s voice was low, hard.

  ‘Mum, what’s going on? Who did that?’

  Daisy’s wailing stopped momentarily.

  ‘Mummy, where is Cooper?’ her tear-stained face threatening to explode into torrents again.

  ‘Now.’

  Her son didn’t ask any further questions. He led his sister up the stairs, a worried glance over his shoulder, and then they were both gone.

  Beth approached the counter, unable to take her eyes off the grotesque offering.

  A small scrap of folded paper poked out from beneath the bandana. She tentatively took its corner and slid it out from under the pile, grimacing. It was spotted with blood, still wet.

  She unfolded it carefully, taking in the black, scrawled words on the page.

  She dropped it, running to the sink, and vomited. Her stomach was empty, she hadn’t had breakfast yet. Stinking yellow bile tickled from her mouth, bubbling at the corners of her lips.

  She spat, turning on the tap to rinse the rancid liquid away.

  Bending down, she gulped down icy water, but she couldn’t dispel the taste.

  She returned to the note on the floor, crouching down beside it. She didn’t want to touch it. But she forced herself to pick it up.

  Forced herself to read the words again.

  Next time it will be one of YOUR kids.

  She stared at the scratchy black letters. She raised her trembling hands to her face and she sobbed.

  She didn’t hear Peter until he was beside her.

  ‘Mum, are you okay?’

  Beth shook her head.

  ‘This is all such a mess.’

  Peter sat on the floor next to his mother, placing an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Mum, what is going on? What’s a mess?’

  ‘Everything!’ Beth spat through her sobs.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Beth’s head snapped up.