Lost Girls

by Angela Marsons

‘Right, I'm going to talk to the families,’ Kim said, standing.

  Karen's head was buried in the chest of her husband. Robert stroked her hair.

  Elizabeth sat on one of the single chairs with Stephen on the arm. Elizabeth stared off into the distance. The rage from Stephen was palpable.

  Helen skittered off into the kitchen as Kim entered the room.

  Never had the couples looked so separate and Kim struggled to recall the picture of the two women holding hands.

  She sat in the other single chair and faced them all.

  ‘Folks, this development is as much of a shock to you as it is to me but—’

  ‘Did this happen on the last one?’ Stephen asked.

  ‘I can't discuss the details of the last case with—’

  ‘I'll take that as a yes, seeing as only one child came back.’

  ‘Mr Hanson, we need to talk—’

  ‘What we need is someone decent to head this investigation.’

  Three pairs of eyes turned on him. He opened his arms. ‘What? I'm only saying what we're all thinking.’

  Karen opened her mouth but Robert was faster. His voice was quiet but firm.

  ‘Stephen, don't ever presume to speak for me. Detective Inspector, I'm not thinking that at all.’

  Karen moved her head in agreement.

  ‘Please continue, Inspector,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Thank you. The newspaper clipping is useful but I still can't rule out that someone in your lives is involved in this. Please try and think if there is anyone else you haven't mentioned. Even if you think it’s irrelevant, please, let me know.’

  Kim headed out of the room but paused for a second and turned.

  ‘I have to ask that you make no attempt to respond to the text messages. I know that's going to be hard but we have no intention of there being a choice. Okay?’

  The responses were not as emphatic as she would have liked.

  She turned to Karen. ‘It's going to be a full house tonight but we'll be as quiet as we can.’

  Kim headed back to the war room.

  It was time to start fighting back.

  Thirty-Six

  The makeshift incident room still held the stunned silence from the horror of that message. But they couldn’t dwell on it. Kim had to get their focus back on what they were here to do.

  ‘Right, we can’t allow this to paralyse us. The kidnappers may be playing a sick game but we are not. Nothing has changed, folks. We want both those little girls home.’

  ‘It’s horrific, though, boss,’ Stacey breathed.

  Bryant looked pained. ‘Even making the offer would potentially seal the death of another child.’

  Kim nodded. The thought was sickening, but no less true.

  ‘Look at the effect of that one text message. The unity between the families has been destroyed. Now it’s each to their own. Divide and conquer. The prospect of them working together as a team has been removed. Put yourself in the same position. Are you really going to attach the same level of concern to someone else's child as you would to your own?’

  ‘I can't even comprehend …’ Bryant’s words trailed away as his mind found the discord between how he would wish to act and how he would act.

  ‘The parents probably will make contact, you know,’ Alison said, quietly.

  Kim nodded her agreement. She wondered which couple would break first.

  ‘Guv, we have to consider the possibility that the girls—’

  ‘Bryant, don't even think about it. The only possibility I'm prepared to consider is that Charlie and Amy are coming home. Alive.’

  She would not lead this investigation any other way.

  Kim took out her mobile phone and keyed in the three mobile numbers used so far. Now they would have her number and that was fine by her.

  ‘What you doing?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘I'm sending our friend a little message.’

  ‘Do you think he'll check the disposable phones after he's used them?’

  ‘He'll check,’ Alison offered. ‘The game's now started. He can't get any gratification face to face. So he'll want any type of adulation he can get. In the absence of press coverage, his validation is very limited.’

  Stacey turned towards Alison. ‘Is there any chance that he'll somehow leak it to the press? If he wants that kind of admiration, is it only a matter of time?’

  Alison thought for a moment before shaking her head. ‘I don't think so. Adherence to the plan will be his first priority. His need for respect will come later. Whatever the outcome, this will hit the news and it's going to be big. He's already shown himself to be controlled and patient. He can wait.’

  Kim didn't look up as Alison talked. She labelled the numbers KN1, KN2 and KN3.

  The room fell into silence. The only sound was the soft beep of her phone each time she pressed a key. Her finger hit send.

  ‘What have you asked him, Guv?’ Bryant said as three pairs of eyes fell on her.

  ‘I've asked the bastard for proof of life.’

  Thirty-Seven

  Charlie nibbled away at the hair grip she’d taken from Amy’s fringe.

  As she looked to her left she caught Amy’s hand travelling down her forearm.

  ‘Stop scratching, Ames,’ she whispered.

  Since that man had visited them the night before they had spoken only in whispers. Charlie wasn’t sure why but it just felt right.

  ‘I can’t stop,’ Amy breathed, but put her hand under her knee.

  Charlie knew she couldn’t help it. It was what Amy always did when she got nervous. Charlie had first seen her do it before a spelling test when they’d been six years old.

  ‘I still don’t understand what you’re doing,’ Amy whispered beside her.

  Finally, the plastic covering the wire hair grip dropped off in Charlie’s mouth, leaving a thin, sharp piece of metal.

  Charlie scooted towards the wall and moved her backpack out of the way. She rubbed the point of the metal against the brick. After a few movements a scratch mark began to appear.

  She turned to her friend. ‘The last time he came he took away some of the rubbish. I was trying to keep count of how many sandwiches we’ve had. It might help us work out how long we’ve been down here.’

  Amy scratched again. This was one long scratch.

  ‘Amy, I need you to remember what sandwiches we’ve had. Your memory is really good, so can you tell me?’

  Amy’s hand became busy as she started to count on her fingers.

  ‘There was a cheese one and a ham one and another cheese.’

  Amy paused for a minute. Yes, those were the ones Charlie could recall, even though they had all been dry and tasteless.

  ‘Oh … and the first one was egg. Do you remember the smell?’

  Charlie smiled as Amy’s nose puckered up. They had eaten them because they had been starving. She had forgotten about that one.

  ‘Good one, Ames. So, that makes four meals they’ve given us, maybe two for each day,’ she said, scratching the marks into the wall. ‘I think it might be Monday night because—’

  Charlie stopped mid-sentence as she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It hadn’t been long since the last stale sandwich. He wasn’t coming to feed them again.

  ‘Hello, my little pretties. Have you missed me?’

  Charlie pulled Amy closer. Their limbs entwined as they tried to form a protective barrier around each other.

  ‘It’s okay, Ames, just try not to listen,’ she whispered.

  She could hear her own voice trembling and the sickness was back in her tummy.

  ‘Today I forced a man to suck my dick. Do you girlies know how disgusting that is?’

  Charlie didn’t know what it was but it didn’t sound very nice. Amy’s body began to tremble beside her.

  ‘And then I punched his face in. Shall I tell you why? It’s because I’m getting impatient. Who I really want to hurt is you.’

  Amy’s whimpering
reached ears that were trying to close down.

  Charlie could feel the blood rushing around her body and pounding through her veins.

  While he was on the other side of the door, talking, they were okay. They were safe.

  But then the key turned in the lock.

  She heard him laugh as the door opened and he stood, like a giant in the doorway smiling down at them.

  A cruel glint lit the expression in his eyes as his gaze passed over the two of them. His next words chilled her to the bone.

  ‘Little girlies, it’s time to take off your clothes.’

  Thirty-Eight

  Kim pushed aside the third pile of paperwork. All pages born of a tree that had died for a good cause, and had revealed absolutely nothing useful to her.

  She'd read strategy after framework followed by outlines and objectives. All priorities that occupied the very early part of an investigation.

  What she hadn't found were the clothes that went on the dummy. The physical actions that had occurred. Severely lacking were lines of enquiry, detailed interview notes, activity logs or even a cohesive logic.

  It was almost twelve and not one word had passed between her and the team in the last hour. Every file in the room had been opened and pored over. Except one. The Dewain Wright file.

  She pushed her chair back from the table, causing four tired heads to look her way.

  ‘Okay, Bryant, Stace, get a couple of hours’ rest. We’ll take turns.’

  Stacey nodded and folded into the easy chair in the corner. Bryant pulled her vacated chair towards him and slipped it beneath his feet. He folded his arms and let his head fall to the side. Alison had been persuaded to return to her hotel room only an hour earlier.

  Dawson glanced at them enviously and then nodded towards the door. ‘Guv, I just need to pop—’

  ‘Kev, we’re not at school. You don’t need permission.’

  She pushed herself to her feet and stretched. Something between her shoulder blades snapped and released.

  Had the roads been less icy she would have jumped onto the Ninja and gone for a burn to clear her head.

  These night-time hours were her enemy on a case like this. Normally she dealt with dead bodies whose exposure to risk and harm was gone. They were no longer in danger. Charlie and Amy were still alive, she knew it. And it was up to her to make sure they stayed that way.

  After the text message received earlier, Kim could only wonder at the hushed conversations taking place in the bedrooms upstairs.

  Kim was expecting to see Dawson as the door began to open slowly, but instead Helen’s head popped into the opening.

  ‘Just to let you know I’m off now.’

  Shit, Kim had forgotten she was still there.

  ‘Helen, you really—’

  Her words were interrupted by a gentle but definite knock to the front door.

  Kim frowned at Helen, who stepped back into the hallway. Kim rose and followed. Lucas stood at the door looking to her for confirmation.

  Kim nodded and approached. Helen was one step behind.

  As the door opened Kim adjusted her gaze down, her eyes coming to rest on a portly woman encased in a full-length jacket that diminished her height further. A thick woollen scarf had lapped itself around her neck. A round, lined face protruded from the layers of warmth beneath a red knitted hat.

  This woman had to have taken a wrong turn.

  ‘Are you a police officer?’ the woman asked, looking wary.

  Or maybe not.

  Kim offered the slightest of nods.

  The woman offered her hand as though it wasn’t past midnight.

  Kim ignored it and folded her arms.

  The hand was retracted. ‘My name is Eloise Austen. I have information.’

  ‘About what?’ Kim snapped.

  The case was not public knowledge. Outside of the house Kim could count the number of people who knew on one hand. With a finger to spare.

  ‘Th … the … girls … the abduc—’

  ‘Listen,’ Kim said, stepping forward. ‘I don't know how you got your information or who the hell you are—’

  ‘I know who she is,’ Helen said from behind her.

  Kim looked to the liaison officer.

  Helen's expression held distaste, as though she'd eaten something unpalatable but good manners prevented her from spitting it out.

  ‘She has a monthly show at the Civic Hall. She's a psychic.’

  ‘You have to be bloody kidding me?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Came around last time and managed to get in the house. Traumatised the parents, saying all sorts of things that—’

  ‘No, you have to listen,’ the woman said, looking from one to the other. ‘I know things. The girls … the girls … they're alive but they're underground. They're cold … scared …’

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ Kim said, shaking her head. ‘Tell me something I don't know.’ Her stomach felt their fear every single minute.

  ‘There are secrets and lies and deceit and the number 278. Remember the number 278. And he’s not done yet,’ she said, urgently.

  Kim frowned. ‘Not done?’

  ‘With the last one. He has plans …there is bitterness … anger…’

  ‘Come on, Eloise,’ Helen said, gently turning the woman around. ‘Time for you to go home now.’

  Eloise turned her head as Helen edged her forward. She tried to lock on to Kim's gaze.

  ‘Please … you have to listen …’

  ‘No, I really don't,’ Kim said, turning away.

  Cranks and crackpots she did not need.

  ‘He knows, Kim. He knows you couldn’t save him …’

  Kim’s head snapped around. She walked back.

  ‘What did you say? Who knows that?’

  Eloise blinked rapidly. ‘He knows you tried and he loved you so—’

  ‘Helen, get her out of my sight,’ Kim screamed.

  ‘Look closer, Inspector, someone—’

  ‘Come on, Eloise, it really is past your bedtime,’ Helen soothed, taking the woman by the arm.

  Kim turned away but could still hear the voice behind her, calling something about a blue gate, but she didn’t want to hear another word from that woman’s mouth.

  She strode back into the house and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Who the hell was that?’ Stephen Hanson growled from the middle of the staircase.

  Great, someone else she didn’t need.

  ‘No one you need to worry about,’ Kim said, stepping away from the door.

  ‘She said she had information,’ Stephen said, trying to look around her but the door was closed and Lucas had stepped to her side. Mr Hanson was not going anywhere.

  ‘Please go back to bed, Mr Hanson.’

  ‘And do what?’ he spat. ‘You don’t really think anyone is sleeping up there, do you?’

  Stephen’s voice had risen and Kim thought that anyone who had managed to sleep probably wasn’t any more.

  ‘Mr Hanson,’ she said, reducing her voice to a whisper, hoping he would follow suit. ‘Please go back upstairs and let me handle this investigation.’

  His eyes were cold and unyielding as he looked to Helen re-entering the house. ‘Just as long as you are handling it, Inspector.’

  She took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen wondering how the hell that woman had found out. She'd let Woody know in the morning that his end of the bucket had a leak.

  ‘Sorry for the oversight, Helen. I thought you’d gone home,’ Kim said, filling the kettle. Instant would have to do for now.

  Helen sat at the breakfast bar and rubbed her hands.

  ‘Just tidying around after they finally went to bed. I'll take a nap on the sofa in a while.’

  Kim took a second mug from the cupboard.

  ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Both,’ Helen said.

  ‘How were they after the message?’ Kim asked.

  It took a special kind of person to be around that l
evel of fear and despair without becoming absorbed by it. Family liaison officers were required to offer support, strength and encouragement without the emotional involvement and still maintain the presence of mind to capture anything that might benefit the investigation.

  ‘The couples barely spoke after the text message. There was the odd exchange about cups of tea but it was like watching two tag teams retreat to their corners.’

  ‘And the psychic?’ Kim asked.

  ‘I know she's in the files somewhere. I wrote that report myself. I mean, it wasn't a lengthy document but perhaps I should have mentioned—’

  Kim held up her hand. She realised she couldn't hold every failing of the last investigation against Helen. She'd had a specific role to play which had not included external investigation or the integrity of the case notes.

  ‘I probably wouldn't have mentioned a visit from a psychic either,’ Kim said, giving the woman a break. There were few police officers who would assign value to the ramblings of a crank.

  ‘Did anyone listen to her last time?’

  ‘Not really. She offered nothing specific but managed to upset the parents a great deal. She kept grabbing the hand of Mrs Cotton and saying she was sorry.’

  Kim frowned. ‘The mother of the child that didn't come back?’

  Helen nodded and shuddered. ‘It was awful.’

  ‘You're not a believer of the supernatural?’

  ‘I'm not a fan of anyone who profits from the needs of the vulnerable. Her stage shows focus on dead relatives.’

  ‘So, she's a medium?’

  ‘A spiritualist, apparently.’ Helen smiled to herself. ‘But to answer your question about the supernatural. No, I’m not a believer. I was raised by my grandmother who was one of the strikers back in 1910.’

  ‘Really?’ Kim asked.

  It was well known that at that time the Cradley Heath female chain makers were some of the poorest in the country, earning less than the price of a loaf of bread per hour.

  In August 1910 a group of women did the unthinkable and staged a strike. The move drew international attention to the town.

  The ten-week protest resulted in the first recorded minimum wage.

  ‘You didn't live through those times and come out the other side with a belief in anything you couldn't see for yourself. And my grandmother was no exception. Spare the rod and save the child.’ Helen's mouth was no longer smiling. ‘Were you raised to believe?’ she asked.