Lost Girls

by Angela Marsons

  In one swift movement he twisted the neck all the way around.

  Both she and Amy screamed.

  Fifty-Four

  Kim listened to the recording a second time. All activity in the room had stopped. All eyes stared at the phone.

  The scream was horrific to her ears and Kim thought she might throw up.

  She threw the phone across the table and stormed out of the room.

  Twenty paces later she was hit by the coolness of the night-time air. She paced around the water feature, her fists clenched at her side. She had the urge to punch her own head in. Her request for proof of life had caused some kind of pain and that was not her job. She was supposed to be protecting these kids. She should have brought them home by now. They were children; terrified and naked and now in pain.

  ‘Damn it to hell,’ she growled, kicking out.

  ‘Not a fair fight. Tree's done nothing to you.’

  Kim turned to find Matt Ward leaning against the side of the house.

  ‘What do you want?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just wanted to see you have a good sulk. I've seen better.’

  ‘I tend not to show my frustration in front of my team. It's bad for morale.’

  ‘Oh, you think they're back there letting off party poppers. They heard the exact same thing you did.’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder.’

  ‘Except they didn’t run out of the room like a spoiled child. Excellent way to support your team, Detective Inspector. They’re still in there staring at the phone.’

  Kim turned on him. Every ounce of her anger was headed in his direction. ‘You know nothing about me or my team, so piss off.’

  His expression didn't change. ‘What's your problem?’

  She was stunned by the lack of emotion in his response. ‘Did you not just hear that, you cold-hearted bas—’

  ‘I heard. And then I heard it again.’

  ‘So you know that they've been harmed because I asked for proof of life.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, get over yourself. I didn't have you down as the martyr type. Of course you asked for proof of life – if I'd been here earlier I would have done the same thing. Get off your cross and listen, because it's not in my nature to make people feel better, but those girls weren't being harmed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The screams were horror, not pain. There's a difference.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  He didn't flinch. ‘Trust me, I know.’

  She looked doubtful as he pushed himself away from the wall.

  ‘But you're forgetting the most important thing of all.’

  She didn't bother to ask what that was because he was going to tell her anyway.

  ‘You know now that they're alive. Both of them.’

  Matt turned and walked back into the house; she watched him go.

  She'd already decided she didn't like him. There was a cool detachment from emotion that unnerved her. During their conversation his expression had not altered once.

  She didn't like him and she didn't trust him but, damn it, she bloody well hoped he was right.

  Fifty-Five

  Jenny Cotton scraped the remains of the microwave lasagne into the bin. Automatically she carried the single plate to the sink and rinsed it immediately. A sad smile crept over her face. There was no need to wash up after herself, not any more. But her hand reached for the tea towel anyway.

  The act was symbolic of the last thirteen months. There was little point to anything, but her body had functioned regardless.

  Every day she had willed it into action. Every morning she had tried to feel hope. Maybe today, she had told herself, tricking her mind into giving instructions to her limbs.

  She stepped into the lounge and tidied the magazines that had lain in her lap. She switched off the television that had remained unwatched. She picked up the mobile phone that had not rung in weeks. Beside it was the other one. The phone that she kept as a last link to her daughter. The one she’d told the detective inspector she no longer had.

  Of course the police had requested it back then and had even turned hostile at her irrefutable claim that it was lost. She had given them permission to search the house, safe in the knowledge that it would remain undetected in the bird house on the outside wall.

  The messages were still there and she read them often, still searching for clues, but the words never changed and Suzie still hadn't come home.

  There was an element of release in not having to keep up the pretence any longer. There was no need to drag herself out of bed every morning and join the rest of the world. There was no need to pull clothes onto her body and comb her hair. There was no need to carry on.

  Because now she knew for certain.

  The visit from the police had confirmed her worst fears. It had happened again. She'd seen it in the woman's eyes. And if the same people had taken another two girls the truth was staring her in the face.

  Suzie was never coming home.

  She mounted the stairs slowly, her footsteps the only sound throughout the house. For once Jenny didn't mind. The peace that surrounded her filled her body. There was an acceptance. An end.

  She derived nothing from these last moments. She felt no desire to try to wring any enjoyment for this last ounce of time. The pleasure lay at its end.

  She undressed and folded her clothes onto the bed. She paused. Should she write a letter of explanation? To whom? Anyone who knew her would not be surprised. The concern of her friends and family had reduced to an occasional phone call born of guilt and responsibility. They had urged, prodded, poked for her to move on and when she'd been unable to they had done it anyway.

  Jenny hoped they would understand that she was not running from, she was running to. Any last hope that had remained in her heart was now gone.

  She lowered herself into the bath water and closed her eyes. Only a moment of doubt brought hesitation. What if she couldn't find Suzie in the afterlife? What if her actions propelled her to a darker place and she was then resigned to an eternity of searching?

  She shook her head as the fear subsided as quickly as it had appeared. For that she would have to believe in a higher being. And she didn't. Not any more.

  She took the razor blade and held it in position. She knew to slice down and not across. A smile began to shape her lips as she felt the pull towards her daughter.

  ‘I'm coming, Suzie, I'm coming,’ she whispered, as the blade began to reach down.

  And then the phone rang.

  The other one.

  Fifty-Six

  ‘Okay kids, time to get off home.’

  A few moans of protest surfaced but Kim cut them off by raising her hand. ‘No, I need you all rested. I'll draw up a list of priorities ready for the morning and I'll see you all back here at six.’

  One by one they began to file out of the dining room.

  ‘Including you, Mr Ward,’ she said to the lowered head of the negotiator.

  ‘Yeah, just finishing this,’ he said, without looking up.

  Once the room was empty she moved around him to push in the chairs and close the files.

  She grabbed her overnight bag from beneath the chair.

  ‘Ahem, I'm sure you've finished whatever it is you're reading, so if you'd like to …’

  ‘Yeah, I'm not leaving. I just didn't want to argue with you in front of your team.’

  She let out a long breath. ‘Do we have to do this now? If it's a fight you're after …’

  ‘Nope, just trying to do my job.’

  Kim banged her fist on the desk. Still Matt didn't look.

  ‘As the senior member of this team I am instructing you—’

  ‘Aah, well, that's your first problem,’ he said, finally looking at her. ‘I'm not a part of this team. I don't even work for the police force so don't start with I'll get my boss onto your boss ’cos you're pretty much looking at him.’

  Kim felt her colour rising. ‘I fight m
y own battles thanks and this room is seconded by West Midlands Police, therefore as a non-member of my team please remove yourself—’

  ‘Are you going to physically remove me?’ he asked with the first hint of a smile she'd seen all day.

  ‘If I have to,’ she shot back.

  They glared at each other across the makeshift desk.

  She would not back down.

  He held up his hands. ‘Fine, I believe you.’ He stood and gathered together the three files from which he was cherry picking. ‘Okay, I'll move into the kitchen but I'm not leaving this house until those girls are safely home.’

  Kim nodded and lowered her arms. Great, they could eat biscuits and do each other’s nails.

  Matt was proving to be the most infuriating man she'd ever met. His arrogance was trumped only by his stubbornness, which was left for dead by his complete lack of emotion.

  He paused at the door and turned. ‘Are you always used to getting your own way, Inspector?’

  She thought and then nodded. ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Well, maybe it's about time you didn't.’

  ‘Mr Ward, I would love to sit and chat about how I value your opinion of me but may I politely ask you to leave what has now become my bedroom.’

  ‘Hell, yes,’ he said, passing through the doorway.

  The tension began to drain from her jaw.

  A gentle tap sounded on the door.

  ‘What the hell do you—’

  ‘Marm, just letting you know I'm getting off now.’

  Kim immediately felt bad. She tended to forget about Helen.

  ‘Sorry, I've had no time to catch up today.’

  ‘Very little to report, Marm. Each couple still keeping their distance and trying to pretend they're not.’

  Kim nodded. The fracture in their friendship was not her concern.

  ‘Do you think either couple has made contact yet?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Not yet. They're all still hoping you're gonna magic these girls back.’

  Yeah, them and her both.

  Kim tipped her head. ‘Are you aware of the ransom being paid the last time?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘I don't think so. Both families were in contact with the kidnappers as offers were sent back and forth but I don't think money was exchanged. It was just as much of a shock to all of the parents when Emily was found.’

  That was what Kim suspected. She wanted absolute confirmation from the second family but her gut said it had ended for some other reason.

  ‘Jenny Cotton is sure that the other family paid,’ Kim said. And she could understand why. Their daughter had lived and hers had not.

  Helen was not convinced. ‘I would have known. There would have been a distinct change in their demeanour. You can’t keep hope like that to yourself.’

  Kim turned in her chair. ‘What do you think prompted the release of one child?’

  A brief hesitation preceded the woman's words. ‘The SIO thought …’

  ‘Helen,’ Kim said, narrowing her eyes. ‘I'm not asking the SIO. If he told me I was female I'd run to the bathroom and check. I'm asking you.’

  ‘I think it was something that went wrong on their end. I’ve wracked my brains for anything that happened at the house but there was nothing.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Helen. We'll catch up better tomorrow. Get some rest.’

  The sixteen-hour days were taking their toll beneath the blue eyes.

  ‘Will do, Marm. Same to yourself,’ she said, backing out of the room.

  ‘Hey, Helen, just out of interest, which couple do you think will crack first?’

  Helen appeared back in view. ‘Elizabeth and Stephen,’ she said, without hesitation.

  Kim didn't ask for clarification of the conviction behind her opinion.

  She didn't need to. It's what her gut said too.

  Kim waved her out. ‘See you in the—’

  Her words cut off as her mobile phone began to ring. It was a number she didn't recognise.

  Helen remained in the doorway.

  ‘Detective Inspector Stone.’

  Silence met her ears. She waved at Helen to leave.

  ‘Hello, who's there?’ she said.

  Nothing.

  Jesus, she hated crank callers. ‘If you've got nothing better to do with your time I suggest you take up—’

  ‘Inspector,’ said a small voice that was familiar to her but that she couldn't quite place.

  ‘Who is this?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  ‘It … it's Jenny Cotton. I'm … err … I think …’

  Kim was already on her feet. ‘Mrs Cotton, has something happened?’

  ‘It's the phone, the other phone … I have a message …’

  ‘Mrs Cotton, don't do anything,’ Kim said. ‘I'm on my way.’

  Fifty-Seven

  Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

  From her toes to her neck she held the tension of the day. But her mind raced. Her emotions were skidding and colliding like a stock car race.

  She missed her children deeply. She ached for the warm gentleness of Amy and the cheeky mischief of Nicholas. She felt that both children had been taken from her.

  Stephen entered the room from the en-suite. He placed his clothes on top of the chair that was right next to the suitcase.

  She moved around the bed and picked up his jeans.

  ‘We have to at least discuss it,’ she said, quietly.

  Stephen fiddled with his watch but said nothing.

  She reached for the sky blue shirt. ‘Stephen, we can't just pretend it never happened. We’ve avoided it for twenty-four hours but we have to talk about this.’

  She held the shirt to her body to fold it. The awareness of her betrayal surged through her as each word left her mouth.

  He sighed. ‘You want us to live in their house, eat their food, sleep in their bed and discuss how much we can pay to kill their daughter?’

  Elizabeth clutched the shirt tightly. ‘You read the message. It's theirs or ours.’

  She had known Charlie since she was four years old and loved the child like a niece, but not like a daughter. Elizabeth’s affection for Charlie was one step removed.

  Her own child had a less fervent disposition. Amy’s sweetness was calm and unruffled. She allowed Charlie to lead in everything they did; content that the two of them were together.

  Wherever they were, Elizabeth prayed that they still were together. She was honest enough to admit that Charlie was the stronger of the two. Only last week at the ball pit an older boy had crashed into Amy, sending her flying to the ground. Elizabeth had been busy tending to a small cut on Amy's elbow, but not too busy to see what Charlie had done next.

  She’d waited for the boy to stand at the top of the slide. He had beaten his chest like Tarzan and Charlie had launched herself into him full force and sent him tumbling down the slide, head first. Then she had shouted, 'Sorry'.

  God forgive her, Elizabeth hoped Charlie was protecting Amy the way she always had, despite what she had to say next.

  ‘We have to at least discuss it, Stephen,’ she whispered, hating every syllable that left her mouth.

  She was talking about sealing the fate of one child to secure the release of another. Her own.

  But she had no choice.

  ‘I need to know how much we can offer.’

  There, the words bubbling in her throat had finally been set free. She knew she could never take them back.

  ‘You can't seriously be considering it. You'd really do that, to them?’

  ‘And you wouldn't to get Amy back?’

  Stephen's overriding concern for the safety of another child unnerved her. She loved her husband but was not blind to his faults. Why had no offer been sent already?

  She turned on him. ‘You're prepared to let our daughter die?’

  He swallowed and looked away.

  She threw down the shirt and walked towards him.

  ‘Do y
ou think they're not down the hallway right now having the same conversation?’

  Stephen dropped his head into his hands.

  Elizabeth suddenly felt alone. They were supposed to be a team. Both fighting for the life of their daughter. But her husband had already left the ring.

  She talked down at the top of his head. ‘Robert has probably made calls to his bank manager, his accountant and anyone else he can think of. He may have made an offer already, for all we know.’

  Stephen pushed himself up from the bed and moved away.

  She followed him. ‘Stephen, what the hell is wrong with you? We have to try and save our child.’

  He turned on her. ‘By killing someone else's?’

  Elizabeth took a step back. The words were there but no emotion showed in his eyes.

  ‘Stephen, I don't … I mean, what …’

  He turned away from her again. ‘I just can't get my head around what we're having to do. It's barbaric.’

  There was a lack of depth in his tone that belied his words.

  ‘How much, Stephen?’ she asked. ‘How much can we raise to secure the life of our daughter?’

  Stephen’s evasion was not going to work.

  He sat back on the bed. His eyes darted around the room as they always did when he was getting irritated.

  ‘Stephen, answer me. How much money is Amy's life worth to you?’

  His eyes flashed. Good, she wanted any emotional response that was real, that was him.

  ‘I don't know. It's complicated.’

  ‘No it's not. You know our assets.’

  ‘Elizabeth, it's late,’ he said, avoiding her gaze.

  ‘Come on, Stephen. There's the savings account.’

  ‘Liz, stop, please. You don't understand the finances,’ he snapped.

  She moved closer. ‘Don’t patronise me. How quickly could we raise a second mortgage on the house?’

  ‘Liz, stop. This is insane.’

  ‘If we sell the cars and jewellery as well we've got to be close to—’

  ‘Liz, I'm asking you one last time to stop what you're doing.’