by Helen Phifer
She passed her a card with her phone number, which Phillipa took and screwed into a ball, throwing it into a wastepaper bin by the bedroom door.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t need help from you. I think it’s time you both left. I don’t expect to see you again until you call to tell me you’ve found Charlie and brought her home safely.’
She walked downstairs to the front door and opened it wide. Ben, who was standing in the hallway, walked towards it, and Morgan followed. The door slammed behind them, and they were out in the cold and damp, where a fine drizzle had begun to fall.
‘Well that could have gone better; I’ll see you back at the nick,’ Ben said and got into his car, leaving Morgan staring, open-mouthed. She ran to her car, holding her hands over her head before her straightened red hair turned to a mass of frizz.
As she drove back to the police station, she replayed the last minutes of her conversation with Phillipa, trying to understand why she’d got so upset with her and realised she was out of her depth. If Brett was abusing her, there was no way she would ask for help. She was obviously a driven, successful businesswoman who wouldn’t want the embarrassment of admitting she was in trouble. But if he was capable of hurting the woman who loved and supported him, what did that mean for his child?
Eleven
They met in the blue room back at Rydal Falls police station for a briefing. While the name had updated, the walls hadn’t and they were still painted pink. The chief super and Claire dialled in from headquarters in Penrith; Ben, Amy, Morgan and Des filtered into the room. Al joined them; they were waiting on Wendy, who had just finished going through Charlie’s house, to make sure there was nothing of forensic value which would tell them a different story to the one given to them by Charlie’s mum, Amanda. Wendy rushed in, her cheeks flushed from dashing to get there. Ben smiled at her.
‘Wendy, we’ll start with you in case you need to leave.’
‘Nothing from me. There was no sign of a struggle, no bloodstains anywhere; I didn’t find anything of evidential value to suggest something had happened to Charlie inside that house.’
Ben nodded. ‘So, we think Amanda is telling the truth? At this moment there isn’t anything to suggest she isn’t.’
‘I would say so, but to be certain I would get Knotty to bring down the cadaver dog, just in case.’
‘Good point. There might not have been a struggle or any violence, but she could have snapped and suffocated her in her sleep – no mess.’
Morgan shuddered at the way they were discussing Charlie as if she was already dead. Ben glanced her way, and she put her head down. Her heart felt heavy with sadness for this girl who she didn’t know; if she was still alive she must be so terrified.
‘We need to be aware that the head teacher from Charlie’s school had called a meeting tomorrow with her parents about her behavioural issues. There’s the possibility Charlie knew and maybe decided to run away; although I do think if that was the case we would have found her by now. So I think she’s been abducted and we should be focusing on that.’
Everyone turned to look at her. This time she wasn’t backing down regardless of the looks they cast at each other.
‘We’re coming to that, Morgan. Thanks for that brilliant insight.’
Everyone chuckled, and she had to stop herself from saying anything sarcastic back at Ben. Morgan continued, ‘Surely if Amanda was lying, she wouldn’t have admitted to us that she got drunk and left her daughter out on the street playing whilst she was at her friend’s, then came home and went to bed without even checking on her. I mean, come on, who makes up lies like that? It makes her look like the shittiest parent in the entire world.’
‘First of all we needed to rule out that the home address wasn’t a crime scene that we’re glossing over because Amanda is a convincing liar. Why not cover up one thing with something so blatantly bad that we wouldn’t not believe her?’
Amy smiled at Morgan. She looked away, wondering when she would learn to keep her mouth shut and realised probably never. Someone had to ask these questions, so it might as well be her.
Ben continued, ‘The area has been searched by dog and helicopter. Al, what’s next?’
‘It’s too dark for the drone, but we’ll launch it at first light. I’m going to be honest with you, Ben, if the helicopter and dog didn’t pick up her trail leaving the street, then I think we need to concentrate on that immediate area. We need to physically search everywhere, attics to cellars, because I think she’s still there somewhere. My team is getting ready to go back and search every garden. I know we asked the homeowners to check sheds, outhouses, etc., but we need to do it ourselves. I’m hoping that Charlie’s neighbours will let us in without too much fuss. If that brings up nothing then she’s been taken away in a vehicle. But from what I have now, there is nothing to suggest that Charlie has wandered off of her own accord.’
He looked over to Morgan. ‘For what it’s worth, I also think her mum is telling the truth and I think she’s been abducted, which brings us to known sex offenders in the area.’
He nodded at her, and she wanted to reach across the oval table and high five him for agreeing with her; she smiled instead.
‘We know that Vincent Jackson lives in the street with his elderly mother.’ Ben paused and Morgan wondered if he was kicking himself for not checking that locked room now, because it was bothering her an awful lot that they hadn’t.
‘Morgan and I paid him a visit; we did a cursory check of the house but there was a locked room which he said was his mother’s bedroom. Before we could check it, we got a call to say that Charlie’s dad’s alibi didn’t work out as he’d first told us, so we left to visit Brett. Shit, Amy, you and Des go back to Vince’s house now. I want the upstairs front bedroom checked and see if he has an attic or cellar.’
‘Boss, we’ll need a warrant.’
He shook his head.
Claire spoke up. ‘No, this is on account of saving someone’s life. If he has Charlie, she could be in mortal danger. If he refuses entry, which he shouldn’t because his licence conditions state he has to let police in any time they visit, then cuff him and read him his rights for obstructing the course of justice. Ben, can you keep me notified of the outcome, do you need me there?’
‘I think we’re okay this end, Claire, thank you.’
Amy and Des both stood up, leaving the room.
Ben added, ‘Brett isn’t telling us the whole truth; he’s hiding something, I’m convinced of it.’
The door flew open and a red-faced officer gasped, ‘They’ve found a body, a child’s body.’
Morgan felt the air leave her; they were too damn late. She wanted to scream in frustration.
‘She’s in a bad way, ambulance is on the way but Cain has said she’s foxtrot. She has a serious head injury.’
Everyone scrambled to their feet; Morgan’s hope at finding Charlie safe and well had been replaced with a sinking feeling of impending doom. Foxtrot was the police radio term for deceased.
‘Wendy, I need you at the scene; Morgan, we’ll go too.’
‘What about Charlie’s mum?’
The officer spoke, ‘We need to know it’s her before we let the FLO break the news.’
Ben nodded. ‘Yes, maybe give them a heads-up that a body has been found, but don’t say anything till we’ve confirmed the identity. Also, ask control to get me a pathologist to the scene. We’ll get there as soon as we can.’
The blue room emptied much faster than it had filled up, and Morgan realised the churning in her stomach had been replaced with a lead fist, curled so tight it felt as if it had her insides clenched within it. It was the worst possible outcome if this was Charlie, not what she’d been praying for at all, and if it wasn’t Charlie then that meant they had another dead child. It was horrendous either way. She knew Ben was waiting for her and she pushed herself to her feet, forcing her shaking legs to carry her down to the car. She had to be strong. She’d never wante
d it to end like this for Charlie; now she had to focus all her attention on the monster who had committed this heinous crime and skulked away into the night to hide away, before it happened again.
Twelve
Morgan didn’t need directions to Piggy Lane play park. She had spent a good portion of her childhood clambering around the huge square climbing frames that doubled as a fort or castle, and sometimes a spaceship. The slide had been a quest of life and death: if you made it to the top without falling off and breaking a leg it was a miracle. There had been uproar when the council had taken it away because of the sudden health and safety regulations which had been brought in, replacing it with one less than half its size and nowhere near as much fun. She hadn’t been here for years but it held nothing but happy memories for her. Ben was sitting next to her in the passenger seat talking to Cain on the radio about the crime scene. Please don’t be Charlie; let her please be okay, was the mantra she kept repeating in her head. Cain had left his police van parked across the entrance to the small street to protect the scene, and an officer she didn’t recognise was standing in front of it.
Morgan pulled up to the kerb; this was a crime scene so she went to the boot of the car to begin dressing in protective clothing. She ripped open a plastic packet containing the white paper overalls for Ben, who was still asking Cain lots of questions, before opening her own. She looked around at the fells that surrounded Rydal Falls. The dying sun cast its glow over them, and they looked magnificent steeped in the rich russet reds, golds and oranges of the changing colours of the lush greenery, signalling that autumn was in full swing and winter was drawing nearer. This was a spectacularly beautiful part of the country, and the contrast between the Lakeland beauty surrounding them and the awful scene she was about to face wasn’t lost on her.
Ben ended the radio call.
‘I don’t understand. She’s been gone almost twenty-four hours, so why keep her then dump her body out here when it’s almost dark?’
Morgan felt her voice catch in the back of her throat. It was beyond shocking and utterly heartbreaking, not to mention cruel. Ben pulled the zipper up on his suit and reached out his hand, touching her arm, the warmth taking her by surprise.
‘I can’t even begin to get my head around it. I know this is hard but we have to switch it off, Morgan. You have to concentrate on finding out what the hell happened that resulted in Charlie, if this is Charlie, ending up a couple of miles from her home – dead. If you’d rather sit this one out, I can ask Amy to come and take over.’
‘No, I don’t, thank you. I want to be here to help Charlie, I’m okay.’
‘Good, because I need you.’
He walked towards the officer who was clutching a crime scene log, and she whispered, ‘What is that supposed to mean, Ben?’ Pushing it to the back of her mind, she followed him, wrestling with the nitrile gloves that didn’t want to go onto her cold fingers.
Ben rustled towards the officer. ‘Where did you find her?’
She pointed to a huge oak tree; the only one along the entire road that hadn’t been chopped down.
‘She is directly underneath that, Sarge. We think it’s Charlie. She looks like the girl in the photograph that was emailed out to everyone.’ Morgan couldn’t miss the look of distress etched across her face as she spoke to them.
‘Any blood, visible forensics you could see?’
‘Nothing, just the girl. She had a bandage around her head but it was seeping with a brownish liquid. No pools of fresh blood.’
Morgan looked at the tree then turned away. Hot tears were filling her eyes far quicker than she could blink them away, and it took everything she had to stop herself from crying out loud. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, ‘This is a dump site, not the primary scene. There won’t be much here, Ben.’
He nodded in agreement. ‘I know, but why here? Who rang it in?’
‘A woman walking her dog; she lives three doors down that street. I told her to go home and you’d speak to her there. She was looking a bit peaky.’
‘Was she on the pavement or in the road?’ Morgan asked so she could mentally prepare herself for what she was about to see.
‘On the pavement, but very near to the road.’
Wendy arrived and began to haul the pop-up tent out of the back of the van. It was cold but thankfully it wasn’t windy. As they waited for Wendy to erect the tent over the body, they stepped onto the pavement, a little bit closer.
Morgan turned and looked in Wendy’s direction, her heart racing. She didn’t want to look but had no choice. Ben followed her gaze and they stared at the small, lifeless shape lying on the floor, her blonde hair stuck to her head. Morgan could see something around her head; from where they were standing it looked like the kind of sports headband tennis players wore.
Ben spoke. ‘He was trying to shelter her from the rain, so he put her under the tree. He also put her on the pavement so she wouldn’t get run over by another vehicle. What does this tell you?’
‘That he felt bad. He didn’t want any more harm to come to her but wanted someone to find her. This is only a couple of miles from her home; the helicopter scanned this area repeatedly. There’s a nursery that also has an after-school club a bit further up; kids come out anytime up until five, so he didn’t do this very long ago.’
She stopped talking and turned around slowly, surveying the area and surrounding cars, to see if there was one with its engine running or if there was a shadowy figure sitting still in one of them.
‘Ben, he could still be here, watching to make sure she was found.’
Both of them looked up and down the street. There were some cars further up but they couldn’t see anyone.
‘Why would he take her, hurt her, then leave her like this in the open for someone to find her? Who would do something like this?’
‘Someone who cared about her and didn’t want to get arrested for it. She has a head injury. What if Brett accidentally knocked her over yesterday and panicked. He could have put her in the back of his pickup and left her there; the back was covered earlier. Knowing we suspected him of something, he could have brought her here so we’d find her.’
‘I like that, it makes sense. It would explain how she left the area without a trace, why he was so late for his reservation and why he wants to fight the whole world whenever we mention it. Hopefully, we’ll find something that links him to this place. I want the whole area canvassed, every house, garage business along that road.’ He pointed to the street opposite with a row of houses on one side. The other side was an assortment of commercial garages, lock-ups, waste land and a couple of allotments. ‘We need every resident asked if they saw a pickup truck matching the description of Brett’s in the area in the last hour.’
Wendy came back towards them. ‘There’s practically nothing of forensic value; it’s a pretty clean scene. I can’t say about the body, that’s down to the pathologist, I’m just telling you my first impressions. Is there one on the way? The paramedics called it, but we need a forensic pathologist.’
Ben nodded. ‘One was requested earlier; they should be on their way. What about oil on the road, tyre marks, could this have been a hit and run?’
She shook her head. ‘This wasn’t the scene of an accident. There’re no fragments of broken glass, fresh blood or anything to suggest it was. She was left here by someone; the primary scene is somewhere else. As awful as it is, this was just the body dump.’
Both Ben and Morgan nodded. ‘Yeah, I figured it was worth asking. And I was hoping you’d found something that was so good it would lead us straight to whoever did this.’
Wendy smiled at Ben. ‘I do love your optimism and endless quest to believe that our suspects are so stupid to leave us presents that will send them directly to prison. Keep on dreaming, Ben, it’s kind of cute. But you and I know that most criminals are experts on forensics now, thanks to the television.’
Morgan managed a half smile when she saw the wounded expression on h
is face.
‘I’ll go and speak to the woman who found her.’ Crossing the road, she heard the sound of Ben’s heavy footsteps behind her.
They knocked on her door, and Ben whispered, ‘It’s always the dog walkers; we wouldn’t find most of our missing persons or dead bodies if it wasn’t for them. Poor bastards, imagine coming home from work to take Scamp out for his teatime poopsie and you find a dead girl under a tree. It’s enough to put you off ever walking the bloody dog again.’
Morgan looked at him. ‘Poopsie…’
The door opened before she could finish her sentence, and both of them were surprised to see a woman standing there in a bright yellow onesie; she looked like a giant canary.
‘Come in, I’m assuming you’re the coppers.’
They nodded.
‘Poor kid, how is she, have you heard anything back yet?’
They stepped into the narrow hallway which led straight to the staircase, and Morgan glanced at Ben, realising they were going to have to tell her she wasn’t alive.
‘It’s not good, I’m afraid. Thank you for calling it in.’
‘No worries, I couldn’t have left her there. To be honest, I thought it was a dummy at first, or that kids had made a guy and were messing around.’
Morgan asked. ‘A guy?’
‘Penny for the guy, you know, a stuffed Guy Fawkes. We used to make one out of our dad’s old clothes, stuff it with straw and drag it all over the place. The corner shop was the best place to go with it; we’d sit outside and ask everyone who went in or out, penny for the guy. Have you never heard of it?’
Ben nodded; Morgan shook her head.
‘Blimey, I’m showing my age.’
Ben smiled. ‘No, you’re not. Morgan here is still practically a kid.’