by Helen Phifer
He saw her turn to glare at him and shut up.
‘Sorry, we didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m Detective Constable Morgan Brookes and this is my colleague, Ben Matthews.’ She purposely didn’t introduce him as her superior just to piss him off. She had no idea why he was being an idiot to her today, but two could play at that game.
‘Can you talk us through what happened?’
‘Not much to say really. I got in from work around twenty past four and always take the dog out before I do anything. We didn’t get very far before I noticed the figure lying under the tree. I’m too nosey for my own good, so I walked that way and as I got closer I realised it was an actual kid. My heart dropped so quick, I felt sick. I ran towards her whilst phoning an ambulance. It was pretty obvious there was something seriously wrong because she wasn’t moving. I actually thought she was dead. It was horrible, the poor thing. I hope she’s okay. I don’t think I’ll ever get her face out of my mind again.’
Welcome to my world. Morgan stopped herself from saying it out loud.
‘That must have been an awful shock for you. Did you notice anyone in the area? Was there anyone hanging around, any cars with their engines running, that kind of thing?’
She shook her head. ‘To be completely honest, I was too busy panicking about what to do with the girl. The ambulance person on the other end of the phone was amazing. He kept talking to me and told me what to do; he was so nice.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Not much. I bent down to see if she was breathing, and I think she was, but it was hard to tell, and I didn’t actually touch her to see if she was because I was panicking. The 999 guy told me to not disturb her because I told him she was already lying on her side. It looked as if she’d been knocked down, but the weird thing was she had a bandage on her head. Who would do that if you run someone over? And don’t get me wrong, it’s easy to do around here. There are so many kids who play out and run across the road without giving it a second glance; I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve nearly hit one of them. But if I did, I wouldn’t bandage them up and leave them unconscious then drive away. That’s cruel, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. If when you’re thinking about it all later and something comes back to you that you’d forgot about, could you give me a call? It doesn’t matter what time of day or night. If I don’t answer, you can leave me a message. That would be great.’
Morgan fished the last card out of her pocket and passed it to her.
‘Of course I will. I hope the little girl is okay and you catch the bastard who did this to her.’
Ben spoke. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she’s dead.’
‘Oh, no.’ The sound came out as barely a whisper and tears began to roll down the woman’s cheeks.
‘You did everything you possibly could have, thank you, but we think she may have been dead some time. Please keep this to yourself until the family has been notified.’
This time it was a gasp that came from her throat as her hand flew to her mouth and she nodded her head. Ben walked out of the front door before he got caught up in trying to comfort her, and Morgan followed; they simply didn’t have the time – they had a killer to catch.
Thirteen
Macy Wallace knew she shouldn’t be out so late, but she was hungry and she had found a quid down the side of the sofa when she’d been digging around for some money. She shouted at the small black Echo Dot on the kitchen window, ‘Alexa, what time is it?’
‘It’s 7.25 p.m. I hope you’re having a good evening.’
‘Thank you,’ Macy shouted back. She spoke more to the piece of plastic than she did her mum who was never here. Her mum worked long hours at the bingo hall in Kendal, or so she told Macy, who was sure she stayed at the bingo after she’d finished work because the wine was cheap and it meant she didn’t have to look after her. Macy didn’t care; she could look after herself. At almost eleven years old she was practically a teenager. She didn’t need anyone to make her tea or wash her clothes; besides, her mum was a rubbish cook. She burnt toast every time, and her pizzas were so hard they could be used as a deadly weapon. After spending the last five minutes searching through the kitchen cupboards for a biscuit or piece of chocolate, she’d given up and begun hunting around for some cash. All she wanted was a bar of chocolate. She loved chocolate, it was her favourite, and she would live off it if she could. Even the cheap, smart-price chocolate would do; breaking off a piece of chocolate one square at a time and then letting it melt on your tongue was the best way to eat it. Just thinking about a bar of Galaxy was making her drool like her dog.
Grabbing her hoody off the coat rack she tugged it on. It was dark outside and Max, who was a Labrador cross, was whining at her to take him out. She might as well walk him to the shop; at least he’d get a chance to do his business and she could go to bed without him pawing her until she got dressed and took him out. Clipping the frayed rope-lead to his collar, she grabbed some poop bags and shoved them in her pocket. She hated picking up the poop, but she didn’t have the money to pay the fine if she didn’t and her mum said it would come out of her pocket money. Macy hadn’t pointed out that she never got pocket money, but instead took it to mean that even the crappy presents she got for her birthday and Christmas would be stopped until the fine was paid.
Macy opened the front door, and Max dragged her towards the gate. She pulled the door shut but didn’t bother locking it. They had nothing worth stealing, and she didn’t have a key to get back in because she wasn’t supposed to leave the house once it got dark. The floor was damp and the moss on the path made it like a skating rink. She skidded to the open gate and was glad to step out onto the cracked paving stones. She tutted when she saw the police tape still across Cloisters Lane; that meant she had to walk the long way around and it was raining.
At school they’d been talking about the missing kid. Macy felt bad for her. She didn’t know her to speak to, but she saw her a lot. Always on her own, a bit like her really, but Macy was too shy to talk to her and besides, she was much younger than she was and she didn’t want to risk the other kids being mean to her for hanging around with a Year Five. School was tough enough without that.
Macy reached the alley which ran between this street and Friars Lane, where the corner shop and her much-needed bar of chocolate were. The alley was in darkness and she wondered if she should risk walking through it. It occurred to her that someone had taken that missing kid and maybe walking down an overgrown, dark alley when she wasn’t allowed out of the house might not be the best idea she’d ever had. Even though her mum wasn’t around to tell her off if she found out about it, she’d be in big trouble. She sighed and carried on walking; the end of the street looked a million miles away. Max was happy to be walking; his tail was wagging. He would follow her anywhere, and she reached down to pat his head.
At the shop she tied him to the railing outside. There were a couple of boys from the year above her arguing a bit further down, and she quickly went inside before they noticed her. She didn’t want to have to talk to them. She just wanted her chocolate and to get home out of this drizzling rain. The shop was quiet inside. She grabbed her bar of Galaxy and passed her quid over to Karen behind the counter.
‘Hey, Macy, how’s things?’
‘Better when I get to eat this, Kaz.’
She laughed. ‘Life’s always better with chocolate.’
Macy grinned at her and slipped outside. The boys had moved a little further down the street. She untied Max and shoved her most prized possession in her pocket with the poop bags and began to run back home. Her mum would go mad if she got back and she wasn’t there. The rain was getting heavier; she would be soaking wet by the time she walked all the way around. She reached the overgrown alleyway, did a quick check to see if anyone was around, then ducked into it. The street lights which usually lit it up had been smashed; her mum had said it was so the dealers didn’t get seen doing their business. Macy had no
idea what this meant, but she took it that whatever it was they did must be bad if they didn’t want to get seen. Despite being streetwise and knowing just about everyone who lived around here, her heart was racing as she pumped her legs and ran down the narrow, rubbish-strewn path. Max’s legs were galloping so he could keep up with her. As she turned the corner she could see the street lights on Cloisters in the distance. The police were still there so she was safe. What she didn’t see, because it was cloaked in the shadows, was the broken slab of paving stone which was sticking up at a funny angle. Her foot hit the corner of it with force and she felt herself flying through the air. She windmilled her arms and legs to try and save herself from falling flat on her face, but only managed to propel herself forwards with even more force, and she hit the floor with a loud thud and felt painful stinging as the rough paving ripped her black leggings, grazing her legs. She hit her head and knocked herself sick. As she lay there panting, dazed and her legs feeling as if they were on fire, a voice asked, ‘You okay down there, kid?’
She couldn’t answer, the pain was too hot and she’d managed to wind herself, and to top it all off there was no sign of Max. She must have let go of his lead and the little traitor had carried on running, leaving her in a heap on the floor. Through the hot tears that were filling her eyes, she saw a dark figure towering over her. They were tears of pain, humiliation and fear that her mum was going to kill her for ripping her leggings and losing the stupid dog.
Fourteen
Morgan stared at the white pop-up tent and blinked; every now and again a bright flash illuminated the inside of it. A 4x4 engine roared behind them as it drove into the street, making her turn to stare, as for one awful moment she thought it might be Brett, Charlie’s dad. She relaxed to see it wasn’t his black pickup. It was either the chief super or even better, Declan, one of the two home office forensic pathologists who covered this area. As it got closer she was glad to recognise Declan’s white Audi and felt a little better that from now on Charlie was going to be in the safest possible hands. He got out and waved at her. She waved back, heading in his direction.
‘Well if it isn’t Morgan Brookes. Where’s that devilishly handsome but grumpy sergeant of yours?’
She pointed in the direction of Ben, who was on his phone to someone she assumed was the duty DCI, judging by the number of ‘yes sirs’ he’d said in the last couple of minutes.
‘Is it the missing girl?’
She nodded. ‘It seems so, though we haven’t had a positive ID yet – but we’re confident that it’s Charlie Standish. Poor kid, it’s so sad and horrific.’
‘Kids are always tough, far tougher than anyone else. Even I get blurred vision when it’s someone so young. It’s hard to keep the injustice of it all from taking over everything.’
He zipped up his overalls and bent down to slip the shoe covers on.
‘But you don’t, you manage to keep a clear head and not let any preconceived thoughts cloud your judgement.’
He straightened up. ‘Yes, I suppose I do. I have to, my role is to look for the clues, the evidence and find the answers as to why a young girl has ended up on my cold, lonely steel mortuary table. Then I hand everything over to you guys, to help you find the monster that did it. We work as a team, to bring justice to the dead, and we’re a pretty good one if I do say so myself.’
Morgan nodded. She still hadn’t taken a close look at Charlie’s body and didn’t know if she wanted to or ever would. As if reading her mind, Declan pointed in the direction of the tent.
‘Should we get this done so little Charlie can be moved to a safer place than this cold, unforgiving street?’
She suddenly found it hard to swallow; a lump the size of an egg had formed in her throat and she couldn’t answer him.
‘It’s okay, she needs us now and we are the best people to take care of her. You can do this, Morgan; I know Charlie would like you to be the one to help her. If it was me lying there, I’d want you to be the one fighting for me, because I know you wouldn’t stop until you caught whoever had done it.’
He ducked under the flapping police tape then held it up for her. Ben had finished his phone call, and he watched as she led Declan to the tent. He slowly followed behind, giving them a little bit of a head start.
‘Knock, knock.’ Declan softly spoke through the closed entrance of the tent, and Morgan watched as the zipper was slowly tugged down so they could step in. Wendy’s eyes looked all watery, and her normally rosy complexion was paler than Morgan had ever seen. She stepped to one side to let them in: Declan first and then Morgan. Morgan’s eyes fell to the unmoving figure on the floor, and a wave of sadness for Charlie Standish – so powerful it almost sent her to her knees – washed over her. The sight of the little girl, with the bloodstained, grubby bandage wrapped around her head, with her eyes half closed, was something Morgan knew she would never be able to forget. Declan stepped forward, placing the heavy briefcase he carried on the floor.
‘Well, Charlie, this is a terrible thing. I’m very sorry that you have been left here on your own like this. I’m Doctor Declan and from now on I’m going to take very good care of you, sweetheart.
‘I’m going to take a little look at you now, and then I’m going to take you back to the hospital so I can take a better look and find out who did this to you. Then Morgan here is going to find the person that did and put them in prison for a very long time, aren’t you, Morgan?’
She still couldn’t find her voice to speak, but she nodded furiously.
Declan stood up, opened his briefcase and began to do a preliminary examination of the body.
‘Look at the shape of her head; there’s a significant injury there, though I can’t say much until I’ve removed the bandage, but can you see it?’
Morgan nodded. She sensed Ben standing at the entrance to the tent but couldn’t look at him. She was a wreck, and she didn’t want him to think that she couldn’t handle this, because she knew that she could even though the pain of it physically made her heart ache for Charlie and her mum, Amanda, who was going to have to live with this for the rest of her life. Declan worked quickly; Wendy assisted him, passing him paper bags to put around Charlie’s hands, to secure any trace evidence there may be under her nails. When he was satisfied he had done everything, he stood up, turning to face them both.
‘When you’re ready you can have her moved to the mortuary. I’ll go back now and get ready. Do you think you’ll need to keep her here much longer?’
Ben shrugged and looked at Wendy, who answered. ‘Like I said, this isn’t the primary scene, it’s a secondary one. There is very little evidence I’ve secured. I’m happy to have her moved if you are. We can keep the cordon on and have the entire area searched at first light.’
‘That’s fine by me. I don’t want her here any longer than needs be. We need to get a positive ID. Even though we know it’s Charlie, her mum or dad need to confirm it, and the sooner we get that done the better.’
Fifteen
The DCI arrived moments after Declan had driven away. He was on call from Barrow. Morgan left Ben to go through everything with him and began to knock on the doors of the houses nearest to the playground, but they were still some distance away. Only one person answered, and it was an elderly man who kept cupping his hand to his ear and shrugging; even when she pointed to the tent, he shook his head then shut the door. She realised that their killer had chosen this spot for precisely that reason: no overlooking properties or businesses, apart from some run-down garages. None of them looked as if they had CCTV cameras or at least there wasn’t anything obvious. The nursery was quite some distance away and set back from the street, so even if the CCTV worked there was a good chance it might not have captured anything other than inside the perimeter of the car park.
Morgan reached the car and got inside, waiting for Ben; there wasn’t much else she could do here. She stared at the white tent and the shadows moving around inside. She watched as the DCI, who was muc
h taller than Ben, ducked out of the tent – a well-built man called Johnathan Lowe who used to play rugby up until his wife made him retire after one too many injuries. She wondered how he’d describe her when he thought of her: the rookie with a death wish or the miracle girl who had more lives than a cat? She’d smile if it wasn’t so scary and true. The car door opened, making her jump; she hadn’t even realised Ben was behind him.
‘How are you holding up?’
It was a genuine question and one she would normally answer with good or fine; this time she shrugged and wondered if she’d ever be fine again.
‘We’re going to see Amanda Standish; the ambulance is going to take Charlie to the hospital.’
‘Not the undertakers?’
He shook his head. ‘No, the paramedics agreed they would take her. I don’t want her to be on her own in the back of a private ambulance, zipped into a thick rubber body bag. We owe her more than that.’
‘Yes, of course. That’s nice of them. What about the evidence though?’
‘She’s been tightly wrapped in a sheet to preserve any. Wendy will supervise and sit with her and Cain in the back of the ambulance.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’
He got inside the car and waited for her to start the engine. She did, feeling as if she was on autopilot and not really with it.
‘Ben.’
He was staring at the ambulance which had backed up to the tent, ready to take Charlie to Declan. Realising Morgan had said his name he answered, ‘What?’
‘Never mind.’ How could she tell him she didn’t want to be the one to break the news to Charlie’s mum? Someone had to do it, and she couldn’t let him do it alone. She wasn’t a coward, but the thought of telling Charlie’s mum that her daughter was never coming home filled her veins with iced water.