by Helen Phifer
‘What are you doing here?’
His smile disappeared and he looked as if she’d just insulted him. She tried to shake the grumpiness out of her voice.
‘I meant who are you going to see?’
‘No one, I came to pick you up.’
She was tired, beyond tired, and couldn’t think straight but she knew that this didn’t make sense.
‘How would you know I’d need picking up? How long have you been here, Fin?’
His cheeks turned pink. ‘A little while.’
‘Have you nothing better to do than hang around outside police stations?’ It occurred to her that maybe he didn’t, and this was what journalists did. She’d never really spent time with a reporter before and had no idea how their working life panned out.
‘Is that all the thanks I get? I woke up then couldn’t get back to sleep and called you, then I messaged you and got no reply. I figured that something bad had happened and you’d pulled an all-nighter, so I came here. I was waiting for the front desk to open so I could give you these.’
He bent inside the car to retrieve a large takeaway coffee cup and a paper bag which he held out to her, and she felt awful; in fact she felt like the most ungrateful cow ever.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off; it’s been a long night. You shouldn’t have but thank you.’
He shrugged. ‘Would you like a lift home?’
She had left before Ben; he was still on the phone. She’d needed fresh air and hadn’t even considered how she was getting home.
‘Yes, please, I would.’
She got into his car, and he passed the coffee over. Opening the bag she peered inside at the still-warm croissant.
‘Thank you, Fin, this is really kind of you.’
He grinned once more, and she felt better. ‘It’s only from the twenty-four-hour garage, but it’s the thought that counts. Did you have a rough night?’
‘Yes, it’s been awful.’
‘You didn’t find the girl then?’
She looked at him, raising one eyebrow, wondering how he knew so much about everything. How well did she know him?
‘Press release: a missing child report went out early hours. I got a text message; I get alerts whenever something newsworthy is released.’
‘Oh, of course you do. Sorry, I can’t tell you anything if you’re looking for an exclusive.’
‘I know you can’t and I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m not here to fish for details so I can go and write a story, Morgan. I’m here because I wanted to see you and make sure you were okay. I was gutted you had to leave early last night, but I’m also aware you had good reason to and that your work is the most important thing in your life.’
She sipped the warm coffee, savouring the aroma and sighed. She couldn’t be bothered getting into any arguments. He was trying to be nice and she was in a horrible mood.
‘I’m tired and not very pleasant to be around when I’m like this.’ She wondered if her insomnia would kick in. Since she’d found out who she was it hadn’t been quite so debilitating. She still woke at 4.25 most mornings, but she’d been able to roll over and drift back off if she didn’t give in and get out of bed.
She gave Fin directions to Singleton Park Road. He drove the rest of the way in silence and she could have kissed him for it. When he pulled up in front of her apartment, she watched Emily come out of the front door, the perfect vision of beauty in her smart two-piece trouser suit, her long blonde hair in a high ponytail. Emily stared into the car, realised it was her and waved frantically. Morgan waved back, wishing she didn’t always look as if she was homeless whenever she bumped into Emily. She got out of the car.
‘Thank you, Fin. I’d ask you in but I really need to grab a shower and a couple of hours’ sleep.’
‘Of course you do. I’ll maybe see you later if you’re not too busy?’
She nodded, closing the car door softly and walking towards the front door, not turning around to wave. She didn’t know what was going on with Fin. He was lovely and very handsome, which kind of made her wonder what he saw in her. It occurred to her then that she could ask him to dig into Eleanor Fleming’s disappearance. He had more time than she did, and he could do some research into it on her behalf. Reporters were supposed to be good at that sort of stuff; plus it would keep him busy and maybe stop him hanging around waiting for her. She realised that this might be overstepping the mark, she could do this without Fin’s help. Once she was inside her apartment, Morgan took the croissant out of the bag and ate it in three huge bites not even tasting the buttery pastry but leaving a trail of flaking crumbs along the floor to the bathroom as she headed to the shower.
She closed her eyes and let the hot spray soak into her back and shoulders, which were aching, her mind alternating between images of Charlie and Macy. Both cute kids, both lived with their single mothers, both had been left to fend for themselves a lot of the time. Did that make them streetwise, or targets for whoever was out there stealing children? She couldn’t stem the flow of tears that began to pour down her cheeks. It was heartbreaking. She couldn’t bear the thought of some monster taking these kids away from their parents. Even if they weren’t the most perfect mothers, they still did their best and she wanted nothing more than to bring them both home safely. Charlie was dead; nine years old was far too young to have your life taken from you in this nightmarish way. Once the conditioner had been rinsed away, she stepped out and towel-dried herself. Pulling on a pair of cosy, soft pyjamas she towel-dried her hair. She’d deal with that mess when she’d had some sleep.
She climbed into bed and began to breathe deeply through her nose and out through her mouth, trying her best to block out the image of Charlie’s pale, dead face. She lifted her pillow and took out the chunk of smoky quartz that her aunt Ettie had given her. She clutched it in her left hand, hoping that it would help ground her in some way, for at least a couple of hours, to take away the sadness and pain tearing her insides apart; in less than a minute she stopped counting her breaths and her eyes closed.
Twenty-One
Macy opened her eyes and stared at the flamingo-pink ceiling above her head; this wasn’t her bedroom ceiling. Hers was a dirty white, with a large patch of black mould in the corner to the left of the light. She went to sit up and realised that she couldn’t move her arms or legs. Opening her mouth to scream, she sucked in the piece of material wrapped around it and began to choke on dry air and cloth. Her heart was racing, and she had never felt so scared in all her life. Where was she? Her mum was going to kill her, and she hadn’t even got to eat the flipping bar of chocolate that caused her to be in this situation. She shut her eyes and tried to calm her breathing down; she was okay. At least she was breathing. And then a dull throbbing pain in her knee reminded her of the spectacular fall in the rubbish-strewn alleyway she’d gone through last night when she knew she should have walked around. Tears filled her eyes, and she felt the big, wet drops roll down her cheek. She didn’t cry, ever, not even when her mum was being mean to her and made her put the bins out or wash all the pots and pans when she made a Sunday roast. Lifting her arm to brush them away before anyone saw them, she let out a muffled scream of anger that she couldn’t even wipe her own eyes. She blinked furiously instead. She wasn’t some scared kid. She wouldn’t let the man who had brought her here see that. How had he got her here? The last thing she knew she was lying amongst the empty beer cans and crisp packets with her knees on fire. Lifting her head to try and look around, a wave of sickness washed over her. Her head hurt really bad. Had she knocked herself out when she fell, or passed out?
There were footsteps outside the room, heavy footsteps that were walking up and down. She shut her eyes. Whoever it was she didn’t want to see them. Until she knew where she was or what was happening, it was better to pretend to still be asleep. A woman’s voice in the house somewhere was shouting at someone else, but she couldn’t hear them properly because it sounded faraway. Whoever it
was sounded mean and she wondered if she was going to come in here and shout at her.
Her body tensed as a key began to slowly turn in the lock of the bedroom door. She squeezed her eyes tight shut. Please God, don’t let them hurt me. I want to go home and see my dog. Whoever it was never came into the room. The door didn’t open wide. She stole a glance through her almost-closed eyelids but couldn’t see them clearly without giving it away that she was awake. Then she felt the cool air as it opened and whoever it was stepped inside. They walked quickly towards the bed, and she heard the clanking sound of metal against a plate or something like that. She realised it was a tray and felt a spark of hope; maybe she was in some weird hospital where they kept you tied up for your own good. She’d watched a film on Netflix about a girl in a hospital where they kept everyone tied to beds. This made her feel a little better, but she was still too afraid to open her eyes in case it wasn’t a nurse standing there. What if it was some crazy man with a knife? Was it the man who took Charlie? Her mind was overflowing with thoughts.
She heard a faint voice whisper, ‘I’m going to remove the gag and untie one hand so you can eat something. If you scream, make any noise or try to escape, my mother will hear you. She’s not a very nice woman. I don’t think you would like to meet her, so eat your breakfast quietly and we’ll take it from there. If you make so much as a sound that she can hear, she will kill you, I can promise you that much.’
Coldness seeped through her body. She didn’t move although she guessed he knew she was faking being asleep because her body was so stiff and scared. He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and turning the key.
Macy opened her eyes and turned to look at what he’d brought. To her surprise there was a stack of pancakes covered in chocolate and sweets; fresh cream was melting off them, pooling at the sides with the chocolate sauce, and she felt her stomach let out a groan. There was a glass of orange juice. She was so thirsty that she leant over and grabbed the glass. She couldn’t move much, just enough to reach the tray, and when she did her head felt as if it was going to explode but she focused on the glass. Her fingers grasped the cold, small glass and she lifted it to her lips, almost downing it. The sweetness was tinged with a bitter taste, but she didn’t care – she was too thirsty. After she’d finished that she picked up the spoon and began to scoop the cream and chocolate sauce onto it. Licking it, she smiled at how good it tasted. The pancakes were good, the nicest ones she’d ever had. Much better than the ones her mum made that were always burnt and stuck to the pan. She ate every bit and wished she could reach enough to pick up the plate and lick that clean. Her sweet tooth satisfied she turned back on the bed. Whoever it was couldn’t be that mean if they were going to feed her nice things. She looked around the room. It was very pink, disgustingly pink, and there were posters on the wall of some boy band she didn’t recognise. Her eyes began to feel heavy. She tried to untie her other hand, but her fingers were too clumsy and the room was beginning to spin. Closing her eyes, she lay her head down. She would just sleep for a little while and then she’d escape. She could make a run for it if she untied her hand and legs. Macy let the darkness take her away from this strange room and the feeling of pure terror which had seeded itself in her stomach.
Twenty-Two
Ben had done everything he possibly could: Al and his search team were scouring the area; the PCSOs had been out in force door knocking; CSI had processed the alleyway where Morgan thought Macy had been abducted from; Vincent had been sent home back to his mother. The only person he hadn’t spoken to yet was Charlie’s dad, Brett, who seemed to have done a disappearing act. When the FLO had gone to break the news it was only his partner at home. He needed a couple of hours’ sleep and then he’d be back at it. He needed to shower, shave and put on fresh clothes. He hated the thought that his crumpled suit might have the lingering aroma of stale sweat clinging to it. He wished he still smoked; he’d given up years ago but when he was at this level of stress a sneaky cigarette out the back of the old station had usually done the trick. He made it to his car without his phone ringing, which was pretty good, and then it began vibrating in his pocket. He recognised Declan’s number.
‘Good morning, have you been home?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Really? I have had the worst night’s sleep in a long time and was going to say I can go in earlier if you wanted to get a head start on the PM, but you better grab a couple of hours first.’
‘There’s another missing girl.’
‘Shit, for real?’
‘Unfortunately; we can’t find her, and she lived very near to Charlie Standish.’
Declan let out a long whistle.
‘We have a huge problem then, my friend.’
‘We do indeed. I’ll get there as soon as I can.’
‘No, get yourself home. Charlie will wait a little longer.’
Declan hung up.
Ben was no longer tired; he was exhausted beyond exhausted, but he wanted to get this over with. What was that saying, ‘sleep when you’re dead’? At this rate he might just keel over with the sadness and stress. He would go and wake Morgan up.
He began to drive in the direction of their favourite coffee shop, Rydal Falls Coffee Co. Hopefully, a decent coffee would be enough to bring them both back to life and able to concentrate on what to do to find the sick bastard who was stealing kids and killing them.
Ben ordered two large coffees and an espresso, to give his brain a shot of pure caffeine to wake him up. As he drove into the entrance of the beautiful detached Georgian house where Morgan had the ground floor apartment, he wondered who the Porsche 911 belonged to. Maybe someone had rented the middle apartment; it had been the last to be refurbished. It had occurred to him at one point that he might be better downsizing and moving here. At least he could be near to Morgan and keep an eye on her. Then he’d realised that was plain weird – it made him sound like a cross between a parent and a stalker not her friend and boss. Parking next to the Porsche he got out and walked around it, admiring it. He’d always wanted an Aston Martin DBS but this was pretty nice too, and both of them were way out of his league. Coffees in one hand, he rang the doorbell and wondered if she was fast asleep; he felt bad for disturbing her. Her voice crackled through the video doorbell.
‘What are you doing? You should be at home getting some rest. Have you found Macy?’
He peered into the camera. ‘No, unfortunately. Why are you awake? So should you.’
From inside the large entrance hall, he heard the sound of her front door opening and then she pulled back the door and he caught a faint scent of her perfume; she always wore Coco Mademoiselle. Her burnt copper hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she was wearing her pyjamas. Her face had been scrubbed clean of make-up and he could see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind her.
‘We need to talk.’
She led him into the open-plan lounge-kitchen area, where he saw that bloody journalist standing pouring boiling water into a cafetière of fresh coffee, and he felt a spark of something so powerful inside his chest he wasn’t sure if it was anger or jealously. He realised the car he’d been admiring outside probably belonged to him, which annoyed him even more.
Morgan smiled at Ben. ‘Do you know Fin Palmer? Fin, this is Ben, my sergeant.’
Fin held out his hand, and Ben reluctantly clasped hold of it, repulsed by the feel of his too-soft skin. He glanced down and noticed his nails were perfectly manicured, wondering what kind of guy bothered getting a manicure. When he let go it took all of his might not to wipe his hand against his trouser leg. He didn’t like the guy standing in front of him, grinning with his perfect, too-white smile; his teeth looked far too big for his mouth. Ben wondered how old he was. On first glimpse, he’d looked around the same age as Morgan, but close up he had telltale signs of wrinkles around his eyes, although his forehead was far too smooth for a
bloke. He wondered if he’d had Botox or whatever it was they pumped into your skin to iron out the signs of ageing.
Fin spoke. ‘We haven’t been formally introduced. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Morgan speaks highly of you considering you’re her boss.’
Morgan looked at Fin, arching an eyebrow, which made Ben feel better. She didn’t look amused at his introduction. She took the coffee cup from his hand, and he noticed the flicker of irritation cross Fin’s face; it looked like he was drinking the pot of coffee himself.
‘So, what have you come to tell me if you haven’t found Macy?’
Ben couldn’t stop himself. He glared at Fin, who had the good grace to turn away. He realised that he’d rather talk to Vincent Jackson any day over this smarmy bastard. Fin walked towards Morgan, where he began rubbing the palm of his hand across her shoulder blades. She shrugged him off.
‘There’s no news on Macy, and Declan said he’s ready to start the post-mortem earlier if we’re okay with it. He couldn’t sleep either so has gone to the hospital.’
‘Poor kid, it’s not looking good for her, is it?’ Fin stated.
Morgan glanced at Fin. ‘He has good contacts; he seems to find out everything before we do, don’t you, Fin? I’m waiting for him to tell me he’s found our missing girl.’
Ben took great pleasure in watching Fin’s cheeks turn a bright shade of scarlet.
‘I’ll leave you to it; obviously, you have things to discuss you can’t in front of me. Morgan, I’m around if you need anything, give me a call.’ He bent down towards her face. Ben couldn’t believe it – he was actually going to kiss her on the lips in front of him. Morgan realised what he was about to do and turned her cheek, so they brushed the skin above her cheekbone instead. Fin straightened up. He looked annoyed, which gave Ben a degree of satisfaction.