by Carol Wyer
The Birthday
An absolutely gripping crime thriller
Carol Wyer
Also by Carol Wyer
The DI Natalie Ward series:
The Birthday
The DI Robyn Carter series:
Little Girl Lost
Secrets of the Dead
The Missing Girls
The Silent Children
The Chosen Ones
Other titles:
Life Swap
Take a Chance on Me
Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines
Surfing in Stilettos
Just Add Spice
Grumpy Old Menopause
How Not to Murder Your Grumpy
Grumpies On Board
Love Hurts
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Little Girl Lost
Carol’s Email Sign-Up
Also by Carol Wyer
A Letter from Carol
Secrets of the Dead
The Missing Girls
The Silent Children
The Chosen Ones
Life Swap
Take a Chance on Me
Acknowledgements
Prologue
FRIDAY, 24 JULY 2015
The children’s screams lifted high in the air and pierced Elsa’s eardrums like knives slicing through her brain. The desire to strangle them – all of them – became overpowering. Bloody headache. It had turned her into a demented witch. She batted away the urge. She couldn’t think straight when she had one of these bad headaches. They blocked out reason and all she wanted to do was shut herself away and hide under her bedcovers until the pain became manageable. They’d been occurring more frequently the last six months and the medication was no longer having the effect she desired. She’d have to ask for a higher dosage.
The doctor had diagnosed them as tension headaches, brought on by stress. Hardly surprising given what she’d been through the last year.
In the barn, two boys were fighting over a toy dinosaur, each tugging with all their might, determined to possess the plastic object. Such ferocity over something that only cost three pounds from the craft shop. Elsa drew on all her reserves and, clapping her hands, called for attention. The last thing she’d needed was to find herself in charge of today’s birthday party: twenty overexcited five- and six-year-olds, racing about feverishly and oblivious to any of her commands.
The birthday girl, wearing a baby-pink dress on which was pinned a large fuchsia badge bearing the number six, and with sparkling pink hairgrips holding back her thick, black hair, was the culprit behind all the squealing and shouting. It was Harriet Downing’s special day and she was milking that for all it was worth. Elsa plastered on a false smile and announced it was time to visit the petting zoo. She was greeted with more shrill cries from Harriet’s friends, all hyper after sugar and soft-play, and eager to launch themselves on the animals housed in pens near the specially adapted barn that was Uptown Craft Centre and Farm’s main function room.
Elsa Townsend was part-owner/part-manager, a role she’d inherited through her marriage to and subsequent divorce from Barney Townsend, who’d set it up as a garden centre five years ago in May 2010. Barney loved plants and gardening, but it was Elsa who’d spotted the potential for development and bringing in new clientele – ones with lots of pester power: children. Garden centres attracted only one type of person, those who enjoyed gardening. By converting some of the outbuildings into animal pens and providing birthday parties, along with arts and craft days, Elsa had turned the place into a goldmine. The bigger and busier it had become, the more pressure it had placed on the Townsends’ relationship, and as Barney withdrew more frequently to his greenhouses and planting areas, so their marriage had suffered.
Earlier this year, the Townsends had finally given up on their failed marriage and had divorced. Elsa owned half of the business, but Barney had sold his share to Alistair Fulcher, a self-opinionated, swaggering know-it-all, and Elsa was left working with a man she could barely tolerate. It was Alistair’s fault she had been stuck with the birthday party on her day off. He’d messed up the work rota and 25-year-old Donna, who should have been in charge today, had managed to get time off to visit her sick gran. Elsa snorted. Sick gran. She wasn’t born yesterday. Single Donna and the very much married Alistair Fulcher were obviously having an affair. She’d spotted the secretive looks between them in the office. Why else had Alistair suddenly announced he had to go to Nottingham, leaving Elsa in charge of everything that day? She only had two helpers and one of them, Janet, was busy elsewhere for the moment. Elsa looked around for 24-year-old Guy Noble who’d disappeared to prepare the animals for viewing and had not yet returned to assist her. Controlling a large group of children and baby animals required at least four adults, yet three was all she had today, and at the moment she had no idea of the whereabouts of the other two.
The children were scattering; some had fastened onto the tug-of-war going on at the far end of the barn and were watching it, adding encouraging shouts; two girls had begun performing handstands against the wall and another group were… well, Elsa couldn’t work out quite what they were up to but it involved huddling together and periodically leaping about shrieking. Harriet Downing had separated herself from the main group and was giving Elsa a look that said, If you don’t sort this out, I’m going to tell my mother what a rubbish time I’ve had. Elsa couldn’t face reimbursing Mrs Downing, or explaining why Harriet hadn’t had the birthday party she’d expected. The woman had been quite specific about her requirements and had hinted, if all went well, she’d recommend the centre to her vast network of mothers and friends. Elsa didn’t usually accept a booking of twenty children without having at least one or two of the parents stay behind to lend a hand – it was tricky to keep an eye on all the squabbling or overexcited children, especially once they’d eaten, but Mrs Downing had wanted all Harriet’s classmates to attend and insisted it be a drop-off only party, so Elsa had reluctantly agreed. She did a quick headcount. Twenty. As if by magic, Guy appeared and she let out a sigh of relief.
‘Look, here’s Guy. He’s going to take you to meet our new baby lamb, Billy. He’s only three days old. Who wants to pet him first?’ She grimaced at her own artificially pleasant voice. Her head pounded. She’d grab a couple of pills and catch up with Guy.
‘Me!’ came the collective scream, making her wince.
‘Okay, okay!’
laughed Guy. He was a natural with children. They seemed to like his big, honest face, shaggy hair and clunky boots. Elsa supposed he looked like a friendly giant to them. He ambled forwards and the children flocked towards him, instantly quiet. She exhaled again and signalled she was going to the office. The crowd of children trailed out of the barn after Guy. Like the Pied Piper leading the village children away, she thought before the last child disappeared from view.
Elsa scurried past the stables, where three ponies, wearing bows and fake unicorn horns, were tethered, waiting to offer rides to the children once they’d finished the petting tour. Each birthday party began with food and games in the outside barn: Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Grandmother’s Footsteps and other favourites; it continued with a trip around the animal enclosures, where children were encouraged to hold or stroke or even feed the animals; and culminated in a short pony ride around the grounds. It was nice when they had a summer lamb, and the birth of Billy had been a bonus.
She sidled into the office she shared with Alistair and rummaged in her handbag for some medication, popping two pills into her mouth. Her head was now thudding so much she could barely concentrate on what she was doing. She took a generous swig from a bottle of water she kept on her desk, swallowed hard, then sat with her face in her hands for a few moments. She needed the throbbing to ease before she could face the children and pony rides. Guy would be fine for a few minutes without her. Janet would be helping him, making sure the animals didn’t bite or bolt. The two of them could cope. She needed a holiday. Maybe she’d book a trip and leave Alistair to run the place. That’d teach him. He ought to pull his weight more, not constantly leave it to her. Bloody Alistair.
The pain began to dull but she had little energy to stand and return to the party. Guy would alert her to any problems. Birthday parties! It had been a stroke of genius to come up with that idea. Each event brought in considerable profit, especially when the children asked their parents to buy the farmyard models, soft toys or any of the numerous craft gifts available from the shop they had to pass through on their way to the exit. She shut her eyes, tried to relax her shoulders and wished Barney had stuck out both their marriage and the job. They’d worked well together.
Her thoughts continued to flow and it was a shock when she looked down at her watch and realised she’d been in the office for almost twenty-five minutes. It was time for the pony rides, and then the parents would arrive to collect their offspring. After that, she’d take off and head home too. The thought cheered her and she ambled back out to the yard in time to see the children trooping out, the first group with Guy and the second with Janet. Voices rose again in excitement at the sight of the horses.
‘Unicorns!’ screamed Harriet. The chattering, like flocks of noisy starlings, intensified as the children spilled towards the stables at speed. Twenty children. No. Nineteen. Elsa counted again. Janet only had nine in her group. She hastened across to join them, pulling Janet aside.
‘Janet, there’s a child missing.’
Janet shook her head. ‘No. Guy and I split them up when they came into the enclosure to calm them down. They were pretty excitable. He took ten and I took nine.’
‘There were twenty children.’ Elsa’s heart fluttered. The look on Janet’s face chilled her blood.
Janet called out, ‘Can you all line up, please? No touching the ponies. Remember what I told you earlier about frightening the animals. We don’t want anyone bitten, do we?’
Her voice was calm but as the children got into two lines, Elsa’s pulse quickened.
‘Can’t I just stroke it?’ asked Harriet, breaking from the others to approach the first pony. ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘In a minute, Harriet,’ said Elsa, a little too firmly. Harriet’s bottom lip jutted out and tears welled. Mrs Downing would be most unhappy that her precious child had been admonished, but Elsa didn’t care about that for the moment.
Janet spoke calmly. ‘Can you tell me who’s not here?’
The children looked about in puzzlement. One of them – a girl with braided hair and a gap-toothed smile – eventually raised her hand. Elsa remembered she was called Audrey – her own mother’s name. ‘Ava Sawyer’s not here,’ she said. ‘She went to the toilet, but that was ages ago.’ There was a buzzing among some of the children.
Harriet, who looked sulky at having the attention removed from her, spoke out. ‘She’s always going off on her own.’
Elsa ignored the remark and spoke to Audrey. ‘Why didn’t she tell me? I told you all to ask if you wanted to go to the toilet.’
‘She said she knew where it was. You were busy with Freddie and Thomas. She couldn’t wait.’
Elsa’s heart bashed against her ribcage as her breathing quickened. She’d been defusing an argument between the two boys who’d been fighting over the dinosaur during the party. One had accused the other of cheating at Pin the Tail on the Donkey. She hadn’t seen the girl slip out of the barn. She was in charge and she hadn’t seen Ava Sawyer leave. She must have miscounted earlier. Elsa swallowed hard. This was her fault. A child had gone into the centre unaccompanied and not returned. She might still be lost somewhere in the vast centre. She fervently hoped so. The alternative was unthinkable.
Janet went to search the toilets in case the child was trapped inside a cubicle, or ill. The remaining children lost interest in Ava’s absence and gradually became restless, kicking at stones and grumbling at being kept from the ponies. Elsa felt the tension mounting again. She had no option other than to let Guy lead the first couple of children – Harriet and her best friend, Rainey Kilburn – off on a pony ride while she kept an eye on the others. Janet raced back, concern on her face, and shook her head. She was accompanied by two of the craft centre’s staff.
‘Nobody there. Ted and Kristin haven’t seen her either.’
‘What does Ava look like?’ Elsa asked Audrey.
‘She was wearing a yellow dress. She has glasses.’
She remembered the child: doll-like with a porcelain complexion, long, blonde hair and in a lemon dress that hung on her skinny frame. She’d not seemed at ease with the others and held back when they were playing games, as if she didn’t feel she belonged.
She spoke quietly to Janet. ‘Alert all the staff. Shut the centre and put out a call on the public address system.’ Even as she uttered the words, she had a sinking feeling it was going to be fruitless. Ava had been gone for a full forty minutes, and if somebody had come across her, they’d have accompanied her to the tills, or taken her to a member of staff. Elsa looked around at the faces in front of her and willed the girl to be found with every fibre of her being.
‘Has she gone home?’ asked Audrey.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Elsa. ‘I think she’s still here.’ As she spoke, parents approached the yard with smiles on their faces and her heart lurched again. She recognised the woman with the same delicate features as her daughter. Ava’s mother had arrived.
One
TUESDAY, 25 APRIL 2017
Tony Mellows edged around the enormous quagmire that masqueraded as a building site. The bloody weather had been against them ever since they’d begun the sodding job. The weather forecasters were a bunch of tossers. They’d said it would be dry today and yet here he was, up to his ankles in mud, and the rain was pissing down, yet again. It’d rained all day. He shook his head to dislodge the drops in his thick hair.
There was no end to the wet weather, but deadlines were deadlines, and they had to excavate the site. The new owners wanted huge greenhouses and modern buildings erected in time for the big launch in July, and even if nature was trying to thwart them, they had to carry on regardless and clear the scrubland.
He signalled to the driver of the large JCB bouncing across the rutted field, its bucket rocking and clanking as it laboured to the far side. Bob, the driver, grinned back and mouthed, ‘Wanker.’
The recipient of the derogatory remark was standing next to Tony, dressed inappropriately
in a steely grey suit, white shirt complete with cufflinks, and red tie. He spoke to Tony. ‘So, when do you think you’ll begin erecting the new buildings?’
Neil Linton held an umbrella bearing the Poppyfields Garden Centre logo over his coiffured head. Head honcho on this project, he looked like a man who’d keel over with a stroke or heart attack pretty soon if they didn’t deliver on time. He was a weaselly-looking character with a pinched complexion, who managed to look permanently angst-ridden. He drew deeply on his cigarette – the third since his arrival that afternoon – and flicked it onto the sodden ground. A thin wisp of pale, silver smoke rose from the stub, but Neil didn’t glance down. His eyes were trained on the diggers clearing the site. Poppyfields, a large garden centre conglomerate, had recently acquired Uptown Craft Centre and intended extending the site by utilising the land to the rear. It was Neil’s job to ensure this happened, and soon.
Tony grunted a response that was lost in the noise of clanking digger buckets and rain splashing onto the umbrella. He was used to people bellowing and pushing for him to finish on time. The fact remained that it was a filthy, wet day and even his top-of-the-range machinery and experienced workforce couldn’t perform miracles. They’d been able to remove brambles and old shrubs and clear the land, but if the weather carried on like this, it would add a good couple of weeks to the schedule. Laying foundations into sodden ground would prove impossible.