The Next Girl: A gripping thriller with a heart-stopping twist

by Carla Kovach

  ‘I forgot, their nan’s coming over first thing. I really need to get back.’

  ‘Do you really?’

  ‘Kids, go and get your things.’

  ‘I’m going to stamp on your dinosaur if I get up the stairs first,’ Heidi shouted.

  ‘No,’ Max yelled, racing his big sister back up the stairs.

  ‘Joe, can you give Mummy a minute to talk to Luke?’ She kissed his little finger and then stood up. ‘There, all better.’ The little boy wiped his face and nodded as he left the room.

  Luke kissed Brooke on the head and held her in his arms. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening. I think I’ve had a couple too many anyway, so I’ll head home. I really enjoyed tonight though – really.’

  ‘Really?’ She began twisting her hair in her fingers once again as she bit her bottom lip, allowing the slightest of smiles to escape.

  ‘Really.’ He forced a smile as he headed towards the door, meeting Max and Heidi with their coats.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow about picking the kids up together from Jake’s birthday party,’ she said as she returned his smile. He waved as he closed the back gate and began the short walk home with the children.

  ‘I’m tired, Daddy,’ Max said.

  As they walked past a row of houses and neared their road, he thought back to happier times. A tear slid down his cheek as he thought of his wife and all she had been. But she was gone. Brooke was in his life now and he liked her, a lot. Move on, Luke. She’s not coming back.

  Four

  Gina tapped the light switch and the strip lights flickered in her office until they settled. The dank air still smelled of the takeaway burger she’d eaten earlier that afternoon. She shivered as she pushed the window open to allow the odour to escape. Her in tray was precariously balanced on the edge of her desk, and she slid it back into place, perfectly angled in the corner. She stared at it, then shook her head and shoved it askew again.

  ‘Whoa. It’s rank in here,’ DS Driscoll said as he wafted his hand in front of his nose.

  ‘About which I make no apologies,’ Gina replied. ‘Tell me what we have.’

  ‘We have a few things, guv. DCs O’Connor and Wyre will be assisting with anything we need on the case. They’re just pulling up some seats in the main office. We can update everyone at the same time. DCI Briggs called and he’s at home, awaiting the press report.’

  ‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ Gina replied as she slid her damp coat off and hung it on the back of the chair. Jacob smiled and left.

  She turned to face the window and stared into the darkness of the station car park. The guttering above spilled over and flooded into a pool below. Budgets and cuts were the cause, she knew it. The guttering was nothing more than a growbag for moss, a gatherer of dried twigs from the tree that grew alongside the wall.

  She grabbed a grey suit jacket from the back of the door and pulled it on before entering the bustle of the station.

  Detective Constable Harry O’Connor passed around a packet of chocolate biscuits. ‘Just maintaining my energy for my big bike ride,’ he said as he patted his belly.

  Gina grabbed one and bit into it. ‘Bike ride?’

  ‘It’s a charity thing. I’ll message you the details. Maybe you can sponsor me?’

  Four machine-made coffees sat on a tray in the middle of a paperwork-covered desk. ‘O’Connor, the biscuits are lovely but I have to insist that you keep the case files in order,’ Gina said. She couldn’t understand how he managed to work in such chaos. Some of the reports had even fallen to the floor and cruddy plates and cups covered the surface. She knew her office could get messy but O’Connor’s desk was in a state. Even his mini Christmas tree was threatening to throw itself to its death from the edge of the desk.

  O’Connor fumbled for the reports with his chubby fingers and placed them in a folder, his shiny head reflecting the strip light above. ‘All sorted, ma’am,’ he said, as he grabbed a coffee before sitting on the edge of his desk, knocking the mini tree flying.

  Gina cleared her throat and began. ‘Right. I’ll give you what I know so far. A baby girl was found by a Mr Albert Thomas after he left the Angel pub at approximately seven thirty this evening. He stopped by Cleevesford Library and spotted the bundle. Thinking it was litter, he went to pick it up to place it in the bin, whereupon he discovered it was a baby. In an attempt to get some help, he banged on a couple of doors before Mrs Craneford opened her door and let him in. We were called and the baby was taken to the Cleevesford General Hospital by paramedics. DS Driscoll smelled diesel on the towel the baby was wrapped in. The towel has gone to the lab for testing so hopefully we’ll get that confirmed.’ Gina bit into another biscuit and grabbed a coffee.

  ‘Alan Cummings, council security, confirmed that the CCTV on the library hasn’t been active for way over a year,’ said Jacob. ‘PC Smith had a walk around and couldn’t see any further CCTV cameras amongst the residential roads. There appears, at first enquiry, to be no witnesses either, but we are hoping for callbacks and we will continue to canvass the area.’

  Gina wiped a crumb from the side of her mouth before taking a swig of coffee. ‘So we don’t really have a lot to go on as yet. Did you follow up at the hospital?’ she asked, looking at Wyre.

  ‘I did. I spoke to the consultant in charge, ma’am, a Dr Nowak,’ replied DC Paula Wyre in her usual soft tone. The petite woman cleared her throat and took a step forward, brushing her straight black hair off her shoulders. O’Connor held the packet of biscuits under her nose. ‘No, thank you,’ she replied before clearing her throat once again. ‘The five-pound female baby has mild hypothermia. Their initial assessment tells them she’s premature. She’d been fed within a couple of hours as she brought up a lot of milk on the way to the hospital. She is currently being hydrated and nourished through a nasal tube. They estimate her to be no more than a day old. The cord had been clumsily cut, definitely not by anyone who knew what they were doing.’ Wyre took a step back and nodded.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Gina. ‘What does that tell us, O’Connor?’

  ‘It tells us someone—’ O’Connor began to cough as he tried to dislodge a rogue crumb from his windpipe. Gina shook her head as he took a gulp of coffee.

  ‘It tells us,’ she said, ‘that we have a distressed parent out there. The fact that the mother and/or father kept her for a few hours says that there was some hesitancy. Did she consider keeping the baby? She must’ve fed the baby quite well before they parted.’ Gina stared as O’Connor continued to cough and splutter. ‘I can’t think with this racket going on.’ Rain bounced off the roof and she heard a distant rumble of thunder.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am. It’s all gone now,’ he said, and he clapped his hands and jumped off the desk, landing with a thud on the tiled floor. Gina flinched as a roll of thunder vibrated through the building. Her hammering heart almost made her gasp.

  ‘Are you alright, ma’am?’ Jacob asked.

  She forced a smile and looked up. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, as she undid the top button of her shirt and stepped backwards towards her office. ‘Driscoll, chase up forensics on the items that were bagged – we need those analysed, see if they can tell us something. Wyre, I’ll pass the press release over to DCI Briggs when I’m done. Can you monitor the responses? I’m sure we’ll get a fair few. We need to continue with the door-to-doors, see what PC Smith comes back with. O’Connor, when you’ve tidied those biscuits away, investigate whether there’s any CCTV at any of the establishments along the high street? Try the chip shop. I doubt the person who left the baby would’ve gone that way as it’s so public, but you just never know,’ Gina said as she continued along the corridor and closed her office door.

  She walked towards the window and shivered as the wind howled through the room. A line of water had gathered under the open window. The blinds rattled as the breeze whipped up. She pulled the window closed, fell into her chair and took a deep breath. Thunder clashed and the lights dipped then flickere
d. The combination of thunder and seeing the helpless baby had dug up her memories. Memories she’d rather forget.

  Twenty years ago, it had been a thundery night, just like this. Her own child, Hannah, then only two years old, had been screaming. In darkness and half asleep she’d staggered from her bedroom to comfort her. As the toddler’s wailing continued, she’d hurried along the landing before colliding with her drunk husband, Terry, at the top of the stairs. Just like back then, her heart quickened and the walls seemed to be closing in, showing no mercy. She wanted to fall to the floor and curl up in a ball, closing her eyes until it was all over and she could breathe again.

  * * *

  There was a knock at the door, bringing her back into the moment. Jacob entered. She turned and took a few deep breaths as she wiped her watery eyes and massaged her throbbing head

  ‘The items have arrived at the lab. They’ll let us know when they have something for us,’ said Jacob. ‘Are you sure you’re alright, guv? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just a headache.’ She shook her head. ‘I think I’m coming down with a cold or something. Anyway, enough of me. We have a baby’s mother to find. The poor woman is probably feeling a lot worse than I am.’

  ‘Let’s hope the public don’t scare her away. There will be slagging off galore in the Facebook comments and Twitter feeds in the morning. Are you sure you’re alright? Is there anything I can get you?’

  ‘Bloody Facebook. Full of sanctimonious trolls. I’d love another coffee if you’re getting one, and then we can go over the case together. I’ll email DCI Briggs while you’re gone.’

  ‘On it like the proverbial car bonnet. Whoever came up with that pile of nonsense?’ Driscoll replied, tucking a section of overhanging shirt into his trousers as he left to get the drinks.

  A combination of finding the baby, a thick head and the stormy weather had turned her into a wreck. She inhaled and exhaled slowly before straightening her jacket. She turned on her computer. Time to start writing the press release to send to Briggs. It needed to be done quickly if it were to make the morning news programmes. As she’d reminded Driscoll, they had a baby’s mother to find. Thunder clashed once again. She inhaled slowly and exhaled. She was in control. Nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix.

  Five

  Saturday, 2 December 2017

  Debbie shivered as she pulled the coarse blankets over her shoulders. Lying on her side in a pool of sticky wetness, she thought of the small life she’d pushed from her body a day ago. The kettle whistled as he stomped across the wooden boards of the loft to the camping stove. As the kettle’s whistling stopped, his whistling began: ‘You Are My Sunshine’. That song that made her want to vomit. Tears trailed over her nose, down her cheek and gathered with the others on her lumpy pillow.

  ‘Tea, dear?’ he asked as he opened the door, flooding the room with battery-powered light. She flinched and cried. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry,’ he said, staring into her eyes.

  She inhaled, held her breath and let it out slowly before forcing a smile.

  ‘When you smile, you make me the happiest man alive. Make me happy and I make you happy. Do you trust me?’ She nodded. ‘Good. Breakfast will be served in a minute.’ He pulled the door closed as he continued to whistle. She listened as he took the plates from the cupboard and slammed them onto the countertop. He then turned the portable television on and she heard the sound of a morning news show. As he turned up the volume, the cries she’d suppressed burst out. Sobbing, she clenched the blanket and silently screamed into it. As she drew her legs towards her chest, her body leaked more liquid. She lifted one leg off the other and yelped as pain seared through her body. The ankle chain clattered as she moved her other leg. Shivering, she curled into a ball, trying to warm up.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said as he burst through the door, smiling, wearing a chef’s apron. He placed the tray on the side table. ‘I’ve made your favourite, honey on toast. Are you happy?’

  Through chattering teeth, she smiled.

  ‘Are you happy?’ he asked, as his smile turned into a frown.

  ‘I’m happy,’ Debbie stammered. She hated honey; she’d always hated honey. How he ever thought that honey on toast was her favourite thing to eat was beyond her. In the beginning, she’d rebelled, thrown the food against the wall and screamed, but she’d soon learned that no one was coming; she’d learned that she did love honey. And if loving honey kept her alive another day, she’d continue to love it.

  ‘Well, I hope you aren’t going to be this disobedient all day. You know you must sit up if you’re to get your honey on toast,’ he said as he looked down at her quaking body. ‘Sit up,’ he yelled.

  She clenched her teeth as she forced her legs straight and attempted to throw them over the side of the bed to sit up. Pain shot from below and through her abdomen as she tore her tender area a little more. To hide her yelp, she grabbed the blanket and held it over her mouth, only pulling it away from her body as she reached a full sitting position. There was no point saying she wasn’t hungry, just like there was no point expressing how much pain she was in. He refused to see or care. She was there to service him and his delusions, and the last thing she wanted to do was antagonise him. She grabbed the hem of her soiled nightdress and pulled it over her knees.

  ‘I knew you’d do anything for your honey,’ he said with a grin as he watched her eating. She chewed on the toast, almost gagging every time she swallowed. Once finished, he passed her a cup of lukewarm black tea. He hadn’t given her hot drinks since she’d flung one at him in the early days. ‘You love your tea warm. I make it just how you like it. You really are my sunshine,’ he said, whistling again. He stared into her eyes as he whistled the melody. She coughed and spluttered the brown liquid over his knees. ‘Filthy cow!’ he yelled, leaping up and slapping her once across the cheek. ‘You seriously need to clean yourself up.’ He grabbed the cup and plate before slamming the door and leaving her in darkness once again. Clean herself up? With what? He left her in filth, in dirt, in her own secretions.

  She stared into the suffocating darkness. She used to stare into nothing and see her family, she used to be able to dream about them, but now she’d resigned herself to never seeing them again. She shuffled on her bottom until her back was against the wall, then she dragged the blankets back over her shivering body. She yelped as she turned. For a moment, she allowed her mind to wander back to the day before.

  * * *

  ‘You know you mustn’t yell. Little Florence is on her way. This is what you and I have been waiting for all this time. The fruit of our love. You do love me, I know you do.’ She dreaded the thought of the baby being a boy. He didn’t want a boy and she knew exactly what he was capable of. Thankfully she’d pushed out a little girl. A light but healthy little girl.

  A few minutes was all she’d been given to hold her daughter. She was left empty as he dragged the screaming infant from her arms and closed the door to her cell. The baby screamed and screamed. The sound echoed through the building.

  ‘Take the feed, you bloody little runt,’ he shouted. Her weary heart beat ten to the second as the sounds of her distressed newborn emanated through the building. ‘I can’t have you scaring mother with your wailing. You will take the feed. You will take the bloody feed! Shut up!’

  * * *

  That was a day ago, and she was reliving it continuously. Her heavy breasts began to trickle and she wiped the milk away. What had he done with her baby? She gasped for air as she sobbed. She thought he’d hurt her all he could, but this hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced before. That little life had been the only reminder that she was still alive. For years she’d felt as if she were dead, but that baby, her baby, had awoken something in her. She grabbed the smaller blanket that lay on the end of the bed, rolled it up and placed it between her legs. She’d remove the soiled blanket she was lying on later, when she had more energy, but for now she needed to recuperate and think. She need
ed her body to heal, just in case – but in case of what, she didn’t know. She needed to remember her baby. There was nothing more he could take from her now. She yelled into the dusty blanket and hit the wall before taking a few deep breaths.

  He turned up the volume on the television and she listened in. The weather passed and the local news came on. Rain, more rain, and it would be cold. That was no surprise. It hadn’t stopped raining for days. That question ripped through her heart again. What had he done with her baby? Isobel. Her baby was not called Florence and she wasn’t his. She wasn’t evil like him.

  ‘It’s been reported that early last night a newborn was discovered in the doorway of Cleevesford Library. Anyone with any information—’ He turned the television off and bounded down the stairs. She heard the main door slam shut and his car start up outside. She smiled. Her baby was safe; the police had found her. As she sobbed hard and loud, her tears soon turned into manic laughter. Her baby was alive and free.

  Six

  Gina entered the hospital and followed the signs to ward six, where the baby was being treated. The good night’s sleep she’d hoped for hadn’t materialised. ‘Excuse me, you can’t go in there,’ a nurse called, stepping in front of Gina.

  She pulled out her identification and held it up. ‘DI Harte. I’m investigating the abandoned baby case.’

  The nurse examined her identification, smiled and stepped out of the way. ‘You can’t be too careful. I’ll show you through. Doctor Nowak will be coming round shortly.’ Gina followed the nurse through the long, sterile corridor, past several smaller rooms. She caught a glimpse of a couple sitting beside a baby. Tubes, beeping monitors and the father’s ashen face all left an imprint in her mind. ‘Here we are. If you want coffee, there’s a machine just there.’