Little Girl Lost (Detective Robyn Carter crime thriller series Book 1)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘Why would Mr Clifford be so upset that his daughter-in-law had broken contact with him?’

  ‘Aha,’ said Ross. Robyn could hear him smacking his lips together ready to give her the information she needed. ‘Christina took their only granddaughter with her and they never saw the girl again.’

  ‘What’s the girl’s name?’

  ‘Alice, and the last the Mr and Mrs Clifford heard, both mother and daughter were headed to Derby or Nottingham. I have more information that will interest you. Four years after Christina and her daughter disappeared, Mrs Clifford received an anonymous postcard that she thinks came from Alice. It was postmarked Uttoxeter. She received another card with another heart on it the following year, this time posted from Lichfield. A couple of years later she got another with a Birmingham postmark and approximately five years ago, another with a postmark from—’

  ‘You’re going to say Farnborough, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, how could you tell?’

  ‘You almost got excited. I could hear it in the tone of your voice.’

  ‘I never get excited.’

  ‘That’s what Jeanette says,’ she teased.

  ‘Did you hear that sound? It was my sides splitting with laughter.’

  ‘Ha! Okay. Tell me.’

  ‘You guessed it. The card came with a Farnborough postmark.’

  Robyn felt a rush of adrenalin. ‘So if the cards came from Christina or Alice, then both of them could still be in Farnborough. Maybe that’s why Paul has Farnborough Hill in his document file. It could be where Alice went to school. I’ll see if any Alice Clifford or Alice Forman attended here. Great work, Ross. I’ll hug you when I get back.’

  Ross grunted. ‘Good luck. See you soon. Don’t forget dinner this week. Jeanette is looking forward to cooking for you.’

  ‘I won’t forget.’

  Mitz Patel rang as soon as she ended her call with Ross.

  ‘Nothing. I can’t find anything suspicious. I checked the stairs for any object she may have slipped on but there’s nothing. Sorry.’

  ‘Okay, Mitz. Thanks anyway.’

  Robyn stared at her mobile, the edge taken off her initial excitement and wondered what she was going to say to Louisa Mulholland.

  32

  The sky was a rare blue and clouds of white gulls circled above a field, following the green tractors as they trundled up and down, turning the cut crops back into the soil. That morning had been fresh, and the dampness in the air reminded Abigail that although it was August, autumn would not be too long in coming.

  She focused on the night before. It had not gone well. She had wanted to tackle Jackson about the photographs of him and Zoe but instead they had rowed about her changing the locks.

  ‘What is God’s name has possessed you to have all the locks changed?’ growled Jackson when she opened the door at last. ‘I’ve been fumbling with this key for the last ten minutes. You might have told me or warned me, or even asked me,’ he said, throwing his pilot’s bag down in the hallway and stalking into the kitchen.

  ‘I meant to call you but I had a lot on my mind.’

  He let out a noise of exasperation which annoyed her further.

  ‘I had a scare a couple of nights ago. I thought someone was in the house.’

  Jackson stopped scowling. ‘An intruder? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because there wasn’t anyone. I was mistaken but at the time I really believed I saw someone in the nursery. I was sure they’d come to kidnap Izzy. It was the night I was sick.’

  Jackson’s face had changed and now wore the look of pained incredulity. She folded her arms and snapped at him.

  ‘You look like you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Abby, how would anyone get in? We have the keys. The door was locked and you were inside. And, why would anyone want to kidnap Izzy? It’s not like I’m a wealthy sheikh. They’re not going to take her and demand millions of pounds. You’re becoming overprotective. You might have discussed this with me before changing all the locks and locking me out of my own house.’

  ‘So it’s about you standing outside for ten minutes, is it? Never mind that I was worried sick about our baby.’

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud. I’ve had a shit day. I don’t need this. Give me the new key. No one is going to take Izzy. You need to lighten up. You’re becoming paranoid. You don’t get out enough. Phone Claire or Zoe and arrange to go out. I’ll look after Izzy. You need to let go or you’ll smother Izzy by being overprotective.’

  She was so outraged by his response that she stormed off to bed. She hadn’t the energy or fight to challenge him about the photographs. She collected Izzy and put her in their bed. She wasn’t letting anyone take her baby, and if Jackson thought she was being paranoid, then tough. She had reason to be.

  Jackson had discovered her in bed with Izzy and become even angrier, telling her to take her child back to the cot but she refused until Jackson, sick of it all, took off to the spare room.

  Overnight she reflected on the email. She didn’t feel any anger or hurt. She should be furious about the discovery that Jackson and one of her best friends were screwing, but for the time being she felt too numb for any emotional outburst. It all felt too surreal. Izzy, asleep beside her, snuffled quietly. Abigail wondered what she was dreaming about and tucked the duvet around her. Izzy was the most special thing in her life. Nothing mattered as long as she had Izzy.

  The morning had brought more problems at BizzyAir and Jackson had departed earlier than usual. Abigail attempted some half-hearted housework and played with Izzy for a while, but she felt disorientated and decided to go to town instead. She was going to ring Claire to arrange to meet-up but at the last minute remembered her friend had left for Scotland to capture some shots of the wildlife for a magazine. She sent a text, telling Claire she missed her and hoped she was enjoying Scotland. She pressed send and wished Claire hadn’t gone. Abigail really needed a friend.

  Abigail drove to town, parked and ambled aimlessly around the streets. She hovered outside the boutique. She wanted to go in and explain about the photograph and messages she hadn’t posted on Facebook but each time she made a move, an invisible hand drew her back. She couldn’t bear her former colleagues not believing her or the accusatory looks they might throw at her.

  She reversed the pushchair and made for the café where she had last met the girls, then heard her name shouted. It was Rachel. She kissed Abigail on both cheeks, and then taking her by the shoulders looked into her face, an expression of concern furrowing her plucked eyebrows.

  ‘Now, tell me honestly. How are you? You look peaky.’

  Abigail wanted to pull away from the woman but at that moment she felt a deep sadness overcome her and tears spilled from her eyes.

  ‘Oh, there, there, Abby. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Rachel. ‘Come on; let’s get you a nice cup of tea. I’ll push Izzy.’

  The coffee shop was quiet apart from a couple of youngsters working on laptops. Rachel bustled about, grabbed a high chair and had buckled Izzy in before Abigail had fully registered what was happening.

  ‘Now, wait there and I’ll get us tea,’ said Rachel, heading purposefully to the counter and returning with two pots and cups. She made a show of breaking a large biscuit into small pieces and handing them to Izzy who, delighted at the attention, pushed them into her mouth and watched Rachel with large eyes.

  ‘What a lovely surprise to see you both,’ gushed Rachel. ‘I must say though, you look a little run-down, Abby. Have you been taking care of your aura?’

  Abigail shook her head. ‘I haven’t had a chance to think about it.’

  ‘You must. It’s important to look after all aspects of your health. I can give your aura a health check, if you like. It’ll make you feel much better.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you but I don’t really have time. I have to go and visit Claire soon.’ She winced inside at the lie.

  Rachel wrinkled her nose. ‘Well that won’
t help you much. That woman’s not good for you.’

  ‘What makes you say that? You don’t know her very well.’

  ‘But I have seen her aura and I’ve heard what Zoe has to say about her.’

  ‘Zoe?’

  ‘Yes. She isn’t Claire’s biggest fan. She thinks Claire’s a killjoy and I tend to agree with her.’

  Abigail felt affronted on behalf of her friend. Claire wasn’t the greatest conversationalist but she was a good and loyal friend. She had helped Zoe apply for her new job, photographing her for the application. She, Zoe and Claire had been out on several occasions together and Abigail had never noticed any tension between them. Zoe joked about Claire’s serious attitude and Claire teased Zoe about her casual approach to life but both got on well. Or at least, Abigail had always thought so. She wondered what Zoe had said about her. As if reading her mind, Rachel added, ‘Zoe told me you are much more fun when Claire isn’t around. You loosen up more. She told me about your trip to Leeds.’

  Abigail recalled that trip. They had all planned to go to Leeds for a girls’ weekend to celebrate Zoe dumping her latest boyfriend. At the last minute, Claire had dropped out, but since the room was paid for, she and Zoe had travelled up together. They spent the weekend shopping in the day, and in the evening cajoling bouncers into letting them into nightclubs where they had drunk disgusting cocktails, then danced and laughed themselves senseless.

  Abigail wasn’t keen to discuss Claire with Rachel. She poured her tea and sipped it.

  ‘This is very kind of you, again. Let me pay for it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I always believe kindness is spread. If I do something nice then the universe will repay me somehow, although that isn’t a reason for doing a kindness. The universe has a way of dealing with good and bad energy. I try to spread good energy.’

  ‘So, are you still working at the dental surgery?’

  ‘No. I handed in my notice. I decided it was time to move on. I’m training in crystal therapy now. You should have a treatment. It will make you far more relaxed. I can come around to your house and treat you. I’m only training but I’m sure I could help.’

  ‘That’d be lovely,’ replied Abigail, hoping Rachel didn’t suggest a time soon.

  Izzy put out a hand for some more biscuit. Rachel obliged and passed her another piece.

  ‘Is she able to talk much yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing sensible. Only gibberish. If she sees her reflection in a mirror she’ll chatter to it. I’ve been trying to teach her real words.’

  ‘Say, “Hello, Auntie Rachel,”’ said Rachel in a babyish voice. Abigail cringed.

  Rachel passed another piece of biscuit to Izzy. ‘Are you feeling better now?’ she asked Abigail.

  ‘Yes, thanks. I was thinking about going to visit some of the girls I used to work with.’

  ‘Is that at the boutique?’

  ‘Yes, how did you know?’

  ‘Zoe told me. She said you used to get her a discount there and she got some super outfits. I went in earlier but there wasn’t anything my style. In fact, I didn’t think much of the staff there. They pretty much ignored me. They were too busy gossiping. Someone they know posted a photograph of herself in the nude on some social networking site. What a silly thing to do. I suppose it was one of those women who likes to shock or is an attention-seeker. I can’t understand people like that. I avoid social media. It’s full of people who are self-important and constantly bleating on about their woes or bragging about what they have or where they’re going on their next holiday.

  ‘I read a study that said sites like that are likely to cause depression. You log on, see photographs of other people’s apparent perfect lives and feel even worse about your own rubbish one. I’ve got enough misery without adding to it, thank you very much. Who cares if you’ve been to the Seychelles or if you are drinking a cappuccino or if you went to yoga and ate tofu for lunch?

  ‘I felt sorry for the woman they were discussing though. They were pretty nasty about her. Poor thing. I bet she’s regretting ever doing it. Anyway, while they were gossiping, I looked around the rails, thought their stuff was overpriced and left without them even acknowledging me. I may as well have been invisible,’ she said with a huff.

  Heat rose up Abigail’s neck and into her face. She was sure she had gone scarlet and lowered her gaze, pretending to fiddle with her teapot. Rachel seemed oblivious to her discomfort and continued babbling about clothes. Abigail was glad when her mobile bleeped. It was a text from Claire telling her about the miserable weather which was making photographing difficult, but it gave Abigail a chance to make her excuses and leave.

  ‘Sorry, I have to go. I’d completely forgotten Jackson’s dry cleaning. He’s reminded me I need to pick up his uniform and drop it off at the airport. He needs it for tonight.’

  Even to her ears it sounded like a blatant lie. Rachel’s eyes searched her own. Abigail knew she did not believe her.

  ‘What a shame. Pity he couldn’t get it himself on his way to work. Is he flying anywhere interesting?’

  ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me about every job. It’s just a day’s work to him wherever he goes. He doesn’t often get to visit the destination. He’s usually in the crew lounge at whichever airport, preparing for the return journey. Now and again he stays over or goes into the nearest town. He was in Corsica last week. He brought me back some wine biscuits that are a specialty of the region and a little donkey for Izzy.’

  She was babbling and she knew it. She wanted to get away from this woman who stared intently at her and could probably read her thoughts.

  ‘Better get going. Come on, Izzy.’ She picked up the child who allowed herself to be placed into the buggy without fuss and watched the world around her as the women said their goodbyes.

  ‘I hope you’ll let me practise crystal therapy on you another time,’ said Rachel, standing up. Abigail found herself wrapped in sinewy arms and a pungent scent of patchouli oil.

  ‘That’d be super. Another time.’

  ‘I look forward to it. Bye, Izzy. Say, “Bye, bye, Auntie Rachel.”’

  Izzy looked up through large blue eyes and smiled.

  Abigail wheeled Izzy outside and took a deep breath.

  She would take Izzy for a drive and get away from town in case she ran into Rachel again. Her heart was heavy as she walked past the shop where she had worked for a few happy years. People could be so fickle. She would not have believed her old work colleagues would have spoken badly of her but they had. She flipped open her mobile, checked her Facebook page and gave a sigh of relief. Her account had been suspended and was no longer accessible. At least no one else would be able to judge her.

  Her fingers hovered over the keys, tempting her to examine the contents of the email once more. As she stared at the mobile, torn between looking at and obliterating the email, the phone rang with a withheld number and the familiar robotic voice greeted her.

  ‘Afternoon, Abigail. I hope you liked my present to you. Nice shots of your husband and his new love, weren’t they? Little did they realise I was watching them.’

  ‘It’s not a present and you’re insane.’

  ‘Oh, it is a gift, Abigail. It’s a gift of the truth. Lies harm. Lies hurt. The truth liberates. You should try it sometime. In fact, you should try it now before it’s too late. Go on, Abigail, this is your last chance, try and tell the truth.’

  33

  Farnborough Hill School, once a grand Victorian house, was set in sixty-five picturesque acres of land, including secluded gardens and woodland. Situated on the highest point in Hampshire, it had magnificent views over the surrounding countryside. Robyn could not fail to be impressed by the school and its range of facilities but she was not here on a tour. She needed answers.

  The headmistress, Josephine Blakemore, was new to the school. A small woman, who barely filled her large leather chair, she was formidable in spite of her slight frame and quiet manner. She spoke wi
th a gentle Scottish burr.

  ‘Well, Detective Inspector Carter, after we spoke on the phone, I asked my secretary to go through the records for you. As I told you, I have only recently been appointed here. Surprisingly, she only came across one Alice who attended the school in the early 1980s, so she would be in her forties now.’

  ‘And that means she is too old. I’m searching for someone in her early twenties. I don’t suppose you took on any staff by the name of Forman in the last seven years?’

  ‘To my knowledge, we haven’t. Let me check for you.’

  Josephine Blakemore left Robyn staring out of the window across vast playing fields. They were currently deserted but would soon be filled with shouts and cheers as teams played each other. Robyn idly wondered if Amélie enjoyed hockey or netball. The headmistress returned, a pair of glasses perched on her head. She stood beside the desk, back straight, arms behind her back.

  ‘We’ve hired twenty-four people in that time – mostly male grounds staff and of course teachers. I’m afraid there is no one by the name of Forman.’

  I have one more question. Has anyone by the name of Paul Matthews been to visit you?’

  Josephine Blakemore slid her glasses down and peered at her smartphone. ‘I keep all appointments on this,’ she explained. ‘I’d be lost without it. There it is. I thought the name was familiar. Paul Matthews made an appointment to see me on the twenty-eighth of July but he didn’t show up.’

  Robyn chewed on her lip. Paul had not shown up because he was dead by then. The woman put her phone on the table.