Lost Souls

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘Ellie.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘No one calls her Elodie. It’s Ellie and she’s not like that. She’d have no reason to run away.’ Ms Fry raised her head from where she’d been staring down at the floor, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin coated in dark shadows that long predated her missing child. ‘We’re a team, her and me. A tight little unit. She’d never have just upped and left like that. She’d have had no reason. Yes, money’s tight but we still manage to get by.’

  ‘What about school? Is she happy? Friends?’

  ‘Happy enough. She likes it, would you believe? I don’t know where she gets it from but she’s clever too. There’s even talk of trying for a scholarship next year at St Elian’s College.’

  ‘And friends?’ Gaby reminded her softly. ‘Anyone she might have gone to stay with?’

  ‘But why would she? There’d be no need and certainly not in the middle of the night,’ she said, her tone taking on the shrill note of someone on the edge. ‘There’s really no one apart from her best friend, Heather, and even then they don’t see much of each other. Only in school and for the occasional playdate. Outside of her ballet lessons – she’s mad on ballet – she spends the rest of the time either reading or out with me.’

  ‘I believe you’re a cleaner.’ Gaby watched her stiffen.

  ‘And what if I am? It’s a good, honest job.’

  Gaby spread her hands only to clasp them together again. ‘It certainly is. An essential one,’ she replied, relieved to see Anita visibly relaxing in front of her. An aggressive witness – and witness was what she had to view her as – was the very last thing she wanted. Time was precious. The most precious thing where a missing child was concerned. They needed clear, accurate information and they needed it fast – it was up to Gaby to get it. ‘So, what about anyone else she might have decided to slope off to see? Any siblings? What about her father or even a boyfriend?’

  ‘There’s no one. No father. He was never on the scene. No siblings, and a boyfriend at ten? Come on. She’s not interested in boys and, even if she was, there isn’t the time in her day for her to go and chase them.’ Her features hardened, frown lines forming deep tracks on either side of her mouth. ‘And before you ask, I don’t have a boyfriend either. They’re far more trouble than they’re worth.’

  Gaby took a sneaky glance at the plain, black-strapped watch on her wrist, her mind on the investigation. The seconds were ticking by. No one knew more than her what little time they had left if there was to be a happy resolution. But she still had questions that needed to be answered.

  ‘Tell me about yesterday then. Anything that you can think of to spark her running away?’

  ‘I’ve already told that officer on the phone earlier. Yesterday was a normal day. Nothing happened. We got up. Ellie stayed in her room until lunchtime finishing up a crafting project and reading. After lunch we headed out to the beach for a walk. We came home, had tea and slobbed out in front of the TV. The exact same as every other Sunday.’

  No, not the exact same or otherwise your daughter wouldn’t be missing. But instead all she said was, ‘And there was no trouble at school? No bullying?’ Gaby rose to her feet and walked over to the mantelpiece to study the photos: the ‘thin as sticks’ limbs, and eyes that dominated the girl’s heart-shaped face. ‘She’s very slight. No problems with depression? Eating all right?’

  ‘Ellie eats like a horse, Detective. You probably can’t believe it,’ Anita said, tugging at the pool of flesh around her middle. ‘But I used to be the same.’

  Gaby smiled briefly. ‘I can well imagine. So …’

  But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Anita sprung to her feet, quite unaware of the look of desperation etched across her cheeks. Gaby knew what she was going to ask. Every single relative of a missing person asked the exact same question, their words layered with the same frantic tone. They were asking the one question they knew it was impossible to answer at this stage but still they asked it.

  ‘Will you be able to find her?’

  Chapter 3

  Ronan

  Monday 3 August, 7.05 a.m. The Great Orme

  Ronan Stevens wasn’t your average rough sleeper, if there is such a thing. A product of middle-class parents, he’d spent most of his life being tutored in the public school system where the size of his parents’ wallet was more important to the other boys than the size of his brain. Ronan’s mother and father, while wealthy in comparative terms, were veering towards the breadline when compared with the affluent students who attended St Gildas independent boys’ school in Beddgelert. The offspring of minor royalty and foreign oligarchs didn’t take kindly to fellow pupils who didn’t fit their jelly-mould existence and took great pleasure in making his life a daily hell.

  All that had changed when Ronan had been pushed up against a wall and held there while he had his clothes stripped off and was given the beating of all beatings. But the two boys had made one crucial mistake. Leaving him collapsed and bleeding, they’d turned their backs – and in a black rage that contained all the injustices of the last five years at the school, Ronan Stevens curled his hands into tight fists and fought for his life. Oscar Hurley-Pride and the Right Honourable Ollie Braden learnt valuable lessons that day on the side of the tennis courts, lessons they’d be forever reminded of each time they took off their shirts and revealed their scars.

  Ronan Stevens didn’t need to learn any such lessons. He knew that life wasn’t fair but what he didn’t expect was to be expelled, therefore setting off a train of events that would ultimately lead to him roughing it on a hillside when he should have been awaiting the results of his A levels – exams he’d never got to sit.

  He bundled up his sleeping bag into a tight ball and added it to the top of his dad’s old rucksack, pulling the toggle tight, the rest of his meagre belongings squashed down flat. He didn’t need much. His clothes rolled up in an old jumper acted like a pillow and, as he never bothered to get undressed at night, pyjamas were unnecessary. His most precious possession was something that had once belonged to his father, a Swiss Army knife that was never far from his hand. Not that he’d ever had to use it, apart from the miniature pliers. Sleeping rough at any age was dangerous but for an innocent eighteen-year-old, who would be the first to admit that he was still wet behind the ears, it was often terrifying.

  The cave, situated on the headland of the Great Orme in Llandudno, was a cold, dark and isolated place to hide away from the rest of the world. Ronan had always been reclusive, preferring his own company to any other. He’d never been a great one for friends so it wasn’t something he could say he missed. He also wouldn’t admit to feeling lonely although he was desperately so. There was a wealth of difference between favouring his own company and enforced solitude. He often thought about his life and of how it used to be but that made it worse. Only by keeping active and continually on the go could he pause the relentless shower of self-pity from overwhelming him. At night he was too tired to do anything but sleep.

  Ronan weighed decisions calmly in the quiet of his mind prior to taking any steps. The only exception was that seething anger, which had ended up destroying his future prospects. But that was all in the past. So much had happened in the last twelve months or so that it almost felt as if he were a different person to the one that had inhabited his former life. The bullying and expulsion from school seemed minor when sitting alongside his mother’s cancer and his dad’s arrest. He couldn’t pinpoint one solitary reason for running away but, with his mother trying to make a new life for herself along with his two younger brothers, it seemed as if there was no room in her plans for him. Not that she’d told him to leave or anything. But the mess he’d made of things was there in every look and every sentence.

  So, one morning, two months ago, he’d put everything he thought he’d need on the top of his bed. Picking up his dad’s rucksack – his rucksack now – he’d methodically packed the minimum of belongings and headed out of the hou
se, leaving behind a ripped page from a jotter with a few words penned in his careful hand.

  His life wasn’t what he’d planned but, until he could puzzle out what he actually wanted, he was content enough to let the days run into each other. He had access to his savings account, which he eked out on yellow-sticker products in the local supermarkets, supplementing his diet with visits to the soup kitchen run by one of the local churches. He even managed to take on some work for the vicar, who’d swiftly realised that Ronan was a touch out of the ordinary compared with his usual lost causes. He didn’t drink or smoke for a start and as for doing drugs …

  A quick scan of the brightening sky told Ronan that he needed to get a move on. The cave was the safest place he’d found in which to rest his head but only as long as he remained undiscovered. Security had tightened with the warden increasing the patrols now that it was the height of the summer but, for whatever reason, they were yet to discover Ronan’s secret resting place. The caves, a favourite with social dropouts, had each been fitted with gates for the very purpose of keeping the likes of him out.

  A precocious child, Ronan had decided from an early age that the only barriers were the ones he erected and, with dedication and practice, he’d always solved whatever mental problem he set. He’d astounded his parents when he’d mastered the Rubik’s Cube but, for someone like Ronan that was child’s play and he rapidly progressed to more complex puzzles. Learning to pick locks was one such skill he’d honed in the quiet of his bedroom. With the help of the little pliers hidden in his dad’s Swiss Army knife, and two sturdy paper clips, the padlock was no barrier unless they found him.

  Turning to give a final tug on the gate, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the kid in front of him. His gaze raked over her, taking in the long fair hair, jeans and large rucksack in one glance, while he peered over her shoulder for her parents. Was this it then, his secret out? There was no way he could explain away what he was doing.

  ‘Hello. Shouldn’t you be with an adult?’ he said, finally deducting that she was on her own.

  ‘Shouldn’t you?’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  Feisty little thing. Perhaps the absent parent wasn’t as clear-cut as it seemed but she was so not his problem.

  He bent to pick up his rucksack, adjusting the weight on his shoulders and clipping the strap around his waist. Whatever she was doing, the one thing he knew was that he couldn’t hang around or they’d find him.

  ‘Well, see you around then.’

  ‘Hold on.’ She ran to catch up with him, her legs working overtime to match his long stride.

  ‘What is it?’

  She stood there, her eyes starting to fill. ‘I-I’ve run away.’

  ‘You’ve run away,’ he repeated, struggling not to let his jaw drop. ‘Why?’

  But instead of answering, she simply dropped her head.

  He stared at her, recalling the determined set of her mouth with a frown. She was only a kid and a little kid at that. She wouldn’t last two minutes on her own. He closed his eyes. She’d last less than that if someone didn’t watch out for her. He’d learnt far more than he’d expected since running away, much of which he’d never be able to forget despite wishing it otherwise. He knew what happened to the young and uninitiated and it was down to luck and a kindly word in his ear from Reverend Honeybun that his instincts had been sharpened to stiletto thin. A kid her age, pretty too, would be torn to shreds by the sharks that inhabited the streets.

  ‘How old are you?’ he continued, slowing his stride to match hers as he made his way down the gentle slope towards the Happy Valley and the road beyond that led to the pier, ignoring the goat that skittered away into the undergrowth ahead.

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘Fifteen. If you’re fifteen, I’m fifty.’

  ‘You’re looking good for your age.’

  He found he was hiding a smile at her quick responses. Growing up in a house with two younger brothers, brothers he longed for with an ache that gripped his insides, the banter that peppered their relationship was the thing that he missed the most.

  ‘Ha, very funny, not. If you don’t come clean, I’m going to leave you here to fend for yourself.’

  He felt a pull on his arm, her finely boned fingers remarkably strong for someone so little.

  ‘I’m ten, all right?’

  No, it’s not all right. It’s far from all right. Ten!

  He glowered down at the top of her fair head, struggling not to grab her by the hand and march her to the nearest police station. But he wouldn’t do that, not yet. The reason he’d left home was now mangled into a giant tangled mess that he couldn’t unravel. His beef wasn’t only with his mother, it was with the world in general. A world that had robbed him of his father and turned his mother into a parody of her former self. But he wouldn’t have considered leaving at ten, no matter what the issues were within his family. He’d learnt a lot in those first few days huddled in a doorway along Mostyn Street, too scared to close his eyes for even a second. Primarily he’d learnt that for some children a life on the streets, while a tragedy, was the safer option.

  The outline of his keyring in his pocket was a sharp reminder that home was only ten minutes away. His mother didn’t know he’d taken the spare key that lived under the third plant pot to the left of the back door and he didn’t want her to find out. It was his safety net but one he’d never planned on using. But this was an emergency. He couldn’t desert the girl, and putting her in the hands of the police might mean returning her to the very situation she was trying to escape from. No. It seemed like he’d have to resign himself to her company until she trusted him enough to confide in him.

  Kneeling down on his haunches, he said, ‘If you’re going to throw your lot in with me you have to promise to do exactly what I say and not ask any questions. In return, I promise to mind you in the same way I would one of my kid brothers.’

  ‘Do we have to spit on it?’ She flexed her palm and moved it to her mouth.

  Ronan laughed, the first genuine laugh to get past his wall of grief since he’d lost his dad. Instead of replying, he took her hand, her cold fingers curling around his. He had no idea if he was making the right decision but one thing was certain: the loneliness that gripped him from the second he opened his eyes to the moment sleep grabbed him at night seemed suddenly to be a thing of the past.

  ‘Come on, we have a lot to do before it gets dark.’

  Chapter 4

  Gaby

  Monday 3 August, 7.50 a.m. Colwyn Bay

  Will you be able to find her?

  Gaby dreaded this question more than all of the others put together because she didn’t know how to answer. She could quote statistics at Ms Fry but that wouldn’t help. They all knew that the first hour was the most precious of the lot. If Ellie wasn’t found in that hour – and she hadn’t been – the likelihood of her being found alive shrunk from the realms of most likely to hopefully. But the woman in front of her wouldn’t be of a mind to accept such lame words and, if their positions were reversed, Gaby wouldn’t accept them either.

  Instead of replying straight away, she picked up one of the mugs of coffee Jax had produced and, shifting to sit on the sofa beside her, offered it, handle facing outwards.

  ‘Have your drink.’ She watched Anita raise the mug and take a tentative sip only to place it on the coffee table and push it away.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question?’

  And I’m not going to because I can’t. If I tell you the truth you’ll never forgive me.

  ‘I think you probably know that it’s not a question I can answer right now but please believe me when I tell you that we are going to do everything possible to find her.’ She lifted her head at the sound of the front door opening and just managed to suppress a sigh of relief at the sight of Amy Potter, the FLO.

  Gaby leant forward and picked up the mug again, placing it in Ms Fry’s loose hands. ‘Have another sip of your
drink. I’d like to ask your permission to search Ellie’s bedroom if I may? And while I’m having a scout around, my DS, Amy Potter, will stay with you and fill you in on the steps we’re taking.’ She tilted her head at Jax to follow her and once back in the hall turned to him.

  ‘Right, any news?’

  ‘Not a peep, ma’am,’ he said, phone in his hand. ‘Malachy has contacted Dafydd Griffiths, the country park warden, who’s rounding up a search party for both Ormes, while Marie is heading up the sea and beach one. I’ve also taken the liberty of contacting the coastguard. The lifeboat crew has been assembled and are about to launch. They mentioned contacting Caernarfon Search and Rescue in case you want to mobilise the helicopter?’

  ‘Good idea. What else?’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d set about interviewing the neighbours, if that’s okay?’ he added. ‘It’s unlikely that they’ll have seen anything but we might get lucky.’

  ‘Don’t forget CCTV, Jax. There can’t be that many ten-year-olds roaming the streets in the middle of the night for her to have gone unnoticed.’ She matched his serious look with one of her own, their minds working in tandem. ‘Okay, you crack on. I’m heading back to the station after I’ve finished here. If she doesn’t turn up soon, the DCI is going to have to cough up additional coppers to help with the search.’

  She watched him turn on his heel and head out the open front door and around to the next house, not that he had to walk far. The houses were terraced, each with an excuse of a front and back garden and little else. It was places like this that often turned up the most interesting facts. The residents, living in such close proximity, often knew more about their neighbours than was healthy. If they knew anything, DC Jax Williams would hopefully weed it out.

  Ellie’s bedroom was a box of a room with little space to fit anything alongside the small divan and matching wardrobe. There wasn’t even room for a chair or a desk but that hadn’t stopped her from filling nearly every available space with books. There were shelves piled high, the sight of which struck dread in Gaby as each one would have to be flicked through to see if they held any secrets between their pages. But that wasn’t her job, she reminded herself, pulling her mobile from her pocket and placing a quick call to Jason, the senior CSI back at the station. Anita wouldn’t thank her for having her home invaded by a team of strangers but if there was one clue here that would lead them to discover the child’s whereabouts then they had to find it, and sooner rather than later.