Picking up the red marker, she started writing bullet points on the board, her fingers clenched, fist tight. Malachy had annoyed her more than she realised. He was a good copper. Hard-working, committed and intelligent. He also had that little extra sprinkling of dedication that had kept him up all night roaming the hills. But that was irrelevant if he couldn’t learn to curb his thoughts. Everyone on the team knew that the chance of finding Ellie alive was like looking at the final grains of sand disappearing through an egg timer.
With a nip at her lower lip, hard enough to make her flinch, she continued to speak. ‘After we’ve interviewed Mrs Stevens, I’m going to have a little chat with Reverend Honeybun – we know that he’s spent a great deal of time with Ronan. What’s the likelihood that if we find the boy we find the girl?’
Gaby took a deep sighing breath, because of course Ellie Fry wasn’t the only case on their books. ‘Now over to Barbara Matthews, the elderly lady over in Deganwy who was reported missing yesterday afternoon by her bridge buddies when she failed to turn up for her own party.’ She shifted her head at the sight of Jason strolling through the door, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his grey, houndstooth check trousers. ‘Ah, just in time. Tell me again what you found over at Barbara Matthews’?’
‘Blood. Not a lot but fresh and therefore worrying. After you left, we sprayed with luminal, which revealed an interesting array of splatter marks. I’ve sent off scrapings for DNA analysis. She doesn’t have any living relatives that we can find but there’s enough of her forensic fingerprinting at her home to make that fact irrelevant. I’m working on the report or I would be if you hadn’t dragged me away from my desk. I hope to have it for you mid-morning at the latest.’
Gaby managed to hide a smile at the timbre of his voice. ‘So, it is possible that we have a crime scene on our hands?’
He nodded, his face without a trace of his perpetual humour. ‘Taking into account everything we know about the woman, it certainly seems that way. I have to say the impression we’re getting is that something fatal happened in the hall and the perpetrator did a near-perfect job of covering it up.’
‘But not perfect enough! Great, that’s all we bloody need, excuse the pun.’ She scanned the room, her gaze finally landing on Owen, the most senior officer on the MIT next to her. ‘I appreciate that you’re tied up with the funny business over at the crematorium but, in light of Jason’s findings, this will have to take precedence as we have no guarantee that the prosthesis wasn’t left over from a previous cremation.’
‘Actually, that’s not the case.’
‘That’s not the case?’ she repeated, her expression hardening in an instant. ‘Explain.’
‘As you know, I went to see Doctor Mulholland yesterday. He’s come up trumps with the hip joints and has confirmed that the largest two belonged to our very own Duncan Broome, which is what we were expecting. But you’re not going to believe who the final prosthesis belongs to.’ Owen paused a second for effect. ‘None other than our missing person from last year, Katherine Jane.’
Gaby squeezed her eyes shut a moment, again regretting her lack of breakfast as her stomach lurched underneath her second favourite navy trouser suit, bought for a song in Zara’s Christmas sale. To have to head up a possible murder inquiry on low blood sugar was bad enough. She couldn’t believe her misfortune at having another complex case thrust into their laps. Most weeks were quiet, the odd arrest for B-class drugs and the issuing of ASBOs the sum total of their day-to-day activity. Now, in addition to having a missing girl and a missing OAP, they also had a murder inquiry on their plate.
Her eyes snapped open, instinctively searching and finding Amy’s, her look of compassion and understanding clear underneath her overlong mousy fringe. Thrusting her shoulders back, Gaby returned her slight nod. Amy knew more than anybody Gaby’s experience in managing multiple complex investigations. She’d manage all three cases, even if it killed her. Gaby was also experienced enough to know that it very well might.
‘Right. It seems as if our workload has just trebled with Katherine Jane’s body part turning up at the Welsh Hills Memorial Gardens in addition to Barbara Matthews’ disappearance. However, Ellie Fry is our priority. Miss Jane, a year missing, is well past saving but, if the CSIs are to be believed, and I can’t for a minute think that Jason has got it wrong, then with Mrs Matthews we have a murder inquiry on our hands.’ She turned to Owen, making a rapid decision. ‘I want you to put a task force together to concentrate on Katherine Jane and Barbara Matthews because I have a feeling that we’re going to find out that they’re linked. There can’t be that many spinsters floating around Llandudno without a relative to their name and that’s where I’d like you to start. If I’m wrong, I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll also have a word with the DCI to see if he’s happy for Diane to stay with us a little longer but co-opt people in as you see fit, obviously running it by me first.’
Gaby had expected ructions and all she got was a grim smile, which was barely a smile at all – it certainly didn’t reach his eyes. Owen liked to be at the centre of an investigation and had all of the skills needed for what was now an international hunt for the missing child. But the new lines around his eyes and a return to his previous pallor, despite the blistering sunshine, told her without him having to say a word that he still hadn’t reached full equilibrium following the last case – a case that had put his whole family at risk. Being the boss was never tougher than in situations such as this, the right decision for the team often being the wrong one for at least one of its members. She’d have to make it up to him – she had no idea when or how.
With another deep sigh she swivelled on her low-heeled loafers. ‘Come on, Marie. Here’s betting that Janice Stevens has had the best of nights all topped off by a spa bath and a large bowl of the custodial sergeant’s finest muesli! We’ll meet back here at one unless something crops up to change that. I’ll ask the canteen to provide sandwiches.’
Chapter 32
Jax
Tuesday 4 August, 8.40 a.m. St Asaph Police Station
Jax was the youngest member of the team. At twenty-six, he was resigned to being allocated the most menial of jobs like dog walking and the checking out of CCTV footage, which was all very well but they weren’t the sort of tasks he’d anticipated when he’d started working towards his detective exams. They certainly didn’t leave him with any feelings of contentment of a job well done. That was until Gaby had decided to shake things up and put him in charge of the air and sea rescue teams. Finally something he could wrap his teeth around.
Jax was also one of those people who if he wasn’t doing, he didn’t feel busy. But with leaders such as Dafydd Griffiths on the ground and the team over at Caernarfon coordinating the air search there was very little for him to do apart from check in with them on a regular basis.
Sitting at his desk with his refillable water bottle his constant companion, he pulled up the notebook App on his phone and started flicking back through the pages for inspiration on ways to shift the lacklustre investigation to the conclusion they all wanted. The safe return of Ellie Fry. He couldn’t countenance any other outcome and he was young enough to still have youthful optimism on his side to drive away the negative thoughts that were currently eating away at his more experienced colleagues. No, what was needed was action but with no leads apart from an eighteen-year-old lad in the company of an instantly recognisable young girl …
Jax nearly tipped over his water bottle in his race to expand on the idea. It didn’t take long for him to sit back in his chair with his drink cradled in his palms, barely registering the slight metallic taste from the water that was now an unsavoury lukewarm. If he was right – it didn’t even cross his mind that he could be wrong – he was about to start a hunt for a very different set of clues.
Llandudno was heaving with holidaymakers, the beaches packed, and the ice-cream van – along North Parade – doing a roaring trade. Jax would like nothing better than to dip
in the enticing, almost Caribbean-blue sea instead of taking advantage of the police station’s car park and heading up towards the Great Orme, his long legs making short work of the distance.
He could have asked for assistance but, Jax being Jax, he decided not to pull any of the uniformed officers away from the search. With a street map downloaded onto his phone and a printout of the locations of all the public bins provided by the Conwy County Borough Council, he pulled on a pair of sturdy rubber gloves borrowed from the CSIs, much to the amusement of a giggling pair of teenage girls who were perched on the wall opposite, their tanned legs swinging in the air to the beat of their headphones.
They were easy to ignore. He had a job to do and the quicker he did it the quicker he could head back to St Asaph and to the nearest shower he could find. With his sleeves rolled up and his watch hidden away in his pocket, he followed a path from the last known sighting of Ellie near the Great Orme summit and back down Marine Drive towards Upper Mostyn Street, where the scent had gone cold.
Jax switched his mind off from the unsavoury task: the half-eaten take-outs, mingled with sweet wrappers, parking slips and even a broken bucket and spade. Apart from the list of clothes and belongings that Ellie’s mother had provided, he didn’t know what he was looking for as he mentally ticked off the next bin on his route to the train station. If he was unlucky with his choice of direction, he’d just have to follow an alternative route.
After the first hour, he could have written a thesis about the effects of recycling on modern-day North Wales. By the second, the rank scent of detritus had snuck up his nose and refused to budge. By the third he had a stained shirt, a perspiring brow and tomato pips running down his right trouser leg but he also had a carrier bag, the handle stained rust with the instantly recognisable mark of oxidised blood.
Chapter 33
Ronan
Tuesday 4 August, 8.40 a.m. Caernarfon
Ronan’s day usually started a lot earlier than 8.40. If he wasn’t up and about at six, there was a good chance one of the early morning dog walkers would catch him sneaking out of the cave – the very last thing he wanted. He wasn’t so worried about the warden. Now that the caves were locked, there was no need for the man to check on whether someone had chosen one as an impromptu place to rest their head. So, unlike any other teenager he knew, he went to bed early. He was usually able to sneak back into the cave when the tea-time lull hit around 5.30 and most nights found him drifting off to sleep at eight, nine at the latest. The hard ground did little to prevent his weary muscles from relaxing after a day that included whatever back-breaking work the vicar had lined up for him interspersed with the hours he spent roaming the streets.
But today wasn’t a usual day for Ronan. He’d found it impossible to settle after Ellie’s outburst, his restless mind trying to puzzle out what it was that could have made her flee from everything she knew and everyone she loved. He must have eventually dropped off – his head hunched up in his neck, his legs stretched out in front of him – when the sun had started to shift the moon from its starlight perch.
He finally woke to the sound of clattering in the kitchen and cramp in every muscle possible. For an instant, just one, he missed the cave. The cave was his safe place, somewhere no one could touch him. It was his memories that were the problem. His memories that he was struggling with. The impossibility of sweeping away his past under the cloud of shame that both smothered his future and broke his resolve. If only he could forget … but it was as impossible as reaching for the moon. He’d managed fine before the bullies had intervened. Now he had difficulty remembering what it felt like to have fun. To enjoy life.
In the dark of night when his defences were at their lowest, he dwelt on his reason for deserting the family home. It wasn’t anything to do with his mother, not really. The truth was that he blamed himself for everything that had gone before. If only he’d tried harder at school, tried to fit in, he wouldn’t have been targeted, taking away his dad’s motive for that first attack.
Oddly enough finding Ellie had helped him reach acceptance, something that he wasn’t proud of. The idea of a ten-year-old girl having an effect on him was ludicrous but while he was worrying about her, he didn’t have any spare time to worry about himself – that made a strange sort of sense.
The clattering continued and, with a groan, he twisted onto his knees and levered up to his full height, one hand using the mattress for support, the other massaging the back of his neck where the biggest creak had decided to take up residence. He had no idea what she was up to but he’d best find out; after all, he was the only adult present. What a thought!
‘Breakfast.’
He eyed the kitchen table, his heart tightening at the effort she’d gone to. His grandmother’s moss-green dishes with the fluted edges, the same ones he’d eaten countless bowls of cereal from. The glasses filled with water. The spoons polished to a high sheen. She’d even managed to find a packet of cornflakes, the open cupboards evidence of her search and probably the reason for all that clattering and banging.
‘Good for you. Well done,’ he said, trying not to think about the expiry date on the packet or whether she’d had the sense to rinse the bowls under the tap before pouring the flakes into the bottom. There were probably worse things to die from than stale cereal, he thought, silently congratulating himself on remembering to buy a tin of powdered milk at the newsagent yesterday. Kids required calcium but there was no way that he could provide fresh milk for her, not that he intended to stay in the farmhouse for much longer. It was the first of the two decisions he’d made while he’d witnessed her meltdown. He had to find the courage from somewhere to carry out his plan. His age and purported wisdom should be more than a match for her obstinacy. His gaze rested on the stubborn tilt of her chin. She was as determined not to go back and face her fears as he was determined to make her.
‘Have you washed your hands? How about you pop to the bathroom while I check through the rest of the cupboards to see if I can find something for us to drink other than water.’ He turned away, listening to her fading footsteps as she strolled at a snail’s pace down the hall. It looked like she wasn’t going to mention last night, he mused, finding a box of unopened teabags in the back of the cupboard that were three months out of date and, using the tip of his fingernail, he broke the seal. He’d heard about the resilience of children from that child psychologist they’d made him go to see, along with his brothers, but he never would have believed it if he hadn’t witnessed it for himself. Unless she’d forgotten all about the nightmare, something he couldn’t imagine for a second.
His hand stilled, the box of teabags raised to right under his nose as he tried to decide whether they were okay to use or not but all he could smell was … tea. No. She remembered, all right. He’d brought her to a place of safety, providing the one thing she needed. Now he wanted to know why – the second of the two decisions he’d made earlier.
Within five minutes they were both sitting around the table, Ellie’s legs tapping the bar of her chair as she relentlessly spooned in cornflakes, the sight of milk dribbling down her chin causing him to hide a smile. Apart from the hair, which was a raggedy mess, she reminded him of his younger brother even down to the untied shoelaces and grubby T-shirt – the fact that she was dressed in his brother’s clothes only added weight to the thought.
What he wouldn’t give to be at home right now, his brothers squabbling over whatever computer game they were playing, his mother silent and pale as she carried out the usual morning chores somewhere in the vicinity of the sink. He had to make amends to her; he’d known that for quite a while. The breakdown of their family unit hadn’t been her fault but at the time he’d felt an unnecessary childish urge to blame somebody and she was the only one there. His father, the man he’d loved unreservedly, was too far out of his reach, his love and trust only a distant, bitter memory.
He returned his mug onto the coaster she’d found, pushing it slightly so that it was
well away from the edge. He folded his arms in front of him as he leant forward. Their bowls were empty just like his mind but he had to start the conversation off somehow.
‘How did you sleep after that … dream?’
‘Fine.’
‘Really! That’s all you’re going to say after nearly scaring the living daylights out of me?’
She clattered her spoon against the rim of the bowl. ‘I said I’m fine.’
So fine that you burst into hysterics at some stupid nightmare!
‘Okay, fine! We do need to talk about why we’re here and what we’re going to do next, Ellie. You do realise that staying long term isn’t an option? The police are probably scouring the whole of North Wales and it won’t take long for somebody to put two and two together and come up with four.’
‘I can’t talk about it. I just can’t.’ He watched as she squeezed her hands into tight fists, her neck taut, a little pulse throbbing under the skin in rapid succession. She looked scared, terrified even, and he knew he had to be careful or she might decide to run away from him too.
‘Ellie, we’re friends right? Ellie and Ronan against the world. But for me to help, you need to be truthful.’
‘As truthful as you’ve been?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Hiding away in that cave when you have a home to go to. What’s that all about?’
His mouth formed a silent o at his naivety, because of course he should have seen it coming. He’d known she was intelligent; it took intelligence to do what she’d done but, up to now, he hadn’t heard more than a couple of words stream from her mouth at a time. While he couldn’t condone her actions at least she’d recognised when she was in need of help and the risks involved when seeking it. His thoughts returned to the vicious-looking dinner knife he’d found concealed in the bottom of her bag.
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