Lost Souls

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘You’re right.’ He sat back in his chair, his hands gripping the sides of his seat at the thought of sharing the reason behind his actions, a reason he’d never shared before.

  ‘Like you, something happened,’ he said, suddenly fascinated by the way the spots of milk she’d split were soaking into the wood. ‘Something happened that I couldn’t deal with. My mum became ill and then … my dad. I couldn’t deal with it so I left.’ He raised his head, meeting her eyes only to watch as she averted her gaze.

  ‘I can’t tell you. You can’t make me and if you do, I’ll run again.’

  Chapter 34

  Owen

  Tuesday 4 August, 8.40 a.m. St Asaph

  It took a lot to upset Owen Bates. He was the most mild-mannered of men who took life very much as it came. While it irked him not to be involved with the hunt for Ellie Fry, he knew that it was the most sensible option. He’d headed up the inquiry into the disappearance of Katherine Jane and, with his near-photographic memory, had one hundred per cent recall as to the facts of the case. It was nonsensical to be upset but he found that he had to make a conscious effort to arrange his muscles into a smile when he turned to speak to Diane. Within minutes, they were making for the stairs to the archives department, Diane matching his stride pace for pace as he filled her in on the details of last year’s most mysterious of disappearances.

  ‘Miss Jane, sixty-eight years of age, a spinster who’d lived in Llandudno since her retirement from teaching three years previously. She had a fixed routine of leaving her seafront apartment and going for an early morning walk along the promenade followed by a restorative drink at Providero, one of the coffee shops in the town. It’s only by luck that the owner of the shop got worried when she didn’t appear and, remembering a conversation about where she lived, decided to pop in to check up on her at the end of his shift. When he got no answer, he alerted the manager of the building, fearful that she’d be found collapsed or worse. When they opened the door they discovered the remains of her breakfast on the kitchen table, a book propped up against the teapot, her reading glasses, neatly folded beside her plate and a machine full of damp clothing.’

  ‘But no trace of Miss Jane? I’m beginning to see a pattern,’ Diane said, her forehead wrinkling.

  ‘And that’s the problem.’ He pushed the door to the archives office open and gestured for her to go on ahead. ‘She had no family apart from a distant great-nephew living in Canada who’d never even met her. The CSIs didn’t come up with anything startling and, as Jason said, quite rightly at the time, if it had been a burglary gone wrong there would have been some evidence of a struggle. Originally we thought that she’d taken her own life, despite no evidence of ill health or depression. The only thing that made us think differently was an absence of any cash or jewellery found in the apartment. Her handbag was there but her purse was empty apart from a few coins.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t have much on her and, as an unmarried woman, she might not have had any jewellery. Some women don’t like the stuff, you know,’ she added, spreading out her ringless fingers.

  ‘Very true but, by the same token, most women have a watch or two knocking around,’ he said, his attention fixed on the silver Seiko poking out the sleeve of her jacket. ‘I think you’re probably right in your assertion about her not having very much. It seems like she invested most of her money in her apartment and relied on her pension for the rest. She had set up standing orders for all her amenities so, apart from her food and day-to-day nonessentials like her morning coffee, she budgeted quite nicely.’

  ‘But something still happened to her.’

  ‘Exactly. Come on. Have you met Colin, our archives officer?’ He nodded in the direction of the short, rotund, bespectacled man slouched in front of a computer terminal. ‘He’ll do anything for you if you remember to bring him back a coffee from the machine.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ she said with a grin. ‘So, what are we doing down here then? I thought that most of the info would be on the system.’

  ‘It is but I want to reacquaint myself with the scene of the crime photos – I’m old-fashioned enough to prefer to hold them in my hand instead of squinting down at a computer screen – not that there’s much proof that a crime was ever committed.’ He heaved a breath. ‘The biggest breakthrough in the case so far is her metal hip being found among Duncan Broome’s ashes and the similarities between her disappearance and that of Barbara Matthews.’

  With the help of Colin, they located the correct stack of archive boxes and were soon ensconced in the string of photos that they spread out on the long span of tables at the back of the room.

  The 360-views and blow-ups were a quick reminder as to the layout of the apartment, the cluttered walls and bookshelves an indication as to the type of woman that Miss Jane had been. Books took precedence, lining the walls from floor to ceiling, the occasional framed print interrupting the flow almost as an afterthought. The furniture was the type usually left over in auction rooms at the end of a busy day of sales, comfortable up to a point, the dusky gold brocade of a style that had barely been in fashion in the last century let alone the current one.

  ‘She wasn’t that mobile, was she?’ Diane pointed out, her finger tapping a dark wooden walking stick propped up next to the door, ‘So, if someone had attacked her, it’s likely that she wouldn’t have put up much of a struggle.’

  ‘And taking into account that she barely made five foot in her shoes and weighed little more than a small child, it would have been easy to subdue her,’ he replied, thinking back to the difference in the size of the prosthetics he’d examined with Rusty. ‘Like taking a milk bottle from a baby.’

  ‘There’s something we’re missing though, isn’t there? A motive. If it was money, she was far from wealthy and it’s unlikely her jewellery would have fetched that much.’ Diane picked up the photos of the lounge, studying them in earnest.

  ‘What is it you’re looking for?’

  ‘Something that isn’t there.’ She dropped the photos, lining them up beside each other, her buffed fingernail tapping on the top of an occasional table and the absence of any knickknacks. ‘She reminds me of my late godmother. She was a teacher too and would have been from the same era, Sergeant.’

  ‘Call me Owen. Everyone else does,’ he interrupted with a smile.

  ‘Owen then. So, where are her trinkets? Her photo frames? The Art Nouveau pot plant left to her by Great-Aunt Margaret not to mention the silver-backed hairbrushes that her father gave to her mother on their wedding day? Apart from the books, there’s nothing personal to see other than her clothes and shoes, which wouldn’t be worth fifty pence at a jumble. To my mind it seems as if someone has done a very clever job of taking what wouldn’t normally be noticed as missing. Did we ever get any of her friends into the flat to have a gander? What about the place where she taught? It’s probably a long shot considering that she was retired a few years prior to her disappearance but surely someone would have remembered the kind of stuff she used to own?’

  Owen considered her with elevated eyebrows, on the one hand annoyed that he hadn’t spotted it himself but, on the other, delighted that Gaby had decided to pair them together. He’d been to the apartment on more than one occasion along with the CSIs and not one person had observed what she had. ‘Do you know what, Diane? I agree with the guv.’

  ‘You agree with the guv?’ She opened her eyes to the maximum, her mouth dropping open slightly. ‘I don’t understand?’

  ‘Have you ever considered switching from PC to DC because, from where I’m sitting, you’re exactly the type of candidate we need. Think about it.’

  Chapter 35

  Gaby

  Tuesday 4 August, 8.40 a.m. St Asaph custodial suite

  For the first time since she’d known her, Janice Stevens looked more than a little unkempt. Her usually immaculate hair was uncombed and her linen shift dress had more in common with a scrunched-up chip wrapper than the designer label embroidered on
the pocket. But a night in the cells did that to people. It stripped them of all the modern essentials like their mobile along with their dignity before thrusting them into a barren room with a bed that was bolted to the floor, a mattress covered in thick, vomit-proof plastic and a metal toilet fixed in the corner. She’d have been offered a sketchy breakfast along with a whole night in which to think up answers to the questions currently marching around Gaby’s head like soldiers on parade.

  Walking into the interview room, Gaby had been puzzling over who Mrs Stevens would have chosen to represent her. As a lawyer, she’d know all the tricks but also the importance of someone on her side for the emotional as well as the legal support. The man standing to shake her hand was a shock and Gaby was hard-pressed to prepare a thin smile as she reached out to take his fingers in the briefest of clasps. After dumping Marie and moving his secretary into the family home, Ivo Morgan was one of the least welcome of people at the station and Gaby regretted with a sudden flare of annoyance who she’d chosen to accompany her. But with Marie following just seconds behind, there was very little she could do apart from hope that both parties would have the sense to bury their differences under a cloak of professionalism. She didn’t have to worry.

  ‘Ma’am, there’s clearly going to be a conflict of interest if I stay,’ Marie said, as soon as she entered, staring across at Gaby to the exclusion of the other people in the room. ‘I’ll get PC Carbone to take my place.’ She pulled out her mobile and made for the door, only to stop at the sound of Ivo’s voice.

  ‘I’d like the opportunity to speak to you after the interview, if I may?’

  Instead of offering a reply, Marie continued walking, her back ironing-board straight, which had Gaby’s palms itching to break into a round of applause. She glanced across at Ivo’s flushed cheeks, keeping her own expression devoid of emotion as she turned back to Janice.

  ‘A little blip in the proceedings but PC Carbone will be down in a minute. While we’re waiting, please can you confirm that you were read your rights yesterday and that your name is Janice Stevens? We will, of course, be recording the interview.’ She reached out a hand, flicked on the switch of the wall-mounted microphone and spoke briefly into the receiver.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course you will,’ Janice responded, her voice devoid of emotion.

  It didn’t take long for Diane to come rushing into the room and slip into the empty chair, her chest heaving at the effort to run down from the floor above.

  ‘Right then, now that PC Carbone has joined us, please can you tell us your movements of yesterday and your explanation for the copious amounts of fresh blood found in your bathroom?’

  Gaby didn’t have time to spare on conversational niceties and, with a woman like Janice Stevens, she knew that pussyfooting around was the wrong way to go. By the pull of her brow, she could see that she’d struck a chord. All she had to do was …

  ‘Can I interject?’ Ivo said, regaining some of the aplomb he was well known for.

  ‘It seems like you just have, Mr Morgan.’

  ‘How can you confirm that it is Elodie Fry’s blood? Surely it takes a lot longer for DNA testing or is there some advancement in the field of forensic science that I’m not aware of?’

  ‘Elodie Fry’s blood, Mr Morgan? I don’t remember labelling it in that fashion unless you know something that I don’t?’ She raised a finely arched brow, noting the sheen of moisture on his forehead with quiet satisfaction. ‘Rest assured that as soon as the results are back you will be the first one to know. Is that all or can I continue questioning my witness?’ Gaby waited a moment, her habitual bland expression hiding her dislike of the two-timing smarmy git. ‘Mrs Stevens, do you have another explanation and, if so, what is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘For the record Mrs Stevens is confirming that she has no knowledge as to how blood was spilled on her bathroom floor,’ Gaby said, her gaze meeting Janice’s head on as she emphasised the point before abruptly changing the subject. ‘What about your children? I believe you have three?’

  ‘But only Jacob and Caleb are at home. As far as I’m aware, they haven’t been into my bathroom recently – they wouldn’t need to. They have a perfectly serviceable one of their own and if they’d had a nosebleed, or injured themselves, there’s no way that they wouldn’t have told me.’

  ‘And what about your older son, Ronan?’

  ‘Detective, do we really need to go through all this? You’ve already interviewed my client. She informed you then that her son is no longer a part of her household,’ Ivo said on a long sigh, folding his arms across his chest, his diamond-studded cuff links peeking out from the sleeve of his navy pinstriped suit.

  ‘Are you conducting this interview or me, Mr Morgan?’ Instead of waiting for a response, she sat back and concentrated on Janice and the two bright patches of colour spotting her cheeks at her line of questioning.

  ‘My son left home two months ago, Detective,’ Janice said, her voice a hollow sound. ‘As far as I’m aware, he’s living rough in Llandudno. Reverend Honeybun is keeping an eye on him for me. It’s been a difficult few months for us all, but particularly for my son who was very close to his father. But all that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t believe he would have kidnapped the girl and then murdered her in my en suite. What kind of a family do you think we are?’

  ‘Can you tell me your movements since yesterday morning, from let’s say 6 a.m.?’

  Gaby decided to change her line of questioning simply because she knew that she wasn’t getting anywhere. Part of her felt desperately sorry for Janice Stevens but sympathy wouldn’t help her find the missing girl or explain the blood in her bathroom.

  ‘Certainly. I was in bed until seven, which is when I normally get up to grab a quick shower. Getting up early is the only way I can have five minutes’ peace,’ she said, lifting a hand to her hair and brushing her fringe back off her forehead. ‘After waking the boys, I made breakfast and pottered with lunchboxes and what have you while I encouraged them to hurry up. If we don’t leave the house by eight at the latest, the traffic along the A470 is bumper to bumper and they’ll be late.’

  ‘Where were you taking them?’

  ‘The sports centre, near Llanrwst. They run a summer school – anything to keep them off their computers for a few hours.’

  Gaby made a quick note of the name on her phone. ‘And what happened next? You dropped off the boys at …?’

  ‘Eight-thirtyish after which I went to work, where I stayed all day. I even ended up having a sandwich at my desk. It was one of those days.’

  ‘Yes. We have them here too, all the time,’ Gaby said, managing a brief smile of understanding. ‘And you can confirm all this?’

  ‘Absolutely. The sports centre can with regards to the drop-off and pick-up of the boys and my PA at work can too. There’ll also be computer records with regards to the hours I spent updating client files and the like.’

  Gaby flicked a quick look across at Diane, who gave a little shake of her head in reply. There were no further questions to ask and no reason that she could think of to hold her any longer, not until they got the DNA back on the blood.

  ‘I’ll need to confirm everything you’ve told me then we should be able to release you.’

  ‘Surely as Mrs Stevens is a respected member of the lawyer fraternity we can waive—’

  ‘No, Mr Morgan. We can’t and you should know better than to ask. Might I remind you that there is still the blood in the bathroom that hasn’t been adequately explained in addition to a little girl missing, not to mention the unavailability of Ronan Stevens for questioning.’ She turned back to Janice. ‘If you could leave your full contact details with PC Carbone please – once we’ve confirmed everything with the respective parties, you’ll be free to go. This interview is terminated at …’ But before she could finish she felt a slight tug on her arm and, tilting her head, she glanced down at where Diane had scribbled something on the top of her pad.

/>   ‘Okay, there is just one further question that my colleague has reminded me of,’ Gaby said, her tone hiding the sudden excitement building. ‘Did your son have a key to your property or, like ninety-nine per cent of the population, is it routine for you to leave a spare hidden in your garden for emergencies?’

  She watched the colour fade from Janice’s cheeks. ‘He left his on his desk, along with a note, when he went. There’s also a spare key hidden outside. I can’t remember the last time we had to use it.’

  ‘Right, thank you. It’s something we’ll follow up with you on your release.’ Gaby finished the interview and depressed the microphone switch. ‘Police Constable Carbone will accompany you to the cell. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to check out your alibi. I take it you’ll be heading back to the office in case we have any further questions?’

  ‘Immediately after I’ve changed out of this lot,’ she said, curling her lip at the state of her dress.

  Gaby nodded, turning to the door.

  ‘Detective Darin.’

  She paused, one hand clutching on to her mobile, the other resting on her hip, her mouth barely registering a smile. ‘Yes, Mr Morgan?’

  ‘I’d like to have a quick word with my wife?’

  I’ll just bet you would! ‘Well, as you can see, we’re a little busy right now. All I can promise is that I’ll pass on your message. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  Chapter 36

  Owen

  Tuesday 4 August, 8.50 a.m. St Asaph

  Owen had started to run through the tasks planned for the day with Diane, only to have her whisked out from under his nose and a very unhappy Marie Morgan take her place. It didn’t take her long to explain why, her speech interspersed with a couple of loud sniffs.