The Missing Girls

by Carol Wyer

  His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched. He studied her as she sat straight-backed, facing him.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Find this person, DI Carter. And quickly, before I change my mind.’

  * * *

  David and Matt were in the office. Both looked fatigued.

  ‘Didn’t expect you in, boss,’ said Matt.

  ‘Things are heating up, Matt. We’ve got to work faster.’ She told them about the most recent developments.

  ‘Find those students who rented Dev Khan’s house, will you? Pull them in to help with enquiries. David, we need to locate Siobhan Connors. Tell me when you have something.’

  She slid behind her desk where she once more rearranged her Post-its: Carrie first, then next to her name, Amber, and under that, Siobhan. Carrie had sent Siobhan the same message she’d sent Amber, You sound a lot like me. I hope we meet sometime soon. If the killer had sent that message, Siobhan was in real danger. Robyn pondered the actual meaning of the message. Perhaps the sender intended them all to meet in death.

  She couldn’t focus on the task. There were too many loose ends that she couldn’t tie up. Davies would have known how to tackle it. Post-it notes weren’t enough. How she missed him. He would have let her fire off all sorts of ideas and helped her pick her way through them. She needed him more than ever. This was the most confounding case, and she had no one who could help her reach the right conclusions. She’d pulled in suspects only to discover they had no connection to it. She’d raced around interviewing people and had no real results, and all the while the killer was out there.

  With a heavy sigh, she snatched up the autopsy reports from her desk. She had a job to do. The young women whose names were on Post-it notes needed her, and she had a murderer to find.

  Forty-Four

  DAY EIGHT – MONDAY 23 JANUARY

  Delia Marsh School in Uttoxeter was on a large site consisting of over twenty buildings. Robyn watched the main entrance for signs of movement.

  Florence and Amélie had been at the school for eighteen months now and were in Year 8. Amélie was relishing the challenges provided by the school and the vast array of subjects. Robyn had noticed subtle changes in her – a shift in her focus, the way she acted. She was growing up fast, as was Florence, and Florence was the reason Robyn was standing near the school entrance on a freezing cold January afternoon, instead of sitting in her office where she ought to be.

  Matt had found out where the students who rented Dev Khan’s house were now living, and she’d dispatched Mitz to talk to them. The other members of her team were occupied with various other tasks that she desperately hoped would finally pinpoint a suspect and, more importantly, the location of Siobhan Connors.

  She cupped her hands and blew into them. A loud buzzer sounded, marking the end of the school day. Gradually the building spewed out pupils, and Robyn soon spotted Florence with her mane of hair tied back from her face. She called to her. Florence, clutching a schoolbag to her chest, didn’t respond.

  ‘Florence.’ Robyn moved position until she was in the girl’s line of sight and before she reached the gate.

  ‘Oh, hey. What are you doing here?’ Her voice was taut.

  ‘Came to collect Amélie.’

  Florence didn’t seem to know what to say, or where to look. Pupils brushed past them, eager to mount coaches and leave for the day. ‘Look, why don’t I drop you off too? Save catching the bus.’

  Florence’s hair bounced as she shook her head. ‘It’s okay. I don’t mind the bus.’

  ‘My car’s more comfy and you’ll get home quicker.’ Robyn regretted the words. She was handling it incorrectly. Years of experience as an investigator in the police force and she couldn’t even chat to a thirteen-year-old girl. She sighed. ‘Truth is, Amélie asked me to speak to you.’

  Florence squeezed her bag more tightly.

  ‘She’s so upset about what happened. It seems such a silly reason to fall out.’

  A muscle in her jaw pulsed. ‘What did she tell you?’

  ‘She was being silly. Made a daft comment about you fancying a teacher and that she was a rotten friend for not thinking about your feelings.’

  Florence’s chin jutted out. ‘Robyn, this is between Amélie and me. She shouldn’t have brought you into it. It shows what a kid she still is. She can’t deal with it herself.’

  ‘To be fair to her, she has tried. She says you refuse to take her calls.’

  ‘Whatever. I don’t want to hang about with her any more. That’s all. There’s nothing more to be said.’

  ‘But Florence, why?’

  ‘Because it’s time for me to become my own person. Not Amélie’s shadow. It’s difficult enough being me without being best friends with someone like her. I need space. I need to find out what I’m like on my own. What it’s like to be me. Get it?’

  Robyn didn’t wholly understand, but there was no denying that Florence was not going to back down on the subject. ‘I get it, but do you have to cut her off like this? She’s been your friend for six years. That’s a lot of friendship to turn your back on. If you spoke to her about this, she’d give you space and just see you now and again. That’s better than cutting her off altogether.’

  Florence’s eyelids flickered. ‘I’ve made up my mind. It’s time for us both to make new friends.’ The words sounded rehearsed. ‘I have to catch my bus now. Tell Amélie I’m sorry.’

  ‘You should tell her yourself. You see her every day. This is making her really miserable, Florence.’

  ‘Then she’ll understand how I feel a lot of the time.’

  She gave Robyn a sad look, skirted around her and got onto a bus opposite the gate. Amélie exited behind a straggling group of teens. She spotted Robyn and made for her. Robyn put an arm around her shoulder and together they headed for the car.

  Forty-Five

  It was after seven when Robyn got back to her house. As always, the place seemed so empty. It would be so different if someone was sharing it with her. Thoughts drifted back to Davies. Even when he was absent, she’d felt his presence. The pillow would smell of his aftershave, and somehow the house had felt more homely, more alive. How she missed him.

  She ought to get a cat. Then at least there’d be someone to share her life with and to care about. That’s what she needed. Shearer had been right. They were two of a kind. Work was the only thing that kept them both motivated. She stared at the ceramic egg-timer Davies had bought her. He’d liked his eggs boiled for exactly three minutes. The timer had been a joke present after she’d overcooked them one morning. She’d not use it since his death. She picked it up and wiped the dust from it with her sleeve, then prepared a meal and sat at the kitchen table, simultaneously eating and reading through her reports.

  She ran the possibilities through her mind. Both Carrie and Amber were or had been at schools in Derby. The bodies of both girls had been frozen before being removed and hidden elsewhere. And it seemed the murderer had collected a piece of skin from both girls. Had Joanne Hutchinson killed them both, and if so, why? Robyn stuck a fork into her salad. She needed more than this. She only had fragments of clues and still numerous ends to tidy up.

  Her phone buzzed on the table.

  ‘Jade North has just rung the office again.’ Anna spoke with a slightly tremulous voice. ‘She has something for us.’

  Robyn’s fork clattered onto the plate.

  ‘After I spoke to her about the Fox or Dog Facebook page she began thinking about Carrie and she’s remembered something that might help. She was a bit upset she didn’t think of it before. The night Carrie called her to say she was leaving home, Jade heard a Tannoy announcement that caused Carrie to stop speaking for a moment. She believes Carrie was calling from a railway station. Do you think it could’ve been Derby station?’

  ‘Can we get any CCTV footage from there for that night? It was some time ago.’

  ‘I’ve already requested it. I’ve
also received the list of calls made from Carrie’s mobile provider and can find out exactly what time she made that call to Jade. I can then work out which trains were at the station or due out at around that time. That is, if she caught any of them, and wasn’t waiting for a later one.’

  ‘It’s worth the exercise. If there’s any footage of her at the station, that’d be perfect. I’ll organise for somebody to take her photograph to the station and see if anyone can remember her being there. It’s a long shot, but it’s all we can do at this stage.’

  This was yet another piece of information that would only take more time to follow up. It might also lead to a dead end. She thought for a minute. Carrie might have caught a train from Derby station. A spark of a thought.

  ‘Amber lived in Tutbury, didn’t she? Is there a railway station near her house?’

  Robyn held her breath while Anna clicked her computer mouse several times.

  ‘There’s a small station at Tutbury and Hatton. There’s no ticket office and no waiting room or facilities. It’s on the Crewe to Derby railway line and offers an hourly service. It takes about eighteen minutes to get to Derby. And,’ Anna said with some satisfaction, ‘it’s only a ten-minute walk away from the Daltons’ house.’

  ‘I’m assuming Derbyshire Police looked at the possibility that she’d caught a train when they were looking into her disappearance.’

  ‘They did, and she wasn’t seen at Tutbury and Hatton station.’

  ‘I might be going off at a tangent here. Okay, thanks, Anna. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Robyn retrieved her fork and, carrying her bowl to the sink, dropped it in. She was overthinking this case. She leant against the kitchen unit and stared into space. Somehow, the station seemed relevant. She opened her laptop and checked the stations along the route from Derby to Crewe. There were eight in all. The first stop was Tutbury and Hatton. The second was Uttoxeter.

  Carrie, Amber and Siobhan were linked not only online, but by that railway line.

  Forty-Six

  DAY NINE – TUESDAY 24 JANUARY

  The following morning brought some more news. Matt Higham had a list of people who’d rented vans from the DIY stores in the area.

  ‘There are seventeen women on this list, not one of them called Joanne. Can’t somebody, somewhere give me a break!’

  ‘You didn’t expect it to be that easy, did you, Matt? Joanne will have used another alias.’

  ‘No, guv. Sorry. I’m a bit tetchy because Poppy spent all night screaming, and Mrs Higham made me get up to feed and change her.’

  ‘Mrs Higham, is it? You must be in a bad mood.’

  A sigh, like an old-fashioned kettle, escaped his lips. ‘Damn right I am. This is the third night in a row I haven’t slept. It’s torture.’

  ‘How about volunteering to do a night shift here and kipping in one of the interview rooms?’

  ‘You have no idea how tempting that sounds.’ He punched at his keyboard, huffed, punched some more. ‘I’ve put them through the database and there are seven who could pass for the woman. I’m going to speak to them.’

  ‘Good thinking, Matt.’

  Mitz wandered in, a Tupperware box in his hand. ‘My mother’s been cooking. She sent these in for us.’ He opened the box to reveal sticky, deep-fried dough balls, covered in sugar. ‘She got carried away making gulab jamun.’ He passed the box to David, closest to the door.

  ‘What are they?’ David dipped his hand into the box and pulled one out, bit into it and chewed, all the while making appreciative noises.

  ‘Sweet milk dumplings. Mum adds a secret ingredient and they’re the best.’

  David swallowed and waved the remaining piece in his hand. ‘These are delicious.’

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Robyn unglued a dough ball from another. They were very sweet and moreish.

  ‘Your mum’s the best.’

  Mitz’s mother was well known for sending in titbits for the team. She’d even drop in occasionally with meals for them if they were working late, claiming she had cooked too much. She was the perfect matriarch.

  ‘What’s the occasion? Surely she hasn’t made these just for us.’

  Mitz grinned. ‘She heard I’d got a second date and got overexcited. Thought she’d celebrate by making them.’

  ‘A second date. Wow! Now, that’s worth celebrating. So, what’s this woman like?’ Matt licked his fingers.

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘That’s it?’ said Matt. ‘Come on. There’s more. You always have something else to tell us. Your dates always go wrong.’

  ‘This one didn’t, and that’s all I’m saying for now.’

  Matt waved a pencil at his colleague. ‘You’re going to have to cough up more information, or I’ll be forced to put you in a cell for the night.’

  Mitz threw back his head and laughed.

  David reached for the box again. Matt tsk-tsked. ‘You ought to save a couple of those for Anna. Besides, if you have any more sugar you’ll get too hyper, and I don’t want you bouncing about all over the place when we interview these ladies.’

  Robyn snorted. David Marker was the least likely person in the universe to get hyper. He acknowledged Matt with a pained expression.

  ‘Where is Anna?’

  Robyn wiped her slightly sticky fingers on her skirt. ‘She went to Derby station. Trying to track Carrie Miller’s movements the day she left her dad’s house. Jade North thinks Carrie called her from Derby station.’

  ‘That’s hopeful, then. Just need to work out where the heck she went to by train. Is it me, or is this one of the worst cases we’ve had?’ Matt rubbed at his chin.

  ‘It’s tricky but I have faith in you all.’ Robyn meant it. She was fortunate to have such a dedicated team.

  Matt huffed. ‘Glad someone has. I keep looking at that board and wondering where it’s all taking us.’

  Robyn knew what he meant. The board now bore the photographs of three girls. They still hadn’t tracked down Joanne Hutchinson, but thanks to confirmation of all his movements, Dev Khan had been eliminated as a suspect. Frank Cummings could account for his movements for the week Amber disappeared – he’d been at his daughter’s in Scotland. Robyn was now convinced neither he nor Dev were involved. There wasn’t much left to go on. Names had been struck through as alibis had been established, and no one could yet fathom a motive for the deaths. ‘No luck at Cannock Chase, Mitz?’

  Mitz shook his head. ‘No vehicles were spotted. I’m going back to the car park later today to try again.’

  Robyn stood and stretched. ‘David, you’ve been looking for the three lads who rented Dev Khan’s house. Any joy?’

  David gave a cough to clear his throat. ‘I couldn’t get hold of Dominic Granger so I spoke to his parents. Dominic’s currently in Australia but he’s on board a catamaran, not backpacking as we thought. He’ll probably be out of contact for the next three to four days. Stephen Robinson’s joined the army. He’s on an exercise at the moment and can’t be reached until tomorrow night. And Phil Eastwood’s taken up acting. He’s rehearsing for a new show in Birmingham. His phone’s been off all day so I rang the box office and now I’m waiting for him to get back to me.’

  ‘Which theatre is he at? I’ll go and chat to him myself. I don’t want to wait all day for him to call.’

  Mitz scribbled down the address. ‘I feel a bit like Matt. It’s like we’re all pedalling like crazy but none of us are getting anywhere.’ He replaced the lid on the Tupperware box and slid it onto Anna’s desk.

  Robyn swivelled in her chair to better study the board. The team was becoming demoralised. She had to find some way of keeping them motivated. They had to get a breakthrough soon.

  Forty-Seven

  Phil Eastwood wiped beads of sweat from his forehead on a damp cloth and faced Robyn. The rest of the dance troupe was still rehearsing moves for the Bat Out of Hell show, bass notes vibrating through the floorboards.

  ‘It�
�s not the acting career I expected,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the group now gyrating furiously to one of Meatloaf’s tracks. ‘Still, it keeps the wolf from the door. This is a vast improvement on last month; I was trussed up in a turkey outfit, handing out leaflets for a frozen food store, making gobbling noises.’

  Robyn watched the group, who leapt about the stage in an orchestrated frenzy, until someone from the shadows of the auditorium barked an instruction at them and they came to a stop while he changed aspects of the routine. Phil moved away, grabbed a bottle of water from out of a plastic bag, and lowered his voice. ‘Best not be long.’

  ‘Sure, I wanted to ask you about your housemates at university. You shared with Dominic and were going to share with Stephen Robinson, but he dropped out.’

  He chugged his water and returned the bottle to the bag, along with the cloth. ‘Stupid idiot didn’t revise enough. He’d been going out with a medical student and spent too much time working on biology exercises, if you get my drift. Then he flunked the retakes over the summer. He phoned to tell us only a couple of weeks before term began again. Dominic and I were so pissed off with him. We’d wangled this house, a really good one at that. There aren’t many decent places to share, certainly not places for only three students. We visited a few and they were manky or too expensive, or miles away from the town centre, and then Dominic’s cousin put in a good word for us with Mr Khan and bingo! We were all thrilled, and then Stephen buggered up the plan by getting chucked out of uni.’

  ‘So you found someone else to take up Stephen’s place.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I knew a guy on the same English and drama course – Elliot… Elliot Chambers. He’d tried to get off campus too but he couldn’t find anyone to share with. He turned out to be the perfect housemate but a bit weird. He kept his room freakishly neat and even cleaned the whole place on his free days, and he could cook. Used to make a mean curry. Spent nearly all the time holed up in his room. Hardly ever saw him.’