The Missing Girls

by Carol Wyer

  ‘She thought she could teach Florence a valuable lesson – one that would warn her off such apps in the future.’

  Ross shook his head in dismay. ‘As I said, she isn’t right in the head. That’s no way to teach anyone a lesson.’

  ‘I agree. Cheryl was adamant she intended driving Florence home the night we found her. She was drugged with Valium so she’d have no idea of where she’d been held captive, and Cheryl was going to leave her outside her house, but we showed up and messed up her plans.’

  Ross breathed in deeply. ‘Crazy. People can be so crazy.’

  ‘Life can screw people up. It can turn them crazy. Charlotte’s death was too much for Cheryl to handle.’ Cheryl Chambers had fooled them into believing she suffered from fibromyalgia. She’d thrown them off the scent. Robyn had made some serious errors during the investigation and almost got it wrong. Was she losing her touch?

  The girls were watching something on Amélie’s mobile and giggling. There was a little warmth in the sun and daffodils were pushing up under the trees in Stafford Park.

  ‘Bet you’re glad that’s all over,’ said Ross.

  Robyn gazed at him, a half smile on her face. ‘It’s never really over though, is it? There’ll be more cyberbullying, more hurt, more sadness and more murders. It’s never over for people like us.’

  Duke stood up and let out a whine. ‘As long as there are people like us, there’ll be less of it, and we have to think about them,’ he added, nodding in the direction of the girls. ‘They’re the future. We have to try and make it as decent a future as we can. Now, stop brooding. You promised to buy us all dinner at McDonald’s, and this little chap would like an extra-large burger.’

  Robyn laughed. ‘You know they say dogs can look like exactly like their owners…’

  ‘Don’t even go there,’ said Ross, pulling at the lead.

  She gave him a warm smile and then called the girls.

  ‘Amélie, Florence, come on. Ross needs feeding.’

  Robyn waited as the girls wandered across, arms linked, heads down, and deep in conversation. Ross was right. They were the future.

  Sixty-Eight

  Back home, Robyn lifted the post from the doormat – an electricity bill and an A4 manila envelope postmarked London. She threw them on the kitchen worktop while she made a cup of tea and considered going to the gym. She had the rest of the day off to look forward to. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she opened the larger of the envelopes and pulled out a photograph. Time stood still. Blood rushed into her ears and her mouth dropped open in surprise. The photograph, taken at what appeared to be an airport, was of a dark-haired man in spectacles wearing a nondescript dark-grey suit and carrying a worn satchel. Unaware that he was being photographed, he was rubbing at the stubble on his chin as he waited beside a rack of magazines.

  Robyn couldn’t assimilate what she was seeing. The man in the photograph was without any doubt, her fiancé, Davies Hilton. What made her gasp was the date stamp at the top of the photograph. The picture had been taken at three thirty on the fifteenth of March 2015. She read the date stamp again and again. Her brain could make no sense of it. It couldn’t be correct because at three thirty on the fifteenth of March 2015, she had been in a hotel room in Marrakesh and had just received the news that Davies had been killed. She checked the photograph again. Could it have been Photoshopped? Was it some cruel hoax? Her mind drifted back to that morning…

  * * *

  The first call to prayer wakes her. Davies is half asleep, his arm over her shoulder, holding her to him. She feels him stir and gives a smile. It had been worth joining him in Morocco. It is as beautiful and exotic as he promised it would be, and later today, on the roof terrace of this incredibly romantic riad, she’ll reveal the news she’s been keeping secret, that he’s to be a father.

  She never visits Davies when he’s on a mission. It’s forbidden, and ordinarily he never divulges his destinations, but this time he has.

  ‘It’s only a casual meeting with an informant. Nothing dangerous. I’m not even sure it’s going to take happen. I’ll probably kick my heels for four days and come home. Come on, Robyn. Marrakesh is amazing and you’d love it. It’s a fascinating city. Why not come along with me?’ he’d said. At first she’d refused, then she’d changed her mind. It would be a wonderful place to share the news of the life growing inside her.

  As he wakes more fully, he draws her even closer to him and murmurs in her ear. ‘Morning, gorgeous. If I didn’t have to make that trip across the Atlas Mountains, I’d stay here all day with you. I’d really hoped it wasn’t going to take place. Still, it’s only one little meeting and then the rest of the time is all ours again. Any chance you’ll still be here when I get back?’

  The love she feels for him balloons inside her. She couldn’t love him any more than she already does. ‘I’ll be here.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll make sure I get back early, in time for some pre-dinner passion.’

  He nibbles on her ear. She feels warmth filling her every cell. She can’t wait for the evening when they’ll have something very special to celebrate.

  * * *

  She lifted the photograph once more and examined his face. It was without doubt Davies. He was in the same outfit he’d worn the last time she saw him: a beige jacket, pale shirt and blue jeans, and wearing his usual dark-rimmed, square-framed glasses. Yet Davies had headed for a village outside Ouarzazate, a three-hour trip on the other side of the Atlas Mountains. How could he be at this airport?

  She studied the magazines on the rack in front of Davies. They were in English. Was he at a British airport? There were no other people visible or any other clues as to where he might be. She inhaled and scrutinised it again, her eyes straining to pick up anything that might identify his location. Then she spotted it. Hidden behind the rack and almost out of view were some souvenirs from the region, mostly blurred apart from one – a red double-decker bus, bearing a Union Jack flag. Davies was in the UK.

  This was simply not possible. He’d left Marrakesh at five o’clock that fateful morning in an open-top jeep driven by Hassan, a man with jet-black hair and shining white teeth.

  * * *

  She closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of orange blossom that drifts through her open window. It’s wonderfully cool inside the riad and so calm. When Davies returns she’ll tell him what her body has known for a while; he’s to be a father. The tentative knock at the door interrupts her delicious thoughts. She checks her watch. It’s three thirty p.m. She rises from the bed, heart thumping. He’s early! She races to the door and throws it wide open, expecting to see the face of the man she adores. But it isn’t him. It’s Peter Cross, Davies’s superior. She’s confused. How does Peter Cross know she’s here? He answers her unspoken words.

  ‘Davies called me. He told me you were here. In case things went wrong. He wanted to keep you safe.’ His face says it all. His words confirm her worst fears.

  ‘Robyn, I’m so sorry. ‘There was an attack on several vehicles near Toufliht, at the foot of the Atlas Mountains. One of them was Davies’s.’

  ‘No.’

  He gives a sad shake of his head. ‘He didn’t survive. He died immediately.’

  She raises her fists and brings them down on Peter Cross’s chest, hammering with all her might. He calmly gathers her hands in his own and holds them tightly.

  ‘I’m truly sorry. He was one of my best men. He’ll be a huge loss to all of us. You’ll need time, Robyn,’ he says. ‘We’ll all need time.’

  * * *

  She returned her attention to the photograph. It had to be a fake. She examined it once more with the magnifying glass then turned it over. Written on the back were three words, ‘Fact not fiction.’

  Her heart thumped so loudly it was all she could hear. If this was authentic, then Davies did not die that day. For twenty-two months she’d harboured a tremendous guilt – she’d believed that by travelling to Marrakesh she’d someh
ow blown his cover, and because of that he’d been tracked down and murdered. This suggested otherwise. Who could have sent it? And, if Davies was alive, why hadn’t he contacted her? He was supposed to love her. What about his daughter, Amélie? He wouldn’t have put the child through such upset.

  This wasn’t real. Her mind couldn’t fathom the significance of the photograph, nor the implications. She’d lived through almost two years of hell. She’d mourned him and cried for him. She’d had a breakdown after his death and a miscarriage swiftly afterwards, brought on, she believed, by distress.

  Robyn headed to the sink, ran the cold tap and splashed water onto her face while her mind turned somersaults. What was she supposed to do now? Search for Davies? And if he was alive, should she welcome him back with open arms and forgive him for such treachery and deceit? No. He couldn’t mess with people’s emotions like this, no matter what reason he had. Possible scenarios bounced in her head. The Davies she knew wouldn’t deliberately allow his loved ones to suffer like this, so had he been captured and unable to reach her? Surely Davies wouldn’t knowingly have put them through such pain – would he? There had to be a good reason for this. She pressed her forehead to a cupboard, steadying her hands and taking long deep breaths to steady her heart. If this photograph proved he was alive on March the fifteenth, was he still alive, and if so, where was he now? Damn him! How could he do this to them? Angry, hot tears filled her eyes. She put her head in her hands and let them flow.

  * * *

  ***

  Did you miss Robyn and her team on their first chilling case? Read Little Girl Lost now, a real nail-biting page-turner.

  Little Girl Lost

  DI Robyn Carter Book 1

  Her breath rose and fell in fearful gasps but it was too late. She could already see what she dreaded most. The back seat was empty.

  * * *

  Her little girl was gone.

  * * *

  Abigail lives the perfect life with her doting husband and adorable baby Izzy. But someone knows a secret about Abigail and they want the truth to be told.

  * * *

  When Izzy is snatched from a carpark, it becomes a case for Detective Robyn Carter. Someone has been sending threatening messages to Abigail from an anonymous number. What is Abigail hiding?

  * * *

  Robyn’s instincts tell her there’s a connection between Izzy’s abduction and two murders she is investigating. But the last time she acted on impulse her fiancé was killed. To break this case and earn her place back on the force, she must learn to trust herself again – and fast. Robyn is on the hunt for a ruthless serial killer. And unless she gets to the twisted individual in time a little girl will die …

  * * *

  Gripping, fast-paced and nail-bitingly tense, this serial killer thriller will chill you to the bone. Perfect for fans of Angela Marsons, Rachel Abbott and Karin Slaughter.

  * * *

  Order Little Girl Lost now!

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  * * *

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  Also by Carol Wyer

  The DI Robyn Carter series:

  Little Girl Lost

  Secrets of the Dead

  The Missing Girls

  * * *

  Life Swap

  Take a Chance on Me

  * * *

  Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines

  Surfing in Stilettos

  Just Add Spice

  * * *

  Grumpy Old Menopause

  How Not to Murder Your Grumpy

  Grumpies On Board

  * * *

  Love Hurts

  A Letter From Carol

  Dear everyone,

  My thanks to you for purchasing and reading The Missing Girls. I really hope you’ve enjoyed this case. It is, to date, the one I’ve most enjoyed writing. I find with each of the books in this series, I’m becoming closer to the characters, especially Robyn, who now has a personal case to investigate. She’s in two minds at the moment and isn’t sure whether she should pursue this. By the next book, she’ll have made up her mind. What do you think? Should she look for Davies? Do you think he’s alive?

  If you’d like to hear about the next book, sign up to my mailing list below. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  Sign up here!

  My inspiration for the book came from a friend whose son was being bullied at school. He’d recently had a major operation, leaving him physically scarred on his face and head, and the kids at school tormented him about it. The bullying continued at home when he accessed his social media accounts. Fortunately, his mother worked out what was happening, saw the head teacher and, dissatisfied with their response to the situation, removed the boy. Now he’s content at a new school and is flourishing, but not every story has such a happy ending. I’ve always been aware of the negatives of social media, but my research for this book turned up some extremely disturbing cases of cyberbullying, and apps that are being used by youngsters without their parents’ knowledge.

  I hope The Missing Girls serves to highlight some of the difficulties and dangers our young people face by being unmonitored online, and the terrible effects bullying and cyberbullying can have on them.

  I’m beginning to like DI Tom Shearer, but the second he lets his guard down he puts it back up again. He assures me he’s a decent bloke underneath all that bluster, but we’ll have to see if that’s the case.

  And my favourite character, Ross, now has a new love in his life – Duke! Several of you have written to say Ross ought to have his own series. Watch this space.

  If you enjoyed reading The Missing Girls please would you take a few minutes to write a review, no matter how short it is. I would really be most grateful. Your recommendations are most important.

  I love hearing from my readers, so if you’d like to get in touch, you can find me on Twitter, Facebook or through my website.

  Carol x

  www.carolewyer.co.uk

  Secrets of the Dead

  DI Robyn Carter Book 2

  Colourful, plastic boats were scattered in puddles on the floor. In the bathtub lay Linda Upton, fully-clothed, lips a shade of blue, and bloodshot eyes wide open.

  * * *

  When a young mother is found drowned in the bath, clutching a receipt saying ‘all debts paid’, Detective Robyn Carter knows it’s just the beginning of a harrowing case. She recognises the signs of a serial killer, and a second victim with a receipt confirms her worst fears.

  * * *

  There are no witnesses. The victims had no debts. With the body count rising and the local press whipping the public into a frenzy, Robyn is under pressure to solve the crime in record time. But her team can’t find a link between the victims, and the cracks are starting to show.

  * * *

  Just when her leads have dried up, Robyn discovers photographs in two of the victims’ houses, which she thinks could unlock the case. But as she hones in on the killer’s shocking motive, one of her own is put in terrible danger.

  * * *

  Can Robyn stop the most twisted killer of her career before it’s too late?

  * * *

  A heart-pounding, toe-curling, one-sitting serial killer thriller that will hook you from the first page till the last. Perfect for fans of Angela Marsons, Rachel Abbott and Karin Slaughter.

  * * *

  Order Secrets of the Dead now!

  Take a Chance on Me

  A hilarious heart-warming read about friendship, taking chances and finding love, second time round.

  * * *

  When Charlie’s husband leaves after ten years of marriage, her spirits hit an all-time low. She just isn’t sure how to pick herself up again. So, best friend Mercedes makes it her mission to put a spring back in Charlie’s s
tep with the perfect bucket list.

  * * *

  As Charlie takes a chance and bungee jumps and belly dances her way through an array of adventures, her love life also begins to look up and she’s soon enjoying a few dates as a newly single woman. She begins to realise that finding romance, might not be so hard, especially when you’ve got someone like journalist Jake who has an adorable little boy and is very easy on the eye.

  * * *

  But is Jake too good to be true? As Charlie’s challenges on the bucket list get bigger, so do her questions about Jake. Should she continue to hold out for the fairy-tale? Or should she take a chance on Jake and hope for a happy ending?

  * * *

  A witty romantic read perfect for fans of Carole Matthews and Debbie Johnson.