The Lost Girls: Maggie Turner Suspense Series book #1

by Pryke, Helen

  Charlotte laughed out loud at this. The others glanced at them, curious. She hugged Rosie back. ‘Thanks for being my friend.’

  ‘Any time. Promise me that if I go missing, you’ll stick up for me,’ Rosie replied, her voice serious.

  ‘Ooh, I don’t know about that,’ Charlotte said, just as serious. ‘Depends what they say!’

  * * *

  Carol flung her handbag on the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. Her friend had kept her talking on the phone, and now she was late for picking Charlotte and Mike up from school. She turned the key, put the car into gear, and swung out of the drive.

  ‘What the…?’ She gripped the steering wheel and had to use all her strength to keep the car in a straight line. She pressed the accelerator and heard a rubbery slapping sound coming from the passenger side of the car.

  ‘No!’ she shouted, and slammed on the brakes. She jumped out of the car and ran around to the other side, then stopped dead in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. The tyre was completely deflated, the squashed rubber flattened against the tarmac. She kicked the car in frustration.

  A passer-by glanced over at her. ‘Looks like you got a puncture,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Really? I would never have guessed,’ she snapped back.

  He held up his hands and hurried on his way.

  ‘Don’t suppose you could give me a hand…?’ she began, her voice trailing away as he picked up speed. ‘Great. Thanks for nothing.’

  She reached into the car for her mobile phone and tried ringing first Mike, and then Charlotte. Neither picked up. Carol grimaced. The school had a strict turn-your-phone-off-during-lessons policy, and the kids often forgot to turn them back on again after school. She sighed and rolled up her sleeves, preparing to get her hands dirty and break a few nails.

  She didn’t see the two people sat watching her in a white car parked a little further down the road, nor did she notice as they pulled out and drove off.

  * * *

  Charlotte waved as Rosie headed towards the bus stop and waited by the gates for her mum to arrive. Mike slouched into view, kicking a stone as he strolled along. He grunted his goodbyes to his friends and stood next to her.

  ‘Have a good day?’ Charlotte asked, just to break the silence.

  ‘S’all right, s’pose,’ he replied.

  ‘Got any homework?’

  His grunt could have meant either yes or no, so she decided to leave it. The school playground emptied, until they were the only ones left.

  ‘Mum’s late, isn’t she?’ Charlotte said, starting to feel worried.

  ‘I’m going home.’ Mike picked up his rucksack.

  ‘Mum said we can’t go home alone,’ Charlotte snapped.

  ‘I’ll catch my mates up,’ Mike called back over his shoulder, breaking into a run. He shouted something, and his friends stopped and waited for him.

  Charlotte watched him disappear round the corner with them, her blood boiling. ‘Damn you, Mikey, what about me?’ she muttered, tears pricking at her eyes. She had no choice but to wait for her mother; there’d be trouble if she turned up and neither of them were there.

  A noise made her jump. She turned and saw Joe, the school caretaker, trundling a wheelie bin across the playground to the side gate. He glanced over at her and waved. She half-raised her hand, then dropped it to her side, embarrassed. With his tall, lanky frame draped in scruffy clothes that made him look like a scarecrow, and a stutter that worsened the more someone looked at him, Joe was the butt of many jokes at school; the students seemed to come up with worse ones every year. Charlotte thought them cruel and stupid, but never had the courage to speak up against her friends. She liked Joe, he always had a kind word for her or a smile, and she hated the fact that she never defended him.

  He went through the side gate and she turned back to the road, wishing her mum would hurry up. She imagined Mike would soon be back home, feet up on the coffee table, munching a bag of crisps as he watched TV. She promised herself she’d punch him in the arm when she saw him.

  ‘Charlotte?’ a timid voice said from behind her.

  ‘Yes?’ Charlotte turned and saw a girl about her own age approaching.

  ‘Hi, I’m Jenny. Your mum called mine, said she’s having trouble with her car, and asked if we could pop over and run you home. She’s really sorry, but she’s got a puncture and won’t be here for ages.’

  ‘Jenny?’ Charlotte was sure she’d never seen her before. In her faded dungarees, baseball cap and sunglasses, she didn’t look like a student from school.

  The girl looked down at the ground. ‘My mum’s called Rachel, my sister’s in class with your brother, Michael.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Well, if you’re sure.’ She followed the girl away from the school gates, towards a white car parked near where Joe had gone, thinking about what she’d say to Mike when she got home.

  * * *

  The stone floor was cold beneath her cheek and she could feel the damp seeping up through her school uniform. The air smelt musty and dust motes tickled her nose, making it itch. She raised her right hand, and for a moment she panicked at its surprisingly heavy weight, then realised that she was moving both her hands together. Confused, she trembled as she tried to pull them apart, straining against the chafing ropes around her wrists. What’s happening? Images flashed through her mind: Joe pushing the bins, the strange girl approaching her, the white car parked near the school, getting into it… The car! What happened next? There was someone else, a man… She struggled to remember more, but it was impossible. Her head felt as if it were wrapped in cotton wool and she saw only a grey mistiness as she fell unconscious.

  Sometime later, she awoke. Her body ached from lying on the floor and she was shivering with cold. She opened her eyes wide, straining to see, but the blindfold around her head was tied tight, the darkness complete. Her heart started to accelerate; she felt trapped, she had to get out of there. She tried to scream but her throat was too dry and only a low, anguished groan came out. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay, Mum will be here soon, she’ll find me and take me home, make me a hot drink and cuddle me till I fall asleep…

  Footsteps echoed as someone approached and she whimpered in fear. She felt his presence as he crouched down behind her. He touched her hair, gently running his fingers through it.

  ‘Welcome home, Charlie,’ he murmured in her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

  I’m Charlotte, a voice screamed inside her head, tears rolling down her cheeks as his hand continued to caress her.

  10

  We’re together again. Jane, Charlie, and me, the three musketeers doing battle against the world. I’ve waited so long for this moment, and now it’s finally happened. Mother told me it wouldn’t work, told me not to do it, kept on with her poison, filling my head with her negativity. But in the end, she had to admit I was right. And I was. I’ve got my little girls back.

  They are different, that much is obvious. I’ll have to be patient with them; after all, it’s been a long time. Who knows what they’ve been through while I was searching for them. Charlie keeps crying, but I’m sure she’ll stop soon. Once she accepts who I am.

  My head aches from all the stress. Long months of preparation, then putting my plan into action, not knowing whether it will work or not, has put me under considerable strain. The tablets the doctor gave me didn’t help, I had to stop taking them in the end. They made my head foggy, stopped me thinking clearly, suppressed my emotions.

  Now my thoughts are clear, and the fog no longer hampers my actions. My little girls are down in the cellar, waiting for me to go to them. I can’t wait to see where the future will take us.

  11

  Maggie groaned as she jerked awake, automatically searching for the alarm clock on her bedside table. Four o’clock! Damn. The last tendrils of the nightmare drifted away, leaving her with the same empty feeling, as if her soul had been sucked out of her. She hadn’t had one for a while, but th
e familiar sensation of suffocating was one she remembered well. She stretched her legs, and winced as cramps threatened to strike. She gave up any hope of going back to sleep, her body letting her know that was out of the question now.

  The bedside lamp cast a warm glow around the bedroom, familiar objects giving her comfort as she lay in bed for as long as possible. A framed picture of an embroidered robin, made by her younger sister, Nicola, at school many years before, hung above the chest of drawers, its bright red chest the only splash of colour in the room. The black wrought-iron bed, with its geometrical straight lines, complemented the black-and-white wardrobe and bedside table. Even her bed linen was a light grey colour, she realised; as dull and boring as her life. Another cramp hit, and she reluctantly got out of bed with a groan.

  Sat at the kitchen table, she cradled a hot mug of coffee between her hands, the warmth easing the ache in her fingers. The bright light overhead reflected off the white kitchen units, making her grimace. The chrome accessories glinted on the worktop, everything neat and orderly, though stark in its simplicity. Since when had she become this drab, apathetic person? She knew the answer only too well.

  Too early to even think about going into work, she scrolled through the apps on her phone, seeing what everyone else was up to around the world. She paused at a photo of Nicola and Richard relaxing on a beach in Spain, topping up their tans while the rest of them were suffering England’s unpredictable weather. She couldn’t blame them. After everything that had happened, they were finally turning their lives around and starting to live once more.

  Four years. Maggie glanced at the photograph on the shelf of her and Thomas, taken the year before he was murdered. He was eating an ice cream, which had melted down the cone and onto his hands, and Maggie had just put a blob of it on his nose when Nicola took the photo. He had dissolved into giggles, Maggie laughing along with him, joining in his childish mirth. Her nephew had been ten years old when they found his body, still so innocent of the wicked ways of the world.

  She’d followed so many cases just like his, writing them up for the newspaper over the years, that it wasn’t difficult for her to imagine what he must have gone through. Sometimes she cursed her profession, her need for details so she could write articles that would reach across the void and enter people’s hearts and souls. It was one thing writing about people she didn’t know, she could close off her emotions and keep to the facts. But since they found Thomas, it had become more and more difficult.

  She remembered the horrendous days after the police had told them about Thomas, then the coroner’s report and the details of his murder, when the media circus had clamoured for interviews, quotes, just a few words they could report… Thank goodness for her contacts, who persuaded her fellow journalists to leave the family alone, otherwise they would have been driven crazy. As it was, she’d watched her sister and brother-in-law’s relationship crumble under the stress, and hadn’t been sure they’d be able to come out the other side together. They’d fought through it, however, and survived, as these holiday photos showed, but Maggie guessed she was the only one who could see the tension in their bodies, the way they made sure there was no contact between their bare skin, the subtle hardness common to those who had suffered in their eyes. The same hardness Maggie saw every time she looked in the mirror.

  Maggie’s sorrow had taken another route. She’d missed Sally like hell at the beginning, but ending their relationship had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. With no partner to support her, no children to comfort her and everyone offering condolences to the parents with no thought for the aunt, her body had decided to turn against her in her moment of grief. At first she’d thought the aches and pains were due to stress, the tension never leaving her, even while she slept. But as the weeks had passed and her symptoms had got worse, she’d eventually gone to the doctor. Months of tests and examinations, more tests and even more examinations, had revealed that she had an auto-immune illness. She’d battled on, taking on more and more work in the hope it would stop her thinking about her nephew, but in the end she’d collapsed, her body failing her when she needed it most.

  She was glad that Sally hadn’t been around during all that. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to depend on someone, or worse, have someone stay with her through pity rather than love. No, better to be alone than suffer that indignity.

  Now, on a good day she could go to the office, sit at her desk, and write up her articles. She no longer chased stories, travelling all over the UK; the short drive from her apartment in Hilsea to The Southern Recorder’s offices in Portsmouth was her limit. On a bad day, it was just her and the sofa, a warm blanket, and coffee on demand. Despite waking up so early, today seemed like it was going to be a good day.

  * * *

  ‘Hey, Maggie, looks like you had too much fun last night!’ Andy, one of the few colleagues she counted as a friend in the office, gave her a wink. ‘Bit wild, was she?’

  ‘I wish,’ she retorted. ‘But I’d kill for a coffee.’

  ‘Coming right up,’ he said. ‘So, rough night, was it?’ Since her diagnosis he’d looked out for her, giving her a hand when he could see she was struggling. They’d been friends for more years than she cared to count, although it had been awkward at first. The younger Andy had had looks a male model would kill for, and was used to women swooning into his arms. Until he met Maggie. Once he’d got over the fact that she was never going to sleep with him, their relationship had settled into harmless flirting and a shoulder to lean on when needed. Although she had to privately admit that as he grew older, his similarity to a rugged Tom Hardy did look good on him.

  ‘I’ve had better. I hate waking up in a panic, like I can’t breathe…’ She shrugged. ‘A couple of coffees and I’ll be as right as rain.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Roger wants you to take a look at some old news items and write some “what happened next” articles for them. He’s left a list for you to go through.’

  ‘Sounds like fun.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Maggie. Someone’s got to do it, and he said it could be interesting. Reckons people are always asking what happened to so and so, you know, those touching stories that make everyone get all emotional. It’ll keep you quiet, at any rate.’

  ‘I guess. It’s about all I’m up to today anyway, to be honest. Just let me drink my coffee first.’

  ‘Here you go, madam.’

  Maggie took the mug and wandered over to her desk. She put it down on top of a pile of papers, tutting at the brown ring it left, and turned on the computer. She picked up the morning’s newspaper and flicked through it, taking small sips of coffee while she waited for the computer to load.

  Three cups of coffee later, her eyes were watering as she read through yet another article from the archives. Her notepad was full of notes of stories she’d come across that could have interesting follow-ups, with the contact numbers, names, and addresses of people she would get in touch with over the next few days. She was about to close the tab when Andy tapped her shoulder.

  ‘Maggie, there’s a couple of kids here to see you. They say it’s important, and they want to speak to you.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything I should know about?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ She sighed and put the computer to sleep. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Over there.’ He nodded at the lifts, and she saw two teenagers standing against the wall, shifting nervously as they waited. A girl with long dark-brown hair and pale skin covered in freckles, wearing black jeans, a Metallica T-shirt and a pair of heavy boots completely inappropriate for today’s hot weather, stood next to an older boy. He tugged at his shirt collar and loosened the top button, then shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. His shabby trainers contradicted the smart look he was obviously going for, although Maggie noted that his footwear was more suitable than the girl’s. Every now and then he glanced their way with piercing blue eyes, and ran a hand through his spiky hair when he noticed them looking over.


  ‘No idea who they are. Let’s see what they want.’ She walked over to them, closely followed by Andy, and held her hand out. ‘Maggie Turner.’

  The boy had a firm grip as he shook her hand. ‘Michael Hodgson. You can call me Mike.’

  ‘And I’m Chloe Simmons.’ The girl’s shake was looser, and she shyly pulled her hand back. They both looked expectantly at Maggie, as if she should know who they were.

  ‘Okay. Why don’t you come over to my desk and we can have a chat?’ She led them across the open-plan office, curious eyes staring over the tops of computer screens. ‘Thanks, Andy, I can take it from here.’

  ‘If you need me, I’ll be just over there,’ he said, pointing at his desk. Maggie smiled. He was so predictable, always wanting to know everyone’s business.

  ‘Thanks.’ She swept the papers into a tidier pile and gestured to some chairs nearby. ‘Grab yourselves a chair and I’ll make some space here.’ She took out her notebook and pen and waited for them to get comfortable. ‘Sorry about the mess, I tend to put papers everywhere. Now, how can I help you?’

  Mike picked up a biro from her desk and twiddled it between his fingers. ‘You don’t recognise our names?’

  ‘I’m sorry, no. I meet a lot of people in my work…’

  ‘We’ve been following your stories, you do a lot of investigations,’ Chloe piped up, her face reddening as she spoke. ‘Those pieces you wrote about the drug dealers, and the gangs with kids as young as eleven going around knifing people.’

  ‘I used to do a lot of investigations up until a few years ago,’ Maggie said. ‘Why, do you have a story for me?’ They didn’t seem the type of kids to get mixed up in those kinds of things, but Maggie knew by now not to judge someone by appearance alone. They didn’t appear scared either, or shifty, and she wondered what they had come to her for.