Lost Girls

by K Leitch

  ‘I’m afraid neither he nor my mother is around at the moment detective,’ Luke said calming down a bit. He gave Carla the once over and his eyes took on a distinctly flirty expression. Giving her a wide smile he said, ‘My mother has popped over to France for a few days and Dad went out this afternoon sometime, golf I think.’

  ‘Bit late for golf isn’t it?’ Carla went on ignoring the smile.

  ‘Oh well you know, I expect he met some friends, settled down in the bar…’ he broke off as Frank came over and interrupted them.

  ‘Carla you need to see this!’ he said with a grim look on his face, jerking his head in the direction of the office.

  Carla nodded; ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment sir,’ she said to Wiseman and turned to follow Frank. Luke Wiseman started to follow them both but was stopped by Frank as they got near to the office. ‘You need to stay here sir…this is a crime scene, don’t come any closer please,’ he said firmly barring Luke’s way as he let Carla through.

  ‘Shit,’ Carla exclaimed her hand over her mouth as she entered the small office. The sight that met her eyes was enough to make her gasp with horror. The whole room seemed to be covered in blood…blood sprayed up the walls, all over the rails of costumes and pools of it on the floor. The centre piece of this horror was the body of a man…a half naked man, spread eagled over a small desk in the centre of the room. His hands were tied to one side of the desk…his throat had been cut and he had bled out all over the desk and the floor beneath him, which strangely enough, had been covered in plastic sheeting. His face, above the gaping wound to his throat, was a terrible sight to see. His eyes were frozen wide in terror, they seemed to be begging for mercy even now and a gag of filthy material had been stuffed into his mouth to smother his screams.

  Whilst carefully avoiding touching anything else, Carla checked the man for a pulse. There was nothing but he hadn’t been dead for very long…he was still warm. ‘Oh my God,’ she thought shaking her head, ‘he may well have been still alive fighting for his life while they had been in the other room questioning Helen.’ Frank was already onto the coroner, Dorothy Smiles and the forensic team.

  ‘Frank we need to get everyone away from here as quickly as we can,’ Carla said circling the body as carefully as she could to try and look at his face again, in the hope that she might recognise him. He did actually look vaguely familiar. Just then Luke Wiseman, who had been edging closer and closer to the office to see what was going on, let out a great roar and rushed into the room.

  ‘Oh my God Dad,’ he shouted as Frank tried to stop him getting any nearer to the body. ‘Get your hands off me…that’s my Dad…oh no no no… Dad,’ he cried, his voice breaking with emotion. Frank managed to get him back into the main room and he slumped down on a pile of canvases with his head in his hands.

  Frank gave Carla a look, before following him out and crouching down next to him. ‘Are you saying that this is your father Mr Wiseman? Are you sure sir?’

  Luke looked up with red rimmed eyes and nodded. Frank stood up, and squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. ‘We need to get you out of here sir, why don’t you wait outside and we’ll speak to you in a minute.’

  Luke shook his head. ‘I’m not going anywhere…that’s my dad…oh my God…how am I going to tell Mum,’ he held his head in his hands his shoulders shaking with grief. Frank called over to WPC Mandy Hopkins who had just arrived at the scene. ‘Mandy can you take Mr Wiseman back up to the house and stay with him until we get there?’ He turned back to Luke, ‘It would be better if you weren’t here sir…we need to keep the area as clear as possible for the forensics team so…’

  Reluctantly Luke stood and made his way outside with Mandy.

  Frank went back to the office. ‘Well we know who he is now,’ he said. Carla lifted her eyebrows at him and nodded. ‘Poor bugger,’ Frank went on jerking his head in Luke Wiseman’s direction, ‘he’s in a right state out there.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Carla muttered. ‘No one should have to see someone they love in this state.’ She had squeezed her way round to the far side of the desk and was looking closely at the rear of the victim. ‘Frank, what do you make of this?’ Frank went round to see what she had found. Albie Wiseman was naked from the waist down his legs had been forced apart and there were deep cuts that looked like stab wounds and abrasions all over his buttocks and a considerable amount of blood running down the back of his legs.

  Frank whistled. ‘Raped and mutilated, that’s what it looks like anyway,’ he said. ‘Very brutally I would say…in fact I would say that something’s been forced into him, hasn’t it…to make him bleed that much.’ Frank bent down to look more closely. ‘Oh shit…I think there’s something still in there…oh my God poor bastard…’ he said getting up and running his hand through his hair.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said shaking his head at a sudden thought. ‘Fucking hell… Carla this is all so bloody familiar…are you thinking what I’m thinking, the same M.O. as Philip Crowe… but it can’t be… can it Carla? That makes no sense, that was twenty years ago…’

  ‘Some bloody coincidence though isn’t it Frank?’ Carla said shaking her head. ‘We uncover a skeleton wrapped in bloody plastic sheeting who by all accounts has had his throat cut and something shoved up his arse and then a few weeks later this. Oh I don’t bloody know; let’s see what Dorothy can tell us.’ Carla ran her hands through her hair, ‘I’ll need to speak to Helen again though see if there’s anything more she can remember about this masked man.’

  ‘I think they’ve gone already,’ Frank said looking over to where the paramedics had been looking at Helen.

  ‘Oh well…I’ll catch her at home later…we’d better speak to Mr Wiseman, see if he’s up to answering a few questions.’

  Carla made her way up to the house, leaving Frank to meet with the forensics team. She found Luke sitting on the step outside the front door smoking a cigarette. He seemed to be in shock and looked up at her with dazed eyes when she put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Who would do that…and why him…it doesn’t make any sense, he was playing golf, what was he doing down there anyway?’ he said shaking his head.

  ‘Those are just the questions that I need to find the answers to sir,’ Carla said gently. ‘Do you think you are up to talking to us now…might be better inside the house though…’ she could see that he was shivering despite the warmth of the evening.

  A little while later Frank joined them, he was holding an evidence bag which he held up for Carla to inspect.

  ‘Found this on the floor as I was leaving the boathouse,’ he said. Carla could see that it was a wooden mallet, and that it had blood on one side of it. ‘I reckon this is what Helen was hit over the head with, so could be that we may get some prints from it…and who ever hit Helen…’

  ‘Killed Wiseman,’ Carla finished grimly.

  CHAPTER 23

  He sat and watched her as she flew around the kitchen picking up things and then putting them down again in her agitation. Her mouth was moving the whole time, as were her hands, she furiously vented her frustration.

  She was angry that much was clear, angry and scared; things had gone wrong, badly wrong. Because of that bloody woman, they hadn’t had time to clear up as they always did, they might have left something behind.

  She finally came and stood in front of him gesturing for him to hold out his hand. He had caught it on a nail in his rush to leave the building and it was still bleeding and sore.

  She shook her head and he imagined her tutting as she carefully cleaned his wound, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her task, lovingly looking after him.

  He couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t looked after him. Protected him from the worst of Alfred’s tempers, even taken blows herself that were meant for him, and always there for him with her comfort and her bandages. He owed her his life many times over, and there was nothing that he would not do for her.

  When she had finished she lif
ted her eyes to his. ‘There, all done. You’ll have to keep it wrapped up for a few days though,’ she finished with a smile and pulled him to her, his head on her shoulder.

  His eyes felt hot with unshed tears. He wished he could tell her…explain to her that all this hate was unnecessary, a waste of time. Yes he had suffered…they had both suffered terribly and yes they had both been the victims of evil…dreadful people, but they were fine now…he was fine now, she needed...they needed to move on. He was just so tired of it all and as far as he could see it made no difference, nothing they did could change the past, no amount of bloodshed now would ever make up for what had happened then, why couldn’t she see that?

  But deep inside he knew she would never let it go, it was her obsession. Ever since the arrival of that bloody diary, she had thought about little else. Plotting and planning their next move with a fevered madness in her eyes that scared him.

  He had never wanted any of it, but it was what she wanted, and he was powerless against her. It was for him she said, she needed to do it, she said and he knew she couldn’t do it without him… so he followed where she led, because he loved her…and he would do anything for her.

  CHAPTER 24 – 1969 Exerts from the diary of Una Flannery

  …they just got rid of her, Missy I mean. I ran screaming down to Mrs Cray in the kitchen after finding her dead in the bath. I’ve never been so scared I can tell you, I can still see her eyes rolled back in her head and her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Mrs Cray slapped me round the face and told me to keep quiet, while she went straight to Mr Oliver, he’s the man that owns the hotel. When she came back down to the kitchen he came with her. He made me sit down and then he told me in a nasty voice that I wasn’t to say a word to anyone or I would be out on my ear. ‘The last thing this hotel needs is people getting it into their heads that some stupid girl went and killed herself…puts people right off a thing like that does, and there’s no need for anyone to ever know. I’ll make sure her body is sent back to her family and that’ll be an end to it ok?’

  So heaven forgive me, I never said a word to anyone, and things started to get back to normal.

  Then one day I was cleaning the upper landing when I heard lots of commotion coming from the front reception, shouting and swearing and the like. So I crept along till I got to the edge of the banisters, where I could get a good look at what was going on.

  A big black man was shouting at Mr Silco who was trying to calm him down. I recognised the man as Missy’s brother immediately from the photo that she had shown me. He was demanding that he be allowed to speak to his sister, he wanted to know why she had stopped writing and sending money to her family. I was bewildered, didn’t he know his sister was dead. Mrs Cray had said weeks ago that Missy’s family had come to get her, so that they could bury her.

  Then I heard Jonas Silco say in that sneering voice of his, that Missy had just up and left ages ago without giving any notice, which was no more than could be expected of a girl like her. He said that she had always been a feckless waste of space and he for one had been glad to see the back of her. Then he said that he would be calling the police if the man didn’t leave the hotel immediately. The Linden Hotel had a reputation to maintain and individuals such as he (I presume he meant black men because he was looking Missy’s brother up and down like he was shit on his shoe) weren’t welcome.

  Missy’s brother stood his ground; all he wanted, he said was to know where he could find his sister. I felt truly sorry for the man; so much so that I almost rushed forward to tell him what I knew. Unfortunately my movement must have made Silco notice me, because he turned and looked straight at me, something evil and quick flashed across his face and my blood to ice in my veins as he stared at me, so I scurried away like the coward I am. I don’t know what happened after that, I presume Missy’s brother gave up and went away. But my life changed from the moment that Jonas Silco spotted me on the stairs. He didn’t have Missy to play with anymore…so he turned his foul attentions on me.

  CHAPTER 25 - CARLA

  ‘Well Helen couldn’t tell us much at all I’m afraid,’ said Carla in between bites of her bacon roll. ‘Her attacker was of medium height, medium build, dressed in black and wearing a mask. She didn’t notice any other vehicles about and had no idea why Albie Wiseman would have been at the boathouse at that time. She did however get the impression that the person that hit her was different to the one that ran into her, one was much bigger than the other she seemed to think, so we might be looking for two people.’ She broke off as she struggled to get the lid off her take away coffee which was precariously balanced between her knees.

  Giving her an impatient look, Frank leaned over her, flipped down the glove compartment shelf in front of her which amazingly contained a cup holder, took the coffee from between her knees and put it in the holder before smiling smugly at her. ‘Well Luke Wiseman wasn’t much better,’ he said. ‘He had no idea why his dad was down there, and he couldn’t think of anyone who would want to kill him. As far as he was concerned his dad had gone to play golf at about three o’clock yesterday afternoon, he wasn’t worried when he didn’t return home because he often stayed on at the clubhouse drinking with his friends. I’ve arranged to speak to a Harry Turner this afternoon; he is the club chairman and a close friend of Albie’s.’ Frank broke off as he slowed down to look for a parking space outside number five, they had come to Gladwin Terrace to try and track down Frances Dunn, Philip Crowe's nephew.

  Having parked the car, Carla and Frank walked back up the road to number five. It was a typical Victorian two up two down with no front garden, the front door opening onto the street. But it looked as if someone had been taking care of it, the door was freshly painted a rich red colour and the windows looked sparklingly clean with snowy white nets hanging behind them.

  The door was opened after a moment by a smartly dressed man of middle years with slightly receding blond hair and wire rimmed glasses.

  ‘Frances Dunn?’ Carla asked holding up her badge.

  ‘Yes…I’m Dunn,’ the man said looking back and forth between her and Frank nervously. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m DI Carla Right and this is DS Frank Hill. We’d like to ask you some questions about your late uncle, Philip Crowe. Is it OK if we come in?’

  ‘Well that’s a name I haven’t heard for a long time…oh yes please do come in.’ Frances stood back to let Carla and Frank into the sitting room. ‘Please excuse the mess; it’s my day off… I was just eating my breakfast and I haven’t cleared up yet I’m afraid,’ he said nervously as he cleared papers off the sofa. ‘Do sit down; can I get you a tea…coffee?’

  Carla and Frank both declined any refreshment and sat down on the rather faded leather sofa that stood under the window.

  ‘Does this visit mean that you have news of Uncle Philip at last?’ Frances said sitting down on a chair opposite them. ‘We’d given up hope of ever finding out what happened to him, it’s been nearly twenty years now you know.’

  ‘Well that is why we’re here,’ Carla began. ‘Mr Dunn, a few weeks ago a body was discovered at a building site not far from here, and we have reason to believe that it could be your uncle.’ Frances gasped in dismay and shook his head as Carla continued. ‘We haven’t been able to confirm the definite identity of the body yet, as we have no DNA to compare it with. We were wondering if you would be willing to give us a sample of your DNA. DNA in families, although not identical, have distinct similarities and it would really help us in our search for this man’s identity…we could at least rule out your uncle if nothing else.’

  Frances was nodding as Carla talked to him, ‘Oh of course…I’d like to help in any way,’ he said, ‘we looked for him for months you know, put posters up, and checked all the hospitals, shelters…you name it we tried it. But it was as if he had just disappeared into thin air. The police came round…checked the house. But nothing was missing you see…well apart from Uncle Philip of course,’ he finished with
a wry chuckle.

  ‘What do you know about his change of identity?’ Frank asked.

  Frances looked shocked at the question. ‘Oh that was nothing to do with this…that happened years before, ages ago. You can’t think that had anything to do with him going missing can you?’

  ‘We’re not ruling out anything at the moment Mr Dunn, and as nobody has told us yet what prompted Mr Crowe to change his name we can’t draw any conclusions can we? Do you know why he changed his name…what was he originally known as?’ Frank said, getting up and looking closely at an old photograph that was on the sideboard.

  ‘Well there was a bit of a scandal I think,’ Frances began in a low conspiratorial voice. ‘Oh a long time ago, I was still just a child but I do remember my mum talking about it…’

  ‘What sort of a scandal?’ Carla prompted, getting a bit fed up with Mr Dunn’s rather dramatic ways.

  ‘I seem to remember that he was fired from his job, something to do with some girl I think. Of course it was all a load of rubbish, she’d made up some story about him attacking her or something. He denied everything of course and that girl well…you just had to look at her, my mum said, to see what sort she was. Probably thought she could make a few quid. Anyway the police did investigate and he wasn’t charged with anything so that just shows you doesn’t it? Unfortunately by then though, the papers had got hold of the story and they made my uncle’s life hell, calling him a paedophile and a rapist so he moved away and changed his name. I’d forgotten all about that… it was so long ago, terrible how the press could vilify an innocent man like that don’t you think?’

  Carla didn’t answer. She stood up and went over to see what had got Frank so interested. He was looking at an old photograph of a much younger Philip Crowe standing in front of a fireplace with a self conscious look on his face.