THEIR LOST DAUGHTERS a gripping crime thriller with a huge twist

by Joy Ellis

  ‘DI Jackman?’ A uniformed officer entered the room and handed Jackman a memo. ‘The man you are looking for from the CCTV has been identified by PC Kevin Stoner. He believes the man works in the area where the girl was last seen.’

  Jackman summarised the memo: ‘His name is Asher Leyton. He’s not actually known to us, but it seems he has been warned a couple of times for curb-crawling.’

  ‘Which doesn’t bode well, does it?’ said Marie.

  No, Jackman thought, it doesn’t. Sometimes the next step up from hassling women on the street was taking them away.

  ‘Have they got an address for him, sir?’

  ‘Granary Court on Norfolk Street. The garden flat.’

  ‘Posh pad for a pervert. Granary Court is one of the most expensive locations in Saltern.’ Max sounded almost envious.

  ‘I think we should go and have a word with Mr Asher Leyton, don’t you?’ Jackman looked at Marie.

  Marie took a set of keys from her pocket. ‘No time like the present. There’s a fleet car downstairs.’

  * * *

  The door to the garden flat was opened by a petite young woman with long, wavy blonde hair and perfectly made-up eyes. She wore skinny jeans with a cream cowl-neck top and a wide studded leather belt. Marie decided she had the look of a WAG about her.

  ‘Asher?’ She stared at their official identification cards and the eyes became even larger. ‘Oh, dear, Detective Inspector, I’m afraid he’s not here.’

  ‘When do you expect him back, miss?’ asked Marie.

  The girl smiled, treating them to a display of top quality orthodontic work. ‘Not until late, I’m afraid. He’s working until around ten o’clock.’

  Dazzled by the teeth, Jackman tried not to squint. ‘And you are?’ he asked.

  ‘Lynda. Lynda Cowley. I’m Asher’s fiancée.’ Her smile faded. ‘He’s alright, isn’t he? I mean he’s not been in an accident or anything?’

  Jackman gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No, it’s nothing like that, Miss Cowley. We just need a word with him. Maybe you could tell us where he works, or give us his mobile phone number?’

  The girl still looked worried. ‘He works for a company on George Street — Hanson and Co., but he won’t be there. He’s at a meeting this afternoon and then going on to a client dinner tonight. Of course I’ll give you his number, but he switches his mobile off when he’s busy.’

  ‘Do you know where this dinner is taking place?’ Marie was feeling slightly twitchy about his being so conveniently out of contact.

  The girl shook her head slowly, and the long blonde hair swung gently from side to side like a TV advert for shampoo. ‘He didn’t say.’

  Client dinner, my arse, thought Marie, recalling Asher Leyton’s penchant for a little late night curb-crawling. She handed the girl her card. ‘Well, please give him this. Get him to ring us the moment he returns, Miss Cowley, no matter how late, okay?’

  ‘Or failing that, get him to ring us first thing in the morning, as a matter of some urgency,’ added Jackman.

  ‘Can I tell him what it’s about, Inspector? I know he’ll worry if I tell him the police want to talk to him.’

  I’m sure he will, Marie thought. ‘We need to speak to anyone who might have been on Brewer Street a few evenings ago, that’s all.’

  ‘Brewer Street is directly opposite George Street, where Asher works, isn’t it?’

  Jackman nodded.

  Lynda Cowley looked somewhat relieved. ‘I’ll give him your message.’

  As they walked back to the car, Marie said, ‘Just how gullible do you think one person can be?’

  ‘About as gullible as that, I should say.’ Jackman shook his head. ‘Poor kid.’

  ‘She only looked about sixteen. How old do you think she really is?’

  ‘Probably closer to twenty, maybe even older. I think she’s another Rosie, looks much younger than she really is.’

  Marie frowned. ‘Is it worth a trip around to Hanson and Co.?’

  ‘I get the feeling he won’t be there, and Lynda was right, I’ve just checked the mobile number that she gave us for him, and it is switched off.’ Jackman mused. ‘We’d make better use of our time by returning to the station and putting wheels into motion. There’s one heck of a lot to do.’

  ‘Will he contact us, I wonder?’ Marie clicked the remote on the car keys.

  ‘We can but hope. And if he doesn’t, in the words of Arnie Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back!”’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hours later, as darkness enveloped the fen, two youngsters, unsteady in their high heels, tottered along the pavements of Harlan Marsh town.

  ‘Are you sure this is the place?’ Jasmine drew her thin top closer to her skinny body, and shivered.

  ‘This is it,’ said Chloe. ‘I followed Paul here last week. I watched him go in.’

  The two girls looked dubiously at the rusting wrought-iron fencing that surrounded the concrete steps, and the peeling paintwork on the old door down in the shadows of the basement area.

  ‘Well, nothing is happening tonight, that’s for sure. Let’s go home, Chloe. This place is a dump, it gives me the creeps.’ Jasmine had been unenthusiastic about gate-crashing the party from the outset.

  Chloe frowned. ‘But I sneaked a look at his mobile. There was a new message saying that it was on tonight. And I know this is where my brother came before.’

  ‘Maybe it was cancelled at the last minute.’ Jasmine shifted from foot to foot. It had been a stupid idea anyway. So what if there was free booze? She didn’t even like the taste of alcohol, and if her dad found out, he would go ape-shit and probably ground her for the rest of the year.

  ‘Can I help you young ladies?’

  The voice was friendly enough. Jasmine turned around to see an older man smiling at them. He had a short, fashionable haircut, trendy clothes and was carrying a large case of wine bottles.

  ‘You the geezer who runs the parties?’ asked Chloe.

  The man narrowed his eyes. ‘What parties?’

  Chloe jabbed a finger towards the case of wine. ‘So you are going to drink that lot all on your own, are you?’

  ‘Smart kid.’ He grinned at her and placed the heavy box on the ground. ‘So, are you two club members?’

  Jasmine felt a stab of anxiety, and wished again that they’d never left home.

  ‘Course we are,’ said Chloe, trying to look bored. ‘Why else would we be here? And my mobile phone message definitely said it was on, so . . . ?’

  The man shook his head. ‘But you never received the venue change. Ah, well, I’m sorry about that. Must have been some sort of mix up.’

  ‘Oh great!’ Chloe snorted. ‘So if it’s not here, where is it? We don’t want to spend all night on the frigging pavement.’

  The man looked from one girl to the other. ‘Funny, I’ve never seen either of you before, and I’ve got a pretty good memory for faces.’

  Jasmine took hold of Chloe’s arm. ‘Come on, Chlo, just leave it.’

  ‘No way!’ Chloe pushed Jasmine away and placed her hands on her hips. ‘These guys have cocked up, end of. Just because we’re new, it doesn’t mean we should miss out on a party. Does it, Granddad?’

  The man, who couldn’t have been more than thirty, tilted his head and stared at them for a moment. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m seventeen,’ said Chloe quickly. ‘And she’s sixteen, if it’s any of your business.’

  ‘ID?’

  An odd look of interest, or maybe amusement, passed across the man’s face when Chloe told him they had left them at home. Jasmine began to shiver again. She hated it when Chloe lied about their age. She knew they looked much older than fourteen, but this was beginning to get uncomfortable. ‘Sorry, but I’m going, Chlo. You do what you want.’ She turned to walk away.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ The man shook his head and grinned at them. ‘You win. The venue is in Carters Way tonight. There’s an old warehouse, it’s about halfwa
y down on the left-hand side, there’s a side door and . . .’ He stopped and gave a little sigh. ‘Oh, wait here, I’ve got another of these crates to collect and then I’m going down there myself. I’ll take you if you like, by way of an apology for the muddle with the text.’

  ‘It’s the least you can do,’ said Chloe.

  Jasmine threw her friend a horrified look as the man walked a few doors down and disappeared into a rather shabby house. ‘You can’t get into his car alone, Chloe! Don’t be totally stupid! We never do that, never!’

  ‘Then come with me. It’ll be fun. We’ve practically got him eating out of our hands. Lighten up, Jasmine, for God’s sake. My brother thinks these parties are the coolest thing ever! Really wicked! Free drink all night, music, dancing, snogging, anything you want.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And I mean anything. He didn’t know I was listening, but I heard Paul telling his spotty mate Darren, that he actually did it with his girlfriend! Can you believe that?’

  Jasmine didn’t even want to think about it. The thought of Paul and his skanky girlfriend jammed up against a wall made her feel ill. Doing it, as Chloe had put it, should be special. Jasmine wanted flowers, candles and a big soft bed for her first time, not some dingy basement surrounded by piss-heads.

  ‘I’ll go on my own, Jas, honest I will.’

  ‘You can’t. What if your brother turns up? He’ll kill you if he finds you there. And he’ll know you’ve been snooping through his mobile.’

  ‘He won’t, he’s gone to a concert in Sheffield.’ Chloe looked along the deserted street as a door closed further down. ‘Please, Jas? Just let’s see what it’s like. If you don’t like it, we’ll go home, I promise.’ She watched the approaching man. ‘And he’s harmless, you can tell by just looking at him.’

  Two minutes later, Jasmine reluctantly followed Chloe into the back of the car. She knew she was making a seriously big mistake, but there was no way she could have watched her best friend drive away alone.

  * * *

  It was close to nine when Marie finally got home. She was tired, but pleased with the amount of work they had managed to do. They all knew that it was going to be full on from the moment they set foot in the station the next day, so it made sense to get the groundwork done.

  Marie opened the fridge and selected a light M&S ready meal for her supper, and to go with it, a glass of chilled rosé wine. She was just about to pop her food into the microwave when the phone rang.

  ‘Marie?’

  She smiled to herself. Why did her mother always sound so surprised when she answered? ‘As I live alone and to my knowledge, the cat hasn’t yet mastered answering the phone, yes, Mum, it’s me.’

  A tinkle of laughter drifted down the phone. ‘Just checking, sweetheart.’

  Marie loved the soft Welsh lilt to her mother’s voice. It had soothed her as a child, and in times of trouble it still did. ‘How are you, Mum?’

  ‘More to the point, how are you? You’ve been on my mind all day, Marie. Have you got a big investigation going on?’

  They didn’t call her mum, Rhiannon Roberts, the “Welsh Witch” for nothing. ‘Funny you should say that. We are just embarking on what could be a very worrying one indeed.’

  ‘Well, you know where I am if you want to offload.’

  Marie sipped her wine. ‘Who else would I do that to? So stand by, you could be in demand over the next few weeks.’

  ‘It sounds big.’

  ‘Massive — no, even bigger than that, and high profile too, so keep an eye on the papers. You might just see your daughter’s name in print.’

  ‘I promise not to believe a word they say.’ Her mum laughed again, and Marie felt a stab of longing. She wished that her mother was not so far away, in the wilds of Wales.

  ‘When are you coming up next? The spare room is always made up ready.’

  ‘I’ll come if you really need me, you know I will.’

  Marie understood. Her mother had other people who needed her too. Rhia ran a kind of retreat-cum-hostel, cum food bank, cum drop-in centre for anyone and everyone who needed help. She also helped out at the local school and delivered prescriptions to disabled villagers for the doctor’s surgery. In short, she was an angel disguised in knitted cardigans, long flowing skirts and Doc Martens. Her mum was a one-off, and Marie adored her. When Marie’s husband, Bill, had been killed in a motorcycle crash, Rhia had kept her going. Her mother had pulled her through, and now Marie believed she was a stronger woman for it.

  They spoke for a few minutes longer, then Marie promised to ring her mother the following night.

  ‘Be careful, Marie. I sense that you will be under a lot of strain over the coming weeks. Eat well and try to sleep as much as you can. Tired workers don’t function well, and that could be dangerous.’

  ‘You sound like Jackman, that’s one of his favourites.’

  ‘Then he is a sensible man. Listen to him. And, Marie? If you do need me, I’ll be there. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do. Love you. Sleep tight.’

  ‘Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

  Marie replaced the phone in its holder. Her mother had a sixth sense where her daughter was concerned. The young Marie could not tell a lie or try to cover anything up, because her mother always knew. And if things were worrying her, no matter where she was, nine times out of ten her mother would ring.

  She put her meal into the microwave, thinking that it was a bit like having a guardian angel watching over her. And in her line of business, that was no bad thing to have.

  * * *

  It took Jackman longer to get back to Mill Corner than it took Marie to get home. His village of Cartoft was a drive of fifteen minutes or so from Saltern-le-Fen station. He locked his car and walked across to the mill-house, balancing several folders and a box file in his arms. The smell of something delicious cooking met him at the door. He dropped his paperwork on the kitchen table and found the note left by Mrs Maynard.

  Mr Jackman, I’ve left you a hotpot simmering on the stove, and Mr M. said the lavender wagon will be here tomorrow, but he’ll see to it. Hetty.

  Jackman smiled and wondered what he would do without the old couple who “looked after” him.

  Before he did anything, he wrote a cheque for the drainage company who would be emptying the septic tank — Len’s “lavender wagon.” Cartoft was not on mains drainage so every two or three years they had the dubious pleasure of the emptying ceremony. Jackman grinned to himself. Yet another reason to be grateful for the Maynards.

  He helped himself to a large bowl of the beef stew, turned on the radio and sat down at the old pine table. He glanced at the pile of reports and decided that his homework could wait until he had eaten.

  For the next fifteen minutes Jackman listened to Classic FM and enjoyed his supper, until the magnetic attraction of the Kenya Black files became too much for him. He rinsed his bowl and placed it in the dishwasher, then returned to the table and opened the reports.

  They made depressing reading. It was clear that Kenya’s mother, Grace Black, had worked tirelessly to keep her daughter’s unexplained disappearance in the public eye for as long as possible. Every time interest faded she found a way to rekindle the flame, but almost a decade on, no new information had come to light. Jackman knew they had a daunting task ahead of them, but it was a battle that he was determined to win. Grace Black deserved to have someone fighting beside her and his team, along with an enhanced budget and new advances in technology, might be able to give the distraught mother hope — or closure. Jackman shivered. He could only guess at the anguish Grace Black suffered, not knowing if her child were dead or alive. Wondering whether, if she was dead, had she suffered? And if she was alive, what sort of life was she living? The dark imaginings that must haunt her waking hours and sleepless nights were hard to even begin to contemplate.

  Jackman abruptly stood up and walked across the kitchen to where the coffee pot lived. He put the kettle on the stove, and s
pooned rich, dark Kenyan coffee into the percolator. He needed a strong caffeine hit if he were to read more of this heart-breaking stuff. Tomorrow, he would visit Grace and tell her that he was going to move heaven and earth to find out what had happened to her beautiful daughter.

  Just as he had said to Liz Kelly earlier that day:

  ‘Liz, we’ll find out what happened to Shauna, and if someone is to blame, then we’ll bring them to justice. You have my word that we will not rest until we can give you answers.’ Liz had not replied. He had not expected her to. The poor woman was in a private hell and no words could ease the raw pain of the news that he had had to deliver.

  ‘What a shitty world we live in,’ he murmured to the singing kettle. Then he thought of his team, all of them dedicated, determined to help make things better.

  ‘No, the world’s not all shit. There are just some seriously shitty people in it,’ he said to himself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Marie rode away from her village early next morning, marvelling at the sky-scape before her. The low farmland still held on to a carpet of diaphanous mist, and the sky above it was a heavy gunmetal grey, scattered with dispersing night clouds. Above this, appeared a wide rift in the iron sky. A dazzling strip of the brightest flame orange tore the greyness apart, and the scarlet orb of the sun began to rise.

  Already, her reservations about taking on the Kenya Black enquiry had melted away. Today forensics should give them more on Shauna Kelly, and then they could plan a course of action. She was actually looking forward to her visit with Mister Curb-Crawler, and she also wanted to take a look at the area where Shauna had apparently gone into the water.

  She approached the road junction into the town and waited as a tractor towing a trailer full of bright green broccoli lumbered past. As she sat there, she silently prayed that Shauna’s death had been a tragic accident, and that it wasn’t the precursor of things to come.

  By the time she eased the big motorbike into her parking space at the station, a hint of the tension of the night before had seeped back into her mind.