THEIR LOST DAUGHTERS a gripping crime thriller with a huge twist

by Joy Ellis

  Jackman looked around. ‘Then let’s go, folks. And good luck. We have some seriously bad men to get the dirt on.’ He touched Rosie’s shoulder. ‘Be careful in there, Rosie. The slightest problem and you get out. And I mean it. No heroics, just leg it, fast.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rosie slipped in behind a group of four or five youngsters and tried to listen to their conversation. It was clear that they were already pretty pissed, even before they got to the free booze. Rosie felt her anger mount. These silly kids were such easy prey for the perverts. She took a deep breath. She needed to keep her concentration. She couldn’t afford to miss a thing.

  One the girls ahead of her was hanging onto a skinny, spiky-haired youth, jabbing a finger at him as she lurched unsteadily along beside him. ‘And you can keep your leery eyes off that ginger slapper if she turns up again tonight. I saw you, Calvin, with your tongue hanging down to your belly button.’

  Calvin shrugged. ‘Dunno who you’re talking about. Do you, Billy?’

  The other boy kicked at an empty drink can as he sauntered along, hands stuffed deep into his jeans pocket. ‘Nah. Unless you mean the tart with the tramp stamp?’

  Rosie tried to hide a smile. She knew that the boy was referring to a tattoo worn just above the girl’s bottom.

  The other two girls, arm in arm, tottering along in their high-heeled fashion boots, laughed loudly. ‘Yeah! We saw you, Calvin. Couldn’t take your eyes off her tits, could you?’

  Calvin continued to stroll calmly along. ‘Bollocks. You were all too wasted to know what was happening.’

  Rosie had been hoping to slip into the venue as part of the group, but as they moved towards the dark hulk of the boathouse, she decided to hang back and go in alone. If there was to be any confrontation, it would be better to be away from other kids.

  As it turned out, it was easy.

  ‘I don’t know you.’ The man who stood just inside the door was slim and well-dressed with a slight northern accent. He took her wrist and held her back.

  ‘I’m a friend of Luke’s,’ said Rosie with a bored smile. ‘He can’t make it tonight, but he told me I might enjoy myself.’ She looked the man full in the eyes and ran her tongue slowly around her scarlet lips. ‘Do you think I’d enjoy myself here?’

  The man let go of her hand and smirked. ‘Oh, I should think you’ll have a ball, angel. Maybe several if you’re lucky.’ He grinned at her. ‘And if you do have a good time, come and see me before you leave. Maybe I can arrange to make you a regular.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rosie blew him a kiss and disappeared into the boathouse. ‘Oh, so easy’, she whispered, knowing that Max and Charlie would be somewhere close by, listening to her every word.

  Somewhere up ahead, Rosie heard music. She followed some other revellers through a big deserted area lined with metal racks protruding from the walls. She guessed that rowing boats would have been stored here once.

  ‘This way.’ A man stood in the shadows, ushering the teenagers into a big, crowded back room. There were a dozen small tables with empty wine bottles holding candles. Considering that it was such a dump, the room had an oddly cosy feel. The techno music was loud and the beat reverberated through her body, making her wonder what effect it would have on her microphone.

  ‘Drink? It’s free.’ An older man took her arm and drew her towards a table crammed full of beer and cider cans and dozens of plastic glasses of wine. ‘You’re new, aren’t you? And all alone?’ He peered at her inquisitively. ‘Now would that be gutsy, or foolish, I wonder?’

  Rosie took a mental snapshot. The man was around forty, with thin straggly hair, small eyes and a narrow sharp nose. The waistband of his cheap suit fought with his gut. He had very bad taste in clothes.

  ‘I do as I please,’ she said disdainfully, picking up a glass of white wine that she had absolutely no intention of drinking. ‘I don’t need a bodyguard.’

  ‘Well, it gets pretty intense in here as the night goes on. I hope you’re up for it.’

  I’m up for seeing you in a holding cell, you scumbag. Rosie shrugged and said, ‘I like intense.’

  The man leered at her and she felt his eyes on her short, shiny red miniskirt.

  ‘So how did you find out about us?’ he asked, sipping what looked like neat Scotch from a straight-sided glass.

  ‘A friend told me.’

  ‘And who would that friend be?’ His piggy eyes never left hers.

  ‘Luke, if it’s any of your business.’

  ‘Luke Jones?’

  Rosie thought quickly. Luke and Chloe’s surname was Perry, but did he use an alias when he came here? ‘Luke with black hair and a blonde Mohican stripe, and breath that could unblock drains.’

  ‘Ah.’ The man smiled and stepped away from her.

  ‘Well, enjoy yourself, sweetheart. Er, what is your name?’

  ‘Petra,’ said Rosie, then remembering why she was there said, ‘And yours?’

  The man’s lips tightened and he stared hard at her. Clearly no one had ever asked that question before. ‘Harry.’

  ‘Dirty Harry?’ She ran her fingers across the lapel of his cheap suit and saw his Adam’s apple move up and down. ‘Sometimes,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

  Rosie took that as her cue to leave. ‘Then see you later, Harry . . . maybe.’ Or maybe not, you tosser!

  Rosie moved towards some kids who were swaying around a makeshift dance floor. No one took any notice of her as she danced between them until she spotted a place on the far side of the room where she could get a good look around.

  She needed to find a regular, someone that would talk to her. She pretended to sip her wine as she checked out the possible candidates. It would have to be a boy. The girls wouldn’t be friendly, they would see her as a threat.

  After a while she spotted a slightly older-looking boy, sitting alone with only a can of lager for company. As far as she could tell, there were no girls hanging around him, and he hadn’t made any effort to dance, or chat anyone up.

  ‘Moving in for a chat with a local,’ she whispered to the invisible Max.

  ‘This chair taken?’ Not waiting for a reply, Rosie sat down and crossed her long legs seductively.

  ‘Looks like it is now.’ For a moment she thought he was going to get up and move away.

  ‘I don’t know anyone here,’ she said softly.

  ‘Well, you’re not missing much.’ He looked around. ‘Load of wankers.’

  ‘Oh, I was told these parties are really cool.’ She gave him a shy smile. ‘My name’s Petra.’

  The boy ran a hand through his shock of dark hair and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You don’t look like the slags this place usually attracts. I’m Will.’

  ‘Why do you come here if it’s such a crap place?’

  ‘Good point.’ He took a long slug of his lager. ‘To keep an eye on someone who shouldn’t be here, but who seems to have some kind of death wish.’

  ‘Girlfriend? Sister?’

  ‘Dumb brother, actually.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘He was such a cute kid, too.’

  Will reached down beside his chair, lifted up a second sealed can of lager and passed it to her. ‘If you want a drink, Petra, have this. Never touch the wine, or anything anyone offers you that has already been opened.’

  Rosie put down the wine on the scarred, damp table and accepted the can. She peeled back the ring pull, allowed the froth to settle, then sipped the drink. ‘I should have thought of that. You’ve actually seen the drinks being spiked?’

  ‘Regularly. It’s all part of the fun — so they tell me.’

  ‘And is that too?’ She gestured with her head towards a long table cloaked in shadow at the very back of the room.

  Three men sat along the far side of the table and watched the teenagers intently, particularly one couple who were frantically groping at each other’s writhing bodies. Rosie saw a tiny red light. One of the men was operating a small handheld digital camcorder.

 
‘As I said, they’re wankers. There’s no such thing as a free lunch or a free drink, Petra.’ He sniffed. ‘Oh, you’ll be alright tonight. They never try anything on your first visit, but after a couple of times they’ll want payment, in some form or other. Know what a voyeur is?’

  ‘Better than you think,’ she murmured, knowing that he wouldn’t hear her above the music. ‘If those guys are perverts, why doesn’t someone shop them?’ She hoped she sounded naïve.

  ‘The men take pictures of everyone, and they warn you off by threatening to send copies to your parents, or whoever they think would scare you the most.’ He looked rather sadly across the floor to where a younger boy was being fondled by a drunken girl with a tragic haircut and make-up that would have scared birds.

  ‘And as most of these idiots finish up half-naked and off their heads, it’s not something they want to share with Mummy and Daddy.’

  Rosie followed his gaze. ‘Your brother?’

  Will nodded. ‘Sean. He’s only fourteen, and the way he’s going he’ll be lucky to make it through the next couple of months without picking up an STD.’

  ‘And he won’t listen to you?’ Rosie tried hard not to sound too adult, but she had a strong feeling that Will was on the level.

  ‘He’s addicted to these parties. Apart from tying him down, the best I can do is just be here and watch out for him.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve no proof, but I reckon worse things happen here than just a few sick old blokes jerking off over some horny young girls.’

  Rosie swallowed. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Don’t mean to scare you, and I’m probably wrong, but I think certain girls are “picked out,” if you know what I mean, for other things.’

  ‘Dirty bastards! I assume you mean for sex?’

  ‘What else would they want them for?’ said Will morosely. ‘I’ve seen those old guys take some of them to one side, then later they’ve gone, just disappeared.’ He turned a serious face to Rosie. ‘You don’t belong here. Get out while you can — and don’t come back.’

  ‘I may just do that, Will. Tell me, have you ever met a girl called Emily while you’re here?’

  Will shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘She’s a friend of mine,’ Rosie lied. ‘She went all secretive on me and I haven’t seen her for a few days. I wondered if she had been coming here, that’s all.’ She looked around again. ‘But what about you? Surely the men that run these parties notice that you don’t, er, join in?’

  Will smiled at her. ‘Well, I’m not actually dead from the waist down. For the sake of watching out for Sean, I do occasionally find a fit bird and have a quick game of tonsil hockey.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen too many fit birds here so far.’

  ‘No? I thought I was looking at one right now.’

  Rosie stiffened. There was no mistaking the look in Will’s eyes. How far would she need to go in order not to blow her cover?

  * * *

  Charlie Button chuckled softly in the darkness.

  They had found a small deserted outbuilding attached to the derelict mill and almost directly behind the boathouse. The signal from Rosie’s hidden microphone was strong, and the hi-tech equipment sensitive enough to filter out the background noise, leaving Rosie’s speaking voice, even her whispers, coming through crystal clear.

  ‘I do believe that girl is enjoying herself,’ he said.

  ‘What the hell do you mean by that, Charlie?’ Max said.

  Jackman turned his head. Max never spoke like that to Charlie.

  ‘Just that she’s getting on with the job rather well.’ Charlie sounded nonplussed. ‘And she’s acting out her part as a teenage raver very convincingly.’

  Jackman watched Max struggle to hold his temper.

  ‘She shouldn’t be in there.’

  Ignoring his colleague, Charlie went back to listening, passing on snippets as they came through. Then he got to his feet. ‘She’s getting out, sir. She’s seen someone she recognises.’ He listened again. ‘She says to meet her where we dropped her off, in five minutes.’

  Max was first out of the old storeroom door and before Jackman could even stand up, he had run out into the night.

  As he followed him out, Jackman wondered about Max’s behaviour. Could he be . . . ?

  It took a little longer than Rosie had said but not long after her message, she came hurrying towards them.

  Max had run on ahead. ‘Are you okay? Shit! You had us scared.’

  Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m fine, absolutely fine, you muppet! It was just that I recognised a man who turned up just then, and I couldn’t let him see a cop there, could I?’

  ‘Who was he?’ asked Marie, who had materialised at Rosie’s side.

  Rosie shook her head. ‘Even though I have a damned good memory, I just can’t place him, Sarge. I recognised him the moment I saw him, but try as I might I can’t recall where from.’

  Marie put her arm around Rosie. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll come back to you when the adrenalin has worn off. And well done, flower. Let’s get back to the station and debrief you.’

  As they drove back, Rosie described the man as shabbily dressed in scruffy chinos, a polo shirt and a nylon tracksuit top. He was tall with slicked-back hair and wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Probably someone you’ve helped put away at some time or another,’ said Charlie Button. ‘Maybe a look through the sex-offender’s file might jog your memory.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but it sounded as if you were rather enjoying yourself with your little friend, Will.’ Charlie gave her a smirk. ‘Things were getting a bit steamy in there, weren’t they?’

  Rosie cuffed the back of Charlie’s head. ‘Mind your own business. Will was very helpful. He told me quite a lot, and I have his mobile number if we need to follow anything up.’

  ‘Cradle-snatcher.’

  ‘Eavesdropper.’

  ‘Just shut up, you two,’ growled Max. ‘This is serious! It’s no joking matter.’

  ‘We know that,’ murmured Charlie. ‘And you need to chill. Rosie is fine, so stop worrying.’

  They drove the rest of the way back in silence. Jackman knew he’d been right. Max Cohen had fallen, hook, line and sinker for Rosie McElderry.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The following day Jackman was in his office before seven. He had not slept well and had decided to get up early and get as much office paperwork out of the way as he could. At eight o’clock Marie backed into his office carrying two coffees and a packet of Jammy Dodgers. She pushed his door closed with her hip.

  ‘I saw you were busy, so I left you in peace.’

  ‘Appreciated, Marie, and so is that coffee.’

  She sat down opposite him and tipped sugar into her mug. ‘I’ve been thinking about Toni Clarkson. What with last night’s caper, I’d pushed her to the back of my mind, but then I woke up at two this morning worried sick about her.’

  Jackman put down his files. ‘You know, for the first time I caught a glimpse of what young Ethan Barley saw in her. She’s devastated by the thought of Emily being taken, isn’t she?’

  ‘No wonder. When you think what happened to Shauna Kelly, Toni was lucky to come out alive.’ Marie placed her mug on his desk. ‘And talking of Shauna, uniform tells me that one of her school friends confirmed that Shauna confessed to attending a “party” in, as she put it, “some filthy hovel filled with gorgeous fit blokes and dirty old men.”’

  ‘So it’s as we suspected. Oh, that poor mother.’

  Marie shook her head. Then she asked, ‘When are we going out to Windrush?’

  ‘We are all organised for eleven this morning.’

  ‘Then if it’s all set up, would you mind if I took one of the kids and drove out to Allenby Creek, just to do a quick recce of those houses there? Maybe someone saw something the night Shauna drowned.’

  Jackman piled up his f
iles. ‘Forget the kids. Finish your drink and I’ll come with you. We’ve plenty of time.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll go grab a pool car.’

  * * *

  No one they spoke to knew or had seen anything of Shauna Kelly. Jackman was beginning to believe they had wasted their time. The last cottage they tried was a mess of weathered wood, cracked and broken tiles and crumbling brickwork. But smoke was rising from the chimney and a pleasant aroma of baking lingered in the doorway.

  A woman answered their knock, calling out for them to come in. She was around forty, with long hair, already greying and pulled up into an untidy French plait. She had a warm smile.

  ‘Oh yes, those nice officers called the day before yesterday, but,’ she shrugged and rubbed a floury hand across her forehead, ‘I couldn’t help them. I went to the market in the morning, then I never left the cottage again.’

  ‘You live here alone, Miss . . . ?’ asked Jackman politely.

  ‘Seale, Megan Seale, Inspector Jackman. And no, this is my father’s place. I’m just looking after him for a bit. He’s getting on, and he’s been proper poorly.’

  ‘Did the police speak to him as well?’ asked Marie.

  ‘No, Sergeant. Dad was asleep, and well, I leaves him when he drops off like. He’s getting forgetful, and he wanders a bit too. It sounds awful, I know, but when he’s asleep I can relax for a while. Get a few chores done.’

  Jackman looked around the old kitchen and noticed the cigarette ends nestling in an ashtray close to the fire. ‘Does your father sometimes go out at night, Miss Seale?’

  The woman dusted flour from her apron. ‘Yes, he does, unfortunately. I do my best to stop him, but . . .’ She gave a helpless shrug.

  ‘Do you think I could have a quick word with him? I promise not to upset him.’ Jackman smiled at her.

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll get very far. He came in earlier to tell me that Winston Churchill was about to address the nation, and would I make sure that the wireless was tuned in to the Home Service.’

  ‘Just for a moment or two?’ Jackman upped his smile.