Outside in the playground she sat down on a bench so low it could only have been designed with children in mind and Mae’s wails quickly subsided to a whimper. It was just after 2.30 p.m. and the sun pulsed strongly in the afternoon sky. Maggie wished she’d worn a skirt instead of the wool-mix trousers that were part of her usual work attire and were making her overheat. Her laundry basket was overflowing as usual that morning and the trousers and tomato-red T-shirt she had on were the only clean clothes she could find.
From across the playground Maggie could hear the low hum of traffic barrelling along the M40, the motorway that carved through the Chiltern Hills to the north of Mansell town centre. One carriageway took drivers all the way to Oxford, the other to London.
‘Mrs Green, are you . . . Oh, I’m sorry, seeing you with the baby there I thought you were Scotty’s mum.’
Maggie identified the young woman approaching her as Donna, the teaching assistant from Scotty’s class.
‘No, I’m his aunt.’
‘I should’ve realized you weren’t Mrs Green, seeing as your hair is so different,’ she said with a laugh.
Maggie self-consciously brushed her long fringe out of her eyes. Lou owed her auburn tint to Clairol Nice’N Easy but her own hair was still the same dark honey blonde of her youth, still the same shoulder-length style. Boring, according to Lou, but Maggie liked that it wasn’t fussy. In between work and helping out with the kids, she didn’t have the time or inclination for anything more elaborate.
‘Scotty always talks about you,’ said Donna, whose own hair was cropped short and dyed peroxide blonde. Maggie could see she had a tattoo of a seahorse on the inside of her wrist. ‘He loves having a police officer for an auntie.’
Maggie flashed her a tight smile. The last thing she wanted on her day off was to be drawn into a conversation about her work as a detective constable with Mansell Force CID. Experience taught her that when meeting a police officer in a social setting, people either saw it as an opportunity to rant about the lack of beat officers or criminals being let off with lenient sentences, or to ask crass questions like, ‘Do you ever use your handcuffs in bed?’ which she never knew quite how to answer without appearing completely humourless.
But Donna only wanted to talk about Scotty.
‘He was so excited you could come today,’ she chattered on. ‘Normally we have our assemblies in the morning but this one’s been quite the production. If we’d done it earlier we’d have been late starting lessons.’
‘I’m glad I could make it,’ said Maggie, meaning it.
Swinging a day’s personal leave at short notice wasn’t easy but when she found out Scotty had a line to sing by himself, she didn’t want to miss it. Afterwards they were collecting Jude, Lou’s eldest, from football practice, then going to Pizza Hut for their tea.
Donna leaned forward to tickle Mae’s cheek and Maggie caught a whiff of cheese and onion crisps on her breath. Her own stomach growled to remind her that all she’d eaten since breakfast was a Dairylea triangle, squeezed straight into her mouth from its foil wrapper. She’d been too busy helping Lou finish Scotty’s costume to manage anything else.
‘Between you and me,’ said Donna conspiratorially, ‘if I have to hear the songs one more time I’ll scream. Still, the kids do love putting on a show and you must be proud Scotty has a line to sing all by himself. He’s such a kind, sweet-natured boy,’ she added, as though Maggie might be clueless about her own nephew’s character. ‘He’s a credit to your sister. It can’t be easy for her, coping on her own. We did wonder if his stepdad might come today but I guess after everything . . .’
She trailed off as Maggie eyed her suspiciously. Did Donna really know the circumstances of Lou’s break-up with Rob or was she fishing for gossip to pass around the staffroom? Not prepared to test either theory, Maggie rose to her feet, hitching Mae, by now gurgling happily, onto her hip.
‘I’d better get back inside,’ she said politely.
The hall felt even stuffier after the fresh air of the playground. A sullen-looking boy wearing boxes sprayed with silver paint and matching tights had joined the girl in gingham on stage and was singing through gritted teeth. Maggie pushed back along the row, this time managing to avoid standing on any feet. As she eased into her seat, Lou, red-faced and flustered, turned on her.
‘Your phone keeps ringing and I can’t work out how to turn the sodding thing off,’ she whispered, handing Maggie her mobile in exchange for Mae.
‘Shit, sorry.’
Checking the screen, she was surprised to see she’d missed three calls from Detective Inspector Tony Gant. It was, what, two months since they’d last spoken?
‘I need to make a quick call. It’s work.’
‘But you’ll miss Scotty,’ Lou replied sharply.
The man in front turned round and glared again. Lou stuck her middle finger up at him.
But Maggie was already out of her seat, bag slung over her shoulder. ‘I won’t. I’ll be one minute.’ There were loud tuts as she went back along the line.
Maggie paced up and down the playground as she waited for her call to be answered, her empty stomach cramping with nerves. DI Tony Gant was the Family Liaison Coordinator for her force and she was among a hundred or so officers he’d recruited from the ranks to train as a specialist family liaison officer for Major Crime cases. Or she had been until Gant received a complaint about her conduct during her last case and she was suspended from his roster. Four months on, Maggie still wasn’t cleared to return to FL duty and her last evaluation with the Force Welfare Department had been a fortnight ago. As she stalked the playground she feared Gant was trying to reach her because her assessor, Wendy, had found cause to make her suspension permanent.
‘DI Gant,’ a male voice barked.
‘It’s DC Neville, sir. Sorry I missed your calls.’
‘Hello, Maggie. How have you been?’
Unprepared for small talk, she could only stammer the briefest of replies. ‘Not bad. You, sir?’
‘Fine, fine. Have you got your notebook to hand?’
Maggie said yes as she delved in her bag to find it.
‘I need you for a case. Missing teenager.’
She sank down onto the same bench she and Mae had sat on earlier. ‘Really?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. Four months is plenty of time to have learned your lesson and I can’t afford to have decent FLOs sidelined indefinitely. Luckily for you, Wendy agrees and has signed you off just in time for DCI Umpire to personally request you.’
Maggie was glad to be already sitting down. Stunned, she asked Gant to repeat himself and he chuckled as he did.
‘Yes, it turns out you’re forgiven. Right,’ he said sharply, as if there was nothing else to discuss on the matter, ‘the girl’s disappearance is being treated as a critical incident because blood found at the scene suggests she didn’t go willingly. Hence why Major Crime are running it. Umpire’s the Force Senior Investigating Officer on this one and he wants you as lead FLO to her parents.’
‘But what about his complaint?’ she asked.
‘Withdrawn.’
The word hung in the air like a bubble that might pop at any second. Then relief flooded through her.
Family liaison was something she did a few times a year, a specialist sideline to her day job as a detective constable. Although she was stationed in Mansell with Force CID, as a Major Crime FLO she could be deployed anywhere within the force’s jurisdiction, for however long the case took. Some old-timers dismissed family liaison for bringing little more to an investigation than tea and sympathy and historically they could have successfully argued the point, until a series of high-profile cases – including the 1989 Marchioness boat disaster on the River Thames and the murder of London teenager Stephen Lawrence in 1993 – highlighted how vital the role was and how officers required specific training for it. A national strategy was put in place after those cases, following the light-bulb realization that if the publ
ic saw FLOs as being the face of the police, the role had to be taken more seriously.
As Maggie saw it, an FLO was the conduit between the investigating team and the family – broadly defined as partners, parents, siblings, children, grandparents, guardians and those with a close relationship to the victim, such as best friends – and her job was to conduct the flow of information between them. She had to make sure the family understood what was going on – if the victim was dead, that included explaining the sometimes baffling coroner’s process – while uncovering every pertinent detail of the victim’s daily life to feed back to her colleagues. By asking the right questions, she could elicit information from the family that was vital to the case – or even catch them out if they were the guilty party. It wasn’t just about sitting on someone’s sofa enquiring how many sugars they took.
Why DCI Umpire’s sudden change of heart, though, she mulled? He was the SIO on her last case and the one who got her suspended. A dozen more questions whizzed around her head but, knowing it wasn’t the time to ask them, she mentally filed them for later.
‘Tell me about the girl,’ she said, pen poised.
‘Name is Rosalind Kinnock, Rosie for short. Fifteen. Last seen at approximately ten a.m. at the family home in Haxton village.’ Gant’s voice sounded mechanical in a way that suggested he was reading from notes. ‘Her mum left her there revising when she went shopping and when she got back just after one p.m., there was no sign of her except for some blood on the back lawn. Assumption is it’s hers.’
Maggie scribbled fast to keep up. ‘The mum’s name?’
‘Lesley. Dad’s called Mack. He’s in Scotland on a golf trip, yet to be informed.’
‘How come?’
‘Isn’t answering his phone apparently. Patrol officers are with Mrs Kinnock now but DCI Umpire wants you to take over. He thinks she’ll be happy dealing with you because the family lived on the Corley until a year ago.’
The Corley was a housing estate on the east side of Mansell and was where Maggie had lived for the first twelve years of her life. She flicked back through her notes.
‘Their surname’s Kinnock? It rings a bell.’
‘They’re the couple who won the EuroMillions last year. Got fifteen million and spent a chunk of their winnings on a huge pile on the outskirts of Haxton.’
‘Of course – Lesley and Mack Kinnock. They were in the papers for weeks. Is their daughter going missing anything to do with the money?’
A shriek suddenly rang through the open windows of the school hall, followed by shouting. Maggie frowned at the disturbance, but stayed put.
‘Too early to say. DCI Umpire will tell you more when you get there. He’s at the house with forensics.’ He gave her the address. ‘Do everything by the book this time, Maggie,’ he cautioned. ‘I can’t reinstate you a second time.’
The thought sent a chill through her.
‘I know, and thank you, sir. It won’t be a problem.’
‘I should hope not. I’ve assigned DC Belmar Small from Trenton to work with you on this. It’s only his second case but he’s good, very intuitive. He’s already on his way to Haxton.’
Maggie wasn’t familiar with DC Small but was used to being paired with officers she didn’t know. Gant liked his FLOs to work in twos because dealing with distraught and grieving families, often for weeks on end, could be emotionally draining for them, too, and sometimes they needed propping up by a colleague who could empathize with how they were feeling. For the same reason Gant rotated his roster so his Major Crime FLOs were never deployed more than three times a year.
‘Once the media finds out Rosie is the daughter of EuroMillions winners there’s going to be a shit storm,’ he said.
Maggie knew what he was getting at. It was a lamentable rule of thumb that if a missing child – even one as old as fifteen – wasn’t found within twenty-four hours, the chance of them turning up safe diminished with every passing hour. The Kinnocks’ big money win would elevate them onto the same high-profile platform as celebrities and politicians, and the media and public pressure to find Rosie would be immense.
‘I’ll forward a picture of her to your phone,’ Gant added, ‘then I’ll let DCI Umpire know you’re on your way. Check in with me later.’
As she hung up, Maggie wondered what the reaction would be back at the station to her suspension being lifted. Gant would need to clear her joining the case with her own DCI, but she knew he wouldn’t object, even though her FLO duty sometimes took her away from his command for long stretches. He knew how important being an FLO was to Maggie and had backed her application to complete the training.
The sound of raised voices floated through the open windows. Thirty seconds later her phone pinged to signal a text had arrived. Attached was a headshot of Rosie Kinnock. She had straight, dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders and while she wasn’t conventionally pretty she had beautiful almond-shaped green eyes, a lovely wide smile and an unruly splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looked younger than her age.
Maggie got to her feet and hurried inside. To her surprise, the lights in the hall had been turned up and people were chatting loudly in their seats. Some teachers were standing on the stage; one was holding a mop. She pushed back along the row.
‘What’s going on?’
‘The Tin Man just threw up on Dorothy,’ Lou said, grinning. ‘They’re clearing up, then Scotty’s class is on.’ She clocked Maggie’s tense expression. ‘What’s up?’
‘Umpire wants me to be FLO on a case.’
Lou’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘No way! What about his complaint?’
‘Dropped, apparently. A teenage girl is missing in Haxton and it looks suspicious. He wants me to be FLO to her parents.’
‘In what way suspicious?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Maggie fudged, knowing she mustn’t divulge the discovery of the blood to her sister or anyone else. ‘I’ll find out more when I get there.’ She glanced down at her T-shirt. ‘I’ll have to nip home and get changed.’
‘Well, it’s great he’s asked for you, but I bloody well hope he apologizes for what he’s put you through these past months.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘I don’t care if he doesn’t. I’m just pleased to be reinstated.’ She glanced at the stage. The teacher with the mop sloshed more water onto the surface. ‘How long until it starts again?’
Lou squeezed her shoulder. ‘It’s okay, you go if you have to. It sounds serious.’
‘But I can’t miss Scotty singing,’ Maggie fretted.
She knew she couldn’t keep Umpire waiting but Scotty would be upset if she missed his big moment. He’d been so nervous that morning as she and Lou fitted his costume on him, which they’d made by Lou cutting up a few different-coloured shirts she picked up in a charity shop into strips and Maggie sewing them together to make a sort of coat.
‘It’s okay,’ said Lou gently. ‘I’ll explain to Scotty you had to go. He’ll understand.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Now go. That girl’s poor parents must be going spare.’
Maggie gave her sister a hug and kissed Mae on her downy head.
‘Thanks, sis. I’ll make it up to you and the kids.’
Lou smiled. ‘I know you will. You always do.’
Maggie weaved back along the row, reaching the door just as Scotty’s class filed onto the stage. Even from the back she could see her nephew was nervous from the way he was biting his bottom lip. She felt a pang of regret but as she glanced over her shoulder she saw Lou flicking her hand in her direction and mouthing the word, ‘Go.’
As Maggie let the door swing shut, Scotty and his classmates began to sing.
3
‘You’re making a right mess of that. Here, give it to me and I’ll throw it away.’
Lesley raised her head and blinked slowly, as though she’d just opened her eyes after a long sleep. A woman stood directly in front of her. Sarah Stockton. Her neighbour.
Holding her left hand out expectantly. Lesley shook her head, confused.
‘Come on, hand it over,’ said Sarah, waggling her fingers. There were gold and diamond rings on each one.
‘Hand what?’
‘The tissue. Give it to me and I’ll get you another.’
Lesley looked down and was surprised to see the tissue she’d been holding was shredded into small, worm-like pieces and littered like confetti on her lap. She couldn’t remember doing it. She scooped the pieces into her hand and tipped them into Sarah’s outstretched palm. Lifting her hands revealed the blood from the garden that she’d smeared on her skirt when she’d wiped her fingers on it in a panic. The sight made her stomach clench sharply and she began to tremble again.
Sarah flitted across the living room and deposited the tissue into a waste-paper basket by the door. She wore a black velour tracksuit that strained across her ample hips and her short dark hair was backcombed so it sat on top of her head like a soufflé; as she scuttled back across the room Lesley was reminded of a fly circling a lampshade.
‘There you go,’ Sarah trilled as she handed over a fresh tissue. ‘Mop your tears with that.’
Lesley buried her nose in the tissue and closed her eyes in the hope that not seeing Sarah would shut out the sound of her too. She couldn’t cope with her being there and wanted her to leave. She wanted them all to go away.
The house was full of police officers and had been for the last three hours. Some were in uniform, a few in suits and the rest in white papery jumpsuits that crackled as they walked, who swarmed over the back garden like a colony of albino ants. The officers politely gave Lesley their names as they entered the house – including the one in charge, who had quizzed her relentlessly about where she thought Rosie might be – but she couldn’t for the life of her remember a single one.
The first officers had arrived within twenty minutes, just as the emergency operator said they would. The woman also suggested she ask Sarah to come round and sit with her when Lesley admitted there was no one else nearby she could ask. Her parents were in Cornwall, retired to a four-bedroom cottage overlooking the sea at Crantock Bay which she and Mack had bought for them. But even if they were nearby, Lesley still wouldn’t ask them to come. Her mum’s ability to recognize her diminished with every visit and the last time she went she thought Lesley was a friend she hadn’t seen since school. She might not understand Rosie was missing. Mack’s parents and older brother were even further away, in Falkirk in Scotland. That left friends, but the wide social circle they were once part of in Mansell had shrunk to just one: Trudy, who lived two doors down from their old house on the Corley. But right now she was on a cruise around the Med, a thank-you present for sticking up for them when other friends cut them off because Mack wouldn’t write them blank cheques. Trudy was the only friend who had never asked for a penny.
Gone Astray Page 2