Gone Astray

by Michelle Davies

  She turned the page and let out a cry as she was confronted by multiple images of her daughter. There was Rosie as an apple-cheeked toddler, giggling as she tried to pull an ornament off a Christmas tree; gap-toothed and hair tied in bunches for her first school photo; at a bowling alley celebrating her thirteenth birthday with friends; and, finally, Lesley’s favourite picture of her at Disney World, taken down from the corkboard in the kitchen. Snapshots of Rosie shared with every newspaper, website and broadcaster in the hope they would prick the conscience of whoever had her or knew where she was. Lesley traced her finger over the most recent picture, the one she’d given to the police on Tuesday after reporting her missing. A tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the page.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay, love,’ said Mack as he reached over and put his hand on hers. It felt warm and reassuring. She met his stare and shook her head.

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘I know.’

  They sat for a few moments with their hands clasped. Then Maggie walked in, looking so solemn Lesley could only assume the worst. Mack must’ve thought the same, because he immediately got to his feet. Lesley, however, couldn’t find the strength to stand.

  ‘There’s no news. I’m sorry,’ said Maggie.

  Lesley burst into tears as Mack erupted.

  ‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take,’ he said. ‘Why the fuck haven’t you found her yet?’

  To Lesley’s horror, he began thumping his fists down on the table, sending plates and cups crashing to the floor. She tried to stop him but he shrugged her off.

  ‘Mack, please—’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ he howled. ‘Just leave me the fuck alone.’

  As Belmar tried to placate him, Maggie ushered Lesley into the hall.

  ‘Let’s give him some space,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we go for a walk?’

  ‘We can’t leave him like that,’ Lesley cried. ‘I’ve never seen him in such a state.’

  ‘Belmar will look after him.’

  ‘No, I should stay with him.’

  ‘I really think Mack could do with being alone. Belmar knows to call if he needs us.’

  They walked down Burr Way towards the meadow. Before they left, Lesley had belted a cream-coloured raincoat over her denim skirt and navy T-shirt but Maggie only wore a suit jacket over her thin cotton shirt and she pulled it tighter around her as the wind nipped at her exposed skin. The temperature had cooled again and it felt like the heavens might open at any point.

  ‘Which way shall we go?’ she said, fervently wishing she had a jumper on under her jacket.

  ‘If we cut along there we could go to the riding school,’ said Lesley, pointing to a pathway on the right. ‘The people who run it are lovely.’

  ‘Does Rosie have her own horse?’

  ‘No, but she tries to ride the same one every time she goes. I think it’s called Hoff.’

  They walked in silence, with Lesley leading the way. Brambles and stinging nettles reached out to claw her bare legs and Maggie was grateful to be wearing trousers.

  The path led to a narrower one, until eventually they stumbled out by the side of a wide, uneven road covered in shingle. Up ahead, Maggie could see what looked like a cluster of farm buildings.

  ‘That’s the riding school,’ said Lesley. She started to walk up the track but Maggie stopped her. She’d bided enough time.

  ‘Before we go in, I need to ask if Rosie’s in the habit of using initials to abbreviate people’s names, like when she’s sending texts or emails?’

  Lesley looked baffled.

  ‘Do the initials GS mean anything to you? We think she used them to describe someone she met recently. Someone male,’ said Maggie, deciding to be honest.

  ‘I have no idea. Have you asked her friends?’

  ‘A couple, but they had no idea either. Talking of which, do you know if any of the girls Rosie hangs out with have boyfriends?’

  ‘I think Lily might. I once overheard Kathryn tell Rosie that Lily couldn’t go riding one weekend because she was going to the cinema with some boy from a school in Mansell.’ Lesley’s face clouded. ‘I suppose I should say sorry to Kathryn’s mum for banging on their gate yesterday.’

  ‘I think it’s best if you stay away from the Stockton family for now.’

  ‘Why? In case I lose my temper again? I’m sorry, but I can’t just sit back and pretend none of this is happening. I mean, Kathryn’s at our house all the time. Why would Rosie ask her round if they weren’t getting on?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘No, you don’t and neither do I. I can’t make sense of any of this.’

  Maggie kept quiet. She could see Lesley was getting agitated.

  ‘But you know what I really don’t understand?’ she went on, her voice getting louder, ‘is why you haven’t found my daughter yet. I don’t understand how she could just disappear from our garden, covered in blood, and you find no trace of her.’

  ‘We’re doing our best,’ said Maggie lamely.

  She could almost feel Lesley’s frustration burning off her. She wanted to say she felt the same, that she was just as desperate for Rosie to be found, but she didn’t think it would be well received. Or believed.

  ‘It should be easy with all the technology you police have got – DNA, tracing phone calls, CCTV images. Why is none of it working?’

  Maggie suddenly held up her hand. ‘Wait – did you say tracing phone calls?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Lesley blustered, ‘but that’s not—’

  ‘I’m such an idiot! Why didn’t I think of it before?’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Emma Mitchell told me last night that Rosie called her on her mobile last week. She said Rosie’s number came up on her phone, but the call never showed up on the records for the iPhone that Rosie left in the garden. I thought it must be a mistake but it couldn’t have been. Lesley, how long has Rosie had her iPhone?’

  Lesley quivered with frustration. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, what are you going on about now?’

  ‘Please, I need you to think. This is important. How long has Rosie had her iPhone?’

  ‘She upgraded in February.’

  ‘So she’s had it less than four months?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it the same number as her old one?’

  ‘Actually, it’s not. She had a BlackBerry before she switched and Mack thought it would be a good idea if she got a new number at the same time as getting the iPhone, because she needed a different SIM card for it anyway. She’d had her old number for a while and he thought it would stop people we used to know calling her and asking her for money. I remember she was pretty annoyed she had to change it, but she went along with it.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to the BlackBerry?’

  ‘She probably threw it out or recycled it.’

  ‘Is there a chance she didn’t do either and has still been using it like she has her old laptop?’

  Lesley frowned. ‘To do what?’

  ‘To message or call old friends like Emma?’

  ‘But she would’ve cancelled the contract on it when she switched to the iPhone.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t. Do you pay the monthly charge yourselves?’

  ‘No, she pays it out of her allowance.’

  ‘Could she afford to have two phones on the go?’

  Lesley exhaled. ‘Yes, she could.’

  ‘I bet you anything the number that came up on Emma’s phone is for Rosie’s BlackBerry. We have to find it. It might help us identify who this GS is.’

  ‘Is he something to do with her going missing?’

  ‘Possibly, but I’m afraid that’s all I can say for now.’

  Lesley nodded. ‘If you honestly think Rosie didn’t throw her old phone away, it must be back at the house somewhere.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  They returned to find a scribbled note from Belmar on the island counter saying he and Mack had gone out for a drive to get a change of scenery.

  ‘
It’ll do him good,’ said Maggie as Lesley fretted over the note. ‘Belmar will look after him.’

  ‘I should be with him. He’s not coping.’

  Maggie noticed how troubled she looked.

  ‘Is something else the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no,’ said Lesley hurriedly. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘If there is, I might be able to help.’

  Lesley wouldn’t meet her eyes and made a show of reading the note again. ‘I wonder how long they’ll be?’

  Maggie had to respect the fact that Lesley didn’t want to share whatever was bothering her, even though she was intrigued and wondered if it related to the case. She’d ask Belmar when he got back if Mack was acting the same. If he was she’d tackle Lesley again.

  ‘Shall we look for the BlackBerry in the meantime?’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Lesley, pocketing the note.

  Maggie’s phone rang and her pulse misfired when she saw it was Umpire. She tried to collect herself as she answered but any fear she had that their first conversation since his visit to her flat would be awkward proved unfounded. Umpire was business as usual.

  ‘Are you at Angel’s Reach, Neville?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m here with Lesley now.’

  ‘Kathryn Stockton was mugged last night. She’s in hospital.’

  Maggie’s face must’ve registered her shock because Lesley asked in a panic what was wrong.

  ‘It’s Kathryn. She’s in hospital,’ Maggie relayed. ‘Is she okay?’ she asked Umpire.

  ‘Her face is badly beaten but she managed to fight her attacker off, although he took her phone. It happened on the other side of the village, by the river. We’re looking into it but at this stage there’s nothing to connect the incident to Rosie’s disappearance.’

  Lesley tugged at Maggie’s sleeve, so she broke off briefly to explain what Umpire had said. Lesley was not convinced by his theory.

  ‘It must be the same person who hurt Rosie, it must be!’ She lowered herself into one of the chairs around the kitchen table and began to cry softly. She looked exhausted.

  ‘I couldn’t interview Kathryn last night because she was too out of it to talk,’ said Umpire. ‘I’m on my way to the hospital now.’

  ‘The attacker must’ve been standing in front of her to hit her in the face, so she might have got a look at them first,’ said Maggie.

  ‘I bloody well hope so.’

  As he hung up, Maggie turned her attention back to Lesley. She had stopped crying and was staring down at one of the newspapers on the table in horror.

  ‘I can’t believe some bastard took my picture yesterday.’

  Maggie went over to see what Lesley was looking at and was startled to see it was a photograph of her in a shop, crying her eyes out, as two women comforted her. The headline above the picture was A MOTHER’S ANGUISH but as Maggie read the copy she saw there was no mention of the anguish the paper was piling on by publishing the picture.

  ‘How are they allowed to get away with this kind of thing?’ Lesley asked her. Then she suddenly gasped.

  Maggie, who was still reading the copy, gave her a sharp look. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s him. It’s him,’ said Lesley, jabbing the page excitedly.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The one I couldn’t remember. From the queue!’

  She pointed to a young, good-looking man just in frame on the left-hand side of the photograph. Wearing gym clothes, he stood side on and was looking intently at Lesley as she cried. Maggie saw his hands were clenched into fists.

  ‘I swear to God he’s the one who was behind me in the queue when I bought our lottery ticket.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m certain, because I also spoke to him yesterday.’

  ‘You did what?’ said Maggie, stunned.

  ‘Yesterday, when I went out. I spoke to this man after he almost ran me down. It was him.’ Lesley pointed again to the picture. ‘It was definitely the same man. That’s where I’d seen him before, when he got out of his car.’

  Maggie struggled to take it all in. ‘You think the man in this picture is the same man who let you push ahead of him in the garage queue over a year ago and now you’re saying you spoke to him just yesterday? Where?’

  ‘Here. He was right outside the house.’

  48

  Mrs Roberts was not going to make it easy for him. He had arrived at one minute to nine and still she pointedly tapped the face of her wristwatch like he was late. Then she insisted he treat her in one of the rooms at the front of the house rather than the conservatory, which was his preference because he could gain access to the garden from it. It was a complication he could do without.

  ‘You must try to pull your hand back as far as it can go,’ he said as her bony fingers clutched the weight he’d brought along for her exercises. He was trying to get her to strengthen the flexor muscles in her wrist but there was a distinct lack of effort on her part. ‘Here, like this.’ He demonstrated the movement with his own hand, flexing it back until it was at a ninety-degree angle with his forearm.

  ‘I can’t possibly do that, it’s far too painful,’ she said, and she dropped the weight onto the floor, where it rolled beneath the chair opposite. She arched her eyebrows. ‘Pick it up then.’

  If he didn’t have a reason to stay, he’d tell her to fuck off and walk out. But he needed to get into the garden before he left. Keep your cool, he told himself, because soon you won’t need the stupid bitch’s money.

  ‘Don’t just sit there,’ Mrs Roberts sniped. ‘Let’s get on with the next exercise. I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Are you going out?’

  If she was, he could do what he did last time and let himself into the garden.

  ‘Good God, no, not with this injury,’ she said, as though she’d lost a limb rather than just strained it. ‘I have someone coming round at ten thirty regarding the installation of a stairlift and I want you gone by then.’

  ‘You don’t need a stairlift, Mrs Roberts,’ he said exasperatedly. ‘It’s your wrist you’ve hurt, not your legs.’

  ‘If it’s my wrist now, it’ll be something else tomorrow. My arthritis is getting worse and I need to be prepared. Not that it’s any of your business what I do in my own home.’

  He flexed his own wrist again as he looked her up and down. She was frail enough that he could probably kill her with one hand. Quick grab of the throat, squeeze the life out of her and shut her up for good. It was that easy. He found the idea thrilled him so much that he had to pick up the other weight he had in his bag and squeeze it to release the tension.

  As he did, he checked the time. It was already 10.07 a.m., which meant he didn’t have long before she expected him to leave. His stomach churned with anxiety. He had to go outside before he left. Everything depended on it.

  ‘This one doesn’t seem to be making a difference either,’ Mrs Roberts sighed. ‘The pain is too much. I thought you knew what you were doing but clearly you have no idea. I should’ve known not to trust that idiot boy’s recommendation.’

  She sat back in her chair. As he watched her close her eyes and feign exhaustion, the urge to hit her consumed him. It was addictive, the sensation of punching his knuckles into flesh and feeling bone crack from the force of it.

  ‘You can go now,’ said Mrs Roberts, keeping her eyes closed.

  ‘Now? But we haven’t finished.’

  ‘I’ve had enough for today. Your money’s on the table in the hall.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He knew he sounded desperate but after last night’s failure he was starting to feel it. Rob’s detective sister-in-law had eventually showed up at her sister’s house as he waited outside, but instead of leading him back to where she lived, as he’d hoped she would, she stayed the night. With that part of his plan unravelling he had to gain access to Mrs Roberts’s garden now to make sure the rest of it was still in place. Unsettled, he felt a shooting pain in his head. Not a migraine
now, he thought despairingly. Not fucking now.

  ‘Why don’t you have a glass of water or tea or something, then we can start again?’ he suggested, teeth gritted against the pain as it mushroomed.

  ‘Good God, man, don’t you ever listen? Just go. Go on, leave now,’ said Mrs Roberts, flapping her hand at him like she was trying to shoo a pigeon.

  The migraine blurring his vision, he left the room without saying goodbye and went into the hall. How the fuck was he going to handle this? It was now 10.14 a.m. He was running out of time.

  His fee was where she’d said it was, on the table near the door, on top of a bundle of leaflets and envelopes. As he picked it up, he noticed one of the leaflets was for a company that installed stairlifts. Turning it over, he saw someone had written a mobile number on the back in a spidery scrawl. He pulled out his phone and called the number.

  ‘Good morning, I’m calling on behalf of Mrs Roberts, from Verma Lodge in Burr Way,’ he said, careful to keep his voice at a level she wouldn’t hear from the room she was in.

  ‘I’m almost there,’ said the man who answered. It sounded like he was driving.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid Mrs Roberts has been taken ill and needs to reschedule her appointment.’

  ‘But I’m just around the corner,’ said the man, sounding pissed off. ‘Are you sure I can’t pop by? It won’t take that long.’

  ‘She’s really not up to it now. Could you come at the same time next week instead?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said the man grumpily. ‘If she feels better by then.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’

  His mood jumped from anxious to triumphant and he felt his headache ease a little. As quietly as he could, he tiptoed back along the hallway and into the conservatory. To his relief, the doors leading to the garden were unlocked. He slipped outside then broke into a run across the lawn, which squelched underfoot from overnight rain. He knew exactly which way to go and in no time had reached the large, Scandinavian-style pool house next to the swimming pool, hidden behind a tall hedgerow on the right side of the garden. Pulling open the door, he was at once struck by the scent of flowers and sneezed violently as it triggered his allergy. Looking round, he saw some idiot had left a bunch of daffodils stuffed into a jar by the day bed. Annoyed, he kicked it to one side as he checked everything else was in order. Satisfied it was, he went to pull the door closed as he left.