The Stolen Girls

by Patricia Gibney

  Running down the stairs before he could stop her again, she heard the sound of his fist banging against the wall.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  ‘Twenty Major,’ Boyd said. He needed a smoke. Badly. Lottie was getting on his nerves this morning. Opening his wallet, he handed over his bank card.

  ‘Sorry,’ the shop assistant said. ‘We only take cash for cigarettes and Lotto.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Bank charges, you know. Huge.’

  Sighing, Boyd flicked through his wallet looking for a tenner and counted out the odd change. He was sure he’d had a fifty. No sign of it.

  He put the cigarettes into his pocket, and as he was closing his wallet he noticed a piece of white cloth sticking out from where he had pulled the notes.

  The assistant handed him ten cents change. He waved it away and left the shop. As he walked towards the station, opening up the cigarette pack, he remembered the piece of cloth. He took out his wallet to have a look.

  ‘Marcus! There you are.’

  Leaning against the barrier at the station steps, sun behind her head, Jackie appeared like a spectre from the light.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said.

  Boyd shoved the piece of material back into the wallet and tried to manoeuvre around her, but she grabbed his arm, pulling him back down the steps.

  ‘What, Jackie?’ he said.

  ‘It wasn’t very pleasant last night, you shoving me out and shutting the door in my face. Not nice at all, Marcus.’

  ‘Will you stop calling me that? What do you want?’

  ‘A short chat.’

  Boyd took her by the elbow, wheeled her away from the station and walked in silence towards the canal bridge. He didn’t want anyone overhearing what she might have to say.

  ‘Glad I have my flat shoes on,’ Jackie said, when at last he stopped and leaned on the bridge.

  Gazing into the murky green water reminded him of how he felt – murky and very green. He didn’t like being wrong-footed, but Jackie had always been able to do it. He glanced at her, and despite everything she had done to him, a flicker of desire cut through him like a skewer. It’s over, he reminded himself. Over.

  ‘I haven’t got all day, so come on, what is it you want to talk about?’

  ‘I need to warn you…’ she began.

  ‘What?’ He turned to her. As far as he could remember, Jackie only ever thought of herself.

  ‘It’s about Jamie.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s very dangerous.’

  Boyd threw back his head and laughed. ‘Ah, go on, Jackie. Tell me something new.’

  ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me, Marcus. I’ve noticed things recently. That’s what I wanted to tell you last night. I called the night before also, but you were out. There are things you need to know about.’

  Her hand touched his arm. His skin tingled. Drawing away, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Safer there, he thought.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ he said.

  ‘Can we go somewhere else? Have a drink. Talk like adults,’ she said.

  He stepped around her and backed away with his hands raised.

  ‘You’re playing games with me and I don’t like it. I doubt you really have anything to tell me, so you know what, I’m going back to work.’ He started to walk.

  ‘He’s involved in smuggling.’

  ‘Jesus, sure I know that. McNally has had his hand in guns and drugs since he could walk,’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘But now it’s women, girls.’

  Boyd stopped, turned around and stared at Jackie. He shrugged. He never could read his not-yet-ex-wife.

  ‘Human trafficking? McNally? I’d have him down for a lot of things, but not that.’

  ‘I know. That’s what scares me.’

  Boyd walked slowly back towards her. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘I need to get away from him. You have to help me.’

  ‘Always a catch with you, isn’t there?’

  ‘Will you help me?’ She fluttered her eyelashes like a little girl playing at being grown up.

  Despite his best efforts to refuse, because Jackie was nothing but trouble, Boyd nodded.

  ‘I’m busy now. I’ll chat to you later. Give me your number. I’ll text you.’

  Whatever he thought of her, he was compelled to listen to her. He needed to know what had brought Jamie McNally back to Ragmullin. His duty was to his job, no longer to Jackie. But if she genuinely was scared, he’d probably have to help her.

  ‘Don’t forget.’ She took his pen and wrote her number in his notebook before planting a kiss on his cheek and hurrying over the bridge.

  He watched her go. What was he getting himself into? Taking after Lottie and jumping in with both feet. He knew he was going to get wet; he just hoped he didn’t drown.

  FORTY-NINE

  The navy-blue sky was heavy with rain and inky clouds hung low as Lottie walked through the gates of the old army barracks.

  Heading for Russell’s office block, she couldn’t help noticing how dilapidated the buildings had become since the army moved out. The damp gully along the footpath had vermin boxes nestling against the wall every couple of metres. Weeds and grass sprouted between the tarmac and the cobbled path.

  A group of women clustered around the door to the cookhouse. Perfect, Lottie thought. Life at last. They might even speak a little English. She crossed over, heading towards them.

  ‘Inspector, this way.’

  She swung around to see Dan Russell standing at the door to his office. His navy chinos, white shirt and dark blue tie made her feel shabby in her T-shirt and faded jeans. Damn.

  She was debating whether to nab the women or obey his command when the small group hurried into the cookhouse, taking the decision away from her.

  ‘Can I see what goes on here?’ she asked.

  Russell joined her. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Follow me. We’re running a very interesting project at the moment.’

  She noticed his face visibly relaxing into a broad smile. Clearly he didn’t want her talking to anyone without his say-so. They crossed the square towards a building she remembered from Adam’s time as the NCOs’ mess. Noticing even more vermin boxes along the outside walls, she asked, ‘Have you an infestation problem?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not as bad as it was at the chicken farm.’

  ‘The chicken farm? I remember that from somewhere.’

  ‘It was our base camp in Kosovo. Awful place.’

  He pushed open the door to the mess and ushered her inside. Lottie looked around. The walls were covered with posters; paint was peeling from the ceiling. Very different from the evenings she and Adam had spent here. Back then there had been a fire blazing in the wide old hearth, groups of men playing pool and a handful of regulars hugging the bar, recounting sniper fire from some peacekeeping duty. She’d loved those evenings. Comradeship and friendship. Now it was gone, in every sense.

  Russell led her through to the main function room. Rows of desks and chairs were lined up in perfect symmetry. Tables along one wall held four computers. She counted ten girls dressed in school uniform. What were schoolgirls doing in here? Tutoring the women? The girls sat at the desks, a woman beside each of them, poring over pages. The women wore cheap clothes similar to those Mimoza had worn. A young woman sat by the side wall, idly flipping through the pages of a magazine. Lottie thought she recognised her as a teacher from Chloe’s school. As she went to speak with her, a man who had been showing one of the women something on a computer turned and stood up, blocking her view of the teacher.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, approaching her and holding out his hand.

  Lottie shook it, surprised at its coolness. ‘Detective Inspector Lottie Parker.’

  ‘I’m George O’Hara,’ he added.

  ‘Pleased to meet you. Can you tell me what’s going on here?’

  ‘It’s a language project.’

  �
�And you’re the tutor?’ Lottie asked. George O’Hara was older than she had anticipated, maybe early thirties. Head shaved closely, he wore clothing similar to Russell. Some sort of uniform? His feet were shod in brown leather shoes. No socks. Tanned ankles. She supposed it was better than Kirby’s open-toed sandals.

  O’Hara glanced at Russell. ‘Yes, I am. Part time at the moment.’

  A bustle of movement caught Lottie’s eye at the back of the room. Emily Coyne, curls bobbing away, jumped out of her seat.

  ‘Hiya, Mrs Parker.’ Pushing her spectacles back up her nose, she said, ‘This is what Chloe will be doing next year.’

  ‘Is this the project you mentioned the other day?’

  ‘Yes. It’s great. We get to teach English.’

  ‘Seems a bit unusual, to say the least.’

  ‘It’s all new. You can ask Miss Scully about it if you like.’ She pointed to the bored-looking teacher. ‘It’s so exciting. All these women have such great stories. I think I’m going to write a book about their adventures.’

  Dan Russell moved between Emily and Lottie. ‘I don’t think they would describe their experiences as adventures.’

  Was he dismissing the girl? Lottie wondered.

  Emily was having none of it. ‘George is brilliant. I wish he could teach in our school.’

  ‘That’s nice, Emily,’ George said. He stroked Emily’s arm and Lottie gave a start. What type of class was this?

  With a flick of her curls, Emily bopped back to her student.

  Lottie concentrated on the tutor. ‘Can I talk to some of the women?’

  ‘Their English is almost non-existent,’ Russell interjected.

  ‘I can interpret what they say for you,’ George said.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud shriek from one of the schoolgirls. ‘I saw another one! I swear to God. He ran right over my foot.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Russell said. ‘It’s only a mouse. Can’t do you any harm. Sit down.’

  George O’Hara rushed to the girl, took her hand and helped her down off the chair. Once she was seated again, he stood beside her, kneading her shoulders, comforting her. Lottie felt queasy. She glanced at Miss Scully, who was still oblivious, engrossed in her magazine. Jesus, anything could be going on here.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said to Russell.

  ‘Seen enough already?’ he asked, moving round to stand by her side.

  ‘More than enough.’

  ‘Come over to my office and we can have a chat.’

  * * *

  When they were seated in his office, Lottie placed a photograph of the second dead girl on Russell’s desk. She watched for his reaction. Frozen. That was how she would describe it. His hand stopped motionless in mid-air. A sheet of steel shifted over his eyes.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  ‘Another murder victim. Do you know her?’

  ‘Know her? I can’t even make out her features.’ He ran his fingers along his moustache, and beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead.

  Lottie sat forward in the chair and folded her arms. The photograph lay on the desk between them like a weapon.

  It only took him a few seconds to compose himself. ‘I don’t know her. I’m sorry.’ He lowered his hand and pushed the photograph back at her. ‘You were asking me earlier in the week about a girl called Mimoza.’

  She held her breath and nodded.

  ‘I did a little investigative work for you. I found out she was indeed a resident here.’

  Why was he suddenly deciding to be helpful? Lottie wondered. Now she could get that search warrant.

  She kept her expression neutral and said, ‘I want to talk to her.’ But then a thought struck her. Maria Lynch had said Mimoza wasn’t on the official database of residents. So was Russell lying?

  ‘Impossible,’ he said.

  ‘What? Why? I need to speak to her. Urgently.’

  ‘Mimoza Barbatovci was here, but unfortunately she appears to have run away.’

  ‘Mr Russell—’

  ‘Dan.’

  Lottie sighed, glad he’d interrupted her. If Mimoza was missing, it was clear Russell wanted her found. That was the only logical explanation for him revealing his knowledge of the girl’s existence.

  ‘When did she go missing?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It was last night when we noticed that both she and the boy were gone.’

  ‘What boy?’ Two could play his game.

  ‘She has a son. He’s gone also.’

  ‘You didn’t report it at the time?’

  ‘I’m telling you now.’ Russell smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘Do you have a photo of them? I need it to publicise their disappearance,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you might do it without much publicity. I don’t want my facility getting a bad name.’

  ‘A photo would be handy.’

  Russell flipped up his laptop, tapped the keys and a printer whirred out a page. He grabbed it and handed it over.

  Lottie stared at the picture.

  Mimoza with her son in her arms. The girl wore no hijab, and her black hair flowed around her thin face. The boy had his thumb in his mouth; his other hand clutched the frayed toy rabbit. Folding the page, Lottie put it in her bag before Russell could change his mind.

  ‘How do you have this?’ she asked.

  ‘It was taken when they arrived. Must have overlooked it when I checked before.’

  ‘I need to see her file,’ she said.

  ‘That’s confidential.’

  ‘I need to know everything about this girl if I’m to conduct a proper inquiry.’

  ‘There’s no need for a major investigation. Just snoop around on your own. A woman of your ability should be well able to find them.’

  ‘Mr Russell, I don’t need you dictating how I do my business.’

  ‘I beg to differ, Detective Inspector Parker.’ He sat back in his chair, a certain smugness hardening his face. ‘You see, there are things I know about your husband. Things I think you would rather I kept quiet about. So it is in both our interests that you do what I say.’ He smiled that smile again.

  Lottie jumped up, leaned across the desk. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me. The absolute cheek of you to even—’

  ‘I’m merely advising you that there are certain matters you most definitely do not want going public. Believe me, I know.’

  ‘What matters?’ She remained standing. His calmness infuriated her. What was he insinuating? She had asked him about Adam before and he had been evasive. Now he was blatantly using her late husband as a threat. She opened her mouth to speak again. He raised a hand, silencing her.

  ‘I don’t want to go into details at the moment, as I’m very busy. Suffice to say, if you find this girl and her child, the information I have will never surface.’

  Lottie moved quickly to the door and looked back at him.

  ‘I’ve no intention of surrendering to your vile intimidation. You’ll be sorry you ever started this.’

  ‘I doubt that very much. If anyone is going to be sorry, it will be you. Now if that’s all, close the door on your way out.’

  Unable to think of a suitable retort, Lottie walked out of the office, leaving the door wide open.

  He watched the detective. Watched her run out of Block A as the clouds burst and the rain thundered down. She had a nice arse in her tight faded jeans. Did she think she was a teenager going around dressed like that? Who exactly did she think she was?

  But he knew who she was, and all about her family.

  He heard his dog behind him and turned.

  ‘Did you get one, mutt?’ he said. ‘Oh, it’s a whopper this time.’

  The dog sat looking up at him with a dirty big rat in its mouth.

  FIFTY

  The second victim’s preliminary post-mortem results were sitting in Lottie’s email inbox when she returned to the office. As promised, Jane had dumbed down the language so Lottie could
make sense of it immediately.

  Cause of death: gunshot.

  Entry through upper back.

  Damage to lungs, heart and spleen.

  Death instant.

  Bullet exited below chest.

  Bullet not recovered from body.

  Left kidney removed surgically. Best estimate within the last three months.

  Septicaemia present.

  Wound washed.

  Traces of moss lodged in two toenails of right foot. Moss sent for analysis and soil analysis. Possibility that body was washed.

  Old scars on body. Self-harm?

  Imprint of letter K on right ankle. Maybe from a thin ankle bracelet on victim at time of death.

  Interesting, Lottie thought, looking at the last point; the killer had missed that. Did it confirm that the second victim was Kaltrina? And what about the moss? What did that mean? Both girls had moss beneath their nails. She would have to follow up on the analysis.

  She raised her head as Boyd entered the office.

  He said, ‘You’re soaking wet.’

  ‘I’m going home to get changed.’ She stood up. ‘Have a look at this. See what you make of it, in particular the bit about the moss.’

  ‘How did it go with Russell?’

  She thought for a moment about Russell’s threat. Should she say anything about Mimoza? But she decided she had nothing to fear from that pompous bastard. ‘He told me Mimoza was a resident and that she and her son seem to have disappeared.’

  ‘Did you tell him—’

  ‘No, I didn’t tell him about Milot. What do you take me for?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it would be interesting to hear what he had to say.’

  ‘I showed him the photo of the latest murder victim and—’

  ‘I bet he knew her.’

  ‘Will you let me finish a sentence, Boyd?’ When she was sure he would remain quiet, she said, ‘I think he knew her.’

  ‘Told you so.’

  ‘I’d better go and change. I’ll see you in a bit and you can fill me in on your progress.’

  ‘What progress?’

  ‘Exactly. Ring Jane. See how long the soil and moss analysis will take.’

  She left him shaking his head as he sat down at her desk to read the report.