Discarded

by M. A. Hunter

  He presses the bookmark into the inside cover of the book, and peels away with his sister in search of the nearest till. When he calls later, I’ll just have to tell him that I’m not officially on the market as I’m waiting for Jack, but then who knows if that wait will ever end? I don’t have time to think about it because the next reader approaches carrying copies of Ransomed and Isolated, waiting to be signed. When she tells me she’s flown in from Canada just to be here today, my head feels ready to explode.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Then

  Hayling Island, Hampshire

  The rumble and bouncing had stopped, and as Joanna struggled to separate her eyelids it was impossible to hazard whether it was night or day. Her head ached like never before, but it wasn’t just her brain that was out of sorts; her entire body ached, like it had just been put through the most rigorous physical activity and then tossed onto the scrapheap.

  Blurred shapes drifted in and out of one another as she forced her head up off the mattress, and desperately tried to make sense of what had happened. The memories that she could just about cling to didn’t make any sense, and she urgently needed the warm hands of her mother and the reassuring voice of her father to let her know that everything would be okay.

  The ache wasn’t restricted to the area just behind her eyes. In fact, as she finally managed to lift her torso from the firm mattress, it felt as though kilogram weights had been attached to both ears and it was all she could do to stop her head lolling from one side to another. Was this what a hangover felt like? She’d heard her parents discussing the after-effects of drinking too much alcohol, but if this was the effect then she couldn’t understand why anyone would put themselves through it. If someone had emerged and offered to end her life there and then, she would have been hard-pressed not to consider it.

  Fragments of memory returned: getting in Grey’s car; them driving past her road; the death threat of the men outside; the caravan; Chez making the pasta. None of it had been real, had it? Surely this wasn’t now her reality? Sitting upright on the mattress, she compelled her eyelids to open wider, despite the agony of additional exposure to light. She couldn’t remain in this half-functioning state. The blurred shapes before her sharpened fractionally and she realised she was inside the back bedroom of the caravan. Immediately in front of her was the small chest of drawers attached to the paper-thin wall that enclosed the small toilet and shower. To her left was the single bed that Chez had said she should sleep on last night before she’d curled up on the bench in the main room.

  She couldn’t bear to acknowledge that this was in fact her new reality, and so instead she focused on the one thing that offered a modicum of hope: escape. Sitting on the edge of the bed wouldn’t help, and she had no idea when someone might return to check on her. Pressing her cold hands into the mattress beside her bottom, she launched herself up, not realising the message hadn’t reached her legs. She crashed forwards into the chest of drawers, narrowly avoiding cracking her temple on the sharp corner.

  Her right knee hit the unforgiving floor, but she managed to steady herself long enough to thrust her hands to the thin carpet and stop full-on collapse. A fresh memory fizzed: Grey thrusting her back into the caravan, and Chez lifting her legs. They’d carried her into this room and pinned her to the mattress. Her hand shot up to her neck where she now recalled the prick of the needle as it entered her skin. There was no pain there now, only numbness.

  What had they injected her with? Was that why she felt so crooked now? Would she ever feel herself again, or was this the new normal? Had they meant to kill her, and she’d clung onto life, or had the intention just been incapacitation?

  Chez’s betrayal had hurt more than the needle. What kind of brother would allow his sister to be drugged? And not only that, he had participated in the pinning down. Had she been naïve to think he was on her side? Had all that big brother stuff just been an act to keep her from thinking about running?

  Too many questions, and nowhere near enough answers. Would they know she’d be due to come round about now? If so, that limited her opportunity to get out – not that she was in any state to go anywhere.

  Planting her fingers into the carpet tiles, she crawled on hands and knees along the narrow corridor and into the kitchen area. It was much brighter here than it had been in the bedroom and she had to keep her chin pressed into her chest to shield her exposed eyes. It smelt less musty in here than she remembered; there was something different now hanging in the air, something familiar that her broken brain just couldn’t quite get at. Continuing across the strip of linoleum, she felt the rough graze of the carpet tiles again, and beyond it the door to freedom.

  ‘It’s locked,’ a voice called to her from somewhere to her right.

  She froze, not having considered the prospect that they wouldn’t leave her alone in the caravan.

  The voice was gruff, and lacked the Celtic lilt of Chez. ‘There’s no point in trying to leave. Your parents know you’re with us, and they aren’t out there looking for you. You’re ours now, and the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be.’

  She didn’t move, willing her body to wake up so that she could throw herself at the door, in case Grey was lying about it being locked. There was no sign of a key in the lock, so it was possible he was tricking her. After the collapse in the bedroom, she had to be sure the messages would pass to every muscle and nerve of her body.

  She could barely get the words out of her mouth without slurring. ‘I want to go home.’

  She heard Grey’s movement, but before she could steel herself for an attack, his hands were clasped around her middle and he lifted her effortlessly into the air, her legs and arms unable to hold their fixed position. She was powerless to prevent him carrying her over to the cushioned bench where he now laid her down, flat on her back, but facing him as he retook his place on the stool.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, reaching into a small tin and extracting a pinch of tobacco, which he proceeded to sprinkle onto a square of white paper folded between the fingers of his left hand. She could now see just how rough and yellow his fingertips were, though she couldn’t recall seeing them that way when they’d met in the newsagents, and now she remembered he’d been wearing driving gloves.

  ‘What do you want?’ she tried, closing her eyes to allow her lips to focus on pronouncing the words.

  ‘That’s entirely up to you,’ he said, as the crinkle of paper confirmed he was now rolling his cigarette. ‘What did Chez tell you about this place?’

  She couldn’t exactly recall his words, but he’d spoken about modelling and acting. She shrugged instead.

  ‘We do very important work here. Chez told me you want to help people, is that right?’

  She couldn’t remember telling him that, but as she nodded she felt something warm and wet on her cheek, but couldn’t understand what had sparked the tear.

  ‘Well, we try to help people here. You have a very unique gift, Joanna – or is it Kylie now? Maybe it’s better if you think of yourself as Kylie instead; it’ll make things easier in the long run.’

  He paused, and she heard the flick of a cigarette lighter, followed by a sudden violation of tobacco smoke.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued, inhaling deeply, ‘I have a special job for you, if you want it, that is. It pays well. Here, take a look.’

  Prying her eyes open, she saw he was holding out a fan of crisp notes. ‘This is what Chez earned for his work last night. Not bad, right? Do you like money?’

  She was nine years old, did he really think a flash of cash would entice her? Realising the error, he quickly lowered the money and reached into his pocket, withdrawing something small she couldn’t immediately focus on.

  He thrust his hand towards her. ‘Go on, take it. Call it an advance on your wages.’

  She focused her stare on his scabbed fingertips, and saw the glint of a gem attached to the metal band he was holding out. Reaching her own hand out, it took sever
al swings until she finally took hold of the gem, and brought it closer to her eyes. It really was a pretty ring, even though the band was too large for her fingers.

  ‘There’s plenty more of those where that came from. If you want to keep it, all I need from you is a few photographs. You’ve had your picture taken before, right?’

  She briefly thought about all the silly poses she’d pulled whenever Mum and Dad were trying to take a ‘nice’ family picture. She nodded.

  ‘And it didn’t hurt having your picture taken, did it?’

  She looked at the sparkling gem as the ache behind her eyes slowly diminished. It was so pretty, and she could see the colours of the rainbow reflected in it when it caught the small glimmers of light coming through the shuttered windows.

  ‘You keep hold of that for now,’ he said, pushing himself off the stool, the caravan shaking as he suddenly straightened. ‘I have a few bits and pieces to sort out. I’ll send Chez over in a bit, and you can ask him anything you like, and then I’ll return for your decision later.’

  He moved towards the door, inserted a key and unlocked it, thrusting it open. She expected to hear the cows groaning in the neighbouring field, but was shocked to see the field gone, now replaced by crashing waves, and the salt in the air assaulted her nostrils again. They weren’t at the campsite anymore, and now she had no clue where they were.

  ‘What happens if I don’t want my picture taken?’ she called after him, and he stopped, half in the door and half out.

  He didn’t meet her gaze. ‘I’ve been kind to you so far, Kylie, but it won’t take much for my patience to wear thin.’ That was the moment he chose to meet her stare, and it was her turn to look away. ‘You’ll do what we want whether you’re willing or not.’

  ‘And if I want to leave, and go home?’

  She felt his hand on her jaw before she’d even heard his movement. ‘There’s only one way out of here, and you wouldn’t be the first to suffer from big ideas.’

  She tried to break free of his grasp, but he pulled her so close that she could smell the stale stench of tobacco on his breath. And then she felt the rough edges of his tongue as he ran it across her cheek.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Now

  Weymouth, Dorset

  The waiter has barely left our drinks on the bright tablecloth before I’m reaching for the chilled glass of Chenin Blanc and knocking it back in one. I’m not usually one for downing wine, but I need something to settle the relentless activity in my head. Maddie watches with something resembling admiration at my sudden enthusiasm.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ she comments, signalling to the waiter to bring another over.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, breathlessly, suddenly remembering we’re in one of Weymouth’s more salubrious restaurants, and any of the other well-dressed patrons could report my excessive drinking via social media. Casually allowing my eyes to wander around the room, I’m relieved that nobody appears to have noticed, nor is anyone pointing a phone in our direction.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ Maddie coos. ‘If I’d known you wanted to hit it hard I’d have ordered a bottle for the table and a room for the night.’

  I reach for the glass filled with water and take a long drink to wash down the sharp aftertaste of the wine, which is definitely made for sipping.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ Maddie continues. ‘Is everything okay with you? It feels like forever since we had a proper girly catch-up. You okay?’

  To be honest, I don’t know where to begin. Maddie is my agent and one of my closer confidantes, but I’ve never been able to overcome the fact that as an agent she is in my employ. Is it fair to burden her with the fact that I am waiting to hear whether my sister’s remains have been discovered? I’ve been deliberately resisting the urge to think about the prospect and have spent all day keeping my mind preoccupied with missing Jo-Jo and the book signing, but now that I’ve finally stopped and am attempting to relax, all I can see is the suitcase, and the sympathetic look offered by the forensic pathologist. Jack said he would follow up with Dr Chang and her team this morning, but I haven’t heard from him. I’m hoping no news is good news, and trying not to worry that Jack just doesn’t know how to break the news to me.

  Maddie raises her eyebrows expectantly, still awaiting my response.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie, lowering my arm when I realise I’m chewing on the cuff of my blouse; it’s been a nervous habit for as long as I can remember, but Maddie is aware of it too.

  The waiter collects my empty glass and replaces it with an identical but full version. I leave it where it is, already feeling lightheaded after the last glass.

  ‘Are you going to tell me the real reason you were late this morning?’ Maddie asks, opening her menu and scanning the lunch options. ‘I’m not cross if it was because you hooked up with that Rick last night – if anything I’d rather that be the truth – but just let me know next time.’

  I can’t recall many catch-ups with Maddie that haven’t included invasive questions about my love life (or lack of it), so it isn’t a surprise that this is where her imagination has gone.

  ‘Why don’t you let me stick with making stuff up,’ I tease. ‘If you want to know the truth…’ I lean closer and raise my menu to block out potential eavesdropping, ‘I was asked to attend Portland police station at the request of a couple whose daughter has gone missing.’

  Maddie’s eyes widen, and I can’t tell if it’s concern at Jo-Jo’s safety or because subconsciously she’s already seeing the prospect for a new story.

  ‘Do you know them then?’ she asks, also leaning closer to the menu.

  I shake my head. ‘Never met them before, but I think they were hoping I could use my unwanted fame to help promote a police-instigated media campaign. Their daughter’s only nine, and was last seen around three yesterday afternoon.’

  Maddie’s expression softens to that of any parent who wouldn’t wish such a circumstance on even their greatest enemy. ‘And the police think she’s been abducted, rather than just run away?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I say, shrugging. ‘I didn’t get to ask many questions, as the investigation is being headed up by Zoe Cavendish.’

  Maddie sits back, curling her top lip over the bottom one, and nodding sagely. I’ve told her all about Cavendish’s obtuse reaction to my involvement in the Aurélie Lebrun investigation. She took an instant dislike to me when Aurélie’s father insisted I be included in any investigative decisions, and my offers of olive branches were thrown back in my face time and again. Her implying she’d slept with Jack to spite me was the final straw.

  ‘I want to help the Nevilles in any way I can,’ I say now, ‘but Cavendish won’t want me anywhere near them, and I’m not going to beg her. Hopefully they can find Jo-Jo and put this behind them swiftly.’

  ‘You said she was nine?’

  I nod, lowering my menu and taking another sip of water.

  ‘Like your Anna then.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose there are similarities, but given the twenty-one-year gap since Anna was snatched, I’d be surprised if the same perpetrator was involved.’

  Maddie frowns. ‘Why? Isn’t it possible that the person who snatched Anna all those years ago has been away – prison, abroad, or whatever – and has now returned?’

  I smirk. ‘What, like some cheesy, straight-to-video Hollywood flop? Besides, I’m now convinced that Anna was taken by someone with links to the paedophile network Jack is investigating.’

  She doesn’t miss a beat. ‘And has he made any progress in finding out what happened to Anna?’

  I picture the suitcase again but shake my head. ‘Not yet.’

  The waiter returns and we place our orders. Despite Maddie reminding me that I can choose whatever I want to eat, and that company expenses will foot the bill, I still opt for the least expensive starter and main I can find. I’m the same whenever I eat out, regardless of who is paying the bill. I’m sure it’s partly my need to please mixed in wi
th my upbringing, when my parents would encourage us to eat within our means.

  ‘All I’m saying,’ Maddie adds, waving her hands in a pacifying gesture, ‘is I wouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket. It’s been, what? Six months?’

  ‘Eight,’ I correct.

  ‘Well, there you go, eight months and he’s not found anything even though he’s now working with a team of qualified and experienced detectives. You’d be better off chasing leads on your own. I bet you’d do a better job of finding out what really happened.’

  Is Maddie saying what I think she is? It’s always been a bone of contention – my wanting to investigate and write about Anna’s disappearance – but Maddie has always discouraged me. Is this a change of heart?

  ‘You think my next book should be about Anna?’ I ask to clarify, but my heart sinks when she shakes her head.

  ‘No, I’ve told you before, Emma, your publisher and your readers want something more up to date. No, what I’m saying is you should do some private digging on the side. You don’t have to turn it into a book, and if anything I’d have thought you’d want to keep that side of your life more private anyway.’

  ‘I do,’ I acknowledge, even though I don’t agree that there would be no reader interest in my sister’s backstory.

  Maddie suddenly snaps her fingers. ‘That reminds me.’ She reaches down into her enormous handbag and rifles through it, before withdrawing an envelope and sliding it across the table. ‘This is that picture that was sent for you care of the office.’

  I’d almost forgotten about the black and white still of Faye McKenna and can’t resist slipping the image out of the envelope to look at it closer.

  ‘Did you manage to find out any more about her?’ Maddie asks.

  ‘Not much,’ I admit. ‘She’s listed on the missingpeople.org site, and I found a couple of stories from local newspapers from when she disappeared in November 1998, but it doesn’t seem her family have made an application for financial support to the foundation, so I’m really not sure why they would send the picture to the office.’