Gone Astray (14 page)

Charlie’s face fell. He had babyish features, incongruous with his powerful sportsman’s physique. The lad was six foot two and managed to make him – a perfectly acceptable five
foot ten – feel stunted.

‘So I still can’t do any training?’

He gave him an amused look. ‘Charlie, you can’t even lift your arm above shoulder height. So, no, training is out of the question right now. Enjoy the break. Spend more time with
that pretty girlfriend of yours.’

Charlie looked like he was about to burst into tears.

‘She dumped me yesterday.’

He stood still for a second as he absorbed the news. This was not good. He tried to plaster on a sympathetic smile.

‘That’s a shame. She seemed like a nice girl.’ He’d met her when she came with Charlie to an appointment. Hadn’t said much, just sat in the corner engrossed in her
phone. Very pretty girl. Beautiful hair.

‘She is, and that’s what makes it worse. I can’t believe she’s done it, I thought we were fine.’

He wasn’t surprised Charlie was opening up to him and nor did he mind. They talked about girls a lot, and especially sex. He liked hearing about what Charlie and his friends got up to. He
had been a late developer, didn’t lose his virginity until he was twenty-one, but Charlie had been having sex since he was thirteen. The girlfriend who had just dumped him was the sixth girl
he’d slept with, and that didn’t include the casual encounters he’d also racked up: blowjobs after school from girls he only knew to say hello to; trading explicit Snapchat
pictures and having Skype sex while his parents were downstairs watching telly. Stuff he never in a million years imagined doing when he was Charlie’s age.

The teenager sighed as he struggled back into his polo shirt.

‘I’ll give her a couple of days then see if I can change her mind.’

‘Did she give you a reason?’

‘She said I was too immature for her, but she got really upset and cried, like I was the one binning her off. So maybe it’ll be fine.’

He pretended to flick through a stack of forms on his desk, so Charlie couldn’t see his face reddening. He felt bad for the lad, who was clearly devastated to lose his pretty little
plaything. He might’ve even actually liked this one.

Their relationship couldn’t continue though. Not now he was involved. He couldn’t risk Charlie finding out what had happened. Even someone as experienced as he was wouldn’t
understand.

He gave Charlie’s good shoulder a squeeze.

‘I wouldn’t go chasing after her, mate. She’s not worth it.’

As she turned back towards the house, Maggie wrestled with how to keep her promise to Lou. She could explain away a brief absence to the Kinnocks by saying she had an urgent
errand to run, but Umpire wouldn’t be impressed if he found out she’d shot off to see her sister for the sake of £20. She just had to hope he didn’t find out and be as quick
as she could.

Before going inside, Maggie took a moment to admire the front of Angel’s Reach. She hadn’t given it more than a glance in her haste to get inside yesterday and was surprised to see
that, contrary to the picture she had in her mind’s eye, the brickwork wasn’t red but a shade lighter than butter. How could she have thought it was a completely different colour? Her
anxiety at facing Umpire must’ve been keener than she cared to admit.

The house was split into two wings that jutted into the driveway and a tall double front door, made from a light-coloured wood, was set back between them, with opaque glass panels either side of
it. On the upper floor she counted six windows overlooking the driveway. Rosie’s bedroom was at the rear of the house, with a view of the garden.

There was a large conservatory attached to the right side of the house and a detached double garage on the left. Maggie decided all that was missing was a swimming pool. That’s what
she’d install if she lived there. Heated too. Sod the expense.

She was about to go inside when a car turned into the driveway, its tyres crunching against the gravel. When she saw who was behind the wheel she wished she’d gone inside sooner. DC Anna
Renshaw was also part of the team at Mansell Force CID but Maggie wasn’t a fan. Renshaw spent as much time gossiping as she did working and was both duplicitous and manipulative. Maggie
particularly loathed the way she acted as though every time she broke a confidence or repeated a conversation it was somehow out of concern for those involved, when in fact the opposite was true
and she just liked talking about people behind their backs. Maggie had as little to do with her as she could.

‘I’m glad I bumped into you,’ Renshaw said, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she climbed out of her car. ‘How brilliant that you’re back
being an FLO. I won’t name names, but quite a few of the others thought you wouldn’t be.’

Maggie wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of asking who those ‘others’ were and simply shrugged.

Renshaw’s smile didn’t falter. ‘I knew it would blow over once DCI Umpire realized the Fowler case wasn’t as screwed as it could’ve been after what you
did.’

The comment stung. She didn’t believe she had seriously jeopardized the case – what she did had had no direct bearing on the arrest or subsequent conviction of Megan’s killer.
If Renshaw was angling for some kind of admission of guilt she’d have a long wait. Maggie had no regrets about what she’d done – her only mistake was thinking that Umpire would
understand.

Renshaw smoothed a strand of shiny auburn hair behind her ear. Her character could be perceived as ugly but, annoyingly, her face couldn’t. She had a cute button nose and naturally thick
eyelashes that Maggie’s spindly ones would need at least three coats of mascara to replicate. Today’s outfit was a fitted black skirt suit that flattered her athletic frame and black
court shoes with heels so high Maggie was surprised Renshaw could walk in them, let alone drive. Having not yet showered herself – she didn’t feel she should avail herself of the
facilities until she’d asked the Kinnocks if it was okay to – she felt even grubbier standing next to her. In the boot of her own car was a battered brown leather holdall she kept
packed with a change of clothes and spare toiletries ready for FL duty, like a pregnant woman preparing for the dash to the labour ward. Hopefully she’d be able to freshen up soon.

‘So where is he?’ said Renshaw.

‘Who?’

‘The husband. Ballboy’s sent me to take a statement from Mack about all the begging letters they’ve been sent. He wants it done properly.’

‘He’s upstairs in his study,’ said Maggie airily, unwilling to let Renshaw see that her last remark had needled her. ‘Second door from last on the left.’

Renshaw eyed her nastily. ‘Be a love and stick the kettle on. I’d love a brew and I know how good you FLOs are at making tea.’

She flounced inside. Furious, Maggie was about to follow her when her phone rang again. It was Umpire.

‘Mack’s phone records show he made repeated calls to one particular mobile number while he was in Scotland. It’s the same number he’s called multiple times over the past
few weeks, sometimes as often as twice a day. It’s registered to an address in Scotland, in Falkirk.’

‘Isn’t that where his parents and brother live?’

‘It’s not them. The phone is registered to a woman called Suzy Breed. Mack called her three times on Saturday after he arrived at the hotel and once again on Sunday morning. There
were no calls after that, which leads me to wonder if they were arranging to meet and did so once he’d checked out.’

With Belmar’s rumours about the two of them ringing in her ears, Maggie squirmed as she asked if he thought Mack was having an affair.

‘That’s one explanation. She could also just be a business contact or a relation he’s not mentioned. Until we look into her, we don’t know. Interestingly, he does have an
alibi for Monday daytime: he was back at St Andrews playing golf with the rest of his party. But he didn’t show up again to meet them yesterday morning.’

‘Why don’t we just question him about her, sir?’

‘Because the second the media finds out we’ve brought him in for a formal interview they’ll peg him as a suspect when we already know he wasn’t in the country when Rosie
went missing. I want to know exactly who Suzy Breed is first before I go down that road.’

‘So you think she might be relevant to the case?’

‘I don’t know. Could Rosie have found out her dad was having an affair and staged this whole thing to get back at him? Lesley said they were close – she might have been
devastated to find out he was cheating.’

‘But even if she did cut herself as part of a scam to punish her dad, Matheson said he doubted she could’ve got over the back fence on her own.’

‘She could’ve had help. Let’s face it, she’s got access to enough money to pay someone to be in on it. My gut feeling says it’s tenuous but I can’t afford to
rule anything out. We’re about to pass the twenty-four-hour mark and we’re no closer to finding her.’

She could hear the frustration in his voice and knew how he felt. The clock was ticking and the pressure starting to build. They desperately needed a breakthrough, and soon.

‘I want you to interview Lesley alone and raise Suzy Breed’s name to see how she reacts. You also need to question her again about Rosie’s skirt.’ He paused.
‘Forensics found traces of PDM, a lubricant commonly used to coat condoms, on the inside lining, so it looks like Rosie might have been engaged in some kind of sexual activity before going
missing.’

Maggie grimaced. ‘I asked both Lesley and Kathryn whether Rosie was seeing anyone and they’re both adamant she’s never had a boyfriend, either here or while living in Mansell,
because Mack is really strict about that.’

‘She could be seeing someone secretly. She wouldn’t be the first teenage girl to hide a boyfriend from an overbearing father.’

‘Christ, I hope she is hiding someone.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because if it wasn’t a secret boyfriend who used the condom, I hate to think who did.’

Lesley did not stir as Maggie re-entered the lounge and sat down beside her. Her eyes remained fixed on the television but they were glazed over, suggesting she was watching
but not seeing.

Mack was upstairs in his study with Belmar and DC Renshaw. Umpire said he wanted the interview to be between only her and Lesley and had ended his call by stipulating exactly what she could and
couldn’t say during the course of it. While outlining what details could be imparted was standard when an SIO prepped the FLO ahead of interviews, the threat that came attached to
Umpire’s briefing wasn’t.

‘I don’t want you to mention the lubricant when you talk to Lesley,’ he’d said. ‘I want to keep it quiet for now, in case we need it for leverage further down the
line. If you get another attack of conscience, DC Neville, come straight to me and we’ll deal with it. I won’t tolerate a repeat of the Megan Fowler case, got that? Because this time
you won’t just get kicked off DI Gant’s roster – I’ll have you back in uniform. Am I making myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said quietly, knowing he meant it.

Once off the phone, Maggie wrote down in her notebook the questions she needed to ask Lesley and how best to word them, particularly the ones relating to the mysterious Suzy Breed. During
training it was drummed into FLOs that if questions were not posed sensitively they could arouse far more suspicion than intended.

‘Lesley, I need to talk to you.’

There was a nod, but Lesley did not avert her gaze from the screen. Maggie reached over, took the remote control out of her hand and turned the television off. Lesley looked round and glared at
her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Maggie, ‘but it’s really important we do this now.’

She must have sounded serious enough to shake Lesley out of her stupor.

‘Has something happened?’ she asked.

‘Not exactly. We’ve got a couple of specific lines of inquiry we’re urgently following up and that’s why I need to interview you now.’

‘Interview?’ said Lesley worriedly.

‘It’s what we call a witness interview. I’ll ask you some questions and take notes, which I will then pass back to DCI Umpire. You’re not under caution or anything like
that,’ she assured her. ‘We just want to clarify some details about Rosie, in particular about her skirt.’

Lesley’s face mottled and she bit her bottom lip.

‘Are you fine for me to start?’

‘I guess.’

‘You said yesterday you have two women who come in every Friday to help, is that right?’

‘Yes, Joasia and Alicja. They’re sisters, from Poland. We employ them through an agency. Why? Do they know something?’

‘No. They’ve been interviewed by my colleagues and can account for their whereabouts yesterday morning. What are their main tasks on Fridays?’

‘They clean the house and do our laundry.’

‘Do you oversee that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sorry, I meant do you decide what needs to be washed and get it ready for them?’

‘Oh, I see. Yes, I take my and Mack’s clothes down to the laundry room on Friday morning, but they collect all the bedding from all the rooms and also Rosie’s washing because
she doesn’t like me going in her bedroom.’ A tear escaped the corner of Lesley’s eye but she wiped it swiftly away.

‘That must be a lot of washing.’

‘They’re here all day on Friday, so they put the first load on when they arrive and either dry it outside or put it in the tumble dryer. They usually do two or three washes. But I
don’t always leave it to them,’ Lesley added hotly. ‘If something needs washing urgently, I do it myself. Or I’ll do the delicates that can’t be machine-washed by
hand.’

The conversation was going exactly the way Maggie hoped it would.

‘Is Rosie’s skirt something you might wash yourself?’

Lesley’s face went even redder.

‘All those sequins . . . it couldn’t go in the washing machine, could it?’ Maggie probed. ‘And I’m guessing that if it’s hand-washed separately, it
doesn’t go on the line with the rest of the washing where Mack can see it.’

Lesley’s expression – pinched and scared – betrayed her.