Gone Astray (9 page)

‘Ask her about it when she surfaces. If they don’t have many visitors, that narrows down the people who come into regular contact with Rosie, which might help in the long run. When
the dad arrives, ask him about the friends who went with him to Scotland. But don’t mention his hotel stay until we’ve checked it out. Not a word.’

‘We should ask about his trip though,’ Maggie shot back. ‘It might seem odd if we don’t.’

Umpire frowned so deeply his blue eyes almost vanished beneath his thick brows. For a moment she feared he was going to reprimand her for challenging him.

‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘Keep it general though.’

Maggie gave him a quick smile in response. When he returned it with one of his own, her stomach clenched. A fleeting flashback to how it used to be between them.

‘I need to get back to the station to brief the rest of the team. Anything else before I go?’ he asked.

‘We were interrupted before I could ask Lesley about Rosie self-harming,’ said Maggie. ‘Do you still want me to raise it with her?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘The thing is, sir, if Rosie persistently self-harms like Kathryn says she does, there would most likely be some scarring that her parents would notice when she was wearing shorts, like
she was this morning.’

‘Maybe she doesn’t cut her legs. Maybe it’s just her arms,’ said Umpire, folding his own across his chest. His stance suggested he didn’t welcome a debate, but
Maggie ploughed on nervously.

‘Wasn’t she also wearing a sleeveless T-shirt when her mum last saw her? Sir, I researched self-harming for an abuse case last year and the areas self-harmers tend to target are
wrists, the insides of forearms and thighs and sometimes the chest.’

‘So Rosie’s not a typical harmer.’

‘But the whole point of self-harming is not to draw attention to what you’re doing. Sufferers cut themselves in secret and hide the scars as a way of retaining control. If Rosie
really is self-harming I’d expect her to cover up more to hide the fact she was doing it.’

‘So you think her friends are lying?’ said Umpire.

‘It crossed my mind but I don’t think so. Maybe Rosie does self-harm but not as much as Kathryn implied or as recently.’

‘She could’ve started again this morning, cut herself in the wrong place and bled out,’ suggested Belmar.

‘I thought that too, but why go over the back fence?’ said Maggie. ‘You’d go into the house and call for help, wouldn’t you?’

‘DC Neville’s right,’ said Umpire. ‘We’ve checked with the hospital, walk-in clinics and GPs in the area and no girl matching her description has turned up injured
at any of them.’

‘Unless she doesn’t want to be helped,’ said Belmar.

Silence fell over them. Had Rosie cut herself then slunk away to hide like an injured animal, thought Maggie? Had the fear of what her dad might say stopped her from seeking help? She scanned
Umpire’s face for any sign that he was thinking the same, but his features were set like granite, his eyes focused on the horizon beyond the French doors, and a full minute passed before he
spoke.

‘Accidentally or not, if she cut herself and is bleeding at the rate the blood on the lawn suggests she is, she’ll need urgent medical assistance and we need to step up the search.
Keep me updated.’

He swept abruptly from the room, leaving a tense Maggie and Belmar standing in his wake.

‘So the rumours about Ballboy are all true,’ said Belmar, mock-wiping his brow as he slumped into a chair. ‘Everyone said he was a scary bastard.’

‘What you just saw was not him being scary, believe me.’

‘Yeah, I heard about what happened on your last case together, about him blowing up at you.’

She smarted. Well, of course he knew, everyone knew.

‘It must be weird working with him again.’

‘No, not really.’ She hoped she sounded more blasé than she felt.

‘So you two, you know, did it go on for long?’ said Belmar, his dark brown eyes dancing with mischief.

‘Did what go on for long?’

‘You and him. You have . . . you know . . . haven’t you?’

Her mouth gaped open. It was a few seconds before she could speak.

‘You think me and him were . . . For fuck’s sake, who the hell told you that?’

On seeing her reaction, Belmar began to furiously back-pedal. He rose from his chair. ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was just something someone
mentioned in passing. I didn’t say I believed it.’

‘Why would anyone even think it?’ she said, aghast. ‘I mean, does everyone think that?’

‘I don’t know about that. The person I talked to just said that you and Umpire had this big bust-up at the end of your last case and it was because you were sleeping
together.’

‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Maggie retorted. ‘The reason he went ballistic was because I dropped him in the shit with the victim’s family. It had nothing to do with
anything else. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s married.’

‘No he’s not.’

‘What?’ she said, stunned.

‘Word is his wife left him a few months ago.’

As she joined the dots Belmar was verbally drawing for her, Maggie felt sick to her stomach. ‘Do people think his wife left because of me?’ she said hoarsely. Was that what the
forensics techs were whispering about after she and Umpire spoke on the terrace?

Her new colleague didn’t say anything. She could tell by his expression that he wished he’d never opened his mouth. Moving closer, Maggie stabbed her finger in the air towards him.
Her cheeks burned.

‘Let’s get something straight. I would never have an affair with someone already in a relationship.
Never.
So you make sure you tell that to whoever said I did. Got
that?’

Trembling with rage, she stalked out of the dining room and into the kitchen. Belmar followed her.

‘Listen, I’m sorry. I was bang out of order saying it.’

‘Yes, you were,’ she snapped.

To busy herself – and so he couldn’t see how upset she was – she began unloading the bags of shopping Lesley had left on the floor. Everything was warm from where it had been
left out all afternoon. Belmar shuffled anxiously from foot to foot behind her.

‘My wife’s always on at me not to listen to gossip. Says I’m worse than a teenage girl. But I can see why people put you and Umpire together. You’re attractive, single,
and he’s the senior officer everyone fancies.’

Maggie rounded on him again. ‘How do you know I’m single?’

He looked even more embarrassed. ‘Well, that’s what I heard.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘What else have you heard about me?’

‘That you’re really good at your job,’ he said eagerly. ‘Dedicated.’

‘And?’

‘Um . . . that you’re close to your sister and her kids?’

She nodded, mollified a fraction. ‘That’s true, I am.’

‘And wasn’t it something to do with your sister, why you put yourself forward for family liaison training?’

Maggie went very still, the pack of sliced ham in her hand hovering halfway between the bag she’d taken it from and the fridge shelf.

‘A road traffic accident, wasn’t it?’

Belmar had done his research. As he raised his eyebrows in expectation of her answer, Maggie noticed for the first time how straight his hairline was. His hairdresser must have used a spirit
level to shave his fringe.

She took a deep breath. There was no harm in telling him the background to her becoming an FLO. As the Kinnocks consumed their focus over the coming days, this was likely to be the most in-depth
conversation they’d have. But she wouldn’t tell him every detail. God, no. Even Lou didn’t know the whole story – and nor would she ever tell her.

‘Yes, it was. My sister’s fiancé was run over and killed on a zebra crossing when they were expecting their first baby.’

‘Shit, that’s awful.’

‘Yeah, it was. I was eighteen and due to start uni in Leeds, but instead I stayed in Mansell to help her when Jude, that’s their son, was born. She couldn’t have coped with him
on her own. I got the idea to join the police from a traffic officer called Lorraine who helped us through those awful first few weeks. She was fantastic.’

‘So you became an FLO because you wanted to help families like yours?’

Maggie gave him a wry smile. ‘Isn’t that why most of us volunteer? DI Gant once told me he likes recruiting officers who’ve had experience of losing someone in tragic or
violent circumstances because they tend to be more empathetic.’ She caught the look that briefly clouded Belmar’s face. ‘So what’s your story?’

‘I had an uncle who was stabbed in a store robbery. Not here, but in St Vincent where I grew up. My parents moved to the UK about six months after it happened, when I was seven. There was
an investigation but they never caught who did it. After that I decided I wanted to be a police officer when I grew up.’

‘Is your wife one too?’

‘Nah, she’s in HR. Works in Milton Keynes.’

‘Have you been married long?’

‘Ten years this December. We got married on a beach in St Vincent on New Year’s Eve. Saved us having to pay for our own fireworks.’ He grinned.

‘Kids?’

No way. I’m only thirty-three. I don’t feel ready.’

‘I’m not sure anyone ever does . . .’

Maggie’s phone going off ended the conversation. It was Umpire. Just hearing his voice made her blush. Was he aware of the false rumours being spread about them? She felt even more
mortified at the thought.

He was still in his car on the way back to Mansell but he had news for them.

‘The neighbour was right. Mack spent Saturday night in the hotel then checked out. But here’s the weird thing: he was only booked for one night from the start, so it wasn’t on
a whim that he suddenly decided to leave.’

‘So his movements are unaccounted for from the time he left the hotel on Sunday morning to now?’

‘Yes. At the same time Rosie went missing, her dad was AWOL too.’

It was dark outside when Lesley woke up and for a split second she enjoyed the delicious ignorance of not remembering why she was in bed. Then it hit her with the force of a
wrecking ball, jerking her upright.

Rosie was missing.

Clutching her chest as though her heart might give out, she turned to the other side of the bed where Mack normally slept. Beyond his pillow, on his bedside table, there was a digital alarm
clock that told her there was still an hour to go before he was due back and she angrily kicked out at her absent husband for not being there when she needed him. It was a futile gesture, she knew,
as her foot didn’t make it even halfway across the expanse of mattress. Their bed was eight feet across and seven feet long, dimensions otherwise known as Caesar size. She hadn’t known
such a bed even existed until Mack decided they should buy the biggest one they could for their new master suite at Angel’s Reach and found a specialist company selling the frames and
mattresses on the Internet. His excitement had been palpable as he’d clicked up the sliding scale of sizes from Single to Queen, Double, King, Super King, Emperor and Caesar. He didn’t
court her opinion, nor did she offer it, even though what she really wanted to say was, ‘No, let’s stick to a double like we’ve got now.’ His mind was already made up.

‘Think how much better we’ll sleep when we’re not rolling into each other,’ he said.

She wanted to tell him that his warm limbs brushing against hers in the middle of the night was one of her favourite sensations, and that she liked knowing he was so close. But the words stuck
in her throat and she left the room as he began filling in his credit card details on the order page.

The Caesar’s sheets and duvet were 1,000-thread Egyptian cotton and specially made too, but Lesley found no pleasure in climbing between them every night. The only way she could get to
sleep was to hug her knees to her chest by way of comfort while Mack snored contentedly, splayed on his back beside her. To him, the Caesar was further validation of his new status: the big bed for
the big winner. He seemed to forget it was she who’d bought the EuroMillions ticket, an impulse buy from a petrol station when she’d filled her car up on her way to work, slid onto the
counter at the last minute with a copy of
Essentials
magazine and a packet of sugar-free Polo mints. It was only because she’d seen a couple of other people in the line holding their
filled-out slips that she’d even thought about buying one.

One Lucky Dip, that’s all she did. A fluke. Their local paper, the
Mansell Echo
, ran a story a couple of months later saying people were queuing at the same petrol station every
week to buy their tickets in the hope that the Kinnocks’ luck would rub off on them. She liked to fantasize about what the reaction would be if she turned up to warn them how winning the
jackpot would be the beginning of their troubles, not the end. None of them would believe her.

She rolled off the bed and went over to the window. Stars peppered the inky black sky like uncut diamonds rolled out on a jeweller’s velvet tray and a glowing half-moon hung between them.
She felt guilty for falling asleep but exhaustion had overcome her. The nap hadn’t helped though; she felt as wrung out as she had before.

Their master bedroom was at the front of the house and, looking down, Lesley saw the floodlit driveway was choked with vehicles: two police patrol cars, a dark blue van with Forensic
Investigation Unit printed on the side, the white Range Rover Evoque Mack had insisted she buy and two more cars she didn’t recognize. Mack’s Aston Martin Rapide and Bentley Continental
GT were tucked away in the garage.

She gazed up at the sky as the minutes ticked by. Her mind felt blurred around the edges, like it was cushioned by bubble wrap, and she found it soothing to simply stand and stare into nothing.
Better that than go downstairs and be confronted by reality.

But soon the memory of the man in the white jumpsuit holding up Rosie’s blood-soaked skirt in a plastic bag elbowed its way to the forefront of her mind and took root. It refused to budge
no matter how hard she tried not to think about it and a little voice inside her head began an accompanying narrative, needling her to go downstairs and find out what else the police had found. She
didn’t want to listen to what it had to say but it kept on, like a tape recorder on a loop.
What if they’ve found Rosie’s body? What if they’ve found Rosie’s body?
What if they’ve found Rosie’s body?