Lost Girls

T
his book is dedicated
to Mary Forrest whose love and generosity touched so many, including myself.

M
ary
, you taught us all so much and those lessons stay with us in our hearts.

E
mily Billingham tried
to scream through the hand that covered her mouth.

The fingers were thin but strong against her lower jaw. She forced out a sound that bounced back off his flesh and threw back her head to try to prise herself free. The back of her skull met with something hard, a rib.

‘Knock it off, you stupid little bitch,' he said, dragging her backwards.

The pounding in her ears almost drowned out his words. She could feel her own heart beating hard against her chest.

The fabric across her eyes blocked out her surroundings but she felt the gravel underfoot.

Every step took her further from Suzie.

Emily bucked again. She tried to force herself away from his body using her upper arms but he just pulled her closer. She tried to squirm away from his grip but his arms tightened. She didn't want to go with him. She had to get free. She had to get help. Daddy would know what to do. Daddy would save them both.

She heard the creak of a door. Oh no, it was the van.

She summoned the strength to scream. She didn't want to go in the van again.

‘No … please …' she cried, trying to squirm out of his grip.

He kicked her hard in the back of the knee.

Her leg buckled and she stumbled forward, but he stopped her falling to the ground by grabbing a handful of hair.

Her scalp stung as the tears broke free from her eyes.

In one movement he launched her into the rear of the vehicle and slammed the door shut. It made the same tinny noise it had days ago when she'd been walking to school.

Her classroom seemed so far away now and she wondered if she would ever see her friends again.

The van reversed quickly, launching her against the doors. The pain shot from the back of her skull like a firework.

She squirmed to right herself but the van was moving fast, throwing her onto her side.

Her cheek crashed against the wooden floor of the vehicle as it bounced along at speed. She winced as the skin on her bare calf snagged on a nail. A trail of warm blood trickled down to her ankle.

Suzie would tell her to be strong. Like when she'd sprained her wrist in gymnastics. Suzie had held her other hand and squeezed strength into her heart, telling her it would all be okay. And she'd been right.

But she hadn't been right this time.

‘I can't do it, Suzie, I'm sorry,' Emily whispered as the tears turned to sobs. She wanted to be brave for her friend but the trembling that had started in her legs was now travelling the length of her body.

She pulled up her knees to her chin, tried to scrunch herself tighter, into the smallest of balls, but the shaking wouldn't subside.

She felt a drop of urine slip from between her thighs. The trickle turned to a stream that her body was powerless to stop.

A terrified sob was torn from her body as Emily prayed for the ordeal to end.

And then, suddenly, the van came to a stop.

‘Please M-Mummy, come and get me,' she whispered as the sudden ominous silence settled around her.

She lay against the door, unmoving. The trembling had paralysed her limbs. She had no more strength to fight him and awaited whatever came next.

The fear formed a lump in her throat as her captor opened the door.

K
im Stone felt
the rage burning within her. From the ignition point in her brain it travelled like electricity to the soles of her feet, then surged around again.

If her colleague, Bryant, was beside her now he would be urging her to calm down. To think before she acted. To consider her career, her livelihood.

So it was a good job she was on her own.

Pure Gym was situated on Level Street in Brierley Hill and ran between the Merry Hill shopping centre and the Waterfront office and bar complex.

It was Sunday lunchtime and the car park was full. She drove around once, spotting the car she sought before parking the Ninja right outside the front door. She didn't plan on being there long.

She stepped into the foyer and approached the front desk. A pretty, toned woman smiled brightly and held out her hand. Kim guessed she was looking for some kind of membership card. Kim had a card of her own to show. Her warrant card.

‘I'm not a member but I do need a quick word with one of your patrons.'

The woman looked around as though needing to seek advice.

‘Police business,' Kim stated. Kind of, she added to herself.

The woman nodded.

Kim looked at the directions board and knew exactly where she was heading. She took a left and found herself behind three rows of machines on which people were stepping, walking and jogging.

She looked along the rear views of people expending energy on going nowhere.

The one she was looking for was stepping up and down in the far corner. The long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail was the clue. The fact that her phone was in front of her on the display screen was the clincher.

Having found her target, Kim became oblivious to the sounds of people's limbs lifting and striding or the curious glances she received as the only fully dressed person in the room.

All she cared about was one woman's involvement in the death of a nineteen-year-old boy called Dewain.

Kim straddled the front of the machine. The shock on the face of Tracy Frost almost pierced her rage. But not quite.

‘A word?' she asked, although it wasn't really a question.

For a second the woman almost lost her footing and that would have been just too bad.

‘How the hell did you …?' Tracy looked around. ‘Don't tell me you used your badge to get in?'

‘A word, in private,' Kim repeated.

Tracy continued to step.

‘Look, I'm happy to do it here,' Kim said, raising her voice. ‘I'll never see these people again.'

Kim could feel at least half the eyes in the room upon them already.

Tracy stepped backwards in a dismount, then reached for her phone.

Kim was surprised at the height of the woman and guessed her to be five two at best. Kim had never seen her without six-inch heels, whatever the weather.

Kim barged through the door to the ladies' toilets and pushed Tracy against the wall. Her head missed the hand dryer by an inch.

‘What the fuck did you think you were doing?' Kim screamed.

A cubicle door opened and a teenager scarpered out of the room. They were now alone.

‘You can't touch me like—'

Kim stepped back so that only a sliver of space existed between them. ‘How the hell could you break that story, you stupid bitch? He's dead, now. Dewain Wright is dead because of you.'

Tracy Frost, local reporter and all-round pond scum, blinked twice as Kim's words found her brain. ‘But … my … story …'

‘Your story got him killed, you stupid cow.'

Tracy began to shake her head. Kim nodded. ‘Oh yes.'

Dewain Wright had been a teenager from the Hollytree estate. He'd been in a gang called the Hollytree Hoods for about three years and wanted to get out. The gang had got wind of it and stabbed him, leaving him for dead. They thought they'd killed him but a passer-by had performed CPR. That was when Kim had been called in to investigate attempted murder.

Her first instruction had been to conceal the fact that he was still alive from everyone except his family. She had known that if word got back to Hollytree the gang would find a way to finish him off.

She had spent that night in the chair beside his bed, praying he would defy the prognosis and breathe on his own. She had held his hand, offering him her own energy to find the strength to come back. The courage he'd shown in trying to change his life and battle the fates had touched her. She had wanted an opportunity to know the brave young man who had decided that gang life was not for him.

Kim leaned in close and speared Tracy with her eyes. There was no escape. ‘I begged you not to break the story but you just couldn't help yourself, could you? It was all about being first, wasn't it? Are you so bloody desperate to get noticed by the nationals you'd throw away a kid's life?' Kim screamed in her face. ‘Well, for your sake I hope they do notice you – because there's no place for you here any more. I intend to make sure of it.'

‘It wasn't because of—'

‘Of course it was because of you,' Kim raged. ‘I don't know how you found out he was still alive but he's dead now. And this time it's real.'

Confusion contorted her features. The stupid woman wanted to speak but couldn't find any words. Kim wouldn't have listened anyway.

‘You know he was trying to get out, don't you? Dewain was a decent kid just trying not to die.'

‘It couldn't have been because of me,' Tracy said, as the colour began to return to her face.

‘Yes, Tracy, it was,' Kim said emphatically. ‘The blood of Dewain Wright is on your grubby little hooves.'

‘I was only doing my job. The world had a right to know.'

Kim stepped in closer.

‘I swear to God, Tracy, I will not rest until the closest you come to a newspaper is driving the delivery—'

Her words were cut off by the ringing of her mobile phone.

Tracy took the opportunity to step out of Kim's reach.

‘Stone,' she answered.

‘I need you at the station. Now.'

Detective Chief Inspector Woodward wasn't the warmest of bosses but he normally took the time to offer some kind of curt greeting.

Kim's mind worked quickly. He was calling her on Sunday lunchtime after insisting that she take the day off. And he was already pissed off at something.

‘I'm on my way, Stacey. Get me a dry white wine,' she said, hanging up the phone. If her boss was confused because she'd just called him Stacey, she'd explain it to him later.

No way was she going to reveal an urgent call from her boss while standing within spitting distance of the most despicable reporter she'd ever met.

It could be one of two things. Either she was in a shitload of trouble or there was something big kicking off. Neither scenario would benefit from this lowlife hearing the conversation.

She turned back to Tracy Frost. ‘Just don't think this is over. I will find a way to make you pay for what you did. I promise,' Kim said, opening the bathroom door.

‘I'll have your job for this,' Tracy shouted after her.

‘Crack on,' Kim tossed over her shoulder. A nineteen-year-old had died last night, for nothing. These weren't the best days she'd ever had.

And she had a feeling that this one was about to get worse.