Lost Girls (21 page)

K
im spent
most of the journey second-guessing the decision to issue a press blackout.

She knew they were on borrowed time with keeping it out of the press. The broken appointments and days away from school would soon start to attract attention. Never mind the threat from Tracy Frost. People would talk. Friends would start calling. Extended family would pop round and before they knew it they would be the lead story on Sky News.

Despite the blackout being in place before she had taken the case, Kim knew that if it proved to be the wrong move she would be the scapegoat and her career would be over.

Most detectives were able to recall the case of Lesley Whittle, not only for the horror of what had happened to the seventeen-year-old girl but also as a testament to what happened if you got it all wrong.

Lesley had been taken from her home in Shropshire in 1975. The kidnapper was already known to police as the Black Panther due to wearing a black balaclava during post office raids.

Nielson had committed over four hundred burglaries and three fatal shootings before he kidnapped the girl and placed her in a drainage shaft at a park in Staffordshire.

A news blackout had been implemented initially but the investigation was bungled from the outset and two attempts to engage with Nielson's demand for fifty thousand pounds failed.

Lesley's body had eventually been found hooded and tethered to the side of a shaft by a wire noose. It had never been proven whether she had fallen from the ledge or if Nielson had pushed her. She'd weighed only ninety-eight pounds and her stomach and intestines were completely empty.

The chief superintendent who led the investigation had been demoted to a uniformed beat officer.

If that was the treatment given to a chief superintendent, Kim knew she'd be lucky to get a night job guarding a scrapyard.

The decision to maintain the blackout was based on the balance of gain from public awareness against the detriment of false leads. There would be a staggering level of press interest, attracted by the juicy story of the abduction of two young girls, with countless reporters searching for a story, an interview with the parents, the back stories and past. Both families would have their entire lives laid bare for the world to see, consume and judge. Kim knew that would be a heartily unpleasant experience for Karen alone, never mind the others.

But there was very little benefit to the case by making it public. There was no area of the investigation that could be enhanced by the press intrusion.

‘How much further?' Kim asked, growing restless. Time spent sitting in the car was not solving the case.

Bryant glanced at the satnav. ‘Just under two miles.'

They had long left the built-up hub of the industrial towns and travelled through the first layer of the green belt where rows of houses were strung together, punctuated by the odd shop or pub, but with back gardens looking out on to fields. Now though, they were passing into Kim's worst nightmare.

The road was flanked by grass on both sides and mobile phone signals were intermittent.

The unease began in her stomach. Being this far away from civilisation made her nervous. She felt comfortable amongst sprawling housing estates and derelict steelworks. She enjoyed breathing in the mixture of pollutants that reassured her that thousands of other people were fighting to occupy the same space. She was used to waking to car horns and revving engines, not birdsong; shadows formed by tower blocks, not trees.

The satnav stated their destination was to the right.

‘Is she having a laugh?' Kim asked. A normal postcode covered twelve properties. Out here, that could cover a good few miles.

‘We're looking for number four Larksford Lane,' Bryant said.

They passed a gate with a number five fixed to it.

‘I don't know which way the numbers run so I'll have to carry on.'

A quarter mile later they spied a number six.

Bryant drove past and reversed into the paved driveway. He didn't rush the manoeuvre. They hadn't passed a car for miles.

He drove back to number five and then slowed to ten miles an hour. A six-foot-tall hedge lined the pavement.

Eventually they were back at a double gated property that stated loud and proud that it was number three.

‘Okay, how to go from mildly amused to severely aggravated in about ten minutes,' she said, as Bryant turned the car again.

This time they crawled the distance. Kim inspected every inch of the hedge. She understood they were looking for a family that didn't want their home to be found. They had moved house and changed their last name from Billingham to Trueman.

‘There,' she pointed.

A waist-high gate no more than three feet wide separated the two squared-off edges of the hedge barrier. There was no mailbox and no house number.

Bryant drove partially onto the pavement and parked the car.

Through the gate the privet hedge continued wrapping itself around them imposingly. Kim felt like she was in a maze.

Ten feet in they were greeted by a single wrought iron gate that was the respite between two brick walls. The top of each wall had been finished off with a colourful mosaic of broken glass. Anyone trying to scale the wall would be better off trying to catch the business end of an angle grinder.

The wrought iron itself was finished with one-foot-high spikes – ornately crafted and in keeping with the design of the gate; but spikes all the same.

‘Sociable folks,' Bryant observed as he pressed the intercom fixed to the right-hand wall.

‘Mrs Trueman?' Bryant said, as a voice filled with static acknowledged their call.

‘Who are you?' the voice said, neither confirming nor denying.

‘I'm Detective Sergeant Bryant and Detective Inspector Stone is beside me.'

‘Please hold your identification card up to the camera.'

Bryant looked around for a camera as he removed his ID card from his pocket.

‘Where's the bloody thing?' he snarled.

Eerily a voice said, ‘It's on the entryphone next to the push button.'

Bryant looked closely. ‘Jesus, it's tiny.'

Kim followed his gaze. The miniature CCTV camera looked like a screw fixing.

‘And the other one,' said the voice.

Kim passed her card and Bryant held it up.

‘That's fine, now what do you want?'

‘We'd like to come in and speak to you,' said Bryant, shortly.

Like her, he was beginning to lose patience with the game of hide and seek.

‘I'd like to know what this is about, Inspector.'

Kim leaned forward. ‘It's a matter concerning your daughter, Mrs Trueman, so please open the gate so we can speak properly.'

There was a definite click from the centre of the gate. Bryant pushed on the handle. It remained secure.

‘Guv, I am seriously gonna lose—'

A second thunk sounded from the top of the gate and a third from the bottom.

‘Triple electronic dead bolts?' Bryant said. ‘What's she got in here – Lord Lucan wearing the Hope Diamond riding around on Shergar?'

Kim sighed as she closed the gate firmly behind her. ‘No, Bryant, just her child.'

The three locks clicked back into place.

They stepped into a property set in approximately two acres. The path from the gate led between two symmetrical lawns.

To the left, in front of the kitchen window, was a single swing. The wall encircled the property, as did the glass.

As they neared the front of the house a heavy oak door was pulled back by a petite brunette wearing jeans and a man's T-shirt. The garment was spattered with lime green paint.

‘Mrs Trueman?' Bryant asked, holding out his hand.

She returned the handshake but there was no smile. She stepped back and allowed them in, taking a careful look outside before closing the door behind them.

Kim spotted five doors and a stairway leading from the space but the woman didn't point to any of them.

‘You said this was about my daughter?'

Kim stepped forward. ‘Mrs Trueman, we need to speak with you about Emily's abduction.'

‘Have you caught them?' she asked, clasping her hands.

Kim shook her head and the woman's face dropped.

Her hands met and wrestled each other. ‘Then what?'

‘We're looking at the case again, Mrs Trueman, and we'd like your help.'

No way could Kim allow this woman to suspect that the same thing had happened again. The anxiety that radiated from Julia Trueman could shatter her into a million pieces.

Emily's mother pointed to a door. Their footsteps echoed in the hallway. There were no house sounds: no television, no radio and no chatter. The silence of the house was thick and oppressive.

The door led into a small sitting room. Plump sofas faced an open fire. The wall behind was stacked floor to ceiling with books. A picture window looked out on to the rear of the property. A gravel drive ended at a dense wooden gate that rose as high as the wall.

Kim guessed the drive led on to a lane that met civilisation a few miles down the road.

Mrs Trueman sat on the edge of the single seat. They took the sofa.

‘Yesterday we spoke with Mrs Cotton. She—'

‘How is she?' the woman asked quickly.

‘I take it you don't speak any more?'

‘How can we?' the woman asked. ‘I kept my daughter and she lost hers. How can I even look at her? We were like sisters. I miss her. I miss them both.'

She glanced behind them to the wall that held the door. The wall that faced the single chair.

Kim's eyes rested on a blown-up framed photograph of the six of them at a table surrounding a huge dish of paella. Their faces were reddened from sunburn.

‘Our last holiday together,' Mrs Trueman said, quietly. ‘Suzie was a beautiful child. I was her godmother as well. Jennifer and I were friends since school. But everything was destroyed during those few days.'

Kim was about to ask about the ransom but the woman fixed her with a look.

‘Inspector, do you know what kind of person you are? I mean, do you really know?'

‘I like to think so.'

‘And so did I – until one text message made me question everything. What these people did was unforgivable. We all turned into something from our own worst nightmares. Desperation and fear do horrible things to a person.'

Kim wanted to ask the one question that mattered to her but felt they were travelling in that direction anyway.

‘Our friendship counted for nothing against the lives of our children. My best friend was suddenly my enemy. We were locked in this surreal battle and only one of us could win.'

‘Did you pay the ransom?' Kim asked, quietly.

The woman looked at her, her face stripped bare. Her eyes held the terror of that time. And the shame.

‘No, we didn't. But we were going to,' she said, honestly.

Kim and Bryant exchanged a glance.

‘So why was Emily freed and yet Suzie was not?'

Mrs Trueman shrugged. ‘We don't know. We've asked ourselves that a million times.'

Kim wondered who the hell had made that decision and why.

The door to the room opened gently and a head popped round.

A little older and considerably paler than her likeness on the wall, but Kim recognised Emily. Her mouth closed as her gaze took in the presence of strangers. Instantly her eyes were troubled as she looked to her mother.

Mrs Trueman stood. ‘It's okay, Emily. Have you finished your history lesson?'

The girl nodded but her gaze had returned to Kim.

Although Mrs Trueman tried to block the path of her daughter, she curled around her mother and entered the room.

‘Emily, it's nothing to worry about. Go back upstairs and start—'

‘Have you found Suzie?' the girl asked, hopefully.

Kim swallowed and shook her head. The girl's eyes filled with tears but she bravely fought them back.

It had been thirteen months since her ordeal, but clearly her best friend was never far from her thoughts.

‘Emily, please go upstairs. I'll be up in a minute to mark your work.'

Emily hesitated but a guiding hand on her forearm prompted her to do as her mother asked.

‘She doesn't go to school?' Bryant asked.

Mrs Trueman closed the door and shook her head. ‘No, Emily is home schooled. It's safer.'

‘Could we spend a few minutes with her?' Kim asked, softly.

Mrs Trueman shook her head vehemently. ‘No, that's impossible. We don't speak about it, to her or anyone else. It's best she forgets.'

Yeah, that didn't seem to be working out too well. Every waking minute locked inside a fortress with no interaction was a constant reminder of the reason why.

‘Did Emily get counselling?'

Mrs Trueman shook her head. ‘No, we decided we just needed to put it behind us. Children are resilient and bounce back. We didn't want some psychotherapist putting feelings of guilt into her head, telling her how she should be feeling. That wouldn't have helped anyone.'

Kim idly wondered whose feelings of guilt the woman was trying to bury.

‘So, I'm sorry but I can't allow you anywhere near her. You'll bring it all back.'

From what Kim could see, it had never gone away. For any of them.

Mrs Trueman remained by the door. ‘Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get on.'

Kim stood and suddenly had a thought.

‘Did they give you a drop point?'

If this family had been prepared to pay they would have had to know how.

Mrs Trueman hesitated.

‘Please, you have to understand that we need your help right now.'

‘And you have to understand that I know they're still out there.'

‘I get that, but they're not coming back for Emily.'

‘I hear the words, but I don't believe them. There is no guarantee you can give me that I will accept.'

Kim sighed heavily.

‘But I will tell you if you assure me that you will leave us alone from this point on.'