Lost Girls (23 page)

K
aren emptied
the water from the sink and reached for the cream cleaner. Her beautiful kitchen had always reached levels of laboratory standard cleanliness but she now felt that open heart surgery could be performed on her worktops without any fear of infection.

The house had settled into the afternoon routine that had quickly cemented. The guard sat at the front door with little to do. Helen wandered around in the background eager to fetch and carry for anyone who moved a muscle.

There were times when Helen's presence irritated her; not the woman herself but her constant attempts to try to make life easier for them all. Karen didn't want the distractions removed. She wanted to pick up plates, mugs, glasses. She wanted to do anything that occupied her mind or her body, even if only for a second.

Any distraction from the questions in her head was a welcome relief. She knew that Stephen, and to some extent Elizabeth, felt that the press blackout was the wrong move. So far she had managed to persuade the two of them to trust Kim but she didn't know for how much longer. Stephen was not an easy man to convince.

Yet Karen still felt they were right to trust Kim's judgement. Their paths had crossed throughout their childhood and the surly, dark-haired girl had been an enigma to them all. She didn't want friends; in fact, she actively avoided forming any kind of bonds.

Just like prison, personal circumstances and reasons for being in care were rarely shared and it was only much later that Karen had learned of Kim's tragic past. That the young Kim could function carrying all that baggage was astounding.

But there was another reason Karen trusted the forthright woman and Kim didn't even know.

T
welve years
earlier Karen had been living in a squat on the outskirts of Wolverhampton. She hadn't had a job in two years and had lost her flat. The derelict pub had been raided by twelve police officers and three social workers for the seven children living inside. She had recognised Kim immediately and had kept her hand up to her face.

One woman, Lynda, had slammed the bedroom door shut and refused to open it, threatening to throw her two-year-old son out of the window if anyone entered the room. While the rest of the police officers had cleared the building, Kim had stood at the door and kept Lynda talking.

She had promised Lynda that no one would touch her son and they would be kept together until his health had been assessed.

Eventually, when the building was clear, the whole team was assembled outside the last door. Karen could hear officers urging Kim to let them break the door down but Kim would not get out of the way.

A further forty minutes of reassurances passed before Lynda opened the door. Two social services women rushed forward to take the child but Kim stood in their way.

‘I gave her my word,' was all she said.

Karen had seen and heard it all, because she'd been in the room when Lynda locked the door. Upon being freed she had hurried past, unnoticed.

She had been mortified to reflect on her own life in the face of the woman's success. Kim was a bloody police officer and she was scum in a squat.

The next morning Karen had walked into the job centre and refused to leave until they found her some kind of work.

‘
O
h
, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were in here.'

Although Karen knew the voice, she turned to see Elizabeth backing out of the room.

‘Can we not even be in the same room now?' Karen asked, sadly.

It had been such a short time since they'd stood in this room, holding each other, comforting each other. Sharing a pain that only the two of them could understand.

‘It's just …'

Elizabeth's words trailed away. It was just what? That a few days ago they had been closer than sisters. And now they were in competition for the lives of their children.

The surreal nature of the situation hit Karen hard. No matter the outcome, they would never recover from this.

It would never be a memory fondly recalled over dinner on a balmy Saturday night.

They stood in opposite corners of the room with more than the breakfast bar between them.

Karen wanted to say something, anything that would take them back to the night she had trusted her best friend with the biggest secret of them all. Only Elizabeth knew that Robert was not Charlie's father.

For the first time she looked at her friend closely.

‘Your lip is swollen,' she said, angling her head for a better view.

Elizabeth turned an inch away. ‘Oh, I fell over in the bathroom.'

‘On what?' Karen asked. She didn't even try to hide the disbelief in her voice. They had known each other for too long.

‘I just slipped on …'

‘You've
slipped in the bathroom
before, Elizabeth. I remember it.'

Elizabeth took a step backwards. ‘No … I didn't …'

‘You said you wouldn't let him do this to you again.'

‘It's just the situation. I pushed and …'

‘Robert hasn't hit me and we're feeling it just as much as you are.'

Karen hadn't meant the words to come out that way. In her head they had sounded so different. Out of her mouth it sounded like they were competing for levels of distress and pressure.

Finally their eyes met and Karen saw the tears form as Elizabeth gingerly touched her lip.

Normally she would have crossed the distance between them and comforted her. But even that felt like a betrayal of her own daughter. How could she consort with the enemy? The notion stabbed at her heart but whatever the outcome, they would never be able to look at each other and not know each other's innermost thoughts. What each of them would be willing to sacrifice for the sake of their own child.

Her darling Charlie was her world. Karen would offer her own life and the life of anyone else to save her child. Including Amy. And she knew that Elizabeth felt the exact same way. No friendship could ever endure that knowledge.

And as they stared across the kitchen table, they both knew it.

Karen turned back to the sink.

There was nothing left to say.

K
im looked
up and down Wordsley High Street. The grit bin was positioned on the corner.

‘What time is it?' she asked.

‘Eleven fifty-five.'

Kim walked along the street. The left-hand side was a string of shops including a café, butchers, jewellers and a mini market.

The opposite side of the road held a row of new town houses.

She walked back to the middle of the road and continued to look both ways. She tuned out the crowds on her side of the road, rushing in and out of the shops.

What made this road useful to the kidnappers?

‘Bryant, when were those houses built?'

‘Only recently. They're mainly studio apartments.'

Kim started to get a picture in her head. ‘So, back then it was an empty space?'

‘I think so. What you seeing, Guv?'

‘I'm seeing nowhere on that side of the street for officers to lie in wait. There's nothing there so anyone hanging around would have stuck out like a sore thumb. The only viewing point is over here. I'm missing something so …' her words trailed away as she spotted the last piece of the puzzle. ‘And here it comes.'

Bryant looked to his left. A double decker bus ambled along the street and stopped right in front of the grit bin.

‘Jesus, nobody would have been able to see a thing. He could have been waiting just around the corner. He would have heard the bus pull up.'

Kim nodded. ‘A few people to get off to do their shopping and we're talking at least a minute to open up the bin and pick something up.'

‘Simple but clever.'

Kim ran the twenty feet to the top of the road. She caught the number of the bus as it turned the corner.

‘Bloody hell, Guv, what was that about?' Bryant asked, catching her up.

‘The front of the bus. Damn it, the bus number was the 278.'

‘
J
esus Christ
, Symes, did you have to do that much damage?'

Will had read the newspaper article twice, which held considerably more detail than the television reports.

Symes shrugged and smiled. ‘I got the job done and I'm happy in my work. What's your fucking problem? Dead, ain't she?'

Will shook his head and turned away. There was no point trying to explain to the moron that he was taking unnecessary risks. The more violent the crime scene the greater the chance of him leaving behind something of himself for them to analyse. He was just thankful the idiot hadn't raped her. With the leisure centre kid Symes had used only his feet, judging by the online news report. And his Tesco trainers were common enough to be untraceable. But still, it was unnecessary.

He wheeled himself over to the phone table.

He switched on mobile phone number one and was not surprised to see a missed call.

He switched on phone number two. Another missed call from the same number.

He switched on phone number three to see he had a voicemail and a text.

He put the phone on loudspeaker and hit the play button.

The voice was calm and pleasant.

‘Matt Ward, negotiator. Give me a call and we can resolve this. I can help you get what you want.'

Will deleted the message. He didn't need to speak to any negotiator. He had stated his terms and the onus was on them.

‘You wouldn't think about it, would you?' Symes asked.

‘Think about what?'

‘Changing the plan, making a deal – 'cos
we
have a deal, remember?'

Will did remember. It was something he'd agreed to so he could keep Symes away from the girls. For now.

He could not risk the idiot damaging the merchandise until they had the money. And after that, well …

‘We have a deal,' Will confirmed.

He scrolled to the only incoming message he was interested in. It had come from one of the parents.

The game was finally on.

With a smile he opened the text message and read. His eyes widened in surprise as he read it again.

He turned to Symes who was waiting eagerly.

As he handed over the phone, he said, ‘Well, I wasn't expecting that.'

‘
T
his really gonna
do us any good, Guv?' Bryant asked, bringing the car to a stop.

‘Bryant, I have no idea,' she said, honestly. She only knew that something was compelling her to speak to the woman.

The dwelling was an unassuming bungalow at the top of a slope on a small residential estate. A blue, ten-year-old Fiesta sat in the uncluttered driveway.

‘Wait here if you like,' Kim said, opening the car door. It was mid-afternoon and the woman could be off trawling the Wednesday markets for all Kim knew.

She had no idea what she was going to say, anyway. Bryant had been right when he'd surmised that she probably wouldn't believe a word that came out of her mouth. And yet she was here all the same.

‘With all due respect, Guv, the last time I waited in the car you attempted to force entry into a leisure centre so I think I'll tag along.'

They walked single file beside the Fiesta and knocked on the door.

‘If I ask her nicely do you think she'll give me the lottery numbers for Saturday?'

‘Shut up,' she snapped.

She listened closely for any sound of movement. There was none. She knocked again and leaned down to open the letterbox. The front door led into a small hallway from which she could see a couple of plain white doors but nothing beyond. She listened keenly for sounds from the house. Silence.

She knocked again, harder, and moved to the left-hand side of the door. She pressed her face against the window but could see nothing through the heavy net curtain.

‘Knock again, Bryant,' she said, stepping backwards. The window to the other side of the door was equally obscured.

Kim looked at Bryant and they both looked at the car.

‘I'm going round the back. Try next door,' she said, nodding to the adjoining property.

‘Guv …'

‘Just do it, Bryant,' she growled.

The side of the property was unencumbered. A roll of logs rose a foot from the ground to mark the boundary to the property on the left.

The back door was a single panel of distorted glass. Kim could make out shapes but nothing else. The window was bare and looked into a small, bright kitchen.

Kim could feel the frustration building in her stomach. ‘Come on, Eloise, where the hell are you?'

‘Guv, neighbour last saw her yesterday afternoon with a couple of bags from Aldi.'

‘Look in that window,' she said, stepping back. His extra couple of inches might see beyond the immediate area.

Bryant looked in and cast a glance over the area. He began to shake his head and then stopped. He adjusted his position and pressed his face against the glass.

‘Hang on, that might be …'

‘What?' she said.

He beckoned her towards him. ‘I'm gonna have to lift you up now; press your face against the glass and look to the far left.'

Kim looked around for something to stand on but saw nothing.

‘Go,' she said.

Bryant formed a circle with his arms around her thighs and hoisted her so her head was a good twelve inches higher than his own. She did as he asked and saw the sliver of a wingback chair. At the top was a clutch of grey.

‘Put me down,' Kim said.

She headed straight for the door and knocked loudly. ‘Keep watching and see if she moves.'

She knocked again on the glass door.

Bryant shook his head.

‘Okay, we're going in,' Kim said, looking around the garden for something heavy.

‘Hang on, Guv,' Bryant said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket.

He tried the door handle, which opened.

Bryant shrugged in her direction, looking a little too pleased with himself.

‘Not one word,' she said shortly, stepping past him.

Kim traversed the small kitchen in three strides. The wingback chair was beside a small round table that held a mug of something cold and a copy of
Pride and Prejudice
. Beside the mug was a bowl of different coloured crystals.

Kim moved to the front of the chair. The woman's eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open.

Her frame looked less portly clad in a thick cardigan, her legs covered by a shawl. Kim nudged her gently.

‘Eloise,' she called.

No response.

Kim shook harder and called louder but the head simply lolled to the side.

‘She's not asleep, Guv,' Bryant said from behind.

‘Damn it,' Kim said, stepping back.

‘Looks peaceful enough,' Bryant said, tipping his head. ‘Might have been a stroke or something while she was sleeping.'

Kim shook her head. ‘I should have bloody listened to her. What would it have hurt?'

She stepped away and sighed deeply. Only a couple of days ago this woman had tried to tell her something and she'd been too damn stubborn to listen.

She turned back to the body. ‘Best call an ambulance,' she said as Bryant took out his phone.

She took in the sight before her of a poor old woman who had died alone. From the bookcases behind it looked as though books had been her companions. Clearly a lover of the classics, Kim spied a Tolstoy, a few more Jane Austen novels and the full works of Dickens on Eloise's shelves. A photograph of two dogs graced the windowsill but Kim could see no other evidence of their presence.

‘Looks like she was quite …'

Her words trailed away as she studied the picture before her. There was something not right with this scene.

Bryant ended his call. The ambulance was on its way.

‘Come and stand here,' she said, tipping her head.

He did so.

‘Anything strike you as a bit strange?'

He looked from the curly grey hair down to the flowery slippers protruding from beneath the blanket.

He shook his head. ‘Looks quite comfy and snug to me.'

‘Precisely,' Kim said, stepping forward. She looked to the right of the woman and then the left.

‘Look at the shawl, Bryant. It's covering her hands.'

Bryant looked to where both hands disappeared below the covering.

He looked at her quizzically, then looked back at the old woman's hands. ‘I don't get what …'

Bryant stopped talking as he realised what Kim was referring to.

‘Shit, yeah, I see your point. It's like she's been tucked in.'

That's how it looked to Kim. The shawl had been placed across her and then tucked into her hips on both sides. It was possible that she'd done it herself, that she'd smoothed the fabric behind her own hips and then burrowed her hands underneath, but it was unlikely when she had a drink to hold and a book to read.

Kim moved forward and put her legs astride the feet of Eloise. She placed her hands on either side of the armchair and leaned in close.

‘Damn it,' Kim said, as her eyes registered a speck resting at the woman's mouth. ‘Bryant, there's a dark blue fibre on her lip.'

The shawl was red and navy.

She reached forward and gently moved the lower lip.

‘Jesus Christ,' she cried, jumping backwards.

‘Bloody hell, Guv …'

Kim recovered from the shock quickly, her mind racing. She reached in again and placed two fingers to the soft skin of the neck.

She turned to her colleague in wonder. ‘Bryant, put a rush on that ambulance. Our victim is still alive.'

Bryant hesitated for just a second but took out his phone.

‘Eloise, if you can hear me, it's gonna be okay. There's an ambulance coming and we're not going to leave you.'

There was no response.

Kim placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her heartbeat still up a gear.

Bryant finished the call.

‘They're just two minutes out,' he said, shaking his head.

Although she'd never seen it, Kim knew that asphyxiation victims could fall into a coma before death. Whoever had smothered her had thought they'd done enough, but this lady had held on to a thin sliver of life.

‘So, you think our killing machine found out about Eloise and got worried she had something to say?'

‘No way, Bryant. Subject Two has been busy out killing and Subject One would need to have stayed with Charlie and Amy. I think this was the work of Subject Three.'

As she heard the sound of sirens in the distance, Kim realised that Eloise hadn't shouted anything to do with a blue gate. She had been trying to warn her that she was going to be too late.

Kim had to wonder if she'd meant for herself or for the girls.