“Hi, Damien. How are you? Where are you staying, by the way?”
“Hotel over the road from the station.”
Hotel? I would have thought he would have rented an apartment.
“A bit temporary, isn’t it?”
“I’ve lived in hotels for the past few years. Traveling. That sort of thing. I’m used to it. Anyway. Nothing’s happened overnight. I called Stan, and he says there’s been nothing at all.”
I think carefully now, shake Sal and Connelly from my thoughts. No sign of Dara. She could have been taken out of the area. But we need to search the immediate area in any case.
“Right. I’ll ask for a search of the area around the Prices’ home, and we should go and interview the people Marc Price mentioned last night. I’ve asked for the CCTV from Ashton and the footage from the Prices around when Dara went missing. We should be able to see any vehicles going past the gates. I’ll meet you at the station in an hour.”
There’s a pause.
“Did you listen to the playlist, Jan?”
I can hear him breathing.
“Yes.”
“OK. We’ll talk later.”
“It doesn’t make any difference, she still left her.”
“Later, Jan. We’ll talk about it then.”
He ends the call, and I feed Percy then get ready for work. Black jeans and a dark-purple jacket today. I grab a big fleece, even in summer it can be chilly up on the hills, waiting around with forensics. It’s at that point I realize that I think Dara is already dead.
Damien’s waiting for me when I arrive at the station. There are more news vans, their dishes reflecting the early morning sun. He’s shaking his head. I park and walk back across the car park toward the main entrance.
“What the fuck?”
He looks in the direction of the media frenzy and laughs.
“Looks like we’ve got a leak. None of them have asked directly, but they’re waiting for a statement.”
I nod.
“I’ll give them a statement all right.”
I stomp over to the edge of the courtyard, and there’s a rush forward, microphones and Dictaphones brandished.
“Can you give us an update, DS Pearce?”
“What’s the latest on the girl?”
I compose myself. Poker-faced. I can see the cameras are rolling, and this statement will be crucial for the case. If I give a single hint about Dara, it will all go national.
“I can confirm that we still have not found the mother of the child who was found in the Ashton town center. A missing person inquiry is underway, and we will update you as soon as we have any further news.”
I turn to go, but they move behind me.
“What about the missing girl? Have you any comment about the missing girl?”
I don’t miss a beat. I just walk away from them. They have their comment, and I haven’t given away the current case, or denied it. If someone has leaked information, it will be uncertain now and the reporters will have to check with the source. Who has likely gone off duty on the shift change. I see Jim Stewart’s car in the car park and join Damien again.
We go inside and up to the ops room. Jim Stewart is waiting, and we convene straightaway. He stands beside me as I outline the search plan.
I write Dara’s name on the whiteboard.
“Dara Price. Mother Amy, father Marc. They’ve been living in the area for nine months, and they’re property developers. Not well liked. So this could be a case of someone holding the girl to get what they want. Or something else. First task is to search the area around Dara’s home.”
Jim nods.
“Yeah. Get uniformed onto this. Draft in people from Oldham Station to help. We need a full team on this. Straight away.”
“Thank you, sir. Any outbuildings. Sarah and Janine, could you operate a road block and question motorists. I’m looking for eyewitness accounts of vehicles parked in the lane in front of the house. Damien and I will go to interview those people who are most likely to have grudges. And there’s an ex-offenders project in the village.”
There’s a ripple of murmurs around the room. Jim Stewart holds his hand up.
“Ex-offenders? You need to get onto that first, Jan. Steve, get Jan a list of people there, they’ll have parole records.” He walks back toward his office. “Open-and-shut case. That’s where you’ll find your answer. I’d put money on it. The clock’s ticking, Jan.”
He slams the door, and Damien is shaking his head. I continue.
“If anything turns up, anything at all, call me straightaway. And keep it under wraps for now, so we can control any future press conference. They know about Elise somehow, but not one word about Dara.”
Everyone gets up to leave, and Stan comes over with a flash drive.
“Marc Price gave this to one of the uniformed last night. It’s the footage from the CCTV.”
We sit down at my desk and load the MP3 file. I put it on fast-forward and run it through until half an hour before the timescale. We sit and watch it in triple time, watching as Marc and Amy’s lunch guests leave. We watch them all exit by the front door and collect their cars from the small parking area at the front of the house.
At four twenty a white van passes the gate. Then it drives back again. Then ten minutes later, it passes again, out toward the road. Fifteen minutes later it passes the gates again. I speed the footage up, and the vehicle to arrive is a police van, forty minutes later, followed by forensics. I tap my fingers on the desk.
“We need to trace that van through traffic.”
Stan laughs.
“Track a white Ford Transit though traffic? Bloody hell, Jan. There’re millions of them on the road. Let’s hope someone comes up with an eyewitness account.”
I take out my notebook and write it down. White van. No other vehicles.
This opens up lots of possibilities. It suggests that she was driven off and is most likely not near the house. Even so, the search must go on in case the abductor dropped anything, or in case the van just turns out to be a motorist taking a wrong turn. And so Marc Price can see we are searching for his daughter.
“Thanks, Stan. We’d better get out there.”
Damien’s been very quiet the whole time, and now he looks like he’s thinking. We ignore the camera flashes as we step outside and walk silently to the car. Someone shouts at him.
“Damien. If this is only an absent-parent, missing-person inquiry, why are you here?”
He doesn’t even flinch; he just gets in the car. As we head out of Manchester and up toward Greenfield, I repeat the question.
“So why are you here, Damien? You said that you had to leave London, but why Manchester? Don’t tell me it’s for the Elise case; you were here before that. You must have planned to come and work in Manchester.”
He nods slowly.
“I applied to work here. It seemed like as good a place as any.”
“Just stuck a pin in a map, then?”
He looks out the window. Wondering how much to say. There’s much more to Damien Booth than he’s telling me.
“Pretty much. I didn’t want to go back to New Zealand, and there’s nothing left for me in London. I couldn’t stay there for operational reasons. I’m a free agent, and I wanted to carry on working with the police. I’ve built a good reputation, so why not? And the Elise case. Yeah. But it wouldn’t matter where I went, would it? There are always kids like Elise and Dara. Thousands and thousands of missing kids all over the world. I thought about setting up on my own on cold cases, but that’s for later, when I’m old and grey.”
I don’t think he’s telling the truth. There’s no white band where a wedding ring used to be, and he seems fairly self-sufficient, but I think there’s more to it than he’s giving away.
“So will you stay here? In Manchester?”
He smiles now.
“For a while, Jan. Until the end of this case. Until we find Dara. Maybe longer.”
We’re windi
ng over Scouthead now, the grey clouds hanging low in the sky. I know he’s going to ask me about the playlist. He fidgets for a while, and then he turns to me.
“Pull over.”
I pull into a turning lay-by and stop the engine. Two crows are picking at a dead rabbit in the road ahead and I stare at them.
“Did you listen to it, Jan?
I nod.
“Yes. I did. And I can see where you’re coming from. It’s sad.”
“So you connected with it. Her.”
I can feel my anger rising. I hope he’s not trying to make me agree with her. With what she’s done.
“In a way. But it doesn’t excuse what she’s done. Does it? She left that little girl. Walked away.”
He’s nodding in agreement.
“Yes. And at first I thought that’s what this case was. A young person who’d, for whatever reason, become overwhelmed and left her child. Unlikely, but I was coming round to that conclusion.”
“Because she didn’t call in or turn up. Yeah. But she doesn’t give a shit. About her own child.”
He shakes his head.
“But why make the playlist? The fact that she’s done something so desperate surely means that she’s out of options. That’s if she did leave her there.”
He’s right, I suppose, and I suddenly sense the scene.
“Well, what if Elise is a bungled abduction?” I ask. “And if it is, where’s the mother? It’s been all over the papers now, so even if she had just left her, someone would have come forward with information. Something’s not right. I think something’s happened to that young girl on the co-op CCTV.”
Damien frowns. “Based on what?”
“Based on the fact that Elise and Dara are so similar. First abduction goes wrong, so take another child. We both know the scenarios around child abduction and why the abductors want a particular child. It’s too close to be a coincidence. In which case, what has happened to Elise’s mother?”
Chapter 12
As soon as it was noon, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which sang so sweetly that they stood still and listened to it. And when it had finished its song, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it alighted. And when they came quite up to the little house, they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar.
I’m ready for eight o’clock. The clothes Eva brought are mainly evening dresses, and some of them don’t fit me. But I change into a green velvet dress and brush my hair. I still look tired, and my eyes are red. There’s some makeup in a basket on the dressing table, and I apply some. It doesn’t make much difference; I can’t stop crying.
If I thought I was fucked before, I really am now. Not only have I abandoned Elise, but now I’m somewhere I can’t easily escape from.
I wipe the tears away, but they keep coming. There’s a knock on the door, and when I open it, Eva is there with two other girls. One of them looks dead-eyed and leans against the door frame. Eva is holding the other one by the arm, and she looks like she’s been crying, too.
“Ready?”
I nod and pull the door closed behind me. The upset girl is resisting.
“I’m gonna get out of here. What’s to stop me just walking out? They can’t keep me here.”
Eva sighs.
“Just do what they say. Please don’t try to get out. They’ll just stop you. Outside is all camera-ed up. You’d have no chance.”
She shrugs, and we stop.
“And what will they do? Eh? What’s the worst they can do? They’re not going to kill me, are they?”
Eva moves her face right up to the girl.
“And who would know if they did? Who would know?”
Her voice is a controlled growl, almost through gritted teeth.
“If you can tell me one person who’s out looking for you now, one person who would give a shit where you are, I’ll tell you to take your chances. But you can’t, can you? None of us can. That’s how we’ve ended up here. People like Jameson are on the lookout for people like us.”
She turns to me now.
“Did you take a pill? There’ll be other things to offer, but you’ll need something to get you into it.”
I stare at them. The girl with the dead eyes lolls her head back. The upset girl has given up a little as she thinks of everyone she knows for someone who would miss her. Eva is right. Not a single person would care if I dropped off the earth tomorrow. Elise is too young to care. I haven’t seen my brothers and sisters for a long time. No one to care. I shake my head at Eva.
“I’ll take my chances.”
She shrugs.
“Please yourself.”
We move on down the corridor and come to the hallway. I can hear music and talking. The large room to the left looks like an old-fashioned dining room, and groups of men are standing around drinking. The room to the right is decorated as a kind of boudoir in a similar color scheme to the one at the club. The huge TV screen on the wall is showing a porn movie, and more groups of men stand around either watching the movie or talking.
Several girls stand behind the tables at the back of the room making drinks and smiling. Eva stops us at the door.
“Just do whatever they want and smile. Make sure you smile. You have to look like you’re enjoying this, or they’ll get rid of you.”
Upset Girl folds her arms and sighs.
“Maybe that’s the best strategy, then? Get the sack.”
Eva leans forward and hisses at us.
“Look. You’ve no idea what is going on here. Not yet. But if you carry on like that, you’re going to find out. Normal rules don’t apply here. Outside rules. You need to remember that and not kick off. Right?”
The girl shakes her head.
“I can’t promise anything. How different can it be from the club? I don’t get it.”
Dead-eyed girl begins to laugh loudly. She tips her head back and flicks her hair over her shoulder. Eva nods and leaves us. A tall woman ushers us into the room with the TV screen. All the girls are wearing evening dresses and lots of makeup.
She leads us over to the bar and makes us a cocktail without asking what drink we would like. I taste mine, and it’s laced with gin. After we all have our drinks, we stand with our backs to the bar, facing into the room.
More girls arrive and receive drinks. Dead-eyed girl moves first, threading between the groups of men, and finding her way into a group of four middle-aged blokes in dark suits. She’s nodding and smiling and drinking. Then Upset Girl turns to me.
“I don’t know what this is. Why are we here?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t know. I just arrived today.”
She wipes away a tear.
“My mum was a bitch. I thought I hated her. But, you know, sometimes you just want your mum, don’t you?”
I nod. I’ve got a sense of foreboding, an inkling that something bad is going to happen here. Tucked away, on the edge of the moors, who would ever find out if something bad did go down? I feel like I need to run, and I check the exits. No windows, they’re boarded up behind the heavy drapes. All the light is artificial. No one appears to be guarding the front door, but then again, none of the girls go to leave.
It’s still not obvious what we should be doing. The room’s filling up with men, and the music system has started up. The deep bass pounds through the floor of the room, and we watch as the more experienced girls begin their act. The subtle switch from knowledge of what comes afterward to someone who appears to be getting a lot of pleasure from what they are building up to.
We didn’t use the word “prostitute” in the club. Or “working girl.” Or any word used in films or books to describe people like us. Those words can never quite capture the quiet horror of what it’s actually like to be forced into prostitution. It’s insulting. The “tart with a heart” stereotype is just a sad falla
cy.
I’ve heard people ranting on about sex workers choosing to do what they do, women sitting in universities writing about us as if we’re on some kind of career path, but they’ve never had to sleep with men consecutively. They’ve never had a stranger’s condom split, then have to have the morning-after pill and an HIV test before being able to earn a wage again.
I remind myself that I didn’t choose to do this. I press myself backward against the wooden table as the porn movie flicks above the room, and it suddenly becomes obvious what’s going to happen next. A spotlight falls onto a dark-haired girl who’s standing in the middle of a group of men, and she suddenly drops her dress.
A man with a camera appears from nowhere and begins to film what’s happening. Some of the men in the other groups turn to watch and then realize that the whole performance is being broadcast to the room on the big screen.
The girl is pushed onto a table. This is against the rules. Not allowed in the club. No touching the girls until you’ve bought them, and then it’s in private.
I look at Upset Girl for confirmation. She’s staring at the screen, mesmerized as the camera zooms in on the girl. The other women in the room don’t look at the screen or look around when the girl screams. They just continue with their fake laughter and hair tossing, moving slightly to the beat, and drinking as fast as they can decently manage.
Upset Girl turns to me.
“What’s your name?”
I stare straight ahead. I’ve got the feeling that talking isn’t allowed. I murmur my name.
“Lisa. My name is Lisa.”
She nods.
“I’m Emily. Mum is called June Storey, I lived in Droylsden with her.”
I nod.
“Right.”
She’s looking around, watching anything but the men who are surrounding the girls.
“Where are the condoms?”
It’s a question that has crossed my mind. We’re not allowed to do it without condoms. Never. Because of consequences. But what if there are no consequences?
I find myself staring at the screen, but I have to look away. Like when you know a terrible scene is coming up in a horror film you haven’t seen yet, the tension is building. This isn’t going well at all. I can feel my body shaking and look at the floor just as the girl lets out a blood-curdling scream then is silent. I can’t look.
Playlist for a Paper Angel (DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series Book 3) Page 9
