But out of the corner of my eye I see that Emily has moved into the crowd. She’s suddenly laughing and mingling and her faux-diamond dangly earrings sparkle in the spotlight that moves around now and settles on another group. Emily flits from group to group, around the edges of the room as if she is choosing carefully. I watch as she mixes and smiles and waves her hand at the men who bend to whisper in her ear.
She’s always pointing, always passing them by, and eventually she reaches the group nearest the big screen. She hangs around on the edge, waiting to break through, and I think that she’s got more guts than me. Or maybe she realizes it’s inevitable.
Her laughter’s gone momentarily, and she stands behind a large man in a grey suit and gulps down the last of her drink. Then she walks into the center of the group and stands on the far side.
There’s already a woman entertaining these men, and I wonder if Emily’s noticed that it’s one woman per group. This group is on the screen now, and the girl is terrified. Cheers and whoops go up in the room as she is hoisted onto the bar. I look back at Emily, and she’s gone from the group.
I search the room, and while all eyes are on the screen, she’s skirting the edge of the room. She reaches the table near the entrance and gently puts her drink down. Her eyes catch mine, and she makes a run for it through the empty hallway and out the front door, which remains wide open behind her.
I can see outside and it’s dusk. The trees that line the drive are in silhouette. They’ve recently been cut to the nub, and their trunks are thick with little spikey fingers at the end. Emily runs toward them, and I will her onward. The proceedings in the room continue with the girl on the bar, and all eyes are on her.
Emily runs, and the girl screams, and suddenly there is a loud bang. The cheering stops for a moment and then carries on. The girl’s face fills the screen, silent now and eyes wide with terror. I see Emily jump into the air, then fall in slow motion. Even from where I stand I can clearly see that she’s been hit in the head, and dark blood spills from her wound onto the grey gravel of the path.
Terrified, I search out Eva and give her a “why didn’t you tell us” look. But she stares at me from across the room, her cold eyes without expression. The door is kicked shut by a man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, in sharp contrast to the suits and evening dresses. One of the stage managers. I watch him as he goes into a little door at the side of the main door, a kind of lodge that seems to sit behind this room.
Eva is beside me and pulls me out of the room.
“Just do what they say. I told you. And her.”
I stare at her.
“Is she dead?”
Eva nods.
“Probably. But like I said, no one will come looking for her. Or you. Lesson learned.”
We watch as the second girl walks past us. She’s fared better than the first girl, who had to be carried out. She has a cut over her eye, and her blood trickles through her fingers as she holds her mouth. She hurries up the stairs toward the rooms. Eva sighs.
“We’d better go back in. Take the pill. Seriously. It’ll help.”
We go back into the room, and I go back to my original position, figuring that all the other women know I’m new and watching what to do. Emily knew. That’s why she told me about her mum. I think about Elise and wonder what she’s doing now. I imagine her in bed, snug asleep, all pink and rosy.
In the shock of leaving Elise, then seeing Emily shot and the girls on the screen, I suddenly realize that I’m no more than a teenager who can’t cope. All my optimism, all that hope, all the dreams of Elise and me living happily somewhere were just stupid daydreams, and I was being preyed upon. First by the Connellys, then by Jameson.
Girls like me think we know better. We always see the good. Believe in love. I believe we’re called vulnerable.
Suddenly the spotlight rests on me. I stare up at the screen and see my surprised face fill it, my eyes darting left and right. I can feel my breathing quicken as the camera pans out, and I see it to my left. I can feel the sobs begin.
Chapter 13
We reach Greenfield and park. It’s a pretty little village on the face of it, with a canal and river running through it. Lots of dog walkers. I lean on the car wondering what to do first, and Damien walks over to the newsagents. He’s been quiet since I raised my theory about Elise being the victim of a bungled abduction. I want to believe it because the little girls are so strikingly similar. But I need evidence. Firm evidence. And we just don’t have it.
He hurries back with a bundle of newspapers and hands them to me. Every single newspaper has a picture of Marc and Amy Price on the front. It looks like an old picture, and there are no pictures of Dara. I read the narrative and it clearly links Elise with Dara. I read it out loud to Damien.
“Concerns were raised last night for a missing child. Dara Price, aged two, went missing during Sunday afternoon. Her parents, property developers Marc and Amy Price, were unavailable for comment. Dara’s disappearance follows concerns over the mother of Elise, a little girl who was found in her pram in Ashton-under-Lyne on Saturday afternoon. Police have not yet made any statement as to whether the two incidents are linked.”
Damien shrugs.
“Don’t look at me. I haven’t said anything. And I doubt that it’s the parents. They would have a more recent photo and a picture of Dara . . .”
My phone rings, and it’s Jim Stewart.
“Morning, sir.”
“Yeah. Morning, Jan. Seen the papers?”
I look at Damien, and he pulls a face.
“I have, sir. Unfortunately. And I want you to know it wasn’t . . .”
“Yeah, yeah. That doesn’t matter. We need to find the girl. Fast. I’ve had the parole records of those ex-cons brought up, and there’s one who stands out from the rest. Julian Peters. Thirty-eight. Some dodgy porn and intercourse with an underage girl. Fifteen. Other burglary offenses. Been out on parole license for eighteen months, working at the ex-offenders project.”
I nod into my phone.
“Anything to link him to the Prices?”
There’s a silence.
“What more do you need, Jan? Look, I know I’ve given you Damien Booth for this, but that was when we had nothing to go on for the mother of the other girl. He’ll find his feet, but not on this. Word’s out now, and we’re bloody besieged by reporters here. We need to make an arrest as soon as possible, and this looks like the best bet. Then go and have a word with the other people on Marc Price’s list. Let me know the outcome.”
He ends the call. He’s already made up his mind about who’s to blame for this.
We walk over to the entrance to the project and there’s no one there. The gates are locked, and a woman from across the road comes over and tells us they don’t open until 10.30 a.m.
“You the police? I seen it in the paper. It’ll be one of them, you know. No one wanted them here. It was only a matter of time till this happened. Kiddie missing, woman missing. It’ll be one of them.”
She walks away in her slippers and goes back inside her house. Damien smiles.
“It’s a consensus then. Before anyone’s been interviewed.”
I nod.
“Yeah. But it looks like we’ll have to do some other interviews first. Door-to-door on Armitage Close. Make it look like they’re just routine inquiries. See what we come up with.”
We walk about half a mile out of the village and come to Armitage Close. Best to go on foot. Rule number six of professional surveillance—keep a low profile. It’s the last road in a small estate of newly built houses. I can see immediately why the residents don’t want Marc Price building on the land beside it. The views stretch out right over the reservoirs and onto Saddleworth Moor on the other side. It’s so beautiful that for a moment it takes my breath away and my mind off the case. My thoughts wander into another time not so long ago, when I had more reason to think about those poor boys I found at The Gables. So peaceful, but so barren and isolat
ed.
We approach the first house and knock, but no one answers. The door to the second house is open before we even open the gate. A small woman comes outside while her husband stands in the doorway.
“Have they found her? Have the police found that little girl?”
The woman is near to tears, and the man shakes his head.
“Hard to believe in this day and age. Do you want to come inside?”
I show my warrant card, and we go inside. The house is tiny, and we squeeze into the lounge. Damien stands, and I sit down.
“I’m DS Pearce. We’re just running door-to-door inquiries about . . .”
The woman nods and interrupts.
“The missing little girl. Terrible. Shocking. I’m not a big fan of the parents, but who’d do that? I’m Doreen Tennant and this is my husband, Jim, by the way.”
I nod and remember Marc Price’s words. How he isn’t so popular in the village.
“Well, Doreen, we’re here to find out. And we have to eliminate everyone from our inquiries. We’re really here to ask if you saw any vehicles at the crossroads in front of the Prices’ home on Sunday afternoon.”
They shake their heads. Doreen looks at Jim.
“They have all sorts round there, you know.”
I smile.
“Let’s just stick to this inquiry, shall we?”
I show her a picture of Elise on my phone.
“Have you seen this little girl around the village?”
She nods.
“Dara? Yes. All the time. Amy takes her to playgroup. I help out at the library.”
Damien intervenes.
“That’s not Dara. That’s the little girl who was found in the pram.”
Doreen shakes her head.
“Shocking business. And the mother? What happened to her? Just like Valerie Sommers’s girl, isn’t it?”
Jim nods. I hesitate and wonder what sort of a tangent this will go off on but ask anyway.
“Valerie Sommers?”
Doreen wrings her hands.
“Oh yes. Funny business that. Daughter had a baby, young like. Then all of a sudden the baby was gone. Then the daughter was gone. Very odd. But the strange thing was that Val never flinched. No. She just carried on. Said it was par for the course.”
“So she didn’t report it?”
Doreen shakes her head.
“No. She reckoned the baby was adopted, and then Dawn went to get it back and never came back.”
Jim butts in now.
“Dawn’s dad is heartbroken.”
I look at the carpet. I’ve done door-to-door many times, and I’m used to hearsay being embellished into urban legends. I make a note of it on my pad.
“So where do they live then? The Sommers?”
Doreen stands up and points out the window.
“Just down there on the main road. Next to the sweet shop.”
They show us out, and we thank them. We try a few more doors, but everyone appears to be out. When we’ve rounded the close, I sigh.
“We’d better get over to the project and see if this Julian Peters character is about.”
Damien looks in the other direction.
“Shouldn’t we follow this Sommers lead? Girl gone missing with a baby? Sounds relevant.”
I snort at him.
“Are you kidding? You know what Stewart will say. Probably got the baby back and did a runner.”
Yeah. Like Stewart did with Aiden. Everyone’s a runaway to him even after what we uncovered at the Gables. Damien doesn’t look convinced.
“Yeah. But it mattered enough for it to stick in someone’s mind. Someone not related. First thing they thought of when they read about Dara and Elise? Let’s see.”
I grudgingly walk back down to the High Street with him. Even though I disagree with Jim Stewart, I fear that by the time this inquiry is over, we will have heard about lots of local theories, and this will just be the first in a long list. But Damien’s striding ahead, determined to do this. I look at my watch. We’ve got another quarter of an hour before the project opens, and we can interview Julian Peters.
We find the right house and knock on the door. A small woman with greying hair answers. I hold up my warrant card and she looks at us both sadly.
“Mrs. Sommers?”
“Come in. Bad business this, isn’t it? I’m not sure if I can help you with anything, though.”
We follow her into her lounge, and she doesn’t invite us to sit. She folds her arms and waits. I look around and spot a picture of her and her husband with a girl. Midteens.
“It’s your daughter we’ve come about. Dawn. We had some information that she’s gone missing. We were just following up about the missing child in the village, and we thought you might be able to help.”
She deliberates, and Damien watches her. She already looks like she’s been crying and tears threaten again.
“Dawn. And Lewis, I expect. What do you want to know? It’s pretty simple. She said she’d had him adopted. We believed her. Then she changed her mind. Went back for him. We never saw her again.”
I nod.
“OK. Let’s start from the beginning. Why did Dawn have Lewis adopted?”
She shakes her head.
“She was a kid herself. Sixteen when she had him. Fifteen when she caught. Her dad wasn’t too pleased, and it caused a lot of trouble. In the end, he persuaded her to have the little lad adopted. For his own good. She said she’d been to social services, and a woman and a man came to collect him from her. Then she decided she wanted him back. Caused bedlam, it did. I told her that you can’t just go and get adopted kiddies back, and that’s when I found out she’d been lying.”
Damien’s writing in his notebook.
“Lying?”
“Yes. I phoned social services myself, and she’d never been there. She’d had this woman looking after Lewis while she worked nights waiting tables in the local restaurant. She’d moved into her own flat by then. She said the woman told her that she could go back and get Lewis whenever she wanted, and she’d given her this thing.”
She gets up and goes upstairs. She reappears with a box and opens it. There are photographs, and she hands one of Lewis to me. She sorts through the contents, then she holds up a shape. It’s difficult to see what it is from a distance.
“She told me that she was going to go and get him. She told me all she had to do was hand this to the woman, and she’d give Lewis back.”
She hands it to me now. It’s a small shape made out of thick paper, almost card. A paper angel. Damien interrupts.
“So if she went to get him, why didn’t she take this with her?”
Mrs. Sommers bows her head.
“This isn’t the original one. I copied it, traced around it. I was going to go and get him myself. I never wanted him to go. I never wanted her to give him away. I was going to go and get him from that woman. I went to Dawn’s flat and forced the door open so I could find her address book. She had all her addresses in the back of her diary, under her pillow. But it was gone, and so was she. The flat was exactly as she had left it a week ago, when we’d argued about Lewis. She must have gone and got him and run off.”
She wipes her eyes.
“I haven’t seen her since.”
“So she didn’t come back for her things? Did she take much?”
“No. Just the diary and her handbag. And her phone. I tried it, but it just goes straight to answerphone.”
I look at Damien. He looks serious.
“So why didn’t you report them missing?”
She shakes her head and a piece of her hair falls over her face.
“Phil didn’t want it. He said if she’s run off with the baby, then she’s made her own bed. What’s the point in chasing after someone who doesn’t want to be found? And having babies adopted isn’t a crime is it? Lewis is her son; she could do what she wanted with him. So we left it. But I’ve still got most of her stuff upstairs and this box.”
“Can I keep this?”
She hands it to him and closes the box. Then she sits bolt upright.
“You don’t think that this has anything to do with the missing kiddie? And that other kiddie’s mam, do you?”
I shake my head. She looks desperate, and I want to comfort her. But the clock’s ticking.
“We’re just following inquiries at this point.”
At the same time Damien says, “Maybe. We’ll let you know.”
Chapter 14
We leave Mrs. Sommers on the doorstep and start off toward the project. I can see that the gates are open now. Damien looks deep in thought, then he stops in the street.
“We need to find out exactly how many people have gone missing around here.” He holds the angel up. “This isn’t normal. This isn’t legal adoption.”
I nod and start walking again.
“No. It isn’t. But how do we know if the angel has anything to do with Dara? That’s our main concern at the moment. Mrs. Sommers said her daughter was a liar. How do we even know that this is the truth? She could have made it up.”
He puts the angel away and shakes his head.
“But what if it isn’t?”
“It’s a dead end, Damien. We can’t find that girl now. Even her parents have no idea where she is. If we get a result here, with Dara, I promise we’ll look into it. But we have to find Dara. Like Jim said, the clock’s ticking.”
“What about the man and woman who picked Lewis up? Someone must know who they are? Dawn’s friends? Social services might have heard something?”
I think hard. He’s right. There might be something in it. But I have to look at the most likely scenarios first.
“No evidence, though. Dawn’s parents didn’t even make a complaint.”
He stops again.
“No. They didn’t. And that’s the problem here, Jan. They didn’t complain because her dad was glad to see her gone. He felt ashamed of her. I don’t need a psychological study to see that. It’s obvious. Shame. It’s a powerful emotion.”
Playlist for a Paper Angel (DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series Book 3) Page 10
