But who will ever find that little girl then? Who will find Dara Price? Another mother will be separated from her child forever when I could have helped. At five fifteen, I stuff the newspaper down my tracksuit bottoms and open my door quietly. All the lights are off, and I look up for the giveaway red sensors of an alarm. There isn’t one.
I creep along the corridor and crawl along the paneling at the top of the stairs. It’s getting down the stairs without being spotted that’s tricky. I can see one of the security guards sitting in the dining room with his back to me. I can’t see the other one. I press myself against the wall of the right-hand staircase and tiptoe down. The guard moves to turn the page of his newspaper, and I freeze then move again when he’s still.
I’m just at the bottom of the stairs when I see the other guard. He’s at the back of the dining room, leaning over the counter, watching what I hope is TV and not a security camera. I strain my eyes to see, and it’s a football match. I carry on across the wide opening to the screen room and then duck into an alcove.
I can feel my pulse in my ears. I can see Emily running across my path and hear the bang of the rifle. The unconcerned pause in the room, silent for a second except for their victim’s screams.
The door to the control room is slightly open, and I can see that there is no one in there. I open it a fraction farther, then I slip through. Two of the computers are on and open at a Google browser. In most areas of my life, my age has worked against me. What can she know at eighteen? She’s still a child. She’s too young to know. But I was brought up in the iPad era, and even for us council estate poverty cases, computers are just an extension of us.
I walk over quickly and log into my Spotify account. I find the last playlist I made, the one I thought I would always listen to, reminding me of Elise, and I press “Share.” A box comes up that says “Post to Feed” and “Also Post to Twitter.” My hands are shaking. I take out the newspaper and copy the Greater Manchester Police Twitter name and the link to the playlist,
@gmpolice http://spoti.fi/2eQh1bg.
I press enter. Then I repeat the exercise and type a message:
@gmpolice help me. I’m at Charleston House in Greenfield. I know where Dara is.
@gmpolice she’s at 45 Pi
Someone grabs me from behind before I can finish typing in the address. I reach forward and manage to hit the log out button before I’m dragged into the hallway. I don’t have to look to know that someone is pointing a gun at my head. The tall security guy is in my face. He grabs my hoodie and lifts me up toward him.
“You little fucking bitch. What were you doing in there, eh?”
“I just wanted to check my Mum was all right. On my Facebook.”
He drops me, and my head makes contact with the hard wooden floor. I can’t look at the man with the gun, but I can sense his bloodlust.
“Last fucking thing you ever do, love.”
I hear the safety catch click off, and terror fills me until I almost faint, but the security guy stops him.
“No! No. She’s one of them for tonight. Brian’ll be pissed off if somat goes wrong again. Best leave it till then.”
They stare at each other. Yeah. What’s it to them if I’m murdered now or later? This way they don’t get the blame for me sneaking around. He lifts me up and pushes me ahead of him and back to my room.
“Don’t fucking come out until Eva comes for you.”
I press my ear against the door, and he’s banging on Eva’s room. I hear her door click open.
“Little bitch down there, blonde one, skinny. Out downstairs, she was.”
I hear Eva’s voice.
“Outside?”
“No. She was checking her fucking Facebook. It’s dangerous that thing, you know. Facebook. Fucking addictive. Anyway. Keep a close eye on her. She needs to be upstairs full-time until tonight.”
I hear his footsteps come back down the corridor and then stop at my door. My life’s in his hands. He could change his mind and drag me back downstairs now. But he walks away. Then Eva comes in.
“Why, Lisa?”
I have to lie to her. I sent a cryptic message, hoping that someone in the know sees it. They might, they might not, but I can only try. No point telling Eva. I don’t really know whose side she’s on.
“I needed to say good-bye to my mum.”
She swallows back tears.
“Yeah. Well. Don’t do it again.”
“Not going to get the chance, am I?”
She shakes her head.
“No. I don’t suppose you are. Don’t leave this room until I come for you. In fact, you can come to mine until I’m ready to go.”
Eva’s room is the same as mine. It’s stark, and even though she has been here for a long time, it’s surprisingly empty. No trinkets or makeup on the sides. Bed made. All clean. We sit silently for another fifty minutes, until half past six. Then she gets up and leaves, and I follow.
We go down to the hallway, and it’s like Groundhog Day. I can smell breakfast The long table is still there, and the girls sit along one side of it. No one speaks, and the crazy guy with the gun patrols us, stopping behind me each time he goes round the table. I try to chew a piece of toast, but my mouth is dry.
The blond man from the control room appears and whispers something to the gun crazy. Suddenly, the gun is at the back of my neck, and he’s pushing me upward. He directs me toward the control room. He pushes me through the door and closes it behind him. The blond guy is sitting opposite the computer I used.
“What were you doing, Lisa?”
I look at my knees. My legs are shaking.
“I was trying to log into my Facebook. I wanted to see if my mum is OK.”
He’s shaking his head.
“No. No Facebook. You were on a different program. Spotify. Music program, I believe.”
“Oh, yes, I just wanted to see . . .”
“Username and password.”
I can’t. I can’t give him my username and password. He’d see what I had posted. Think, Lisa. Think. I picture my mother, dressed in a minidress, her hair extensions flowing behind her as she danced to the Happy Mondays. Arms in the air for rave music. Off her head on ecstasy.
“Sallycinnamon password scally1234.”
He types it in and stares at me. Then he looks at the screen. Then back at me, surprised. And there it is. My inspiration for my own playlist. She’d made it just before she died and had shared it with me. Even though she wasn’t speaking to me and she claimed to hate me, my mother had reached out with a playlist. I’d listened to it every day since.
He looks at the recent postings and finds nothing. He shakes his head and checks the Internet history again.
“I was just looking at my music. I miss my music. I forgot my Facebook password.”
He looks at crazy gun guy.
“Get her out of here. Keep her downstairs until tonight.”
He pushes me out into the hallway, and I breathe out. I’d always hated my mother for dressing like a teenager and frequenting nightclubs while we sat at home eating chips and gravy. For the first time in my life, I’m grateful to her for her bad behavior and for her genes. It’s gained me another few hours of life.
Chapter 25
I’d stayed at the office until midnight going through reports and statements trying to find a white van with European plates, or a woman who drives little kids around in the village. Mike had stayed with me until eight o’clock, and then he went home. Just as he left, Damien phoned.
“Hi, Jan. Just checking in.”
I suddenly realized I hadn’t told him about the latest developments.
“Oh. Hi. Sorry, I’ve been very busy. I didn’t get a chance to tell you. We’ve established a link between Elise and Dara. The van. I’ve identified the same van as in the CCTV outside the Prices’ on Sunday afternoon cruising the Ashton town center Saturday evening. Just after the roadblocks were removed.”
He’s breathing hard.
“Right. We’ve got a case then. Brilliant. I’ll be at the station first thing tomorrow to go through it all with you. Then we need to act.”
“Act? But we don’t know where this woman is, Damien. We haven’t been able to trace her. Nothing in the witness reports. European plates.”
He laughs.
“Asking the wrong questions. White Van Man.”
We’d focused on all the wrong things. It’s a wonder anyone told us anything at all about the missing kids.
“Yes. You’re right. We did. But now we have to forget about that and find Dara. Our seventy-two hours are up now. Ideas?”
Silence. I can imagine him rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. Quite comforting, really, to know someone else is on board. Someone, I admitted to myself grudgingly, who knows what he’s doing.
“Nothing. Nope. I’ll have a think tonight. See you tomorrow, Jan.”
“See you tomorrow.”
He ended the call. His voice was soft and gentle, and he wasn’t angry with me anymore. I was surprised how much it concerned me that he was. I’d fallen asleep easily, a little bit of hope in my heart for the first time in ages. Lorraine’s words about Aiden had calmed me, and now Damien, had made me realize I wasn’t the ice queen when it comes to working relationships.
But I shouldn’t have been so complacent. I’d got up at six o’clock and showered quickly, pulling on my jeans and T-shirt. It’s going to be a long day in the office, and I want to be comfortable. I’d had my obligatory cup of tea and some toast, and I was just about to let Percy out when I saw yesterday’s mail on the mat. Two for me, a bill, and a credit card statement. One for Sal. Which wasn’t so unusual. Although he’d left me years ago, he hadn’t changed all his addresses.
This is from his employers, it seemed. I searched my memory for what had previously happened to Sal’s mail. I vaguely remember that Aiden had picked it up and taken it to him. For a long time now. I put it on the side but then pick it up again. White envelopes aren’t what they used to be. The recession has a lot to answer for. I press the thin white paper against its contents and see the words
“Henderson Property Management.”
It’s a payslip. It’s a payslip from Connelly, but obviously with a fake company name. But there are bank details. Not just Sal’s. And a mobile phone number. This could be the breakthrough I need, not only to find Aiden, but also in the major operation to track down Sean Connelly. It suddenly struck me that Jim Stewart wasn’t going to investigate Connelly and Sal. If he did, it would be in slow time. Why would he when it could implicate him? I push the letter into my pocket for later. I need to concentrate on Dara.
Percy’s dancing at the door, and when I let her out she runs straight over to the West’s house. Jane West opens the door and waves.
“OK Jan? Have they got him yet?”
I shout back.
“Who?”
“The bloke in the white van who took that little girl. Have they found him? Have they got her back?”
By “they” she clearly means me. That’s why she’s been so accommodating with Percy. She’s rooting for me.
“Not yet, Jane, but we are making a lot of progress.”
She nods.
“Well. He wants his balls chopping off. Just goes to show. Leopards can’t change their spots.”
I sit in my car, ushering out thoughts of Sal and Aiden and this new information as well as my anger at this case.
“Snakes and snails and puppy dogs tails. That’s what little boys are made of. Sugar and spice and all things nice. That’s what little girls are made of.”
Of course, this was my train of thought at the beginning of the investigation. When I saw Elise, all upset, tied tightly into her pram, I refused to believe that a woman could have done it. Then only a bad woman. Just like no one has even considered that Dara was taken by a woman. Not even a hardened copper like Jim Stewart. Even the media had jumped to the conclusion that it had to be a man.
I drive to the station, listening to the playlist. I’d scoffed at Damien and his softly ambling way of detecting things, looking at feelings and emotions. But he was even right about the playlist. I haven’t really thought past finding Dara before now, but I suddenly wonder where Elise’s mother is. I go over the women and children from the village who have disappeared, and I wonder what the hell is going on. Where they are? And has she gone the same way as them?
I park, and Damien is waiting. I find myself half smiling as he waves at me from the main door. Not so many reporters today, not now that the seventy-two-hour deadline has gone. They think she’s dead. I’m still weighed under a heavy cloud of anxiety when I reach Damien.
“Hi. OK? Had any further thoughts?”
He shakes his head.
“Nope. Just routine things. Look for the van. That sort of thing. Maybe some more door-to-door.”
“No time, Damien. We have to find this woman really soon. Besides, I haven’t even got any of this authorized. Jim’s going to kill me if he finds out.”
Damien stops me in the reception area.
“Oh, yeah. About that. We’ve got a problem.”
As if I haven’t got enough problems.
“What? How much more problematic could this be?”
“Well, when I went upstairs, Stan told me that Julian Peters hanged himself this morning.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face. Damien steadies my step and holds onto my arm.
“I think Stan was trying to ring you.”
I look at my phone and there’re two missed calls from control.
“Yeah. Shit. Sorry Damien.”
He’s shaken. I can tell. We walk toward the ops room, but he pulls me into an alcove. He talks clearly and slowly.
“Look, Jan. I think I know what’s going to happen next. Jim Stewart is a good policeman, and he thinks he’s doing the right thing. But he’s completely caught up in the sex offender vibe. He’ll scale the operation down now.”
I stare at him.
“He can’t. What about Dara?”
“Seventy-two hours gone and main suspect hangs himself? In his mind, Peters is guilty, and he’s done this to avoid the inevitable. I’m not going to bore you with what I think about the injustice of it all because we need to find the girl. And that woman. And all the other people who have disappeared.”
I know he’s right. After last time, I don’t want to have to break away, to go against the grain. But we have to.
“Then we have to go it alone. Do it without a manifesto. We need to get a team together. People we can trust, and continue with this investigation.”
He stares at me.
“Without backup? But . . .”
“If we do it right, everything to the letter, we’ll be able to call backup when we need it. But initially, we’ll do it inside the team.”
I think hard. It’s still not what I really want to do. And I don’t think anyone else will be too keen, either. We reach the ops room just as Jim Stewart comes out of his office.
“Right folks. You’ll all have heard. Julian Peters topped himself this morning. So I think that answers our question.”
I put my hand up.
“Yes, Jan.”
“What about his accomplice? Won’t they still be at large?”
Damien nudges me and whispers in my ear.
“Leave it. Don’t make trouble.”
Jim Stewart sighs.
“Much as it pains me to do so, we’re going to call off the search for Dara Price. We’ve found nothing. Peters can’t tell us anything. Nothing else to go on.”
Damien nudges me again, warning me not to challenge Stewart.
“So from now on, it’s minimum input. Everyone back to their original briefs. Jan, you can stay on this until tomorrow, then we’ll wrap it up.”
I can’t help myself.
“So who’s going to tell Marc Price, sir?”
He stares at me. He’s never liked me, but it’s never been more obviou
s than at this moment.
“Lorraine can go and tell him tonight.”
“But . . .”
“No buts, Jan. It’s over. We’re not going to find the girl without information. Our main source of information is dead. Unless some new information is turned over, and not about teenage mums and babysitters, we can only monitor the situation. Just to be clear, we need precise information from a reliable source about the whereabouts of Dara Price. No more Keystone Cops around Saddleworth. OK?”
I nod, and Damien smiles. Jim goes back into his office, and Lorraine comes over to us. She looks angry.
“What’s the plan then?”
I smile widely at her.
“We’re going to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb. Damien’s leading on this.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“Wow, Dr. Booth, you must have made some impression. DS Pearce is a natural leader. She doesn’t give it away easily.”
I can feel myself rising to the challenge. This is where policing ends and the real investigation begins. Mike passes, and I pull him back by grabbing his elbow.
“Fancy a bit of freelance?”
Mike and I are no strangers to a bit of extra-curricular investigation. Putting in the extra mile. Which is one of Della’s problems with me. He looks from side to side.
“Yeah. Why not. Still not seeing it, is he? Have you told him about the van and the benefits?”
“He just won’t listen. He dismisses it all as hearsay. But on the other hand, we’ve no idea where this bloody woman is.”
He puts his hand up for a high five.
“OK. I’m in, and so is Jerry, my temporary partner. Till I get you back.”
Lorraine has rounded up two surveillance officers who have worked on the van CCTV. I lead them through ops and into a small room at the back of the surveillance block. Damien settles at the front of the room.
“Right. I’ve made copies of all the paper information for everyone. Don and Conny, you check all the social networking for any hints of a woman driving kids around Greenfield in a white van. Any offers to tell us about missing kids or abductions that haven’t been followed up. Anything. Mike, Jerry, I’ve made an ordnance survey map of the area. Can you mark off every address that has been interviewed or checked for residence, and mark all the ones that haven’t in red. Lorraine, Jan and I will be looking at the possible scenarios. Let’s find Dara.”
Playlist for a Paper Angel (DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series Book 3) Page 18
