Little Girl Lost (Detective Robyn Carter crime thriller series Book 1)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘I don’t suppose Lucas mentioned visiting his father recently, did he? Paul Matthews’ cleaner saw him talking to his dad a few weeks ago.’

  Mary continued to pick at her nails. She let out a noise, a mixture of a sigh and a groan. ‘He didn’t say a word about it. I thought they had fallen out and didn’t speak any more. The more I find out about Lucas, the more I discover how little I knew about him. He wasn’t at all the man I fell in love with. He told me he hated his father. Really loathed him for sending him to boarding school after his mother died. Do you know Paul Matthews never even visited him in term time? It was little short of barbaric the way he dumped Lucas. At least, that’s what my husband told me. Now, I can’t be sure it was the truth. How do I know if anything Lucas told me was true?’

  Robyn had no answer to that. In her profession, she had come across expert liars. Lucas was yet another who had managed to live dual lives and fool those close to him.

  ‘Has Lucas mentioned any relatives who live in Farnborough?’ asked Robyn when Mary had regained her composure.

  She shook her head. ‘He had no relatives. Just his father and his hatred of him was deep-rooted. Or so I was led to believe.’

  Here was a man who was estranged from his family, who had just ditched a job he apparently loved, had an unhealthy interest in young girls and Thai lady boys, and had kept most of his life secret from the woman he had married. Little wonder he had disappeared. He couldn’t keep all that under wraps for too long.

  ‘Is there anything else you have noticed that could help throw some light on his disappearance?’ Robyn asked. ‘Have there been any strange phone calls for him, or, letters?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything else. Wait a moment. A letter came for him today from a building society. I threw it in the pile for him when he returns. Neither of us have accounts with building societies. I assumed it was junk mail. I don’t ever open letters addressed to him even if they are spam. Shall I check?’

  ‘Would you, please? It might be useful.’

  Mary went to the kitchen and Robyn heard her talking to Archie, her dog. Within minutes, she returned, her face contorted in anger.

  ‘That lying bastard,’ she spluttered, brandishing the letter. ‘He had an account with thirty thousand pounds in it. He withdrew fifteen thousand a couple of weeks ago and another fifteen the day before he supposedly went to Thailand. He’d been planning this all along. I didn’t see it coming. I knew nothing about the account. We have a joint account at Barclays and some other savings together. But this! It’s yet another secret he kept from me. I wonder if there wasn’t anything in our relationship that wasn’t a sham.’

  Mary was trembling with fury. If Robyn actually located Lucas, his marriage to Mary was certainly on shaky ground.

  The conversation had left Robyn feeling frustrated and convinced she was missing something. She needed that laptop from Ross. It surely held the key to all of this. She had left Mary Matthews none the wiser about Lucas’s visit to his father. He must have had a very important reason to contact the man he had avoided for so long.

  * * *

  It was half past eight when Robyn entered the gym. She’d walked the thirty minutes it took to reach the fitness centre and was ready for a serious workout. This evening she would concentrate on weight/strength training and on her chest and shoulders. She was satisfied to see only one other person there. She dropped her towel onto the running machine handlebars and limbered up. In front of her on a television screen a newsreader was standing in front of the Houses of Parliament with a serious look on his face. Robyn was out of touch with current affairs. There was a time when she would have been glued to the news and situations at home and abroad. Now, she wanted nothing to do with it. It could all get along without her help.

  She warmed up then began work in earnest. She started with chest presses and, grabbing two twenty-kilo dumbbells, she completed three sets of ten repetitions followed by a fourth set using twenty-two kilo weights and just as the muscles were beginning to feel weakened she dropped to the floor and completed fifteen push-ups. This was only the beginning of a rigorous routine that saw her pushing her body to its limits. She completed endless sets of flies, overhead crunches and v-sits before working on her tricep muscles using the rope cable flies. She then attempted to exhaust her muscles and when she could do no more sets dropped to the floor with determination and completed as many tricep dips as she could until she collapsed.

  With a grimace she forced herself up on all fours and attempted Spiderman push-ups – a walking push-up incorporating the whole body – until she fell to the floor again. Finally, dripping sweat, she made her way to the pool where, after a cold shower, she swam for half an hour.

  Once her body was fatigued, Robyn showered and left the fitness centre to walk back home. The streetlights had come on and cast an orange glow across the pavements. The colours reminded her of the fire-eaters on the Jemaa el-Fnaa who astounded crowds by breathing out huge flames of yellow and orange. The square was where she and Davies had spent their last night together. She was reminded of the sound of the snake charmers bewitching their cobras with flutes and her mind travelled back to the square behind the riad where she had spent her last nights with Davies, breaking all the rules by being together while he was on a mission, yet convincing themselves it was fine…

  * * *

  ‘Did you know Jemaa el-Fnaa means “the Assembly of the Dead” and was once where the decapitated heads of criminals were displayed as warnings well into the nineteenth century?’ Davies looked up from his guidebook, his dark eyes full of enthusiasm. He loved fact-finding and Marrakesh was an enchanting city full of history and interest.

  Robyn stretched on the large double bed and propped herself up on an elbow.

  ‘Yuck, I didn’t know that, but I do know that this bed is getting cold without you in it.’

  He laughed, tilting his head backwards, and dropped the guidebook. He strode towards the bed and launched on top of her, making her squirm in delight.

  ‘Then, my future lovely wife, we’d better get you warmed back up.’

  Their riad – an historic medina town house – was reached by a maze of dark, narrow alleyways leading to an inconspicuous door that opened into a world of tranquillity. The courtyard was built around an impressive lush garden, dominated by a sparrow-filled orange tree that cast its silhouette on the walls, filled with exotic plants and a musky woody scent that seemed to be present wherever they walked. It was the perfect place to rekindle their passion. Robyn had not seen Davies for six weeks and although she had missed him, she had another, more important reason for booking a flight and a room and coming to join him.

  At sunset, she and Davies wandered from the hammam, swathed in luxurious, white robes to the riad’s rooftop terrace and listened to the mosques’ evening calls to prayer that echoed off the tight huddle of rose-tinged medieval houses below and flew towards the tall minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque and the snowy peaks of the Atlas Mountains.

  ‘I love you, you know?’ he said eventually.

  ‘I know,’ she replied.

  ‘No. I mean I really love you,’ he said and pulled her towards him. She hadn’t sensed any doom then and drunk on happiness, they had dined al fresco under a star-studded sky, breathing in the orange blossom. She wanted to be one hundred per cent sure before she shared her news, and the hotel staff had discreetly given her the name of a doctor to contact. She would visit him while Davies was travelling across the Atlas mountains the following day, a journey that would take him through chocolate-hued landscape, punctuated with olive groves and hillside villages and into the spectacular Atlas mountains, only a two-hour journey away from Marrakesh.

  Later that evening, they walked through the square, hand in hand, like any tourist. No one could have known that Davies was on an undercover mission for the Intelligence Corps. They were two lovers, enjoying the ‘Red City’. They wandered around the square admiring the carnival of storytellers, acrobats,
musicians and entertainers. Davies encouraged her to visit the wizened fortune-teller, sitting under an umbrella with a pack of fortune-telling cards at the ready. The woman turned over palms stained a deep brown with henna; her eyes were the colour of walnuts, with crow’s feet etched deeply into her dark skin. She looked Robyn up and down. She beckoned for her to sit beside her and took one of Robyn’s hands in her own, rough, worn hands, turning it this way and that and mumbling in an Arabic dialect that Robyn could not understand. Eventually, she pulled out her cards and turning each tarot card over she shook her head and told Robyn big changes were coming. God willing, she would be strong. Robyn, who thought she had an idea of what changes they might be, smiled at the woman and dropped extra dirhams into her hand, thanking her. ‘Be strong,’ the woman had repeated.

  * * *

  Try as she might, Robyn couldn’t shut out the memories of Marrakesh. She should never have gone there and joined Davies. It had been folly. She had distracted him. She was sure of it. Had he been more focused on his job, he would have spotted the men who ambushed them. He would have known what was going to happen. Of that, Robyn was convinced. She had dulled his natural senses and now she had lost him forever. She had tried to be strong. The fortune teller had been right. What she hadn’t told Robyn was how strong she would need to be.

  21

  The doctor had pronounced Abigail and Izzy fit and healthy but had done a blood test on Abigail to check there was nothing untoward left in her system. He agreed it was probably a bug and nothing to worry about.

  Abigail texted Jackson. He was at the airport sorting out a problem with one of the aircraft. It had a problem with its fuel tank and he needed his maintenance team to get it resolved quickly. The jet was needed for a flight to Jersey in twenty-four hours. He phoned her back.

  ‘So you’re both okay?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re fine. How’s the jet?’

  ‘Got to order some parts but they’ll be here in the morning and it should be fixed in time. I’m going to have a chat with the senior engineer then I have a meeting with Howard.’

  Howard Pitts was his business partner who had helped finance the aviation company. He was a sleeping partner but now and again he and Jackson got together so Jackson could keep him informed of how the business was doing.

  ‘I shouldn’t be too long with him. Fancy a takeaway and a bottle of wine tonight?’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘I’ll sort it out on my way home. Go and relax and have a bath or something and I’ll arrange the dinner.’

  This was most unlike him. Either he wanted to make up for not being at home when she was ill or he really had something to hide. At the moment she preferred to believe the former.

  As she pulled into her drive she couldn’t help but notice the Ford Fiesta parked there. A figure descended from the purple car as Abigail pulled up, a smile on her face. It was Rachel. Abigail was startled. How on earth had she got her address?

  ‘Hi, Abby,’ she shouted as Abigail freed Izzy from the seat and lifted her from the car.

  ‘Hi, Izzy,’ continued Rachel in a silly voice. ‘How’s the little cutie today?’ she burbled.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Abigail, trying not to sound rude.

  ‘Zoe gave me your address. I hope you don’t mind. She told me how ill you’d both been so I came around with these.’ She stooped to bend into her car and pulled out a large bouquet of flowers exploding with colour; sunflowers with their vibrant golden petals and radiant, sunshine-shaped flowers, cerise germini, dark pink Oriental lilies, and alstroemeria in a stunning hot pink with green alchemilla mollis, salal and pittosporum, they were wrapped and trimmed with a cerise voile ribbon and presented in gift packaging.

  ‘They’re for you,’ Rachel explained. ‘A sort of get-well-soon. I always think flowers can cheer you up when you’re ill or feeling down.’ She passed them to Abigail then laughed. ‘Sorry, you can’t carry flowers and a wriggling child. I’ll hold them. I was going to leave them on your doorstep but I’m so glad I caught you.’

  Abigail was astounded. ‘You shouldn’t have. Gosh. Thank you. Come in,’ she said, feeling she could hardly leave Rachel outside after such a generous gesture.

  ‘Only if you’re sure,’ replied Rachel, beaming at her. Izzy gurgled. ‘Oh, I have something for you too, little poppet,’ she continued, rattling a carrier bag that was in her other hand.

  Abigail urged her into the house where they headed for the kitchen. Rachel’s eyes widened when she saw it.

  ‘Oh my, what a beautiful house and what a kitchen!’

  ‘Thank you. It took a long time to get it right but we’re pleased with it,’ she replied, putting Izzy into her high chair then taking the flowers from Rachel. Rachel pulled out a pile of coloured stacking cups and showed them to Abigail.

  ‘I hope you haven’t got any of these. I read that babies at this age are starting to use their motor skills and I went onto another website and discovered these are the one of the most popular toys for babies Izzy’s age.’ A smile spread across her face. ‘They’ll help her develop those skills and keep her occupied for ages.’ She passed a yellow cup to Izzy who studied it for a moment and then put it in her mouth.

  Abigail laughed. ‘Someone had better explain to this madam that she should start using those motor skills soon and remind her she has feet and hands for exploring too, not just her mouth. Coffee? Tea?’

  Toffee strolled into the room to greet them.

  ‘Tea please. Oh, isn’t she lovely?’ said Rachel, stooping to stroke Toffee who appreciating the attention, purred around her ankles. She stroked him one more time then straightened up and dropped onto the seat next to Izzy.

  Abigail corrected her. ‘This is Toffee. He’s a boy actually although he’s not very macho. He’s a softie at heart and scared of other cats. Aren’t you, you big wussie?’

  ‘I’d love an animal. Can’t have any in the flat I’m renting. The landlord doesn’t want tenants with animals. My ex was allergic to fur so we didn’t have any pets.’ She jiggled a green cup at Izzy and showed her how to stack it on top of a blue one. Izzy gurgled, dropped the yellow cup and reached for the green cup that ended up in her mouth while she eyed Rachel.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to bring me flowers,’ said Abigail, feeling a little awkward. Rachel was staring at Izzy intently. There was something out of the ordinary about the woman that she couldn’t put her finger on. She continued, ‘Zoe phoned me this morning first thing to commiserate. She caught the stomach-bug thing a few weeks ago. I hope no one else has been infected by me.’

  ‘I think we’d have known by now,’ replied Rachel, absorbed in watching Izzy shake a blue cup with enthusiasm.

  Abigail made a pot of tea and brought it to the table.

  ‘We haven’t had much chance to get to know each other,’ said Rachel, sipping her tea, ‘but I already feel I know you. You have a very good aura,’ she added. ‘I am usually a good judge of people. Your aura is bright pink. Pink Aura people are by nature loving and giving. They love to be loved too, she added.

  Abigail sat in silence as Rachel spoke passionately about auras.

  ‘Pink Aura people are very romantic and once they have found their soulmate will stay faithful, loving and loyal for life,’ she continued, gazing intently at Abigail. ‘And, the Pink Aura individual is a natural healer, highly sensitive to the needs of others and has strong psychic abilities. They hate injustice, poverty and conflicts. They strive always to make the world a better place and will make personal sacrifices in the pursuit of this ideal.’

  She stopped and sat back calmly. ‘It’s not hogwash,’ she said. ‘I can see you’re sceptical but I’ve studied auras for years. They’re fascinating. All living things that need oxygen to survive have an aura. They generate a large magnetic energy field that can be sensed, felt and even seen around the physical body. We all can tell when someone doesn’t feel good to us, like they are full of anger. You do not need to be ps
ychic to feel or read an aura. Take Claire, for example,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t help but notice Claire’s aura yesterday. It was dark brown and that indicates selfishness, fault-finding, and a tendency towards deception. That lady has issues. She is surrounded by darkness. She’s also stealing your aura when she is close to you, draining you.’ She took another sip and grinned at Izzy. ‘And you, you little poppet, are full of energy and light,’ she added to Izzy. ‘Izzy has a silver aura. It shines brightly. She will be well blessed in looks, personality and talent. Those with silver auras are usually incredibly lucky people. So, Izzy, what do you think?’

  Izzy grinned at Rachel and banged her cup on the table.

  Abigail had no idea what to say. Rachel was freaking her out with her conversation about auras. ‘Wow! That’s amazing. I had no idea.’

  ‘There’s lots we don’t know about. We should try and open our minds. Auras are usually three feet away from the body. You can see them if you open your mind. You need to be aware of them. If a person walks very close to you, they may unintentionally steal some of your energy. Have you never been speaking to someone and thought “They’re in my space” and then you backed away? It’s because they have intruded into your aura and that can interrupt your personal flow of energy.’

  It began to make sense to Abigail but she was still uneasy with the conversation. Silence fell again as Rachel drained her tea and played stacking cups with Izzy. Without warning she stood to leave. ‘Have you got to go to work?’ asked Abigail, relieved the woman was going.

  A frown creased Rachel’s brow. ‘To be honest I didn’t much feel like going in so I called in sick. Awful, I know, and I bet fate will now make me ill but I couldn’t face staring into people’s mouths.’ She looked into the distance. ‘I’m a bit fed up with everything,’ she continued. ‘It’s been a tough few weeks. Well, a tough few years, if I am honest. I rather fancy a career change. Become a life coach or similar. There has to be more to life than teeth and staring at the walls of my rented flat. It’s time for me to face the demons in my life. I have to resolve a few issues and then move on.’