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

by Carol Wyer

  A silence hung between them. Abigail had no idea what to say to this woman.

  ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go?’

  ‘No, be my guest. There’s a guest toilet down the corridor on the left.’

  ‘Thanks. Back in a jiffy.’

  Abigail washed up the cups and talked to Izzy while she waited. It was a while before she heard the sound of running water and Rachel emerged again.

  ‘Thanks for the tea. Glad you’re feeling better. I enjoyed our chat. Hope to see you again soon. And remember, look after your aura. Bye, little sweetie,’ she added, blowing a kiss to Izzy.

  Abigail nodded. ‘Thank you for the flowers and for Izzy’s present. That was so thoughtful of you.’

  ‘It was nothing. That’s what friends do,’ she said as she made her way to the front door.

  Having shut the front door and heard Rachel’s car leave, Abigail felt a sense of relief. Rachel meant well but she was too serious and intense for Abigail.

  ‘Come on, Izzy,’ she said. ‘Time for a bath. You’re having an early night because Mummy and Daddy are going to have some “us” time.’

  She lifted the baby, kissed her on the head. Izzy was certainly a happy baby. Maybe there was something in what Rachel said about being light and lucky. She wasn’t convinced about Claire though. Rachel had clearly taken a dislike to Claire and that was all there was to it. She climbed the stairs singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ to Izzy then stopped in surprise. The doors to the nursery and their bedroom were open. She knew she had shut them that morning. She always shut them. Rachel must have been upstairs. She looked in the nursery first. It looked the same as usual except the toys in Izzy’s cot were now all sitting up in a row at one end. She felt affronted. Rachel had a cheek coming into her child’s room and touching her toys. The woman was definitely strange. She would avoid her in the future. She would insist Zoe didn’t bring Rachel to any more meet-ups. Abigail moved the toys back before checking her own bedroom to see if anything had been touched.

  Above their bed hung a framed naked photograph of her. It was the photo Jackson most loved. In it she sat astride a chair, completely naked apart from heels, her swollen belly on display along with her breasts, her hair cascading down her back, eyes focused on the camera and her lips in a sexy pout. It was certain Rachel would have seen it and that irritated her further. It wasn’t a photograph she wanted people to see, especially strange women who snooped around houses.

  She played with Izzy, then bathed her and was tucking her into her cot when a noise from downstairs alerted her to the fact Jackson was home.

  ‘Hey!’ she shouted as she descended the stairs. A carryout bag and a bottle of wine were on the kitchen table and Jackson was looking at the flowers.

  ‘They’re from Rachel,’ she said, moving towards the cupboard to retrieve the plates. ‘She’s just moved into the area. She’s sort of joined up with me, Claire and Zoe. She’s Zoe’s friend really. Zoe introduced us to her. Anyway, Zoe told her I was ill and she came around with flowers. Nice of her, wasn’t it?’

  Jackson held up a card that had been attached to the outside of the flowers. ‘That was generous of her, considering she hasn’t known you long,’ he replied.

  ‘I thought that too,’ said Abigail, opening the drawer and pulling out knives and forks. It went quiet. Jackson turned towards her brandishing a small card. It says, “To Abby, with love from Rich”. Nice flowers. Maybe he is rich. Rich Rich. It has a certain ring to it.’

  Abigail dropped a fork. It clattered onto the table then tumbled to the floor. ‘I don’t know anyone called Rich,’ she protested.

  Jackson shrugged. ‘It definitely says Rich.’

  Abigail didn’t pick up on the light-hearted tone in his voice. Or the crinkle in his eyes as he tried to keep a straight face. She continued, her face reddening, the tension she had felt earlier surfacing. ‘But they aren’t from Rich. They are from Rachel. It maybe should read “from Rach”. Rachel stayed for a cup of tea and she brought Izzy some stacking cups.’ She pointed at the cups lined up on the high chair tray. ‘This is absurd. Are you suggesting I’m involved with another man? How bloody dare you.’

  Jackson turned his back to her. She felt her heart hammering. She wanted to scream at him. There he was taking the moral high ground over some flowers when she had more reason to suspect his fidelity. She was about to tackle him on the subject when he turned and faced her. His eyes had darkened, his mood now flat.

  ‘I was only teasing you, Abby. Couldn’t you tell? I thought it would lift the atmosphere. Apparently, it didn’t. I got it wrong.’

  ‘Atmosphere?’ She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  ‘Well, you haven’t been that easy to live with,’ he commented. ‘And before you go off on one, I know why. Izzy, motherhood and so on. I get it but I miss the old Abby. You weren’t so prickly then and wouldn’t have jumped down my throat. You were always the first to break down and laugh.’

  He fixed his eyes on her. Abigail tried hard to keep her bubbling emotions in check. On the surface his comment was not unreasonable but the horrible robotic voice on her mobile echoed in her ears.

  ‘Well, I’ve not had much to laugh at recently. And it’s not because of Izzy.’ She swallowed before continuing in a quiet, serious voice. ‘Jackson, are you seeing someone else?’

  ‘What? Where’s that come from? Why would you ask me such a thing?’ he replied. A vein throbbed in his temple. His eyes narrowed. ‘That is the most stupid thing you’ve ever asked. I’m not even going to answer it. Abby, I don’t know what the hell is going on. Maybe your hormones are haywire after having Izzy, or you spend too much time brooding at home, but sort yourself out and don’t ask such ridiculous questions again.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody condescending. I haven’t made this up. I’m not some hysterical woman who spends all day watching television soap operas! I had an anonymous call. Someone accused you of having a relationship.’

  ‘Who would say such a thing? And who am I supposed to be having a relationship with?’

  Abby hung her head. ‘They didn’t say. I don’t know who made the call.’

  ‘You don’t know who this troublemaker is and this person doesn’t say any more than I’m playing away and you believed them? Listen to yourself, Abby. I’m saying no more. Work it out yourself and when you’re feeling more reasonable, you’ll understand why you sound ridiculous. I’m going out.’

  Jackson slammed the front door.

  Abigail slumped forwards, hands holding her head that hurt so much with confusion. What was happening to her? Jackson and she used to laugh and tease each other mercilessly and yet she felt so strangled by concerns over Izzy and this bloody stalker who was hassling her and telling her things about Jackson, and convincing her that there were secrets she didn’t know. She was the queen of keeping secrets. She ought to cut Jackson some slack. This was getting ridiculous. Why was she letting some wacko upset her so much?

  A crackling from the baby monitor alerted her to Izzy’s cries. She had woken. Probably because of their argument. She heaved herself up to attend to her baby and caught a glimpse of movement by the window. She screwed her eyes to see what it was, peered through the glass and shrieked in alarm as she spotted a figure in her garden. Someone had been staring in and watching her. She dropped to her knees and hid out of sight, her breath coming fast as she considered her options. She pulled it out and prepared to dial. Sense told her to check again. Anxiously, she rose and peeped outside again but the figure had gone. In its place stood a small tree, its boughs waving in the light breeze that had blown up. She exhaled. She had mistaken the tree for a person. Her nerves were getting the better of her. However, she still checked the front door was locked then hurried upstairs to comfort Izzy and take her into her own bedroom for the night.

  Outside, a shadowy figure slid along the hedgerow in the garden and disappeared out into the street.

  22

  The interco
m at Mary Matthews’ home buzzed impatiently. She answered it and asked who was calling. The response took her by surprise.

  ‘Hi. It’s about Lucas. Can I speak to you?’

  Mary shut Archie in the kitchen with a dog chew to keep him quiet and opened the door, lips pressed together in a thin line as she surveyed the young woman holding a cake box. The young woman smiled at her.

  ‘Hi again, I know this will seem odd but Lucas sent me. He’s concerned about you. He’s really sorry about upsetting you but he’s had to keep you in the dark to keep you safe.’

  ‘Lucas? Is he all right?’ Mary gasped, relief allowing her shoulders to relax. Up until this moment she had been ready to scream at him for his deceit but now she was only focused on his well-being.

  ‘He’s fine but he’s in hiding. Someone is after him.’

  Mary breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘It’s about the photographs. I was right. I couldn’t believe he had a warped interest in girls. He has been investigating someone at work. I thought that would be it.’

  The girl nodded and put a finger up to her lips. ‘Best not to say anything. You never know who is watching or listening.’

  Something else crossed Mary’s mind. ‘But who are you? Why are you involved?’ She looked the young woman up and down suspiciously. She wore coloured leggings and a loose jumper in bright green that matched her hair. ‘You’re not his girlfriend, are you?’

  The girl spluttered in delight. ‘Gosh no. This is going to come as a surprise but I’m his sister, Natasha. We haven’t been in touch for years but he contacted me when he found out he was in trouble and wanted to go to ground. I seemed the best idea, given we haven’t been in contact for years. I bet hardly anyone knows I’m his sister. He’s going to involve the police as soon as he has enough evidence, and we think they’ll offer him some protection but for now he’s holed up somewhere safe.’

  She gazed at Mary with open brown eyes. ‘Hard to take in, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I had trouble believing it when he landed on my doorstep, I can tell you.’

  Mary was torn between learning more and being guarded. She didn’t know this woman at all and Lucas had never mentioned a sister. The woman offered a genuine smile, an envelope and the cake box.

  He sent a letter for you to explain everything and strangely a cake. Well, he asked me to buy it. I got it from my local shop. The woman who owns it uses organic fruits from her garden in all her baking. They’re usually pretty good. Lucas has tried one and enjoyed it. He said it wasn’t be as good as your baking. This was his idea. He hopes you and I will sit down over cake and a pot of tea and get to know each other a little. I am your sister-in-law, after all. I was so surprised when he turned up. In the same week I see my brother after a couple of decades and find out I have a new sister-in-law. He didn’t stop talking about you.’

  Archie, the dog, let out a volley of angry barks.

  ‘That must be Archie,’ said the woman. ‘I have a gift for him too.’ She held up a toy rubber rabbit. ‘Lucas said he loves to play.’

  Mary opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said.

  * * *

  The poison didn’t take long to work. The cake sat between them, Mary took a second bite from her slice and wiped the crumbs from her mouth.

  ‘Most unusual,’ she said.

  ‘It’s the fruits,’ said the girl. ‘They have more of a flavour, don’t they, than non-organic? Quite aromatic. I think she added some wine to it as well.’

  Natasha had spent the entire time filling her in on her brother’s exploits at home when they were children and going into detail about the glamorous life they had enjoyed with their father, the actor. Tales of Monte Carlo and the Cannes Film Festival, of meeting famous film stars and hanging out on set watching their father film episodes of Doctor Pippin.

  Mary was astounded. Lucas had never spoken so passionately of his childhood. Natasha told stories of her and her brother learning to sail and ride ponies until the sad accident that took his eye.

  ‘It was silly, really. He was playfighting a friend. They had long sticks and were fencing. They got carried away and his friend misjudged his aim. His stick went into Lucas’s eyeball,’ Natasha said, sadly. ‘It was during the holidays. We only really had time together in the holidays. Then, the following summer, Dad and Lucas had a massive fallout because Lucas drove Dad’s car to the village without permission, and without a licence. He was only larking about but Dad got really cross. Lucas sulked because he was banned from going to a music festival. He held a grudge for years and soon afterwards he left for university and never returned. Dad got on his high horse and no matter how often I tried to persuade him to patch things up, he never did, and Lucas has stayed away from us both since.’

  Mary was incredulous. She had never known her husband at all. He had enjoyed a quite normal childhood yet turned out so full of woe. She had felt so sorry for him yet he wasn’t the sad, misunderstood person she believed him to be. He had kept so many secrets from her. He had claimed he hated his childhood and father and yet here was Natasha telling her about all the fun they had had together. It seemed so incongruous.

  Then Mary’s sixth sense kicked in. She felt like her brain had slowed down and she struggled to make sense of what it was screaming at her. The woman smiling broadly at her had not touched her own slice of cake. She had deliberately kept talking and sipping the tea but it was an act. She wasn’t Lucas’s sister. If she was, why had Lucas not kept in touch with her given she wasn’t to blame for the fallout with his father? Before she felt her heart beginning to race there was a moment of lucidity as Mary realised she had fallen victim to an evil plot. She couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth to take in oxygen but it made no difference; she couldn’t get any air. Her muscles began to twitch and spasm. The pain was dreadful. Mary had no control as her body began to thrash. Pain rose in her chest and she felt life being squeezed out of her. Natasha cocked her head to one side and grinned. It was no longer a friendly smile.

  ‘Oh dear, Mary. It appears you are dying. Not long now. Cyanide should only take about fifteen minutes. You’ve taken a little longer than I expected. Just for the record, your husband was a lousy brother, a disgusting individual. You were an idiot to love him…’

  Mary tried to speak. This was all wrong. She needed to explain but a sudden spasm of pain followed by another ripped through her, causing her body to convulse violently and her head to be thrown about, preventing her from any action. She fell sideways onto the floor, eyes open in fear and understanding.

  The woman with green hair rose. Mary felt the scene drift away as gradually her senses shut down and she plunged into the dark.

  The woman picked up the toy rabbit that the dog had dropped at her feet, his tongue out, eager to play the game.

  ‘Good boy,’ she said as she threw the toy rabbit into the kitchen. The animal scuttled off to retrieve it. She shut the door on it and gazed around the room as she put on her plastic gloves. She sneered at the fans on the wall and the ornaments. Her eye caught the guitar standing in the corner and she felt a surge of rage. No doubt it belonged to Lucas. She strode towards it, put it over her knee and broke the neck in two. She felt an instant relief. Returning to the coffee table, she collected her slice of cake and followed the dog to the kitchen where she tipped the cake into the box, washed her cup and plate thoroughly in hot water while the animal squeaked the toy with pleasure. She dried the cup and replaced it with the others arranged on the fancy dresser. She wiped the tops with disinfectant wipes and left, taking the cake box with her.

  The dog watched her departure mournfully, then trotted to his mistress on the floor, dropped his toy by her head and licked her face to wake her.

  23

  Then

  It is easier than I thought to ruin Chloe Planter’s life. After the awful perfume episode, we had a chemistry lesson. That’s when I got my idea. I couldn’t do it that afternoon but I am prepared for today.

  I head bac
k to the lab after the lesson and say I’ve left my book there. Timing is everything. Mr Watts is about to lock up and eager to get to lunch. He is always the first teacher to arrive in the lunch hall and the kids often joke about him never getting fed at home. I give him a sob story about how I need my book for the homework he set, and I have left it in the laboratory. I tell him I want to get started on the work now as I have lots of homework to do tonight. I manage to look concerned and slightly tearful so he lets me back in the laboratory. He’s a bit away with the fairies and doesn’t even know my name. He is a genius when it comes to chemistry but a total buffoon when it comes to pupils, which bodes well for me.

  ‘Yes, in you go. I’ll wait for you…’

  ‘Chloe,’ I say. ‘Chloe Planter.’

  He beams at me as if I’ve discovered a rare new element. ‘Yes, Chloe, of course.’ Pleased that he has identified another pupil.

  I race into the laboratory. I know what I need. I slipped some of the chemical we’d been using in the lesson into a hidey-hole in the classroom. It’s normally locked away and we are only given a little to use but it’ll be enough for my purposes. No one noticed me as I poured it into the small travel spray container I brought to class and had hidden in my pocket. No one noticed me when I stole the spray from Superdrug in town either. However, I didn’t dare risk being seen putting the spray into my school bag, especially as Mr Watts insists all bags are left to one side of the laboratory so we don’t fall over them while we are working with chemicals.