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

by Carol Wyer

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more assistance.’

  Robyn took it as her cue to leave and thanking the woman, left feeling frustrated.

  * * *

  Now sheets of A4 paper lay strewn over the floor in the Sky Suite. Robyn sat cross-legged on the settee, trying to work out what Lucas and his father had discovered that had led them to Farnborough. Who were they looking for? Paul had mentioned her in his email to Lucas, and how they could put an end to something if they could find her.

  Robyn looked over her findings again. First, Lucas had got in contact with his father after years of not speaking to him and asked him for money. After that, he emailed his father saying something had gone wrong and he needed to see him. Robyn tapped her teeth with her pencil. She read through what she had written about Paul. Paul, who had no time for his son, still gave him thirty thousand pounds when he asked for it. It smacked of blackmail. Why else would Lucas need so much money?

  Paul had been looking into Farnborough and written down various places to check out, including Farnborough Hill School, TAG Aviation and the gym where Zoe had worked. And finally, Paul’s housekeeper had also said Paul planned on ‘looking up someone’. It all led to Farnborough.

  The muscles in her neck were bunching up. She stretched her head from side to side, holding the stretch until she felt the tension ease. Her mind churned over the facts again. If Paul and Lucas were looking for Alice or Christina Forman, why had Lucas tried to track down Zoe Cooper at the gym?

  She picked at a club sandwich and ruminated. The internal phone rang, breaking her concentration. It was Christophe, the barman from the Sky Bar.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Detective Inspector Carter,’ he said. ‘You were asking about Jackson Thorne last evening. I wanted to let you know if you would like to chat to him, he’s in the bar. He walked in about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Great. Thanks, Christophe,’ said Robyn. ‘I’ll be there in a jiffy.’

  She grabbed her bag and headed to the first floor. There was a lot of noise in the bar. Several men in evening dress were standing in groups and it took her a while to spot Jackson, who was at the far end with another man, both in uniform. Jackson Thorne was undoubtedly a striking man – over six foot tall with broad shoulders and a muscular physique. He stood with quiet confidence.

  Robyn passed through the crowd and stood before the two pilots. She extended a hand and introduced herself. Jackson raised an eyebrow when she announced she was Detective Inspector Carter. She explained the situation briefly.

  ‘I’m trying to locate a man. I have reason to believe he might have tried to contact you. His name is Lucas Matthews. I have a photograph of him, if you wouldn’t mind looking at it?’

  Jackson levelled his gaze at her. ‘I know who he is. He was trying to get hold of me about a week ago. He wouldn’t leave a message but kept calling the BizzyAir switchboard. My receptionist took his number even though he was rude to her. I rang him back and left a message asking him not to call BizzyAir again unless he could be civil. He didn’t reply. That was six days ago.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t know him, if I showed you a photograph?’

  ‘I haven’t met him but let me see it anyway.’

  She gave him the picture. Jackson studied it and passed it back. ‘Sorry, I don’t know him.’

  ‘Hang on a second,’ said his companion, who up until now had been silent. ‘I might have seen him.’

  The man, shorter and slimmer than his colleague, took the photograph, pursed his lips and nodded. ‘I have seen him. He was here when we came back from taking that group of engineers to Scotland. You remember, Jackson. We popped in here for a quick drink. Travis, the guy who organised the trip invited us – insisted on it. That was the night Gavin…’

  His sentence remained unfinished. A dark cloud skittered across Jackson’s features. ‘No. I don’t recall seeing him at all,’ he replied. ‘Sorry, Detective, but I haven’t seen him or spoken to him.’

  ‘I might have been mistaken but I thought he was here at the hotel,’ muttered Jackson’s colleague, now returning the photograph to Robyn and finishing his drink. ‘You could try reception. He might have been a guest here.’

  Something had happened. An unspoken command had passed between the men and neither wanted to speak to her. She scrawled her contact details on two of Ross’s business cards before passing them over.

  ‘Should you see him again, please let me know. It is important I find him. His wife is beside herself with worry,’ she added by way of an explanation.

  She left them to their conversation, aware that they were now talking in angry whispers. She picked up the name ‘Gavin’ and the words ‘Keep quiet’. She waited outside the bar and soon both men left. Jackson had acted strangely. Had he met Lucas and lied to her? His eyes had been completely focused on her when he had told her about the phone calls. There had been no discerning flicker of the eyeball to the right as often happened when someone was lying. However, he was keeping something from her.

  She nipped back into the bar and beckoned Christophe. ‘Thanks for the heads-up about Jackson. The chap he was with…’ she said.

  ‘Stu?’

  ‘Yes, Stu. He mentioned someone named Gavin?’

  ‘That’d be Gavin Singer. Early forties, I think, married, two children. Chief pilot for BizzyAir Business Aviation. Known Jackson for years. Jackson was his best man at his wedding.’

  Robyn handed over the photograph of Lucas. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen this man, have you?’

  ‘Peroni in a bottle. I never forget an order. That’s the sign of a good barman, isn’t it?’

  ‘He’s been here.’

  ‘Once that I can recall. He stood at the corner of the bar, over there.’ He pointed to the far end of the bar. ‘He refused a glass. Mumbled something about bottles being safer. I didn’t pay him much attention because we had a large group from a conference in before dinner. That was the night Zoe was drunk. I’ve never seen her like that before. She’s normally teetotal and only has the odd glass of wine to celebrate. She must have had an entire crate. Jackson was here too. He was with Stu and Gavin. They all got together at one point but I lost track of what happened. I do remember seeing this guy,’ he tapped the photograph, ‘staring at her but Zoe attracts attention wherever she goes. I was really busy so I didn’t see him go. He paid cash so I guess he wasn’t a hotel guest.’

  Christophe couldn’t give her any more information but now she knew that Zoe, Jackson, Stu and Gavin had all been in the bar at the same time as Lucas. Christophe was pretty certain it had been seven days earlier.

  ‘If ever you need a sidekick, I’d love to join you,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’m very observant.’

  Robyn tried the restaurants in the hotel and reception but no one else had seen Lucas. Before she went back upstairs, she showed the photograph to the concierge and struck lucky.

  ‘I remember him,’ said the sandy-haired man, dressed in an immaculately pressed maroon uniform. ‘He came staggering down the stairs with a woman. He was so drunk she was supporting him, her arm under his. I asked them if they wanted a taxi but they didn’t even answer me. They just walked out. There’s no need for rudeness,’ he complained. ‘I’m only doing my job. Some people treat us as if we’re nobodies.’

  Robyn sympathised with him.

  ‘One more thing,’ he said after some thought. ‘I couldn’t help but notice that the woman had green hair.’

  Robyn headed outside and called Mitz Patel. ‘I need you to find out everything you can about Zoe Cooper. I think she might have met up with our missing man Lucas Matthews.’

  There was a pause before Mitz spoke. ‘He isn’t missing any more. Mulholland’s just told me to call you. He’s turned up at Blinkley Manor School. There’s one problem. He’s dead. Mulholland wants to talk to you.’

  * * *

  Chief Inspector Louisa Mulholland spoke in her usual, efficient manner. ‘DI Carter, your missing person
has been discovered. Derbyshire police have notified us that the body of Lucas Matthews was found this afternoon in bushes adjacent to the playing fields of Blinkley Preparatory School. It looks as if he’s been murdered. Too early to say more at the moment.’

  Robyn cursed silently. Louisa Mulholland continued, ‘I’ve spoken to their DCI and we’re putting you in charge of the investigation since you already have information and leads on him. DI Tom Shearer is the SOCO on this so you’ll need to liaise with him.’

  Robyn grimaced. Tom Shearer usually managed to rub her up the wrong way. His cocky, devil-may-care attitude irritated her.

  I’ll leave you to get in touch with DI Shearer. He’ll meet you at the scene. I told him you were in the south-east. He’s expecting you. I guess it’s a baptism of fire for you. Not even back five minutes and already looking into a murder. Welcome back to the real world, Robyn. Shall I leave you to inform the next of kin?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll arrange to see Mary Matthews or send someone over. Can’t help but feel sorry for her. She’s only just coming to terms with the fact that her husband has kept secrets from her and now he’s dead.’

  ‘There’s not time for too much sentiment in our jobs, Robyn, as you know.’

  Traffic was light but it still took just over two hours before she pulled into the drive of Blinkley Manor Preparatory School. There were several vehicles gathered on the large drive. Shearer’s black Porsche was at the front of a line of cars, abandoned haphazardly as if he had jumped out of it before it had come to a complete stop. Yellow police tape in the distance indicated the area where the body was. She left her car behind a squad car.

  The ground was damp from the early evening dew as she approached the bright yellow tapes that cordoned off the crime scene.

  PC Patel had spotted her arrival and acknowledged her with a nod of his head. ‘I’ve spoken to Nick Pearson-Firth who discovered the body and got a statement. I haven’t had a chance yet to interview anyone else who might be on site. Mr Pearson-Firth said that most of the staff were still away for the summer. He was here because he had interviews lined up today and tomorrow for Mr Matthews’ replacement. I’ll go bang on some doors and see if anyone noticed anything suspicious the last few days.’

  ‘That’s what I like about you, you always anticipate my instructions,’ Robyn replied. ‘Okay, off you go. I’ll meet up with you here when you’re done. Oh, and please ask Nick Pearson-Firth if his wife and daughter are around and if he heard from Lucas Matthews before today.’

  Mitz Patel departed in the direction of the building. As Robyn moved closer, a figure emerged from the bushes and approached her. She recognised it immediately as Sam Gooch, a forensic photographer. Sam was in his early sixties but still sprightly.

  ‘Hi, Sam. All done?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Carter. I heard you were returning. God knows why. If I had a chance to give this up, I’d leave it all behind, move to a desert island and live in a hut away from all this madness.’

  Sam always complained about the country and his job yet it was unlikely he would ever move away. He had five grandchildren who he adored.

  ‘I’ve got everything I need. I’m off. Good luck with this one.’

  Robyn watched him as he strode towards his car and shivered in the cooling air. She had been ill prepared for this and cursed the fact. Ordinarily, she would have had flat boots and a coat ready in the boot of her car. As it was, she was inadequately attired in a skirt and blouse ensemble with leather shoes whose heels were sinking in the soft ground. They had seemed appropriate attire for visiting school headmistresses and for the hotel but she wished she had taken time to change. She ducked under the tape and moved towards the stench.

  A tall figure broke out from the shadows of the vegetation, taking in Robyn’s appearance with an amused expression. Shearer’s powder-blue eyes rested for a while on her bare legs. A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘So, Robyn, I hear you couldn’t stay away from proper detective work. The private-eye thing was too tame for you. Still, it’s probably ideal for old Ross. He can’t take too much excitement these days, eh? Pottering about, chasing fraud claims or dealing with old ladies who have lost their cats. That’s about all he’s capable of.’

  Robyn drew herself up to her full height. ‘Evening, Tom. Ross is very well and it was extremely interesting working with him,’ she replied, irritated by Shearer’s snarky voice. ‘I’ll be sure to pass on your regards when I see him next.’ She knew she shouldn’t rise to his taunts. He was rude to everyone but a thorough and brilliant crime-scene officer.

  ‘Please do. Although he’s probably forgotten us all now given the exciting new career he has chosen. He’ll be far too busy to think about us poor sods.’ He maintained a steady look, urging her to retort but she bit her tongue and got on with business.

  ‘What do we have?’ she asked as she moved closer. The smell was stronger here; a cloying sweetness that indicated Lucas Matthews was decaying nicely. It was chilly by the trees and for the second time that evening she wished she had brought a coat with her.

  Shearer held her gaze a little longer then tired of the game and focused instead on the man lying on the ground some distance behind him. He pointed at the body with his torch. ‘Lucas Matthews. Discovered at three-thirty this afternoon by Nick Pearson-Firth who was out walking his dog. He rang the police.’

  Robyn approached the body. She was no stranger to death but the foul, sickly-sweet odour of methane and hydrogen sulfide emanating from the bloated corpse turned her stomach. The club sandwich she had consumed at the hotel rose uncomfortably in her throat. She swallowed and breathed through her mouth slowly.

  The body of the man lying on the floor was barely recognisable from the photographs she had seen at his home. His face was puffy and blood-coloured foam was leaking from his nostrils and mouth. His glass eye stared at her, the surface incongruously shiny, while his other eye-socket contained only ragged bits of flesh, its contents eaten away by insects. She took shallow breaths, tried to obliterate the nausea that threatened to take over, and studied the corpse more closely. What she had first believed to be flesh was wriggling. A plump maggot lifted raised its head from the masses in the socket and swayed like a snake being charmed. She resisted the urge to shudder. Shearer would exploit any signs of weakness.

  Lucas Matthews’ face was tinged with green, not unusual in body decomposition when tissues begin to release gas and green substances that transform the colour of skin. His mouth was agape, tongue protruding. A piece of blubbery flesh hung from his lips as if he were eating a final meal.

  Shearer continued in a more sober tone. ‘Judging by the state of him, I would suggest he has been dead a while. Decomposition happens faster above ground as you know and not only has he been in an area filled with insects and creatures, it’s been warm this week. As you can see, there is bloating of the abdomen and fluid leakage from the lungs apparent around the nose and mouth, and his tongue is protruding from his mouth in line with tissue decomposition of a body that has been dead for about eight days.’

  Robyn bent towards the corpse’s head, preparing herself for more maggots. ‘There’s something else here in his mouth,’ she said. ‘Tissue of another type.’

  ‘Ah, I’ll get to that in a moment,’ continued Shearer. ‘There are no obvious injuries that might have caused death. I can’t see any defence wounds, cuts or blows to his body, nor anything under his nails. Blood flow is consistent with falling backwards. Clothing has been ripped apart and I noticed small, red spots like burn marks on his skin near his heart, although the flesh is beginning to discolour and I can’t work out what they are. We’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report.’

  He aimed his torch beam at Lucas’s chest where his shirt fell away, his top buttons undone, revealing his hairless chest. The marks Shearer mentioned were slightly larger than a pea. Shearer shone his torch down the corpse. Lucas’s trousers were bunched around his ankles along with his underpants. His legs
were a pale green colour and smooth. ‘There are more marks around the groin area. First impression is some form of stun gun might have caused them.’

  He paused while Robyn studied the prone figure on the ground. Lucas’s genitals had been removed.

  She took a shallow breath. The smell was all pervading. She would have to move away from the corpse soon. Shearer looked repulsed by the sight of the mutilation. She spoke, ‘The attacker focused on damaging his genital region.’

  Shearer nodded in agreement. ‘His assailant took a sharp implement to his nether regions and hacked off his penis and testicles. Poor chap. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have your crown jewels chopped off. The killer removed his manhood, and as the pièce de résistance,’ Shearer indicated with his torch, ‘stuffed it all into the victim’s mouth.’

  The light from the torch flickered across the body, making the scene even more macabre. He turned to observe her reaction. She shook her head at the gruesome sight.

  ‘Sounds like the sort of thing an ex-lover might do, or an angry wife or someone who was furious with Lucas Matthews. Reminds me of that Wayne Bobbitt case years ago,’ said Robyn.

  Shearer nodded. ‘Except Bobbitt didn’t ram his John Thomas back into Wayne Bobbitt’s mouth, and he lived to tell the tale. Lucas is as dead as a post.’

  ‘Would mutilation of this type be likely to kill him?’

  ‘Possibly the shock of it all. I don’t know.’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to have been a struggle. He appears to have come here, dropped his trousers and then been murdered.’

  ‘Correct. There’s no evidence of a body being dragged here. No weapon, stun gun, cattle prod or otherwise at the scene, although it might come to light when we search again in the morning. There are no fingerprints or even glove prints on his body.’ He shook his head as he spoke.

  Robyn thought. ‘The maiming was deliberate, not an afterthought. The murderer brought him to this spot for a reason, or invited him here, and again that must be important.’