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

by Carol Wyer

  ‘What about getting Jackson to fly us up there? He’s a pilot.’

  ‘It’ll take just as long to drive to an airport, get a plane fuelled and ready and file a flight plan, then find somewhere to land near the destination. Quicker to drive.’

  ‘You thought about it, didn’t you?’

  ‘I considered it,’ Robyn replied, pressing the accelerator flat to the floor. ‘Hang on; this could be a swift journey. I’ll call Mulholland en route and let her know I might be breaking a few speed regulations.’

  69

  Now

  ‘Look, Izzy, there’s Mummy, coming up the drive in her sparkling white car. She thinks she can save you but she can’t. I’ll let her think she can but I’m afraid I am a no-good liar and once I have tricked her into coming upstairs, I am going to set fire to the house. Look at all the petrol cans I have lined up against the wall. They’ll smell horrible when I empty them but don’t worry because I’m going to smother you with a pillow first so you won’t have to choke.’

  I lift Izzy high so she can see out of the tiny skylight window but she doesn’t spot the car pulling onto the drive. So, Natasha, you made it. Time for a nice sisterly chat.

  I leave Izzy in her new makeshift playpen. She’ll be quite safe in there. I tell Mr Big Ears the Third he is in charge and head downstairs. I forgot how isolated the bedroom was. They really didn’t want me to be part of their family. I was shut away in the attic.

  Abigail is hammering on the door when I eventually get downstairs. I stand in the porch and stare at her. Her face is a picture. Her mascara has run and she looks like a badly made-up goth. Ironic really. I feel like laughing but maintain my usual icy regard as she pleads with me to unlock the door and let her in.

  Eventually I let her in but not before I make sure she sees the large knife in my hand. That quietens her down. She gulps and blubs a bit but waits at the entrance while I speak.

  ‘Hello, Natasha,’ I say. Hardly the wittiest opening line but appropriate. ‘I’ve been expecting you for a long time.’

  ‘Claire,’ she says. ‘You look different.’

  ‘As you well know, I’m not really Claire. Claire was a nobody who led you to think she cared about you and was your friend while you waltzed about having a great life, phoning her when you could be bothered, or wanted to boast about something, so wrapped up in your textbook life with handsome, debonair, wealthy Jackson Thorne that you really didn’t care about weird Claire. If you had, you’d have realised she didn’t work much at all and that she didn’t have a life, and that she spent all her time on her own. She may have told you she was working for this magazine or on that photo shoot but really Claire was sitting at home working out ways to make Abigail Thorne’s world crumble. If you had cared about Claire, you would have known. You’d have bought the magazines and admired Claire’s photographs and gone round more often to visit her. If you had cared about Claire you would have gone out with her regularly. Claire had no boyfriends or friends at all, only man-crazy Zoe who would rather be bouncing around an exercise studio, and spoilt Abigail Thorne who didn’t care about anyone but herself. So, as you know, I’m not Claire. I’m Alice. Someone else you didn’t care about.’

  ‘That’s not true. Claire, I love you. You’re my best friend. I do call you. I do go out with you.’

  ‘You only rang me when it suited you.’

  ‘No. That’s simply not the case. I honestly thought you were busy with your photography, I didn’t want to get in your way.’

  ‘Rubbish. You only telephoned when you wanted to brag about something or were bored.’

  ‘That’s so unfair.’

  ‘Unfair? You don’t get to tell me what is or is not unfair. It was unfair that your family threw us out. It was unfair that our lives became unbearable afterwards and lack of money drove my mum to prostitute herself. It was unfair that I was forced to commit crimes to stay alive and it was unfair that my mum was murdered by some disgusting lowlife.’

  I reach out and grab Natasha by her arm and press the blade into the nape of her neck. ‘I’d be very happy to use this so don’t give me reason to,’ I hiss as I walk her towards the staircase and up the stairs.

  ‘Alice,’ she whispers. ‘I’m so sorry. I wanted so much for you to be my sister. I’m so sorry. I was frightened and I’ve been as lonely as you all my life.’

  Her words make me pause. She sounds sincere. For a moment I am disorientated. I decide to leave her in her old bedroom until I get my appetite to murder her back and go and talk to Dad. He’ll fire me up again.

  I lock Natasha in and, ignoring her cries, mount the stairs to my room. As I enter, Izzy fixes her bright gaze on me and lifts her pudgy arms to be picked up. She trusts me. A flicker of warmth fills my chest. It’s an alien feeling and it takes me a while to recognise what it is. I hear my father whisper. ‘It’s love,’ he says.

  I play with Izzy and feed her some more pureed vegetable. She gurgles and babbles and makes me laugh when she blows spit bubbles. Did my mother sit and play with me this way before everything went wrong? I’m sure she did.

  My thoughts are interrupted for some reason and I can’t work out what is different. Then I realise that Natasha, who has been screaming for ages, has shut up at last. What has made her quiet? I glue my ear to my door and strain to listen. There are faint voices and the fifth stair on the staircase to the top floor lets out a tiny groan. Someone is coming upstairs. I lift Izzy onto the bed and wait. I shan’t go without a fight and I have yet to ruin Natasha’s world. Sorry, Izzy. You are going to have to pay for your mother’s sins.

  70

  ‘I’m leaving the car here. You’d better stay as a lookout. If you see anyone resembling Claire Lewis or spot Abigail, let me know. I’ll have my phone on vibrate. Call Mitz and get him to meet you here. I might need backup. Don’t let him come up until you hear from me. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ said Ross with a grin. ‘Seriously, I hope you’re right with your hunch. Fingers crossed.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Robyn sprinted the last few hundred metres towards the Farmhouse, her limbs a blur as she raced along the hedge-lined lane and up the track to the house. She was banking on her instincts being correct. If she’d got it wrong this time, then there would probably be no saving Natasha.

  The hedges had been clipped since she had last been here and now tall fields of leafy maize rose from the field adjacent to Paul’s house. The sudden beating of wings as a large flock of sparrows rose and darted for cover in the hedges startled her. She slowed her pace in case she alerted any occupants of Paul’s house.

  Shadowing the hedge, she approached the house that loomed in front of her. She avoided treading on the gravelled drive and, sticking to the grassier edges, she hugged the brick wall and leaned forward to observe the driveway. Abigail’s car was on the drive and a silver grey Kia was parked in an open garage next to the house. She texted the registration of the Kia to Ross with a message to say Abigail was at the house then slid past the front door and settled in the alleyway at the rear of the property to ascertain if anyone was in the house.

  Robyn squatted on her haunches, hidden between the large plastic rubbish bins and a makeshift log store housing various lengths of drying wood. She scanned the building, working out how best to gain entry to the property, then noticed the window in the laundry room was slightly ajar. Robyn gauged she would have just enough room to get through but it would be a very tight squeeze. She hugged the wall and checked inside the house for activity. Seeing no one in the kitchen or the laundry room, she hauled herself up onto the window ledge and balanced on her toes, released the laundry window from its latch and poked her head through. She had to turn this way and that to get her shoulders and upper body through the narrow aperture but persistence paid off. She was deciding how best to land without falling on the floor when the sound of screaming galvanised her into action and she dropped onto the washing machine, somersaulted and landed upright on the floor. The
washing machine stood with its front door open, under scrubbed tops that smelt vaguely of bleach. The screams were coming from upstairs. Robyn steered her way through the kitchen and rushed up the stairs, two at a time, halting in front of a bedroom door. Someone was banging on it and screaming. It was Abigail.

  Robyn tapped lightly on the door and, pressing her mouth against the side, spoke softly, ‘Abigail, it’s Robyn Carter. I’m going to get you out.’

  The banging stopped. ‘Detective Carter?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘She has Izzy. Get Izzy.’

  ‘I shall, just wait a second while I get the door open.’

  Robyn examined the lock. Claire had removed the key.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she whispered through the door. ‘I have to fetch something to open the door.’

  There was a muffled reply but Robyn didn’t wait to hear it. Time was running out but she had a good idea where Claire was and so she descended the stairs as lightly and quietly as she could and dived into the kitchen. Geraldine Marsh was meticulous in her cleaning and keeping things in order. Hopefully, what Robyn wanted was still in the same place. The small blue Phillips screwdriver was lying in a small Wedgwood dish on a shelf over the sink. She hunted through the drawers for a suitable knife.

  Screwdriver in hand, she returned to the door and sliding the knife under the collar where the doorknob met the door, she popped the collar loose to get to the screws holding the doorknob together. She removed them deftly. The doorknob came apart and she slid back the mechanism holding the door closed.

  A white-faced Abigail emerged, hands shaking. She looked stunned, her face sore and red but a fury burned in her eyes. She pushed past Robyn and began to ascend the stairs. ‘Where is she? She’s in her old room, isn’t she?’

  Robyn gripped her arm. ‘Wait a second. We don’t want her to harm Izzy. Leave this to me. Let me talk her out of the room.’

  They stared at each other; a small vein pulsing in Abigail’s neck as she wrestled with this new idea. In the end she acquiesced.

  ‘Don’t worry. She won’t hurt Izzy unless she feels threatened.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ said Abigail.

  ‘You have to trust me on that. I’ve thought a lot about what is making Alice tick. I feel she’s only used Izzy to draw you here. Izzy wasn’t part of what happened here that night all those years ago. She’s brought you back for a reason. It’s you she wanted all along. She’s wanted revenge for a very long time, even before she ran into you again in Farnborough. You told me some of the story before. When I asked you. Tell me again. Tell me exactly what happened that night.’

  Abigail choked back her tears. ‘It was such a long time ago but I still have nightmares about it. I was babysitting her. She was only eight years old. She was so sweet, big blue eyes and gorgeous, golden hair. She was like a beautiful doll. I was a bit jealous of her. There was me, ugly, hiding behind my goth make-up, wishing I could escape from the place, and then Alice arrived with her mum, Christina. They breezed into our lives and for a while I thought it would be okay. I was in charge that night. Lucas was out with his awful friends. Dad took Christina out to an awards ceremony. It was a big deal. He was hoping to win one. Christina was the new love of his life and even prettier than Alice. He was crazy about her. I hadn’t seen him so happy since Mum…’ She stopped and wiped away tears. ‘I was watching television and didn’t hear Lucas come back in through the back door and sneak upstairs. It was only the horrible screams that made me realise something was wrong and when I got into her room, Lucas was on the floor, writhing. He had a pencil stuck in his eye. I didn’t know what to do. I blamed myself. I should have known it was going to happen. I knew Lucas. I could have prevented it.

  ‘Alice told my dad and her mum that Lucas had attacked her but he flatly denied it. He made up a story about hearing her crying and they believed him. I knew the truth; I had seen him half-undressed, rolling about the floor. I wanted to tell Dad the reality of the situation so badly but I knew he wouldn’t believe me. I’d been in a situation so much like it before. That time, Mum hadn’t believed me when I told her that Lucas—’ Her eyes pleaded with Robyn. She couldn’t continue for a moment, then, swallowing hard went on. ‘Lucas blamed me for our mother’s illness and death. He said I had upset her so much with my lies that she had got ill. I believed him. After all, I was young and she went crazy when I accused him of—’

  Again she could not finish her sentence. Robyn squeezed her hand.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know what he did. You don’t have to put yourself through that memory again. Let’s end this.’ She stood, beckoning Abigail to join her. ‘You’re going to have to have faith in me. Come with me but I’ll do the talking. You must remain silent, no matter what.’ Robyn hoped she had read the situation right this time. Lives were at stake and she could not afford to get it wrong. Everything hinged on her instincts. She offered a silent prayer.

  They both took the stairs to the small room at the top of the house. Robyn spoke loudly. ‘Alice, we have to talk. I’ve got something very important to tell you about Natasha.’

  There was no noise from the room.’

  ‘Alice. I know you’re in there. Open the door. This is significant. I know you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get her here but you need to know this before you go any further.’

  ‘I’m not coming out. You’ll arrest me and that’ll be that. If you try to come in I’m going to strangle the child, so go away.’

  For a moment all was quiet and then Izzy let out a cry. Abigail pushed forward. Robyn shook her head, raised a finger to her lips.

  ‘Alice, for goodness sake. Open the door. Izzy’s only a little baby. You’re not a child murderer. Let me in. Let me take Izzy to her mother so she can look after her and you and I can have a proper talk. I understand. I know what you’ve been through. I visited the cemetery and read the beautiful words you left for your mother. She was as beautiful as a butterfly, wasn’t she? It must have been so hard for you when she shut you out. You loved her so much.’

  There was still no response. Robyn bit her lip and questioned whether her instincts had been right about the rabbit.

  ‘You saw her, didn’t you? You discovered your poor mother strangled in her bedroom. You telephoned the police and you left behind something that was important to you as a token of your love. You left your toy rabbit.’

  Robyn held her breath. She hoped she hadn’t read the situation wrong or this time it would cost a child’s life.

  At last she heard Alice. ‘Izzy doesn’t need Natasha. I’ve been looking after her really well. She likes me a lot.’ Izzy’s wails increased.

  Robyn tried again. ‘Alice, you can’t hurt Izzy. You’re not heartless. And listen. She’s crying because she misses her mother. She’s only a little girl who craves her mother’s love. She needs to be with Natasha. Natasha’s her mum. Natasha wants to protect her and look after her and love her.’

  There was a howl of rage from inside.

  ‘What does Natasha know about protecting anyone? Ask her. Ask her what happened when she was supposed to be protecting me?’

  ‘There’s something you don’t know about that and it will change how you feel. Please, let me in. I promise not to move from the doorway. Honestly. If you don’t believe me afterwards, then I’ll go away and you can do whatever it is you plan on doing. Hear me out, Alice. You owe yourself that much. After everything you have gone through, you deserve to know the truth. Don’t you want to hear the truth, Alice?’

  She waited. Izzy continued to cry. After what felt like a lifetime to Robyn, there was a click as the door unlocked.

  Robyn slipped into the room. The bedroom was painted in pinks, an animal duvet was thrown on the bed and animal figures stared at her from the dressing room table. The room was fusty and dank; dust bunnies lurked under the bed. This was one room that Geraldine Marsh had never entered.

  Izzy was sitting on the bed with red cheeks from crying, but sto
pped her noise when she saw a new person enter the room. She stared at Robyn. In one hand she held onto the foot of a furry toy rabbit.

  Alice stood in front of Robyn and brandished a knife. ‘Go on,’ she hissed. ‘This had better be good.’

  Robyn relaxed into her role. ‘Hi, Alice. I’m Robyn. I’m not here as a detective or a police officer. I’m merely a friend. I won’t touch or harm you,’ she said, raising her hands in an unthreatening manner.

  ‘I know who you are.’

  Robyn continued. ‘Izzy seems content. I see she has a new friend.’ Izzy jiggled the rabbit from side to side, her tears forgotten. Robyn smiled at the child. ‘She seems to love it. Is it a present from you?’

  Alice lowered the knife and turned to Izzy. ‘Yes, it’s Mr Big Ears the Third.’

  ‘He looks like a good listener,’ said Robyn lightly. ‘I have a teddy bear called Growly. I told him all my secrets when I was younger. I still have him. He lives on my bed now. He’s a bit worse for wear. His fur has gone thin and he’s lost an ear but I won’t ever part with him. He was my friend when I needed someone to listen to me.’

  ‘That’s like Mr Big Ears. He’s one of the best listeners,’ said Alice, her voice softening. The knife now rested by her side.

  ‘Do you want to sit by Izzy in case she falls off the bed?’

  ‘No, she’s okay. I’ll stand,’ replied Alice, regaining her former defensive composure. Robyn lifted her face to Alice’s and looked into her spectacle-free eyes. She looked different. Her eyes were the colour of blue ice and just as cold.

  ‘It all happened here in this room, didn’t it?’

  Alice drew herself up to her full height. She was a couple of inches taller than Robyn. Her arms were muscular, the arms of someone who trained regularly. She heaved a sigh in irritation. ‘Get on with it. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to be my friend. I don’t have any friends. I’ve never had any friends thanks to the Matthews.’ She spat the last name.