Lost Souls

by Jenny O'Brien

  Phone back in her pocket, Gaby turned her attention to the bed, not that she could see much of the plain pink duvet cover, piled high as it was with so many cuddly toys to the extent that there was barely room for a child to sit let alone lie down. Pulling on the pair of disposable gloves that she always carried in her pocket, she opened the wardrobe. Mainly jeans, tops and leotards. The shoes tucked in the bottom were the usual black lace-ups she’d anticipated, along with two pairs of ballet shoes and a pair of wellies. All in all, apart from the books and teddies, there wasn’t much but everything was clean and tidy, obviously cared for by a loving hand.

  Bending down, Gaby peered under the bed. It was amazing what people hid in the most obvious of places but in this case there was only a shoebox stuffed with what were presumably Ellie’s precious belongings. A broken silver bracelet with a dangling star. A pile of shells and another of stones. A feather. A photo of an elderly couple, probably grandparents. She removed the picture before returning the lid to the box and pushing it back out of sight with the tip of her shoe.

  Ms Fry was sitting where she’d left her, Amy by her side. Gaby retook her seat, keeping her voice soft as she held out the photo.

  ‘I have a couple more questions, if I may. Firstly this couple. I take it they’re known to Ellie?’

  ‘My parents.’

  ‘And are they close? Would they be people she’d run to?’

  ‘Hardly.’ She pressed a tissue to her face, mopping up the tears. ‘My parents are both dead, Detective. It’s only Ellie and me. No one else.’

  ‘Okay.’ Gaby laid the picture on the table with a steady hand though she felt far from steady. She’d had a premonition when she’d taken the call earlier that this wasn’t going to be a straightforward case. Finding Ellie holed up around at her gran’s after a row with her mum was a scenario that wasn’t going to be played out. Ellie had run away for reasons unknown and currently there were no clues as to her whereabouts.

  ‘And the other thing?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Gaby looked up from where she’d been studying the photo, meeting Ms Fry’s red-rimmed stare head on.

  ‘You said there were two things?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Of course,’ she said after a moment, managing a smile of sorts. ‘You said in your initial phone call that your daughter had run away as opposed to gone missing. How did you make that distinction? It’s not always an obvious one to—’

  ‘Because she planned it. She must have, to know what to take.’

  ‘And what did she take?’

  ‘I’ve just been telling her everything that’s missing,’ she said, jerking her head in Amy’s direction. ‘A rucksack for starters and—’

  Amy patted Ms Fry on the shoulder. ‘It’s okay, Anita. I’ll take it from here. Ms Fry did a quick recce of what was missing while she waited for the police to arrive, ma’am. Really it was to prove to herself that something untoward hadn’t happened. So, apart from a pink rucksack, one that Ellie normally uses as a school bag, there’s a sleeping bag. A few clothes but not much. There’s also a torch and a few tins of food. She’s also taken her birthday money; it was in a tin in her room.’

  Gaby’s look of concern mirrored that of her friend. Ellie Fry had taken all the things necessary to start a new life, except the most important. The common sense needed to realise how vulnerable a ten-year-old was out on the streets by herself.

  Chapter 5

  Ronan

  Monday 3 August, 7.50 a.m. Church Walk, Llandudno

  It didn’t take long for Ronan to make his way to the large, detached property situated on a small clos off Church Walk. But he didn’t rush. He didn’t rush at anything these days. Much to the annoyance of the girl by his side, he slowed his pace to that of a laborious walk and waited, every so often telling her to shush and be patient.

  There was a reason for Ronan’s caution, not that he was going to tell her. The less she knew about him the better as far as he was concerned. If he was being totally honest, he’d have left her to her own devices had she not been quite so young or innocent. But now that he was lumbered, he had to make sure that he protected himself. He knew his mum, after all he’d had the pleasure of living with her for eighteen years, and the one thing she wasn’t was stupid. Like him, she had a fierce intelligence and used every one of her brain cells to analyse each and every situation prior to making a decision as to how best to act. He was well aware that she’d do everything possible to make him return and that there was a good chance she’d succeed.

  This was the primary reason he’d decided to avoid the family home, suppressing a laugh at the thought, a laugh without even a glimmer of humour. They were far from a family now, their little unit smashed into smithereens by the crimes of one man.

  The car pulling out of the drive was his dad’s, something he wasn’t prepared to think about. As the grey Saab approached, he suddenly grabbed the girl by the shoulders and, bending down, started messing with her shoelaces, his face turned away. But he managed to catch a glimpse of his mother, the grim set of her lips, the grey hair that had started to drift past the collar of her pristine navy-blue dress. The word forgiveness popped into his mind out of nowhere, stopping his restless fingers as he tightened the knot on her laces. He knew it was unfair to blame his mother for what had happened but some part of him couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’

  The sound of the girl’s voice punctured his thoughts but instead of replying, he jumped to his feet, grabbed her hand and started pulling her in the direction of the house. ‘Preventing my mother from spotting us – that’s her house up ahead. Now hurry up; we don’t have much time.’

  ‘Much time for what?’

  ‘Enough already.’ The only thing that prevented him from shouting was the knowledge that the neighbours might hear and call the police. ‘You said you’d do as I asked and I’m asking you to hurry up and shut up.’

  ‘You’re worse than my mother,’ she grumbled, increasing her footsteps to match his.

  ‘And don’t you forget it. Remember this was your idea and not mine.’

  Heading around the side of the property, he slipped through the gate at the back and made his way to the kitchen door. He knew he was taking a risk but he didn’t have any choice. They wouldn’t have a chance with her slowing him down, especially if the police became involved. He’d just have to skew the odds in their favour.

  He ignored the kitchen and all of the downstairs rooms instead racing up the stairs to his parents’ bedroom and the bathroom beyond, the girl’s hand still glued to his. The house held too many memories for them to be anything but painful. The kitchen, one of his favourite rooms, was littered with the remnants of a hasty breakfast, the plates piled up haphazardly beside the sink, the cupboards bearing the artwork from both his brothers. It was like a physical pain to be back remembering how it once was. But there was nothing for him here.

  The bathroom was different again. His parents’ en suite wasn’t a room he’d frequented often. The black tiles and white bath with its fancy gold-plated taps and coordinating black and beige towels held no memories that he couldn’t cope with. Once inside, he crouched down until he was eye level, suddenly remembering something he should have asked. ‘What’s your name, by the way?’

  ‘Elodie, but everybody calls me Ellie.’

  ‘I’m Ronan. If you want to come with me, Ellie, we’re going to have to do something about your appearance,’ he said, flicking a finger at her blonde hair. ‘So have you ever thought about becoming a boy, Lee?’

  ‘I’m going to be a boy?’ she repeated, parrot fashion, her mouth rounded. ‘How?’

  ‘With this.’ He opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink and withdrew a pair of scissors in addition to a pair of clippers. ‘And before you go all tearful on me, it’s the only way. That hair of yours is too much of a giveaway. You’ll have us caught within seconds if anybody spots it.’ He took a step back. ‘So, Lee,’ he said, elongating th
e syllable, ‘there’s still time to change your mind. I’m more than happy to drop you off at the nearest police station if you like?’

  Pale to begin with, Ellie’s skin tone lost what little colour it had and Ronan was hard pushed not to put out his hand to her. She didn’t speak but by the frightened expression stamping her features he guessed that speaking wasn’t something she could do right now. Instead she surprised him yet again by plucking the scissors from his hand and immediately starting to cut away huge hanks of her hair.

  ‘Hey, go easy a minute or you’ll—’ But he was too late or she was too quick as the sharp edge of the scissors pierced the tender flesh on the back of her hand, and the cut started to gush with blood.

  ‘Ouch.’ Her hand automatically lifted to her mouth.

  ‘No, don’t do that.’ He took hold of her wrist and led her to the sink. ‘Shush, it’s better than it probably feels. Little more than a scratch really,’ he said, deliberately playing down the sight of her tear-streaked cheeks while he ran cold water over the cut and patted it dry with some toilet paper, pressing down hard. ‘It’ll stop bleeding in a minute and Mum has a first-aid box here somewhere. Hold that for a second while I find it.’

  After a moment of rummaging in the same cabinet, he managed to produce a handful of plasters. He stuck one in place, the others he tucked away in his pocket. He had a premonition he was going to need them.

  ‘Right then, stay still a minute while I finish off your hair.’ With two snips he removed the longer bits, leaving Ellie looking as if she’d come off worse in an argument with a lawnmower.

  ‘Number one?’ she said, fiddling with the settings on the clippers, all trace of her earlier bravado masked under an expression that declared her acceptance of what was to come.

  ‘Perhaps you could get away with a number four.’ He hovered, unsure of quite what to do. He’d never had to clip hair before, but then again neither had she.

  Chapter 6

  Janice

  Monday 3 August, 7.50 a.m. Church Walk, Llandudno

  Janice Stevens’s immaculate appearance was hardly in keeping with the thoughts scattering through her mind. But then she was never one to allow her inner turmoil to impact on the mask of indifference she presented to the world. As a lawyer, she’d learnt the hard way to screen her feelings with a calm smile, something that had proved invaluable when her husband had turned from the man she’d married into one of Britain’s worst monsters.

  Rounding the corner out of the clos, the only indication that she wasn’t her usual self was a slight tightening of her hands gripping the steering wheel. The two boys squabbling gently in the back would have no idea that she’d just spotted their brother loitering by the lamp post near their home. It had been nearly a year since her world had descended into a tragedy but only a couple of months since her rocky relationship with Ronan had dismantled completely. To wake up and find him gone with only a scrappy letter telling her not to search for him was worse somehow than all the months gone previously.

  She flicked on the indicator before turning left onto the dual carriageway. She looked at the entrance to the sports centre up ahead, her mind for once not on the usual list of lunch boxes and school bags that had to be remembered before the boys could jump out of the car and join their friends. Instead she dipped into the past, a place drenched with sorrow. Casper, currently on remand awaiting trial, couldn’t hurt her now but Ronan’s problems and life choices were a constant source of worry and pain. Along with the additional stress of having to wind up Casper’s shop and go back to work in order to pay the bills, there was also the constant fear about her own health. She was only managing to keep the family together by a thread. If her cancer returned …

  Janice was brought back to the present by the sound of Jacob and Caleb’s voices as they scrabbled around the back seat collecting their belongings.

  ‘Bye, Mum, love you,’ they flung in her direction before slamming the doors; words that, for once, stabbed like a knife as she remembered other similar words before Ronan had disappeared.

  Like an automaton, she reversed before performing a neat three-point turn, the powered steering wheel of the Saab taking the weight off her shoulders. She knew she should get rid of the car. Three cars in the driveway was two too many but a trip to the garage had decided her that the pittance they were offering wasn’t worth the effort. There was always the hope that Ronan would come to his senses and pick up the driving lessons he’d abandoned along with all links to his past.

  With her foot hard on the accelerator, she decided to do the one thing she’d been told not to by Reverend Honeybun – to speak to her son. Oh yes, she’d traced Ronan’s movements almost as soon as he’d left the family home. He was an intelligent lad, far more intelligent than either Casper or herself; that’s why they’d taken the decision to move him to St Gildas instead of keeping him at the local secondary school. She’d visited the vicar in desperation over those first few days, when the police had reminded her that, as an adult, Ronan was free to make his own choices. Reverend Honeybun, with his soft voice and wispy grey hair, had gone out of his way to both settle her mind and arrange her thoughts. Ronan needed to have a reason to come home and no amount of badgering on her part could change that.

  She pulled into the drive a little less than thirty minutes after leaving it, ignoring any thoughts of the nine o’clock meeting she had lined up. Ronan back home was all she could think about. Closing the front door, she leant back against it, her palms flat against the wood and listened. But all was quiet apart from the ticking of her father’s mahogany clock, which sat next to the Portmeirion vase on the hall table.

  It only took her a few seconds to see that the rooms looked exactly as she’d left them. The boys’ cereal bowls and spoons were piled beside the dishwasher for later. The study, Casper’s domain, was a room she hadn’t entered in weeks and, pushing open the door, she held her breath in case any trace of his aftershave lingered. Just like she now avoided the lounge, this room – his room – was a no-go area unless she desperately needed to check one of the many household documents that resided in the steel filing cabinet under the window.

  His study was decorated in uncompromising shades of dark grey, a large antique wooden desk taking up much of the floor space, the walls lined with bookshelves. But this wasn’t where her gaze rested. It was on the partly open filing cabinet that she knew she’d slammed shut only days before when she’d had to check something on their household insurance policy.

  She walked over to the drawer and closed it with a snap, regretting with a sighing breath her decision to protect Caleb and Jacob from finding out about their brother. If she’d only stopped the car …

  She left the room. Regrets wouldn’t get her anywhere. The stark truth was that Ronan would have waited if he’d been ready to speak to her.

  Chapter 7

  Gaby

  Monday 3 August, 9.45 a.m. St Asaph

  It was nearer ten than nine by the time Gaby walked into her office. She slipped off her jacket and, after placing it on the back of her chair, headed to the kettle situated on the ledge beneath the bookshelves and shook it. Her luck was in for once and with a flick of her finger, she set it to boil while automatically spooning coffee into two clean mugs. The role of acting detective inspector had many advantages. Firstly an office but secondly, and far more important as far as she was concerned, clean mugs and a half-litre of milk supplied daily by one of the invaluable station cleaners.

  She’d texted Owen Bates, her senior DC, to join her for a quick catch-up and with the sound of the heavy tread of his footsteps on the laminate flooring outside her office, she knew he was going to be on time as usual.

  As soon as he knocked on the open door, she handed him a mug and gestured for him to take a seat. The last time she’d seen him was when she’d visited him and his wife, Kate, in hospital following the birth of their daughter. It was amazing what a week away from the office could do to someone, she mused, taking in h
is relaxed demeanour and broad smile. He seemed like a different man, which made her pause as she wondered how long it would last in light of the news that she was about to share with him. As a copper, Gaby had never been one to withhold information, and always insisted on sharing knowledge as soon as she was privy to it. But now she decided to delay telling Owen about the missing girl until they got the pleasantries out of the way. She owed him that much. In truth she owed him a whole lot more.

  ‘It’s good to see you back, my friend.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same but …’

  ‘But?’ she prompted.

  ‘But I hated having to leave Kate and the kids.’

  ‘That’s perfectly understandable. I’d have been disappointed if you didn’t. Work is work after all and only to be tolerated as something that pays the bills.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. I’m sure you’d be quite happy to work for nothing if you could.’

  ‘Ha. I’m far from a charity, Owen.’

  ‘Talking of which, how’s the delectable—?’

  ‘Right. Back to work.’ She changed the subject neatly to one where she had an element of control. Her relationship with Doctor Rusty Mulholland was in its infancy and not something she was prepared to discuss with anyone yet. They hadn’t even kissed, apart from a peck on the cheek, which didn’t count. Suppressing a blush at where her thoughts were taking her, she said, ‘I’m sorry to say we have a missing girl, Owen. I know, right? It’s only been a week since we wrapped up that problem on the Great Orme.’