Lost Souls

by Jenny O'Brien

  Ronan was a realist. He knew that they’d been incredibly lucky with both the train journey and the walk from the station. But he was well aware of the unlikeliness of their luck holding for much longer. All it needed was one nosy neighbour to realise that the farmhouse wasn’t deserted and their hiding place would be discovered. For it to work he had to find some way of keeping them both hidden from view and, after years of experience babysitting his brothers, he knew that asking Ellie to hide away was going to be easier said than done.

  Removing his hands from his pockets, he dragged the curtains across the window before making his way back to Ellie, who was still sleeping, now with her thumb stuffed in her mouth. He smiled. After the day she’d had he couldn’t blame her. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the bottom bunk. He knew he should probably wake her and encourage her to eat something but a few hours without food wouldn’t do her any harm, not after all the sweets she’d consumed on the walk. Instead he slipped off her trainers, covered her with a thin blanket taken from the top bunk and headed out of the room.

  Back in the hall, her bag was a temptation he couldn’t resist. He knew it might be a rotten, underhand thing to do when she was in no fit state to prevent him but he was determined to find out her secret and perhaps this would be the easiest way. He stamped out any thoughts of how it would make him feel if he caught her rummaging through his paltry possessions. Anyway, she wouldn’t find much. A photo of the five of them taken only days before their lives had been pulled asunder. His grandfather’s watch, which was the last gift from his father, and his Swiss Army knife. That was it. The sum total of his history contained in those three items. Three items he wouldn’t part with for the world.

  Ronan had seen some of the contents of her rucksack already when he’d made her repack her gear into his brother’s less obvious Nike bag. The small cuddly toy that made his heart twist. The pile of neatly folded clothes that had been ironed by a loving hand. A pink toothbrush and small tube of paste. The items of food. The steak knife hidden in one of the side pockets. His brows creased as he stared down at the vicious blade, not quite believing that someone her age would have the wherewithal to take a knife and even think of using it. Instead of doing what he wanted, which was to dispose of it, he returned it to its hiding place and continued searching. There was a book curled up right at the bottom and, pulling it out, he smiled at the cover before returning it and piling the clothes back on top. There was nothing of the essence of the child. No photographs and little money, his gaze resting on the small, dented tin with a pile of two-pence pieces and a few pound coins. No reason that he could think of for her to desert everything she’d ever known for a life of uncertainty on the road. That was the main thing that was worrying him. He’d do what he could for her but the truth was it probably wasn’t going to be enough.

  He’d decided he wasn’t going to lie to her so instead of repacking the food stuff, he collected it in a neat pile and carried it into the kitchen. They were long on baked beans but that wasn’t a bad thing as they could be eaten cold from the tin, something he’d gotten used to when hiding in the cave on the Great Orme. If it wasn’t for the cooked lunch that he’d had dished out to him at the church each day, he’d have forgotten what a decent meal tasted like. His staple diet consisted of sliced white bread, the cheaper the better, and tins of whatever he could eat straight from the can with a spoon. If there ever came a time when he felt able to return to society, he’d already promised himself that he’d never eat another baked bean again. Ever.

  The pile of food on the work surface didn’t look much even when he’d added his own supply but he still had a few pounds tucked away and there was always the hope that it wouldn’t take long for Ellie to confide in him.

  Ronan was far more sensible now he had a couple of months’ experience of being homeless under his belt. He’d chosen his current path out of sheer desperation simply because he couldn’t cope with the rows. Arguments that had once passed over his head started to trouble his sleep and affect his appetite. His brothers were too young to understand and his mother too wrapped up in her own problems to spare more than a passing thought as to what was going on in her eldest son’s life. She’d wanted him to get a job until he’d decided what he was going to do. For some reason, she couldn’t understand that the sheer energy it took to lift his head off the pillow in the morning often felt like too much of a struggle. In the weeks leading up to leaving home, he’d taken to his bed and had stayed there apart from coming out for meals. He knew he was depressed but why wouldn’t he be? There was no future for him that he could imagine. No happy ever after. No one to save him and he certainly wasn’t in a position to save himself.

  Now he had a child to care for and a secret to puzzle out. After that? He had no idea.

  Chapter 25

  Gaby

  Monday 3 August, 7.55 p.m. Rhos-on-Sea

  Gaby pulled into her drive, taking a moment to switch her mind from detective on duty to … She shook her head, unable to think up an alternative. It had been so long since she’d had anyone waiting for her, anyone to come home to, that she struggled to think of anything outside of work. What she really wanted was a hot shower closely followed by her oldest and comfiest pyjamas. Food wasn’t as important as it used to be and oftentimes she found herself snacking on crackers and cheese with a glass of wine on the side instead of bothering to cook. Relaxation was a chapter or two of her latest read instead of reaching for the TV remote. She was never at home long enough to catch up on soaps and if she watched television for more than an hour a week it was a record. Apart from the occasional movie, she watched the news when she could and sometimes not even that if Amy and Tim popped around from their house, only situated a five-minute walk away.

  With thoughts of Amy, her mind galloped off the leash and back to work with all the finesse of a thoroughbred racehorse in sight of the finishing line. Amy had sent her a quick text, after they’d interviewed Heather Powell, but it hadn’t really added anything to the investigation. They’d already worked out that Ellie must have been worried about something to run away like that. The problem was they had no way of finding out what. If her mother and her best friend didn’t know … Gaby paused, her mind taking her into new territory. Unless one, or both of them, were lying? She made a mental note to pick up on the idea of a liar in their midst later.

  Gaby had also caught up with Malachy and Jax when she’d been waiting for the CSIs to arrive at Barbara Matthews’ house. Both of them had offered to work through the night and she’d had a difficult job persuading them otherwise. But she needed them at the station tomorrow and, as hard as it was for them to accept, there was already a full complement of officers and civilian volunteers scouring the area as part of the search and rescue team. A couple of extras wouldn’t make much difference.

  She gathered up her bags and slipped out of the car, checking that she’d locked it. While Rhos-on-Sea was a haven with little or no crime to speak of, she always made sure she took the same precautions as she did when she’d lived in a city. The unexpected lay around every corner, something she’d learnt the hard way.

  Standing on her doorstep, one hand on the door handle, the other clutching her keys, she barely registered that her grip was fist tight, the metal from both pressing deep into her palms. What was the etiquette for arriving at home with your would-be/maybe boyfriend waiting inside, especially when you were two hours late for the date? Just like Gaby didn’t know how to be anything other than a copper, she now questioned her ability to live through the next five minutes without making a complete prat of herself. Clueless and nervous married with near mental and physical exhaustion were unhappy bedfellows in any relationship. Her hand shook as she tried to insert the key into the lock only to have the door wrenched out from her grasp.

  There was no hello. No gushing welcome. There was more – so much more: kindness and consideration blended with a little extra sprinkling of something in hi
s twinkling gaze that caused her cheeks to flood with colour.

  ‘You look shattered.’ He took her bags off her and, stepping back, waited for her to precede him while he shut the door. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and sort yourself out. I’ll pour you a glass of wine, or a cup of tea if you’d rather? Conor can take it up to you.’

  If she’d been someone who cried easily he’d have had tears with his welcome. She felt an ache at the back of her throat as she slipped off her shoes and padded across to the lounge. The smell of something delicious was coming from the kitchen, drawing her in like a homing signal and reminding her that she still hadn’t eaten. Conor was sitting at the table, a bag propped beside his chair, an open laptop in front of him, a scowl she recognised marring his features. She’d seen the same expression all too often on his father’s face.

  ‘Tea would be lovely but there’s no point in disturbing him.’ She turned and almost slammed into Rusty, who must have been standing right behind her.

  ‘I think he’d like the disturbance,’ he said, putting his hands on her shoulders to prevent her crashing into him. The intensity of his stare made her blush deepen. ‘Apparently he’s losing. I haven’t quite figured out at what yet.’

  ‘Even so.’ She stepped out of his arms, aware that his son had lifted his head to watch the interplay between them, his scowl still in evidence. Developing a new relationship that included an eleven-year-old wasn’t what she would have chosen but, on the flip side, there was no way she was prepared to leave him out. Rusty had never made any pretence of the amount of baggage he was juggling but dropping off Conor like an item of lost property wasn’t her style. They weren’t a family, nowhere near but, by Conor’s demeanour, he’d realised that the possibility might be on the horizon sometime in the future.

  ‘Poor lad,’ she finally said, referring to far more than the problems he was having with his game. ‘He’s probably starving,’ she added, one hand circling the banister. ‘Thank you for all of this by the way. It’s not what I’d been planning but …’

  ‘But work took precedence. I know what it’s like. If it’s any consolation, I’m only pleased that you didn’t have anything for me.’

  ‘No. Well. Never say never.’ Her smile was only a memory. ‘There’s no news about the—’

  ‘And no news is good news, or did your parents not tell you that?’

  ‘They’re Italian so no. We were brought up on a completely different collection of sayings.’

  ‘You can tell me all about it later. Tea in fifteen minutes or I won’t be responsible for how it tastes.’

  ‘If the aroma coming from the kitchen is any indication, I’m not going to need even half that time.’

  Gaby had always been a take it or leave it type and, despite a wardrobe full to overflowing with all sorts, she opted for comfy leggings after her quick shower, albeit in a flattering black, and a well-washed T-shirt in electric-blue – a shade someone had once told her suited her Italian colouring. She hadn’t bothered to wash her hair. Instead she’d pulled it out of its braid, massaged her scalp briefly and piled it on top of her head, simply because it was too hot to leave it flowing down her back. If he didn’t like her the way she was that was too bad. There were good days, bad days and then there were impossible ones like today. A missing girl. That spooky find at the crematorium. The missing OAP. Conor’s expression …

  ‘Ah good.’ Rusty came out of the kitchen, a tea towel flung over one shoulder and a glass of wine in each hand. ‘Here.’ He passed her a glass and proceeded to toast her. ‘Cheers, Gabriella. Here’s to not poisoning you as the pathologist is officially off-duty until tomorrow, 9 a.m.’

  ‘Ha, how did you manage that?’ She placed her empty mug on the counter and took a long sip from her drink, relishing the flavours as they took hold of her mouth and made the day start to fade under the weight of their magic. She was no wine expert and she certainly wasn’t a wine snob. She knew what she liked but tailored that with what she could afford. Her dad had introduced her to the joys of Barolo in her late teens but mostly she bought whatever was on offer in Lidl or Asda.

  ‘Pulled in a favour.’ He waved a hand towards the table in the kitchen and where he’d drawn it out from the wall and rounded up three mismatched chairs. ‘Take a seat. It’s only spaghetti bolognese – one of the few things I can cook apart from pizza, sausages, and mac and cheese.’

  ‘As long as I didn’t have to cook it! I’m sure it will be lovely; it certainly smells it.’

  ‘That will be the garlic bread. I hope you like chilli? Come on, Conor. Grub’s up!’

  Dinner was awkward, punctuated as it was by Conor’s scowl and a discussion that skirted around the usual topic about how their respective days had gone. But the food made up for the conversation shortfall, even as Gaby tried to remember if she had any mints left in her glove compartment for the garlic overload.

  Entering the lounge afterwards, she made sure to ignore her usual spot on the sofa, leaving Conor to plonk himself down beside his dad. The smile of satisfaction carved on his face caused her to catch Rusty’s eye as they both struggled to hide their amusement, although it was far from funny. Gaby’s experience of men was limited and she’d never, knowingly, gone out with somebody who’d had a child. Now she knew why. She liked Rusty for a whole gamut of reasons not least because of his frank appraising stare that told her in all the ways possible that he found her attractive despite any effort on her part. The one thing she didn’t need was a man who required her to be something that she wasn’t. She was far from glamorous and, the truth was, she was a home bird at heart who liked nothing better than curling up on the sofa with a good book. Instead of living the high life, a walk along the Welsh shoreline was as exciting as it got.

  But she could well remember the insecurities she’d felt during her own childhood and she didn’t need a degree in psychology to realise how anxious his son must be feeling at the sight of the budding relationship between them. If Amy was to be believed, it wasn’t that long ago since his mother had absconded with her latest in a long line of boyfriends. But assuming the thoughts that must be rampaging through his skinny body was one thing, knowing how to tackle them as his father’s prospective girlfriend was something completely different. She was tempted to leave the boy to himself for now but that wouldn’t make the situation any less awkward. The child was bound to resent her inclusion in his father’s life and that needed careful handling.

  ‘Conor, I’d like to ask you something, that is, if your father will let me?’ she said, after the silence had become uncomfortable instead of relaxing.

  ‘Be my guest. But I’m not guaranteeing that you’ll get any kind of a sensible answer, isn’t that right, bud?’ He ruffled his son’s hair, sending her a quick glance over the top of his head, one she returned with a slight wink.

  ‘You know I’m a cop, right?’ She controlled her expression at the sight of Conor’s sudden interest. ‘Well, we have a bit of a puzzle going on back at the station and, as it’s to do with someone that’s near enough your age, I was wondering if you’d be able to help me solve it?’

  ‘What sort of puzzle?’ he said, his eyes bright under his mop of red fringe.

  ‘The puzzling sort. So, my question is, can you think of a reason why someone your age would run away from home without telling their sole parent where they were going?’

  There was complete silence for a moment but she could tell by the frown marking his smooth forehead that Conor was taking her question seriously.

  ‘I’m guessing that they’ve probably run away to find the parent that’s missing,’ he said finally, returning his attention to his phone.

  ‘Good answer but what if the kid in question doesn’t know where to find them or even who they are? Is there any other reason that you can think of? And before you ask, she also doesn’t have any grandparents or godparents to run away to.’

  She watched his head shoot up, his blue eyes rounded, his freckles in sharp relief against t
he pallor of his skin. He looked as if he couldn’t believe that someone his age would take such a radical step as to run away with no place to go.

  ‘You’re talking about this Ellie girl, aren’t you? It was on the news in the car on the way over. Dad always makes me listen.’

  Gaby nodded, unprepared to expand further. The truth was, she shouldn’t have asked. He was a clever lad, a chip off the old block in addition to being in the same age bracket as the girl. She had no idea what she’d been hoping from him but his comment about Ellie’s dad had made perfect sense except for the fact that they had no idea who he was.

  ‘There’s only one answer then, isn’t there?’

  It was Gaby’s turn to widen her eyes.

  ‘Something or someone must have scared her enough to make her feel unsafe.’ He turned to Rusty. ‘Dad, can we go now?’

  Chapter 26

  Gaby

  Monday 3 August, 9.05 p.m. Rhos-on-Sea

  Gaby hadn’t known what to expect when she’d invited Rusty and Conor over for a meal but them departing within minutes of finishing their dinner hadn’t been it. She half-heartedly collected up the dishes and carried them into the kitchen, her mind mulling over what she could do to help Conor understand that she was far from a threat to his relationship with his father. Her mobile ringing was a welcome relief from the mishmash of ideas that had her considering whether Dr Mulholland was far more trouble than he was worth.

  ‘Darin speaking.’

  ‘Ma’am, sorry for disturbing your evening but I have something that I need to discuss with you.’

  ‘Marie! What the hell are you doing working this late?’ she said, well aware of the snappy timbre of her voice and making a silent promise to moderate her tone for the remainder of the conversation. In her experience, nothing good ever came from a late-night phone call and she wondered what the problem could be.