Lost Souls

by Jenny O'Brien

  With a quick tap of her fingers, she typed out a reply, which wasn’t really a reply at all. Busy. I’d love to but will phone you later. Her finger hovered over the x briefly. It was a shift forward in their relationship and one he’d decided to initiate … She depressed the key and hit send, her smile lingering as she returned her phone to the desk.

  ‘Ma’am, can I have a word?’

  She looked up as Diane made her way across the room.

  ‘Certainly, take a seat.’

  But Diane shook her head.

  ‘It won’t take long. I’ve been checking Janice Stevens’s alibi and it doesn’t quite pan out. She dropped the boys off at the sports centre just like she said at 8.30 but she didn’t get into work until 9.15. I was speaking to her secretary and that’s a good twenty minutes later than usual. Apparently she gave the excuse of a road accident along the A470. The thing is, I’ve checked with the traffic police and there was no such accident.’

  ‘Silly woman thinking that we wouldn’t spot that.’ Gaby sat back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her fingers tapping a tattoo against the top of her thigh. ‘So, what could Janice Stevens have been doing in those twenty minutes is the question – it’s something I’m pretty sure she won’t want to answer. Mmm.’ She lifted her head from where she’d been studying her unvarnished fingernails. ‘Where does she work again?’

  ‘Gallard and Smithson of Deganwy.’

  ‘Which is about seven minutes, give or take, from Llandudno. So she could have easily returned home to perhaps check she’d switched off the iron or to meet up with her desperate son and hide a body.’

  ‘What would you like me to do?’

  Gaby reached for her pen, swivelling it through her fingers a moment only to set it aside.

  ‘What would you do, Diane?’

  ‘What would I do?’ she repeated, her jaw dropping slightly.

  ‘Yes, you. We have two choices. Either trust it’s nothing or question her again in the certainty that, if she’s lied by omission once, it’s likely she’ll lie a second time, and bearing in mind that, as a lawyer, she’ll know all the tricks of her trade.’

  ‘Then there’s little point in keeping her, is there? Statistically it’s unlikely that she’s involved in Ellie’s disappearance. She wasn’t spotted in any of the CCTV footage,’ she added, qualifying her words. ‘However, it is possible that her son contacted her and that she is involved now. I think we should release her but try and keep an eye on her movements.’

  ‘A well-thought-out and reasoned argument. Right then, we’ll let her go but alert our colleagues in blue to keep tabs on her.’

  Chapter 39

  Marie

  Tuesday 4 August, 11.30 a.m. St Asaph Police Station

  With a huge effort, which had more to do with her length of time as a serving police officer than any willingness to work after the shock of seeing Ivo, Marie forced herself to concentrate while she logged back in to her laptop. She had an ordered mind and liked nothing better than trying to solve a puzzle. Detecting was all about the discovery and manipulation of information. But to fit the pieces of the puzzle into the right place, she first needed to find out as much as she could about Ellie and the people around her. It was that or sit and mope and she’d spent far too long moping already.

  She had yet to complete the background checks on Ellie’s home life. Top of the list was a copy of her birth certificate, with the father’s name left blank, something that they’d suspected but it still had to be confirmed. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t continue searching. The absence of the father’s name could mean one of a few things. Ellie’s mother might not have known who he was or she might not have wanted him to know about the child. There was even the possibility that her conception had been via a sperm donor – nothing surprised Marie anymore.

  Pausing to make a brief note on her A4 pad, she returned her attention to the mother and quickly confirmed that she was telling the truth about her single status. Anita didn’t appear on their system apart from the odd parking ticket, which she’d paid within the recommended period. There was nothing to suggest that she was anything other than a hard-working mother trying to make ends meet. Moving on to the housing records, Marie discovered that Anita had arrived at the estate within weeks of the birth of her daughter and always paid her rent on time, which was all very well but didn’t add anything to the reason why her daughter might have decided to up and run away.

  After making another note on her pad, Marie rolled her shoulders, her attention shifting to Malachy as he flicked through a computer printout. So far his behaviour had been exemplary. To put her up, when she’d walked out of the marital home with only a couple of suitcases, was more than she’d ever expected from a fellow officer. At the start, she’d been reluctant to take him up on the offer, prey as she was to the very worst of thoughts as to his motives. While a good five years older, she only had to peer in the mirror to remind herself that she was still attractive despite the new lines that bracketed her eyes and pulled at her lips. But she needn’t have worried. In fact, she was astounded at how well they got on. Apart from sharing the cooking, he kept very much to himself as did she, which was hardly surprising when funds were an issue until the end of the month when hopefully she’d have enough to manage on.

  Staring back down at the list, she remembered that there had been something he’d wanted her to do for him with regards to keeping his mother off his back but, as he hadn’t mentioned it in over a week, she’d conveniently forgotten about it.

  ‘Do you want a top-up?’

  She glanced up to find him pushing away from his desk and stretching to his full height, his pale pink shirt stretched across his impressive array of muscles. Marie had always had an aversion to men wearing pink but he was rapidly changing her mind on the subject. Averting her gaze, she held up her mug with an outstretched hand.

  ‘If there’s any hot chocolate in the machine, please?’

  He raised his eyebrows but instead of commenting strode out of the room. He was back within minutes, a couple of cups clutched in his hands, which he deposited on her desk before pulling up a chair.

  ‘You all right? The desk sergeant’s just told me that the delightful Ivo is downstairs in reception.’

  ‘What! I thought he’d have left by now?’

  ‘Nope. Not a bit of it. Clancy says he’s glued to his seat for what looks like the duration.’

  Marie managed to suppress a groan at the mention of her soon-to-be ex-husband – the one thing she’d been determined not to think about until she reached the privacy of her bedroom. She could just about cope with him moving his girlfriend, along with her couple of kids, into what was their home. What she couldn’t cope with was him then deciding that he didn’t want a family after all. He’d been hounding her to come back to him after just about throwing her out on the streets with only the clothes she’d been wearing and the emergency fifty quid she always kept in the side of her phone case. If it hadn’t been for the support of Malachy and the rest of the team she’d have flung herself under the nearest train. In truth, the only thing stopping her had been the extra work it would have caused the emergency services having to scrape her remains off the tracks.

  The problem was she didn’t want to weaken. After ten years together, the last five married, she still had strong feelings for the man. One look into his storm-grey eyes and she felt her knees weaken along with her willpower despite knowing that he was one of the biggest tosspots around. To empty their joint bank account was something that she could never forgive or forget. Okay so he earned a lot more than her but that was no reason to be small-minded about the break-up. What had he expected her to do? Move back in with her parents, which he must have known was the only route open to her?

  ‘He’s even brought his laptop with him so that he can carry on working. It’s a wonder you didn’t see him on your return?’

  ‘I came in the side entrance,’ she said, not wanting to admit that she’d
been afraid he’d stick around after she’d walked out of the interview. No one ever got the better of Ivo.

  She shut her eyes, dimly aware that Malachy had picked up her hands and wrapped them around her mug.

  ‘Go on, take a sip. It will make you feel better.’

  He was wrong. Nothing would make her feel better except having Ivo out of her life. She still loved him, despite everything, but she wasn’t prepared to trust him. If he could throw her over for a bimbo with two brats, who’s to say that he wouldn’t kick her out again? It had taken her weeks to get back on her feet and it was only now that she was starting to feel in any way normal. But her confidence and self-esteem remained at rock bottom despite moving into Malachy’s spare room. The fun-loving party girl she’d once been seemed a thing of the past. What was worse than having your hopes trampled on by the person who was meant to love you the most? Nothing!

  Washing down the bitter taste of regret with a swig of extra sweet chocolate, she managed to swallow back the tears starting to gather.

  ‘Thank you. What did I do to deserve such a nice flatmate?’

  He didn’t answer. Instead he propped his hip against the desk and proceeded to change the subject.

  ‘So, what are you up to?’

  She tapped the next item on her list with her index finger, pleased that he’d turned the conversation back to the case. It was probably the threat of tears that had done it but, whatever the reason, she heaved a sighing breath of relief. She’d never found it easy to discuss her personal problems. Work was what she needed in order to keep her mind from wandering back to the one problem she couldn’t solve.

  ‘I’m about to phone St Gildas school to see if anyone remembers Miss Jane. It’s likely she used to live in – that’s the way it is with boarding schools. I’m hoping someone remembers if she had any trinkets that maybe we could get traced. All we need is the serial number, from a bicycle or similar, to break the case wide open.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better to head out that way with the original photos of her apartment taken after her disappearance?’ he said after a moment. ‘Seeing pictures is a sure-fire way of flexing someone’s memory muscle.’

  ‘Now that’s a brilliant idea.’ She managed a smile, which didn’t make it as far as her eyes. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Because you’re not me.’

  ‘Ha, very funny.’

  She threw him a fake punch at his arm, feeling tons better at the resumption of their usual banter. Malachy was a complex individual but they’d settled into an easy groove, which had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with friendship. She’d always thought that a platonic relationship wasn’t possible between a man and a woman – she was pleased to find out that she was being proved wrong.

  He leant forward, tweaking her ponytail in the same way a sibling might. ‘Clancy and I have come up with a plan to smuggle you out from right under Ivo’s nose, if you’d like to hear it?’

  Marie grimaced at the abrupt return to the previous topic of conversation. She should have realised that he wasn’t finished with trying to sort out her life. While she appreciated his thoughtfulness, it was about time she took ownership of her problems and stood up to her ex.

  ‘You’re both darlings but I need to sort this out, once and for all. He’s not going to go away otherwise. But thank you anyway.’ She picked up her pen and clicked the end. ‘So, how are you getting on?’

  ‘Nearly finished. A few loose ends to tie up but I’m going to meet Amy around at Ellie’s mother’s shortly to fill in the gaps. There’s only so much that can be done over the phone.’ He stood, his long fingers hooked around his belt, a trace of his trademark, supercilious behaviour resurfacing. ‘What hard and boring lives people lead. Ms Fry spends most of her life cleaning up other people’s crap and the rest ferrying her daughter to and from ballet lessons, presumably while she sits in the car twiddling her thumbs.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean she’s unhappy, does it, Mal? We can’t all be rocket scientists or brain surgeons. She knows how much money she has to live on and arranges her activities accordingly. That’s more sensible than tragic. By all accounts, apart from the problems at school, Ellie’s home life has been full of love and laughter. That’s surely more important to a child than a pile of money?’

  ‘Mmm.’ He frowned. ‘I’m struggling with that, Marie. If everything was so hunky-dory, why the need to run away?’

  ‘Why indeed.’

  ‘There is one thing though that may be of interest to Darin.’

  ‘Go on then.’ Marie placed her empty cup down beside her keyboard.

  ‘I’ve been working through her list of cleaning jobs. Mostly local and within a five- or ten-minute car drive radius. You’ll never guess who’s on the list.’

  Chapter 40

  Ronan

  Tuesday 4 August, 11.30 a.m. Caernarfon

  Ronan always knew that he wasn’t the most patient of individuals. He wouldn’t go so far as to call himself selfish although that was a term that had been bandied about in the past by others when discussing him, both to his face and, more than likely, behind his back. He’d preferred the expression single-minded: someone who didn’t suffer fools. But whatever the term used to define him, he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep ten-year-old Ellie Fry entertained within the confines of the farmhouse.

  He would have been quite happy grabbing a book from one of the boxes piled up by the back door awaiting collection by some charity or other. His grandfather had been a doctor and had an eclectic collection of nonfiction that encompassed most of the sciences. But Ellie wasn’t having any of it. He’d tried to interest her in the small pile of toys left over from their visits but nothing appealed. In desperation, he took her into the hall and, pulling down the loft ladder, followed her into the dark and dusty attic, the musty stale air causing his nose to wrinkle and his eyes to stream. It used to be his favourite place on rainy days. Now he could hardly bear to think about those happier times, let alone find the energy to follow her as she bounded up the vertical rungs.

  There was a light, only a forty-watt bulb, hanging from an element in the middle of the ceiling but he left it switched off, instead choosing to use the narrow beam from his torch.

  ‘Make sure you’re careful where you put your feet,’ he said, repeating the same mantra his grandfather had first told him all those years ago, his throat constricting at the thought.

  ‘We do have an attic, you know.’

  ‘Really? I should have remembered. After all, you have told me all about your home and the reason why you ran away,’ he said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  But instead of replying, she turned to the largest of the tea chests and started to drag out random items of clothing, spraying dust particles into the thin band of light. In exasperation, he propped a hand against one of the roof supports and continued to watch as she tried on an old felt beret with a badge on the front.

  ‘Very fetching. Why not try on the feather boa to match?’

  ‘Feather what?’

  ‘That long pink thing you’re holding made of feathers! It used to belong to some aunt. I can’t really remember her,’ he said, his voice fading because now there would be no one to remind him of who she’d been, no one to pass on the memory. His mother had never been interested in that sort of stuff and his father had always had too many other things to do. It was only his grandfather who’d had the patience to share his stories: bright sparkling stories of intrigue and espionage that he must have embellished for little boys’ eager ears. He clenched his fingers around the wood, the feel of the raw timber biting grooves into his soft skin a welcome diversion from where his mind was leading him.

  ‘You’re lucky having all this. Apart from my mum and me there’s no one.’

  ‘Believe me, you’ll soon learn that the only one that you can rely on is yourself.’

  ‘That’s not very nice.’

  ‘You think so? I would hav
e thought that it’s something you’d have realised already, having run away from home like you did.’

  ‘That was different.’ She replaced the feather boa, running her hand through the silky texture, a look of deep regret on her innocent face. ‘I didn’t have a choice because they would have …’ She shook her head, her bottom lip quivering under the weight of her thoughts.

  ‘They would have what, Ellie?’ he prompted gently. ‘You can trust me, right? And who am I going to tell anyway?’

  The colour leeched from her skin, turning it the colour of alabaster, her bright blue eyes almost hidden by the black pools of her pupils. If she had been one of his brothers, he’d have been tempted to draw her into a hug even though he wasn’t that great with physical contact. But he didn’t want to drive her away. He’d gained her trust and hopefully her confidence. One false move on his part and it would all come down like the houses of cards he’d used to spend his time perfecting in the quiet of his bedroom.

  ‘They were staring at me. Those bloodshot eyes—’ She blinked, a tear then two trembling on her lower lashes and dripping down her cheeks. ‘I can’t describe it. Please don’t make me. If they ever find out …’

  ‘Ellie, you must. I know it’s hard for you but I’m one of the good guys. Perhaps it isn’t what you thought. You might even have made a mistake. I can’t help unless you tell me.’

  He watched her gulp, her throat working overtime, her fingers flexing and unflexing around the sides of the tea chest as if she suddenly didn’t know what to do with them and, for the first time since waking, he regretted his decision to find out the truth. Not because of what it might do to her but, selfishly, of what it might mean to him and how he was going to handle it.

  ‘There’s a shed at the back of the house. I shouldn’t have been there – Mum has always given me strict instructions – but I was bored and had nothing to do so I thought I’d see if I could find something to play with on one of the shelves. The key was in the lock so I—’ She stretched out her hand, only to drop it like a hot brick at the sound of the front door slamming below followed by shoes slapping against the quarry-tiled floor.