by Carol Wyer
The Missing Girls
A serial-killer thriller with a twist
Carol Wyer
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Little Girl Lost
Carol’s Email Sign Up
Also by Carol Wyer
A Letter From Carol
Secrets of the Dead
Take a Chance on Me
Life Swap
Acknowledgements
One
At first, Amber Dalton thought the drumming sound was coming from outside, but when she drew herself up from the hard mattress, she realised it was in her own head. Darkness wrapped itself around her like a thick blanket. She couldn’t make out any walls or see the outlines of bedroom furniture. Her forehead throbbed so much it made her wince. He’d doped her.
Amber wondered if he had raped her while she’d been unconscious. She dropped her hands to her thighs, then hesitated as she felt unfamiliar rough material beneath her fingertips. She’d been wearing her short, pleated, black skirt. Her best friend, Sam, called it her ‘foxy skirt’. ‘It makes men’s tongues fall out of their mouths,’ Sam had said. ‘You’ve got great legs. Team it with a silk shirt, and you’ve got a winning combination.’ The lousy son of a bitch had removed her clothes and she was wearing a garment that smelt of antiseptic. She tugged at it and felt it give behind her. She wriggled about, running her hand down her backside and feeling the flesh of her buttocks. It was open at the back, tied with strings in a few places. It was a hospital gown.
A flash of pain in her forehead made her cry out. She seemed to be in hospital, but why? She hadn’t been involved in an accident. She turned her head left and right to see if she was injured. This couldn’t be a hospital ward. It didn’t smell like a hospital. The bed was pushed into a corner of the room and she felt the wall on her right. Under the tips of her fingers she could feel the raised flock of the wallpaper. Her bedroom had wallpaper – flowers and swirls that she and her mother had chosen together. Amber would often trace the patterns while lying in bed wishing she didn’t have to go to school.
Amber had a desperate urge to call for her mother and cry on her scrawny shoulder. Her mother wasn’t exactly the maternal type, but right now Amber wanted nothing more than to be sat on the comfy sofa, listening to her mother tell her off for being such a stupid cow.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her head spinning as she felt for a bedside table and a light. Her splayed fingers discovered nothing but air. She pushed up onto her feet, bare soles touching cold floorboards, and began crabbing along the wall, seeking a light switch, each step cautious in case she trod on a sharp object. She found a wooden surround – a doorframe – and traced her fingers to the handle and turned it. The door remained resolutely shut. She tugged with both hands, tiny uh-uh-uh noises escaping her as her panic grew, and she questioned why she was in a locked room. She fumbled in vain for a switch. She needed to see where she was and work out how to escape. She would have to venture further and hope she didn’t stumble over any furniture.
Fingers outstretched, she searched the space, arms waving up and down and sweeping the area in front of her. The room appeared at first to be empty apart from the bed. She met another wall and, resting her back against it, caught her ragged breath, which was coming in tortured, frightened gasps. Now disorientated, nauseous and confused, she dropped to her knees and shuffled on all fours, hoping to find the bed once more. Instead, she banged her knee on the sharp edge of a piece of furniture and cried out. She could not understand what was happening. Blood trickled down her head. She touched it and wondered if she had actually been involved in some sort of accident. That would explain the situation. She was in a hospital and needed to rest. She began to mumble, ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’ There was no other explanation, she reasoned.
‘Nurse,’ she croaked, her voice no more than a faint whisper. ‘Nurse,’ she called, louder. Her voice sounded strange and hollow. The pain had started afresh in her forehead, stripping her mind of all other thoughts. She needed painkillers. ‘Nurse!’ The sound of her own desperation frightened her. She had to be in hospital. She couldn’t be anywhere else. Her temples drummed and the sound of her own heartbeat filled the room. She lifted her arms again and found the wall. Pushing against it, she located the door again and tugged without hope on the handle. Exhausted now with the effort, she stumbled against the bed and slumped onto it.
She touched her head with her fingertips. The slight pressure was too much to bear. A sound, a cross between a moan and a scream, escaped her dry lips. It was a nightmare. That was it. She was asleep. When she was smaller, she had suffered a recurring dream about a stranger, in which she would enter her bedroom and spot a dark outline through the window. The banging would make her jump, and in that instant she would know that the man standing the other side of the glass was coming to kill her. She would be rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the door handle, which would gradually move down. The door, which was nearly always locked, would open inch by inch. The man was coming to get her. A large carving knife would be pushed through the opening and a screaming Amber would wake up under her bed. Her mother would rush in and cajole her from her hiding place, and then sit with her, stroking her hair and making soothing noises. This must be one of those realistic nightmares, and she would soon awaken to the sounds of the television blaring downstairs and her mum yelling it was time to get up and go to school.
She wanted to wake up more than anything. This blackness and the intense silence was scaring her rigid. ‘Mum!’ she shouted. ‘Help me!’
She held her breath but the thrumming in her temples obliterated any other sound, then she heard it – a soft squeak.
‘Hello?’ She regretted calling out. An icy chill filled her veins. There was a slight shuffling of feet then silence once again. Somebody was already inside the room but they weren’t answering her, and that was even scarier. She had nothing to defend herself with. Sliding to the floor, Amber wriggled under the bed and
curled up, fist in her mouth as she had often done as a child.
Briefly, a shaft of light illuminated the floor, making her blink rapidly. Amber saw a pair of trainers. They belonged to him. He had been wearing them when he answered the door. It all seemed a lifetime ago. She had stood on the doorstep, brimming with confidence, shaking her mane of dark hair in a flirty fashion and pouting her full lips, knowing he wanted her. She couldn’t remember much more. The inviting sitting room with a huge leather sofa… the lights so low she could barely see his face… the sensual smell of him… the glass of champagne waiting for her on the table. His whispered words, ‘Make yourself comfortable, drink the champagne and I’ll be back in a minute to refill your glass.’ The bubbles ascended in tiny circles and exploded into her mouth as she sipped it, pretending she often drank champagne. The memory of tumbling from the sofa, sliding helplessly onto the carpet… a dark shadow laughing… then oblivion. Her shoulders began to shake with fear as she tried to suppress sobs. They threatened to erupt and give away her hiding hole. Go away. Please go away. Please leave me alone. The light went out and the room was once again plunged into darkness.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’
She tried to swallow the fear rising in her throat.
‘I know where you are, Amber. Come out now.’
Her entire body trembled. She repeated the mantra in her head. Go away. Go away. Go away. A sudden rush of air and a puff of stale breath. He had dropped down to the floor.
‘I can see you,’ he whispered.
Her keening became louder and louder. His voice lost its playfulness. ‘Come out or I’ll drag you out by your hair.’ The last two words came out louder and higher in tone.
Amber couldn’t move. Instinct made her retreat from his hands. There was a growl and the bed was lifted clean away. She curled into a tight ball and squealed as he yanked on her hair, dragging her head backwards until she thought her scalp would pull away from her face. Pain like knives dragging down her forehead made her gasp.
‘Not so cocksure now, are you, Amber?’
The honeyed voice that she had found so attractive, now made her cringe. It sounded so false.
‘Oh dear, you seem to have made a puddle.’
She felt the urine trickle down her leg. His voice began to fade and she felt a warmth as a numbness began to take over her head. Nothing seemed real any more. Now the voice sounded like her mother’s.
‘I ought to rub your nose in it. That’s what they do to naughty little bitches.’
She collapsed onto the floor at his feet.
‘Get up, Amber.’
She tried to stand, her legs unwilling to cooperate, her back aching and her heart hammering. She fell towards the wall, put out her hands and steadied herself. She swallowed the lump in her throat and faced him.
‘What do you want?’ Her words barely more than a squeak.
‘Not anything you have to offer,’ he hissed.
‘Why are you doing this to me?’
‘So many questions. Aren’t you the inquisitive schoolgirl?’
A light snapped on. His hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders. She yelped as he turned her around so she faced a mirror. Her bottom lip dropped and her eyes filled. The girl in the mirror no longer looked like a sexy, flirtatious woman. She looked like a sixteen-year-old frightened schoolgirl. Her mascara, so carefully applied for him, was now streaked under her eyes like a tragic clown’s. Her hair, matted with blood, had stuck to her head and her cheeks were stained brown-red. Carved into her forehead was a word that made her gasp loudly.
Behind her, with night-vision goggles covering most of his face, he grinned, a smile that made Amber scream and pull away. She beat at him, hands flapping in fear.
He turned off the torch and the room fell into complete darkness again and she fell against the wall.
‘It’s too late, Amber. You’re mine now.’
Two
DAY ONE – MONDAY 16 JANUARY
DI Tom Shearer tipped several coloured sweets directly into his mouth, then offered the packet to PC Anna Shamash. She pulled a face and shook her head.
‘Please yourself,’ he mumbled, popping the remainder into his mouth, screwing up the packet and chewing noisily. The aroma of fruit chews filled the Porsche. Anna stared out across the dark buildings towards the mammoth Amazon distribution warehouse in the distance. She had read it was the size of eleven football pitches and stored every item you could possibly think of. She wondered how many of the thousand-plus employees were currently buzzing around the shelves like demented bees, stowing, picking, packing and shipping the hundreds of thousands of items that they moved every single day, at this ungodly hour. At least they weren’t crammed in next to Tom Shearer, staking out a self-storage facility in Rugeley. She would happily swap with any of them at the moment.
Tom picked at the gap between his front teeth with a fingernail, extracted a piece of green sweet and sucked on the sticky substance. ‘What?’ he said. ‘Never seen anyone get bits stuck in their teeth before?’
Anna turned her head away. It had been a long night. She was still annoyed she’d drawn the short straw and got stuck with Shearer in his cramped, boy-racer Porsche. He wasn’t good company at the best of times and his car was an embarrassment. They all joked about it at the station, coming out with hackneyed quips about cars compensating for penis size. ‘Here, Anna, what’s the difference between a porcupine and a Porsche?’ She had shrugged. ‘On a porcupine, the pricks are on the outside.’ David Marker had almost choked on his cheese roll at that one. Anna wished David was sitting in the car instead of her. It was most uncomfortable. Shearer had insisted on bringing it, claiming it would be the last car any criminals would expect a policeman to be using.
‘If they spot us, they’ll assume we’re a couple making out.’
Anna had cringed at that thought. He was old enough to be her father and twice the curmudgeon.
Four giant power station cooling towers loomed beside them, each surface decorated with red lights to warn aircraft of their presence. The iconic towers that had been part of the Rugeley skyline for decades were now out of commission and would eventually be demolished. She peered into the moonlit sky and watched a couple of clouds skit across. The wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped. She rubbed some feeling back into her hands.
‘You want the heating put back on?’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’ She sat on her hands to warm them. There was no point in starting the engine and drawing attention to the car. They’d been parked on the verge next to the towers and opposite the self-storage warehouse for hours. One of the pool cars was in position by the roundabout entrance into the Towers Business Park, the other at the far end of the road, by the entrance to the Amazon distribution centre and near the all-night McDonald’s. Anna’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since teatime, when she’d only had a few minutes to grab a sandwich. She could murder a hamburger. She wondered if vegetarian Mitz had nipped in and bought anything while they were waiting. He had been sympathetic when he learnt she was on the stakeout in Shearer’s car.
‘An entire night spent in Shearer’s babe magnet with the old man himself. I can’t think of much worse, other than a night in a pool car with Gareth Murray.’
Gareth, one of the newest recruits, was incredibly overzealous. It would be like being in a car with an excited puppy. At least Shearer wasn’t a big talker. If his car was a babe magnet, it must only attract rather dim ones, she mused. She shifted uncomfortably in the low sports seat and knocked her knees against the dashboard for the umpteenth time that night. Outside, the self-storage unit remained in darkness. The information received had been so promising. Drug dealers were supposed to let themselves into the warehouse and collect several kilos of top-quality heroin hidden in one of the units. At approximately fifty grand a kilo, it promised to be an outstanding haul, and would garner recognition for all of the team. Shearer wanted it so badly; the smell of determination
mingled with his aftershave and permeated the entire car. It was no secret Shearer was ambitious. He wanted to further his own career, and a successful result tonight would help him on his way to promotion. This annoyed Anna. In her opinion, Robyn should be here with them, not Shearer. Robyn deserved the same opportunities as Shearer.
They’d all been pumped up when they arrived and spread out some eight hours ago. That initial enthusiasm had waned. So far, it had been a wasted night. She wondered what her mutt, Razzle, was up to. Probably asleep on her bed, which was where she should be. She stifled a yawn. Shearer would only make some comment if he spotted her struggling to stay awake.
He sighed and flicked through a few radio stations before settling on Heart FM and began singing along to Queen. Anna raised a dark, well-groomed eyebrow.
‘Don’t look so surprised. This is my era. Best music ever came out of the eighties,’ he said.
