The Lost Girls: Maggie Turner Suspense Series book #1

by Pryke, Helen

  ‘“Charlotte & Jane. HELP”,’ Mike read out loud. ‘They left it for us to find.’ His hand trembled as he handed it back to Maggie.

  ‘Mike, I–’

  He slammed his fist against the wall. ‘They left it here for us to find,’ he shouted, his face contorted with anger and frustration.

  Chloe put her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. He clung onto her and took deep breaths, while she stroked his hair.

  ‘I’m okay.’ He stepped back, rubbing his hands over his face, and gave a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Chloe.’

  She shrugged. ‘Any time. What do you think about this, Mags?’ Chloe’s face was pale in the torchlight, and Maggie could see she was as upset as Mike.

  Even though she wanted to shout and scream as well, Maggie decided a calm, practical tone would be better in the circumstances. ‘They were clever,’ she said, relieved there was no tremor in her voice. ‘I’ve no idea how they got hold of a pen, but the paper comes from one of those paint cans over there. There wasn’t much space to write, so they must’ve decided to put down the basics, and then hid it in the best place. There’s something else too, underneath, but it’s all smudged.’

  Mike leaned over. ‘I can’t make it out,’ he said, squinting in the torchlight. ‘Maybe if we let it dry, we’ll be able to read it.’

  ‘I don’t think so, it’s well and truly ruined.’ Maggie touched the paper gently. ‘It’s been down here too long.’

  ‘There’s a number.’ Chloe pointed. ‘That looks like a three, but I can’t make out the rest.’

  Mike’s shoulders sagged. ‘Do you think it might have been a phone number?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Maggie replied, wary of upsetting him again. ‘Or an address. It’s too difficult to make out.’

  ‘You mean, w-we might have been able to track them?’ Chloe asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, kids.’ Maggie held the piece of paper by the edges, afraid to tear it, and willed it to give up its secrets.

  ‘So we’re back to square one again, then?’ Chloe asked, her voice flat. ‘Have you got any ideas, Maggie?’

  She thought for a moment. Giving them something concrete to do would probably help keep their minds off things. ‘We’ve got his name, and we know he lived here for a while. And Andy should get back to us about the substitute teacher, I’m interested in finding out what he’s dug up. I suggest we go back home and do some more research. I can check if there’s anything I missed in old copies of the newspaper back at the office.’

  ‘We use Google nowadays for research, Mags, it’s called progress.’ Mike nudged her. ‘Keep up with the times.’

  ‘We can also check social media, see if he’s on any of those sites,’ Chloe said. ‘Although I doubt it. But maybe we can find something out about him online. It’s worth a try. Do you think this James Sorensen kidnapped our sisters?’

  ‘The records say he lived here four years ago, and we’ve found evidence that the girls were here too,’ Maggie said. ‘But I can’t get what Joe told us the other day about that teacher out of my head. It’s too much of a coincidence. We need to check everything out before we make any conclusions. Anyway, while you two IT geniuses do your Google thing, I’ll check the old-fashioned way,’ she added, ‘and finish writing that article. The sooner it’s published the better, it’ll get the girls back in the public eye again without making our abductor suspicious. But let’s get out of this place, it’s giving me the creeps.’

  As Maggie locked the front door, she could still smell the musty odour from the house on her clothes. She shook her head, knowing the image of the two girls kept prisoner down in the cellar would return to haunt her for many nights to come.

  ‘You still don’t want to go to the police?’ Chloe asked as they walked to the neighbour’s house to return the key.

  ‘Not yet.’ Maggie glanced at her. ‘Let’s see what we find out first, so we’ve got as much information as possible to give them. Once we go to the police, we risk them releasing the news to the media. Whoever it is will know we’re onto him, and that could put the girls in danger.’

  ‘You don’t seem to like the police,’ Mike remarked. ‘Every time Chloe suggests going to them, you make some excuse. Why’s that?’

  Maggie could feel her cheeks getting hot, and hoped she wasn’t going as red as a beetroot. ‘Let’s just say I was let down by the police before, and I’ve lost my faith in them,’ she muttered.

  ‘You haven’t been in trouble with them, Mags?’ Mike said, hand on his chest as if shocked at the very thought.

  ‘Leave it, Mike. I’ll tell you one day, but now’s not the time.’ Maggie kept her tone polite, even though she was trembling inside at the thought of telling them about Thomas.

  Mike raised his hands in surrender and opened his mouth to speak, but Chloe interrupted before he could say anything. ‘Will you be able to finish writing your article today?’

  Maggie gave her a small smile. ‘I’ll work on it this afternoon and send it to my boss this evening. I think it’ll go out the day after tomorrow. Hopefully it’ll jolt someone’s memory. In the meantime, we have two suspects who may have kidnapped your sisters. Now we need to find out which one, and why.’

  32

  Now the girls are locked up in the house, Mother has finally shut up. I hate her interfering in my life, like I’m still a little boy incapable of doing anything. But she learned all those years ago that I am capable of doing many, many things. The look of horror on her face when I showed her what I’d done to my sisters that night was priceless. I couldn’t help laughing, even when she turned on me in rage, her anger pouring out of her as she yelled at me.

  I laughed at her then, and slapped her ugly face, silencing her like I silenced Jane and Charlie. She ran away from me without a backward glance for her daughters, yelling that I would never be free of her, that she’d be a part of me forever, and disappeared down the street, the darkness embracing her like a lover. I thought I’d never see her again. I was wrong.

  I watched as the flames licked Jane’s body, caressing her as gently as I once did, slowly covering her in a warm blanket of love, pure and noble in its intent to consume her whole. She didn’t fight it, she couldn’t. I made sure of that. Unable to move, only her eyes showed fear, large and round in her face as the orange flames pulsed around her. As I turned, I heard her screaming at me to save her, and had to resist the urge to turn back and tell her that this was her salvation, that she would thank me for it later. I walked slowly down the stairs, past Charlotte’s twisted body at the bottom, and gave them both my blessing as they left on their final journey together.

  Half of me wanted to join them, but my survival instincts took over, urging me to get out of the house. As I ran out into the garden, Mother rushed past me, back indoors, into the raging inferno I’d left behind, heedless of my shouted warning.

  * * *

  My sisters were gone, but Mother came back. True to her word, she has never left me alone since, a constant presence in the background. I welcome the respite from her voice, that persistent whining that has driven me crazy over the last few days. I told her I would sort the girls out, and I have. The fire has purified Jane’s soul; the blackness has gone from her like night flees before the sunrise. I’m sure my little girls won’t give me any trouble for a while. But when they do, I’ll be ready.

  The fire is waiting for them, just like before. It’s just a matter of time now.

  33

  Andy joined them at Maggie’s flat, which had been a hive of activity since they got back. After a quick takeaway pizza, Andy filled them in on what he’d found out.

  ‘The school secretary was a bit stand-offish at first, but I soon won her round,’ he said, winking at Maggie.

  ‘I can imagine,’ she replied drily. ‘The Andy Marshall charm offensive works every time.’

  ‘You better believe it. I got her number as well.’

  ‘Moving on.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘You never change. So, what
did she tell you?’

  ‘Susie said…’ he began. The three of them sniggered. He ignored them and continued. ‘Susie said there were three or four substitute teachers in that period. A few members of staff were off sick with some bug going around, so they had to call in others. Going on Joe’s description, she reckons it was either Kevin Bourne or Stephen Ellis. They were both popular with the other staff and pupils, and both about the same age.’

  ‘Have you managed to check either of them out yet?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Of course. And by a process of elimination, I’d say Kevin Bourne is the one we should concentrate on.’

  ‘Why’s that, Sherlock?’

  ‘Because, my dear Maggie, David Ellis is happily married with two young children and still lives in Farlington, while Kevin Bourne is more of an enigma. And when I checked out his photos on Facebook, I found this.’

  He unlocked his phone, opened the app, and clicked on Kevin Bourne’s profile. He scrolled down through the photos until he came to the one he wanted, and passed his phone to Maggie. She saw a smiling Kevin Bourne stood in the middle of a group of giggling girls, all in school uniform. They were huddled around him, eager to fit into the selfie.

  ‘This doesn’t really prove anything. They’re in school, in one of the classrooms, taking a photo,’ Maggie said. She flicked through more photos, then stopped, frowning. ‘Bloody hell. Take a look at this.’

  She put the phone on the table. Andy, Mike and Chloe leaned over and peered at the photo on the screen.

  ‘I don’t get it. What are we supposed to be looking at?’ Andy said. ‘It’s just a selfie Kevin took.’

  Maggie looked at Mike and Chloe. ‘Recognise anything?’

  Chloe started to shake her head, then gasped. ‘It’s the street where we went today.’

  ‘Shit.’ Mike used his fingers to zoom in on the photo. ‘There’s the house. What the hell does that mean, Mags?’

  ‘Could Kevin and James be the same person?’ Andy asked.

  Maggie sighed. ‘I don’t think so. When we took the key back, I asked the neighbour to describe James. She told us he was tall and skinny, with short light-brown hair. Look at Kevin.’ The stocky man in the photo had black, wavy, shoulder-length hair. ‘But what the hell was he doing there?’

  * * *

  Andy, Mike and Chloe sat at the living room table with their laptops, keyboards clicking as they trawled the internet for information, while Maggie was on the sofa with her own laptop, finishing off her article. She just needed a headline, something short, eye-catching, and memorable. She thought for a moment, then typed The Lost Girls and clicked save, satisfied. One more click and it sped on its way to Roger, Carol and Anne.

  ‘James isn’t on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram,’ Mike said, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

  ‘I hate to say I told you so, Mike,’ Maggie began, smirking.

  ‘I thought everyone was on social media,’ he replied. ‘Kevin Bourne is.’

  ‘Not if you’re a psychopath,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ve found loads of James Sorensens who obviously aren’t him, but there are pages and pages to go through.’

  Andy sat back, throwing his hands up in frustration. ‘Kevin may be on Facebook, but I can’t find much more about him, either. There are no new posts since early 2016, and nothing that says where he lives. It’s like the guy doesn’t exist anymore.’

  ‘Well, I’ve finished here, so I’ll give you a hand.’ Maggie opened a new tab on her laptop.

  ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ Chloe said.

  ‘Don’t get demoralised, Chloe. They’ve got to have left tracks somewhere, no one can completely disappear.’ Maggie frowned. ‘They’re bound to be on Google, it’s just a matter of persistence. Let’s try some different keywords.’

  ‘Going hi-tech, are we, Mags?’ Mike said, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, Mikey, I can use a computer when it’s necessary.’

  He snorted and turned back to his screen. Maggie thought for a moment, then began typing. She scrolled down through the list of options Google showed her, but after three pages of results, she was starting to get bored. Her finger rolled the mouse wheel automatically, while her eyes skimmed over the various sites. Suddenly, she stopped and clicked on a link.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Maggie?’ Chloe asked.

  Maggie sat back, her hand over her mouth. ‘Come and see this.’

  The three of them joined her on the sofa and looked at the newspaper article on the screen before them.

  ‘“Teenager loses sisters in house fire”,’ Mike read. ‘“Fire kills young girls”. It’s from 2002.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s important?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Look at the names of the sisters who died.’ Maggie’s hand shook as she pointed at a photo of two girls on the screen. Underneath was the caption: Dead sisters, Jane and Charlotte.

  34

  She sneaked downstairs, her mouth dry with fear. Jane was in her bedroom, refusing to speak to anyone as usual, and he was in the living room, watching TV. Supposedly. Charlotte wanted to run back upstairs, curl under her blankets, and wait until she fell asleep, as she did every night. But she’d made her mind up – she was determined to find out what was going on, and the only way to do that was to spy on him.

  She muffled a sob as she thought of what he would do if he caught her. She hadn’t been back down to the cellar for a while, but she knew he’d been busy since he’d last punished Jane in there. He’d taken down several boxes; what was in them she had no idea, and she wanted it to stay that way. She knew the risk she was taking, but she also knew that he wasn’t the same person he’d been four years earlier, or even six months earlier. Something was happening to him, and she had to find out what. For her and Jane’s sakes.

  She got to the bottom of the stairs and paused, straining her ears. She could hear the television, the volume low, canned laughter occasionally interrupting the voices. She crept closer, staying near the wall so the floorboards wouldn’t creak. She’d practised during the day, while he was out, but this was different. Every movement was crucial; the slightest creak could have him storming out into the hallway, his face dark with anger as he dragged her down the dark steps to the cellar. She gulped and wiped her clammy hands on her jeans. She only had a few more minutes left to hide in the shadows of the console table in the hall. She crouched down, thankful for the dim lighting, and waited.

  Precisely on time, he came out of the living room and went to the kitchen to make himself a tea. Over the last four years, Charlotte had never seen him change his routine. As he flicked the switch on the kettle, she slipped inside the living room and dashed over to the sofa against the opposite wall. She grunted softly as she eased her way behind it, wriggling to make sure none of her body showed. It was a snug fit, as she knew, but she could lie there for as long as she needed to. She made herself as comfortable as possible, then froze when she heard his footsteps shuffling down the hall.

  He sat down on the sofa and slurped his tea, leaning back as he sighed in satisfaction. Charlotte lay just a few inches from him, hardly daring to breathe. He yawned, and she wondered if he was going to fall asleep. Disappointment flooded her as she realised she might have to do this several nights in a row. The thought was unbearable.

  The clonk as he thumped his mug down made her jump. ‘Damn you!’ She heard the sofa creak as he got to his feet, and curled up as much as she could, scared he would see her toes poking out.

  He began to pace around the room, mumbling to himself. She tried to concentrate, but her heart was thumping so hard she could only hear the blood rushing in her ears. She held her breath and focused.

  ‘…always interfering. You never know when to shut up, do you? I know you were right about that, and I’ve sorted it. She’ll not go in my room again in a hurry.’ His conversation was interspersed with pauses, as if he were listening to someone speaking. ‘Yes, the fire worked. The fire alway
s works. It cleanses them, makes them pure again, just like my little girls should be.’ He giggled. ‘Of course I’m sure, Mother. I won’t make the same mistake as last time.’

  He was talking to his mother? Was he on the phone?

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ His tone was subdued. Then it suddenly became whiney, like a young child’s. ‘But she pushed me away, she didn’t want me anymore. Both of them, whispering together, turning against me… they had to pay. As did you, Mother.’ His voice returned to normal, a hard edge to it now. ‘The fire taught them a lesson… you should have heard Jane’s screams as her skin bubbled and crisped, it was heaven. She pleaded with me, begged me to put it out, but it was too late. She had to suffer, so she could be pure once more. It was too late for you, Mother…’ He snorted and clapped his hands. ‘Your soul and body were damned already… all those men, just to pay the bills. You wanted the girls to follow in your steps, didn’t you, Mother? You were getting too old, so you wanted to use your own daughters to put food on the table. The oldest profession in the world, isn’t that what they say? But they were my little girls. MINE!’

  He slammed his fist on the coffee table, making Charlotte gasp. She put her hand over her mouth, terrified he’d heard.

  ‘I saved them from you, Mother, saved them from that depressing existence you lived, day after day, night after night. I could smell them on you, those disgusting pigs you sold yourself to. I wasn’t going to let my little girls become like you. But blood is thicker than water, eh? Charlie was truly her mother’s daughter, getting herself knocked up. Little whore.’ He spat on the ground. ‘It was meant to be just the three of us, no one else. Not even you, Mother. But it wasn’t to be. She let me down, and had to be punished for it.’

  Charlotte grimaced as a cramp shot through her left calf, making her want to scream in pain. She put her hand in her mouth and bit down, tears streaming down her face, and prayed she could keep quiet.