Little Girl Gone

by Stephen Edger

  Ray was staring at the screen again. There was still no recognition in his eyes. Did he ever listen to any of the things she told him when he returned from work?

  ‘You think the photographer is the man responsible for taking Carol-Anne?’

  ‘What? No! I’m saying that whoever sent the image must have stolen it from my Facebook page.’

  Ray grabbed the phone from the seat cushion and unmuted it. ‘Ma’am? Can you have someone in the team pull a list of users who have accessed Alex’s Facebook profile in the last,’ he paused and turned to Alex, ‘when did you say this event was?’

  Alex racked her brain. ‘About five or six weeks ago?’ She leapt to her feet. ‘It’ll be on the calendar. Hold on.’ Darting to the kitchen, she unhooked the calendar from the wall and flipped back to last month’s page, her finger scanning the boxes until she found it. ‘It was on the sixteenth. Last month.’

  Ray appeared in the doorway, and looked at where she was pointing before relaying the information back to Trent.

  ‘The image in the email, ma’am, Alex thinks whoever sent it may have downloaded it from her Facebook page.’ He paused as he listened to her response.

  His face was a conflict of emotions; it was like he wanted to believe Alex’s theory, but was holding back, as if there was something he wasn’t telling her. He’d always been good at keeping secrets from her, and she knew no amount of pressure or questioning would break it out of him.

  Alex leaned back against the counter, allowing herself a brief moment of satisfaction that she’d potentially found a tiny piece of jigsaw puzzle in recognizing where the image had originated. And then she spotted the two open bottles of lager on the counter nearest where Ray had been standing, one empty and the other not far from joining it. This wasn’t the first night in recent weeks when she’d caught him drinking on his own. She knew he still judged her for the medication the counsellor had prescribed, but he was just as guilty of using booze as a crutch.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, understood,’ he concluded. ‘I’ll tell her now.’

  Hanging up the phone, he stared silently at Alex, his pupils darting slightly like he was trying to read her mind. He finally moved past her, picked up the second bottle of lager and drained it, before resting it back on the counter.

  ‘She said they’ll request activity logs for your Facebook and Twitter feeds. I mentioned the abuse you’d received and she said she would forward those on to a team who deal with cyberbullying and verbal assaults. If they deem any of those messages to be in breach of the 1997 Harassment Act, they’ll take appropriate action with those involved. I imagine a lot of it will result in nothing more than a slapped wrist and warning over future conduct. How are you feeling now?’

  He said it so matter-of-factly, lacking the warmth she knew he was capable of. Did he really care how she was feeling, or was he just going through the motions, doing what he thought she wanted?

  ‘What did she say about the email though?’

  ‘I forwarded it to them and she agrees that it’s probably just a crank. They’ll trace the IP address that sent it and ascertain that it isn’t more serious.’ He opened the fridge and stared into it, looking for inspiration. Finding nothing much in the way of food, he pulled out a fresh bottle of lager, prying the lid off with his hand. ‘You have to understand that in child abduction cases it’s unheard of for the perpetrator to contact the victim. The last thing they want to do is draw unnecessary attention to what they’ve done. Most will lay low until the heat has blown over, before even venturing out of their house. That’s why it can be so hard to pinpoint those responsible for such crimes.’ He noticed her staring at the bottle in his hand. ‘What?’

  Alex opened her mouth to say something, but again chickened out. ‘Nothing. How was your squash match?’

  He spluttered as the beer caught in his throat. Coughing and looking guilty as hell, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Um, it was fine. Owen trounced me three times; I guess my mind just wasn’t on it tonight.’

  She didn’t need a polygraph to tell her he was lying. He was now avoiding eye contact, and clearly hoping she didn’t ask where his kit bag was. The thing is, if he was going to lie about playing squash, the least he could do was take his kit bag with him. She knew full well that it was upstairs in the bottom of the wardrobe, where it had been for weeks. It was heartbreaking to think of him off with some other woman. It hurt almost as much that he wasn’t making more of an effort to try and keep it from her; it was almost as if he wanted her to find out.

  She remained silent, waiting to see if he’d take the opportunity to tell her the truth, but as he headed out of the kitchen and into the lounge, she heard the television being switched to the sports channel, and realized the conversation was over.

  ‘I’m going to go up to bed,’ Alex called out as she headed for the stairs. ‘I’ve got a pounding headache, so I’m going to take something for it and hopefully crash out. Can you wait up until Isla gets back?’

  He nodded, without turning to look at her. As she headed into the bedroom the deathly silence returned, leaving Alex in no doubt that she was on her own.

  24

  Ray’s neck ached as he flicked on the kettle at the wall and dropped teabags into two mugs. His plan to sleep on the couch had been disrupted when Isla had returned shortly after Alex had headed upstairs. She’d stared at the bottle of lager in his hand, the judgement painted all over her face.

  He’d peppered her with questions about the investigation, trying to see if she’d tell him anymore than he’d managed to get out of Owen yesterday afternoon. Either she didn’t have further information, or she had a great poker face. If Trent was as smart as she seemed, she would restrict the updates to Isla, in order to avoid the FLO having to lie to them. It was standard practice not to offer victim’s families false hope, and the best way to do that was to filter which updates were provided through the FLO.

  Alex had been fast asleep when he’d made it upstairs, and as he’d tried to go to sleep his mind had been filled with images of his daughter and the unending belief that his affair was the cause of karma’s cruel blow. At one point he’d almost shaken Alex awake to come clean, as if somehow that would lead to Carol-Anne’s return, then at the last moment he’d stopped himself.

  If Alex was in half the pain he was, she wouldn’t be able to cope with his betrayal as well. He would tell her everything, but only once he’d got their daughter back. And as painful as it was to leave things up to Trent and the team, he knew deep down it was the right thing to do, even if he wasn’t convinced he’d be able to live up to such a demand.

  Putting the phone to his ear, he was relieved when it connected and didn’t go to answerphone. ‘Morning, Jodie.’

  ‘Ray, good to hear from you. I won’t ask how you are,’ she replied, her voice soft and unassuming. ‘I take it you’re ringing to say you’re going to take a few days off? When you didn’t come back last night I figured you’d decided to take some personal leave.’

  The truth was he wasn’t sure what his next step would be. The thought of sitting around waiting for news filled him with dread. He’d hoped that burying himself in another case would distract him from the constant thoughts of Carol-Anne, spiked by the paranoid imaginings of outcomes that could befall her. He’d seen too many cases of abuse first-hand to ignore the growing sense of anxiety.

  ‘How’d you get on with tracing the vehicle the thieves used on the bookies?’ he asked, trying to push thoughts of Carol-Anne from his mind.

  ‘Uniform managed to get hold of the camera from the shop next door, and you can just about see a saloon pulling past. Unfortunately it’s virtually impossible to tell make and model, let alone registration number. The traffic camera on that stretch of road was no use either. However, our gang of four seemed oblivious to the camera on the traffic lights thirty yards further up the road.’

  ‘Anyone we know?’

  ‘No,’ she sighed. ‘I showed it around the office
but nobody recognized the driver. We’re running it through facial recognition as we speak and hoping for a hit. In the image, between the two front seats, you can make out two other figures in the back. Their faces are obscured though one looks like he’s holding a shotgun. I was going to show the image to Papadopoulos and see if he recognizes him. Maybe he’s a regular punter, or has been in casing the joint.’

  ‘Vehicle licence plate?’

  ‘Not on this particular shot. I managed to trace their movement back to where they collected the car from. The camera at the security barrier of West Quay car park. A 1995 Jaguar XJR in British racing green was stolen from the shopping centre on the morning of the robbery. It seems our crew told car park security they had lost their ticket, then paid the fine and drove away. They hit the bookies minutes later before driving off with the cash and dumping the vehicle in a farm near Ower. Tyre tracks leading from the farm suggest they made their escape in two 4x4s, but we have yet to identify specifics.’

  His mind flashed back to the Woodside car park, wondering what sort of vehicle had been used to snatch Carol-Anne, and how Alex could have missed the activity. Unless she wasn’t totally with it. Could her medication have clouded her memory? It was worth following up on. Alex used to keep her prescription pills in her handbag, and if he was quiet he might manage to sneak upstairs and check exactly what she was taking and whether there were any side effects.

  ‘The car wasn’t torched like the other vans,’ Jodie continued. ‘Scientific Services have confiscated the vehicle to examine it for forensics. They should have an update by lunchtime.’

  ‘And you’re certain the car’s registered owner isn’t in on it?’

  ‘Pretty certain. He isn’t from the area – he was down visiting his daughter at university – and was out eating a meal in town when the incident occurred. I have uniform checking out his alibi; my gut says he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘Sounds like you don’t need me then,’ he said, keen to end the call and fetch Alex’s handbag.

  ‘No, I should be able to handle things from here. Listen, if there’s anything you need, or you just want to talk about things, you know where I am. Okay? I don’t mind being a sounding board or if you just want to vent and let off steam, I’m happy to be that support.’

  He thanked her and hung up, making the tea as the kettle boiled and tiptoeing back up the stairs, relieved to find Alex still gently snoring in bed.

  Creeping around to her side of the bed, he gently rested the mug on her bedside table, listening for any change in the sound of Alex’s breathing.

  He hated sneaking behind her back, but was equally sure she wouldn’t tell him the truth if he confronted her. And so, bending low, he carefully gripped the leather strap of the bag and lifted it, holding it out in front of him like he was carrying an explosive device. The house keys inside the bag jangled slightly as he bumped his knee on the corner of the wooden bedframe, and it was all he could do not to scream as the shooting pain tore up his leg.

  Leaving the room, he headed for the bathroom, where he closed the door and unclipped the bag, his fingers trembling as he searched inside the inner zipped pockets.

  If she caught him now, he’d have a hard time explaining why he was snooping through her bag, but he had to be certain. There was something about Alex’s account of the abduction that had been sitting uneasily with him since she’d first told him. It wasn’t just the discrepancy in the timing of her account, nor the fact that she’d been naive enough to leave Carol-Anne unattended for any amount of time. Maybe it was the memory of what had happened in Manchester that was troubling him most.

  He froze as he heard movements coming from the bedroom. He listened for any indication that Alex was moving about, and as he heard footsteps approaching he quickly locked the bathroom door.

  The handle was lowered a moment later, followed by a banging. ‘Babe? You in there?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry,’ he quickly replied, breath still held, sweat clinging to the back of his neck. ‘If you’re desperate, go downstairs.’

  ‘Okay,’ she replied sleepily.

  He let out the breath with relief as he heard her footsteps padding down the stairs. Pulling out her purse, make-up bag, keys and phone, he searched for any sign of the small bottle of pills he’d seen her with weeks before, but the bag was empty. Cursing, he quickly returned the items and re-clipped the bag, unlocking the bathroom door and stepping onto the landing, leaning over the rail to listen for movements downstairs.

  Then, hurrying along the landing, he dived into the bedroom and returned the bag to where he’d found it, before creeping back to the bathroom and flushing the toilet just as Alex reappeared at the top of the stairs.

  She still looked half-asleep, her eyes barely open. ‘You all right? You’re sweating.’

  Eyes widened, mind racing, he ran a hand over his stomach. ‘Dickey tummy, that’s all.’

  She nodded, satisfied with the response, before returning to the bedroom.

  Ray didn’t follow, heading back downstairs and reaching for the calendar as soon as he was in the kitchen. Skimming the pages, he looked for when she’d last had an appointment with her counsellor. Turning over the pages it took three turns to find the last scrawled note.

  Three months without an appointment spelled bad news in his mind. If she hadn’t been seeing her counsellor in that time, did that also mean she was off the antidepressants? Taking a step back, he considered his options. The right thing would be to inform Trent of this revelation. To do so would mean even greater scrutiny into Alex’s troubled past, which he didn’t think she’d handle well. And what would it achieve? It wasn’t like Alex could have hurt Carol-Anne.

  Even as he tried to reassure himself, the niggling voice in the back of his head was starting to grow louder.

  25

  Poking her foot from under the duvet, Alex was tempted to remain in bed for the rest of the day. After all, what was worth getting up for? Ray would probably make himself scarce for the day again; Isla would probably fuss about the place, offering to make tea, the whole time secretly observing everything Alex said and did, reporting it all back to Trent. Alex wasn’t convinced that anyone in Trent’s investigative team had formally ruled her name out as a suspect in Carol-Anne’s disappearance. And with no daughter to look after, what was the point of getting up? Her mind would freely wander whether she was in bed or in the living room.

  She’d be better off staying in bed and trying to catch up on the hours of sleep lost during the night, in part due to Ray’s endless snoring. At one point she’d considered taking her pillow and a blanket to the living room for some peace, until she’d remembered Isla was already down there, and the last thing Alex wanted was to give the FLO any further fuel to question the stability of their marriage.

  Despite all the arguments for staying where she was and shutting out the real world, Alex eventually pushed the duvet back and quickly dressed, finding a fresh mug of tea waiting on the bedside table, presumably left by Ray.

  Isla was folding up the duvet as Alex headed downstairs. Ray was in the kitchen, lost deep in thought.

  ‘Is there any news?’ she asked him, but it was like he hadn’t heard her.

  ‘Nothing to report yet,’ Isla said as she entered the room, looking disappointed to see them both with a drink, and nothing waiting for her. ‘DI Trent wants to pop round this morning and ask you both some questions about that email message you received. Ray mentioned it when I got back last night. I should apologize for taking as long as I did to collect my bits and pieces. It was unprofessional of me not to keep you informed of my whereabouts, and I won’t let it happen again.’

  Ray seemed oblivious to the conversation.

  ‘Have they found out who sent it yet?’ Alex asked, sipping the hot tea.

  Isla shook her head. ‘Not as far as I’m aware. DI Trent will probably update us both when she gets here. Can I fix you some breakfast?’

  I’m not an invalid, Alex wanted to
scream. It wasn’t Isla’s fault. She was probably just as lost as Alex, and trying to find anything she could do to justify being there.

  A car pulling onto the driveway caught Alex’s attention. As the driver’s door opened, she immediately recognized DI Trent.

  ‘Your boss is here,’ Alex remarked to Ray, and a moment later a knock confirmed Trent’s arrival. Alex left it up to Isla to open the door, while she carried her tea through to the living room and slumped into her usual seat.

  Isla, Ray and Trent appeared a moment later.

  ‘How are you keeping, Alex?’ Trent asked, as if they were friends who hadn’t spoken in several months.

  How do you think I’m doing? Alex wanted to shout. ‘Have you found out who took my daughter yet?’

  Trent looked cautiously from Alex to Ray and then back again. ‘We’re working on a number of leads at the moment. There’s nothing concrete yet.’

  ‘What about the guy you arrested yesterday?’

  ‘Unconnected to Carol-Anne’s disappearance, I’m afraid,’ Trent said regretfully. ‘Our technicians have combed every inch of his property and there’s no trace of Carol-Anne’s DNA anywhere. Also, he has a cast-iron alibi for the time of the abduction.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is you were wrong to arrest him and get my hopes up?’ Alex hadn’t meant the question to sound so bitter, but couldn’t help feeling she’d been misled by Isla’s optimism yesterday.

  Ray was standing by the patio doors, staring out at the lawn, showing no obvious sign of interest. How could he be so indifferent? He should be the one taking charge, demanding more than a hundred per cent from his colleagues.