Little Girl Gone

by Stephen Edger

  Returning the book to its space in the drawer, he slumped back onto the bed. Why would she not tell him she was going to Fleet on Tuesday?

  He closed his eyes as the answer presented itself to him.

  He had strayed from their marriage vows, so wasn’t it feasible that Alex had too? She hadn’t initiated sex for months, and save for the drunken fumble a few weeks ago neither had shown the other any real affection. How many other times could she have taken trips to Fleet without him knowing? What did she do with Carol-Anne while she was off screwing this guy?

  He was surprised by the feelings of jealousy coursing through his veins. Was it really possible that Alex had also been cheating? He’d been working late, and playing away himself, so what was to stop her seeking comfort in another man’s arms?

  The first time he’d slept with her, the guilt the following day had been overwhelming. That was what had led to the heavy drinking and desire to show Alex that he still loved her. The fumble had been ill-advised and had only shown him how out of sync they’d become. He’d told himself he wouldn’t allow himself to cheat again. But after a week of flirtatious and suggestive messages they’d hooked up again. And again. And again.

  He still loved Alex, and he didn’t want to hurt her. He knew just how devastating a blow his infidelity would be when she did eventually find out, but he was starting to develop strong feelings for his lover; and deep down he knew that she was falling for him too.

  Why did life have to be so complicated? He wanted to come clean, to admit the truth; it was the least Alex deserved and the shame of lying was killing him. How could he, with Carol-Anne still out there? It would be enough to push Alex over the edge.

  His phone vibrated on the duvet next to him.

  Are you alone?

  He listened for any sound of Alex nearby before punching in his response.

  Yeah, but now isn’t a good time. I meant what I said the other night. We should cool things until I’ve had chance to speak to Alex.

  He was taking a huge risk messaging her from the house. Alex could walk in any minute and demand to see his phone. And although he’d logged her in his phone as “Nigel”, the content of some of their exchanges left little to the imagination. The phone vibrated again.

  I know. I just thought you might need a friend. Is there any news?

  The bedroom door opened before he could reply. Quickly locking the phone, he feigned interest in the football match playing quietly on the television as his teary-eyed wife appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asked softly.

  He waved her over, muting the television.

  She climbed onto the bed and snuggled into his armpit as he rested his arm around her. ‘Who’s winning?’

  He quickly glanced at the score in the top corner. ‘Drab draw so far. Are they still buzzing around downstairs?’

  He felt her nodding. ‘Trent said the man in the photograph is someone called Jack Whitchurch. Do you know him?’

  Ray swallowed hard, keen to protect her from the truth. ‘Only by reputation.’

  ‘So you know he’s a … paedophile then?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, the word getting stuck in his throat. ‘That doesn’t mean he has Carol-Anne.’

  ‘That’s what Trent said too,’ she said as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘She thinks whoever sent the messages wants to see harm done to him.’

  ‘Did she say if they’re going to bring him in for questioning?’

  Alex was shaking her head now.

  He let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘They should be bringing him in to see what he knows. I bet they haven’t even visited his home yet. I sometimes wonder …’ He knew the thought wasn’t what Alex needed to hear. ‘I’m going to have a word with her,’ he said, straightening and raising his arm.

  ‘Don’t rush off,’ Alex said, pulling his arm back around her. ‘Will you stay with me? We don’t have to talk; I just don’t want to be on my own right now.’

  And in that moment, he knew the right thing to do was to be the support she needed. Carol-Anne needed both her parents to be ready to fight for her, and Alex would be no good to her in this fragile state.

  They stayed in silence and as halftime drew near in the football match, he said, ‘Do you want me to change the channel?’

  Alex didn’t answer, and as he looked down, the gentle rise and fall of her chest and closed eyes indicated she had fallen asleep. Pulling her closer, he kissed the top of her head.

  37

  Her nose rubbing against the damp spot on the pillow was enough to wake Alex from her slumber. For the briefest of moments she was convinced she could hear Carol-Anne giggling in her bedroom again, and then the harsh reality hit her like a locomotive. Seeing the creased sweatshirt and jogging bottoms she’d sported yesterday, she vaguely remembered coming up to see Ray, but had no recollection of falling asleep. Evidently she had, though, fully clothed.

  Looking around the room, there was no sign of Ray. The light beneath the curtains suggested it was morning. She couldn’t understand how he managed to take himself to work each day. Her every waking thought was splintered by worries for Carol-Anne, in the hands of either Jack Whitchurch or someone out to do him harm. Either way, the truth was, Carol-Anne was in grave danger.

  Alex’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as the dryness took hold. She crawled to the bathroom, locking the door behind her and stripping off for a shower. Pulling her hair back, she squashed her face beneath the basin tap and switched on the cold water, lapping up the refreshment, before running the shower.

  Once washed and dried, she made her way back to her bedroom, checking her phone, hoping for any kind of update from Ray. Under the showerhead’s relaxing jet, she had remembered resting her head on Ray’s chest and him draping an arm around her. She couldn’t remember the last time he had willingly hugged her to sleep, and it filled her with renewed hope that there might just be a spark left in their marriage that – with delicate nurturing – could once again roar.

  Based on what Trent had told her last night in the kitchen, the team would be visiting Whitchurch at his home this morning to check for any sign of Carol-Anne and see whether anyone had formally threatened him.

  In a week of heartache, it was all Alex could hope for; right now she had little else.

  Looking down at the pile of clothes she’d carried back from the bathroom, Alex resisted the temptation to slip them back on.

  No, today was a day to stay positive.

  She’d once read a book by some motivational speaker who had claimed the key to a successful career was to visualize the life you wanted every day until you found it. Well, desperate times called for desperate measures so, stepping into a svelte purple dress, Alex pulled her hair back, tying it in a thin, wet ponytail. Blasting it with the hairdryer would take an age, and she didn’t want to spend anymore time in the house than was utterly necessary. If she wanted Carol-Anne back, she had to act.

  The kitchen door was ajar, and inside she could hear Isla in hushed conversation with someone. As Alex pushed the door open, the phone at Isla’s ear explained why the conversation was one-sided. Isla spun round at the sound of the door and her cheeks flushed slightly.

  ‘Is it news?’ Alex mouthed.

  Isla lowered the phone to her chest. ‘Uh, no … it’s personal.’ She didn’t wait any longer to offer further explanation, diving past Alex and continuing the call behind the safety of the closed living room door.

  Alex put the kettle on and focused on the breathing exercises Dr Kirkman had shown her for when she was feeling stressed and needed to relax. They hadn’t helped before, but she was willing to give anything a go at this stage.

  That’s when she stopped still, as a crazy idea pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, yet the more she considered it, the more it offered a chink of hope.

  Reaching for her phone, she typed the word ‘Psychic’ into an internet
search engine. She was stunned by the number of hits of clairvoyants advertising their services in the Southampton area alone. How could she choose one who might hold answers, and how would she know if they were just a fraud?

  She needed advice, and that was what drove her to knock on her neighbour’s door.

  Sophie’s silhouette appeared behind the frosted glass a moment later, and as she pulled open the door, dressed in a kimono and looking bleary-eyed, Alex’s fresh face clearly caught her off guard.

  ‘Alex? What …?’ she said, yawning, unable to finish the question.

  ‘I need a favour,’ Alex said, already regretting calling on her friend so early in the morning. ‘This is going to sound crazy, and if you think I’m being an idiot, I want you to tell me …’

  Sophie blinked several times, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘I need answers about my little girl. My car’s still with forensics, and I was wondering whether you would – and you can say no if you’re too busy – drive me to see a psychic.’

  Alex’s cheeks burned as the words tumbled out. How must she look right now? It felt like the world was already judging her for being unstable, and now she was contemplating reaching out to an unproven spiritual world for guidance. It had been a mistake coming here.

  Sophie looked away for a moment, and it was then that Alex realized the reason Sophie wasn’t dressed was because she had company.

  ‘Oh, Sophie, I’m so sorry, I hadn’t realized … do you know what? Don’t worry about it. Forget I asked.’ She turned to leave.

  ‘Alex, wait,’ Sophie said stepping out into the cool morning air, pulling the door closed. ‘Who am I to judge? I think it’s a great idea. Promise not to laugh? I went to see a psychic a couple of years ago, right before all that mess. I just wanted someone to tell me everything would work out for the best. Silly, right? Anyway, he told me that it would end badly, and that I would come through the other side a stronger person. I didn’t believe him at the time, but in hindsight …’

  Alex’s cheeks were still burning.

  ‘Give me a few minutes to get dressed,’ Sophie said, heading back inside, ‘and then I’ll come round to pick you up. Oh, and it might be an idea to bring something of Carol-Anne’s with you, so that he can get a sense of her. You know, like a toy or some clothing?’

  The bungalow Sophie parked outside of had seen better days. The brickwork looked weathered by time, and the thatch roof didn’t look capable of withstanding a heavy downpour. Even the paint on the window frames was peeling. As they walked along the gravel path, Alex couldn’t escape the feeling that she was making a huge mistake coming here.

  At the front door, a large bell hung from a piece of frayed rope, and Sophie bashed the inner hammer against it. ‘I should warn you,’ she said leaning in to Alex, ‘he was a bit of an oddball. He was sweet, but some of his ways were … well, let’s just say not based in our current time period. What I’m trying to say is some of his mannerisms – and the way he dressed – were a bit out there.’

  As soon as the splintered door creaked open, Alex realized what Sophie had meant, as a white-haired man emerged, his red bow tie in stark contrast to the blue buttoned shirt with yellow polka dots on it. His tan-coloured waistcoat matched his trousers, and the lime green socks that finished the outfit bore the signs of recent darning.

  Alex was too embarrassed to speak, and appreciated Sophie explaining the reason for their visit.

  A narrow corridor led to a large kitchen-diner at the rear of the property; however, he led Alex and Sophie into a front-facing sitting room, shrouded in the morning’s bright rays coming through the window.

  ‘And how may one as humble as I aid you two beautiful angels?’ he said, as he squashed himself into a worn brown leather armchair.

  Sophie beckoned to Alex to join her on the tattered cloth two-seater opposite him.

  ‘My daughter was abducted on Tuesday,’ Alex began. ‘You may have heard about it on the news?’

  The man shook his head, waving his arm around the room. ‘I don’t watch television, my dear.’

  For the second time, Alex wondered exactly what she’d expected to find from an individual who claimed to be able to foresee the future. Removing a stuffed green dragon toy from her handbag, she offered it forward. ‘This is my daughter’s. I want you to tell me where she is, and if she’s okay.’

  He looked sceptically at the toy. ‘You say somebody took your daughter from you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He pressed his splayed fingertips together and rested them beneath his chin. ‘The world has a plan for all of us,’ he began. ‘We can sometimes stray from our predetermined path, but one way or another the forces will align to set our course straight once more. Sometimes, what feels like an intentional course change can be the chosen path to begin with. All of Mother Nature is in sync, so the trees talk to the land, the land talks to the animals, the animals talk to the air and sea. It is all interconnected and a chosen few,’ he paused and gestured towards himself, ‘are lucky enough to be able to hear all this traffic. As much as I would like to be able to stare into a crystal ball and see the future playing like some kind of theatrical show, it doesn’t work like that. I can only tell you what the trees are saying. Do you follow?’

  Alex offered the dragon forward again. ‘Are you able to tell me where she is or not?’

  The man shuffled forward without standing and grasped the toy, examining it carefully, before placing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. ‘A little girl, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He closed his eyes, and raised the dragon into the air over his head, mumbling as he did. And just when it seemed like he would never stop, he suddenly pulled the dragon to his chest, ceased the chant, and slowly opened his eyes. ‘The owner of this toy is no longer of this plane,’ he declared matter-of-factly.

  It was the last thing Alex had expected to hear. ‘What does that mean?’ She glanced at Sophie for reassurance.

  ‘I am sorry, but nature is telling me she is no more.’

  The hurt burned inside Alex, as she chided herself for even daring to consider such an absurd idea. Even so, she was terrified by the possibility that his mumbo jumbo might bear the fruit of truth. Snatching the dragon from him, she made for the front door, and heard him call out, ‘Was it something I said?’

  38

  Waking with a start, Ray peeled his face from the pillow. Caught in limbo between sleep and realization, it took a moment for him to remember where he was. As he turned over, he was surprised to find he was alone, though the impression of her head, and the scent of her Italian perfume remained on the pillow.

  At first he didn’t know what had woken him, until he heard the incessant buzzing again. Reaching down to where his trousers and socks lay, he grabbed for the mobile phone, checking the display, before putting it to his ear.

  ‘DS Granger,’ he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his palm.

  ‘Ray? I’m sorry to call, but I need you,’ Jodie Crichton pleaded into the phone.

  Checking the display again he saw he’d missed a dozen calls while he’d slept. That could only mean bad news. ‘What’s going on? Is it Carol-Anne?’

  Her tone was cautious. ‘No, I’m sorry, it isn’t about your daughter. The gang – our gang – hit another post office while they were taking a foreign exchange delivery at dawn. They were foiled and one of them is trapped inside with the delivery driver, and he’s threatening to kill her if he isn’t allowed to go free. I’ve emailed you the address. Get over here pronto and grab a coffee. Trent said you’d been on hostage negotiation training? I really wouldn’t ask if there was anyone closer.’

  He stretched the last weary remnants of sleep from his body. ‘Okay, I’m on my way.’

  Scooping his crumpled shirt from the carpet, he would have to make his excuses before leaving. Coming over this morning had been a bad idea, but she’d offered him a shoulder to cry on. The image of Carol-Anne filling his m
ind now was almost unbearable, though, and he made a silent promise to end the affair once and for all.

  Looking at the clock, he realized that Alex would be awake soon, if she wasn’t already, which meant he didn’t have time to sneak home and get back in to bed before she noticed he was gone. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in this bed.

  He gave his shirt a sniff. It would have been better to go home and change, but if Jodie was right, the delivery driver didn’t have a second to spare.

  The road into Hedge End village had been closed to the public, with diversions set up to loop rush-hour commuters around the cordon which stretched across the normally busy main road. Having taken the squad car home last night, Ray was relieved that he didn’t have to call a taxi to get to the scene. Presenting his identification at the start of the outer cordon, he sped to the inner cordon before parking up, leaving a notice in the windscreen, confirming he was responsible for the vehicle. He found Jodie gathered by the mobile van being used as the central command post. Trent was on the phone, presumably to Gold Command back at the station, while a uniformed officer was recording her instructions.

  ‘I told the DI you were at the dentist,’ Jodie said, pulling him to one side. ‘If she asks, it was a medical emergency, and you’ve had a filling replaced.’

  ‘Can you get me up to speed with what’s gone on?’ he asked as he lit up his first cigarette of the day.

  ‘The post office doesn’t officially open until nine a.m., but was due to receive a delivery of foreign exchange shortly after five. The manager usually opens the rear door, to allow the security guard to make the deposit. For some reason he wasn’t able to do so this morning, and told her to go around the front. We now believe the rear door was tampered with by the group, forcing the exchange to take place at the front, where security is more vulnerable.