Lost Child: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by D. S. Butler

  “I’m not,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was your precious sister who squandered the money. Not me.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “How would you know, Beth? When did you ever pay any attention to anyone except yourself?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re a drama queen, Beth. You think the world revolves around you. Well, here’s a newsflash for you: it doesn’t.”

  “I should have guessed you’d try to spin it round and turn it back on me.”

  But Daniel knew he’d pushed a sensitive spot and continued, “Your mother was a wreck after Kate died. I had to support her emotionally and financially. Then I had to sort out that job in Dubai for you because you were practically a nutcase. Do you know we could have had you sectioned?”

  Blood rushed in my ears, but I was determined not to be hotheaded. It wasn’t true. I was never that bad. He was only saying that to hurt me.

  “I’m not rising to the bait, Daniel,” I said, struggling to keep calm. “I would just like to know when you’re going to pay Mum back. After all, none of us believes Kate got into debt. The very idea is ridiculous.”

  “This is typical of you. My daughter is missing, and you bring this up now when we might have a chance of finding her again. You’re always trying to find a way to twist things, Beth, to give yourself a starring role in the drama.”

  Daniel had raised his voice to a shout, and I took a step back. How could Kate have fallen for a man like this? He was deranged.

  “Of course, getting Jenna back is our priority. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you cheat my mother out of her money. You do realise she’s going to have to sell the house because she can’t afford to pay back the debt you owe her?”

  “How is that my problem? I can’t afford to pay rent on two places, and there is no way I’m moving back here. It was claustrophobic enough when Kate was alive. I couldn’t bear it now. When I’m here, all I can think about is Kate and Jenna…”

  His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, and he turned away fiercely as his eyes filled with tears.

  “I thought it was typically women who turned on the waterworks to get what they wanted,” I said coldly, surprising even myself with my callousness.

  “Beth,” my mother admonished. “I think you better go, Daniel. We’ll see you tomorrow morning when the police come to give us an update.”

  Daniel nodded and then walked away from us, heading out of the sitting room to let himself out. When the front door had closed behind Daniel, I braced myself for my mother’s angry words. I deserved them, too. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. Especially not now.

  But rather than telling me off, she sighed and said, “My tea has gone cold. I’ll make another pot.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I went to bed early but lay awake worrying that our chance to find Jenna was slipping away. By fighting amongst ourselves, we weren’t helping our chances.

  Staring up at the ceiling, I tried to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Things had quickly spiralled out of control. Kate would have wanted me to be more understanding. Daniel had been through hell after losing his wife and daughter, and some of what he said made sense. Everything here reminded him of the wife and child he’d lost. Why could I not be more sympathetic?

  It was impossible to believe the story he was spinning about Kate building up mountains of debt. That just wasn’t like her. Kate was the one who would save some of her pocket money so she would have money for sweets at the end of the week, whereas I would spend mine in the first two days. She’d always been good with money.

  Maybe Daniel was right. I was self-centred, not stopping to think why Kate had to go back to work so quickly after Jenna was born. Now, I understood why she had been so keen to start working for Pippa. They’d needed the money desperately.

  Before I said goodnight to Mum, I’d asked her why she’d mentioned Pippa’s name when she was arguing with Daniel, but she hadn’t given me a straight answer, and I hadn’t wanted to push it. We’d had enough stress tonight. I guessed it had to have something to do with the money, though. Perhaps she was reminding Daniel that Kate had to go back to work for Pippa because he couldn’t manage his finances.

  Getting the money from Daniel wasn’t going to be easy. We would need to get a lawyer and take him to court. Bank records would show the money trail from Mum’s bank account to Daniel’s, which would prove he’d received the money, but what if he said the money was only for Kate – after all, they’d had a joint account. How would that argument stand up in court? I’d transferred enough money to pay the mortgage the next few months, and after that, we would need to make a plan for the future.

  It was just after ten o’clock when my mobile phone beeped. I sat up in bed and grabbed it, eager to open the message in case it contained information about Jenna, but it was a message from my boss in Dubai. He wanted to know where I’d filed a particular spreadsheet on his computer.

  I rolled my eyes. The spreadsheet was in the same place it always was. I replied to his message and felt a twinge of guilt when I realised it was two AM in Dubai. He was working late. I’d enjoyed my job and took on duties above my pay grade, including tasks designated for him, but he’d been happy enough for me to take on more responsibility. Now, though, it meant I’d really left him in the lurch.

  I bunched up my pillow, trying to get comfortable. Was there anything I didn’t feel guilty about at the moment? Staring up at the ceiling until my eyelids grew heavy, I replayed the events of the day Jenna went missing, always hoping for a newly remembered detail. Fragments of the day went round and round in my mind until finally, exhausted, I fell asleep.

  When I woke up, my mouth felt dry, and my head felt like it was full of cotton wool. I swung my legs out of bed and then staggered down the hallway to make a strong cup of coffee. I needed it.

  Mum was already in the kitchen in her dressing gown. She poured me a mug of filter coffee. “How did you sleep?”

  “Not well,” I admitted. “You?”

  “I managed to get a few hours, but I had to take a pill.”

  I frowned. “I didn’t know you were still taking sleeping tablets?”

  “I haven’t taken one for a while, but I needed one last night. Perhaps you could make an appointment to see a doctor today and get a prescription. You might find they help.”

  I set my mug down on the table and pulled a face. “I don’t need to take anything.”

  Mum sighed heavily and shook her head as though she’d expected that answer. She sipped her coffee and then said, “It would make me feel better if you saw the GP, Beth. It’s not a bad thing to get some support.”

  “I know that, and if I need help, I’ll make an appointment.”

  “By the time you admit you need help, you’ll be in a bad way. It’s better to head it off in advance. I can’t cope if it happens again, Beth.”

  That was emotional blackmail. And it was very effective.

  The last thing I wanted was a repeat of the hell I put my mother through two years ago. I picked up my coffee mug again and nodded reluctantly. “Okay, fine. I’ll call them.”

  “You don’t have to take any medication,” she said encouragingly, reached over for the telephone handset and phonebook and passed them to me. “Just talk to the GP. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Mum headed off to take a shower, and I dialled the GP’s number.

  Dr Fitzgerald was my old GP. He’d looked after me and Kate since we’d been at primary school.

  The call connected, and I was immediately put in a waiting queue. The silence was punctuated every thirty seconds by an automated female voice announcing my number in the queue. I yawned and took sips of my coffee as I waited.

  When I finally got through to the efficient, brusque receptionist, she informed me I was supposed to telephone on a Monday morning to get a pre-bookable appointment.

  “So, you’re telling me I can’t have an appointment?” I
asked, confused, but not necessarily very upset about it.

  “I can’t give out any pre-bookable appointments during the week. They have to be booked on a Monday.”

  “Are you telling me to hang up and phone back next Monday, then?”

  “I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m simply saying I can’t make any pre-bookable appointments until Monday.”

  I pulled a face. “So, I won’t be able to see the doctor until next week at the earliest?”

  “That’s right. Unless it’s an urgent issue?”

  “No, it’s not urgent. Thank you.”

  I hung up, feeling quite relieved. Surely, Mum would be satisfied with the fact I’d tried.

  I was just filling my mug with a second cup of coffee when Mum came into the kitchen to do the same. Her short, curly, grey hair was wet from the shower, and her skin was shiny from freshly-applied moisturiser.

  “Well? Did you get an appointment?”

  “I have to phone next Monday. That’s when they give out pre-bookable appointments,” I informed her and raised the coffee jug to refresh her mug.

  Mum frowned and tutted. “Nonsense, I’ll phone them.”

  I went off to get in the shower. When I was drying my hair, Mum poked her head around the bedroom door and told me Dr Fitzgerald would see me at two PM that afternoon.

  I wondered how Mum had managed to get past the officious receptionist. She obviously knew some tricks I didn’t. But it was pointless to argue. If it made Mum feel better, I would go and see Dr Fitzgerald this afternoon.

  At just before nine, Mum and I were both back in the kitchen, watching the clock. The police were coming to update us, and Daniel would be arriving any moment. After last night, I wasn’t sure how this morning’s visit would go.

  Mum fished around in the cupboard under the sink, wincing a little as if crouching hurt her knees. She turned around triumphantly, brandishing a viciously sharp looking pair of secateurs.

  I raised an eyebrow. I’d never been a great gardener.

  “I thought we could do some gardening after the police visit this morning and take our mind off things.”

  I was about to object and say we had much more important things than a few overgrown shrubs to worry about, but from the earnest look on Mum’s face, I knew this was her way of trying to keep me busy. Her concern had motivated her to persuade me to visit the GP.

  I took the secateurs from her, which were surprisingly heavy, and nodded. “Okay, but you’d better keep a close eye on me. I can’t be held accountable for any scalped roses.”

  “If you think I’m going to let you near the roses, you’ve got another think coming,” Mum said, trying to hide a smile.

  When Daniel arrived at five to nine, we put our differences aside to concentrate on Jenna. It wasn’t easy, and the atmosphere was tense. If Inspector Sharp and Detective Sergeant Parker picked up on the undercurrent of tension between us when they arrived a few minutes later, they didn’t mention it.

  Mum made tea, and we all sat down at the kitchen table. I had still been holding the secateurs when the police arrived and put them on the table to the left of my cup. Of course, we had a tonne of questions for the officers, but unfortunately, they didn’t have many answers. Inspector Sharp was, at least, able to tell us that rather than being sent from a mobile phone, the photograph of Jenna had been sent from a computer using an Internet messaging service.

  Detective Sergeant Parker’s cheeks were tinged with red as her boss spoke. She’d already hinted at that information when I’d spoken to her on the phone. I got the distinct impression she hadn’t intended to share the information quite so early.

  The message had been sent from a computer in a chat room, in Oxford, but unfortunately, there were no security cameras or CCTV in the immediate area, but they were still checking CCTV from premises along the same road.

  Mum asked them whether they thought Robin Vaughan sent the message, but he had an alibi for the time the message was sent.

  It felt like all our leads were terminating in dead ends.

  “Are you absolutely sure about the location the message was sent from?” Daniel asked. “I mean, could somebody have tried to make it look like it came from an Oxford chat room?”

  Inspector Sharp and Sergeant Parker turned to look at Daniel, and there was a long pause before Sergeant Parker responded. “We have no evidence to suggest the IP address was masked. Why do you ask?”

  Daniel glanced at me and then looked away again quickly. “Would you be able to tell if it came from somewhere abroad, like Dubai?”

  There was an awkward silence. No one wanted to acknowledge the insinuation behind Daniel’s words. My hands curled into fists, but I forced myself to remain calm. How could he believe I would do something like that?

  A few seconds passed, and I realised everyone was looking at me.

  Sergeant Parker’s gaze lowered, focusing on my clasped fingers wrapped around the sharp secateurs. My knuckles were white.

  I uncurled my fingers and let go of the secateurs.

  “We have no reason to believe that the message was sent from abroad, Daniel,” Inspector Sharp said finally, breaking the silence.

  I glared at Daniel. Maybe I should be flattered that he thought I was some kind of cyber-genius. I’d like to tell him exactly what he could do with his ridiculous theories, but this was all a distraction, and it wasn’t getting us any closer to finding Jenna.

  “Have any more messages come through on my phone?” I asked.

  Sergeant Parker shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “And what about Robin Vaughan… I mean, he was there that day, at the fête, I mean. He could have been involved, couldn’t he? Maybe he had an accomplice snatch Jenna and take her back to his place? Have you searched his house?”

  Inspector Sharp’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “I know you want answers, Beth. But the Robin Vaughan investigation is separate to Jenna’s case. If we find anything linking the two investigations, we will let you know, but right now, we don’t believe Robin Vaughan was involved in Jenna’s disappearance.”

  “But have you searched his house? Surely, you can tell us that much,” Daniel’s voice was clipped. He was furious and frustrated.

  Sergeant Parker exchanged a look with her boss and then nodded. “We have. As part of our ongoing investigation into Robin Vaughan, we have searched his property. But again, I have to reiterate that at this stage, we don’t believe he is involved in Jenna’s disappearance.”

  “So who do you think is involved? It’s been two years. Somebody sent that photograph, which means she is still alive. She is out there somewhere, so why haven’t you found her?” Mum asked, her voice strained as she blinked back tears.

  “I can’t even imagine how frustrating this is for all of you, Mrs Farrow. But I want you to know we have a whole team dedicated to tracking down who sent that photograph. Please believe we are doing everything we can to find her. We have the best resources and officers looking for Jenna. ”

  I sighed and leant back in my chair. That was all very well, but it didn’t look like their best was good enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I arrived at the GP surgery five minutes early for my appointment. The waiting room was chock-a-block.

  There was already a queue at the counter, so I joined the end, waiting behind an old lady in a grubby-looking raincoat. The queue moved slowly, and everyone kept a respectful distance from the reception desk, so they didn’t overhear the medical complaints of the person in front.

  A young man in a shiny suit and rimless glasses joined the queue behind me, and he smiled before a hacking cough engulfed him. I tried not to make it too obvious when I took a step forward, away from his germs.

  I’d never liked coming to the doctors. The idea behind waiting in an overheated room, filled with sick people, was fundamentally flawed. It was the perfect place for germs to spread like wildfire. And I couldn’t help wondering how many people came
to the doctor’s surgery for something like a bad back and left with the flu.

  When I finally reached the front of the queue and told the receptionist I was there for my two o’clock appointment, she gave an impatient little huff.

  At first, I thought she must have realised that I was the person who was supposed to phone back on Monday. Maybe she disapproved of me not following the correct procedure. I couldn’t really blame her, but I preferred to deal with an angry receptionist rather than an angry mother.

  The receptionist pointed towards a touchscreen monitor set up in the corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. The UK had obviously moved with the times since I’d been away. “You’re supposed to check in over there. With your date of birth and the first letter of your last name.”

  “Oh, I see. Sorry.”

  “Don’t bother, love,” a voice said behind me. It was the old lady, wearing the grubby raincoat, who had been standing in front of me in the queue. She hobbled away from the touchscreen back to the reception desk. “It’s on the blink. Screen won’t respond.”

  The receptionist turned her attention to the old lady. “Are you sure you’re pressing the correct buttons?”

  The old lady looked at her scornfully. “I’ve been in here enough times to know how to work that infernal thing, and I’m telling you, it’s not working.”

  The receptionist sighed and tapped the keys on the keyboard in front of her. “Name?” she asked.

  “Patricia Morrison,” the old woman said.

  “Dr Ingram is on time today. He’ll call you in when he’s ready. Name?”

  After a short delay, I realised she was talking to me now. “Beth Farrow. I’ve got a two PM appointment with Dr Fitzgerald.”

  “Fine, take a seat. He is running about twenty minutes late.”

  As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait that long to see Dr Fitzgerald. Ten minutes later, his gruff voice called my name over the intercom system.

  I got up, and as directed, walked to room three.