by M. L Rose
The woman thought for a while. “Her best friend was Maya, the girl she was in the pub with. Her other friends were Sandra and Imogen. These were the ones she stayed in touch with, and whose parents we know as well.”
“Thank you, Mrs Burroughs. We would like to come back to speak to your husband and son. Maybe sometime this evening?”
Mrs Burroughs nodded without speaking.
CHAPTER 12
Somewhere in the Midlands
Sixteen years ago
The Sisters of Mercy Convent Asylum was a cold, foreboding place at the end of the hill on Church Road. Made of grey-brick stone, it stood darker than a mass of clouds against the fading sky. Candles were lit on the stained-glass windows, the watery light dying quickly in the gathering darkness. Stray yellow leaves blew against the stone façade, dead leaves, spines hardened by three months of winter.
Cynthia and Gareth both looked down at their bowls of steaming soup as Father Justinius walked slowly past them. None of the children dared to raise their eyes to Father Justinius. His pale blue eyes seemed empty, devoid of feeling. Cynthia watched from the corner of her eye as he went out of earshot. Both she and Gareth were nine years old. The children at the tables around them were aged between five and ten. After that age they were sent to another asylum, or to a social care centre. If they were lucky, they would be paired with a foster family.
Cynthia wished she could use a hairbrush to her straggly hair that was getting longer. When one of the Mothers used a hairbrush on her, they pulled so hard it made her cry. If she complained she got slapped in return. Experience had taught her to keep her hair greasy and tangled. Washing it once a week was easier, but there was no hairbrush in the toilets.
As she ate, she looked down at Gareth’s knuckles. They were swollen from the caning he got last week. He had been the last one to leave the playground yesterday, and Father Justinius had to come looking for him. Cynthia knew Gareth wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
Gareth’s fingers shook as he broke a piece of brown bread and dipped it in the soup.
“What are you looking at?” he whispered to Cynthia.
“How’s your hand?” she whispered back.
Gareth grimaced. “Hurts to make a fist and to hold the spoon.”
“Silence!” a loud adult voice roared. There was deathly quiet in an instant. Cynthia didn’t have to look up to know who the voice belonged to. Mother Margaret was a buxom, portly matron who was never shy with the whip. She was standing at the top of the stairs, hands on hips.
The rest of the dinner passed in silence. Cynthia, Gareth, and another boy called William shared bunk beds in a room. All the children stood in a line as the matron opened each of the doors with a long, iron key. When they went inside, she came down the line again, shutting each of the doors.
Night was the worst time. Once the candles on the windows were snuffed out, the terror arrived.
Gareth and William were four months younger than Cynthia. When they heard the heavy boots clomping up the stairs, they climbed down from their beds and snuggled into hers. Cynthia was pushed against the wall, but she put an arm around them.
“Shhh, boys, if he hears us he will come in.”
“I’m scared, Cynthia,” Gareth whispered, his voice broken.
“Shush, then!”
The footsteps grew heavier, then louder still as they came towards their door. The three children huddled even closer together on the bunk bed. The steps grew slower, and then stopped right outside their door. A weight shifted, and the sound of a key chain jangled. The children held their collective breath, wide-eyed with terror.
Then the steps moved on. They became softer, but they knew the man was moving from one cell to the other, trying to decide which child to pick up tonight. He preferred boys: they knew that from the scars they had seen during bath time.
The sound of a door creaking open made their hearts freeze. When the screaming started, they held each other so tight Cynthia thought her bones would crack. The screaming grew louder, then a wail as the body was dragged past their cell by the man. A slap sounded, and with sobs the body was pulled down the stairs into the cellar. A door slammed, and there was silence.
“He’s going to come for us, Cynthia. Soon he’s going to come for me or William.”
Cynthia held them close, staring up at the impenetrable darkness. She stayed awake long after the boys were fast asleep.
CHAPTER 13
Harry’s phone buzzed as they walked past the well-tended green lawns and gleaming cars of Millionaires’ Row. He spoke briefly, then hung up.
“Lisa’s at the school.”
“Good. Tell her we’re coming.”
Harry sent off a text and they got inside the black BMW. Harry loosened his tie and draped his jacket on the headrest of the driver’s seat.
“What do you reckon?” Harry asked as he drove out.
“Something I can’t put my finger on. She seems like a normal teenager, but some of those books she was reading were for an adult woman. Someone called Cindy had gifted them to her.”
“You mean an adult woman called Cindy?”
“Or a friend. Could be either.”
With the traffic on Clapham High Street, it took more than half an hour to get to Brunswick High School. They parked in the next block along, and Harry took off his tie, and folded his jacket away. Arla took off her short, black coat, and from the trunk took out a light summer cardigan.
It was past 11, and the school was quiet. The precaution of appearing informal was perhaps excessive at this time with no parents around, but Arla was following orders.
The school was a giant Victorian mansion, mostly red-brick, and taking up a corner block. It had an annex, a glass and white-brick modern construction that contrasted tastefully with the old-style building. They had to buzz at the gates, and Harry said they had an appointment with the senior school principal. He gave his name, but not his job title.
As the gates began to swing open, Lisa and Rob came running from the side road. Arla waited till Lisa caught up with them, walking fast.
“Sorry,” Lisa gasped. “We went for a coffee thinking you’d be late.”
“Nope. Let’s go in,” Arla said. They entered the main school courtyard, and walked up the steps to the reception, at whose doors they had to be buzzed in again. Lisa and Rob remained outside. Harry hung back while Arla asked for the principal, with whom an appointment had already been made. She spoke to the man, who instructed them to attend his office.
They came out of the reception, and walked up to another set of gates where they had to press another buzzer and wait. The gates were tall, with iron spikes on top. Inside, Arla could see a cement courtyard with playing fields, and classrooms arranged around the courtyard.
“Like Fort Knox, this place,” Lisa grumbled.
“I know,” Arla said. “No chance of anyone walking in here, so we can exclude girls talking to strangers.”
They walked across the courtyard into another office block that said ‘Senior School Reception’. Arla instructed Rob and Lisa to wait in reception while she and Harry went up to the third-floor office. The door opened before they could knock. Arla saw a slim, well-kept man in a dark suit. He was tall, but shorter than Harry, and had grey hair cut short. Mid- to late-forties, Arla guessed, and from his athletic, toned figure she knew he looked after himself.
“You must be DCI Arla Baker,” the man said. “I’m Mr Charles Atkins, senior school principal. Do come in.”
Arla was impressed that he knew her correct title. Most people called her Detective. They walked in, and Mr Atkins shook hands with Harry as well. After introductions, they sat down opposite his large desk where piles of paper were arranged neatly, and a desktop PC hummed in one corner.
Charles Atkins had intelligent, intense black eyes, and he stared at Arla with interest. A good-looking man, Arla noted, ignoring the little tingle she felt as she looked back at him.
It was Atkins who open
ed the conversation. “I take it you are here about Madeleine Burroughs.”
They nodded. Atkins continued, a gloomy look descending upon his features. “This is the first time something like this has happened at our school. I mean, every school has pupils who will be difficult. But never has a child disappeared. Have you found anything as yet?” he concluded with an eager look on his face.
“No.” Arla shook her head. “We are still at the beginning of our enquiries.”
Mr Atkins looked deflated. Harry said, “Tell us about Madeleine.”
“She was a good girl. Exemplary student. Liked by everyone. She was captain of the volleyball team.”
“What about her friends?”
“She was popular. I’m sure you can ask around for her friends.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
Atkins shrugged. “This is a co-ed school, Miss Baker. Boys and girls do mix, as you know. Most of it is kept quiet. We, as the teachers, know the least about their private lives. They are older teenagers.”
Arla took out her notebook. She preferred the older-style book, despite knowing she could jot down names on her iPhone Notes app.
“We have some names here – Maya Patel and Imogen Sparks. Apparently they were her closest friends?”
Atkins said, “I didn’t know specific names, but they were the two girls who were contacted when she went missing. Mrs Burroughs got in touch with the parents, and informed us as well.”
“Did Maddy – sorry, that’s her nickname – have a locker in the school?” Arla asked.
“Yes. All girls have a gym locker. It’s been looked in already, and it’s empty.”
Arla thought back to the gym bag she had seen under Maddy’s bed. Something told her she should have taken it back to the station as evidence.
“We would still like to see the locker. Which year and class did she belong to?”
“13E. The form teacher is Miss Macinnes. She is aware that you will be speaking to her today.”
“Good.” Arla gazed at Mr Atkins. “Anything else you would like to add?”
For the first time, she thought Mr Atkins looked uncomfortable. For a few seconds, the relaxed veneer slipped and his eyes were troubled. He recovered quickly, but Arla knew she had something.
“No, nothing else.”
“You sure you didn’t hear anything else about Maddy?”
Mr Atkins was back to his suave self. “No. But if I do, you will be the first to know, I can assure you.” He stood up quickly. “Shall I show you the lockers?”
Was he under pressure from the family? Arla wondered. Maybe the Home Office, or the US Embassy had rung, asking to see him.
Mr Atkins held the door open for them, a hint of a polite smile on his face. They walked down to the reception, where Arla introduced Rob and Lisa to Mr Atkins. Rob and Lisa would hang around, speaking to members of staff and students. They took the tarmac road around the playing fields, and approached the white sports hall building when the doors burst open, and a gaggle of shrieking young students rushed out. In a few seconds, they were in the middle of a crowd of screaming, excited teenagers, waving hockey sticks, laughing and shouting. Arla noted they were all girls.
“Time for an inter-school hockey match!” Mr Atkins shouted to make his voice heard above the commotion. “I’m afraid we didn’t choose our time very well.”
The navigated past the pummelling bodies, and got to the door of the sports centre, where Mr Atkins pressed his code on the keypad. The row of lockers were on the right, stretching down the corridor. The principal opened one of them, and Arla took a look inside. A poster of a semi-naked boy band group was stuck inside the door, pouting and posing. The rest of the locker was empty, as if it had been cleaned out recently. Too clean, Arla thought to herself.
“Do you mind if we send the fingerprint technicians down to take prints from the locker?”
Mr Atkins pursed his lips. “You can, but is there any need for it?”
Harry said, “Mr Atkins, at this stage, the broader our scope is, the better. As we get more clues, we can narrow our investigation down further.”
“No problem,” Mr Atkins said. “We must do everything we can to get Maddy back.”
“If there is break going on, is it possible to interview Maddy’s friends now?”
Mr Atkins nodded. “It’s best if we do that back at the office.”
When they returned to Reception, Arla took Lisa to one side. “I want you and Rob to go around, speaking to the other teachers and students about the principal. Ask about Maddy as well, obviously. But I want more background on Mr Atkins.”
The principal emerged from the reception office as Arla came back. He said, “I have informed the relevant girls’ tutors to send them here. You can use the office next door to conduct your interviews.”
“Thank you. This is far better than asking the girls to attend the police station.”
“Of course.”
CHAPTER 14
Imogen Sparks looked nervous. She fidgeted in her chair and kept crossing her arms across her chest, pulling her cardigan in the process. Arla smiled at her, trying to put the teenager at ease.
Imogen looked from Harry to Arla, then back at her.
“OK, Imogen, how are you?”
“I am fine. This is about Maddy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, she was your friend, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.” Imogen’s eyes sank down to her lap, and she played with her fingers.
“How did you get to know her?”
“We played in the volleyball team in year 11.” Her eyes lit up. “We beat Latimer and Wimbledon High in the inter-school cup final that year.”
Arla smiled widely. “That must’ve been good.”
“The best.” Her expression faltered, eyes losing their shine. “Where could she be?”
“Imogen, I need you to think about this carefully. What happened that night after your end-of-term party?” Arla glanced at her notebook. “The third of June.”
“The party at the school was small, in the theatre hall. We had some soft drinks and a disco. Then we went home. Maddy, Maya and I went to the pub.”
“Did you walk there?”
“Yes, it’s close by. Fifteen-minute walk.”
“What time was that?”
“About 6 pm.”
“Can you think of anyone following you?”
Imogen shrugged. “No.”
Arla pictured three happy teenagers going from one party to another, without a care in the world. Would they be aware of someone following them? Unlikely.
“Did Maddy have a boyfriend?” Arla asked.
Imogen looked coy. “Umm, no, don’t think so.”
“Don’t think so, or won’t tell?” Arla asked.
The teenager looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
Arla sighed. Harry went to say something, but she kicked him under the table and shot him a glance. Arla gestured with her eyebrows. Harry frowned, irritation passing across his features. Without a word, he rose and left.
When Harry had shut the door behind him, Arla focused on Imogen. “Maddy is missing, Imogen. She doesn’t have anywhere to live, and she doesn’t have any money. That means she is living with someone, or someone has grabbed her. Unless she is living rough on the streets, which could happen, but I doubt it. If you don’t help us, then we can’t find her.”
Imogen stared down at her lap again, fingers entwining. “OK. No one knows about this. But Maddy had a boyfriend.”
Arla sat up straighter. “Is he at this school?”
Imogen nodded. Arla asked, “What’s his name?”
Imogen hesitated. Arla repeated her question.
“Paul Ofori.”
“Which year?” Arla was scribbling quickly.
“13D. Oh please, I won’t get into trouble for this, will I?”
“No, you won’t. Why should you?”
Imogen darted her eyes around, avoiding Arla’s. “No reason, just asking.
”
“Stay here.”
Arla went outside, and almost bumped into Harry standing outside the door. She gave him the boy’s name, and Harry went off to ask the principal. She glanced at the sofa, where another girl awaited, looking relaxed and cool with her sunglasses on.
“Are you Maya Patel?” Arla asked.
The girl nodded without taking the sunglasses off. “I’ll be with you shortly,” Arla said.
Imogen looked at Arla with big, scared eyes. “What’s going on?”
There was something about the girl’s demeanour that bothered Arla. She seemed more nervous than before.
“Don’t worry. We just want to speak to Paul, the same as we spoke to you. Do you know if Paul was supposed to be meeting Maddy that evening?”
“I...uh...”
“Imogen, if you tell us the truth now, it’ll be a lot easier later on, I promise you.”
Imogen swallowed hard and her chest heaved. She looked down again. “Yes,” she said in a very small voice.
“Carry on.”
“Paul was with his mates at the pub. He had a plan with Maddy to meet outside, in Brockwell Park.”
Arla understood. They were going to go off into the park. Something had happened to Maddy between leaving the pub and meeting up with Paul.
“Thank you, Imogen. That will be all for now, but when you go out, could you please send Maya in?”
Imogen nodded and left quickly. Maya Patel came in. She was an Asian girl who wore hoop earrings and jeans ripped at the knees, and chewed bubble gum. Headphones were fastened on her ears, and sunglasses raised on her head. She breezed in and sat down on the chair opposite Arla without being asked to.
“What?” she asked with a sullen stare.
Arla sighed. She introduced herself, and why she wanted to speak to Maya. She asked the teenager the same questions as she had asked Imogen, and the teenager answered haltingly.
“So, you were the last person to see Maddy before she disappeared?” Arla asked.
Something came to life in Maya’s eyes. A new alertness. “There were other people in the pub,” she said defensively.
