by M. L Rose
That was when it hit her. She was sent here for a reason. A higher power had done this, the same power that gave her the Meaning. She stood up, eyes shining.
She went back to the boy and held out her hand. He took it without questioning, and her heart broke at his innocence. She had been innocent, too, once.
She took the boy into the bedroom. Bedding was piled up in one corner, and the cushion was ripped in several places. Neither bedsheet nor duvet cover existed. On the bedside table, within the child’s easy reach, she found another syringe, this one half-full. She picked it up, ejected the contents into the bin by the bed, and chucked the syringe in it.
She put the boy on the bed. “Stay here.” She pointed to the bed. “Stay here, OK? I’ll be back soon.”
The boy nodded silently and watched her as she closed the door shut.
Cindy went back to the woman. She was still dozing. Cindy rooted around in her handbag till she found the little plastic bottle she carried around with her. She put her gloves on, then picked up the syringe from the table and put the needle inside the plastic bottle. She drew the plunger back, getting the needle half-full with a colourless liquid.
She took the rubber tourniquet, and tied it around the woman’s arm, just above the elbow. She waited for a few seconds. She couldn’t see any veins. She concentrated on the neck. She got closer to the woman, and held the needle just above the jugular vein, two inches away from the pulsing of the carotid artery.
Cindy pushed the needle into the vein. As she depressed the plunger, the woman came to, the pain suddenly awakening her. Her eyes flew open, and her hand came up to her neck. Cindy moved fast, her knee landing on the woman’s chest, blocking her movement. She pushed the woman down, while pressing the plunger till it emptied.
The woman’s mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came. Her eyes opened, wide with terror. They stayed open as Cindy removed the syringe. She took her gloves off, and put them in her pocket. Her job here was done. Exultation and a sense of achievement flooded her being. Her mouth opened in the shock of ecstasy.
She lifted her eyes to the heavens and mouthed thank you.
The bedroom door was still shut when she opened it. The boy was still on the bed, but he was lying down. She felt like Mother Mary as she leaned over the boy, and picked him up in her arms. He smelled vile. He woke up, and she made him stand. He rubbed his eyes and looked at her.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you some food,” Cindy whispered.
They walked past the living room. The boy looked at his mother lying on the sofa, then looked away. They walked out of the door together, closing it with a click.
CHAPTER 20
Harry had his shirtsleeves up around his elbows, dark shades on his eyes, and a cigarette dangling from his hand outside the car.
“How much longer?” he asked.
Arla took a sip of her coffee, eyeing the cigarette with envy. It was a slippery slope, and she cursed Harry for lighting up in front of her. He had asked her permission, and what choice did she have? Why did men never get the hint?
Clustered, packed, dense rows of houses made the cul-de-sac relatively quiet. There was the preternatural hum of traffic from the A24 outside, running off to the Elephant and Castle roundabout. A breeze tickled the fat leaves on trees, and dead yellow weeds swayed by the roadside. Arla wore shades herself, and was glad of the protection against the sunny glare.
“You in a rush to get somewhere?” She glanced at her watch. Almost 17.00. The team would be waiting at the station. She needed to update them, and have a list of to do’s for tomorrow. A tricky list. Without finding Paul Ofori, she doubted she could find Maddy Burroughs. Her phone buzzed and she reached for it. She didn’t recognise the number.
After a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “DCI Baker. Who is this?”
“Miss Baker, this is Conrad Burroughs,” a deep voice said in an American accent. “I work in the US Consulate. It’s about my daughter, Maddy.”
“Of course, sir, nice to speak to you. Is this a good time?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “I know you wanted to speak to my son and myself. Jenny, my wife, told me. All of us are at home now.”
Arla gestured to Harry, and he threw his cigarette away. “We are on our way,” Arla said and hung up.
Harry backed up as Arla stared at the house. She knew that she would be back here again, sooner rather than later. She looked up at the neighbour’s window, and saw a curtain twitch. Harry did a three-point turn, and drove out.
When they pulled up at the drive of the Burroughs’ residence, the front door was ajar. It opened fully when Arla alighted. A trim, athletic-looking man with grey-white hair, six feet tall, stood at the doorstep.
He shook hands with Arla and Harry, his grip warm and firm, but not crushing.
“Conrad Burroughs, how do you do?” he said in a flat voice matching his expression.
They went inside, through the opulent hallway, into the conservatory at the rear. It was warm, sunlight flooding in through the open windows, but cool as well, surrounded by living plants. Arla wondered at how different the heat seemed out in the concrete jungle, pouring from the sky like magma from a volcano. Then she spotted the small air-conditioning machine on the back wall. She had missed it the last time.
They sat down and the maid came in. Arla and Harry politely refused offers of tea and coffee. Mr Burroughs was watching Arla closely, his dark eyes reflecting the concern biting away inside him. Like his wife, he had a haunted look on his face.
“Any news of Maddy, Miss Baker?” he asked.
“We are pursuing several leads at the moment, Mr Burroughs. It would be premature to speak of any particular one at the moment.”
Mr Burroughs crinkled his brow. “What does that mean? Do you know what it feels like to have your daughter abducted? It’s all very well for you to sit here and give me the standard answer, but that’s not enough, damn it!”
Arla felt the heat rush to her face, but she had expected this. “I can assure you, we are trying everything at our disposal.”
“So what have you found?” Mr Burroughs insisted. “Jesus, I just want a straight answer!”
Harry pressed on Arla’s arm before she could speak. He took over. “Mr Burroughs, we went to Maddy’s school today. New Brunswick High. We have been informed that you want to keep this news to ourselves, so we are being discreet. We met the principal, and spoke to Maddy’s friends. That has led to several lines of enquiry, and DCI Baker was just referring to those.”
“We know who Maddy’s friends are. We are friends with the parents of her friends. We socialise with them. I can tell you, they don’t know anything.”
Arla and Harry exchanged a glance. Arla asked, “Mr Burroughs, did your daughter stay overnight at any of her friends’ houses?”
“You need to ask my wife but…” He seemed lost in thought. “Yes, she has a friend called Maya Patel. Nice girl, I know her dad, he’s a banker. I dropped her off at Maya’s house, I think, two months ago. It was only for one night. But my wife will know more.” He rose from his seat and picked up an intercom phone on the wall. He spoke into it briefly, then came back.
Arla said, “Did she go to Maya’s house often?”
He shrugged. “Once in a while. Not that frequently. Can’t remember the last time she went.”
“What about nightclubs, discos? Did Maddy go out often?”
“She’s seventeen and thinks she is 25. Of course she went out, and yes, I picked her up from clubs late at night. But these are rare and well-controlled occasions, Miss Baker. My daughter wasn’t some party animal going out clubbing every night, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Arla got the sense he was being defensive. “Did you think Maddy was sad or acting strangely in any way in the days and weeks leading to her disappearance?”
Mr Burroughs sighed and flopped back in his chair. His face wore a tortured, pained look. He
looked exhausted, and despite his grating attitude, Arla couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathy. The man looked like he had lost a part of his body.
His voice caught as he spoke. “She’s growing up now. What can I do…? My work keeps me busy, and I… I don’t see her as much as I’d like to. You know?”
He looked up and stared at Arla. Nothing but pain marked the deep lines in his face now.
“She was my little girl, and now she’s almost an adult. She won’t tell me if something’s bugging her, will she? I’d like to.” He covered his head in his hands. “Oh God.”
Arla didn’t say anything, but visions from her own childhood rose up like black shadows at the back of her mind. Images of holding her father’s hand, and the day she had to let it go. The day she had been led away by the social workers. She remembered her father’s face, sunken, white, staring out of the window as she got into the car. He held her eyes till the car went around the bend.
Arla swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, Mr Burroughs was leaning in the chair again, a vacant look in his eyes. She noticed Harry examining her with a frown. She nodded at him quickly. There was a movement at the conservatory door, and Jenny Burroughs walked in with a boy who was almost up to her shoulders.
CHAPTER 21
Mother and son sat down next to Conrad Burroughs. The boy still had the innocence of an early years teenager, childhood misting his wide-eyed stare. Arla smiled at him, trying to put the boy at ease. He looked uncertain, then his lips twitched. She wondered how he felt now that his big sister wasn’t there anymore. Had he been close to her?
The thought came to her like an explosion, knocking her sideways. How had she felt when Nicole had disappeared? The morning she woke up and looked for her… and went to school alone. Later, the slow death of hope, staring at the door, watching out of the window. Nicole never came back. Neither did the part of Arla that vanished with her sister, leaving her broken, like a butterfly with one of its wings ripped off.
Is that what this boy felt like now? If she couldn’t find Maddy, would he become broken, like Arla had?
A heavy weight lodged at the back of her throat, and she stared at the three people sitting opposite her. A father, a mother and a child. A trinity of trust, a locus of love. Something Arla had never had, no matter how much she had wanted it. And now they were being ripped apart just like her own family had been. And it was down to her to try and… do what? Save them? Bring Maddy back? Like Nicole had come back… No. No.
The pressure built to a dead, bludgeoning force in her throat, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe or swallow. She was staring between Mr Burroughs and his wife, and she caught them looking at each other, a puzzled expression on their faces. Arla felt the rage in her chest, a loud knock as her heart hit a rib in slow motion, and bounced back, quivering. Heat swarmed to her face like a fan, and the world tipped sideways, suddenly wet, drenched with tears.
She stood up quickly, scraping the chair back.
“Excuse me, I…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She walked around the table and literally ran out into the hallway. Her rubber-soled shoes whispered on the marble, and then she was wrenching on the door handle, the heavy oak door opening out into the yellow sunshine. She stepped outside and gasped, leaning against the wall. Visions were swimming in her head, pounding against her skull like rain against a window pane on a stormy night. She closed her eyes, and wanted to sink to her knees, letting the earth eat her up.
She felt a strong arm steady her, and hold her gently around the waist. She knew that physique well, and allowed herself to fall back into Harry’s soft clothes.
“Shhh,” he said, rocking her. “It’s OK. Go and wait in the car.” He gave her the keys.
Arla put a hand to her fevered temple and stood up straight. “No. I should go back.” Her breathing was returning to normal, but she still felt the panic fluttering inside her. She breathed in and out deeply, and walked out towards the road. Harry stayed where he was, watching her. Arla came back and nodded.
“I’m alright. Let’s go back in.”
“Like hell you are. If you go in there again…”
“I said I’m fine, Harry. I’m the SIO, aren’t I?”
They stared at each other for a while, his chestnut eyes full of concern, probing, asking. Harry was one of the few people who knew. And perhaps the only person who cared. For once, it was she who looked away. She stared at the ground for a few seconds, then brushed past Harry and went in.
To her relief, the family had remained seated at the table. They looked up curiously as she entered. Arla felt embarrassed. What she had just done looked unprofessional. But she hadn’t been able to help it.
Dear God, she needed help. That was the whole point of the psychiatry sessions last year, and maybe she just needed to start them again. By herself this time, and not being forced to by the bloody London Met. She needed to get it back together.
“I’m sorry about that,” she explained to the Burroughses. “We have been very busy and I have had no sleep recently, so a bit tired.” She tried to smile and it felt like pulling teeth out.
Conrad Burroughs gave her a brief smile back, but Jenny’s eyes were boring into Arla’s. She sat down, Harry joining her. Arla gestured to him and he started the questioning.
“Tell us about that evening. What were you doing?” Harry addressed the question to the whole family.
Conrad answered. “I got back from work around 7 pm, which is early for me. We had dinner, and then I worked in my study, took some calls. When I came down, Tom was watching TV and Jenny was in the kitchen.”
“What time was it?”
“8.30, and before Tom’s bedtime,” Jenny said, giving her husband a quick glance. “We normally go to bed around 11, and Maddy sleeps around 10. Tom is in bed before that.”
Arla wrote the times down in her diary. Harry asked, “Apart from Maya and Emma, did Maddy have other close friends?”
Jenny said, “She was popular. Yes, she had lots of friends but the two you mentioned were her closest.”
Arla spoke up. “Do you have the numbers of their parents? I have spoken to the girls already, but we would like to speak to the whole family.”
The couple glanced at each other, then nodded in silence. Conrad cleared his throat.
“Why was your name mentioned in that envelope, Miss Baker?”
Arla stiffened and Harry gave her a concerned look. She paused for a while before answering.
“In my line of work, Mr Burroughs, it is easy to make enemies. I suspect someone was playing a prank.”
“Do you know who it might be?”
Arla noticed Jenny was watching her carefully. “We are keeping our options open. We don’t have CCTV cameras on your street so we cannot get a visual on who dropped the letter off. And we didn’t find any fingerprints either. But whoever it is, eventually we will find him.”
Harry took a statement from Tom Burroughs, then it was time to leave.
CHAPTER 22
Shadows were lengthening on the Common as Harry drove back. The air con was off, and wind brushed her hair back as she kept her face by the window. Wisps of pollen floated in the air, and Arla stretched out one hand to catch one as it drifted close to the car. It brushed past her fingers with a feathery kiss, gone before she could grasp it. Distant cries from the players filtered through the still summer air, hearts racing, ripening to gold and brown in the sun.
Harry parked at the carpool, and sat still after switching the engine off. Arla waited.
“Can you see this one through?” Harry asked.
Arla took her time to answer. “I’ve done it before.”
“This one’s different.”
“Why? After what I did last year, this one should be peanuts.” Last year she had come to know the truth about her family. But even as she said the words, Arla knew how hollow they sounded.
“For starters,” Harry said, “I don’t like this letter that says your name.
I know you don’t either. But the more I think about, the more worried I get. Someone has it in for you, Arla, and I don’t know who or why. Yeah, we all have enemies. But most are behind bars or dead.”
She knew he was right, and didn’t know how to respond. Harry continued. “Then there is the case itself. I saw you looking at the boy today. His elder sister’s gone, just like…” Harry stopped speaking. There wasn’t much to say, really.
“Trust me, Harry. I got this covered.” Arla got out of the car and walked towards the entrance. She held the doors open for Harry, and they walked into their open-plan office. Arla’s desk phone was ringing when she walked into her office at the end.
“DCI Baker,” she answered.
“Where have you been?” Wayne Johnson barked.
“Catching a witness who did a runner, and interviewing the missing person’s family. Sir. Didn’t realise I had to ask your permission.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Arla. I don’t have a progress report as yet, and I have the Home Office breathing down my neck, as well as bloody MI5.”
That got Arla’s attention. “MI5?”
“Are you deaf? Yes, it’s sodding MI5. There’s only one, last time I checked.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I need to see things happening, Arla. We need witnesses brought in for questioning, new lines of enquiry. Stop this bullshit at her school. There’s nothing happening there.”
“With all due respect, sir, I think there is. I think the principal is letting on less than he knows. We need to get the boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure there’s a side to Maddy not many people knew about.”
There was a pause on the line. When Johnson spoke, his tone was guarded. “Come to my office.”
Arla went up the stairs to the fourth floor and knocked on the door. She heard a muffled voice telling her to come in. Johnson was on his own. He waved at her to sit down. Arla remained standing.
