“Yeah, she’s got Bob,” Sophie said.
Bazza and Frank looked at each other briefly. Then Frank shuffled a bit closer to Sophie. “Who’s Bob, honey? You don’t need to be scared.”
Sophie shrugged.
“Laura doesn’t want us to talk to him,” Scott told him.
“But you checked him out, didn’t you, son? You wouldn’t want your little sister in trouble.”
Scott shrugged. “Nah, Bob’s lame.”
“Is Bob a kid like you? Or is he more my age?” Baz asked.
“He’s way older than you,” Scott said, and every adult stiffened.
“He’s three hundred!” Sophie added.
“Nah-uh! Seven hundred!”
“That’s stupid! Turtles don’t live that long.”
“They do!”
“Stop.” Rose spoke for the first time, but kept her head down. They stopped arguing and leaned back, annoyed, arms crossed.
“Is Laura going to die?” Sophie asked.
“No,” Frank said quickly.
“But I thought when people got kidnapped they died?”
“Not always,” Rose told her.
“How long until she dies?” Scott asked.
Finally, Rose looked up, straight at Frank.
“At this stage, it’s impossible—”
“Baz?” she asked, eyes pleading. She needed the truth.
“Realistically, after twelve hours we expect a body.”
Rose shot Frank a look before he could say anything to Bazza. “Go play outside,” she said to the kids.
“Finally!” They got up and ran out.
“It’s already been three hours,” she said so quietly that Mia could barely hear it from where she was standing. “She’s only five.”
Mia crossed the room and sat down next to Rose, wrapping her arms around her. She felt so hard and still. Like a statue. Her body didn’t react to the hug at all.
“We’ll find her,” Mia whispered in her ear, because they would. Nothing bad would happen to Laura; it couldn’t.
She sat back, her arm still around Rose, and faced Bazza and Frank. How they must look to Rose right now. Still wearing their jackets, badges in their buckles, notepads in their hands. She’d served these guys countless drinks over the years, but she’d never really thought of them as cops. But now authority came off them in waves. And power. It was terrifying. It meant this was real. Frank was looking at Rose in a way, a way that told Mia he thought the worst. He thought something awful had happened to her sister.
“Get some rest, Rose. We’ll be in touch if there is any news.”
Rose glared at Frank. “No. You’ll tell me now. How likely is it you’ll find her?”
“At this stage, there is no reason to—”
“Stop it. Stop playing the policeman and tell me.”
Frank looked down at the notepad in his hands. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even look her in the eye.
“We’ve had our team working around the clock on the notes for the last week. We have trace evidence, we have a psychological profile—”
“You said the notes could be a hoax.”
“We are very confident that they will lead—”
“She’s right!” Mia said. “What if some other sicko wrote them?”
“Then we’ll lock them up too.”
“And the notes are all you’ve got?” Rose asked urgently.
Frank continued looking at his hands. The door clanged open and Rose’s stepdad walked in. He was trembling, his face ashen.
“Frank? What’s going on? Where’s my daughter?”
Bazza and Frank got up and walked over to him. Now that Rob was here, he was the focus. Slowly, with no one else watching but Mia, Rose stood. She walked shakily around the men toward the door. Her feet slipping into the broken sneakers that were near the front door. She wasn’t even looking.
“Where are you going?” Mia called after her.
“I’m going to find her.”
Mia didn’t follow.
* * *
Mia drove in silence. Usually, she would never drive alone without the radio blaring. Not tonight. As she drove past the fossickers she saw police flashlights. Tents were being kicked in, structures destroyed. A teenage couple was being screamed at by an officer. They must be looking for Laura there. Every time a crime occurred in town, this was the first place they came. Mia had never heard of any of the fossickers actually getting arrested, but if the police suspected them there must be grounds. After all, there had to be a reason why they ended up there in the first place.
Jean hadn’t put Springsteen on at work either. That was a first. The two of them stood behind the bar; the only sounds were Jean padding numbers into the calculator, and the occasional tinkle as the cutlery Mia was shining dinged against each other. Apart from the two of them, the place was totally empty.
“Maybe we should close up—no one will be coming in tonight.”
“They’d better not,” Mia said. “I’ll kill them if they come in here for a drink instead of out there looking.”
Luckily for them, no one did come to the tavern. Mia had meant it. If a cop dared show his face in here she would send them packing. Maybe Jean knew that, because an hour later, they decided to call it a night. Mia felt long past exhausted, although she knew there was no way she’d be able to sleep.
Closing up didn’t take long. There was no point mopping the floor, since only she and Jean had trodden on it. There were no glasses to wash, no point cleaning the taps since they hadn’t poured any beer. All she really had to do was lock the back door. As she did, she walked past the guest’s room. The light was on, fanning out from underneath the door. What the hell was Will even still doing here? Something was going on with him, she could tell. Rose had thought so too.
She knocked loudly on his door.
For one crazy moment she half expected to hear Laura’s voice scream out, but of course it was only Will who replied, “Yes?”
“Do you need your room cleaned?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Must be starting to smell rank in there.”
There was no answer. She hesitated, listening for anything that might not be right. But there was nothing, so she turned off the hallway light and headed back toward the front.
Jean was waiting for her, her bag on her shoulder. They flicked off the main lights without speaking, and Mia walked down toward her Auster as Jean fished for her keys.
Mia unlocked her car door.
“Let me know, okay?” Jean called, as she walked to her own car.
“I will.”
She watched Jean walk across the road, away from Eamon’s. Jean had always looked so powerful to Mia, like such a force to be reckoned with. Now she just looked like an old woman.
Mia wished she’d followed Rose. She needed to do something. Needed to help. Looking up, into the lit-up police station windows, she saw Baz and Frank sitting in the break room having a coffee. She slammed her car door shut.
36
How could she ever have thought that things were going to be okay? Things were not okay. They would never be okay again. And it was Rose’s fault.
She’d made a mess. A big fucking mess. Things were bad and it was her fault. Writing the notes had made her believe there was no real threat, that it was all her invention. She’d never even considered she might be right. That what she had written in the notes might be true: the person who had left the dolls was marking his victims.
Some monster had her sister.
Her stomach clenched and she wanted to cry but that would be selfish. There wasn’t time to cry. She had to find Laura.
But she had no fucking clue where to look. Where would someone tak
e a little kid? She shivered. The air was heavy with heat and the blistering wind was still blowing, but her sweat felt ice-cold. It was like she’d made this happen. Like she’d willed it into being by what she had written.
For a while, Rose had jogged down the streets, straining her ears, hoping to hear something, see something. Now she just walked. Slamming one foot down on the road after another, her feet rubbing painfully in her mum’s old sneakers, but she wouldn’t stop going until she found her. Usually, Rose would never walk around town by herself at night. But how could she be scared now? The worst thing possible had already happened.
The notes. They’d changed everything, created a nasty, festering mess that she couldn’t even see her way out of. She hadn’t ever thought pen and paper could do damage like this. She hadn’t thought that something she had done could have such a massive ripple effect. It had always felt like it was just her against the world; if she wanted something to happen she had to make it happen. And making something happen, making anything change, felt completely impossible. But now she had changed everything, not just for her. The whole town felt changed, more paranoid and suspicious. It was her fault. Laura was gone and it was her fault.
But Laura couldn’t be gone. People didn’t just vanish.
Part of her wanted to turn around and run back to the police station. She didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore. She could find Frank or Baz and tell them the truth. That it was her who had written the notes, that they had absolutely nothing to do with Laura. But then they’d just waste more time focusing on her and the fucked-up thing she’d done rather than finding Laura. The only purpose would be to get rid of this feeling. This sickening, stomach-twisting guilt that she was sure would take over if she stopped moving. Back or forward, back or forward? Which way should she go? Was it selfish to turn herself in, help the police and appease her guilt? Or was it selfish not to come clean, to keep lying, to believe she had a better chance of finding her then the cops did? It went around and around impossibly. Back or forward. Back or forward.
The library rose in front of her.
She stopped walking.
You’re just a big old slow coach.
Laura’s voice had been so breathless and happy. The sun was out. They were going to the library. Everything was easy and normal and nice.
Rose’s knees screamed in pain. Without even knowing it, she’d fallen to the road. She had begun to wail. Not cry. Wail. Agonized, painful sobbing cries coming out of her. Gravel dug into her hands and knees but she couldn’t even fucking feel it. Laura. Her Laura. Tiny and perfect and just wanting to spend time with her big sister. She turned over so she was sitting, head between her bleeding knees, trying to breathe. Trying to stop the wails that came out on top of each other with such force that she couldn’t even breathe, that she might just be sick. She had to get up. She had to keep looking. But she felt so small, so insignificant. She felt like a child and she just wanted someone to help her. Someone to tell her it was all going to be okay. So she rocked herself back and forth, and told herself to hush. Told herself that it was going to be fine.
Slowly the wails quieted, and it was just her ragged breath she could hear between her knees. That, and something else. A dull thud, like something heavy dropping a small distance. Then a yelp, so soft it was barely perceptible, but unmistakably human.
She got up. She had heard something. Definitely. It had come from the courthouse. The black, collapsed shell of a building.
The rubbish. The T-shirt. She’d seen it herself out of the library window. Someone was hiding there. Someone who was willing to be somewhere dangerous in order not to be seen. She didn’t have time to prepare, time to steel herself and decide whether or not it was a good idea. She was already charging forward. Pushing the police barricade out of the way. Stepping softly on the burned debris. Whoever it was, she didn’t want them to hear her coming.
37
Frank and Bazza huddled over their coffee mugs. It had been a long day. Frank knew he stank. He’d sweated, dried off and sweated again continuously since he got the hysterical phone call from Rose that morning. They’d bashed on so many doors, cruised so many streets, done everything he could possibly think of to find the kid. To begin with, he’d been so sure that they would. He’d pictured being Rose’s savior. She could never be angry with him again after that. What was it that she had printed in this morning’s paper? Something to do with the police being “ill-equipped to deal with this situation.” That was aimed at him; he knew it. The sergeant seemed to know it too. But he had been sure he’d recover the kid, apprehend the freak who called himself such a ridiculous name and prove them all wrong.
But they hadn’t found her. Not even a trace. And now they were out of places to look. He kept thinking of that line: “Pretty hair, pretty faces. When I’m done they won’t be pretty anymore.”
He had a bottle of bourbon in his desk drawer. He’d had a few sips already. Just to clear his head. But he wanted another. Desperately, he wanted to obliterate himself so he wouldn’t think it anymore—“Pretty hair, pretty faces.” That poor fucking kid.
“Mia?” Bazza said, looking over Frank’s shoulder.
Frank turned. Mia was storming toward them, looking pissed off.
“You’re not meant to be in here,” Frank said, but she didn’t even look at him. Instead, she picked up his coffee mug and threw it into the sink. It shattered.
“What the fuck!”
“It’s not coffee time, Frankie. You need to be out there looking for Rose’s sister.”
“We have been looking! We can’t find her,” Baz said.
“You can’t have looked everywhere.”
“Just about,” Frank told her.
“What about him?” She pointed toward the tavern, framed by the dark window. “None of this happened until he got here. Plus, Rose saw him hanging around outside the school yard and he’s got a teddy bear in his room.”
“That’s not evidence.”
“Doesn’t seem like evidence has mattered before.”
Bazza shrugged. Both he and Mia turned to look at Frank.
He’d caught the looks Will had given Rose, staring at her unashamedly, superior. Telling him what to do with Steven homo-Cunningham, like he didn’t know who Frank was in this town. Arrogant fuckhead was so self-righteous.
Mia raised her eyebrow. This was his chance. His chance to win Rose back. To prove to her who the real man was.
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
* * *
Frank kicked in the door of room one with a crash.
“Hey!” yelled Mia. “Jean is going to kill you!”
Will jumped out of bed. He’d been reading, glasses crooked on his face, tired eyes confused. Baz rammed him. Head in his chest, he pushed Will onto the bed. Will twisted out from under him. Quick for a guy who’d been taken by surprise.
“What the hell are you guys doing?” he yelled. He pulled back his arm and hit Bazza in the temple with his elbow. It made a clonking sound.
Frank lunged at him, tried to grab his arms, but Will pushed him off and Frank stumbled into Mia. She fell backward into the door of room two, pushing it open. Fucker had made him hurt a girl.
Bazza got up with a yell. He grabbed Will’s arms from behind. Pinned them to his back. Will twisted around. Trying and failing to free himself.
Frank got closer to him, waited until he had caught his eye, then punched him solidly in the jaw.
“I’ve wanted to do that from the first second I saw your smug face,” Frank said, and boy, was it worth it. He stretched his fingers, enjoying the throbbing of his knuckles.
“Did it feel good?” Baz said from behind Will, holding the guy up as he staggered from the blow.
“You bet.”
“What’s happening?” asked Will. Frank
loved how shocked he looked. How his eyes were watering slightly. Was the arsehole going to cry?
“Hey, guys!” Mia said from behind him.
“I haven’t done anything!” Will said, squirming, but Bazza’s grip was strong.
“Hold him steady.”
“Frank! Come here!” she yelled. He shouldn’t have let her come.
“I’m busy.” He pounded Will again; his head cracked back.
“There’s blood.”
He turned. Mia was standing in the other motel room, looking into the bathroom. He went in. The bleach smell hit him first. The bathroom sink was full of pink water. He took a step closer. There was a bedsheet in there, a dark red splatter staining it. The bastard was trying to wash it out. He had already started erasing the crime scene.
“That’s a lot of blood,” Mia said, and what she really meant was that it was a lot of blood for a kid.
“You did that! It’s Steve’s,” Will said from behind him. Frank watched Mia turn to him, eyes blazing. He’d never seen that expression on her face before. Not when someone didn’t tip, not when a drunk guy pinched her on the arse.
“You’re a monster!”
Frank looked away from the sink. He felt queasy. It meant they’d probably only find a body. He didn’t want to see Laura’s dead face, pick up her stiff little body from wherever this creep had stashed it. He still had a faint bruise on his shin from where she’d kicked him. He noticed something, a small blue corner, protruding from under the pillow on the bed. He took a pen out of his pocket and walked over. Carefully, he used the pen to pull out a blue spiral-bound notebook. It had lined paper and rounded edges. The same kind as the notes.
“You’ve been a busy man,” he said to Will. All along, he’d been right about this freak.
“Where’s the girl?” Bazza said, jerking Will from behind.
“I can’t believe this—you’ve set me up!”
The freak wasn’t even original. Mia got down on her knees and looked underneath the bed.
“Laura?” Mia opened the door to the bathroom. Empty.
Little Secrets Page 23
