Gone Astray

by Michelle Davies

  So the job of staying with her until the police arrived fell to Sarah, her next-door neighbour on Burr Way and someone she only knew a little. She couldn’t fault Sarah’s reaction to her request for help though – she had taken charge by calling Mack and leaving a message to ring straight back when he didn’t answer his phone, then ordered her daughter Kathryn to call every friend the girls shared to see if any had heard from Rosie. All the while, Lesley sat sobbing quietly on the four-seater purple suede sofa in the lounge.

  It was like the panic that made her race around the house looking for Rosie had paralysed her limbs and all she wanted to do was to curl up in a ball and not think about what might be happening to her little girl. Because every time she did, terror bubbled up inside her and her mind was flooded with horrible images of Rosie hurt and scared and crying for help.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want one of these?’

  Sarah raised a glass filled with dark amber liquid in Lesley’s direction, her second helping from their drinks cabinet. It was for the shock, she said, but Lesley knew better. Sarah, who didn’t work and whose husband was an in-house lawyer for a multinational bank, liked a drink and usually started early – the drama of Rosie going missing was just the excuse she needed to top up what she’d already imbibed that day. The extent of her drinking was most evident up close, revealed by the broken capillaries mapping her cheeks, the reddened nose even the thickest layer of foundation couldn’t quite cover, and the fleshy jowls that quivered as she spoke.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Lesley, twisting the new tissue between her fingers. ‘What do you think they’re doing out there?’

  ‘In the garden? Looking for clues, presumably.’

  Lesley was overcome by a wave of nausea.

  ‘I can’t bear this, I really can’t,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘Why won’t anyone tell me anything?’

  ‘The chap in charge said two family liaison officers would be here soon to help you,’ said Sarah. She spoke in a clipped accent that was typical of Haxton’s residents and made Lesley have to remind herself that Mansell was only five miles away and not in a foreign country.

  ‘I wish they’d get a move on though,’ Sarah added.

  Lesley seized on the comment.

  ‘I’ll be fine waiting on my own if there’s somewhere else you need to be.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. I couldn’t possibly leave you now. No, I’ll wait until Mack gets home at least.’

  ‘What time is it now?’ said Lesley despairingly.

  ‘Four thirty. What flight is he catching?’

  ‘There’s one that gets into Gatwick at nine. So he should be home just after ten.’

  She was dreading seeing him. He’d flown to Scotland with three men he knew from Haxton Golf Club, none of whom she considered a real friend and all of whom she doubted would have travelled all that way if Mack wasn’t picking up their tabs as well as his own. He must’ve been playing a hole when Sarah first called – Lesley pictured him standing on the fairway at St Andrews in the garish new sweater and trousers he’d bought specially for the trip – and had only rung back an hour ago. On hearing about the blood on the lawn, he’d shouted at Lesley, saying it was all her fault for leaving Rosie at home alone, then slammed the phone down. After ten minutes, during which time she cried herself hoarse, he rang back and apologized for yelling at her but did not rescind his accusation of blame. Instead, he said he’d booked himself on the first available flight back and expected Rosie would be home long before he was, although the tone of his voice did not match the confidence of his words.

  Lesley rubbed her eyes as they filled with fresh tears. She never knew it was possible to cry so much. Every mention of Rosie’s name, every thought and memory that filled her head, heralded a fresh wave. She was debating whether a drink like Sarah’s might actually help after all when a knock on the lounge door made her jump. Sarah scuttled over to answer it, her face set in a frown. She opened the door but only by a crack, so Lesley couldn’t see whoever was on the other side. A woman spoke. She sounded young.

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Maggie Neville and this is Detective Constable Belmar Small. We’re the family liaison officers here to assist Mrs Kinnock.’

  Sarah yanked the door wide open.

  ‘Please come through, she’s in here.’

  Lesley’s pulse quickened as the two officers stepped into the room and she struggled to stand up. Her legs were like jelly.

  ‘Is there any news?’ she blurted out. ‘Have you found her?’

  The woman was tall, at least five foot eight, dressed in a fitted, light grey trouser suit with a white shirt underneath. She had dark blonde hair that fell to her shoulders and looked concerned as she came over to Lesley. Her colleague, a strikingly handsome black man with a shaved head and wearing a dark pinstripe suit, stayed by the door. Sarah looked torn between the two but eventually trailed the female officer across the room. As she reached them, Lesley saw the woman flinch and guessed she’d just caught a whiff of Sarah’s fragrance. Sickly sweet, like bubblegum, it was so cloying it slammed into the back of your throat and made you gag. Perfect for masking the smell of booze.

  The officer took a step back. ‘Sorry, you are?’

  ‘Sarah Stockton. I live next door. I’m the friend Lesley called when she realized Rosie was missing.’

  Lesley caught the swell of pride in her voice and wondered if she realized how inappropriate she sounded. Her only consolation was that she might leave now these two officers had arrived. As though she’d read Lesley’s thoughts, the female one smiled at Sarah.

  ‘Mrs Kinnock is lucky you live nearby and were able to wait with her. But I do need to speak to her on my own for a minute, so can you please excuse us? You’ve been a huge help so far, Mrs Stockton.’

  Sarah soaked up the compliment. ‘Of course, I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, smiling.

  The male officer took his cue.

  Mrs Stockton, why don’t we find somewhere quiet to have a chat too? I have some questions you might be able to answer.’

  What kind of questions? Lesley thought, a new burst of fear flooding through her. What could Sarah possibly have to say about them?

  ‘I’d be delighted, officer,’ said her neighbour, giving him a lascivious smile that made Lesley cringe. But as they left the room she felt her body relax and her limbs loosen. She turned to the woman.

  ‘Is there really no news yet?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. Shall we sit down?’

  Lesley complied and the two women perched on the edge of the purple sofa. Close up, she could see the officer was attractive to look at, with wide, open features; friendly, approachable. Her eyes were unusual though – blue-green irises ringed with light brown.

  ‘DC Small and I are here to help and support you as the search for Rosie continues,’ she said.

  Lesley blinked back tears. ‘Will you find her?’

  ‘We’re doing everything we can. My colleagues are searching the vicinity and our Forensic Investigation Unit is examining your back garden. They’re the ones in the white jumpsuits, in case that hasn’t been explained to you. We’re also questioning your neighbours to see if they saw anything. Hopefully we’ll find some witnesses who saw or heard Rosie before she went.’

  ‘Is it her blood?’ Lesley asked, twisting the new tissue into a knot.

  ‘I don’t know. Forensics will have to carry out some tests before they can say for certain. Has someone taken a DNA sample from you?’

  ‘Yes, with a swab,’ said Lesley, shuddering at the recollection. It was one of the most surreal moments of her life, standing in her kitchen with her mouth wide open while someone she didn’t know wiped up her saliva with an oversized cotton bud. ‘It’s been nearly four hours now. What do you think has happened to her?’

  If the officer was fazed by the question she didn’t show it, but her words were slow and deliberate as she answered.

  ‘There are a number of possibilities. The
blood may be Rosie’s or it might turn out to be someone else’s. Maybe someone else was injured and she’s gone off to get help and lost track of the time. Is she the kind of girl who would do that?’

  Lesley nodded. ‘If someone was in trouble, she’d help them.’

  ‘The other scenario we need to consider is that Rosie didn’t go off willingly.’

  Lesley shook her head as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘I can’t bear it. Why would anyone do that? Why would anyone want to hurt her?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out, if it does turn out to be the case. Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Rosie?’

  ‘No. We don’t really know anyone around here and the few people we do, like Sarah’s family, are nice. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.’

  The officer looked pensive for a moment.

  ‘The senior officer in charge of the investigation, what we call the SIO, is Detective Chief Inspector Umpire . . .’

  ‘I met him earlier.’

  ‘Well, he’ll want to talk to you again at some point, but in the meantime what would really help is if you and I had another look at Rosie’s room. I know you and the officers who arrived first have already done that, but looking again might make you notice or remember something you missed the first time.’

  ‘Like what?’

  The officer got to her feet and, with some effort, Lesley followed suit.

  ‘Be aware of anything that looks out of the ordinary, anything out of place or missing. I know you’ve already looked once, but sometimes we don’t always see what’s right under our nose all along.’

  4

  On the upstairs landing Maggie saw Lesley hesitate. There were eight doors ahead of them, along two hallways that branched out on either side of the landing.

  ‘Which one’s Rosie’s room?’ she asked.

  Lesley gestured to the corridor on the right. ‘Down there, at the end.’

  Maggie walked ahead.

  ‘May I go in?’

  ‘Of course, um . . .’ Lesley blushed. ‘Sorry, what did you say your name was?’

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Maggie Neville, but just call me Maggie.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just with everything . . .’

  ‘It’s okay, you’ve had a lot to take in. When’s your husband due back?’

  ‘Just after ten p.m.’ Lesley wrung her hands fretfully, balling the tissue between them. ‘I think he’s angry with me that Rosie went missing while I was out. But I’ve left her alone before and he’s never minded.’

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t blame you,’ said Maggie. ‘It probably just seemed that way because he was worried.’

  ‘No, he was very cross.’

  ‘In my experience in a situation like this men tend to vent more when they feel helpless. Your husband’s stuck up in Scotland waiting for his flight when I imagine all he wants is to be with you and help look for Rosie.’

  Lesley looked away.

  Maggie went into the bedroom first. It felt stiflingly hot inside as the sun beat against the closed window. Against the wall opposite the door was a king-size bed with a pewter frame, through the rails of which were strung star-shaped fairy lights. The duvet, pale blue and patterned with navy stars, was partially covered by a pile of clothes and there was a yellow shoebox next to them.

  ‘Is there anything in here that immediately looks out of place?’ she asked Lesley.

  ‘Not that I can see,’ she replied unconvincingly.

  Maggie wanted to keep the conversation as relaxed as possible. This initial meeting between her and Lesley was not meant to be a formal witness interview but rather a gathering of facts about Rosie – what was referred to in family liaison training as creating a ‘victimology’. She walked across to the desk in the far corner. Next to it was a bookcase crammed with titles. A few were school reference books, but Rosie also had every Harry Potter edition, the Hunger Games trilogy and some by an author called Sarra Manning, including one called Diary of a Crush: French Kiss. Maggie pulled it out, read the blurb on the back then replaced it.

  ‘Does Rosie keep a diary?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. She had one when she was much younger, that had a lock on it, but I haven’t seen it for years.’

  ‘I suppose we could ask her friends if they know. They’ve all been contacted, haven’t they?’

  ‘Rosie’s best friend, Kathryn, rang them for me after I first reported her missing. She lives next door; that was her mum, Sarah, you met downstairs. Kathryn spoke to the girls they go to school with but none of them have heard from Rosie all day.’

  ‘Where’s Kathryn now?’

  ‘She’s gone to see the ones who didn’t pick up when she called, just in case Rosie’s with them. I gave their names to the other officers.’

  ‘What about boyfriends? Is Rosie seeing anyone?’

  Lesley shook her head. ‘No, my husband’s very strict about boys. He thinks Rosie’s still too young to have a boyfriend, but I think even when she’s twenty-five he’s going to think she’s too young.’

  Maggie peered at the wall above the desk. Stuck to it was a haphazard collage of photographs, ticket stubs, postcards, stickers and school timetables.

  ‘Are these Rosie’s friends?’

  She pointed to a photograph of Rosie and three similarly aged girls smiling for the camera. Squeezed together in a huddle, the girls’ temples were pressed so close together not even a piece of paper could separate them.

  ‘Those are some of her old friends from Mansell.’

  ‘Old?’

  ‘She doesn’t speak to them any more.’

  ‘How come?’

  Lesley bit her lip as though she was weighing up what to say.

  ‘You know about our win?’

  Maggie nodded. There couldn’t have been many people in Mansell who didn’t know about the Kinnocks’ £15-million jackpot win.

  ‘Rosie’s never really talked about it, but I get the feeling that once we moved here, she and her friends felt they no longer had anything in common and the contact between them dried up. It’s such a shame as they used to be inseparable. She’s known Cassie and Emma,’ Lesley pointed to the two closest to Rosie in the photo, ‘since nursery. The other girl is Amy, who she met at primary school.’

  ‘Rosie must still care about them if their picture’s here.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Lesley sadly.

  ‘Winning all that money must’ve taken some getting used to. How has Rosie dealt with it?’

  Lesley gave a wry smile. ‘She loves it. We weren’t badly off before, but now she can do things other girls her age only dream of.’

  ‘Like that?’ Maggie pointed to a picture of Rosie and another girl with long, dark hair standing between the members of the pop group One Direction. The girls’ smiles split their faces.

  ‘That was taken at a radio station’s Christmas concert. It was a charity event. Mack bought the most expensive VIP tickets so Rosie could meet the band afterwards.’ Lesley’s voice cracked. ‘She was so excited I was worried she might faint when they said hello.’

  ‘I was the same about Take That when I was that age.’ Maggie smiled. ‘I was never lucky enough to meet them though.’

  She wasn’t really a fan of Take That. She preferred listening to Motown soul, the music her parents listened to when she and Lou were little. No way could Gary Barlow hold a candle to Otis Redding. But sharing a few innocuous details, embellished or not, was how she got families to think of her as a person and not just a police officer. Someone they could open up to. She was always careful not to stray into areas too personal to avoid unhealthy attachments – she was there to be their FLO, not their best friend. At some point she would need to outline to the Kinnocks exactly what they could expect of her and Belmar, mark the line in the sand so to speak, but for now that could wait.

  ‘You’ll be amazed what money can buy,’ said Lesley in a hollow voice as they stared at the picture.


  ‘Who’s the girl with her?’

  ‘That’s Kathryn.’

  ‘Did she tell you when she last saw Rosie?’

  ‘They spoke last night before bed and made vague plans to revise together today but it didn’t happen. She said Rosie never called her about going round.’

  ‘Do they often get the day off school to revise?’

  ‘Today was the third time. They’re doing their GCSEs and the school they go to thinks they’ll get more revision done out of the classroom but I’m not convinced.’

  ‘Is Rosie stressed about her exams at all?’

  ‘She’s been worried about a couple of subjects but not enough to run away or do something silly, if that’s what you’re thinking. Rosie wouldn’t do anything like that.’

  That’s what most parents say, thought Maggie, yet often they’re the last to know if something is really troubling their child.

  She looked around the room again.

  ‘Where’s her wardrobe? I’d like you to have a look through her clothes – sorry . . . hang on. Let me just get this.’

  Her phone was ringing. She frowned as she checked who was calling, then silenced the call.

  ‘Wasn’t that important?’ said Lesley anxiously.