Two officers came out of a bedroom, shaking their heads. “Empty, ma’am,” one of them said. “And the one over the corridor. Smells like no one has been in them for weeks.”
Annie looked. The landing had six doors, the first two ticked off by uniform. The girls had to be in one of the four remaining rooms. There was nowhere else they could be. She steeled herself and pushed open a door, pointing at the room opposite to the officers. The musty, unused-room smell hit her before the door was fully open.
The bedroom was small, a single, with a bed against the middle of the wall and a cross above it. If the girls were in here, then she would be able to see them because it was void of anything else and definitely not lived in. Ducking down and checking under the bed just in case, Annie found cobwebs and little else.
Where were they sleeping if all the bedrooms are unused? she wondered, as she made her way back to the landing.
Two rooms left. Annie’s heart was beating its way up to her throat. She heard Swift downstairs, shouting that the garden was all clear. So they had to be here, in one of these rooms. Annie’s nose tickled with decay and bleach, and the tears that were threatening to come.
Why hadn’t she realised they were being led astray sooner? If she only had, these girls might still have been okay.
“Orla?” she shouted. “It’s the police. Katie, Jodie, you’re okay now. You’re safe. Let us know where you are.”
She stopped, holding out her hand to quiet the officers who were coming out of the other bedroom, shaking their heads. The only sounds were the crows in the fields and the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the entrance hallway.
Where are you?
Putting a hand on the doorknob, Annie turned it gently and pushed the door open. Surprised to find herself in a bathroom, an empty one at that, Annie felt her whole body deflate. The taps and floor and bath all gleamed with the cleanliness of someone who had time to scrub at them every day, not someone with three young children running around. In fact, the whole house was devoid of any signs that there were children here at all.
“Clear here too, ma’am,” the officer said, sticking his head around the door.
“Where are they?” she said, her nerves so on edge she felt like her jaw would crack.
She shot out of the bathroom and back down the stairs.
“Swift!” she shouted, noticing the DI in the front garden through the broken door. “Can you remember what Aila said about putting the girls in the cupboard when they were naughty?”
“Yeah,” he said, making his way back to the house over the neatly cut front lawn. “I was just circling the house, making sure there are no outbuildings. This place is a farm though. There are farm buildings all over the land. But yes, sorry, the cupboard.”
“I didn’t see any cupboards in the whole house. All the storage was open or hidden by curtains.”
“You’re right,” he said, running his hands over his face.
“Wait a minute,” Annie said, her throat closing with emotion. “Didn’t you say that Orla was taken when she was playing hide-and-seek?”
Swift nodded. “Yeah, it was her favourite game apparently. She’s good at it, but Maggie said that she knew something was wrong when she didn’t start giggling when she got nearby.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Annie said.
“You think they’re still alive?” Swift whispered.
Annie screwed up her face and shrugged. “I can’t think of anything else, not until we know for sure one way or another.”
“But that smell?”
“Joe,” she cried. “Give me this, please!”
“Okay,” he shrugged and moved away from the door.
Annie cleared her throat.
“Here I come, ready or not!” She tried to make her voice sound light and fun, but she sounded like the witch from Hansel and Gretel.
A shuffle. Annie and Swift looked at each other.
“Under the stairs?” he whispered, and little fingers of dread crept over Annie’s hair.
Annie’s heart dropped. She shook her head. Swift raced past her and she turned and ran after him. The stairs were large; the bannisters old, dark wood. The wall where Annie would have expected to see a door was papered over in the same William Morris print that lined the rest of the hallway. Swift felt along the wall, his hands sliding over the paper with a soft scraping sound. She left him to it, instead creeping around the stairs to the kitchen, following the line of the stairs as she went. The top of the stairs sat right above the kitchen, and at the wall that joined the kitchen to the hallway was a pantry door, concealed by a heavy curtain.
“Swift,” she tried to speak but her voice came out as a croak.
“You called?” he said, his head appearing at the door.
Annie nodded, not trusting her voice. She lifted a finger and pointed at the grainy wooden door. Swift’s eyes widened and then he nodded. Annie lifted the latch as quietly as she could and opened the cupboard door. The smell that escaped made her retch. Her arm flew up and she hid her face in the crook of her elbow. Inside was pitch black, despite the sun raging through the kitchen door.
“Hello?” she said, her voice wobbling. “Who’s in here then?”
Silence.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” she added, trying with all her might to stop her fear escaping through her mouth. She didn’t want to terrify the girls if they were in here. If they could still hear her.
A long thin tunnel of light from Swift’s torch shone over her shoulder and into the dark space. It was red. Blood red. Dark and congealed over the floor and the underside of the stairs. Right at the back, where the stairs met the floor, was an old patchwork blanket that could have once been white. It was hiding something. Something large. Something very still. Too still.
Annie grabbed Swift’s torch and moved into the cupboard. It was large enough for her to walk straight into it, though she had to duck as she got nearer to the blanket.
“Annie?” Swift’s voice sounded like he was underwater, Annie’s blood was pumping so loudly in her ears.
“It’s okay,” she said, loudly. “You’re safe now.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she spoke. She knew she was too late. The smell. The stillness. They spoke a thousand words even if Annie couldn’t. She tiptoed forwards, dropping down to her hands and knees as she approached the blanket. On it, through the dried blood, she could see where someone had lovingly stitched hearts and tiny little daisies. A lot of love had been sewn into the material. With her free hand, Annie grabbed a corner — it was hard and sharp with decay. She pulled it up gently, her breath stuck in her throat.
An arm fell down, knocking her back. She let out a cry. The nails were tiny, just like Mim’s used to look when they played dress up as kids. Annie remembered finding them hard to paint because they were like little shells. But these were pale, too pale. Tinged with blue, Annie knew these were not the nails of a young girl who would be able to grow up and paint them a rainbow of colours.
Shuffling back up to her knees, Annie pulled the blanket further up. The arm gave way to a torso, rippled with blue. But as she pulled it higher she heard a noise, a sniff of a small nose. She pulled hard at the blanket and there, amongst bodies that would never see the light again, and bones that had once made up small arms and legs and rib cages, were three pairs of eyes staring up at her, blinking in the torchlight.
“Swift!” she shouted, throwing the blanket behind her as best she could with the weight of it. “Call an ambulance. They’re alive!”
She looked at them, each little face illuminated now, pale as the bodies drained of blood, mouths open in fear.
“It’s okay, little ones,” she said, reaching out for them. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
One ran forwards, throwing herself onto Annie, sobbing great wracking tears. Annie stroked her matted hair, hushing her. And as she cradled the small child in her arms she felt something shift inside her, something that had be
en lodged there since the day her sister was taken. Annie’s whole body started to shake with her own wracking sobs.
“You’re safe too, Annie,” Swift said, crawling in behind her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
Twenty-Eight
“How many children had there been?” Annie asked, curling onto one of her therapy chairs and cradling a hot cup of coffee.
Swift sipped his own drink, contemplating the answer; Annie could see it on his face.
“Seven,” he said, eventually. “Eight if you include Grey.”
Grey Donovan had been reunited with his birth parents the same day Annie and Swift had found the three missing girls. An emotional reunion made harder by the fact Grey was in denial. Annie had been approached by the DCI to provide Grey with some much needed psychotherapy but she’d declined before he’d even finished asking.
“I think I’m too involved with this one, DCI Strickland,” she’d said, staring through the window of the relatives’ room as two red-eyed adults tried in vain to hug their son. Truth was that Annie had done with listening to other people’s problems for a while. She had her own to work through first.
Today was the first day of her compassionate leave. Her doctor couldn’t work out why on earth she would have gone galivanting around with a police team and unearthed a mass grave of missing children if she had been in a sound mind to begin with. Annie didn’t have the energy to argue that it had been better for her than the last ten years of her career put together, she was just glad of the time away from the office. So to speak. She was still in her office with Swift now, only it was just her home at the moment, no work was being done.
This? This didn’t feel like work.
“Seven?” she said, a flash of blonde hair filling her mind. “So…”
The question was left unsaid. Neither of them needed to say the words.
“Yes,” he replied, looking down at the cup. “Four were recovered and their parents found. They were all of an ilk. One that Aila saw herself as better than, because they maybe worked two jobs and had to spend time away from their children. Or they were too drunk or high to notice what their kids were up to.”
“God,” Annie said. “She’s reprehensible.”
“Totally,” Swift said, nodding, his eyes drifting to the open window.
“What is it?”
“Two of them weren’t even reported missing.”
Annie’s eyes widened. “What? But how did they not get picked up by the social or the police?”
“Aila deleted their records.” Swift looked back at Annie. “Over the last ten years she trawled the files of Social Services, took the ones she wanted, then made sure no-one would care. The other two are still listed as mispers.”
“Those poor parents.”
“Especially given the way she actually treated the children when they were under her care.”
They sat in silence for a moment. The birdsong at the window was a welcome loud distraction.
“What happened to them?” Annie asked, eventually.
“The ones who didn’t make it?”
“Yes.”
“They were what Aila called bad seeds. She said they would either learn her ways or they would be punished until they did.”
Annie’s eyebrows shot up.
“Locked in the cupboard?”
“Not even locked in,” Swift said, biting his lip. “God knows what she did to those kids, but they were too scared of her to walk out of an unlocked cupboard to save themselves.”
“God.” Annie puffed out her breath.
“But the three you saved,” Swift said, putting his cup down and leaning over the low table to lift her chin so she had to look at his face. “They’re going to be okay. A little malnourished, and they’ll need a lot of therapy. But they’re alive because of you.”
Annie smiled softly. “Not just me!”
Swift sat back in his chair and shook his head. “You were the one who pointed the finger at Aila. I was completely taken by the bloody Angels of the Water. Who have been shut down now, by the way. Amadeus has been arrested for drug trafficking.”
Annie laughed.
“Thank God for that,” she said. “He’s not going to fare well in jail is he? What about the others?”
“They were all oblivious to the drugs. They just joined for the women.”
“There’s a surprise!” Annie rolled her eyes. “Do you think Grey is going to be okay?”
Swift sighed, getting out of the chair and heading through to the kitchenette. Annie could hear him opening and closing cupboards.
“They’re in here already,” she called through to him, grabbing a packet of biscuits from the desk. “I keep them near to me at all times at the moment.”
She offered him one.
“Thanks,” he said, crumbs falling from his lips. “I think Grey is a very long way off okay. Aila took him when he was only five; she pointed the finger at Theobald because it was the same time all that was going on, but really his parents were working all hours to make ends meet, and they used drink as a crutch in a pretty cruel world. They say they never gave up hope, but how do you cope when you think your child has been slaughtered for his organs? Grey’s the only one who made it to adulthood.”
“I wonder how he did it?” Annie nibbled the edge of the bourbon biscuit.
“I think it was because he was her first,” he said. “She didn’t want to fail with the first.”
“But the more she took, the more unhinged she became?”
“Probably. Anyway, I’d best be off. Top secret police work to be done.”
Annie got out of her chair and pulled Swift into a hug. He smelt familiar and safe.
“Thanks for all your help, Joe,” she said, pulling away.
“What are you on about?” Swift said, smiling. “I dragged you into it. Thank you for your help. If you ever think about coming back to the force, there’s always room for you in our squad. CID could use more analytical brains like yours.”
“I’m very tempted but we’ll see, shall we?” she said, thinking just how much she’d love to join their team, not least to find out more about Swift, his life and his house and the wife who left him, too. “I think I’ve got a few personal things to sort through first. And my own job to do when I’m ready. Marion really would string you up if you poached me for good.”
“Oh God,” Swift cried in jest. “I forgot about Marion. She’s called me in for a meeting today. I think she’s going to throw the book at me for breaking you.”
He stopped talking, his face flushed.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean you’re broken. I just…”
Annie pushed him by the shoulder, gently, towards the door.
“Best you head off before I break you back then, hey?”
“Bye Annie,” he said, resting a hand on the open door.
“Bye Swift.”
As the sun set and the night drew in, Annie grabbed her laptop and dragged her weary body into the sleeping bag. She’d pottered about in the flat once Swift had left. Watering her pot plant, dusting, polishing, and hoovering. It gleamed in delight as much as Annie did. With a takeaway pizza from Pete, she topped up her wine glass and settled down for a night of Line of Duty.
Tapping out her password, Annie saw her emails flash. She clicked, despite the hot pizza and cold wine calling her name. It was this month’s bill. She was once again five hundred pounds down the drain and no closer to finding her sister. With a large gulp and a reaction so quick her brain couldn’t keep up, Annie whirred off a reply to the private investigator. Thanks for all your hard work but I think it’s time to let this one go. Signing it off, Annie pressed the send key and let out her breath. Like the moment she held little Katie Green in her arms, Annie felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her head floated and it was nothing to do with the wine.
“Cheers, Mim,” she said, raising her glass and pressing play on the police drama on screen rather than the poli
ce drama in her life.
Halfway through the pizza, just as the tension in the show was ramping up, Annie’s phone buzzed on the floor next to her. She picked it up, screwing her face up at the name on the screen.
“Swift?”
“Annie,” he replied, and she could hear the sirens in the background. “How do you feel about helping us out again a little sooner than we had imagined?”
Foxton Girls
Annie O’Malley and DI Swift return in Foxton Girls.
Buy now, or read on for the first chapter…
Foxton Girls
An Annie O’Malley Novel
Their secrets die with them.
When a spate of suicides occur at prestigious girls' school, Foxton's, Psychotherapist Annie O'Malley is called in to talk with the students.
What Annie finds are troubled young girls full of secrets and lies; and a teacher caught in the midst.
Back working with DI Joe Swift, can Annie and Swift unravel Foxton’s secrets before they take another girl?
Prologue
Florence’s gaze flitted between the bedside clock and the man beside her. She loved him, she’d decided, not that it really mattered anymore as in precisely twelve minutes she would be dead.
She thought she may as well make the most of the time she had left. Flipping over on to her stomach, Florence let her hand trace a path over the scars on the man’s naked torso. She felt him shiver and wake.
“You’re still here? What time is it?” he said, his voice thick with sleep.
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