‘It looks like there was some sense of panic as Hermione left. Our witness reports hearing screaming just before four o clock. It’s possible that the suspect used Purdy to get her to leave the house.’
‘The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right. She wouldn’t have answered for anything less,’ Tessa said.
Killers could be inventive. Amy did not inform Tessa that the infamous serial killer Ted Bundy coaxed young women into his vehicle by feigning injury and asking for help. She mulled it over, finishing her coffee, which had now gone cold. ‘It’s just a theory,’ she said. ‘I own a pug, Dotty. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.’
‘Hemmy is animal mad. She wants to be a vet.’ Tessa’s bottom lip trembled, fresh tears forming in her eyes. ‘She’ll be all right, won’t she? I couldn’t bear it if . . . if . . .’
‘Try not to think the worst,’ Amy said. ‘Most missing teenagers return home safely.’ But Hermione was not just any teenager. She was a sensible girl with a decent family life and no reason to run away from home. The theory she had been snatched was growing stronger by the minute. It had to be her screams her neighbour heard that day. But why take the risk of abducting her in broad daylight? And what was their next move? After updating Tessa on the rest of their enquiries, Amy stood, projecting her best poker face. The truth was, she was scared for this girl.
‘Let us know if Purdy turns up. We’d appreciate a picture if you’ve got one. We’ll make some checks of the animal shelters as well.’
‘I’ve got some pictures on my phone,’ Tessa said. ‘Floyd will be back soon, I’ll pass them on.’
Amy nodded. She would have a word with Floyd later on. The absence of the family pet could be a vital clue. His failure to ask could cost them dearly. The next step would be to seize some of Hermione’s belongings, take her fingerprints and see if they could match them with the ones taken two doors down.
Tessa led Amy to the front door, resting her hand on the latch as she prepared to show her out. Amy watched her face contorting as she desperately tried to keep her emotions in check. Hovering behind her, her sister watched them both. The two women were lost. Powerless. Whoever had taken Hemmy had robbed them of everything. Involuntary spectators, all they could do was stand by and watch events pan out.
‘Please,’ Tessa said, her words choked by a sob. ‘Bring her home.’
‘Shh. C’mon, sis, let’s get you away from that door,’ Ellen said.
Grim-faced, Amy ignored the journalists and paparazzi as she walked down the steps to her car. The feeling of grief and helplessness was one she remembered. Sally-Ann’s resemblance to Hermione had not been lost on her: both girls fifteen, both caring and kind.
Her heels echoing on the pavement, Amy felt that this was a path she was walking very much alone. She had let one fifteen-year-old girl down. It could not happen a second time. She had to bring Hermione home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
1986
‘You’re shaking,’ Marjorie said. ‘Is everything all right?’ Each time the woman from the social leaned forward, a gentle flowery fragrance was released. It was preferable to the sickly air freshener that Poppy had sprayed, and a lot less frightening than what it masked.
Poppy tried to think of an excuse for her trembling, given her mother was listening on the other side of the door. She glanced at the paint-streaked wood, imagining Lillian’s face pressed against it on the other side. ‘C . . . c . . . cold,’ she stuttered, her teeth chattering from fear.
Marjorie and Thomas exchanged a glance. ‘It’s sunny outside,’ Marjorie said, her bangles jangling as she gesticulated. ‘Do you fancy coming out to the car? It’s a shame to be cooped up in the house on such a lovely day.’
Poppy’s eyes widened. Was the social taking her away? She had not said anything. She had been a good girl.
As if reading her mind, Thomas gently spoke. ‘We won’t go anywhere, I promise. Your mummy will be able to see the car from the house, but when we talk, nobody else will be able to hear.’
As her eyes darted to the door and back, Poppy was not so sure. She folded her arms high on her chest, but still the trembling continued. Sitting with her legs and arms tightly crossed, she felt like one big knot.
Marjorie shuffled towards her on the sofa, her generous bosom moving from left to right. She was a big lady, and taller than Mummy, but Poppy liked that. It made her seem strong. She smiled, her teeth pearly white. ‘Our car has lots of comfy seats, and it smells really nice.’ She wrinkled her nose as she inhaled another breath.
Poppy knew the lady was too polite to say that her house stank. Each day the stench from the floorboards became more rotten and putrid than the day before. She swallowed, hoping they would not ask her what it was. She knew it had something to do with the soiled sheets and the things that Daddy did in the basement before the ladies disappeared.
Sensing her hesitation, Thomas leaned forward and whispered, ‘How about I give you the keys to the car? You can look after them while we’re there. I might even have some stickers you can play with – do you like unicorns?’
Poppy nodded, a gap-toothed smile breaking out on her face. She’d never had anything all to herself before. She had been wrong about Thomas. She could see now that he had a gentle face, very unlike her father’s. He opened the palm of his hand to reveal a set of car keys. Tentatively, Poppy took them, enjoying the feel of the leather key ring in her hand.
Standing up, she took Thomas by the hand. His skin was soft, so unlike the roughly calloused flesh of her father’s palms. Marjorie’s face broke into a smile, and Poppy knew she had been a good girl.
‘We’ll only be a few minutes,’ she explained to Lillian as Poppy jangled the keys of the car.
Lillian was standing in the hall, confirming Poppy’s suspicions that she had been listening in all along. Her stomach flipped as she wondered whom to trust. Her mother was staring daggers, her lips a tight white line slashed across her mouth. ‘I don’t see why you can’t talk to her here,’ she said, failing to hide her displeasure.
But Marjorie was not to be put off. She was chunkier than her mother, and Poppy felt a warm glow of protection as Marjorie spoke in a firm voice. ‘As you know, we have a right to speak to your child alone. We can do that now, or we can wait for a court order to take her into our care. Which would you prefer?’
Lillian glared at Marjorie, her knuckles whitening as she rested her hands on her hips. Poppy’s grip on Thomas’s hand tightened as the women stared each other out.
‘I’m sure you don’t want it to come to that.’ Marjorie’s voice softened. ‘We’re just going to have a little chat and Poppy will be back here in a matter of minutes.’
‘Fine,’ Lillian said, unblinking as she watched them leave. Poppy was grateful that her father had stayed in the kitchen, though her mother’s eyes bore into her back like lasers. The heat of her gaze lingered long after she got into the car.
‘No need for your seat belt,’ Thomas said. ‘We’re not going anywhere.’ He averted his gaze. ‘Do you like our windows? They’re tinted. It means you can see out, but nobody can see in. Isn’t that clever?’ Poppy’s shaking subsided as she looked at the glass in wonderment. Marjorie had been truthful about the weather. The car was comfortably warm.
‘How about I put on some music?’ Marjorie said, turning it down low enough so they could speak. A tune about the wheels on the bus going round and round set Poppy slightly at ease. She liked this car. It felt safe and smelt of cookies. She looked out the window, her heart faltering as she saw the curtains twitch. She reminded herself that nobody could see her. She was safely cocooned – for now, at least.
‘Look what I found,’ Thomas said.
Poppy stared longingly at the sheet of bright pink and white stickers. But she did not immediately accept his gift. People who gave you things for free usually wanted something in return. At least, that’s the way it was with the visitors who came to their home. But Mandy said the so
cial were nothing like the visitors, didn’t she?
‘It’s OK,’ Marjorie said. ‘You can have them. They’re yours.’
Tentatively Poppy reached out and accepted the gift. She comforted herself that the car keys were safely nestled in her dress pocket and she had sat beside the door, should she need to escape. The music changed to a cheerful tune about mother goose, and Poppy relaxed into her seat. She peeled back a unicorn sticker, pressing it against her dress. After a few minutes of playing, she smiled shyly at Thomas and Marjorie. ‘T-th-thank you,’ she said, her eyes dropping to the rows of shiny stickers that were hers. Once back inside, Mandy would take them and ignore her cries to have them returned. But for now, they belonged to her. She thought about Sally-Ann and how pleased she would have been that Poppy received a gift.
‘You like those, don’t you?’ Thomas said. ‘Does Sally-Ann like stickers too?’
Poppy nodded, her expression growing sad as she wondered why he was talking about her in the present. Her sister was gone, and nothing would bring her back. She loved her more than Mummy and missed her so much that it hurt.
‘When’s the last time you saw her?’ Marjorie said, her head tilted to one side. But Poppy didn’t like that question because the last time she saw her sister . . . She pushed the thought away, her chin wobbling slightly as she strained to keep her tears at bay. Crying was bad. Sally-Ann had told her so.
‘It smells a bit nicer in here, doesn’t it?’ Thomas said. ‘Do you have any pets? I have a dog at home, and he gets very stinky. His name’s Charlie. Would you like to see a picture?’
Nodding, Poppy tore her eyes away from the stickers to look at the photo Thomas produced from his jacket pocket. A shaggy white dog was snapped in mid-pant, its pink tongue lolling from its mouth.
‘Do you have any pets?’ Thomas asked.
‘A h-ham-hamster,’ Poppy said. ‘Hammy.’ She was pleased she managed to get that final word out in one piece.
‘Ooh. I like hamsters. Where does he live?’
Poppy shook her head. ‘He’s gone. Daddy squished him.’ She thought about the last time she looked for him. When she crept down into the basement and hid from her father. It was her fault that Sally-Ann was dead. Her mummy had told her that the social took bad people away and they put them in this place called jail. She did not want to go to jail.
‘Has your daddy hurt other things too?’ Thomas said.
Poppy nodded, wondering if you could get into trouble just from nodding and shaking her head. If she didn’t say the words out loud, then she hadn’t told anything, had she? Her face brightened, having come up with this all by herself.
‘Has he hurt Sally-Ann?’ Thomas said, speaking even softer this time.
Poppy nodded vigorously, her head bobbing up and down. Unblinkingly she stared at him, wondering if he was worthy of her trust.
‘Open questions,’ Marjorie whispered to Thomas, but Poppy did not know what that meant.
‘What can you tell me about that?’ Thomas said, his face flushed pink.
But Poppy shook her head, returning to her stickers. If she spoke, then she would go to jail. Bad people lived there. Maybe worse than the ones who visited her house. Poppy bit her bottom lip, swallowing back the words that threatened to spill out.
‘You’re not in any trouble, Poppy,’ Thomas continued. ‘Has someone told you not to talk to us?’
Poppy nodded, clambering off her seat to pick up a sticker she had dropped.
Marjorie whispered into Thomas’s ear. ‘You can’t lead her. It’s got to be open questions.’
‘She’s petrified,’ Thomas whispered back. ‘It’s the only way to find out what’s going on.’
As Poppy rose, Marjorie greeted her with a smile. ‘We’re not here to hurt you, sweetheart, we just want to keep you safe.’
Safe. The word hung tantalisingly in the air. To be safe was what Poppy wanted most in the world. ‘Daddy,’ she said, ‘hurt S-S . . . Sally-Ann.’ She peeled off another sticker. This one had glitter. She held it up on one finger. She liked the way it caught the light. Intently, she stared at it, allowing the words to tumble off her tongue. ‘He . . .’ She swallowed, replacing the sticker exactly where she had removed it. ‘He made her dead.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Standing in the background, Amy absorbed the office banter that was part of everyday life. They were a small team and it helped them to deal with the darkness inflicted upon them. She liked the new addition: DC Gary Wilkes was just twenty-five but had progressed well since joining the police. His colourful shirts made him easy to spot, and his cheerful demeanour was welcome. Having previously worked with Molly, he was integrating well. Amy watched as she laughed in response to his jibes.
‘Well, that’s the last date we go on,’ Molly said. ‘Blooming breadcrumber.’
‘A breadcrumber? What the hell is that?’ Gary paused at the printer to collect copies of the latest statements to read.
‘A tease,’ Molly said, clicking her mouse. ‘They put out little crumbs to lure you in, won’t take no for an answer. But the minute you take the bait they run for the hills.’
‘Well if you ever get tired of playing with boys there are some real men in this office.’ The proposal came from DC Steve Moss from the far side of the room.
Amy stiffened. She was trying to reserve judgement about Steve, but sometimes he was a little too nice to her face. While he seemed keen to please, she often caught his reflection as she turned. His narrow-eyed glare had taken her off guard. The jury was out when it came to him, and she could see by Molly’s withering gaze that she shared her thoughts. Out of everyone in her team, she sensed that Steve would be the first to turn on her if things took a turn for the worse. Manage your team well. It only takes one bad apple. Her father’s words rose in her memory. From what she had heard, Steve had no problem rubbing people up the wrong way.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being single,’ Amy said, making her presence known. ‘You don’t have to please anyone but yourself.’
‘True,’ Molly replied. ‘But I’m not ready for a hot-water bottle to warm the bed just yet.’
Amy smiled. Dotty was her hot-water bottle, but she would keep that nugget of information to herself. ‘Have you any updates for me?’ She wisely steered the conversation away from sex. The last thing she needed was Steve putting a word in, although his smile had faded as soon as she stepped in. He was old enough to be Molly’s father, not that that would put him off.
Molly was good at her job but had no filter when it came to office banter. Amy was reluctant to rein her in. Since joining them she had lightened their days and provided some much-needed relief. Their job did not afford them lunch breaks, bonuses or perks. If they were lucky enough to eat, then they did it on the go. Computer keyboards were littered with crumbs, mugs of coffee left to go cold. Too many families had to learn to live with their partner’s commitment or walk away from it all. ‘Join the force and get a divorce’ was a phrase Amy heard more than once. You married your profession or let it kill you. But regardless of it all, there was nowhere she would rather be.
She walked around to Molly’s side of the desk, watching as she brought up a series of sites on her screen. Social media was Molly’s forte, and she had been allocated with fake accounts to infiltrate it when the need arose.
‘There’s been a lot of activity online, but there’s one group that stands out.’ She clicked onto Facebook and Twitter, using the hashtag #FindHermione. ‘See here?’ she said, pointing at a series of tweets.
#FindHermione We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry.
#FindHermione The truth may hurt for a little while, but a lie lasts forever.
#FindHermione Denying the truth doesn’t change the facts.
#FindHermione Better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie.
#FindHermione It’s hard to accept the truth when lies are what you want to hear.
‘There’s hundreds of tweets, all refer
encing quotes about truth.’
‘I recognise some of those,’ Amy said, peering at the screen.
‘Most of the quotes can be found online. It’s the group tweeting it that worries me – The Keepers of Truth.’
She brought up Facebook, and a plethora of similar comments. ‘They’re here, too. They’re heavily into conspiracy theories, but every now and again they’ll get their teeth into a cause and not let go.’
‘Over ten thousand followers,’ Amy said. ‘I take it they’re known to us?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Molly said, using the formality as she sometimes did. ‘We’ve got tonnes of intel on them for violence offences. Last year they set fire to an abortion clinic after a very nasty protest. Two people died.’
‘I remember that,’ Amy said, recalling the news report. ‘Didn’t they beat up an MP for taking backhanders, too?’
‘Amongst other things,’ Molly nodded. ‘I’m trying to infiltrate the group, but they’re very choosy about who they let in.’
‘They can’t be that choosy if they’ve got ten thousand followers.’ Amy straightened her posture, rubbing the base of her spine to ease the twinge of pain. She made a mental note to arrange another gym session with Pike when she had the chance.
‘They’re just followers though,’ Molly said. ‘They’ve got a private Facebook group with a dozen people who carry out the proactive stuff.’ She clicked on the group name, which came up as ‘private’ on Facebook. ‘They’re slippery bastards,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘They work together, providing alibis and backing each other up.’
Amy nodded, although the inner workings of social media went over her head. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘Just reading between the lines. I’ve been trying to wangle an invite into their group.’
Amy knew Molly was thinking the same as her. Why would a hard-core conspiracy group like The Keepers of Truth be interested in a fifteen-year-old girl? The persistent ring of her mobile ended their conversation, and she strode to her office, picking it up on the third ring.
Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1) Page 13
