All the Lost Girls

by Bilinda P Sheehan

I stared at him, a sick feeling curling in the pit of my stomach.

  “And that’s not all,” Dorian said, sounding a little more confident than he had a moment before. “We gained access to Clara’s dental records. We were lucky in that she didn’t have the best of teeth. She had worn braces, and they were removed only two months before she disappeared.”

  He pressed a button on a lightbox on the wall, illuminating an x-ray of a set of teeth. He lit up a second box and another x-ray appeared. I was no expert but even to my untrained eyes, the teeth looked different.

  “What are you saying?” There was a tightness to my voice that I hadn’t expected.

  “I’m saying it’s not Clara McCarthy,” he said stiffly. “The dental records don’t match. We’ll get the DNA back and it’ll confirm what I’m saying here.”

  “Then if the body isn’t Clara’s, who is it?” I stared down at the necklace once more. Whoever had done this was playing with us.

  “From examination of the other missing women from the same time period, the x-rays from this body matches most closely with Evie Ryan.”

  I recognised the name immediately. I’d looked over her case file the night before. She’d gone missing three weeks after Clara, on Saturday the 9th of November. I’d even commented on the resemblance between the two girls. Same height, same build, same hair colour. It wasn’t a coincidence. Evie had been chosen for her appearance, I was certain of it. I couldn’t prove it, of course. Not unless the killer suddenly decided to pop up and give us a complete signed confession with all the gory details over how and why they’d taken the girls in the first place.

  “There’s more,” he said. “This wasn’t the original burial spot of the body.”

  His words were like a slap of icy water.

  “What?”

  “The soil there is far more acidic with a pH below 3.2 we wouldn’t have such an intact skeleton if she’d been buried there the entire time.

  “Not to mention the lack of adipocere. It’s present on the body and the clothes but the surrounding soil where the body was found is clean. There’s also have very little bone splintering. I would have expected much more due to the constant freeze and thaw cycles evident in the soil samples we took.”

  I stared at him uncomprehendingly. I had an idea of what he was saying. He needed to stop blinding me with science.

  “English, please,” I said. Dorian stared at me as though I was suddenly the one speaking a different language. “Pretend I’m a complete idiot and break it down for me.”

  He sighed and jammed his hand back through his hair before once more straightening his glasses on his nose. His expression told me he considered me a complete idiot anyway and I could tell he wasn’t exactly full of confidence for my ability to solve the case.

  “The victim wasn’t originally buried in the woods where you found her. She was interred somewhere else and very recently, like in the last week, dug up and moved to the woods… Any longer than a week or two and I would expect to see more animal disturbance and distress to the bones and clothes.”

  “So you’re telling me, it’s not Clara, but another girl Evie. She’s dressed in Clara’s clothes, even has the necklace Clara’s sister gave to her. But this one has a new engraving on the back that seems to be taunting us. And what’s more, the burial site isn’t the original. She was dug up from somewhere and dumped in the woods.”

  Dorian nodded. “That’s it exactly.”

  “My guess is that she was dug up and placed in the woods so you would find her,” Rosie said.

  Dorian turned on her, his dark eyes flashing with sharp anger. “We can’t know that,” he said. “The evidence can only tell us she was moved, not the why.”

  “Come on,” Rosie said, pulling a face. “You don’t bury someone for twenty-odd years and then suddenly dig them up and dump them in the woods, on a path that’s by all accounts quite popular, if you don’t want the body to be discovered. Evidence or no, I say your guy wanted her found… And the necklace seems to back it all up.”

  She wasn’t wrong but then neither was Dorian. The evidence couldn’t expressly tell us the reason for the moving of the body but Rosie’s interpretation was pretty close to what I was thinking myself.

  “Is that everything?” I sighed, frustration thrumming in my veins. It was still early and yet I felt as though I’d just pulled a double shift.

  “It’s all we’ve got until the DNA comes back,” Rosie said.

  “What about cause of death on the body you do have?”

  Dorian lips twisted into a grimace, making him look like someone who’d just tasted something particularly unpleasant.

  “There’s evidence of blunt force trauma,” he said, “but…”

  “But what?” I was beginning to sound snappy and I tried to soften my words with a smile instead.

  “Damage to the vertebrae of the neck and the clavicle. What tissue samples we managed to take suggest strangulation. However, the body is in such a state of decomposition it’s difficult to tell which injury was the actual cause of death. They’re both significant enough to cause death. There are signs of torture…”

  Torture wasn’t uncommon but judging by the way Dorian’s face appeared to pale as he mentioned it I could only guess at the severity of it.

  “Such as?” I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands in an attempt to keep my emotions in check.

  “Spiral fracture to the left femur,” Rosie said. “Extensive scarring on the bones, made by an as yet unidentified blade. Fracture to the wrists of both arms. Dislocation of the right shoulder, fracture to the jawbone and orbital bones consistent with repeated blows. Some of the fractures had time to begin healing before they were re-broken.”

  “What does that mean?” I had an idea but I needed to hear her say it.

  “It’s possible she was kept for some time before he decided to murder her…” Rosie said. “Her injuries are consistent with prolonged imprisonment and torture.”

  “That’s enough,” Ronan said, I glanced at him over my shoulder and he’d started to stalk away across the lab.

  “I need a full report,” I said. Rosie’s expression was grim as she nodded.

  “You find it difficult to listen to,” she said, calling after Ronan. He halted and turned back, his face ashen.

  “It’s suffering,” he said. “I know she suffered, I’m not sure why I need the gory details of it all.”

  I opened my mouth but Rosie beat me to it.

  “That’s nice for you,” she said, without any trace of bitterness. “You can walk away. It must be nice that you can choose not to hear how these women spent their last hours or days. That you can decide it makes you too uncomfortable. Where was their choice?”

  “That’s not the point, I…”

  “But it is the point,” she said and this time there was the barest hint of anger in her voice. “That’s exactly the point. If you’re going to catch this bastard, and let’s be honest, that’s exactly what he is, then you need to hear their suffering. No one is asking you to endure it. They’ve done that for you. By walking away, you’re denying them, denying their existence, denying that their pain mattered. They’ve already been silenced, they don’t need you, the one who’s supposed to be on their side, to do it all over again.”

  He sighed and turned on his heel, the sound of his shoes echoed through the lab before the door clicked open and the sound of his clipping shoes faded down the hall.

  There was a moment of silence, finally broken by the awkward sound of Rosie clearing her throat.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  She shrugged. “I guess sometimes we forget that people aren’t as good as we want them to be.”

  The only answer I had for her was a small smile. There wasn’t anything I could say that hadn’t already been said. Whether Ronan liked it or not, whether it made him uncomfortable or not, Rosie was right. The victims—the ones we were supposed to be working on behalf of—had no choice in their suffe
ring. And I’d long felt that the least I could do for them was act as their witness.

  I couldn’t save them from the fate that had befallen them but I could do everything in my power to bring those responsible to justice.

  28

  I sat in the living room, hands wrapped around the ceramic cat shaped mug. The rabbit alarm sat clock on the coffee table in front of me.

  Ever since I’d found it waiting for me on the doorstep, I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes away from it. It was important, that I was certain of but how, or why? That was a lot more difficult to understand.

  It had been gone for so long, I’d initially wondered if perhaps I’d been mistaken about it, if I’d misremembered an important detail about Clara giving me the clock.

  I hadn’t. And one quick glance at the back of the rabbit’s pocket watch, to the place where I’d scratched my initials into the surface as a teenager told me I wasn’t mistaken. It really was mine. The white rabbit had come home.

  “Alice?” The familiar voice made me jump. Turning, I found myself staring up into the blue eyes of a woman standing in the kitchen doorway. She shuffled awkwardly, shoving a strand of hair back behind her ear, a self-conscious gesture that felt as familiar to me as her voice.

  “You don’t remember me?” she asked, sounding hurt.

  Her name hovered on the edges of my mind, like a picture that refused to come into focus.

  “Sarah,” she said. “I went to school with Clara and—”

  “You used to babysit me,” I said, the memory flooding back.

  “That’s right,” she said, her smile wide and genuine, brightening her face considerably, making her look younger.

  “You were friends with Clara,” I said with a smile of my own. “I remember. The pair of you were thick as thieves and you wouldn’t let me come with out with you.” That had been before Clara had met Liam. Before she’d gotten pregnant, before she’d been forced out of school.

  “It used to drive you mad,” she said. “Got us into so much trouble with your Mam.”

  We laughed together. It was nice to remember Clara in a time before everything started to go wrong. Part of me knew it wasn’t right to think of it like that but I couldn’t help it. There was still a part of me that felt almost betrayed by her. It was a stupid, childish part of me but I couldn’t shake it off. We were supposed to grow up together, have families, watch each other grow old.

  She hesitated, twisting her fingers round in the beige cardigan she wore. “I heard…” she trailed off, her eyes sliding away to dart around the room before they came to rest on my face once more. “I heard they found her.” Her voice was little more than a hoarse, hushed whisper heavy with emotion.

  “They seem to think they have,” I said, swallowing past the dry lump in the back of my throat.

  “You don’t sound convinced,” Sarah asked, taking a step into the room.

  “No, it’s not that,” I said, looking down at the patterned carpet. I could still remember the day Mam had had it fitted. Clara and I both had thought it looked like something that belonged in an old folk’s home. Of course, we never said that. Mam had been so pleased with it that to say anything negative would have been cruel.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” Sarah asked, breaking through my thoughts.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” I said, gesturing to the chair opposite me. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

  She shook her head and I fought back the relief. I didn’t want to get up. I still didn’t entirely trust my legs, not after they’d refused to hold me up when I’d found the white rabbit clock on the doorstep. For some reason, they’d turned to jelly and I wasn’t still sure if they’d returned to normal yet. Not to mention the pounding headache. It hadn’t improved. In fact, it had worsened. Dehydration from the hangover and the stress, most likely. It would pass eventually but right now, just thinking was enough to make my brain throb.

  “Is it possible the police have made a mistake?”

  I jerked my head up, meeting Sarah’s curious gaze. “I don’t see how they could,” I said. “They asked me to identify some of her things and…” I shrugged, a sort of numb feeling spreading through my neck and shoulder as I moved my injured arm without thinking.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sarah said, dropping her gaze to her hands. Her fingers were completely knotted up in the front of her cardigan now. “We always thought—or maybe hoped is a better way of putting it—that Clara would come back. That she’d turn up one day and…”

  “It’s a nice thought,” I said. “But I think I knew deep down it was never going to happen. Someone took her that night. I was there. I saw it happen.”

  “Of course,” Sarah said. “I never meant to suggest…” She trailed off and smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I came over here to see if I could help and I think I’m just making everything worse.”

  I shook my head and tightened my fingers around the mug in my hands, an attempt to soak up every last drop of heat radiating through the ceramic.

  “No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” I said. “I’m just feeling a little delicate.”

  “I heard you’d enjoyed yourself in the pub,” she said, her smile widening. “It’s good to switch off, even if it’s only for a short while.”

  That was the problem with small places; everyone always knew everyone else’s business. There was no escaping it. No matter how much you tried to keep to yourself, there was always someone lurking around a corner, waiting to catch you out and spread the gossip to all who would listen. I’d hated it when I’d lived here and now that I was back, I hated it even more.

  I returned Sarah’s smile with a tight one of my own.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  “Oh, you didn’t hear that then?” I asked. Sarah’s expression crumpled, telling me I’d allowed some of my bitterness to seep out.

  “I should go,” she said, climbing to her feet unsteadily. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll—”

  “Sarah, I’m sorry,” I said, setting the cup on the table in front of me. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just…” I shrugged helplessly and my shoulder sent a painful warning down my arm.

  “Dick said I shouldn’t come here,” she said. “That I’d only be poking my nose in where it wasn’t warranted. He was right.”

  “He wasn’t. You’re not,” I said, reaching out toward her. I caught her hand and her fingers reflexively closed over mine. “I shouldn’t have been cruel. I’m sorry.”

  She sniffed, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. The guilt I’d been nursing intensified.

  “Well if you’re sure I’m not bothering you,” she said, edging closer to the seat once more.

  “You’re really not.” I meant it. There were many things I disliked about being back but Sarah wasn’t one of them. She was my connection to Clara, a chance for me to feel even closer to my sister. I couldn’t just throw that away, not over a bloody hangover and a desire to play my cards close to my chest.

  “You’re still with Dick, then?” I asked, desperately hoping my voice stayed light.

  Sarah smiled and ducked her head, her fingers once more straying to the edge of her cardigan. “Yeah,” she said, almost shyly. “We got married and everything.”

  “You were lucky,” I said. Sarah’s head snapped up, her eyes boring into mine and I hastily added. “You know, knowing he was the one. Some people don’t ever meet the one they’re supposed to be with, never mind meet them when they’re still in school.”

  She laughed, tucking her hair back behind her ears. “I suppose we were,” she said. “I think I always knew he was the right one. You know?”

  “I don’t,” I said. “I haven’t been that lucky.”

  “So there’s no one, then?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Foot loose and fancy free,” I said. “That’s me.”

  The look she gave me was loaded with pity and I couldn’t help but feel my hackles rise. I wasn’t particularly bothered by my single status. In fact,
I kind of enjoyed it. Gerald had once joked—after I’d turned down his offer of a date—that I was married to the job. Like a nun committed to social work instead of God.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, again. The constant apologies grated on me but I pushed the uncharitable thoughts aside.

  “Don’t be,” I said. “I like it, means I’ve got more time for my work.”

  “I heard you were in social work,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think I could do that job. I think it would break my heart too much.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t stop the question from popping out of my mouth.

  “Well, there’s a lot of breaking up of families, isn’t there? I mean, I don’t think I could do that. Family is so important.”

  “Well, yeah, but sometimes families fall apart,” I said. “It’s not our goal. We want to keep them together, help them get back on their feet when they’re struggling. It doesn’t always work. Not everyone is cut out to be a parent.”

  There was a flicker of something dark in Sarah’s eyes and it was gone as quickly as it had appeared but I’d seen it. I was certain I’d seen it, and whatever it was, sent a trickle of discomforting ice down my spine.

  “Well, I can’t relate,” she said. “I can’t imagine my life without my, Ali,” she said, the pride in her voice undeniable.

  “You’ve got a daughter?”

  She nodded, her expression brightening further. “She’s ten next month,” she said. “Growing up far too fast for my liking though.”

  I smiled and nodded along with her but it hurt to hear her talk about her family. It wasn’t that I begrudged Sarah her happiness but there was a part of me that thought it should have been Clara’s life and Clara’s children I was hearing stories of. She’d deserved a chance to be happy, the opportunity to grow up and get married. Instead she’d been in the ground all these years because someone decided to steal her life away from her.

  It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right.

  Anger started to build in my stomach and without thinking, I hopped to my feet.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah, I’ve just remembered, I’ve got an errand I need to run for Mam. I’m so sorry but I’ve got to go.”