The Secret

by Debbie Howells

To my surprise, James is there when I open it. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Sorry to bother you like this.’ His face is pale in the outside light, his eyes flitting about nervously.

  I frown slightly. ‘Is something wrong? Would you like to come in?’

  ‘I won’t stop, Elise. I just wanted to ask if you’ve seen Hollie.’

  ‘Not since …’ I think back, remembering seeing Hollie run across the garden from an upstairs window. ‘Well, she was here one evening last week, but I didn’t talk to her. I have a feeling she was avoiding me.’

  His face wrinkles into a frown. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘Oh …’ I try to remember our conversation. ‘To be honest, I think she’d skipped school that day. I think she was embarrassed that I’d seen her and caught her out – I made some comment about it being important that she didn’t get behind.’

  James nods. ‘The school called me a while ago. Seems she’s skipped a few days recently.’ He hesitates. ‘Do you know if Niamh’s seen her over the last couple of days?’

  Hollie’s absence is in line with what Stephanie told me, but warning bells are ringing. ‘I don’t think so, but if you can wait, I’ll go and ask her.’

  Leaving him alone, I go upstairs to Niamh’s bedroom. ‘Niamh?’ When I push her door open, I find she’s engrossed in one of her schoolbooks. ‘Have you seen Hollie at all the last couple of days?’

  Her face is blank as she shakes her head. ‘Why?’

  ‘Her dad wondered, that’s all. I’ll tell him.’ Not wanting her to worry unnecessarily, I say no more and go back downstairs. James is still waiting by the door. ‘She hasn’t. Is Hollie OK, James?’

  There are dark circles under his eyes, as though he hasn’t been sleeping. ‘To be honest, I don’t know. We’ve just been in touch with the police. Look, I need to get going. I’m trying to talk to everyone in the village before it gets too late.’

  ‘Let me know, won’t you?’ At the thought that something might have happened to Hollie, my heart thuds in my chest. ‘When she comes back?’

  He nods before turning to walk away. I close the door and seconds later hear his car start, then its tyres on the gravel as he drives away.

  Niamh’s voice from the doorway startles me. ‘Why was he here?’

  ‘It seems Hollie’s gone missing.’ I pause. I hadn’t wanted to worry Niamh, but she and Hollie are friends. She should know.

  Niamh starts, shock registering in her eyes. ‘When?’

  ‘They last saw her a couple of days ago. Do you remember the last time you heard from her?’

  Niamh’s eyes hold mine as she shakes her head. ‘I’m not sure. I think it was Saturday when she last came here.’

  ‘Would you have any idea where she might go?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice is quiet, her brow wrinkled with a trace of a frown.

  I fight off unwanted emotions, imagining how I’d feel if it was Niamh who had gone out one day and hadn’t come back. ‘If you hear from her, can you tell me? Even if she doesn’t want James to know where she is, he needs to know she’s OK.’

  Niamh nods slowly; then fear crosses her face. ‘What if she’s not?’

  I feel the urge to protect my daughter from the horrific possibility that something could have happened to Hollie. ‘I’m sure she’s fine, Niamh … We both know she’s a little bit unpredictable. Maybe she had an argument with James and she’s punishing him.’

  But from the way Niamh stands there, I know she isn’t convinced. ‘Try not to worry. I’ll call James later – just to see if there’s any news.’

  That seems to satisfy Niamh for now and she goes back upstairs. Seconds later, I hear her door close, then music drifting through the gap underneath it. Not the usual upbeat tracks she plays, but a haunting instrumental that tells me what my daughter can’t put into words.

  She’s frightened.

  *

  I leave it until later to call James. ‘I’m sorry to call so late. I was just wondering if you’d heard from Hollie.’

  ‘No. No-one’s seen her.’ He sounds worried sick – and defeated. ‘I’ve spoken to the police again and they’re on their way round now. They may well call in on you tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Slightly shocked, I’m thinking on my feet. ‘I’m working, James. I have to go out early.’

  ‘Can I give them your mobile number? Hollie’s spent so much time at your place recently, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you – and Niamh.’

  ‘Of course.’ I pause. ‘But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

  Chapter Seven

  Jo

  It’s late, the end of a long first day back at work after a month’s compassionate leave – supposedly long enough to get over my husband walking out. I imagine some naïve psychologist calculating the number of days before shock subsides, grief levels out, and the new normality of being left starts to settle. They’ve got it massively wrong, of course, because anyone can tell you that after ten years in a dysfunctional marriage, a month is nothing.

  About to leave the office when the phone rings, I think about letting it go to voicemail. But habit wins out. ‘Joanna May.’ I listen to the detective inspector’s voice at the other end, my stomach suddenly lurching when he tells me that a teenage girl has disappeared in the village of Abingworth, not far from here. My heart sinks as I think about facing distraught parents right now, when my own emotions are still raw. ‘Look, I wouldn’t normally ask, sir, but isn’t there someone else who could do this?’

  He hesitates. ‘I need someone good. And you’re up to speed with Operation Rainbow. This is our chance to get someone into the village without suspicions being aroused.’ He pauses again. ‘But I’ll understand if you’d rather not. I’ll see if Robson’s around.’

  I pause. Operation Rainbow is the name of an investigation into a suspected porn ring that’s been linked to the area around Abingworth, albeit tenuously so far. The DI knows I’ve been off work, but this is an opportunity we need to take for the police to get closer without arousing the suspicion of the villagers. Now that I’m back I have to rise to the challenge, or else people will start asking questions. ‘It’s fine, sir. I’ll go over there.’

  ‘You’re sure? Thank you, Jo.’ The DI sounds relieved.

  After he hangs up, I take a deep breath. Minutes ago, I thought I was about to leave for home. But when a teenage girl goes missing, there is no time to waste. The sooner I get over to Abingworth, the better.

  *

  Even though the roads are mostly clear, the drive takes longer than I’d expected, the traffic brought to a stop by an accident that’s closed one of the lanes on the dual carriageway. Finally clear of it, I drive too fast, and as I take the exit my car skids briefly on black ice.

  Slowing down, I gather my thoughts. All I know about Hollie Hampton is that she hasn’t been seen for two days. Two days is a long time for a teenager to be missing. That her father didn’t call us straight away speaks volumes; that he’s used to her disappearing now and then already setting off alarm bells. Hollie is sixteen years old. If she were my daughter, I wouldn’t have waited.

  Following my GPS, I turn into a narrow lane without road markings, edged with crisply frosted grass. A row of cottages comes into view before I pass a number of larger houses set back behind flint walls, slowing down as the lane bends sharply left. A hundred yards ahead, through the trees, a flashing blue light alerts me to the location of the Hamptons’ house.

  As far as I can tell in the darkness, it’s a long rambling house set in a shallow valley, surrounded by trees. Pulling over, I park on the sloping drive, then get out and take the rough steps down to what looks like the front door. When I knock, it’s opened straight away by a man who I imagine to be Hollie’s father, judging by his raddled face.

  ‘Mr Hampton? I’m DS May. May I come in?’

  Hollie’s father nods. ‘Yes. Of course.’ After closing the door behind me, he says, ‘I’ll take you to the others.’

>   I assume he’s talking about the local police. ‘You still haven’t heard anything from your daughter?’

  ‘No,’ he mutters, his head down as he leads the way.

  Inside, it’s obvious the house is old, with wide, uneven floorboards, the timber frame and old brickwork exposed here and there. I take in the air of shabbiness – the poor lighting, the dated wallpaper that’s seen better days – as I follow him to a small sitting room where I recognise one of my colleagues, Sergeant Sarah Collins. She’s with another uniformed policewoman and a fair-haired woman who’s clearly been crying. I assume she must be Hollie’s mother. ‘Mrs Hampton? I’m Detective Sergeant May. I’m going to ask Sergeant Collins to update me and then I’d like to talk to you and your husband. Can you give us five minutes?’

  Fear, uncertainty, and dread hang in the air, just as they did the last time I worked on a similar case, where every question, every phone call, had the potential to reveal a truth no-one wanted to hear.

  Getting up, she goes over to her husband, resting a hand on one of his shoulders as she turns towards me. ‘Can I make you all a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Her offer will keep them out of the room so that we can talk openly. As they leave, I turn to Sarah Collins. ‘Tell me what you’ve got.’

  She glances at her notes. ‘Not much. Hollie was last here two days ago – on Tuesday. Her parents – actually, it’s worth mentioning that Mrs Hampton is her stepmother – anyway, they both say it isn’t unheard of for Hollie to disappear for a night without telling them, but she’s never been gone for longer than that. Also, they’ve always been able to get hold of her at some point by phone, but this time, they haven’t been able to.’

  ‘You have Hollie’s mobile number?’

  Sarah Collins nods. ‘We’re already checking it out.’

  ‘What about her birth mother?’

  ‘She died eight years ago.’ Sarah pauses. ‘We also have the contact details for her school. According to Hollie’s father, they called him recently. Apparently she’s missed quite a few days, but he seems to think it wasn’t anything unusual. We’ve also got the details for her friend, Niamh Buckley, and Niamh’s mother, Elise. Mr Hampton called around to see them earlier. We need to check with Hollie’s school, but apart from her parents, it’s possible that Niamh was the last person to see Hollie.’

  A sinking feeling fills me as I look at her. We really are starting with nothing. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’

  As Sarah shakes her head, I know that in this extreme cold, too much time has already gone by. ‘I’ll go and talk to her parents.’

  Just then, the Hamptons come back in with a tray of mugs. ‘Thank you.’ I take one. ‘Shall we sit down?’ I pause. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you about Hollie.’

  Mrs Hampton’s face is white as a sheet, tears tracing trails through her makeup. Her hands are shaking as she places the tray on the coffee table.

  While they pull up chairs, I get out my electronic notebook. Looking up at them, I do my best to be reassuring. ‘We’ll be starting a search at dawn tomorrow. It’ll be centred on the village, but we’ll continue to widen the search area until we find her. Unless there’s anywhere specific you think she might be?’

  When they both shake their heads, I go on. ‘Can you tell me about Hollie? And do you have a photograph I could take?’

  Sarah Collins passes me a six-by-four colour photo. ‘It was taken six months ago.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I pause, taking in Hollie’s huge eyes and long dark hair, which look so much more striking than in the small photo the DI had sent me. She’s a beautiful girl – slightly ethereal-looking. ‘Outside school, was there anywhere she went, any friends she saw, any clubs she took part in?’

  I watch their faces carefully as James speaks. ‘As we’ve told your colleagues, she’s friends with Niamh Buckley in the village. We don’t really know her school friends. She doesn’t bring them back here.’

  It’s not unusual for teenagers who have reached a certain age, though I can’t help thinking that sometimes there’s a reason why they keep their friends from their parents. ‘How would you describe her?’ I know as I voice the question that the answer depends on who you ask. Parents are not always entirely objective.

  ‘She’s spirited and very bright, but she has demons. Hollie’s fragile – her mother died eight years ago and I don’t think she’s ever come to terms with losing her. I think that because I’m not related by blood, I see her a little differently to James.’ She glances at her husband. ‘I’d describe her as ferociously loyal, artistic, given to drama … but in short, she’s a tortured soul.’ Maybe it’s because Hollie isn’t her birth daughter that I’m inclined to believe Stephanie Hampton’s assessment.

  I turn to James Hampton. ‘Do you think that’s a fair description? Would you like to add anything?’

  He shakes his head slowly. ‘No.’

  I turn back to Stephanie. ‘As her stepmother, did you get on well? I’m sure it isn’t always easy.’

  ‘It wasn’t – not at first. I knew I couldn’t replace Kathryn – James’s first wife – but I thought that if I was someone Hollie knew she could rely on, it would be the best basis for a relationship with her. That’s what I’ve tried to be.’

  It sounds a sensible enough approach to the minefield of step-parenting. ‘Has Hollie seemed upset lately? Or different in any way?’

  ‘It’s hard to say.’ As Stephanie looks at James, something flickers between them. ‘She could be quite up and down.’

  James looks haunted. ‘Hollie’s always been a bit of a drama queen.’

  Their words make it clear that even if something was going on with Hollie, they wouldn’t have flagged it up as anything unusual. And yet … there was something about the way Stephanie looked at James that makes me wonder if there’s something she isn’t saying. I move on to the facts for now. ‘You last saw her when?’

  ‘Tuesday.’ Stephanie’s voice is sharp.

  It’s now Thursday. ‘Was that Tuesday night?’

  Stephanie nods. ‘Yes, at tea. We assume she spent the night here but neither of us saw her on Wednesday morning. When it got to breakfast time, she didn’t come downstairs and so James went to wake her, but her bed was empty. It looked as though she’d slept in it, though.’

  ‘So she left here sometime between Tuesday night and early Wednesday morning. Do you know if she went to school on Wednesday?’

  ‘She didn’t.’ As James Hampton shakes his head, his face is racked with guilt.

  ‘What time do you generally get up in the morning? Just so that I can get a picture of when Hollie may have left without you seeing her.’

  ‘I’m usually up around seven.’ Stephanie glances at her husband. ‘James is later, as a rule.’

  ‘So it’s reasonable to assume that Hollie had gone before then?’

  Stephanie nods. ‘She could have slipped out while I was getting up, without me noticing, but it’s unlikely. Usually I hear her.’

  But not impossible … I make a note. ‘So, that morning, when you went to wake her for breakfast, you wouldn’t have been concerned that she wasn’t in her room?’

  ‘No.’ James Hampton frowns at me. ‘I really don’t see how this is helping anything.’

  I hesitate, looking at both of them. ‘It may seem trivial, but I need to establish what Hollie’s routine usually was – what was and wasn’t normal. When did you think about calling the police?’

  ‘I wanted to call that first night.’ Stephanie sounds resentful and my ears prick up. ‘But James thought we should wait. He thought Hollie was probably at a friend’s house. On Thursday, we gave her until the end of the school day, but when she still didn’t come home, we couldn’t leave it any longer.’

  ‘We should have called you sooner. I thought …’ James Hampton’s voice is shaking. ‘I never thought she wouldn’t come back.’

  Placing her hand on his shoulder, Stephanie looks just as guilty.r />
  ‘Does she have a bank account?’

  ‘She does.’ James Hampton looks hesitant.

  ‘So does she have a Saturday job? Or an allowance?’

  ‘Occasionally she’s helped me in the salon – but not for a while.’ Stephanie glances from me to her husband.

  ‘Would you happen to know if she would have enough money if, say … she’d decided to run away? I’m sorry, but we have to consider the possibility.’

  James shakes his head slightly as Stephanie speaks. ‘I’m not sure where she’d go.’

  I pause, trying to think, wondering how sure they are that she hasn’t run away. Where teenagers are concerned, parents don’t always know them as well as they think. ‘Would you have any idea what she may have been wearing, or could you identify clothes that are missing?’

  Again, it’s Stephanie who speaks. ‘Probably jeans. There’s a pair I can’t find. Her parka jacket is also missing – it’s one of those oversized ones that they all seem to wear. Hers is green with a fur-lined hood.’

  It’s more detail than I’d expected. ‘Would you mind if I had a look in her bedroom?’

  James Hampton is tight-lipped as he gets up and walks towards the door. I follow him upstairs, then along the landing at the top, until he stops outside a half-open door. Feeling inside for the light switch, I turn it on. At first glance, it’s a typical teenage girl’s room – messy, with items of clothing strewn here and there, drawers not closed properly, the doors to the wardrobe left ajar. Along one of the walls is a white metal-framed bed, its pale pink covers disturbed, almost as though she’s just got out of it.

  This is the one part of this house that’s Hollie’s, and the smallest clue could help find her. Without moving anything, my eyes scan the bits of paper left on the pine desk where her laptop sits, then a few that she’s stuck to the wall – photos and quotes alongside reminders to herself about homework.

  After taking a few photos, I turn to James Hampton. ‘Do you know if Hollie keeps a diary?’

  When he shakes his head, I ask, ‘Does she have a boyfriend?’

  James Hampton hesitates, but only briefly. ‘No.’