Behind Closed Doors (8 page)

He’d always sworn there was no one else, but she was never sure she believed him. She only knew that without her cousin Frank and his wife, Jane, she’d never have been able to cope with the children and her job during the months that Martin was away. After his return it had become easier, though he hadn’t moved back into the house, he’d rented a flat in the next street so he was always on hand for the children.

A part of her had longed for him to come home, at times had nearly begged him to, but her pride had never allowed it. After all, if it was what he wanted he’d ask, and the reason he didn’t ask was because he was clearly perfectly happy with the way things were. He didn’t even object when she applied for the detective sergeant’s job in Kesterly, having decided she couldn’t carry on leaving her mother to cope on her own.

So now, here she was, living in her grandparents’ cottage that had become part of the bigger property her parents had created by knocking the two places into one after her grandparents had passed. Luke was a student at the same sixth-form college she and Martin had attended, while Alayna was at Kesterly High. Since Martin’s parents were in Westleigh, on the south side of town, and his sister, brother-in-law and their daughter were in Mulgrove, one of the outlying villages, they had plenty of family around, and it hadn’t taken either Luke or Alayna much time at all to make a whole host of new friends. They were exactly like their father in that respect, warm, open, gregarious and invariably the life and soul.

How blessed she was in them both, but how hard it could be when they reminded her of him the most.

She was over it now though, thank God. She’d finally moved on and how much better she felt for it.

From the seafront it took no more than twenty minutes to drive up on to the northerly headland, where the hamlet of Bourne Hollow formed an irregular bowl of craggy rocks and green pastures with just two dozen dwellings, a pub, and a small convenience store-cum-café at its heart. It was such a picturesque little spot that it was often overrun by tourists and hikers, many of whom her mother got chatting to while out tending to the flowering pots around the green. On a clear day, such as today, it was possible to climb up to Seaman’s Spit, a monument at the top of the hollow, and see as far as South Wales in one direction, and Exmoor in another.

As Andee pulled up outside Briar Lodge, the name her parents had given to their extended home, she was about to get out of the car when Leo came through on her Airwave.

‘CAIT have no record of Sophie Monroe,’ he told her, ‘and I’ve just heard back from social services. Apparently she hasn’t crossed their paths either.’

‘OK,’ Andee replied, taking a moment to process it. On the one hand it suggested the girl had come to no harm in the home or at school; however, way too much abuse went undetected for initial inquiries to be conclusive. ‘Check that backgrounds are being run on both parents,’ she instructed, ‘and on the caravan site, in case something’s gone on there in the past that might be relevant.’

‘Already happening.’

‘Good. I take it you’re still at the office.’

‘Yep.’

‘Has Gould left yet?’

‘Nope.’

‘OK, best try to keep him happy, so see if you can dig up something about these robberies. Better still, I’ll get a couple of the other DCs to go over to Wermers Road in the morning to take statements. I want you free to come with me.’

‘Oh, yippee! And we would be going where?’

‘Probably back to Blue Ocean with Barry and the uniforms.’

‘Sounds like a sixties pop band.’

Smiling, she said, ‘Run those checks, then haul yourself out of there and get a life.’

‘But what would I do with it if I found one?’

‘Your problem,’ and ending the connection she got out of the car in time to wave to a young couple who’d recently moved into one of the cottages next to the shop, as they strolled across the green towards the Smugglers.

‘Hey everyone, I’m home,’ she called out as she stepped in through the rose-covered front porch.

Receiving no reply she crossed the hall with its wood-panelled walls and colourful paintings of Kesterly Bay, mostly done by her father, and pushed open the kitchen door to find her mother standing behind the table looking so troubled that panic hit Andee like a blow.

‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘Where are the children?’

‘They’re upstairs,’ Maureen Lawrence hastily replied, her attractive features showing more concern for her daughter now than for whatever had upset her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s . . .’

‘Is it Martin?’ Andee cut in, feeling suddenly sick.

‘No, no, it’s his father.’

‘Dougie?’ Andee could already feel herself backing away from it.

Her mother nodded. ‘Carol just rang. He had a stroke this morning . . .’

Andee became very still. ‘Please don’t tell me,’ she murmured, her eyes searching her mother’s – and finding the answer she didn’t want to hear she put a hand to her head. ‘He didn’t make it, did he?’ she whispered, realising she had to have it spelled out.

Maureen took Andee by the shoulders and drew her into an embrace, but she was the one shaking.

‘Ssh, it’ll be all right,’ Andee whispered softly, though why she would say that when obviously it wouldn’t she had no idea. ‘Have you told the children?’

‘Yes. They’re very upset. I said I’d take them over to see Carol when you got home.’

‘Of course.’ Andee glanced along the hall at the sound of both children coming down the stairs.

‘Oh Mum,’ Alayna wailed, pushing past her brother to get to Andee. ‘I can’t bear it, it’s so awful. Poor Grandma Carol, she’s going to miss him so much.’

Clasping her tightly, Andee held out her other arm for Luke. He was taller than her now, with a typical sportman’s physique, and was becoming so like his father in looks and mannerisms that it could sometimes take her breath away. The only way he resembled her was with his thick dark curly hair.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked softly, as he wrapped his arms around her and Alayna.

He nodded, but she could tell he’d been crying.

‘Dad’s on his way,’ Alayna said, looking up. She was her own version of Martin, with the same stunning blue eyes, long dark lashes and captivating smile. She even had his tousled blonde hair, though hers tumbled halfway down her back while his only infrequently got below his collar.

‘Have you spoken to him?’ Andee asked.

‘Not yet,’ Luke replied, going to hug his grandma, typically making sure she didn’t feel left out. ‘I expect he’ll call when he gets to Heathrow.’

‘Where’s he coming from, do you know?’

‘Cyprus, I think. It’s where he was yesterday, on his way to Beirut.’

Of course, Beirut, or Damascus, or Cairo, anywhere his clients sent him to help set up the security system he’d devised.

‘I’ll make some tea,’ Maureen said, going to the kettle. ‘You’ve probably had a difficult enough day . . .’

‘It’s been fine,’ Andee interrupted, taking Alayna’s new bra out of her bag and handing it over. Never in a million years would she tell her mother about Sophie Monroe now. With any luck Sophie would turn up before anything went public, so Maureen wouldn’t have to live through the reminders of what it had been like when her own daughter had disappeared all those years ago.

The daughter she knew her mother still wondered about every day, saw on buses, crossing the street, playing with children in the park, because she did too. The daughter they both secretly prayed might miraculously walk in the door one day and complete them again.

‘Have you rung the Melvilles?’ Andee asked.

Maureen nodded. ‘Yes, they were very sweet. They knew Dougie, of course.’

Most people in Kesterly did, since he’d been mayor for a while, and had long served on the town council. By trade he was a builder with a company that was as well known and respected as he was. He’d even, at his own expense, restored the local cinema ten years back and to everyone’s surprise and delight it had recently started to turn a profit.

‘Will you come over to Grandma Carol’s with us?’ Alayna asked, keeping her arms round her mother.

‘Of course,’ Andee replied. She’d always had a close relationship with Martin’s parents so she definitely wanted to be there for Carol now. ‘I should go upstairs and shower first. Mum, why don’t you take the children, and I’ll follow as soon as I’m ready?’

‘What about your tea?’ Maureen protested.

Feeling in need of something stronger, Andee said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Shall I wait for you?’ Alayna asked, tilting her lovely face up to Andee’s.

Cupping it in her hands, Andee gazed into her eyes. How she adored her children who’d never, for a moment, doubted they were loved, not even by their father. Perhaps especially not their father. When he was around he saw them every day, and when he wasn’t he called or texted regularly, sent them emails, snapchatted, FaceTimed, or instant messaged, whichever was the easiest, or perhaps whatever took his fancy, that day. He’d known what it had done to Penny, feeling her father didn’t care about her as much as he should, and in spite of not loving their mother any more Martin wasn’t prepared to let either of his children doubt their father’s love.

Andee’s head was starting to spin.

Dougie was dead.

Martin was on his way home.

A fourteen-year-old girl was missing.

It was as though the world was tilting off its axis, forcing the past to collide with the present in a way that was making her feel oddly nauseous and distanced from herself.

‘Mum?’ Alayna prompted.

Remembering the question, Andee said, ‘No, it’s OK. Grandma Carol will be wanting to see you, and I have a couple of calls I need to make before I leave.’

After they’d gone, she poured herself a vodka and downed it in one. Then picking up her phone she carried it outside. Not surprisingly, since he was in transit, she found herself going through to Martin’s voicemail, but she couldn’t let these moments pass without at least leaving him a message. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said, quietly. ‘I’ve just heard about your dad and I wanted to say how sorry I am. The children are on their way over to your mum’s now. They’re looking forward to seeing you.’

As she ended the call she stood staring along the length of the garden with its neatly clipped roses on one side, all kinds of vegetables on the other and washing line down the middle. There was no sea view from here, it was facing inland, though the salty-scented air and screeching gulls left no doubt it was close.

She could feel Martin’s grief almost as though it was a part of her own, though his would be deeper, more consuming. He’d loved his father, there was no doubt about that, and he would feel the loss in more ways than he would yet be aware of, though what would matter to him most right now was that he was there for his mother, and the children.

Who would be there for him?

Deciding not to dwell on that now, she pushed it out of her mind. A girl was missing, that was what really mattered, and Dougie would have been the first to say so. Actually, so would Martin.

Going to her bag she took out the four-strip shots of Sophie and stared at them closely, as though trying to see past all the make-up and attitude to who the girl really was inside. She was out there somewhere, she had to be, and for all anyone knew she was crying behind her mask, feeling afraid, lost in a world that had become too much for her.

Thanks for making me want to kill myself.

Andee couldn’t allow herself to believe she’d meant it, not when she’d taken her computer, phone and some clothes. It didn’t make any sense.

So had someone helped her to run away?

It seemed most likely.

So where had they taken her?

Where was she now?

Why wasn’t she using her phone or computer?

Was someone hurting her?

Was anyone listening as she cried?

Who really cared about Sophie? How often had she slipped down her parents’ list of priorities? How desperately did she still long for her mother? Andee had no answers to those questions, but what she did know was that she wasn’t going to allow a shortage of police resources to stand in the way of finding her. Sophie Monroe needed someone to care, to listen and to put her first. She was already first for Andee, and it was where she was going to stay until the day she was found.

And please God, please, please, let that day come soon.

SUZI PERKINS WAS
so grateful to have her job at Blue Ocean Park that she spent ten minutes each morning uttering a chant of thanks to the universe, in the hope that it would be transmitted to those who’d helped her get it. Top of that list was Jackie Poynter, one of the campsite’s owners, whom Suzi had met for the first time at the interview two years ago. As soon as Jackie had heard why Suzi wanted to leave Essex and start a new life she’d hired her on the spot and had even named the tanning salon she was to run in her honour.

It wasn’t usual for Suzi to tell anyone her story; the only people on the site she’d confided in were Jackie, because she’d had to, and Heidi, the manager, who was probably Suzi’s closest mate these days. Whether they’d ever told anyone else Suzi had no idea, certainly no one had ever brought it up if they had, but there again, it wasn’t something anyone would feel comfortable mentioning. After all, what did you say to someone who’d lost her husband and three beautiful kids in a fire started by her husband’s psycho girlfriend while their mother, Suzi, was out clubbing with her mates? Suzi hadn’t even known the girlfriend existed until the police had told her the blaze was arson and that they had the probable culprit in custody.

How could she have deserved such a punishment for a night out with her friends, especially when it was something she’d hardly ever done?

Though the tragedy had taken place three years ago, Suzi’s heartbreak remained almost as raw as the day it had happened. Losing all three of her precious girls had been like losing all the vital parts of herself. It wasn’t right that she was no longer a mum; it never would be, because her hormones still made her that person, her instincts kept reaching out for them and her memory was never going to let go. Her angels should still be with her, and they would be if their father hadn’t screwed around with a nutjob.