Gone Astray (13 page)

‘Abducting a child is not irrational, it’s sick,’ wailed Lesley. ‘You have to find her! The thought that someone’s—’ She couldn’t finish.

‘There is something else I want you to consider as we check every line of inquiry,’ said Umpire. ‘DC Neville, do you want to explain?’

Maggie looked surprised but quickly recovered her composure.

‘Yesterday I began to ask you about whether you’d seen any scars on Rosie, do you remember?’

‘Yes, before we saw the skirt.’

‘Well, some of Rosie’s friends have said they think she self-harms by cutting herself and that may account for the blood.’

‘No fucking way,’ Mack erupted. ‘She does no such thing.’

‘With respect, Mr Kinnock, parents don’t always know that’s what their child is doing. But,’ said Maggie quickly, as Mack swore again, ‘I’m pretty certain you
would’ve at least noticed some grazing or scars on her arms or legs or even her torso.’

‘No, we haven’t seen anything,’ he snapped.

‘He’s right,’ said Lesley. ‘Earlier on I was thinking about how much it would’ve hurt her if she was dragged through the trees at the bottom of the garden because
her skin is very sensitive and the branches would’ve cut it to ribbons. I’ve never seen a scratch on her that’s been self-inflicted.’

‘She might try to hide the scars, though.’

‘No, absolutely not. Yesterday morning we ate breakfast together and she was still in the vest and shorts she wears to bed. There wasn’t a mark on her.’

‘Why do you suppose her friends think she does self-harm?’ asked Umpire.

‘Who cares? She doesn’t cut herself and that’s the end of it,’ said Mack.

Maggie let the subject drop and Umpire took over.

‘The other thing I need to discuss with you before I head back to the station is holding a press conference,’ he said. ‘We’ve had no witnesses come forward so far in the
immediate vicinity, but a wider appeal might help. I’d like you both to take part.’

Lesley exchanged a worried look with her husband. ‘You mean go on telly to talk about Rosie?’

‘Yes. Let people see how much you want her home and the effect her being missing is having on you.’

‘You want us to cry on TV?’ Mack bridled.

‘If that’s what it takes to find her, then yes,’ said Umpire matter-of-factly. His face was impassive but his eyes showed sympathy.

‘What if I can’t answer their questions?’ said Lesley.

‘Because you might be too upset? Then leave the talking to Mack. I’m not going to lie and pretend it won’t be difficult – press conferences are emotional for every family
in your situation. But if you try to stay focused on the fact that what you’re doing could help Rosie you’ll get through it. DC Neville and DC Small will be there to support you and
talk through the process beforehand.’

Lesley looked at Maggie. ‘Will it help?’

‘TV appeals do jog people’s memories,’ Maggie replied. ‘They can also prompt people to call in and report the names of people they think are behaving suspiciously and
might somehow be involved.’ She fixed Lesley with her unusual eyes. ‘I wouldn’t encourage you to take part if I didn’t think some good might come of it.’

‘Okay, we’ll do it,’ said Mack, answering for the pair of them. ‘When do you want it to happen?’

‘This afternoon. Rosie’s disappearance is already headline news and all over social media – if we can get your appeal out sooner rather than later we’ll keep the momentum
going. We also need some more photographs of Rosie, as many as you can provide. We have the most recent picture of her that you gave us yesterday but it’s always good to provide the media
with a selection, including a couple of baby shots. And one of her in her current school uniform would be good to remind everyone how young she is.’

‘Okay, we’ll look some out,’ said Mack.

Umpire said he would see them at the station for the press conference and left. Mack went upstairs to his office with Belmar to look for any other letters and Lesley went next door to the lounge
with Maggie. Feeling restless and jumpy, she picked up the remote control and turned on the wall-mounted TV, flicking through the channels until she reached Sky News. A male reporter stationed by
the security gate at the top of Burr Way was updating the viewers on what was known so far, which wasn’t much. Rosie was still missing, he said, and although it was believed an item of her
clothing had been found, the police had yet to confirm it. A press conference was expected to take place later in the day with Rosie’s parents. Lesley hit the mute button.

‘DCI Umpire doesn’t waste time, does he? What if we’d said no to taking part?’

‘The press conference would go ahead whatever you decided. It’s really important we get the media on side to help find Rosie. We want them working with us, not against us.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Sometimes the papers can be tough on victims’ families if they think there’s something suspicious about them or they have another agenda. I’m not saying that will happen
to you and Mack, but because of your EuroMillions win there’s heightened interest and the press want to speak to you. If we can channel their interest into supportive appeals on your behalf,
we’ll get the public on side too.’

‘So we have to pander to the press to find Rosie?’

Maggie shrugged apologetically. ‘Unfortunately it’s often how these things work these days.’

‘If that’s what it takes to bring Rosie home, I’ll do it,’ said Lesley firmly. ‘Whatever they want from us.’

Her attention was diverted from the television to a folded-up throw left on the arm of the sofa.

‘Where did that come from?’

‘Sorry, I left it there. I borrowed it last night and forgot to put it back.’

‘Oh, did you sleep down here?’

‘Yes. I didn’t want to disturb you upstairs.’

Lesley gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Disturb us? You’ve seen the size of this house, haven’t you? It’s like a hotel. I’ll get one of the spare bedrooms organized
for you—’

She stopped mid-sentence, the words frozen on her lips like icicles. If Maggie needed to stay the night again, it would be because Rosie still wasn’t home. She shuddered at the thought.
Then something on the TV caught her eye and she gasped.

‘Is that Kathryn?’

It was Kathryn and her mum, Sarah, their faces filling the screen in close-up. Lesley turned the volume up just as an unseen reporter off-camera asked Kathryn how well she knew Rosie.

‘She’s my best friend,’ she said, barely audible. ‘I just want her to come home. Whoever’s done this to her needs to tell us where she is.’

‘Have the police told you they suspect she’s been abducted, then?’ said the reporter’s disembodied voice.

Kathryn looked to her mother.

‘Because of my daughter’s close relationship with Rosie, we are in constant dialogue with the police,’ said Sarah, smarming at the camera as she gripped Kathryn’s hand.
She had a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her hair like a headband.

Lesley was confused. ‘Is that right? Are you telling them what’s going on?’

‘Not me,’ said Maggie firmly.

The two of them watched as Kathryn repeated her plea for Rosie to come home. The teenager was dry-eyed but sounded distraught. Lesley ached to see her suffering.

‘I must call her later, or go round to see her. She must be so worried about Rosie.’

‘Are you and Mrs Stockton close, or is it just the girls?’ Maggie asked.

Lesley tried to be tactful. ‘Just them. Sarah and I had lunch a couple of times after Rosie and Kathryn first became friendly but, well, I suppose we’re very different. She has her
interests and they’re not ones I share . . .’

She was cut short by Maggie’s phone ringing. The officer’s face brightened as she checked the caller ID.

‘I have to take this,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’

As Maggie shut the door behind her, Lesley returned her attention to the TV screen. Kathryn and Sarah had disappeared from view and a perky blonde was now delivering the weather report for the
rest of the day.

Rain was coming.

Maggie took the call outside on the drive. The rear garden was out of bounds, sealed off by blue and white police tape that fluttered like bunting in the breeze that was
picking up.

‘It’s me,’ said Lou. Her voice was flat, exhausted.

‘Hey, sis. I’m so sorry I had to leave you at the school yesterday. Did the rest of the concert go okay? How was Scotty’s solo?’

Lou was in no mood to give a review and the graciousness she’d shown yesterday at Maggie’s departure appeared to have deserted her.

‘I’m ringing because you owe me twenty quid. I had to get a taxi home because you buggered off with the car.’

Maggie knew a taxi from the school to Lou’s house would’ve cost less than half that but guilt stopped her from pointing it out.

‘I’ll give you the cash and I’ll reimburse you for the pizza too.’

‘We didn’t have any. We didn’t go.’

‘Why not? The boys were looking forward to it.’

‘I didn’t have enough cash on me.’

‘Couldn’t you have used your card?’

‘Stop interrogating me like I’m one of your suspects,’ Lou snapped.

Maggie mentally counted to ten. When Lou was being this tetchy nothing she said would placate her. The best thing she could do was let her sister stew it out of her system.

‘Fine. I’ll try to drop the cash off later,’ she said.

‘When later? This afternoon? Tonight? I need it.’

‘I get that, Lou, but I can’t just leave when I want. I’m meant to stay with the family.’

She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. It was like dropping a lit match into a box of fireworks.

‘What about your family?’ Lou erupted. ‘Shouldn’t we come first?’

‘You were fine for me to leave yesterday.’

‘That was before.’

‘Before what?’ said Maggie, her own mood starting to sour. It was like arguing with a teenager.

‘Before I ended up skint because I had to pay for the taxi home.’

‘That’s not fair, Lou. You could’ve asked someone for a lift. I do as much as I can for you and the kids but I have to work and this is my job.’

Maggie heard an intake of breath down the line, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted,’ said Lou. ‘It’s just that with Rob gone you know I can’t afford to treat the kids much and it pisses me
off.’

Maggie hated hearing her sister sound so down. Since walking out, Rob had made only a handful of maintenance payments towards Mae’s keep, leaving Lou struggling to provide for her and the
boys. Maggie tried to help by transferring £300 into her sister’s account every payday to go towards her bills and Lou also received a small amount from Jude’s grandparents every
month, but nothing from Scotty’s absent dad or his family. Maggie and Lou’s parents, Graeme and Jeanette, lived on the south coast near Portsmouth, and while they occasionally helped
out financially, they otherwise showed little interest in their grandchildren. Maggie had long suspected it might have something to do with the fact Jude and Scotty were mixed race, although
they’d both hotly denied it the one time she was brave enough to ask. But Graeme Neville in particular always bristled when his grandsons’ parentage was raised and there were no
photographs of either boy anywhere in their seaside home.

‘Look, I’m meant to be back in Mansell for a press conference with the parents this afternoon so I’ll see if I can pop round after with the money,’ she said. ‘If
you’re really skint I can give you a bit more this month.’

She didn’t begrudge a single penny she gave Lou. It was payback of a debt that had nothing to do with money and everything to do with the way her sister’s life had turned out. Three
children by three different men and not one of her relationships lasting beyond a couple of years – and it was all Maggie’s fault. Because what she’d told Belmar yesterday was
only half of the story. Lou’s fiancé Jerome had died while she was pregnant and it was what pushed Maggie into joining the police. But what she didn’t reveal was that his death
had been entirely preventable – and she alone could’ve stopped it.

His hands were clammy even before he touched the young, firm flesh exposed before him. The room was poorly ventilated, the window unable to be opened beyond a crack. A small
desk fan in the corner cranked loudly as it oscillated back and forth but it wasn’t enough to chill the sweaty impact of another warm day. Moisture pooled in the small of his back as he got
to work. It made his scar itch.

His first client of the day was a favourite. Charlie, a seventeen-year-old who’d been coming to see him for nearly three months for treatment for a frozen shoulder. Charlie was captain of
his public school’s rugby team and one of his teachers, another client, had recommended he book an appointment. He liked Charlie because he was fun to talk to, and through his connections had
landed him another wealthy private client.

‘Have you been in much pain this week?’ he asked, using his fingertips to gently manipulate the boy’s naked shoulder. The muscle was stiff and immobile beneath the skin and
felt as hard as concrete.

Charlie winced. ‘It’s been really bad. It keeps me awake. The painkillers don’t seem to make any difference.’

‘The last corticosteroid injection didn’t help?’

The boy shook his head.

‘I don’t want to keep giving them as they can damage your shoulder in the long run. Plus you mustn’t get reliant on steroids to manage the pain,’ he said, the irony not
lost on him.

‘I just want to get back to normal,’ Charlie moaned as he carefully rotated his shoulder and arm.

He washed his hands in the small sink in the corner of the treatment room, which was a few doors down from the store cupboard where he’d fucked the woman the day before and not much
bigger. He put up with it because the council-contracted gym was only his base two days a week. The other three days he worked with private clients, treating them in their homes. As he dried his
hands on a paper towel, he gave Charlie the worst-case scenario.

‘It could take between six months to a year for your shoulder to be back to what it was. If the pain isn’t improving with the injections, I’ll need to refer you for an
operation.’