Little Girl Gone. Stephen Edger
via a stopwatch around his neck. He seems to be the one in charge. Each time, when it gets to exactly three minutes, he signals and the rest of the group haul tail out of there. They are very efficient from what I can see, using a different van each time, always with false plates, and always abandoned and torched with no DNA or fingerprints discovered at any of the wrecks or crime scenes.’
‘Do the other teams have any idea who the group are?’ Trent asked.
Crichton shook her head. ‘None, ma’am. The group are masked in all of the footage from the post offices.’
The phone was vibrating again, and this time Ray pulled it out and dropped it into the drawer of the desk he was sitting on.
Trent fired a look at him, before turning back to Jodie. ‘What about MOs of other crews?’
‘Still checking for similarities. I’ll keep you posted.’
‘Ray, you’ve got some free time on your hands. I want you to work with Jodie on this. Okay?’
Ray nodded as the sound of the vibrating phone echoed quietly in the drawer.
‘Good. Owen, what have you got for us in terms of news on the streets?’
Owen Hargrove stepped forward. ‘Uniform have reported a string of muggings in the precinct area of Shirley. Victims have described a tall girl, aged maybe fifteen or sixteen, with long brown hair. There’s also been three burglaries at properties in Hedge End. Can’t say for sure if they’re connected at this stage.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The only other thing they mentioned was the release of Jack Whitchurch, ma’am: convicted sex offender. He’s been released on bail and has been relocated outside of the county; they’re wary of reprisals, and have been asked to keep a watch on his property. We also need to make contact with his previous victims and advise them of his release. I’ll see if uniform can do house visits.’
‘Okay, thank you for the update. Don’t forget, names on the board by tonight. Back to work.’
Ray waited for the team to disperse, and in particular DI Trent, before opening the drawer and pulling out his phone. Five missed calls from Alex, and voicemail. It was unlike her to be so persistent when she knew he was working. Pocketing the phone, he headed for the exit.
Six calls and messages to Ray had yielded no results.
Where the hell was he, and why wasn’t he answering?
He should know that she wouldn’t keep calling unless it was an emergency.
The rain was still heavy. She no longer cared that her hair looked like she’d just stepped out of the shower and that her eyeliner had left streaks down her cheeks. None of that mattered anymore.
Returning to the back of the car, she opened and checked the boot for a second time. She knew it was impossible that Carol-Anne could have figured out how to lower the rear seats and crawl through to the boot, but she was fast running out of ideas about where her daughter could have gone.
She’d never felt so scared in all her life. What if Carol-Anne had somehow managed to get out of the car, and rather than walking towards Alex had taken a wrong turn? What if a car had hit her? Or what if she was out there now, lost and alone and wondering why her Mummy had abandoned her?
Why hadn’t she just taken Carol-Anne to the ticket machine with her? That would be the first question Ray would fire at her, and he’d be right to blame her for the moment of madness. She’d thought she was doing the right thing. She’d locked the car so Carol-Anne would be safe. And then the alarm had sounded. She hadn’t looked away for any real length of time, she was sure of that.
She replayed the two-minute period over and over in her mind, hunting for any detail or clue that would help her see through the fog of uncertainty clouding her every thought. She was certain she had strapped the harness around Carol-Anne before they’d set off from home. She would have noticed otherwise, wouldn’t she? Even so, there was no way Carol-Anne could have figured out how to unclip the harness herself. God knew, it was struggle enough to put the damned thing on each time, how could a two-year-old manage to undo it? Why else wouldn’t she be there now? As ridiculous as it sounded, if Carol-Anne hadn’t unfastened the harness that could only mean someone else had, and Alex was doing everything in her power to keep those thoughts from her mind.
Realistically it was the most likely explanation, but to cave in to that conclusion was to invite a whole new world of pain. The urge to vomit was returning, and this time she stooped over and dry-retched.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked at her phone. Ray still hadn’t replied. He’d know what to do. He was always so much more pragmatic than she was. And given his experience in the force, he’d know what steps to follow. She desperately hoped – even though deep down she knew she was kidding herself – that Ray had stopped by, seen Carol-Anne alone, and he’d been the one to take her, and that was why she couldn’t now get hold of him. He was playing some kind of twisted game; that had to be it! He hadn’t been that keen on her coming for the interview, and so rather than supporting her decision, he was retaliating in the cruellest way.
Slamming the boot, she moved back to Carol-Anne’s window and stared in. When she had last turned to look at her daughter, there had been no sign to suggest the harness had been loose or not clipped together. She never would have considered leaving her alone in the car if she had thought there was some way Carol-Anne could have fallen from the seat.
How could anyone else have taken her?
She retraced her steps back to the ticket machine, playing the memory in real time. She had locked the car with the remote as she had darted through the rain. It had beeped as the alarm had cut in. And then when she’d got to the machine the alarm had sounded, meaning Carol-Anne had to have been in the car then.
She froze halfway to the machine, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end; what if Carol-Anne hadn’t been the cause of the alarm being triggered?
Alex had looked over at the car as the alarm had sounded. She would have noticed somebody lurking at the side of the car, wouldn’t she? And there had been no sign of anyone anywhere in the car park. She would have seen a stranger snatching her daughter, wouldn’t she?
Having switched the alarm off, she couldn’t have been by the ticket machine for more than twenty seconds – thirty at most – and then she’d hurried back. If somebody had opened Carol-Anne’s door, unfastened the harness, closed the door and snuck away, Alex would have spotted them. There had been no colour among the drab view of cars as the rain had thundered down; she was sure of that. There had to be something else she was missing.
Alex jumped as her phone burst into sound. ‘Oh, Ray, thank God, where have you been?’
‘Sorry, babe, I was in a team meeting. How’d your interview go? Do you think you got it?’
‘I need you, Ray. Right now! It’s Carol-Anne … she’s-she’s-she’s …’ but Alex couldn’t bring herself to say the words as her eyes filled with tears, threatening to burst at any second.
‘Carol-Anne. What’s wrong? Is she okay? Has something happened?’
Alex tilted her head back, desperate not to burst the damn holding the tears in place.
‘Alex? What’s going on? Where are you?’
‘She’s gone,’ she managed, her voice barely a whisper, as the tears ran down her cheeks.
‘She’s what? I didn’t hear what you said. It sounded like—’
‘She’s gone, Ray. I think someone’s taken her. Oh God,’ she sobbed.