The Missing Girls Page 5

  Just as Robyn was beginning to wonder if they’d be there all morning, there was a thud above her and floorboards creaking as Vince moved about the room. Eventually he appeared. Dressed in grubby jeans and a crumpled sweatshirt that hung on his skinny frame, face unshaven, grey stubble pushing through sallow skin, he gazed bleary-eyed at them. ‘What’s she gone and done?’

  ‘Mr Miller, I’m DI Robyn Carter and this is PC Anna Shamash.’

  ‘I don’t care who you are. Just tell me what Carrie’s got involved with and get this over with. I’ve only had two hours’ sleep and I have to go back on shift again later. Got to drive all the way to bloody Gatwick, then Swansea and back to Birmingham, so I’m not in a “hello my name is…” mood.’

  Robyn gazed at him with clear eyes that she hoped radiated the compassion she felt. ‘Mr Miller, would you like to sit down for a minute?’

  ‘No, I bloody wouldn’t. Just spit it out, will you?’

  Robyn didn’t want to break such dreadful news with such animosity radiating from the man. ‘Sir, please sit down.’

  As comprehension filtered through his brain, he flopped onto the chair. Robyn spoke quietly. ‘Sir, the body of a young girl, who we believe to be your daughter Carrie, was discovered today. I’m really so sorry to give you this awful news.’

  The woman let out a small cry and folded against the kitchen drawers. ‘No! It can’t be her.’

  Vince straightened his shoulders and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. He cleared his throat, tried to speak, cleared it again, the aggression he had initially displayed now drained from him. He appeared to shrink before Robyn’s eyes. ‘How can you be sure it’s her?’

  ‘Mr Miller, it is Carrie. She was identified using her dental records.’

  Leah groaned. ‘Oh, God!’

  Anna crossed over to her. ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea or anything?’

  Leah shook her head. Vince didn’t move. His eyes flittered from the table to the bowl, to the cooker and back. ‘How?’

  ‘We believe she was murdered, sir. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry,’ he said. ‘You’re sorry.’ He spat the first word. ‘No, you’re not. She’s no one important to you. She’s just a body. But not to me.’ His face contorted and his hands began to shake as if they had a life of their own. ‘She’s my little girl. She’s everything to me! I don’t believe you. It isn’t her. I’m going to bloody well ring her and prove you’re wrong. There’s a mix-up. It isn’t her. It can’t be.’ He stabbed at the keys on his phone and held it to his ear, repeated the action and then gave up.

  ‘Where did you find her?’ he asked.

  ‘Rugeley. Her body was discovered in a self-storage unit there.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday. We came here as soon as we’d identified her.’

  His voice trembled. ‘How? How did she die? Tell me. I want to know.’

  Robyn hesitated before replying. ‘We believe she was attacked with a knife.’

  He nodded, digesting the news, then spoke very softly. ‘What are you going to do about this?’

  ‘Everything we can, Mr Miller.’

  As if a magician had waved a wand over him, his emotions changed. Aggression replaced the sorrow. ‘If you don’t find out who did this, I will, and then you’ll have to take me in. If I ever get my hands on him, I’m going to smash him to a bloody pulp.’

  Eight

  Amber no longer knew if it was day or night. She didn’t know how long she had been lying on the mattress. The bucket in the corner of the room stank of urine and excrement. He had left it there for her and at first she had refused to use it, but eventually she had needed to and had crouched over the plastic pot, sobbing and hoping he wasn’t watching her.

  The hospital gown didn’t afford any warmth, so she had tucked herself under the sheet on the bed to try to keep off the cool air that wafted against her spine. He was crazy and he was going to kill her. She had cried so many tears she had none left, her face now a dried mess of mucus. Eventually she had dozed for a while and dreamt of home; of being snuggled under her goose-feather filled duvet with its scent of summer flowers, a fabric conditioner her mum used in every wash. She woke with a start. There was no smell of summer flowers, only the foul stink in the corner of the room. She would like to cover the bucket up but she had felt about the room and knew it by heart, and there was nothing she could use.

  To her left was the locked door. If she continued along the wall for three paces, there was an oak desk that she couldn’t lift. She had fumbled about searching for drawers in it, hoping to use them as weapons, but they’d been removed. There was nothing apart from dust that got into the creases of her hands, raw from scrabbling around on the floor, trying to feel her way. Turning left again, and side-stepping seven paces, she would come across the stinking bucket, taking care not to kick it each time. Left again would take her past the mirror where she had seen what he had done to her ruined face, and back to the bed. The room was a prison. She whimpered quietly. No one could hear her. She had pounded on the door for ages, calling and screaming, but no one had come.

  She sat up, feet on the floor, stilling her hammering heart. There had to be a way out. It couldn’t be a sealed room. If it were sealed, no air could get in. There had to be a vent for the air. She stood and once more felt her way to the door, hands moving up and down, hunting for a boarded-up window or anything that would give her hope.

  A shuffle. A rattling of metal. He’d returned. Hopes of escape perished as she heard the lock click. She shrank onto the bed, winding the sheet around her. The door sprang open and shut immediately. He was wearing a cycling helmet with a bright light mounted on it, its beam darting around the room like a giant imprisoned firefly. It blinded her when she tried to look at him. She gave up and looked away.

  ‘Amber,’ he called softly, in a voice so like her mother’s. She felt a sob rise in her throat. She would never see her mother again.

  ‘Oh, Amber. Come out, come out, wherever you are.’

  Now he was whispering in a sinister fashion. It was to frighten her further. Fear was replaced by irritation.

  ‘I’m not hiding. I’m on the bed.’

  ‘I know.’

  In that instant, she decided she wasn’t going to show any more fear. He could screw himself.

  ‘My parents will be looking for me. My father is very influential. He’s got friends in high places, including the police force. They’ll have most of the force out hunting for me and you won’t get away with this.’

  He sucked his teeth. A glimmer of hope rose in her chest. He was thinking about what she’d said. ‘And if I let you go, you promise not to tell anyone about me?’

  She felt her spirits lift. ‘No. I won’t tell a soul, I promise. I’ll say I got lost in the woods or I crashed out at a friend’s house.’

  He digested her words. She wriggled on the bed, trying to get comfortable. The flesh on her head was raw and stinging badly, and her limbs felt so weak, like she’d aged overnight. Still she waited. She wanted to see her dad and mum again so badly it hurt. She would never be so stupid again. If he gave her the chance to make amends, she would. She’d be the perfect daughter. His silence offered hope. Then came soft giggles that turned into loud, cruel laughter..

  ‘Good try, Amber, but your mummy and daddy are away for a week. They caught the plane to Faro. Don’t you remember? You stayed at home all alone, a grown-up girl who didn’t need anyone to watch over her.’

  ‘They’ll be worried that I haven’t contacted them. They’ll have come home to see what’s happened,’ she said, a sob sticking in her throat.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Material rustled and suddenly a mobile lit up. She knew it was hers. She recognised the screensaver showing her and her best friend, Sam, sticking out their tongues, breasts straining in tight tops, colourful earrings dangling and eyes shining. They were laughing. They’d been to the pub and lied about their ages, drinking until clo
sing time, and then on the way back to Sam’s house they’d posed for the selfie. She barely recognised the pretty girl in the picture. She touched her sensitive forehead, fingertips grazing the wound, and winced. She wasn’t pretty any more.

  ‘Hi, Mum, glad you’re having a fabby time. Don’t worry about anything. It’s all good here. Love you. Amber.’ The whispered voice mocked her.

  ‘Hi, Mum. I remembered to put the bin out. Don’t fuss. Have fun. Love, Amber.’ He sniggered again.

  ‘See, Mummy and Daddy think you’re being a good little girl. Now, let’s look through these photos and decide which one we like best. Which one do you think?’

  She hated the way he whispered everything. Was this to frighten her further? She was preparing to tell him to stop it when he suddenly dropped down beside her on the bed. It gave a little under their combined weight. He was so close she felt heat emanating from his body and the smell that always accompanied him. Before, his scent had seemed so sensual, a musky smell that had excited her. Now it made her want to gag. She edged away, but he gripped her wrist as he thumbed through the photograph collection on her mobile. Each picture made her heart ache further. She would give anything to be that girl in the photographs again.

  ‘I don’t like any of these. They’re too false. Like you’re trying too hard. Look how tarty you are in them.’ He stood up. She thought he might be leaving again but instead he trained his torch beam on her, leaving her blinking in the light. ‘Come on, Amber, say cheese.’

  Nine

  Florence Hallows shook her thick hair back and pouted, angling the mobile so it made her breasts look bigger and her waist narrower, and then clicked. She then sat on her bed and checked the photos she had taken. She didn’t like any of them. Other girls on the website looked so seductive, their pouting lips made them look sexy. She, however, looked more like a frog blowing a raspberry. She tossed the mobile on the bed and dropped to her knees in front of a chest of drawers. In the bottom drawer she felt for the package secreted under her knickers, the one she had been carrying when Robyn had spotted her. When she’d asked what was in the bag, she’d reddened. There was no way she could’ve explained it away. The tissue rustled between her fingers as she withdrew it.

  She rose and checked the door was locked. The last thing she needed was her mother rolling in as she sometimes did, for no apparent reason other than to ‘chat’ to her daughter and pretend she was interested in her life. She certainly wouldn’t approve of her daughter’s plan, but mums never did. Everyone online moaned about his or her parents. Florence thought she fared better than most, given that her parents treated her like an adult, and spent lots of time at the stables with their horses, leaving Florence to pretty much amuse herself. She often got exasperated by her mother’s attempts to be ‘cool’ and ask Florence endless questions about her life, however, even though she didn’t really understand a teenager’s world.

  Her mum had no idea what it was like to be young. She’d caught Florence watching the reality show The Only Way is Essex and made comments that it didn’t seem real and it certainly wasn’t like that ‘in her day’. Florence ignored her. The people on the show were real, not actors – glamorous, beautiful girls with gorgeous boyfriends. She watched all the reality shows. Her favourite was Ex on the Beach. What she’d give to have a perfect body like the girls on that show. She was ready for a boyfriend. She looked and acted much older than other girls her age. The problem was that there was no way she’d find a boyfriend among the dorks in her class. They were so juvenile they made her want to throw up. Now and again, she’d hang around the stables, in the hope of there being some male riders. So far, those she’d spotted hadn’t been her type. The boys Florence fancied were older and would never date someone her age, even if she did have nice boobs.

  Florence laid the package on the bed and teased out the garments inside, feeling the delicate lace that could so easily rip. Did she dare? She lifted the red bra and held it against her body, then dropped it back on the bed, shimmied out of her jeans and undergarments and slipped on the bra and matching hipster short set. She adopted various poses in front of the mirror, leaning forward, finger on lips, then arms above her head, followed by hands on hips, one leg on a chair, and decided she would brave it.

  She set the smartphone camera onto its timer setting, placed it on top of the drawers, then, lying on her front on the bed, hands propping her chin, legs crossed behind her, and with pouting lips, she stared at the mobile, waiting for it to take the photograph. She slid across the bed and examined the picture and grinned. It gave the impression she was five years older. She decided she could easily pass for eighteen. There was a hint of breast and a lot of bare legs that appeared to be longer and shapelier than they actually were. It was spot on. She would use this picture. She wriggled out of the underwear, folding it back into the paper and hiding it in the drawer, dressed again and thumbed the phone.

  Florence had learnt about the app by accident. Walking over to the science block, she had overheard senior girls discussing it. One of them, Kylie Walker, had been telling the others how she had met a bloke on it who was drop-dead gorgeous and who was going to meet her at the weekend. Florence hung behind them to hear more, and once she discovered the app’s name, Fox or Dog, she checked it out for herself. It was easy to join up, even though it was for over eighteens. Fox or Dog was a dating website with an app that was free to use and ensured those who signed up only ‘talked to’ and met users in their area, covering a radius of twenty miles. At first she’d thought she’d never get away with joining up, but seeing photographs of girls she knew from school who were only a year or two older than her, Florence decided she’d post her first picture. This was her chance to find someone like Pete Wicks from TOWIE.

  There were rules. Those who used the application had to have a user name, declare they were over eighteen and post their profile photo. Other users would then mark that photo with a fox or a dog emoji depending on how they rated them. Should two people rate each other ‘foxy’, they could message each other privately. It all looked so exciting to Florence. The only downside was if you got labelled a dog, and users left negative comments on your profile, but Florence wasn’t worried about that. The picture she was putting up was the best she had taken and she knew she looked good in it. She checked the time on her phone. It was coming up for eight. She had just enough time to remove her make-up and get ready for school. She’d skip breakfast. Her mum was cleaning the yard and her dad had gone off early. No one would notice. She studied the photograph again and smiled.

  She’d chosen her user name already. She’d decided on ‘Kitten’, which, to her mind, sounded innocent and playful. She uploaded the photograph to her new profile and pressed the accept button. She watched as it appeared on her screen and then blew it a kiss for luck. Maybe this would be her chance to find romance.

  Ten

  Vince Miller lifted his head from his hands. The whiskers on his unshaven chin were damp with tears.

  ‘I should have called her,’ he said softly. Leah put her arm around his shoulders.

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ she whispered, her face serious. She looked towards Robyn. ‘Carrie was independent. She made it quite clear she was done with us. She wouldn’t have answered even if we had rung her.’

  Vince pushed her arm off roughly. ‘Don’t say that, Leah.’ His voice rose. ‘We were to blame. She was probably waiting for me to call. She’d never have left home if I hadn’t been so bloody pig-headed.’

  Leah stood. ‘I’m going outside for a fag. I need to take it all in.’

  Vince ignored her. ‘It was my fault,’ he repeated.

  Leah sighed. ‘It wasn’t his fault. Carrie could be single-minded when she wanted to be,’ she said before shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Robyn waited for Vince to speak again. He pushed himself up using the arms of the chair and walked to the window where he picked up a china cat from the ledge and rubbed a thumb over it.

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sp; ‘We had a massive row the day she walked out. It was stupid really. She’d been needling Leah all evening. They never saw eye to eye. It was difficult for Carrie after her mum died. It was hard for me too, but I had to be strong for Carrie, and we got by. We did okay really, considering the hours I work. I looked after her and she looked after me. She did the washing and ironing and housework. She’d even make a meal for me when I worked the late shift. We did all sorts of things on my days off. We’d go shopping or watch some daft film on television and eat takeaways.’ He rubbed the ornament again before replacing it on the ledge. Outside, two boys raced past the drive, legs a blur. For a moment, he was lost in thought. ‘We were really close for a while.’

  Robyn gave an encouraging smile. ‘When did you lose your wife, Mr Miller?’

  He drew a breath. ‘Four years ago. Sofia had a stroke. She was at work – she worked at a bakery – and keeled over. By the time the ambulance came, it was too late. She was only forty years old. Even now I still can’t believe it happened.’

  ‘A terrible shock for you both,’ said Robyn.

  ‘Carrie was in bits to start with but she’s a strong girl.’ He stopped, remembering his daughter had been murdered. His voice cracked. ‘I wish I hadn’t been so hard on her that night. She wasn’t really a bad kid. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone off on one, but I should’ve contacted her, tried to talk her round. You must think I’m a lousy father.’

  Robyn shook her head. ‘Not at all. Parenting isn’t easy.’

  He sniffed back more tears. ‘You’re not wrong. I managed okay to start with. Losing Sofia brought us closer. I think Carrie was scared she’d lose me too. It took time for her to adjust, but she did. We both did. I thought she was coping, then suddenly she began to change. If I’m honest, it was about the time I met Leah. Carrie started hanging out with wrong’uns at school. She got caught smoking and drinking. The trouble was she always looked older than she was. That was thanks to Sofia’s genes. She was from Spain and Carrie got her looks. Sofia was really beautiful. I’ve got pictures of her.’ He plodded to a set of drawers, opened the top one and extracted a framed picture. He passed it to Robyn who could immediately see the likeness in Carrie – she had the same striking cheekbones, large eyes and honeyed skin.