Authors: Michelle Davies
Why DCI Umpire’s sudden change of heart, though, she mulled? He was the SIO on her last case and the one who got her suspended. A dozen more questions whizzed around her head but, knowing
it wasn’t the time to ask them, she mentally filed them for later.
‘Tell me about the girl,’ she said, pen poised.
‘Name is Rosalind Kinnock, Rosie for short. Fifteen. Last seen at approximately ten a.m. at the family home in Haxton village.’ Gant’s voice sounded mechanical in a way that
suggested he was reading from notes. ‘Her mum left her there revising when she went shopping and when she got back just after one p.m., there was no sign of her except for some blood on the
back lawn. Assumption is it’s hers.’
Maggie scribbled fast to keep up. ‘The mum’s name?’
‘Lesley. Dad’s called Mack. He’s in Scotland on a golf trip, yet to be informed.’
‘How come?’
‘Isn’t answering his phone apparently. Patrol officers are with Mrs Kinnock now but DCI Umpire wants you to take over. He thinks she’ll be happy dealing with you because the
family lived on the Corley until a year ago.’
The Corley was a housing estate on the east side of Mansell and was where Maggie had lived for the first twelve years of her life. She flicked back through her notes.
‘Their surname’s Kinnock? It rings a bell.’
‘They’re the couple who won the EuroMillions last year. Got fifteen million and spent a chunk of their winnings on a huge pile on the outskirts of Haxton.’
‘Of course – Lesley and Mack Kinnock. They were in the papers for weeks. Is their daughter going missing anything to do with the money?’
A shriek suddenly rang through the open windows of the school hall, followed by shouting. Maggie frowned at the disturbance, but stayed put.
‘Too early to say. DCI Umpire will tell you more when you get there. He’s at the house with forensics.’ He gave her the address. ‘Do everything by the book this time,
Maggie,’ he cautioned. ‘I can’t reinstate you a second time.’
The thought sent a chill through her.
‘I know, and thank you, sir. It won’t be a problem.’
‘I should hope not. I’ve assigned DC Belmar Small from Trenton to work with you on this. It’s only his second case but he’s good, very intuitive. He’s already on
his way to Haxton.’
Maggie wasn’t familiar with DC Small but was used to being paired with officers she didn’t know. Gant liked his FLOs to work in twos because dealing with distraught and grieving
families, often for weeks on end, could be emotionally draining for them, too, and sometimes they needed propping up by a colleague who could empathize with how they were feeling. For the same
reason Gant rotated his roster so his Major Crime FLOs were never deployed more than three times a year.
‘Once the media finds out Rosie is the daughter of EuroMillions winners there’s going to be a shit storm,’ he said.
Maggie knew what he was getting at. It was a lamentable rule of thumb that if a missing child – even one as old as fifteen – wasn’t found within twenty-four hours, the chance
of them turning up safe diminished with every passing hour. The Kinnocks’ big money win would elevate them onto the same high-profile platform as celebrities and politicians, and the media
and public pressure to find Rosie would be immense.
‘I’ll forward a picture of her to your phone,’ Gant added, ‘then I’ll let DCI Umpire know you’re on your way. Check in with me later.’
As she hung up, Maggie wondered what the reaction would be back at the station to her suspension being lifted. Gant would need to clear her joining the case with her own DCI, but she knew he
wouldn’t object, even though her FLO duty sometimes took her away from his command for long stretches. He knew how important being an FLO was to Maggie and had backed her application to
complete the training.
The sound of raised voices floated through the open windows. Thirty seconds later her phone pinged to signal a text had arrived. Attached was a headshot of Rosie Kinnock. She had straight, dark
brown hair that fell past her shoulders and while she wasn’t conventionally pretty she had beautiful almond-shaped green eyes, a lovely wide smile and an unruly splash of freckles across the
bridge of her nose. She looked younger than her age.
Maggie got to her feet and hurried inside. To her surprise, the lights in the hall had been turned up and people were chatting loudly in their seats. Some teachers were standing on the stage;
one was holding a mop. She pushed back along the row.
‘What’s going on?’
‘The Tin Man just threw up on Dorothy,’ Lou said, grinning. ‘They’re clearing up, then Scotty’s class is on.’ She clocked Maggie’s tense expression.
‘What’s up?’
‘Umpire wants me to be FLO on a case.’
Lou’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘No way! What about his complaint?’
‘Dropped, apparently. A teenage girl is missing in Haxton and it looks suspicious. He wants me to be FLO to her parents.’
‘In what way suspicious?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Maggie fudged, knowing she mustn’t divulge the discovery of the blood to her sister or anyone else. ‘I’ll find out more when I get
there.’ She glanced down at her T-shirt. ‘I’ll have to nip home and get changed.’
‘Well, it’s great he’s asked for you, but I bloody well hope he apologizes for what he’s put you through these past months.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘I don’t care if he doesn’t. I’m just pleased to be reinstated.’ She glanced at the stage. The teacher with the mop sloshed more water onto the
surface. ‘How long until it starts again?’
Lou squeezed her shoulder. ‘It’s okay, you go if you have to. It sounds serious.’
‘But I can’t miss Scotty singing,’ Maggie fretted.
She knew she couldn’t keep Umpire waiting but Scotty would be upset if she missed his big moment. He’d been so nervous that morning as she and Lou fitted his costume on him, which
they’d made by Lou cutting up a few different-coloured shirts she picked up in a charity shop into strips and Maggie sewing them together to make a sort of coat.
‘It’s okay,’ said Lou gently. ‘I’ll explain to Scotty you had to go. He’ll understand.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Now go. That girl’s poor parents must be going spare.’
Maggie gave her sister a hug and kissed Mae on her downy head.
‘Thanks, sis. I’ll make it up to you and the kids.’
Lou smiled. ‘I know you will. You always do.’
Maggie weaved back along the row, reaching the door just as Scotty’s class filed onto the stage. Even from the back she could see her nephew was nervous from the way he was biting his
bottom lip. She felt a pang of regret but as she glanced over her shoulder she saw Lou flicking her hand in her direction and mouthing the word, ‘Go.’
As Maggie let the door swing shut, Scotty and his classmates began to sing.
‘You’re making a right mess of that. Here, give it to me and I’ll throw it away.’
Lesley raised her head and blinked slowly, as though she’d just opened her eyes after a long sleep. A woman stood directly in front of her. Sarah Stockton. Her neighbour. Holding her left
hand out expectantly. Lesley shook her head, confused.
‘Come on, hand it over,’ said Sarah, waggling her fingers. There were gold and diamond rings on each one.
‘Hand what?’
‘The tissue. Give it to me and I’ll get you another.’
Lesley looked down and was surprised to see the tissue she’d been holding was shredded into small, worm-like pieces and littered like confetti on her lap. She couldn’t remember doing
it. She scooped the pieces into her hand and tipped them into Sarah’s outstretched palm. Lifting her hands revealed the blood from the garden that she’d smeared on her skirt when
she’d wiped her fingers on it in a panic. The sight made her stomach clench sharply and she began to tremble again.
Sarah flitted across the living room and deposited the tissue into a waste-paper basket by the door. She wore a black velour tracksuit that strained across her ample hips and her short dark hair
was backcombed so it sat on top of her head like a soufflé; as she scuttled back across the room Lesley was reminded of a fly circling a lampshade.
‘There you go,’ Sarah trilled as she handed over a fresh tissue. ‘Mop your tears with that.’
Lesley buried her nose in the tissue and closed her eyes in the hope that not seeing Sarah would shut out the sound of her too. She couldn’t cope with her being there and wanted her to
leave. She wanted them all to go away.
The house was full of police officers and had been for the last three hours. Some were in uniform, a few in suits and the rest in white papery jumpsuits that crackled as they walked, who swarmed
over the back garden like a colony of albino ants. The officers politely gave Lesley their names as they entered the house – including the one in charge, who had quizzed her relentlessly
about where she thought Rosie might be – but she couldn’t for the life of her remember a single one.
The first officers had arrived within twenty minutes, just as the emergency operator said they would. The woman also suggested she ask Sarah to come round and sit with her when Lesley admitted
there was no one else nearby she could ask. Her parents were in Cornwall, retired to a four-bedroom cottage overlooking the sea at Crantock Bay which she and Mack had bought for them. But even if
they were nearby, Lesley still wouldn’t ask them to come. Her mum’s ability to recognize her diminished with every visit and the last time she went she thought Lesley was a friend she
hadn’t seen since school. She might not understand Rosie was missing. Mack’s parents and older brother were even further away, in Falkirk in Scotland. That left friends, but the wide
social circle they were once part of in Mansell had shrunk to just one: Trudy, who lived two doors down from their old house on the Corley. But right now she was on a cruise around the Med, a
thank-you present for sticking up for them when other friends cut them off because Mack wouldn’t write them blank cheques. Trudy was the only friend who had never asked for a penny.
So the job of staying with her until the police arrived fell to Sarah, her next-door neighbour on Burr Way and someone she only knew a little. She couldn’t fault Sarah’s reaction to
her request for help though – she had taken charge by calling Mack and leaving a message to ring straight back when he didn’t answer his phone, then ordered her daughter Kathryn to call
every friend the girls shared to see if any had heard from Rosie. All the while, Lesley sat sobbing quietly on the four-seater purple suede sofa in the lounge.
It was like the panic that made her race around the house looking for Rosie had paralysed her limbs and all she wanted to do was to curl up in a ball and not think about what might be happening
to her little girl. Because every time she did, terror bubbled up inside her and her mind was flooded with horrible images of Rosie hurt and scared and crying for help.
‘Are you sure you don’t want one of these?’
Sarah raised a glass filled with dark amber liquid in Lesley’s direction, her second helping from their drinks cabinet. It was for the shock, she said, but Lesley knew better. Sarah, who
didn’t work and whose husband was an in-house lawyer for a multinational bank, liked a drink and usually started early – the drama of Rosie going missing was just the excuse she needed
to top up what she’d already imbibed that day. The extent of her drinking was most evident up close, revealed by the broken capillaries mapping her cheeks, the reddened nose even the thickest
layer of foundation couldn’t quite cover, and the fleshy jowls that quivered as she spoke.
‘No, thank you,’ said Lesley, twisting the new tissue between her fingers. ‘What do you think they’re doing out there?’
‘In the garden? Looking for clues, presumably.’
Lesley was overcome by a wave of nausea.
‘I can’t bear this, I really can’t,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘Why won’t anyone tell me anything?’
‘The chap in charge said two family liaison officers would be here soon to help you,’ said Sarah. She spoke in a clipped accent that was typical of Haxton’s residents and made
Lesley have to remind herself that Mansell was only five miles away and not in a foreign country.
‘I wish they’d get a move on though,’ Sarah added.
Lesley seized on the comment.
‘I’ll be fine waiting on my own if there’s somewhere else you need to be.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. I couldn’t possibly leave you now. No, I’ll wait until Mack gets home at least.’
‘What time is it now?’ said Lesley despairingly.
‘Four thirty. What flight is he catching?’
‘There’s one that gets into Gatwick at nine. So he should be home just after ten.’
She was dreading seeing him. He’d flown to Scotland with three men he knew from Haxton Golf Club, none of whom she considered a real friend and all of whom she doubted would have travelled
all that way if Mack wasn’t picking up their tabs as well as his own. He must’ve been playing a hole when Sarah first called – Lesley pictured him standing on the fairway at St
Andrews in the garish new sweater and trousers he’d bought specially for the trip – and had only rung back an hour ago. On hearing about the blood on the lawn, he’d shouted at
Lesley, saying it was all her fault for leaving Rosie at home alone, then slammed the phone down. After ten minutes, during which time she cried herself hoarse, he rang back and apologized for
yelling at her but did not rescind his accusation of blame. Instead, he said he’d booked himself on the first available flight back and expected Rosie would be home long before he was,
although the tone of his voice did not match the confidence of his words.
Lesley rubbed her eyes as they filled with fresh tears. She never knew it was possible to cry so much. Every mention of Rosie’s name, every thought and memory that filled her head,
heralded a fresh wave. She was debating whether a drink like Sarah’s might actually help after all when a knock on the lounge door made her jump. Sarah scuttled over to answer it, her face
set in a frown. She opened the door but only by a crack, so Lesley couldn’t see whoever was on the other side. A woman spoke. She sounded young.