Gone, page 1
part #6 of DI Giles Series
GONE
One moment they were there…
Anna-marie Morgan
Copyright © 2018 by Anna-marie Morgan
All rights reserved.
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This one is for my readers,
especially those who have read every book in the series.
Thank you for your support.
Contents
Also in this series:
1. The girl at the bus stop
2. A tentative beginning
3. Dread
4. Blood Forensics
5. Incident at the Flea Market
6. Abducted
7. Mispers
8. Making Plans
9. Walls
10. Ghost
11. Vortex
12. SOCA
13. Plan of action
14. Deterioration
15. Suspicions
16. Viral
17. A mysterious death
18. Stakeout
19. Frustration
20. Slippery
21. Respite
22. SOCA
23. Tragedy
24. CCTV nightmare
25. Hellish night
26. Tasha
27. Getting close?
28. Persuasion
29. The cliffs
30. Captive
31. Aftermath
Afterword
Also in this series:
Death Master
You Will Die
Total Wipeout
Deep Cut
The Pusher
Coming Soon:
The Crossbow Killer
1
The girl at the bus stop
It is amazing how much of a person’s condition can be gleaned by that initial glance. A coat too thin to resist January’s bite. Shoes worn. Blonde hair unkempt. A young girl lost. But pretty. The girl was pretty. A runaway reading a magazine at a bus stop. Her breath an ephemeral cloud around her head.
Eighty-one-year-old Sheila Jones was about to go back to her weeding of dead leaves and woody stems, when the girl looked up. A smile warmed her young features and she raised her hand in a wave. Sheila waved back. Fourteen. The girl looked about fourteen.
For a moment, Sheila considered taking her a bigger coat. Something worth wearing. But the girl had already returned to her magazine and Sheila thought better of it. The bus to Newtown would be along in just a couple of minutes. The older woman went back to her clearing work.
The bus shuddered around the corner and Sheila straightened up, pleased the girl would finally be able to get into somewhere warm. But, she wasn’t there. Sheila blinked. Definitely not there. The bus rolled on without stopping, clouds of diesel smoke fluttering the pages of the discarded magazine.
Sheila reached for her walking cane and headed towards the gate at the bottom of her garden, directly overlooking the road. She checked left and right, as far as she could see, but there was no-one. She walked the few yards to the bus stop and picked up the dog-eared magazine, discarded mid-story. She saw what looked like a fresh droplet of blood.
If it were not for that blood, she would have most likely forgotten about it. Or else, wondered if she had imagined the girl. She could count on her fingers the number of times she had seen a stranger at that bus stop and they had never before disappeared.
“Morning, ma’am.” Dewi gave a broad smile and placed a coffee to one side of his DI.
“Good morning, Dewi.” Yvonne smiled back, feeling as relaxed as she had for a while. “Where’s the DCI? I thought he was going to brief us?”
“He had to go out. Didn’t tell me where. He did, however, give me an address he’d like us to check out. Someone reported an abduction, apparently. Wants us to take a look.”
“An abduction? What abduction?”
“I’ve no idea. It was the first I’d heard of it.” Dewi sipped his coffee and winced at the heat. “I watched the local news, too. No abduction mentioned on there.”
Yvonne shrugged. “No worries. Where are we going?”
“Dolfor.”
“Right. Drink up. We’d best be on it.”
Within half-an-hour, they were outside Sheila Jones’ cottage, taking in the well-kept hedges and neat borders. A path that was free of weeds. A topiary plant either side of the doorstep. Everything in its place.
Sheila appeared at the door, as neat and orderly as her garden. Although clearly advanced in years, the frail lady wore her hair in a carefully arranged bun. Dressed in pale blue, she smelled of a mixture of soap and fabric conditioner. Her wizened eyes shone and it was clear from her stare that Sheila Jones was in full possession of her probably considerable faculties.
“Pleased to meet you.” She held out a tremulous hand.
Yvonne took it, simultaneously pulling out her warrant card. “Likewise. We’re from-”
Sheila had turned away, towards her sitting room. “I know who you are.” She raised a hand and waved it, still looking ahead of her. “I’ve been expecting you.”
The DI shot a sideways glance at Dewi, who shrugged.
Sheila’s living room had a surprisingly modern feel. Sisal carpet and a cream and beige colour scheme. She motioned them to sit. “My daughter helped decorate.” She smiled at Yvonne, as though reading her thoughts.
Yvonne smiled back. “Your daughter has good taste.”
Dewi took out his notepad. “You telephoned about an abduction you witnessed.”
“Yes.” Sheila placed a supportive hand to her lower back, as settled herself into an armchair next to the window.
“Can you tell us who was abducted?”
Sheila frowned. “I… I don’t know who she was. Only that she was a stranger to the village and that she was down on her luck.”
Dewi looked up from his note-taking, a frown darkening his face.
Yvonne took over. “Tell us what happened, Mrs Jones.”
Sheila sighed. “I was in my garden. Just doing some tidying up and I saw a young girl, around fourteen years old, standing at the bus stop. She was reading a magazine.”
“You said she wasn’t from around here...” Yvonne encouraged.
“She looked as though she’d been living rough.”
“What makes you say that?” Dewi resumed writing.
“Her hair was ruffled, maybe knotted. She wasn’t properly dressed for the weather.” Sheila sighed again and rubbed her chin. “Now that I’m saying it out loud, I feel foolish.”
“What colour was her hair?” Yvonne tilted her head to one side.
“A mousey sort of blonde. She was reading a magazine,” Sheila repeated.
“What happened then? Tell us about the abduction. What did you see?”
Sheila paused, biting her lip. “I didn’t exactly see anything. It’s more what I didn’t see.”
Dewi cleared his throat.
Yvonne leaned towards the elderly woman, her gaze intense. “What do you mean?”
“One moment she was waiting for the bus to come along and waving at me, and the next…she was gone. When the bus did come along, it didn’t stop. It just carried on towards Newtown.”
Dewi sighed. “Does it get lonely out here, Mrs Jones?”
Sheila winced and Yvonne shot her sergeant a stern look.
Mrs Jones continued. “I went out to the gate. Looked both ways along the road and there was no girl. Then, I saw her magazine at the roadside. I picked it up. That’s when I saw the blood.”
“What blood?” Dewi raised both eyebrows.
Sheila pointed to her oak coffee table. “It’s on there.”
Yvonne rose from her seat to retrieve the magazine. The pages were scrunched and there was a partial muddy footprint on one corner of the opened page. In the middle crease, lay a single drop of dried blood, about a half-centimetre in diameter.
“The droplet was still wet, when I picked up the magazine.” Sheila’s eye contact was steady.
“Did you notice if any cars went past the bus stop, Mrs Jones?” Yvonne turned the magazine over, noting that it was ‘Take a Break’, and had been left in the middle of a story of forbidden love. “Could it be that someone just stopped to pick her up? A friend, perhaps?”
“I think a few cars went by. I didn’t see any of them. I wasn’t watching her, after she waved at me, until I heard the bus approaching and noticed she had gone. So, I’m afraid I can’t give you descriptions of the vehicles.”
“May we take the magazine?” Yvonne withdrew an evidence packet from her bag.
“Yes, of course. Are you going to look into it?” Sheila’s eyes flicked back and fore across the DI’s face.
“Yes,” Yvonne said simply, avoiding looking in Dewi’s direction. She sensed he was less than impressed.
“Then I am happy.” Sheila smiled, though there was still a stiffness in the muscles around her eyes.
2
A tentative beginning
Seriously?” Dewi stood next to the car, hands on hips.
“What?” Yvonne pressed her key fob and opened the driver’s door.
“Misleading her like that.”
“I wasn’t misleading her, Dewi.”
“She didn’t see an abduction. There’s nothing for us to look into.” Dewi climbed into his seat and clicked his seatbelt on.
“Technically, no. We don’t have much to go on.”
“We don’t have anything to go on. The girl was probably thumbing a lift, or else a friend passed by and picked her up. That’ll be why no-one’s reported her missing. I suspect Mrs Jones spends too much time on her own.”
Yvonne nodded, as she fired up the engine. “There’s probably nothing to see here, I agree. And yet, Sheila Jones strikes me as an intelligent woman and something spooked her. Besides, we have a discarded magazine with blood on it.”
Dewi laughed. “Come on, Yvonne. Magazines get discarded all the time.”
“Yes, but usually after someone’s finished the story. I don’t know any girls who get into reading a love story and don’t read through to the end.”
“Are you yanking my chain?” Dewi pulled a face.
The DI grinned. “A little. You get so serious. But, I think we should keep our ears to the ground. We’ll write up our notes and keep them safe and ask if a couple of uniform guys can go around the village asking whether anyone else saw anything suspicious. Then, if someone is reported missing, we’ll have a head start. Oh, and get the blood tested for gender and a DNA profile if they can get one.” She flicked her DS a quick look and shrugged. “Just in case.”
That afternoon, the DI was back. Alone, this time. She left her car in a lay-by a few hundred yards from Sheila’s home and wandered the road that meandered through the tiny hamlet. She walked for around a thousand yards in both directions, seeing only road, hedges and animals grazing stumps in the muddy fields. What she didn’t see, was another person. Not anywhere. Lights were on in a couple of the houses. The sky was darkening. No-one was about. No wonder the appearance and disappearance of the young girl had stood out so poignantly to Sheila Jones.
A mist was gathering. It’s cold, wispy tendrils reached out towards her. She fastened her cream, woollen coat, lifting its collar to better shelter her neck. A deep shiver travelled the length of her spine. Glancing up at the darkening sky, she turned back in the direction of her vehicle.
3
Dread
Donna held her breath. She could hear the men arguing. At least, she thought they were arguing. The voices were louder this time, though they were still muffled by thick walls. She wondered if they were the same men who had taken her. The voices were getting louder, accompanied by the occasional loud bang. Something being slammed on a table. Donna cowered, still sore from being backhanded across the jaw. She could taste the tangy blood from her swollen lips and feel a throbbing in the back of her head. She hadn’t seen the face of her attacker. He had worn a white, angular mask inside of a charcoal-black, hooded top.
She thought she heard someone cry out. Were there others here? Others like her? She’d seen barely a soul for days. On the couple of occasions they had checked on her, the masked men refused to answer her desperate question - why they were holding her. Her food was delivered via a door which always closed as quickly as it opened. She gritted her teeth. She could go mad in this room.
There was nothing to take her mind off her situation. Her only companion was a cobbled-together bed, consisting a couple of old pallets and a rotting mattress. The sheets were in a better state, though badly in need of a wash. There was nothing else in the windowless room, save for a tray containing dried-up, half-eaten sandwiches and an empty water bottle. Paint peeled from the walls and, in one corner, an ominous patch of mould spread its webbed fingers, as though to draw her into itself.
Yes, she had wanted to disappear for a while, but not like this. This was way off the chart. Her parents had wanted her to do well in school, do A-Levels and go to university. Instead, aged fifteen, she had runaway and was living in a communal house with other runaways. Her well-heeled parents had angered her, believing they always knew best. Perhaps, they had after all.
4
Blood Forensics
Yvonne tucked her pen behind her ear and sat back in her chair, a pensive look tensing her muscles, her blonde hair unusually mussed.
Dewi came into the office, smiling, his chest puffed out. “Got some names to check out for the burglaries in Bettws. Seems like a solid tip.”
The DI looked up at him, her awareness of her surroundings returning. Bettws, a small village, six miles from Newtown, had recently seen an unfair share of fuel-oil thefts, van break-ins and, most worryingly of all, home break-ins. In at least one of the latter, the occupants were asleep in bed.
Yvonne’s face relaxed. “Good work, Dewi. Who are they?”
Dewi proceeded to run through the suspects and their links to the area.
Yvonne nodded. “Great. Ask Callum and Dai to check the whereabouts at the time of the break-ins. The DCI will be cock-a-hoop if we can nail this one.”
Dewi tucked the file under his arm. “You were deep in thought, ma’am. Anything you want to share?”
Yvonne rubbed her ear, her eyes narrowing. “I was just thinking about Mrs Jones. Have we had the forensics back on that blood sample from the magazine?”
“Oh yes, I almost forgot. Er, the blood group was B-positive and,” he scratched his head, “it was from a male.”
The DI looked at him wide-eyed. “Male?” She pursed her lips. “So, not from our girl?”
“I’m afraid, not.”
“Well, I didn’t expect that.”
Dewi shook his head. “No, but it does mean that, if there has been a disappearance of a young girl in the area, we may have the blood of the perp.”
“Still nothing reported, then.”
“Not a sausage.”
“It’s very odd. Maybe Mrs Jones really did read too much into things. Having said that, if the girl was a runaway, there may have been no-one to notice she was gone.”
Dewi scratched his head. “Well, with next to two-and-a-half thousand people going missing in the UK each year, I’m thinking needle in a haystack.”
The DI shrugged. “Keep the results on file. Let’s crack on with the burglaries. I may ask Clayton to do a bit of digging in the national misper files. I’d hate to think we let someone down.”
5
Incident at the Flea Market
Welshpool Cattle Market thronged with all manner of people. One of the biggest flea markets of the year was in full swing. China, books, vinyl and all manner of curios were changing hands at a fair rate, if not always at a fair price. The craggy Shropshire hills served as a romantic backdrop.
Newly-weds Sarah and John had come down to see what they could get for their new home. Sarah really wanted a large chandelier for the dining room, but the usual high street prices were well beyond their reach. She hoped the flea market would have the answer, even if they had to do a little up-cycling.
Something caught her eye. An Art Deco telephone made of pale-green marble and brass. An old-style, circular dialling ring adorned the front. The wires were badly frayed and would need to be replaced, but Sarah thought it beautiful. She pulled John’s arm to tell him so. His eyes were firmly fixed elsewhere. She followed his gaze, curious as to what had gripped him so.
A boy, probably no more than twelve or thirteen, was being carried by three men in dark clothing. The men had their backs to them and were some distance away, heading for the parked cars. The boy struggled to free himself. Sarah couldn’t see his face. John made a start towards the men. Sarah looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. John began running and she followed, fumbling for her mobile phone.
