Gone Astray (4 page)

‘I’m Detective Constable Maggie Neville and this is Detective Constable Belmar Small. We’re the family liaison officers here to assist Mrs Kinnock.’

Sarah yanked the door wide open.

‘Please come through, she’s in here.’

Lesley’s pulse quickened as the two officers stepped into the room and she struggled to stand up. Her legs were like jelly.

‘Is there any news?’ she blurted out. ‘Have you found her?’

The woman was tall, at least five foot eight, dressed in a fitted, light grey trouser suit with a white shirt underneath. She had dark blonde hair that fell to her shoulders and looked concerned
as she came over to Lesley. Her colleague, a strikingly handsome black man with a shaved head and wearing a dark pinstripe suit, stayed by the door. Sarah looked torn between the two but eventually
trailed the female officer across the room. As she reached them, Lesley saw the woman flinch and guessed she’d just caught a whiff of Sarah’s fragrance. Sickly sweet, like bubblegum, it
was so cloying it slammed into the back of your throat and made you gag. Perfect for masking the smell of booze.

The officer took a step back. ‘Sorry, you are?’

‘Sarah Stockton. I live next door. I’m the friend Lesley called when she realized Rosie was missing.’

Lesley caught the swell of pride in her voice and wondered if she realized how inappropriate she sounded. Her only consolation was that she might leave now these two officers had arrived. As
though she’d read Lesley’s thoughts, the female one smiled at Sarah.

‘Mrs Kinnock is lucky you live nearby and were able to wait with her. But I do need to speak to her on my own for a minute, so can you please excuse us? You’ve been a huge help so
far, Mrs Stockton.’

Sarah soaked up the compliment. ‘Of course, I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, smiling.

The male officer took his cue.

Mrs Stockton, why don’t we find somewhere quiet to have a chat too? I have some questions you might be able to answer.’

What kind of questions? Lesley thought, a new burst of fear flooding through her. What could Sarah possibly have to say about them?

‘I’d be delighted, officer,’ said her neighbour, giving him a lascivious smile that made Lesley cringe. But as they left the room she felt her body relax and her limbs loosen.
She turned to the woman.

‘Is there really no news yet?’

‘Not yet, I’m afraid. Shall we sit down?’

Lesley complied and the two women perched on the edge of the purple sofa. Close up, she could see the officer was attractive to look at, with wide, open features; friendly, approachable. Her
eyes were unusual though – blue-green irises ringed with light brown.

‘DC Small and I are here to help and support you as the search for Rosie continues,’ she said.

Lesley blinked back tears. ‘Will you find her?’

‘We’re doing everything we can. My colleagues are searching the vicinity and our Forensic Investigation Unit is examining your back garden. They’re the ones in the white
jumpsuits, in case that hasn’t been explained to you. We’re also questioning your neighbours to see if they saw anything. Hopefully we’ll find some witnesses who saw or heard
Rosie before she went.’

‘Is it her blood?’ Lesley asked, twisting the new tissue into a knot.

‘I don’t know. Forensics will have to carry out some tests before they can say for certain. Has someone taken a DNA sample from you?’

‘Yes, with a swab,’ said Lesley, shuddering at the recollection. It was one of the most surreal moments of her life, standing in her kitchen with her mouth wide open while someone
she didn’t know wiped up her saliva with an oversized cotton bud. ‘It’s been nearly four hours now. What do you think has happened to her?’

If the officer was fazed by the question she didn’t show it, but her words were slow and deliberate as she answered.

‘There are a number of possibilities. The blood may be Rosie’s or it might turn out to be someone else’s. Maybe someone else was injured and she’s gone off to get help
and lost track of the time. Is she the kind of girl who would do that?’

Lesley nodded. ‘If someone was in trouble, she’d help them.’

‘The other scenario we need to consider is that Rosie didn’t go off willingly.’

Lesley shook her head as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘I can’t bear it. Why would anyone do that? Why would anyone want to hurt her?’

‘That’s what we need to find out, if it does turn out to be the case. Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Rosie?’

‘No. We don’t really know anyone around here and the few people we do, like Sarah’s family, are nice. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.’

The officer looked pensive for a moment.

‘The senior officer in charge of the investigation, what we call the SIO, is Detective Chief Inspector Umpire . . .’

‘I met him earlier.’

‘Well, he’ll want to talk to you again at some point, but in the meantime what would really help is if you and I had another look at Rosie’s room. I know you and the officers
who arrived first have already done that, but looking again might make you notice or remember something you missed the first time.’

‘Like what?’

The officer got to her feet and, with some effort, Lesley followed suit.

‘Be aware of anything that looks out of the ordinary, anything out of place or missing. I know you’ve already looked once, but sometimes we don’t always see what’s right
under our nose all along.’

On the upstairs landing Maggie saw Lesley hesitate. There were eight doors ahead of them, along two hallways that branched out on either side of the landing.

‘Which one’s Rosie’s room?’ she asked.

Lesley gestured to the corridor on the right. ‘Down there, at the end.’

Maggie walked ahead.

‘May I go in?’

‘Of course, um . . .’ Lesley blushed. ‘Sorry, what did you say your name was?’

‘I’m Detective Constable Maggie Neville, but just call me Maggie.’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just with everything . . .’

‘It’s okay, you’ve had a lot to take in. When’s your husband due back?’

‘Just after ten p.m.’ Lesley wrung her hands fretfully, balling the tissue between them. ‘I think he’s angry with me that Rosie went missing while I was out. But
I’ve left her alone before and he’s never minded.’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t blame you,’ said Maggie. ‘It probably just seemed that way because he was worried.’

‘No, he was very cross.’

‘In my experience in a situation like this men tend to vent more when they feel helpless. Your husband’s stuck up in Scotland waiting for his flight when I imagine all he wants is to
be with you and help look for Rosie.’

Lesley looked away.

Maggie went into the bedroom first. It felt stiflingly hot inside as the sun beat against the closed window. Against the wall opposite the door was a king-size bed with a pewter frame, through
the rails of which were strung star-shaped fairy lights. The duvet, pale blue and patterned with navy stars, was partially covered by a pile of clothes and there was a yellow shoebox next to
them.

‘Is there anything in here that immediately looks out of place?’ she asked Lesley.

‘Not that I can see,’ she replied unconvincingly.

Maggie wanted to keep the conversation as relaxed as possible. This initial meeting between her and Lesley was not meant to be a formal witness interview but rather a gathering of facts about
Rosie – what was referred to in family liaison training as creating a ‘victimology’. She walked across to the desk in the far corner. Next to it was a bookcase crammed with
titles. A few were school reference books, but Rosie also had every Harry Potter edition, the
Hunger Games
trilogy and some by an author called Sarra Manning, including one called
Diary of a Crush: French Kiss.
Maggie pulled it out, read the blurb on the back then replaced it.

‘Does Rosie keep a diary?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. She had one when she was much younger, that had a lock on it, but I haven’t seen it for years.’

‘I suppose we could ask her friends if they know. They’ve all been contacted, haven’t they?’

‘Rosie’s best friend, Kathryn, rang them for me after I first reported her missing. She lives next door; that was her mum, Sarah, you met downstairs. Kathryn spoke to the girls they
go to school with but none of them have heard from Rosie all day.’

‘Where’s Kathryn now?’

‘She’s gone to see the ones who didn’t pick up when she called, just in case Rosie’s with them. I gave their names to the other officers.’

‘What about boyfriends? Is Rosie seeing anyone?’

Lesley shook her head. ‘No, my husband’s very strict about boys. He thinks Rosie’s still too young to have a boyfriend, but I think even when she’s twenty-five he’s
going to think she’s too young.’

Maggie peered at the wall above the desk. Stuck to it was a haphazard collage of photographs, ticket stubs, postcards, stickers and school timetables.

‘Are these Rosie’s friends?’

She pointed to a photograph of Rosie and three similarly aged girls smiling for the camera. Squeezed together in a huddle, the girls’ temples were pressed so close together not even a
piece of paper could separate them.

‘Those are some of her old friends from Mansell.’

‘Old?’

‘She doesn’t speak to them any more.’

‘How come?’

Lesley bit her lip as though she was weighing up what to say.

‘You know about our win?’

Maggie nodded. There couldn’t have been many people in Mansell who didn’t know about the Kinnocks’ £15-million jackpot win.

‘Rosie’s never really talked about it, but I get the feeling that once we moved here, she and her friends felt they no longer had anything in common and the contact between them
dried up. It’s such a shame as they used to be inseparable. She’s known Cassie and Emma,’ Lesley pointed to the two closest to Rosie in the photo, ‘since nursery. The other
girl is Amy, who she met at primary school.’

‘Rosie must still care about them if their picture’s here.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Lesley sadly.

‘Winning all that money must’ve taken some getting used to. How has Rosie dealt with it?’

Lesley gave a wry smile. ‘She loves it. We weren’t badly off before, but now she can do things other girls her age only dream of.’

‘Like that?’ Maggie pointed to a picture of Rosie and another girl with long, dark hair standing between the members of the pop group One Direction. The girls’ smiles split
their faces.

‘That was taken at a radio station’s Christmas concert. It was a charity event. Mack bought the most expensive VIP tickets so Rosie could meet the band afterwards.’
Lesley’s voice cracked. ‘She was so excited I was worried she might faint when they said hello.’

‘I was the same about Take That when I was that age.’ Maggie smiled. ‘I was never lucky enough to meet them though.’

She wasn’t really a fan of Take That. She preferred listening to Motown soul, the music her parents listened to when she and Lou were little. No way could Gary Barlow hold a candle to Otis
Redding. But sharing a few innocuous details, embellished or not, was how she got families to think of her as a person and not just a police officer. Someone they could open up to. She was always
careful not to stray into areas too personal to avoid unhealthy attachments – she was there to be their FLO, not their best friend. At some point she would need to outline to the Kinnocks
exactly what they could expect of her and Belmar, mark the line in the sand so to speak, but for now that could wait.

‘You’ll be amazed what money can buy,’ said Lesley in a hollow voice as they stared at the picture.

‘Who’s the girl with her?’

‘That’s Kathryn.’

‘Did she tell you when she last saw Rosie?’

‘They spoke last night before bed and made vague plans to revise together today but it didn’t happen. She said Rosie never called her about going round.’

‘Do they often get the day off school to revise?’

‘Today was the third time. They’re doing their GCSEs and the school they go to thinks they’ll get more revision done out of the classroom but I’m not
convinced.’

‘Is Rosie stressed about her exams at all?’

‘She’s been worried about a couple of subjects but not enough to run away or do something silly, if that’s what you’re thinking. Rosie wouldn’t do anything like
that.’

That’s what most parents say, thought Maggie, yet often they’re the last to know if something is really troubling their child.

She looked around the room again.

‘Where’s her wardrobe? I’d like you to have a look through her clothes – sorry . . . hang on. Let me just get this.’

Her phone was ringing. She frowned as she checked who was calling, then silenced the call.

‘Wasn’t that important?’ said Lesley anxiously.

‘No, just my sister. It can wait. Shall we check Rosie’s clothes now, in case any are missing?’ She looked around again for a wardrobe but couldn’t see one.

Lesley pointed to a white panelled door to the right of the bed.

‘They’re in there. It’s more of a dressing room really. That one –’ she nodded to an identical door on the other side of the bed – ‘leads to her
bathroom. I can guess what you’re thinking, how extravagant for a fifteen-year-old girl to have either.’ Her voice developed an edge. ‘But it’s the way the house is built.
The biggest bedrooms are all the same.’

‘I was thinking I’d have loved a room like this when I was Rosie’s age,’ said Maggie, smiling. ‘It would’ve been nice to have some privacy from my sister. We
always shared.’

‘Is she older or younger?’

‘Older, by two years.’

‘I think Rosie would have quite liked a sibling.’

There was obvious melancholy in the way Lesley said it but Maggie didn’t want to get off track by delving into why the Kinnocks never had a second child when the clock was ticking to find
the one they did have.

‘It would be great if you could describe to me what Rosie’s like,’ she said instead.

Lesley thought for a moment. ‘She’s a live wire, always on the go. I honestly don’t know where she gets her energy. Um . . . well, she’s bright and loves being creative
– she does really well in art and English at school. I guess she can be quite shy though, especially with people she doesn’t know. She’s young for her age, probably because
she’s a summer baby. Her birthday is at the end of August and she’s always the baby of her class.’ Her voice cracked again. ‘She’s
my
baby still.’