Gone Astray (5 page)

Maggie gave her a moment to cry.

‘I know this is really hard for you, but this is all really helpful, Mrs Kinnock. It’s good for us to know exactly what Rosie’s like. If anything, it sounds like you’ve
managed to dodge the awful teenage years so far.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Lesley stammered. ‘Rosie can be moody and argumentative when she wants to be.’

‘With you?’

Lesley flushed bright red and balled the tissue between her hands again.

Realizing she’d struck a nerve, Maggie willed Lesley to be honest with her. ‘I’m not judging you or Rosie, no one is. But if we’re to find her, Mrs Kinnock, you have to
tell me if there have been any rows between you recently and what sparked them. If she’s upset about something, we need to know. It might be crucial to the investigation.’

Lesley’s face crumpled.

‘Sometimes I think she hates me,’ she cried. ‘She gets so cross whenever I ask her anything or try to talk to her. You’ve asked me to look at her things to see if
anything’s missing, but how would I know? She doesn’t like me coming in her bedroom and we have two women who come every Friday to take care of the washing so I don’t even know
where she keeps her socks. She shuts me out and it sometimes feels like I know nothing about my daughter’s life.’

‘Did the two of you row this morning?’ asked Maggie softly.

‘No. We barely spoke. I suggested she revise outside, she said yes. That was pretty much the extent of our conversation. You’re better off asking my husband about her bedroom.
Rosie’s far closer to him. I’m just the one who gets in their way.’

The gym was crowded and there was a queue to use the running machines. He used the wait to admire himself in the mirrored walls, flexing his feet so the muscles in his legs
rippled beneath his lightly tanned skin. His physique was more sinuous than burly, more Michelangelo’s David than Farnese Atlas. If he bulked up too much he looked ridiculous, like his head
was too small for his body. It was how he’d been before the accident. Five foot ten of solid brawn. Now he was lucky to be in any kind of shape, the livid scar running the length of his spine
both an ugly and constant reminder of that.

There was one person ahead of him in the queue. He jiggled on the spot, his body humming with a nervous energy only a run would subdue. This was the last part of his workout, a 5-km sprint on
the treadmill. He couldn’t skip it. His body would hate him for it if he did.

The jiggling stepped up as his mind rewound to earlier. He couldn’t believe how easy it had been. It was as though fate had suddenly conspired to make everything he’d been wishing
for this past year fall straight into his lap. He couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried, he thought with a grin. The execution was sloppy but at least what he did afterwards had
been meticulous. Once he’d taken care of everything, his last act had been to set fire to his clothes, the girl’s T-shirt and both their underwear in the old steel burner in his own
back garden. The only evidence, reduced to ashes.

He had a brief moment of panic when he saw smoke rising from next-door’s garden at the same time. The clement weather must have cajoled his retired neighbours outside for a late lunch:
along with the smell of meat being cremated, he heard the sound of glasses being clinked and cutlery scraping against plates. It was ten minutes before he relaxed, finally confident they were too
preoccupied with eating to pay any attention to the ghostly grey plume rising from his side of the fence. Besides, they knew he worked irregular hours, so him being at home during the day was not
cause for alarm. Once the fire had burned itself out, he decided to stick to his routine of going to the gym for a workout. If he didn’t, people might question it.

He edged closer to the mirrored wall and stared intently at his face, half expecting to see a stranger looking back. He looked the same but no longer felt like himself. Today he had crossed a
line. After today he would never again be the person he was when he got up that morning.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the reflection of a woman using one of the exercise bikes across the room. She was watching him intently. Middle-aged, light brown hair cut short,
in pink Lycra shorts and matching vest. Her legs pumped furiously on the pedals as sweat trickled down between her breasts from the hollow of her throat. They locked eyes and she smiled as if they
knew each other. But she wasn’t someone he remembered seeing at the gym before and guessed she was among the new intake that usually signed up at this time of year when it occurred to them
summer was just around the corner and their bodies were in no fit shape to be unveiled on any beach. She’d come for a few weeks then her membership card would gather dust along with the shiny
new trainers on her feet.

His eyes strayed to her left hand. Platinum wedding band studded with diamonds and an impressive diamond solitaire engagement ring. Sizeable diamond clusters also punctured her earlobes. Worth a
few quid.

She slowed her pace as she continued to stare at him. He almost smirked. She couldn’t honestly think he was interested in her? He was at least a decade younger than her and better-looking
than any other man there. But there was no misinterpreting the look she gave him as she swung her leg over the crossbar and wiped her sweaty hands over her hips and down her thighs. She wanted him,
married or not.

While experience had taught him it wasn’t wise to get involved with someone at his workplace, why shouldn’t he take advantage? She wasn’t bad-looking for her age, somewhere
around the mid-forties. It was always the horny middle-aged women desperate for attention who came on to him. The younger clients went after the hot personal trainers and weren’t interested
in someone like him with a job they thought sounded boring. ‘Sports injury osteopath? What’s that when it’s at home?’

A quick fuck, that’s all it would be, and he could do with the release. Multiple steroids combined to shrivel your balls if you weren’t careful, that’s what he’d been
warned, but learning to stack his correctly had had the opposite effect on his sexual appetite. His balls were like bloody great melons.

Treadmill forgotten, he crossed the gym and introduced himself.

Nice name, she said.

You’re beautiful, he lied.

There’s a storeroom next to the changing rooms and I’ve got the key, he murmured.

Lead the way, she smiled.

Maggie was relieved when Lesley didn’t make a fuss about going back downstairs. Insisting she continue to search Rosie’s bedroom when she was upset about not
knowing where her daughter kept anything would be cruel. They’d just have to wait until the dad got home, see if he had a better idea if anything was missing. In the meantime she needed to
let DCI Umpire know that Lesley and Rosie were prone to rowing, in case it had some bearing on her disappearance.

They found Belmar and Sarah Stockton in the dining room, sitting together at one end of a long, highly polished wooden table that could comfortably seat another twelve people. Her new colleague
was sitting casually back in his chair, elbow propped on the table, but Maggie could see his notebook was open in front of him and the page full of notes.

A look of understanding passed between her and Belmar when she said the search of Rosie’s bedroom hadn’t thrown up anything, but that Mr Kinnock should have a look too. Good, thought
Maggie. It might be only his second case as an FLO but it appeared as though Belmar already understood the visual shorthand FLOs needed to employ when it wasn’t possible or wise to talk
freely in front of a family. He clearly got that there was an issue with Rosie’s bedroom but was smart enough not to ask with Lesley and Sarah present.

‘Anything to report down here?’ she asked him.

‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ he said, glancing at Sarah, which Maggie took to mean there was something but he’d tell her later when they were alone.

‘I’ll speak to DCI Umpire now. He must be outside,’ said Maggie. ‘Can you wait here with Mrs Kinnock?’

Before he could answer, Lesley butted in.

‘You can cut through to the garden from here . . . oh.’ She stared across the room at the French doors. ‘Someone’s pulled the curtains.’

Belmar half raised his hand. As he did, the sleeve of his suit and shirt cuff drew back to reveal a stainless-steel Citizen watch encircling his wrist. Taking in the expensive-looking pinstripe
suit and the shiny black shoes that narrowed to a point and were fastened by the thinnest of laces, Maggie concluded Belmar was probably the best-dressed police officer she’d ever worked
with.

‘I closed them,’ he said. ‘The sun’s getting lower and the light was blinding us.’

Maggie suspected he was lying and knew why. He’d shut the curtains to block out the sight of the forensic team combing the back garden to find any fathomable reason as to why Rosie
Kinnock’s blood appeared to have been spilled across it. It seemed a bit pointless to her now, as Lesley already knew who was in her garden and why.

‘Leave them shut,’ Lesley nodded. ‘Too much sun gives me a headache.’

As Maggie closed the dining-room door behind her, the prospect of facing Umpire made her weak with unease. When she’d arrived at Angel’s Reach, the patrol officer
in charge of the security log that kept track of everyone coming in and out of the crime scene said he was in the back garden. She should have gone straight out to see him, but Belmar was waiting
by the front door to meet her and when he told her he’d already spoken to Umpire and been briefed about what Mrs Kinnock had said so far – mainly a rundown of her and Rosie’s
movements before she went shopping – Maggie said their priority should be to introduce themselves as the family liaison. If her new partner was surprised she didn’t want to speak to the
SIO herself, he didn’t show it.

She hadn’t seen the DCI for four months, not since the day the Megan Fowler case was wrapped up and he’d found out what she’d done. The look of disgust Umpire had given her as
he walked away that day still haunted her.

Withdrawing his complaint was baffling enough – she’d read the wording of it and he had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he wanted her punished – but she was even more
unsettled he’d requested her for FL duty the moment her suspension was lifted, when they hadn’t even had a conversation about it. There were plenty of other FLOs on Gant’s roster
he could’ve chosen.

Maggie stopped in the middle of the hall to steel herself, using the pause to take in her surroundings. The parquet floor beneath her feet shone like the surface of an ice rink and she could see
herself clearly reflected in it. The walls below the dado rail were papered with burgundy and dusky pink stripes, while above it the wallpaper was cream and patterned with large roses in the same
pink. The only furniture in the entire space was a dark wood console table flush against the wall next to the dining-room door and it was bare except for a cordless phone in its stand and a framed
photograph of the Kinnocks in which Lesley was almost unrecognizable. She’d lost a lot of weight since it was taken. Maggie decided that as impressive as the hall was, it still looked more
like the reception area of a country hotel than a family home.

Knowing she couldn’t put off seeing Umpire any longer, she ducked through the doorway into the kitchen. At the same time someone coming in the opposite direction ploughed into her, sending
her flying. Maggie rubbed her shoulder where it collided with the door frame.

A short, dark-haired man with a florid face and wearing a crumpled dark grey suit grinned at her. It was DC Steve Berry, also from Mansell Force CID and the only colleague she considered a
friend outside of work.

‘Sorry, Mags, I didn’t see you there.’

She frowned. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t back at work until next week.’

‘So did I but Umpire’s been given free rein to use who he wants from Mansell and he called me in.’

Maggie wasn’t surprised the DCI wanted him on the case. Despite his air of dishevelment, Steve was one of their force’s leading CCTV processing specialists and known for his
microscopic attention to detail.

‘What was Isla’s reaction?’

‘She went ballistic. I had to stop her getting on the phone to Umpire.’

‘How’s Bobby doing?’

Steve’s wife Isla had given birth to their first child a week ago, a boy they had named Bobby, and Steve was meant to be halfway through his paternity leave. At the mention of the baby,
his frown melted away.

‘He’s a little smasher. Here, quick, let me show you this before someone catches us.’

Steve flashed his phone at Maggie. The screensaver was of a sleeping baby wearing a white knitted hat. She smiled.

‘He’s gorgeous, and so tiny! I look at Lou’s kids now and can’t believe they were ever that small, even Mae and she’s only eight months.’

‘I was scared to hold him at first. Thought I might break him. But they’re sturdy little things, aren’t they? By the way, thanks for getting Isla all that Body Shop stuff. It
was really nice of you to think of her when everyone else bought for Bobby.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Maggie, pleased her present was appreciated.

‘You forgot my present though,’ he teased. ‘Where was my cigar?’

‘You don’t need to add smoking to the vices you’ve already got,’ she said, looking pointedly at his shirt straining across his gut. ‘When did you last go to the
gym?’

‘It’s baby weight,’ he deadpanned.

Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘Much as I’d love to stay and lecture you, I need to find the DCI.’

Steve gave her a searching look.

‘I was surprised to hear you were on this case.’

‘You weren’t the only one,’ she said wryly.

‘You okay? Ballboy was a right bastard to you last time. He shouldn’t have gone off at you like that in front of everyone.’

Ballboy was the nickname bestowed upon Umpire by the ranks. It wasn’t a sobriquet Maggie ever used.

‘It’ll be fine. I can handle him.’ She stuck her hands in her trouser pockets so Steve couldn’t see they were shaking.