The Lost Girl (Brennan and Esposito) (17 page)

M
ichael Prosser had done nothing all day. Barely moved from his seat, and then only to get tea, cigarettes or relieve himself. Yes, he had told himself what he was going to do, how he was going to do it and when, but somehow that hadn’t translated into action. So he’d just sat there staring numbly, the inane babble of the TV white noise mercifully disguising his thoughts from himself.

Because he was scared now. Really scared. Doubt and fear his prisoners once more.

It was her. He knew that. Her. And yes, the argument went, he should stop her. Or try to. But, the other argument went, what could he do? And more importantly why? His hand went to the side of his face. Stroked the rough, dead cratering where once he’d had taut, tingling skin. She had done this. Taken everything from him. Why should he try to stop her taking everything from someone else?

He hadn’t recognised her at first. Or that was what he’d told himself that night. The one he had replayed and replayed in his head over and over for years, analysing it in the minutest detail, wondering if there was anything he could have done differently, anything that could have changed the course of what happened in the night’s aftermath. Yes, he had decided. Never spoken to her in the first place. But if he hadn’t there would have always been that niggle, that doubt. Was it really her? Was she really offering… what she had been offering? To him? Honestly, there was no way he wasn’t going to find out. No way.

And every day he paid for that mistake.

A night out in a bar. Years ago. But not too many. Just enough. A Chelmsford city centre bar, one by the bridge over the river. Posher than Yates’s, but not by much. Still with the same kind of clientele. And Michael liked it that way. They came out in packs, got easily and quickly smashed on their three WKDs for a tenner, then became easy prey. Stand at the bar, watch. Chat to a few people, look like you belong. Watch. Like a lion sizing up a pack of gazelles, he had always thought. Don’t go for the strongest, prettiest, most attention-grabbing one. No. Go for the one who looks vulnerable. Who might need a helping hand home from a familiar face, someone they’ve seen all through the evening. He couldn’t be bad, could he? He’s a friend of the barman’s. He’s chatted to him all night. Or at least it looked like he had.

And that had been his Saturday nights. Watch. Observe. Pick off a straggler – or two, it had been known to happen, although not very often – and become a friend. And from that… Bingo. Free sex. Didn’t even have to pay to get her drunk. Someone else had done that for him.

And that was what he was doing that one Saturday night when he met her.

Straight away he knew there was something different about her. He just didn’t know what. She was alone. And she was rebuffing the attention she had attracted. And she was attracting a lot. But something attracted him to her. He couldn’t say what it was – apart from the obvious – but something just clicked. A connection. Like he already knew her, or something. But that was impossible. He’d never seen this young woman before in his life.

Again, how wrong he was.

So he moved over to her, asked her if he could buy her a drink. Gave her the kind of lines that only ever worked on drunk, easily impressed girls. But, incredibly, she seemed to respond to them. That should have been a warning but he ignored it and kept going.

One thing led to another – very quickly, if he remembered correctly, and he soon found himself back at her hotel.

‘I grew up around here,’ she had told him. ‘Just back in the area on business. Catching up on a few old sights.’

That suited him just fine. A great fuck – and looking at her perfect body, her filthy smile, he knew it would be – and then off she went in the morning. What more could he want?

She was dominant, that was the first thing he learned about her. Which was OK by him. If she wanted to put all the effort in while he just lay there, who was he to complain? She stripped him, lay him on the bed, then stood at the foot of it, slowly undressing, eyes locked with his the whole time. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. A dream come true.

‘Wait,’ she said, before finally removing her dress. ‘Don’t want you to run away when you see me naked.’

‘No chance of that.’

‘Nevertheless…’

Swiftly and expertly she grabbed his arms, pulled them over his head and tied his wrists together.

‘Hey, wha—’

‘Shh,’ she said, tying his wrists to the side of the bed, then quickly spreading his legs and doing the same with his feet. She stood at the foot of the bed again, looked at him once more. ‘Hope you don’t mind,’ she said and there was that filthy grin once more.

‘No, not at all…’ Even less work for him. Result.

‘I didn’t think you would, Michael.’

She took off her dress, revealing her naked body beneath. He was almost salivating. She was much better than the usual ones he managed to get. A real cut above. Almost like a model —

‘Wait, what did you call me?’

‘Michael.’

He frowned. ‘But I…’ He had given her a false name. He was sure of that, he always did. ‘I’m…’

‘You’re Michael. No matter what name you might have given me.’ She smiled again. It was no longer filthy this time.

He stared at her again, really studying her this time. Really trying to see her properly. And then, with what felt like rusty chainmail dredging his heart, he remembered. He did know her.

‘It’s you.’

‘Hello again.’

He closed his eyes, tried to unsee her. Couldn’t. ‘Oh God…’

‘Certainly is. So.’ She moved closer. ‘I’m all grown up now, Michael. Do you still fancy me?’

‘No, no. This is, this is all wrong.’

She stopped, gave a mock frown. ‘Why? Am I too old for you, is that it? Did you only like me when I was younger?’

‘Stop, just, just stop it…’

‘Why?’ She moved closer, a hand sliding up his naked leg.

‘Please, just… let me go. Now. Just let me go now and I’ll… I’ll forget this ever happened. Pretend we never met.’

‘Oh, but we did meet, Michael. And here we are.’ Her hand at the top of his thigh.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t believe how something he had wanted so much so recently had gone so wrong.

‘I said I was in town to catch up on a few of the old sights. Well, you’re certainly one of them.’

He could hardly breathe. ‘I know… I know what you did.’

She shrugged. ‘I know you do. And I don’t care. You see, since we last saw each other, I’ve been busy. Turning a hobby into a career, you might say. It’s been very lucrative.’ She waggled an enticing finger at him. ‘You, Michael, were the one that got away. The one I had to come back for. My unfinished business.’

And, with a feeling of absolute dread, he knew what she meant. What she was going to do to him.

‘Please, oh please…’

‘Are you begging? Seriously? That’s not like you…’

Her hand slowly stroking its way towards his penis.

He closed his eyes.

‘You’ve wanted this for years, haven’t you? Wanted me for years? Here. Now. Like this. Except I’m sure that in your fancy I’m the one tied to the bed. The one you want to play your power games on.’

No reply.

‘Michael, and this is a serious question, just how have you got away for so long with being a paedophile in charge of children?’

He found his voice. Or a smaller version of it. ‘I’m… I’m not… not a paedophile.’

Another mock frown. ‘You like to fuck children. You like to watch children fucking. You even took a percentage for pimping children out to be fucked by other paedophiles.’ She seemed to be struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘I’d say that makes you count as one in my book.’

‘I don’t… I’ve never fucked kids. Never.’

‘Never?’

She stared at him. He eventually relented. Blinked. Answered.

‘I like, yes I like my, my sexual partners young. On the young side. I admit that.’

‘Young?’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘That’s an understatement.’

He felt anger welling inside him at her words. ‘Yeah? Who made you so high and fucking mighty? Who gave you the power to tell me what’s what? You know what?’ He tried to gesture, couldn’t because of the bindings. ‘You’re a fucking hypocrite, like all the rest of them.’

‘Oh really?’ She sat back. ‘Do explain. This should be worth listening to.’

‘You listen to music? Rock music? They were all at it, all of them. Groupies aged fourteen. When they were nineteen they were past it. And you know who used to pimp them out? Their mothers. Yeah, their mothers. So their daughters could fuck rock stars. And what about the tabloids? All anger about paedos on one page then showing photos of twelve-year-olds in bikinis, saying how they’re developing nicely. And what about the time that tabloid did a daily countdown until it was Charlotte Church’s sixteenth birthday and she was legal? Remember that? No. Bet you don’t. But I do. So yeah. I like my girlfriends younger. Big fucking deal.’

She stared at him. Features unmoving, giving nothing away. He didn’t move, hardly breathed.

Eventually she stood up, undid his bindings.

‘Get up,’ she said. ‘Go.’

He stared at her. ‘What, you’re —’

She turned to him, eyes alight with sudden, raging fire. ‘Just go…’

He didn’t need to be told twice. He knew what a lucky escape he had had.

Or thought he had had.

For weeks nothing happened. He never heard from her, never saw her again. And he began to relax. Think he had got away with it. A life lesson, well learned. Don’t make that mistake again. He didn’t even go out on a Saturday night any more. Well, not for a few weeks. Then he started going back to bars again. But he was always more careful. Always kept to the script.

And he got on with his life. Forgot about her.

Another mistake.

One night there was a ring at his door. Unusual, he thought, but went to answer it. He didn’t get a chance to see who it was.

‘Paedophile!’ someone shouted at him and then his face was melting with a pain he had never experienced before.

Acid attack.

He lost his job, his house, everything. Because word had gone round about him. The paedo in charge of the children’s home. There were testimonies from ex-kids, a lot of them. He was a hate figure in the tabloids. And eventually, with only half a face remaining, he had to move to the flat where he was now, shunned and hated by all of his neighbours. They knew who he was. More importantly, they knew what he was.

And he knew who had been behind all this. Oh yes. She had got her revenge on him all right.

So he sat where he was, not daring to move, barely daring to think. She was back.

And maybe it was time for someone else to stop her.

S
imon Matthews felt like a guest at the wrong party. As if his invite to participate in the investigation he was currently working on had gone astray and in its place was some kind of free-for-all that he hadn’t been expecting.

Marina Esposito had turned up, alongside Anni Hepburn. He knew Anni Hepburn, at least by reputation. She had been part of the department but the death of her partner had sent her off the rails. At least that was the word around the station. She had walked out, blaming everyone for what had happened. In fact, it had been her leaving that had created a space for him. So, if he was honest, he hadn’t been sad to see her go.

Nick Lines seemed to have brightened up considerably, too, since the others arrived. Or at least as bright as he ever got, which wasn’t saying much. But Matthews could tell the difference.

Introductions had been made. Imani had taken the role of hostess, the central hub around which the others all orbited. Matthews noticed a kind of reluctance or a reticence from Hepburn when she was introduced to him. Likely it was because of who he worked for and what he did and he was pleased, deep down, that he didn’t have to work with her.

Lines was explaining his findings to the two newcomers. Pointing to the report to back his work up.

‘So that was the same for all three of them?’ asked Marina.

Lines nodded. ‘Exactly the same. Once I’d spotted it on one body I checked for it on the others. The first had been difficult to find. The other two less so. I knew what I was looking for.’

‘So have you found this on any other bodies?’ asked Anni.

Nick Lines shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of. At least not round here. Not in connection with this investigation. Just these three.’

Marina sat down. Matthews couldn’t help but notice that she looked tired, strained. He felt some compassion for her; after all it was her husband they were all looking for. Another thought struck him. Why was she here? Why was she part of the investigation along with an ex-copper?

Marina looked up at him, smiled. Almost reading his mind. Or at least reading the puzzled expression on his face.

‘I suppose, DC Matthews,’ she said, ‘that you’re wondering what I’m doing here? What Anni is doing here too?’

He shrugged, tried to regard it as no big deal. ‘The thought had crossed my mind.’ It felt like the most politic thing to say.

‘I’m sure it has. We’re a different part of the investigation. Tracking down different leads.’

‘Coming at it from another direction, you might say,’ said Anni.

‘But you’re still civilians,’ Matthews said. ‘You have no real jurisdiction here.’

He felt the whole room turn and look at him. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

Nick Lines almost smiled. ‘Actually, Detective Constable, this is my workplace. I could say that about all of you.’

Murmured laughter. Good-natured in origin, but Matthews didn’t take it that way. He felt they were all getting at him. Needling him for his relative inexperience. And because he didn’t know them and hadn’t known them for years, he wasn’t one of the gang. He tried not to blush. Failed.

‘All I was saying,’ he said, trying to stand his ground, ‘was that this is a police investigation. And it should only be current serving officers dealing with it.’

‘You don’t want to pool resources, then?’ asked Anni.

‘Why, what have you found?’

Anni smiled. ‘So you do, then.’

He didn’t answer. Just felt his blushing increase.

‘Well actually,’ Anni continued, ‘it’s us who should be asking you things. From what we’ve heard, you’re getting nowhere. Why is that?’

Matthews shared a wary glance with Imani. It wasn’t returned. ‘We may as well share,’ she told him. Matthews still wasn’t convinced. Imani smiled. ‘I trust these people. I know Anni, and Marina and I have worked together. We can share.’

Matthews looked from one to the other. If they were going to share, his expression said, he wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

Imani turned towards Anni and Marina. ‘We’ve been getting nowhere because the investigation seems to be getting nowhere. We managed to put a name to one of the victims yesterday, thanks to Simon here.’

She indicated Matthews. He appreciated the gesture. It was meant to be inclusive. He searched her features for signs that she was patronising him, could find none.

Imani continued. ‘We still don’t know how he actually ended up as one of the victims yet though. That’s to be discovered. And we just heard about the manner of death minutes before you two turned up. So that’s about where we are, really.’

Anni frowned. ‘Why has so little progress been made? You’d think this would be top priority.’

‘It seems that Beresford – the DS in charge – doesn’t seem in any great hurry to reach a conclusion.’

‘And would this be the same Beresford that was supposed to have been seen driving Phil away from our house?’ Marina knew the answer but placed the question for context.

‘The very same,’ said Imani. ‘Although he denies he was ever there. Car’s in the garage, apparently.’

‘Have you checked?’ asked Marina.

That was too much for Matthews. ‘Sorry, but are you questioning the integrity of the CIO for this investigation?’

All eyes turned towards him again. No one spoke. In the absence of sound, he felt the need to continue, to justify his outburst.

‘I mean… what are you suggesting? That’s he’s in on it? That he’s, I don’t know, deliberately trying to lead the investigation astray?’

‘I don’t know,’ asked Marina quietly, getting slowly to her feet. ‘Is that what it sounds like?’

Matthews bit back the response he had been about to make. Settled for a shake of his head instead. ‘Yes, I’ve checked. About the car. I phoned the garage. DCI Franks asked me to. I spoke to the owner and he backed up DS Beresford’s story.’

Imani – all of them – stared at him. Eventually Imani spoke.

‘Well, something seems to be going wrong with this investigation. Leads haven’t been followed up, facts have been, shall we say, obscured. And it all seems to lead back to DS Beresford.’

‘Or DCI Franks,’ said Anni.

‘I don’t think Franks would deliberately do this,’ said Marina. ‘And he’s not incompetent. No, he’s many things but, deep down, he’s one of the good guys.’

‘Very deep down,’ muttered Anni, semi-audibly.

‘So where does that lead us?’ asked Imani.

‘With a job to do.’ Anni thought for a few seconds. ‘We need someone to follow up this PM. Find out if anyone else on the database – nationally, not just in the area – has been reported as dying in this manner. We need to pool our resources about Fiona Welch’s background and childhood, what we’ve found there. I think we should take another crack at Michael Prosser. And also, we should do a bit of digging into this DS Beresford. See if he checks out.’

‘I’ll do the database checking,’ said Matthews, making for the door as he spoke.

‘OK, fine,’ said Imani. ‘I’ll see you back at the office.’

Matthews had had enough. Now they were taking orders from someone who wasn’t even on the force. She worked in a gym, for Christ’s sake. A
gym
. And here she was dishing out orders. That was the final straw.

He would find out what was happening with this investigation, but, he thought, reaching the open air, he would do it his way.