Ellen looked over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being watched or that no one had crept up on her. She took her phone out of her back pocket and took a photo of the letter. It came out blurred as she couldn’t keep her hands still.
Another letter from a different firm of solicitors demanded payment of four thousand two hundred and fifty-six pounds for a landscape gardener who had designed the back garden to make it more accessible for Riley. Again, there was no evidence to show if this had been paid or not. Ellen took another photo. Craig had told her he’d done the garden himself. What was the reason for telling such a pointless lie?
The file was full of similar letters. Final demands, threats of court action and enforced bankruptcy. How had they got into such a financial mess? Ellen could understand them wanting to do the best for their children, but not to the point of financial ruin where the only solution was fake-kidnapping your own daughter.
She heard a noise from the living room. She stuffed the letter back in the folder, threw it into the cupboard and slammed the door closed.
She stood up and ran into the kitchen, breathless.
‘Hello. How are you feeling?’ she asked Craig.
‘Numb,’ was all he could say. He looked ready to drop.
‘Would you like something to eat? A sandwich maybe?’
‘I don’t know what I want.’
Ellen went over to him, put her arm around his shoulders and guided him to the table. She pulled out a chair and sat him down. She squatted in front of him and placed her hands on his lap.
‘Craig, I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through right now, but I’m guessing you feel like you’re in hell. I’m here for you to talk to, about absolutely anything. If there’s something you want to get off your chest, you can tell me. I’m not here to judge or take sides. I’m here purely for you.’
‘I … I …’ he choked. His mind was obviously wanting him to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t allow it.
‘What is it? What do you want to say?’ Ellen pleaded.
‘Dad?’
They both turned to see Jodie standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
‘What’s going on?’ Jodie asked.
‘Your dad’s upset, Jodie. I was trying to get him to share his feelings. It’s not helpful to keep things bottled up.’ Ellen stood up. ‘Is there anything I can get you, Jodie? A sandwich?’
Jodie ignored her. She went over to her father and sat on his knee, burying her head in his chest. Craig put his arms firmly around her and held her close, stroking her hair.
Ellen turned back to the sink. It was sparkling and shiny from her over-cleaning it, but it didn’t stop her from picking up the Flash and squirting the draining board once again. How much longer was she expected to stay in this house? She knew the role of Family Liaison Officer was not an easy one, but Ellen was physically chilled to the bone in the company of this family. She frowned as she thought. On jobs like this, Ellen was full of sympathy for the grieving parents, but in this case, she couldn’t warm to Linda or Craig. She felt great sadness for Keeley and Riley and it pained her to see Jodie’s lost childhood, but why were the parents causing her such consternation?
Ellen looked up. Dark clouds loomed over the city and the light in the kitchen turned the window into a mirror. She could see Craig and Jodie’s reflection reversed behind her. Jodie was curled up on her father’s lap, more like a toddler than a teenager. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile playing on her lips. She was comforted. They were seeking solace in each other in a traumatic time. So why was a cold shiver running up Ellen’s spine?
Chapter 32
Matilda pulled up outside the mortuary on Watery Street just outside the city centre in her Range Rover. She opened the door and felt a sudden gust of cool wind. She looked up and saw a heavy grey sky looming above her. Summer was definitely over. Autumn would quickly descend into winter which would be long, dark, and arduous. Adele was right; she had made a mistake in moving so far out of the city. Hopefully, with Scott and Chris moving in to the apartment and a potential relationship developing with Daniel, things wouldn’t seem quite so lonely.
As she approached the building, the main doors opened and two women stepped out. She recognised the first woman straight away.
‘Bev,’ Matilda called out to her.
The taller of the two women turned at the sound of her name. Bev was in her late forties but looked at least a decade older. Years of working on the streets in all weathers and smoking like a chimney had ravaged her appearance. She layered herself in make-up to hide the wrinkles. She dyed her thinning hair light blonde and over-plucked her eyebrows. She was painfully thin with prominent cheekbones and a turkey neck.
‘I told you this would happen,’ she immediately launched into a tirade at the sight of the DCI. ‘I warned you. You wouldn’t listen and now a woman – a girl – is dead. She was nineteen, Matilda.’ Bev’s voice was hoarse and deep from a lifetime of cigarettes. Usually she sounded harsh and authoritative, but this morning there was a catch of emotion in her voice and tears in her eyes.
‘Bev, I understand you’re unhappy. We are dealing with it, I promise you.’
‘Are you? I don’t see any extra police cars patrolling the area. I don’t see any coppers talking to us, asking how we are, if we’ve seen anything or anyone dodgy lately. Earlier this year that detective of yours promised there’d be more of a presence to make us feel safe. She lied. Who was she, Sarah?’
Bev turned to the smaller woman behind her. Sarah was always in Bev’s shadow. Slightly younger in age, much younger mentally, Sarah followed Bev around wherever she went. They’d worked the streets of Sheffield together for more than twenty years and Sarah listened to everything Bev said. She didn’t think for herself. She didn’t talk for herself.
Sarah shook her head in reply to Bev’s question.
‘She gave us her card. It’ll be in your purse.’
Sarah always carried a large shoulder bag around with her. It had seen better days and was only fit to be thrown away, but it contained everything both women needed – ID, make-up, hairbrush, mints, small bottles of mouthwash, even smaller bottles of vodka, prescription medication, and too many crumpled business cards to count.
She handed Bev a card.
‘Detective Sergeant Sian Mills,’ Bev read, holding the card at arm’s length and squinting. ‘Where is she, Matilda? Where’s the help and protection she promised?’
‘Bev, I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry for your loss, I truly am. If I had the officers and the budget, you’d have all the protection you need, but I don’t. I’m being honest with you, Bev.’
‘We’ve lost six girls in the last three years,’ Bev said, ignoring Matilda. ‘Don’t try and tell me they’ve all moved on to different areas, because I’d call you a liar. They’re dead. They’ll be lying in an abandoned building somewhere, left to rot.’
‘Bev, will you come and see me next week? Give me all the names of the missing women, the dates you last saw them, a description, and I promise I’ll put a team on it.’
She thought for a moment, sucking her teeth. ‘You’re not just saying that to make me go away?’