The Next Girl(Detective Gina Harte #1)(14)

‘You do. You could tell them to check her DNA. They’ll link her to me. Please just call them. It’s our only hope. You will lose her forever – you know that, don’t you? You will never see your baby again. Is that what you want?’

She knew the police had her DNA on file. Just after she’d been taken, she’d heard talk on the news about a body turning up in the River Avon, by the Marcliff Weir. The local papers had initially linked the body to her. He’d enjoyed taunting her, telling her that people would think she was the decomposed river corpse and they’d never look for her. He’d sneered as he told her how he’d watched the ‘dirty whore’ gagging on the icy river water until her dying breath. She shuddered at the thought.

She’d heard another newsflash soon after the incident. DNA had been used to eliminate her. She knew her DNA was on file, and could be matched to her baby’s.

‘I can’t lose her forever. You’re right,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have left her.’

Blood pumped through Debbie’s body as she pressed him harder. ‘You will lose her if you don’t make the call. Imagine never seeing her little face again or her perfect little fingers and toes. Imagine never knowing where that life you created ended up. Please make the call before it’s too late, or you’ll never see her again.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’

If he called the police, they’d look for her. Were they still looking? Had he slipped up in any way before this? This was her chance. She imagined the reunion after the police saved her. She’d run into Luke’s warm arms and see her two beautiful children. Her mother would turn up with her baby and they’d all be a family. That was the tiny glimmer of hope that would keep her going.

‘I don’t know what to do!’ he yelled. As abruptly as he’d grabbed her, he let her go, propelling her forward as he moved.

‘Please. Make the call. Not for me, but for you. You’ll never know where your baby is if you don’t make that call. Don’t lose her forever. They’ll match my DNA. We know they have it on file, from when the body turned up in the river, remember?’ Debbie reached out and touched his hand.

‘Why did you bring that up?’ He removed his hand. ‘She was a whore,’ he said, looking away.

Debbie removed her hand from his.

‘She was a whore. I wanted you. You! How dare you ever bring that up!’ He spat in her face and pushed her away. Without so much as a glance back, he left and locked the door, leaving her once again in darkness, with only the outside noises to occupy her.

‘Please make the call,’ she yelled, as she burst into uncontrollable sobs. ‘What did you do?’ She rocked back and forth and closed her eyes. ‘Make the call. Please!’ She heard the bottom door slam.



* * *



‘Damn it, damn it,’ he said as he locked the door. He stared at the grey skies above as he stood outside the main house. The curtains were still closed. He’d not got round to opening them.

‘Have you got my bread?’ the old woman asked as she opened the front door, letting the dog out.

The little black spaniel jumped up around his legs. ‘Get lost, Rosie,’ he said, giving it a kick and brushing past his mother.

‘Where’s my bread?’ she yelled.

‘You’ve had your breakfast. I gave you bread. Honey on toast, you wanted.’ He began pacing the hallway as he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Where have you put my other phone?’

The old woman stared at him blankly. ‘Are we going to the shops?’ She walked over to the coat stand by the door and began putting one of his old coats on inside out. Her illness was taking a toll on him. The dog bounded back in, shaking its wet fur off against the wall. ‘Dog – get out,’ his mother shouted. ‘Get out. Get out. Get out.’

He hurried over to her and grabbed her arm. The woman yelled in pain as he shoved her outside and slammed the door, shutting her and the dog out. He bent over and stared through the letter box. She was still standing there, wearing his inside-out coat, waiting. For what? He had no idea. He wasn’t taking her shopping today. He wasn’t taking her shopping ever.

The kitchen. He’d last seen the phone in the kitchen drawer. He ran and opened it, smiling as he grabbed the phone, the one where he kept all the old photos he’d taken of Debbie before they’d got together. He grabbed the charger and plugged it in. Just a couple of minutes’ worth of charge would be enough to make the phone call. He couldn’t lose Florence forever. He needed to call the police. He opened the top cupboard and a straw hat fell out. He grabbed his mother’s old scarf, which had been folded up underneath it. It would be useful to distort his voice. His Debbie phone had never been registered and he’d bought it with cash. It was safe to use. He’d drive out, into the middle of nowhere, make the shortest call ever, destroy the SIM card and head back.

There was a knock at the door and the dog barked. He dashed to open it, letting his mother in. The woman was shivering and crying. He took her hand and led her to her chair in the living room. ‘Sit there, Ma. I won’t be long.’

‘I want to go to the shop.’ She began to sob as she rocked back and forth. He grabbed one of her chicken pies from the sideboard, opened it and handed it to her. The dog lay by her feet, waiting for crumbs.