Seven Days(19)

‘Hi,’ she said. She didn’t need to ask if he had found Maggie. She gestured at the woman.

‘This is Detective Inspector …’ her voice tailed off.

‘Wynne,’ the woman said. ‘DI Jane Wynne.’ She looked at Martin, her face still and expressionless. There was a questioning, intelligent look in her eyes. ‘I’m here about Margaret.’

‘Maggie,’ Martin said, reflexively. ‘We call her Maggie.’

Wynne nodded. ‘Maggie,’ she said. ‘You reported her missing two nights ago, around midnight.’ She paused, her expression carefully neutral. ‘Even though most of these cases resolve quite quickly, we do feel that this case requires more attention.’

Martin steadied himself against the back of the sofa. Although he wanted all the help they could get with finding Maggie, these were not words he wanted to hear.

‘Why?’ he said. ‘Why does it require more attention?’

‘It’s a combination of things,’ Wynne said. ‘Maggie has no history of this kind of behaviour. You reported that none of her friends have seen her. She’s fifteen. And then there’s the amount of time that has passed. Although many teenagers go missing, it’s been two nights. And that is a concern.’

‘You think something bad has happened?’ Sandra said, in a low voice.

Wynne glanced at James. ‘I think it’s a possibility,’ she said. ‘If she was away for one night, that would be pretty normal for a teenager. Drink too much, fall asleep somewhere, come home the next day, fearing punishment. All pretty standard. But two nights is different.’

‘So what happens next?’ Martin said.

‘We contact the press,’ Wynne said. ‘Get her photo out there. You take me through the last few days, I interview her friends, look at phone records, see what might be of interest, whether there are any leads. We assemble some officers to follow those leads.’ She rubbed her eye. ‘And then we do whatever we can to find your daughter.’





4


Martin stood in his daughter’s room. It was a curious mixture of childlike and grown-up; on her desk were some earrings and a CD by an artist he had never heard of and a book of short stories by Kate Chopin, yet by her pillow there was the blue bear – Rudi – he had bought her when she was six and he and Sandra were trying to stop her climbing into their bed every night.

He’ll keep you safe, he said. You can cuddle Rudi.

It had worked, after a while. When she came into their room he let her settle then carried her back to her bed. If she stirred, he put Rudi in her arms and she went back to sleep.

Wynne had looked around the room, searching for anything that might give a clue to where she was. She didn’t find anything – Martin wasn’t sure what she would have found: drugs, maybe, or someone’s name or address – but whatever she had been looking for, she had left empty-handed. Likewise Maggie’s emails. Sandra knew her password and Martin had agreed to let Wynne look at her account. There was nothing that hinted at where she might be.

He sat on the edge of her bed. Wynne had talked about a press conference, an appeal on television to anyone who might have information important to the investigation.

You’d be surprised what they throw up, she said. People’s memories get jogged about something they saw, they call it in, it turns out to be valuable.

It hadn’t reassured him. In fact, it had had the opposite effect.

It brought home that this was not simply a teenage girl doing something irresponsible.

This was an investigation, a news story. It was not going away. He picked up Rudi and rubbed the soft, threadbare patch over his right eye. He held him to his face and the smell of his daughter enveloped him.

For the first time he wondered whether he would ever smell that smell again, and he started to cry.





Twelve Years Earlier, 9 July 2006


1


DI Wynne sipped her coffee. It was milky and sweet. She didn’t like it that way, but Detective Superintendent Marie Ryan – a couple of ranks above her and not known for her frivolity – had handed it to her and she didn’t want to say anything.

‘So,’ Ryan said. ‘You’re working on the missing girl? You don’t think she’s gone off with a boy? Escaping to the big city.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Wynne replied. ‘She doesn’t seem the type.’

‘There is no type,’ Ryan said. ‘At least not in my experience.’

‘I know. But I think there’s more to this than a runaway teenager.’

‘OK. It’s your case. What do you think happened?’

‘I think someone took her,’ Wynne said. ‘Could be random. Rape, maybe. Or murder. Or both. But I think she was taken.’

‘If she was, you want to hope she’s dead,’ DSI Ryan said. ‘Because the alternatives are not pretty.’

Wynne nodded. This was the reason she’d come to talk to Ryan. She was an expert in the kinds of criminal gangs who trafficked young girls. Boys, too, sometimes.

‘What are the alternatives?’ Wynne said.

‘Forced prostitution. If it’s that, she could be anywhere in the world by now. Those people know how to move their victims around quickly. Or pornography. The really vile kind. Snuff movies, rape movies. Live shows on the internet where the punters tell the gang what they want them to do.’ Ryan caught Wynne’s gaze. ‘I’ve seen some bad things, Detective Inspector. People mutilated. Killed even. All so some bastard can get an erection. You want to hope she’s not caught up in that.’