Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(14)
Jasmine stared at the blank television screen and tried to decide what she should do. She wasn’t ill, there was nothing wrong with her at all. She just couldn’t face school and more to the point, she couldn’t face her best friend, Chloe.
Her thoughts kept going back to the party. Jasmine gave a little snort of disgust. It had been like no party she’d ever been to. She shivered and pulled the duvet higher up under her chin. The place had been horrible. It had been dark and dirty, it stank of sweat and booze, and the worst thing of all was the fact that Chloe seemed to be having the time of her life.
A tear slipped slowly from Jasmine’s eye. How could she? They had been friends since they were in nappies, and now, well . . . She grimaced. A picture flashed up in front of her. Chloe dancing with a boy she didn’t even know. Chloe lifting up her skinny T-shirt top and thrusting her naked breast towards the gyrating boy’s open mouth.
Jasmine felt as sick now as she had then. She sipped the drink that her mother had made her and tried to forget all the other things she had seen.
Worse things, far worse.
She placed the mug back on the table and nibbled anxiously on her bottom lip.
She should tell her father, she knew she should. But how could she? He’d kill her if he thought she’d been to such a dreadful place.
More tears began to fall. It should be easy. She wasn’t a bad girl, she should simply do what she knew to be right. And she might well have done, if it hadn’t been for the man with the horrible eyes. He had known immediately that they had gate-crashed. And then he had taken her to one side, and coldly and calmly told her what he would do if she ever breathed a word about the parties.
Jasmine knew he wasn’t joking. She shivered again. That should have been okay, considering that she never wanted to go back as long as she lived, but he hadn’t threatened her, had he? The terrible things he had said he would do . . . were to Chloe.
Jasmine began to sob. Because Chloe wanted to go back. The man had put her number on his special list, and stupid, stupid Chloe could hardly wait for the text telling her where the next party would be.
CHAPTER SIX
‘You know, I’ve been around these parts for decades now, but I’ve probably only ever been out to Harlan Marsh once or twice,’ said Marie, gazing out of the window across the great expanses of flat, cabbage-covered fields.
‘It’s not the sort of place you go, is it?’
The bleak never-ending farmland stretched on until it met the river, then the marsh and then the sea. There was no town at the end of the road. No pretty village awaited them with quaint antique shops and cosy tearooms. And on a day like this, as the drizzling rain draped its chilly fingers around them, it was just mud all the way to the Wash.
Marie smiled to herself, because it wasn’t always like this. It was in many ways a magical landscape, ancient and wild, alternating through the changing seasons between strange and inhospitable, and achingly beautiful. Marie loved the great wide ribbons of waterways, straight and shining as quicksilver, home to swans, kingfishers and water voles. And the panoramic light shows at sunrise or sunset would melt the coldest heart.
Marie remembered walking the field pads, as the locals called footpaths, with her father’s spaniel racing ahead of her. The dog would run into the “litter” fields and bark as skylarks rose up ahead of him. Even as she sat in the car, Marie could still smell the meadow plants, the ragged robin, meadowsweet and clover, all cut as a hay crop for the animals. At times like this she missed her dad. Her parents had split up when she was very young, but she had benefited from having two loving homes, one here with her dad, and one in the Welsh mountains with her mum. Her parents had been wonderful, doing all they could to keep their daughter happy and well-balanced. The fact was, her parents had loved each other deeply — they just couldn’t live together. Their decision to part had worked well. They remained lifelong friends, until her dad died of a heart attack some fifteen years ago.
‘Fancy a detour?’ Jackman slowed down as they approached a crossroads. He stared at the signpost, then pulled over. ‘We are about five minutes away from the spot where your Mr Archer thinks that Shauna went into the water. If we go later we’ll lose the light.’
Marie nodded and her pleasant thoughts about her father evaporated. ‘Sure. Since I’m so looking forward to seeing Cade again, any diversion is a good one as far as I’m concerned.’
Jackman turned into the side road and they drove on.
‘Over there.’ Marie indicated a faded sign, half obscured by straggly bushes. ‘I think that’s a sign for Hurn Point, Allenby Creek, and the seal sanctuary.’
Jackman eased the car around a sharp bend. In front of them they saw an apology for a car park. Ahead were the sea-bank, the marshes, and a decrepit wooden hut with a weather-beaten painting of a seal on the wall.
They got out of the car into a damp miasma of salty drizzle.
‘Lovely,’ murmured Marie, turning up her jacket collar against the wind. ‘Just lovely.’
Avoiding puddles of sandy mud, they walked to the old hut.
The first thing they saw was a warning sign for an MOD bombing range. The RAF still used great stretches of the Wash for target practice and Jackman and Marie both understood the red flag warning system. Below that was a dog-eared notice informing them that there was no longer any access to the seal sanctuary and that the public should take the coast road to the “new” visitors’ centre.