Last Seen

by Joy Kluver

Genres: Police Procedurals; Female Sleuths; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

I can see her, laughing as she swings as high as she can, her beautiful blonde curls flying out behind her. My little girl. If only I’d listened to my gut. Then maybe she’d be safe here with me… When five-year-old Molly Reynolds is snatched from the park in the small village of Otterfield, Detective Bernadette ‘Bernie’ Noel throws herself into the search, sick with worry for the quiet, sensitive little girl and her distraught mother. Wasting no time, Bernie finds a small green cardigan under a bush in the park. It still has the smiley face sticker Molly won that week at school. It’s the first in a chain of clues – and Bernie can’t shake the feeling that it was left deliberately, as a message. But Bernie encounters a wall of silence. Otterfield is a close-knit community, yet no one in the village has anything to say about the missing child. And Bernie is sure there is something Molly’s mother isn’t telling her either. Why? And then she makes a chilling discovery: twenty-five years ago, another little girl went missing from the area. Her name was Sophie, and all they ever found of her was her teddy bear, hidden under a bush, just the same as Molly’s cardigan. Now Bernie knows she’s in a race against time to save Molly’s life. Bernie’s team work round the clock to find a connection between the two girls – but when they find their proof it comes at the price of a shocking tragedy that strikes right at the heart of the case. Molly’s family have been hiding a secret, and now their little girl is in greater danger than ever. Then Bernie makes one deadly mistake that places her right in the hands of the most dangerous criminal she’s ever faced. She was willing to go to any lengths to solve the case – but will she stay alive long enough to do it? A completely addictive crime thriller with mind-blowing twists that will have you reading late into the night. If you like Val McDermid, D.S. Butler or Angela Marsons, you’ll love Joy Kluver. See what readers are saying about Last Seen : ‘ Wow!! Just wow!!… This book is brilliant! More than brilliant, amazing!!!… absolutely gripping, addictive and captivating… I was absolutely hooked from the first page to the last. I had a complete shock at the twists… Love, love, loved all the characters!!!… I would love to see this made into a movie and cannot wait to get my hands on the next book.’ Bookworm86 ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘I am blown away by this book, the twists and turns are mind boggling!… BRILLIANT… if I could I would give it more than 5* Excellent.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Twisted, intense and heartbreaking… once you start this book you just can’t put it down! Out of all the books that I have read this year none of them shocked me as much as this one had. There was one twist that I literally was yelling and screaming at the character!!! ’ Heidi Lynn’s Book Reviews ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Oh wow! This is an awesome read… has you burning the midnight oil… I am impatiently awaiting her next book.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Brilliant… had me eagerly turning the pages as I not only wanted to know more about the crime but also about the investigating team… I adored this… A story that takes a dark turn, has s everal surprises and kept me on my toes.’ Vonnibee ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Brilliant read. One of the best detective books I have read in ages. Great storyline… Great characters… Can’t wait for the next instalment.’ NetGalley reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘From the first page it grabs your attention and holds it right to the end. I read this book very quickly… as I was so engrossed… Brilliant plot with lots of twists and turns… and a great cast of characters with pasts to die for.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: March 26, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Blue and white tape cordoned off Otterfield Park and flapped in the gentle breeze. The air was warm for a sunny, early May afternoon. White blossom snowed gently onto the ground. The park was eerily quiet, apart from a blue tit whistling in the trees like a dog owner. There were no children. No ‘helpful’ people clamouring to tell the police what they saw. Or even looking out of their windows. No one. Just a few police officers and a lone woman sitting on a bench, with a pram next to her. Where were all the locals? Bernie wondered as she parked her car. All the nosy people that want to help? Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right at all.

She pulled down the car visor and had a quick look in the mirror. Her mascara and eye liner had run from her earlier tears at her grandfather’s funeral and smudged on her light brown skin. She took a tissue from her bag and wiped her face. With a sigh, she tied her long, black, frizzy hair into a ponytail. It wasn’t the best time to take on an investigation but this was her chance to prove herself. To show that her two years in the accelerated programme to become a DI hadn’t been wasted. She also hoped it would take her mind off her grandfather and… other things.

She got out of the car and walked towards Matt Taylor, her DC, tall and lanky, his suit hanging off him. Only twenty-five, Bernie wondered how he would cope. Fast tracked because of his degree in criminology, his two years’ pounding pavements in uniform hadn’t totally prepared him for the Major Crime Investigations Team. Intellectually very bright but not street savvy. She had DS Kerry Allen for that. She looked round for her DS but couldn’t see her anywhere.

‘Matt,’ Bernie called.

He pushed his brown floppy hair out of his eyes. ‘Ma’am. Sorry for disturbing you but I couldn’t get hold of the super. He’s dealing with another betting shop raid. Trowbridge this time. Happened last night.’

‘Another? God, how many is that now?’

‘With Swindon and Salisbury it’s the third one in Wiltshire. Fifth if we include the ones in Bristol. A man was injured in Trowbridge. He’s in a bad way apparently. But what about you? How was the funeral?’

‘It was…’

Bernie thought about the heaving church – all the people who had come to say goodbye. And her personal farewell at the funeral home. Her grandfather, Eric Baxter, or Pops as she called him, in his Sunday best. Cold to the touch. There, but at the same time, not there.

She swallowed. ‘It was OK. Don’t worry. I was on my way back anyway. Bring me up to speed.’

Matt gestured to the young woman sitting down. ‘Jessica Cole, mother of Molly Reynolds. Came here after school for a quick play. The baby needed a nappy change. While Mum changed him, Molly disappeared. That’s as much as I’ve got out of her. She’s quite distraught.’

Bernie nodded. ‘Of course. Are Forensics on their way?’

‘Yes. Should be here anytime.’

‘Good. We’ll need more uniforms down here. We’re going to have to start a search before it gets dark. Door-to-door as well. Especially as no one seems to be around. Bit odd. Can you sort that out while I talk to the mother?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Bernie sat down on the bench next to the young woman. She was in her mid-twenties. Her fair hair was straggly, her eyes puffy from crying and she held a screwed-up tissue in trembling hands. She was wearing grey jogging bottoms and her pink top had a few stains on it. The aroma of baby sick hung around her. Bernie reached over and gently touched the woman on the arm.

‘Jessica. I’m Detective Inspector Bernie Noel. I’m here to help find Molly. I know that you’ve spoken to my colleague but I have a few questions. Do you think you’re up to answering them?’

Bernie saw a slight nod of the head. ‘OK. What time did you get here?’

‘Just after three p.m. School finishes at three.’ Jessica’s voice was shaky.

‘Was anyone else in the playground?’

‘A few other mums and children but they didn’t stay long.’

‘Do you know their names? It would be good to speak to them, in case they saw anything unusual.’

Jessica nodded and started to cry again.

‘We’ll get those names later. Can you tell me what happened?’

Jessica wiped her eyes with the tissue. ‘I didn’t really want to come. Sam was a bit restless but Molly just went on and on at me. So I said we could come for ten minutes. There isn’t much to do here so she had to wait for the others to leave before she got a decent turn on anything. I’d been pushing her on the swing but then Sam started to cry. He needed a nappy change. In fact I had to change everything, the poo had gone everywhere.’

‘How old is he?’ asked Bernie, as she smiled at the sleeping bundle, oblivious to the trauma going on around him.

‘Eight weeks. So it took a bit of time to sort it out. And he was yelling his head off the whole time. When I finished, I turned round to tell Molly we had to go but she was gone.’ Jessica’s voice cracked.

‘It’s OK, take your time.’

Jessica sniffed. ‘I thought she was just playing to begin with; she likes hide and seek. But she wasn’t anywhere. I was screaming her name and running round the park with the pram but nothing. So I called the police.’

‘Can you remember what time this was?’ Bernie knew the time would be noted on the emergency call.

‘It was about three forty-five, I think. I can probably check on my phone.’

‘That’s fine. A long ten minutes, then.’

‘As I said, she had to wait for the others to leave before she could have a go on the swings.’

Bernie jotted down the timings in her notepad.

‘I’m sure you’ve already thought of this, Jessica, but have you contacted the mums of any of her friends, just in case she went off with one of them?’

Jessica shook her head.

‘Well, we can contact them for you, if you give me their names.’

The young woman shook her head again. ‘You don’t understand, Molly doesn’t have any friends.’

‘Oh, are you new to the area?’

‘We moved here in January.’

‘Ah.’

Jessica’s accent didn’t quite match the soft local Wiltshire burr. There was a hint of something else but Bernie couldn’t quite place it. ‘But it’s now the beginning of May. Are you sure she hasn’t made any friends at school?’

‘None. Why else do you think she had to wait? They wouldn’t let her have a turn.’

‘Have you made any friends, Jessica?’

‘No.’

Bernie felt a lurch. She knew the feeling of not belonging. She was neither black nor white, a Baptist in a Catholic school, a mixed-race changeling in her Anglo-Saxon family. Separated not just by colour but by surname too. And now, for the last six months, a former Met officer in rural Wiltshire. It was more like exile than home.

‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’ Bernie asked. ‘You really shouldn’t be alone. Do you have a partner?’

Jessica rested her head on her hand. ‘Yes, Davy Reynolds. He’s my fiancé and Molly and Sam’s dad. But he’s in the army and on active duty. I can’t get hold of him easily.’

‘Well, is there anyone else?’

‘There’s my dad, Derek Cole.’

‘Great. If you give me his number, we’ll contact him. Also, do you have a recent photo of Molly on your phone? We can Bluetooth it to mine.’

‘I have one of her in her school uniform.’

‘And that’s what she was wearing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shoes – colour and size?’

‘Black school shoes, size eleven. I had to buy new ones in the Easter holidays.’ Jessica fiddled with her phone and showed a photo to Bernie. ‘I took it on Wednesday. She looked so pretty that day. She was pleased because she got a sticker from the teacher. I emailed it to Davy. She wanted Daddy to see her sticker.’ Jessica put her hand to her mouth and began to sob uncontrollably.

Bernie took the phone from her. Placing her arm around Jessica’s shoulders, she stared down at the little girl with fair, curly hair and blue eyes, wearing a white polo shirt under a grey pinafore, with a bottle-green fleece. A big yellow smiley sticker matched an even bigger smile on Molly’s face. Bernie felt a lump in her throat.

‘We’ll find her, Jessica. We’ll find her.’

Bernie looked at the quiet road before her. She heard a song in her head Pops used to sing to her when she was little. He used to sing a lot. Something about little boxes on a hill, made out of ticky-tacky. But Bernie didn’t see multicoloured homes like in the song – just sandy-brown pebble-dash on the identical houses. She remembered the tour an officer from the Community Policing Team had given her when she had moved to Wiltshire last December. Otterfield had once been pretty but some Second World War bombs destined for the railway had missed their target and taken out most of the quaint country cottages instead.

‘And this is what the government of the day built for them,’ the officer had explained. ‘Then Margaret Thatcher encouraged the residents to buy them and now they’re stuck here, with ugly houses no one else wants to buy. They’re a community with a collective chip on their shoulders. Highly suspicious of outsiders.’

Maybe that’s why Jessica is having such a hard time, Bernie thought. Armed with Molly’s photo on her phone and her warrant card, she walked up the path to the first house in the road. Ringing the doorbell, she glanced around at the neat front garden with its square of lawn and garish orange and purple bedding plants beside the path. There was a small movement at the net curtains but no one came to the door. Bernie rang the bell again. She could hear footsteps moving towards her. A woman in her late seventies with grey permed hair opened the door.

‘Sticker says no buying at the door.’

Bernie wanted to laugh. No door-to-door salesman would sell anything in this village. She showed her warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Noel and I’m wondering if you could help with our enquiries.’

The woman gestured towards the card so Bernie passed it over. She looked carefully at it and then up and down at Bernie. She nodded, clearly satisfied Bernie was telling the truth, and handed it back.

‘We have a missing five-year-old girl who disappeared from the park this afternoon.’ Bernie held up her phone with Molly’s photo showing. ‘She’s called Molly Reynolds. Have you seen her at all this afternoon?’

The woman looked at the photo and tutted. ‘Not surprising. Haven’t seen her.’ She started to close the door but Bernie put her foot in the way.

‘Why’s it not surprising?’ she asked.

The woman shrugged.

‘I’d be grateful if you could check any sheds or outbuildings you may have, just in case she’s hiding.’

The woman glared at her. Bernie took the hint and removed her foot.

‘Thank you for your cooperation. If you do see her, please contact us or call Crimestoppers on 0800 555 111.’

The door swung shut in Bernie’s face. She sighed and moved on to the next property. The man there didn’t even bother to open the front door but shouted down from an upstairs window – ‘Can’t help you.’

After several more similar responses Bernie called Matt Taylor.

‘Hi, Matt. I’m having a really hard time with door-to-door, like getting blood from a stone. What about you?’

‘Same. No one’s seen her, no one wants to speak, and no one cares. What the hell’s going on? She’s only five, for God’s sake.’

‘I know. Have you heard from Kerry?’ asked Bernie.

‘Yes, she’s at the park with uniform. Looks like everyone’s turned out and they’re doing a thorough search of the area. Forensics are at the playground as well. Sergeant Turner has taken Jessica back to her house to wait for her dad to turn up. He’s stuck in traffic. Oh, and I contacted the train companies to warn them. The railway’s only a couple of miles away, it’s always possible that she wandered onto the tracks.’

Bernie opened her mouth in amazement. Maybe Matt had more initiative than she’d first thought.

‘Well done. I’m impressed.’

‘Thank you. I’m trying to think out of the box a bit.’

‘Good. I’ve got ten more houses on this road to visit and then I’ll have to head back to the park to see Forensics and Kerry. Could you allocate my other two roads to uniforms please? Maybe they’ll respond better to someone who actually looks like a police officer. Come to the park when you’ve finished.’

Bernie hung up and sighed. She didn’t really want to knock on any more doors. She didn’t understand why no one in the village wanted to help look for a missing five-year-old girl. She braced herself for a cool reception and walked up to the next door.

It was almost seven o’clock by the time Bernie reached the park. Her shoulders were stiff with tension. She had come away from the door-to-door search with nothing, other than the first woman who had not been surprised. Maybe they’ll have discovered something at the park.

She found DS Kerry Allen at the entrance to the playground. Petite with cropped blonde hair, her right-hand woman had proved invaluable in the six months they’d been together. They’d bonded over being the new girls in town – Bernie from London and Kerry from Manchester.

‘Our leader returns,’ Kerry said. ‘How was London?’

Bernie shook her head. The emotion of her grandfather’s funeral and now a missing girl weighed heavily on her. Before she could say anything there was a crackle from Kerry’s radio.

‘Didn’t catch that. Say again,’ Kerry said.

‘Got a green fleece. Near the back gate,’ replied a male voice.

‘Where is it?’ asked Bernie.

Kerry showed her a map of the park she had divided up into smaller areas. She pointed to the top left-hand corner. ‘Here. There’s a gate in that area but it’s not used because the pathway beyond it leads to the railway line. It should be bolted shut with a padlock and chain.’

‘But it’s not?’

Kerry shook her head, her face grim. ‘Chain’s been cut.’

‘Right,’ said Bernie. ‘We need a photographer and a CSI. I’m going there now.’

‘I’ll send them on.’

Bernie ran across the park as best she could, cursing the heels on her shoes. Back to flats tomorrow. She saw a uniformed officer waving at her.

‘Over here, ma’am,’ he called.

Bernie slowed down. ‘Where is it?’

‘Under this bush here.’ The officer lifted some branches and shone his torch.

Bernie crouched down. The bottle-green fleece was camouflaged by the undergrowth but Bernie could see something yellow.

‘Can you direct the light a little more to the right please?’

The torch moved and the yellow gleamed in the light. It was a sticker with a smiley face.

The Coles’ house was the last in the village. A sign saying, ‘Now leaving Otterfield, thank you for driving safely’, was only a few metres away. They really are on the edge, thought Bernie. She knocked at the wooden door. It looked new and the little sandy pebble-dashed house appeared to have new windows as well. Making improvements. The door was opened by Sergeant Alan Turner, a rotund man who would normally be found manning the custody suite at Wiltshire Police headquarters, back in Devizes.

‘Thank God you’re here, ma’am. Jessica’s really struggling,’ said Alan.

‘She’s about to struggle more then.’ Bernie held up a brown paper evidence bag. ‘Molly’s fleece.’ She stepped into the hallway, Kerry behind her.

‘Oh God. She’s in the lounge, rocking the baby back and forth. She can’t seem to stop. Can’t get anything out of her. Still waiting for her father to come home.’

‘What about Davy Reynolds?’ asked Bernie.

‘I’ve put a call into the MoD. They’re sorting out contact. He’s on manoeuvres so we can’t get hold of him directly.’

‘DNA samples?’

‘Trying to work on that but can’t seem to get through to Jessica that we need to take these things.’

‘OK,’ said Bernie, ‘let me try. I sort of made a connection with her earlier. I won’t show her this just yet. Can you hang onto it for now, please, Kerry? Just wait by the door. Keep it behind your back.’

Bernie followed Alan into the lounge. The room was painted mostly white but with a turquoise paisley-patterned wallpaper on one wall. The beige carpet felt soft under her feet and Bernie wondered if she should have taken off her shoes or, better still, put blue plastic covers over them. She couldn’t help but feel that maybe there was crucial evidence in the house.

Jessica Cole was sitting on a brown leather sofa, rocking back and forth with the baby in her arms. Bernie knelt down in front of her.

‘Jessica? It’s DI Noel. Remember we met at the park earlier.’

The young woman raised her head. Her eyes looked vacant as she stared at Bernie but then she gave a slight nod of recognition.

‘Have you found her?’ she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Bernie shook her head. ‘Not yet but I’ve got lots of police officers out looking. And we’ve been going through the village knocking on everyone’s doors and asking them to look out for her.’

‘Huh! Good luck with that one. No one round here cares.’ Anger flared into Jessica’s voice.

Bernie sighed. She didn’t have the heart to tell Jessica she was right on that score. ‘Jessica, there are some things we need to do here to help us find Molly.’

The young woman focused on Bernie’s face, all the while still rocking.

‘What? Just say and I’ll do it.’

Bernie looked across briefly to Kerry. ‘Please be aware that what I’m about to ask for is standard practice for all missing persons. We need to have DNA samples – her hairbrush or comb and her toothbrush. We’ll also need more photos if you have some. We’ll scan them and make sure you get them back. And…’ Bernie hesitated. This was the part she hated the most. ‘We’ll also need the sheet on Molly’s bed.’

Jessica looked at her, perplexed. ‘I don’t understand. Why do you need her sheet?’

‘As I said, it’s standard practice.’

‘Bullshit.’

Bernie suddenly realised Jessica had stopped rocking and her attention was fully on her.

‘Why do you need the sheet?’

Bernie took a deep breath. ‘Because we need to make sure Molly was safe at home. You said yourself – you didn’t hear Molly cry out at all. Maybe it’s because she was taken by someone she knew. Someone who knew her a little too well.’

Bernie watched as realisation dawned on Jessica’s face. ‘No. No, you’re wrong. No one was abusing Molly. You want to check for semen, don’t you? Well you can’t. I washed her sheet this morning, in fact all of her bedding. She wets herself at night still. And I told her off for it this morning.’ Jessica raised a hand to her face as she started to cry. ‘I told her off for her stinky wet sheet. I told her off.’

Bernie moved from the floor to the sofa next to Jessica and put her arm around her shoulders. ‘You didn’t know what was going to happen today. I’m sorry to say these things to you but a lot of detective work is ruling people out as much as ruling suspects in. I would like Forensics to check her mattress since you’ve washed the sheets. And there’s something else.’ Bernie nodded at Kerry and she came over with the brown paper bag. ‘We found this at the park earlier.’ Kerry broke the seal on the bag and opened it for Jessica to see.

‘It has Molly’s name on it and the sticker you were telling me about,’ said Bernie. ‘I just need you to confirm whether or not she was wearing it when you last saw her.’

Jessica took a sharp intake of breath and nodded. ‘Yes. She was wearing it. Oh God, where did you find it?’

‘In the park. Are you sure she didn’t take it off?’

‘Positive.’

Moving back into professional mode, Bernie removed her arm from Jessica’s shoulders. ‘OK. This is what’s going to happen now. It’s time to move this up a level and get the press involved. Social media too. I’m going to make a statement tonight. If we haven’t found her by the morning then I’d like to do a full press conference with you and your father. We’re working on getting hold of Davy.’

‘But how will you find her tonight? It’s getting dark.’

‘I’ve spoken to Detective Chief Superintendent Wilson and we’re sending up a police helicopter with an infrared camera. At some point we’ll have to stop as we’ll need some sleep, and the residents of the village will need some too. But a helicopter hovering overhead for a while won’t be such a bad thing. It will remind them a child is missing and we need their help.’ Despite what they might think. ‘I don’t know why people here are being so unkind to you, Jessica, but I was on the receiving end of similar treatment today. The press are going to invade this village and it will probably shame them all into helping.

‘This is DS Kerry Allen and she’s going to stay with you for the rest of this evening,’ Bernie continued, ‘and she’ll help explain things to your father when he gets here. She’ll oversee the CSI who will come soon. I know you aren’t keen about that, but tomorrow at the press conference I want to be able to portray Molly as a happy little girl at home. I’ll appoint a family liaison officer to you tomorrow, someone who can be with you most of the time. I’ll ring you later, after I’ve made the statement, so you know what’s been said before it goes on air on the news tonight.’

Bernie paused for breath and saw a slightly stunned expression on Jessica’s face. ‘I know things are moving quite fast now and this isn’t how you thought your day would be.’ She glanced down at the sleeping baby in Jessica’s arms. ‘I can also get someone in to help you with Sam.’

A look of horror appeared on Jessica’s face. ‘No. I’m not having social services take him away.’

‘Oh God, no. I wasn’t thinking of that. Technically, it probably should be them but I was thinking of referring you to Home-Start. They’re a charity that helps families with children under the age of five. All their volunteers are DBS checked. I know one of them and she’s fairly local. Leave it with me.’

Bernie stood up. ‘I’ll call you later. Please be assured we’re doing everything we can to find Molly. Hopefully your father will be back soon and then you’ll have some family support.’

Bernie nodded at Kerry and they both left the room and walked to the front door where Alan was waiting.

‘Thanks so much for coming in on your day off, Alan. Kerry’s going to stay so you can go now.’

‘No problem, ma’am. Anytime. Not like I’ve got much going on at home. See you tomorrow.’ He opened the door and left.

Bernie turned to Kerry. ‘If needed, could you sleep here tonight on the sofa please? Just in case Derek Cole gets back really late.’

‘Yes, of course. So who is it you’re thinking of to help with the baby?’

‘I think I’d better check with her first before I say. I’ll call you later. Let me know when the CSI has been.’

‘OK,’ said Kerry. ‘We got interrupted earlier. How was the funeral?’

‘It was… all right.’ Bernie’s thoughts lingered on the condolence card wrapped in a plastic bag in the boot of her car. Hand-delivered that morning. Unsigned. Its message ominous. She instinctively moved her hand to her side, aware of the scar that still itched occasionally. ‘I’d better get on. Speak soon.’

She walked back to her car with Molly’s fleece in the evidence bag and glanced at her watch. It was just after eight p.m. She scrolled down the contacts on her phone and then dialled.

‘Hello, vicar, it’s DI Noel… Yes, nice to speak to you too… Actually, I need some help, not just from you but from Anna too. I think she’s a volunteer with Home-Start, isn’t she?’

Bernie had watched the late-night news report on the TV at the police station, cringing to herself. Do I really sound like that? She’d been pleased though; the case had made national news, not just local. She was still in two minds as to where to hold the press conference in the morning. The police station was the obvious choice but something was telling her to go local – the hall of Molly’s primary school sprang to mind. It would be Saturday morning so no children would be at school. She wanted to keep this case fresh in the minds of the Otterfield villagers. All the house-to-house reports were now in and no one had seen Molly. Nor had they particularly cared. A few of the mums who had been at the park had been found. One or two had noticed her there and one had remembered she’d been wearing her fleece. The police officer had noted down the woman had found this odd, as it had been such a warm day. This caught Bernie’s attention. She highlighted the name and the address. Someone to go back to, she thought. All the mothers had left through the main entrance. No one had used the back gate, close to the train track.

She glanced at her watch. Ten fifty p.m.

Her phone buzzed. ‘Kerry, what have you got for me?’

‘The CSI has checked the mattress, both sides. Definitely urine present. You could tell by the smell. No obvious signs of semen but it’s been sent to the lab for further checks. Derek Cole finally turned up just after ten o’clock. There was a major accident on the M4 and nothing was moving. Jessica seems a little brighter now her father is here.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Pleasant enough. Mid-fifties. Engineer by trade. Works in Bristol. He’s doing the “good dad” routine and being strong for Jessica. I’ve told them we’ll do formal statements at the station tomorrow after the press conference.’

‘Actually, I was thinking of asking the head teacher of Molly’s school if we could use the hall, keep it local.’

‘You mean rubbing the villagers’ noses in it.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Hmm…’

Bernie could sense the hesitation in Kerry’s voice.

‘…I’m not sure. It could backfire on you. Plus it’s May bank holiday weekend. You might not get hold of the head anyway. Oh, can you hear that?’

Bernie listened carefully. She could hear a whirring sound. ‘Is it the helicopter?’

‘Yep,’ said Kerry. ‘Been round a few times now. I’m sure they’ll report in to you soon. Check with the super about . . .