Stolen (3 page)

Lotte’s house, number 12, had nets at the windows and the front door was painted bright yellow. Parked outside was a small white van with ‘E. G. Wainwright, plumber. Corgi approved’ painted on the side in black.

‘Thank God her dad’s in,’ Scott said as he paid the taxi fare. ‘If her mum freaks he’ll be there to sort it.’

Dale stopped Scott before he rang the doorbell. ‘Just remember we aren’t going to shove the picture under their noses! If things look bad we’ll just shoot off and leave it to the police.’

Mr Wainwright opened the door to them. He was a tall, slender man of around fifty-five, with the same blue eyes as Lotte but thinning hair. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt which were clearly his working clothes as they were worn and stained.

‘We worked on the cruise ship with Lotte,’ Dale said, then introduced herself and Scott. ‘But we haven’t heard from her since, so as we are working near here now we thought we’d look her up.’

The man frowned. ‘You’d better come in. The wife’s out the back doing a spot of weeding, I’ll get her.’

He led them down the narrow hall past a closed door which probably led to the lounge, then into a large sunny kitchen-cum-dining room. It was a bit old-fashioned, with green cupboards and patterned Formica worktops, but very neat and tidy.

Through the patio door they could see a small but very pretty and well-cared-for garden. Mrs Wainwright was bending down weeding a bed of tulips.

Mr Wainwright went out to her. As she straightened up to listen to what her husband was saying, she looked back at the kitchen.

‘She’s a lot older than my mum,’ Dale said in surprise. ‘She looks well over sixty. And they obviously haven’t seen the picture in the paper, or at least don’t believe it’s her, or her dad would have said something.’

Scott didn’t have a chance to reply because the couple were coming indoors. Mrs Wainwright was plump and around five feet four, her face heavily lined and her short hair snow-white. She wore the kind of acrylic slacks and sweater normally associated with much older women, but she had a sprightly step, covering the twenty yards or so very quickly.

‘We’re sorry to interrupt your gardening,’ Dale began. ‘But Scott and I wanted to get in touch with Lotte.’

‘You’ll have a hard job, she’s off on the high seas,’ Mrs Wainwright said.

‘She signed up for another cruise then?’ Dale said in some surprise. Lotte had said she’d never do it again. ‘The one we met on ended last year in March. How much longer after that before she went back?’

‘Back?’ The woman frowned. ‘She left Brighton over two years ago and hasn’t been back since.’

Dale looked at Scott. She didn’t know where to go from there.

‘When we left the cruise ship,’ Scott took over, speaking slowly as if he was thinking carefully before letting the wrong thing slip, ‘she said she was coming back here to you.’

‘I don’t know why she’d tell you that,’ Mrs Wainwright said, turning to the sink to wash her hands. ‘She hasn’t lived here for years. We’ve hardly seen or heard from her since she moved out. The only reason she told us she was going to work on a cruise ship was because she wanted us to store some of her things.’

Scott and Dale looked at each other in concern. They had talked over various possible outcomes of this visit, but they hadn’t for one moment expected such coldness from Lotte’s mother. It was as if she had no interest in her daughter.

‘Do you know where she is right now?’ Scott asked.

‘Haven’t a clue,’ her father said. ‘We had a couple of postcards way back.’ He went over to a noticeboard and removed a card. ‘This one was from San Francisco, she’d just joined the ship then, and the other was from Trinidad. Nothing since.’

‘But she told me she rang you,’ Dale said, remembering Christmas and other occasions when Lotte had said she’d rung home. She also said she spoke to her parents after the rape. ‘Why would she tell me that if it wasn’t true?’

‘She was always a compulsive liar,’ Mrs Wainwright said sharply. ‘I expect she told you her favourite Cinderella story too, that we were mean to her, that no one cares about her. That’s her usual bleat.’

Dale was not only shocked that Mrs Wainwright could tell a complete stranger private family business, she also felt angry that the woman was maligning someone she cared for.

‘Lotte never “bleated” about anything,’ she retorted. ‘But now we’ve met you I’d guess she was ashamed that she had such uncaring parents and never had any intention of coming home to you. If I’d known the situation with you, I would’ve taken her home to my mother.’

‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Mrs Wainwright asked, sticking out her lip. ‘I don’t like your attitude, my girl!’

‘I think I ought to explain we feel especially protective towards Lotte because she was raped in South America,’ Scott said, looking from the wife to the husband. He paused for a couple of seconds, expecting they would gasp with shock. But they didn’t, only stared at him blankly. ‘It was a terrible thing, it shocked everyone on the ship,’ he went on. ‘It happened in broad daylight, the man was a total stranger to her. I take it she didn’t tell you?’

Dale looked at Mrs Wainwright, fully expecting her to burst into tears. But she didn’t, she just stood there in the middle of her kitchen, seemingly as unconcerned as if they’d just told her Lotte had dyed her hair red.

‘She’ll have made that up,’ she said after a second or two’s thought. ‘She always tried to get my attention any way she could.’

‘What?’ Dale exclaimed, unable to believe the woman could say such a thing. ‘Mrs Wainwright, the man was caught in the act! A couple who were guests on the ship heard her screams and ran to her. She was examined by the ship’s doctor who confirmed it. The man hit her, terrified her even before he attacked her. And you think she would make that up?’

To give Mr Wainwright his due, he did look shaken and he took a couple of steps closer to his wife, almost as if seeking her protection. But she just stood there looking at Dale with a cynical expression.

‘Good God, woman! Is your heart made of stone?’ Dale said contemptuously.

‘At least we know now why she didn’t tell you.’ Scott shook his head in disbelief. ‘She knew you’d be like this, didn’t she?’

He looked at them expectantly, hoping for a denial, but none came. ‘Why don’t you care?’ he asked and pointed to the wall in the dining alcove which had at least twenty photographs of Lotte as a little girl. ‘How can you keep all those pictures up there, look at them every day, but not care where she is or what has happened to her?’

‘That isn’t Lotte,’ Mr Wainwright exclaimed indignantly. ‘That’s our Fleur. She was taken from us when she was ten. I can’t imagine why you’d think it was Lotte, Fleur was pretty and so talented.’

Dale’s mouth fell open as it dawned on her what this strange, cold couple were all about.

‘Was Fleur older or younger?’ she asked.

‘Older by four years,’ Mr Wainwright said. ‘It broke our hearts when she died. She was so special, she could dance and sing, she won so many competitions. As pretty as a picture too, smart as new paint, and everyone loved her.’

‘And you were angry that you were left with just Lotte?’ Dale said with sarcastic incredulity.

‘Don’t you take that tone with me, my girl!’ Mrs Wainwright snapped. ‘She could never measure up to her older sister, not in talent, looks or brains.’

‘Excuse me, but Lotte is one of the prettiest, kindest, most hardworking girls I’ve ever met,’ Dale retorted, her voice rising in indignation. ‘She’s a star in her own right. How could you be so cruel as to shut her out?’

‘So she did tell you some tall tales about us then?’ Mrs Wainwright stepped nearer to Dale, her mouth pursed with malice.

‘Oh yes, Mrs Wainwright! She told me some tall tales all right. She portrayed you as loving parents and her childhood idyllic,’ Dale said, sticking her face right up into the older woman’s. ‘My God, I understand now why she couldn’t bear to come home. I wouldn’t either with parents like you.’

Scott pulled the newspaper from his pocket, smoothed it out and shoved it at Mr Wainwright. ‘Is that Lotte?’ he asked.

The man took the paper in both hands and frowned as he looked at it. ‘I don’t know. It’s like her, but then I haven’t seen her for over two years.’

Scott explained curtly what was known about the girl found on the beach. ‘We think it is Lotte, though we hoped you’d be able to say otherwise. So now we must go to the police and tell them.’

Dale hesitated before making for the door. She had had many blazing rows with her own mother, and there had been things said on both sides which weren’t very nice. Dale wanted to believe this was the case with Mrs Wainwright, and that once the enormity of what had happened to Lotte filtered through to her, normal maternal instincts would kick in.

But the older woman’s face remained cold and tense. There was no way she was going to back down and show some emotion.

‘I daresay the police will be right round to see you,’ Scott said. ‘You should of course be heading down to the station to see them, and then on to the hospital to see your daughter. But we’ll tell the police how little you care about her!’

Once outside the house Dale exploded. ‘What evil bastards! I can’t believe anyone could be that unmoved by their daughter’s rape and possible attempted murder. Poor, poor Lotte!’

Scott’s lip trembled with sorrow for Lotte and indignation that anyone could be so callous. ‘You know, I thought it was odd that her parents didn’t come to Southampton to meet her off the ship. That’s what mine would have done if one of my sisters was raped. In fact, I think they would’ve chartered a helicopter to lift her off right after it happened.’

‘My mum asked if Mrs Wainwright had come to the ship,’ Dale said. ‘I kind of glossed over it. I pointed out that Lotte had another month on the ship after the rape, and therefore she was beginning to get over it. Mum said it wasn’t something you got over in a month.’

Down at the police station Dale and Scott were ushered into an interview room with a CID officer. He was a short, wiry man of about forty with thinning brown hair.

Dale got out a couple of photographs of Lotte she’d taken on the cruise, gave them to him and explained that she thought this was the mystery girl found on the beach.

‘There were several calls last night and again this morning from people claiming they knew the identity of the girl,’ the officer said as he studied the pictures. ‘Most had no substance to them, but we have to check them all out. If you’ll bear with me while I take down some details, and if you don’t mind leaving us these other photographs, we’ll look into it.’

The man kept them less than fifteen minutes. All he wanted at this stage of the investigation was to know where they last saw Lotte, their relationship with her, and the names and addresses of any friends or family known to them.

‘We don’t know much about her life before the cruise,’ Dale said sadly, suddenly ashamed she hadn’t asked Lotte more about herself. ‘She is one of those people who would rather listen than talk. She was a hairdresser here in Brighton, but apart from that we know nothing more about her.’

‘Now we know what her parents are like we aren’t surprised she didn’t talk about the past,’ Scott added, giving the officer their address and a brief rundown on how they had reacted. ‘Don’t expect much help from them if this girl on the beach does turn out to be Lotte. They don’t appear to care at all.’

Scott stayed on in Brighton as he had some shopping to do, but Dale caught the next bus back to Marchwood, arriving there just after one. The meeting with the Wainwrights had made her feel very anxious and sad, but she put on her uniform and went straight to the spa.

‘Anyone miss me?’ she asked Rosie who was just finishing off a manicure.

‘No. But I’m glad you got back because you’ve got a facial booked in half an hour’s time,’ Rosie said with a smile. ‘Was the mystery girl your friend?’

‘It looks that way but we won’t know for sure until the police check it out. Tell you everything later,’ Dale said as she opened the appointments book to see what kind of facial her client had booked.

She was putting water into a facial steam bath when Marisa walked into the treatment room.

‘I hope you had a good morning in Brighton,’ she said, her voice taut with spite. ‘Don’t bother with the dentist story, I know it’s not true.’

Dale gulped. ‘OK. I only said that because it was the first thing I thought of. In fact I had to go to the police. You see, I read in the newspaper that there was a mystery girl found on a beach suffering from amnesia, and I think she’s someone I worked with on the cruise ship.’

‘Is that so?’ Marisa said coldly. ‘Wouldn’t a phone call have worked just as well? Or you could have let Scott handle it for both of you? I presume he knew her too?’

‘I suppose I could have done either of those things, but we thought we ought to go and see the girl’s parents first before we contacted the police.’

‘I take a dim view of staff who disappear when my back is turned. I need absolute reliability in the spa.’

‘I wouldn’t have gone if I’d had any bookings,’ Dale said. ‘And I’m sorry I went without your permission. I could make the time up to you by working my day off.’

‘The fact remains that you let me and the whole team down,’ Marisa said.

Dale was prepared to eat a certain amount of humble pie, but she thought this had gone on long enough.

‘With all due respect, Marisa, this girl found on the beach may have survived an attempted murder or abduction,’ she snapped back. ‘I was ninety per cent certain I knew who she was. So I had a duty to inform both her parents and the police. It wasn’t as if I nipped out for something trivial.’

‘You have an unfortunate manner in that you presume you know best about everything,’ Marisa responded, her eyes narrowing. ‘It may very well be your undoing.’

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Dale feeling distinctly uneasy.

The remainder of the day was difficult. Dale was kept busy because there was a wedding at the hotel the next day. Many of the guests on arriving to stay for the weekend and discovering the spa, wanted to have all manner of treatments. Becky the receptionist had booked in two women for inch-loss wraps with Dale, not realizing how long they took. In the end she was forced to run between the two women, while squeezing in a pedicure and a manicure on two others as well.