The Lost Girl (Brennan and Esposito) (10 page)

S
he had thought she was immune to flattery. She was wrong.
 

He was older than her. Obviously. And he knew a few of the girls at the home. Came to pick them up, take them out. She could guess what they were getting up to. And she was jealous. Just a bit. No. Not jealous. That wasn’t right. Curious. That was a better word.
 

Sex was something she hadn’t tried. Hadn’t even had much of a desire to try. She was happy with her studies and the way the other kids treated her. With respect. Or rather fear. But for sex she didn’t have any feelings that way at all. And it didn’t bother her. If she was meant to have them, or going to have them then she would. But she knew about it. They all did. Some of the older girls, leaving the home and trying to get a place at the YMCA already had kids of their own, or they were on the way. Some had contracted STIs. All of them claimed to know everything there was to know about it, from the best way to orgasm to the most perverted way to do it. Their talk made her curious, nothing else. Especially because she didn’t believe the girls knew what they were talking about. But it was something else to learn, to experience. So when this older boy started paying attention to her, her curiosity was piqued.
 

He had a car. He would pull up outside the home and she would watch him letting out one of the girls. Or a couple of them, sometimes. They always smiled, looked a bit lost, stumbled as they walked. Drunk. She could tell that. Or on some drug. And they were dressed in short skirts and high heels, neither of which they could walk in. Michael, who was running the centre, always said the same thing to them as they came back in.
 

Told you not to go with them, they’re bad news.
 

Shut up, Michael, one of them would say, you’re just jealous.
 

Not up to me what you do, just be careful. But she could tell his heart wasn’t in the words. She could tell he didn’t really care one way or the other what they got up to.
 

But these girls all had money. And new clothes. And presents from their boyfriends. So they told Michael where he could stick his concern.
 

And then one day, one of those girls came up to her.
 

Tel fancies you, she said.
 

They were sitting in the TV room. Hollyoaks was on. For some reason most of the kids liked it. She didn’t. But she pretended to so they wouldn’t think she was weird.
 

Who’s Tel?
 

In the car. And Dev. He said he likes you an’ all.
 

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she said nothing.
 

The other girl, Ellis, stepped it up. So d’you wanna come out with us? He’s comin’ round later.
 

This was her chance, she thought. To satisfy her curiosity. See what it was all about.
 

OK, she said.
 

Ellis sat back, looked at her funny. That wasn’t the response she had been expecting. But then this kid was a weird one. Fine. Let you know when he’s here.
 

The car was low on the road with a noisy engine, big wheels and tinted windows. Ellis seemed impressed by this so she pretended to be as well.
 

She got in the front seat, Ellis and Dev in the back. Tel was driving. He wasn’t particularly handsome. But he seemed to find her attractive, judging by the way his eyes travelled all over her, looking down her top as well.
 

What’s your name, then?
 

She told him.
 

Good, good. Here. Have some a’this.
 

He handed her a bottle with clear liquid in it. Vodka.
 

No thanks.
 

He laughed. Go on, you’ll like it.
 

She took it, took a sip. It burnt. She coughed. The others laughed at her.
 

Got to get used to it, ain’t you?
 

She took another sip, a larger one this time. Didn’t cough. Held it down.
 

Good girl, said Tel. Let’s get going.
 

Where? she asked.
 

You’ll see.
 

They drove off.
 

The music was as loud as the car. Behind her, Ellis and Dev were touching each other in between swigs of vodka. Tel laughed. Fancy a bit o’that?
 

She shrugged. It didn’t look that exciting.
 

Dev passed round a joint. Again it made her cough. Again they laughed. Again she silenced the laughter on the second attempt.
 

Here we are, then, said Tel, pulling the car up in front of a large house. It looked a bit like the children’s home but more anonymous. Cars were parked in front of it. Lights were on inside.
 

Come on, then, said Tel.
 

They got out. Went to the front door. It was opened by a well-dressed man. He looked Tel over, then at her and the others. Told them to come in.
 

They entered.
 

The house was more stylish and opulent than the home. Whoever lived here had money. There were men, all older, some very old, in the front room. There were girls about her age with them. Some boys, too. They all looked interested at the young arrivals. One came up and stood in front of her.
 

This her? The new one?
 

Tel nodded.
 

Never been touched? Guaranteed?
 

Guaranteed. Tel stood there as if waiting for something.
 

We’ll sort it later, said the man. He turned to her once more, smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. Hello there, what’s your name?
 

She told him.
 

Very pretty. Come along, my pretty thing. Let’s get going.
 

He grabbed her arm, pulled her away.
 

She turned round, frightened now, trying to twist away. Looked at Ellis for an explanation.
 

Who just laughed. Sorry, she said. If I didn’t bring you it was going to be me. And I ain’t up for that again. Have fun. She waved and laughed again.
 

The man dragged her away. Her heart was beating fast, too fast. Faster than it had done since all those years ago at that not safe safe house. This was one of the men. It had to be. Or someone like him.
 

Please
…
stop
…
 

But he didn’t.
 

You going to beg? Oh good. I like it when they do that.
 

Terror. That was what she was feeling. Pure, stark terror.
 

The man kept talking, telling her what he was going to do to her but all she could hear was a voice, asking her to count to a hundred. Can you do that?
 

He dragged her to a room. Slammed the door shut and started to undress. Then he turned to her.
 

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t curious any more. She just wanted this to stop. All of it. She tried to think of something happy. Thought only of the Wignalls. Was that it? Was that happiness? She tried again. Snow angels.
 

And that just made her angry.
 

But she didn’t have time to think about that because the man had forced her down in front of him and was pushing her head towards him.
 

Go on
…
that’s it
…
you little slut
…
go on
…
 

And then she couldn’t breathe. This horrible, stinking hard thing in her mouth. And he was pushing her, pushing her
…
up and down, up and down
…
and she couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t think and was starting to gag
…
 

Snow angels.
 

That’s what was in her mind once more.
 

Snow angels.
 

And anger.
 

For all those times she had thought of what happened. All the times she imagined it coming out differently.
 

Count to a hundred. Can you do that?
 

And she had. But she had heard those words and counted to a hundred more times than she could remember over the years. And sometimes something different happened. Sometimes someone burst in and saved them. Sometimes it was her parents, sometimes it was her brother. Sometimes it was her. Those were the times that it hurt the most. The ones when she had fought back, jumped up and grabbed the gun, started shooting. Killing them, saving her parents, her brother. Those were the ones that hurt the most. Because she hadn’t done that. Hadn’t fought back.
 

But here she was. With a chance.
 

Anything can be a weapon. She had read that in a book, seen it in a film. Anything. And what did she have? Herself.
 

The man was groaning and sweating, pushing her head harder, his hands rougher. Faster. And that was when she did it. Used her weapon.
 

Bit down as hard as she could.
 

The man screamed. She kept biting. He screamed some more. Tried to pull away from her. She held on to him. Snarling. Growling. Not letting go.
 

Eventually others came running to the room and managed to get her away from him. The man was led screaming and crying from the room. She never saw him again.
 

She looked up at the others, staring down at her. There was Tel and Dev. And Ellis too. All staring at her in horror. In fear. And she loved it. Because this was the last time she would be someone else’s victim.
 

Ever.
 

Ellis had kept her distance after that. Word had gone round once more that she had done something scary and the rest kept their distance too.
 

They had wanted to punish her. Teach her a lesson in some way. But all of them, staring down at the half-dressed child, mouth and chin covered in dripping blood, hadn’t known what to do. So they had sent her back to the home.
 

And as the time passed she watched. Ellis took other girls away. Plenty. And yes, they got presents and nice clothes and all of that. But she noticed something different about them. Like a light had gone out in their eyes. They drank. They took drugs. Trying to fill that hole inside them that the men had hollowed out. They disappeared, never heard from again. One of them killed herself. Several others tried. And she knew what they all were.
 

Victims.
 

That wasn’t going to happen to her. Oh no. She kept telling herself that. Never. Never.
 

But still, the car kept arriving and the girls kept going. And it was a constant reminder to her of what had happened. Of how scared she had been. The ghost-like victim girls drifted around the home, haunting her memories. And she couldn’t have that. So she decided to do something about it. Nightmares had to be faced. So she would confront this one head on.
 

One night she heard the car outside. Ellis got up, ready to go. She stopped her.
 

I’ll take over now, she said.
 

Ellis stared at her. What d’you mean?
 

My job. I find the girls. I bring them over. I take a cut.
 

Ellis stared at her, terrified. She wanted to say something, assert her authority once more, but the look of steel in her eyes stopped her.
 

She walked out to the car. Tel saw her coming, looked as scared as Ellis had.
 

I’m taking over from Ellis. I’ll supply the girls. You get paid, right?
 

Yeah
…
 

And now I do. You’re just the driver. I do the work. We split the money.
 

They won’t like it
…
 

Let’s ask them.
 

But Tel didn’t want to do that. And he was so scared he agreed.
 

And that was that.
 

It was a good arrangement. She made money. She had to pay off Michael at the home like Ellis had done, as she had suspected, for turning a blind eye to what was going on but that was OK. And the girls became victims, not her.
 

And everybody was happy.
 

Until she met a girl called Fiona.
 

M
arina stared out of the window. It was clean, a double-glazed unit in a uPVC replacement frame. The view: a railway line, an industrial estate and beyond that a road. In the middle of all that, on a patch of reclaimed brownfield land, had been built a relatively recent housing development, all small orange boxes, and adjacent to that were the beginnings of a shed-based retail park. It still looked like somewhere Marina wouldn’t want to live. She couldn’t imagine anyone would look forward to coming home there.

‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’ said a voice behind her. ‘It’s the view that sells it.’

Marina turned. Caitlin Hennessey, the current manager of the children’s home, was behind her. Tall, her blonde hair artfully mussed, dressed in various combinations of florals, denim and wool with a pair of brightly coloured, neo-designer DM boots on her feet. Just what Marina would have imagined. But she also displayed a core of compassionate steel and a no-nonsense protective attitude. Not what Marina would have imagined this time but, given what she did for a living, what she would have hoped to see.

‘I’m sure it’s always the first consideration in council-run homes,’ said Marina, smiling.

Caitlin nodded. ‘Of course. And then they make sure there’s no expense spared in providing for the kids we have to look after.’

After the abortive and, if she was honest, heartbreaking call to Anni, Marina had called Rainsford House, the children’s home on the outskirts of Chelmsford in Essex where Fiona Welch had spent the majority of her adolescence growing up, and got straight through to the manager, Caitlin. After explaining who she was and what she wanted, Caitlin had said it would be better to talk face to face rather than on the phone and was she anywhere nearby? Marina said she would be there as quickly as she could.

So, deciding not to check in with Cotter, fearing her response if she knew what she was about to do, she had phoned her work colleague and friend Joy, asked her to pick up Josephina from school, and drove straight from Birmingham to Chelmsford.

She had felt guilty at leaving her daughter with friends, no matter how reliable and trustworthy they were. She had given her word to Josephina that everything was going to be all right and while she was sure she wasn’t the first adult to tell that lie to her own child, it didn’t make it any easier to bear. Josephina had yet to discover her father was missing. Another confrontation she was dreading.

The car journey there had been full of such thoughts. Guilt had lain oppressively on her. Not just Josephina but also Anni. She should have realised how traumatised her friend still was, still grieving over Mickey. The last person she should have asked for help. Especially without giving anything in return. All she had thought about was Phil. Finding him. Getting him back safely. And then: neutralising this woman once and for all. In whichever way possible.

She had turned the radio up as loud as she could bear it in the car, tried to let the aural wallpaper of Radio 2 wash away her guilt, compartmentalise her feelings. She could feel hurt later. She had work to do.

It was now dark. The light from the room reflecting on the glass, turning it into a mirror, letting Marina see her frazzled reflection. Professional, she thought. Look and act professional.

The room had four beds, each placed at corners, all trying to give the impression of individuality and personal space. Different coloured duvets, a small set of shelves adjacent to each bed personalised by the owner’s own belongings, a cheap self-assembly wardrobe.

‘We try and provide a home,’ said Caitlin, sensing what Marina was thinking. ‘Or at least a safe and happy environment. The kids come to us for all different reasons. Parents can’t cope, parents in prison, no parents… all sorts. We don’t generalise. We do what we’re meant to do, by law and inclination.’

‘Looks like you’re doing a good job.’

‘We try.’ Caitlin gave a wry smile. Marina knew that wry needed only two letters to become weary.

‘So,’ said Marina, putting her back on track, ‘Fiona Welch.’

‘Yes,’ said Caitlin. She looked at Marina, scrutinising her. ‘What did you say this was concerning? And which police force are you with?’

‘West Midlands,’ she said. ‘And I’m not an officer; I’m a consulting psychologist working on an investigation. I can give you the name of the DCI in charge if you’d like to check.’

‘You already did on the phone. And I’ve already checked.’

Shit
. Marina held her breath.

Caitlin smiled. ‘DCI Cotter said that given the nature of the investigation she wasn’t surprised that you were on the way to see me.’

Marina breathed out. ‘That’s good of her.’

‘Now, shall we go to my office?’

They did so, walking through the rest of the home as they went. Marina was impressed by how Caitlin was running it. It had a good feel to the place: the staff and residents seemingly getting along fine. They had taken this forbidding old house on the edge of Chelmsford and turned it into somewhere less imposing, more welcoming. She could see the children were well looked after and cared for. They behaved just like regular teenagers. But Marina knew from experience how much of that was bravado. She tried to imagine Phil in a place like this. Couldn’t.

They reached the office and Caitlin made them comfortable. One of the teenage boys was given the job of making tea for the pair of them.

‘This should be an adventure,’ said Caitlin.

The tea arrived eventually and the door closed.

‘Fiona Welch,’ said Caitlin.

‘Yes,’ said Marina. ‘She was here… when? Late nineties?’

‘Round about then. I don’t have her exact details to hand. I could get them sent on to you.’

‘But you remember her?’

‘I remember the case, obviously. The news. Doorstepped by the tabloids. Not an experience I want to repeat.’

‘Quite,’ said Marina.

‘And I also remember because of what happened while she was here.’

‘What did happen?’

Caitlin paused. ‘You have to remember something. Each and every generation and the theories and practices of that generation tend to come as a reaction against the previous one.’

‘Same in my line.’

Caitlin nodded. ‘Right. But I’m not saying everything done then was wrong and everything we do now is right. There’s good and bad in both. And that’s what makes – or should make – good practice.’

‘So what happened here then that was so bad?’

‘This place used to be badly run. Very badly run. The Dark Ages, we call it now. At around the time Fiona Welch was here the management was lax. Drugs were allowed on the premises. As was alcohol. As was sex. Now we know that sometimes happens, all these teenagers with raging hormones, course it does. And we have to try and legislate for that as realistically and honestly as possible. But there were people here, in charge, who weren’t always as stringent as that.’

Marina felt a sense of dread at what was coming but still had to ask the question. ‘How d’you mean?’

Caitlin looked at her, her eyes weighing up what to say. Eventually she continued. ‘All I can tell you is what’s a matter of public record. If you’re in a hurry it may speed things up. Otherwise you’ll need to come back with a court order. Sorry, but that’s the way it has to be. I have my position and this home to protect.’

It was less than Marina had hoped for but about what she had expected. She nodded.

‘Right. You know all those old scandals about children’s homes? Letting pimps prey on the most vulnerable? Renting the kids out to rich paedophiles? All those tabloid headlines.’

Marina nodded.

‘Well, it pains me to say it, but this was one of the worst. When Fiona Welch was here. She was right in the thick of it.’

‘Oh,’ said Marina, sitting back. ‘She was one of the victims?’

A smile crept across Caitlin’s features.

‘Not quite.’