Little Girl Gone: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Stephen Edger 2018

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Stephen Edger asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008320607

Version: 2018-11-29

For Hannah, Emily, and Ethan, my world

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Epilogue

A Message From Stephen

Keep Reading

Acknowledgements

Also by Stephen Edger

About the Author

About the Publisher

1

The wipers squawked as they battled to keep the windscreen clear.

‘I’m going to be late,’ Alex Granger muttered to herself, as she strained to see through the gap in the condensation rapidly rising in front of her. Glancing down momentarily she switched the blower to full, the sound of the rushing warm air drowning out the radio.

A giggle from the back seat caused Alex to look up at the rear-view mirror. ‘At least you’re happy enough,’ she said, adding a smile as her eyes met the blonde girl grinning back at her.

A car horn sounded from behind, the driver gesticulating that the traffic lights had finally turned green. Raising her hand in acknowledgement, Alex lowered the handbrake and moved forward, looking left and right for the name of the road where the car park was located. And as if her prayers had been answered, she spotted a large blue ‘P’ on the next street sign, and indicated to the right. The driver behind gave a second blast of his horn as he swerved around her.

‘What’s the hurry, arsehole?’ Alex shouted at the window, suddenly realizing that Carol-Anne could hear. Looking back at the reflection of her two-year-old daughter, Alex quickly apologized. ‘Just ignore Mummy’s crazy words.’

Carol-Anne giggled again.

The windscreen still wasn’t clearing, and as Alex spotted the entrance to the car park up ahead, she realized the car’s fans weren’t even aimed at the windscreen. Adjusting the dial, she silently cursed Ray for not putting them back. Her husband had borrowed her car the night before to go to the gym, and she was certain he must have interfered with the way she liked the car to be set up; she’d had to move the seat forward when she first got in that afternoon. She’d remind him when she saw him later, she thought. Right now there were more important things to worry about, like finding a parking space, dropping Carol-Anne at the crèche, and running to her interview. She should have phoned ahead and postponed the interview when traffic had been far heavier than she’d anticipated. It had been the only interview she’d been offered out of the dozen or so jobs she’d applied for in the previous three months, and she hadn’t wanted to make the wrong first impression. Arriving late wouldn’t be a good start though either, she knew.

‘Think positively,’ Alex reminded herself, as she pulled the car through the entrance and began to hunt for a free space.

Carol-Anne giggled and sang away to herself in the back.

‘Tell Mummy if you see an empty space,’ Alex hummed along, as she glanced left and right, completing a full tour of the single-level car park, reaching the exit without luck. She was about to give up when she spotted a yellow umbrella, moving towards one of the cars behind them. Reversing towards the bright glow, Alex lowered the passenger window and called out, ‘Are you going?’

The woman beneath the umbrella looked over and smiled. ‘Yes, in a minute. Do you want my space?’

‘Please, you’re a lifesaver.’ Reversing further to allow enough space for the SUV to pull out, Alex waited for the woman to lower the umbrella, duck into the car and finally drive away.

‘Someone up there must be smiling down on us today,’ Alex mused at Carol-Anne’s reflection; although whoever it was, they could have done something about the weather; arriving looking like a drowned rat wouldn’t help her nail that first impression.

With the SUV finally clear of the space, Alex manoeuvred into it, and killed the engine. ‘Right, that’s the first task complete, now to get a ticket …’ Her words trailed off, as she scanned the car park for the ticket machine, eventually spotting the bright orange machine back over by the entrance. It seemed so far to have to carry Carol-Anne in such horrible weather. There seemed no let-up in the rain sweeping wildly across the car park.

Deciding there was only really one option that would save time and keep Carol-Anne dry, she swivelled round in her seat. ‘Do you think you could be super good for Mummy? I need to go and buy a ticket from that machine over there,’ she said, pointing to where she meant. ‘If I lock the doors, do you think you could sit here really quietly while I go and get it? You’ll have to sit perfectly still so you don’t trigger the alarm. Can you do that for Mummy?’

Carol-Anne blinked back, oblivious to what Alex had asked.

‘No, I can’t do that,’ Alex answered for herself biting her nail. ‘I’ll just have to get you out and bring you with me. It was a stupid idea.’

Turning back, she checked the handbrake was on and ran through the checklist in her mind, before snatching up her handbag from the front seat and reaching for the door handle. But as she prised the door open, a strong gust forced it closed again.

‘Oh, this is just crazy! Does the weather not realize I have a really important interview in twenty – no, correction, eighteen – minutes?’

Her phone bleeped, and the display showed that Ray had sent her a good luck message. He knew how much this opportunity meant to her, and he was doing his best to be supportive, even if he didn’t agree that her returning to work was the best thing for them at this point.

Staring at Carol-Anne’s reflection in the mirror again, she reconsidered her options, before biting the bullet. Removing her purse, she dropped the handbag on the passenger seat, forced her door open and darted into the rain, remote locking the car as she sprinted through the puddles, cursing as the water splashed against her suit trousers.

Was it too late to phone and let them know she was running late? Would they judge her as a poor time-keeper? She’d always been so punctual when she’d worked before giving birth. Ever since Carol-Anne had arrived, she’d found getting anything done on time a struggle. It wasn’t that she’d suddenly become disorganized overnight, there just always seemed to be some kind of hurdle she’d failed to envisage. Like Carol-Anne soiling her nappy the moment they’d got in the car this afternoon, and the mad dash back into the house to change her.

Blinking against the rain, she shielded her eyes as she stared back at her small grey hatchback, tempted to run back and check that none of the hideous outcomes her paranoid mind was picturing had befallen her daughter. And as if to heighten her paranoia, the car’s alarm sounded in a flurry of orange light. Carol-Anne would be terrified by the sudden cacophony. Splashing back a few steps, she killed the alarm with the remote.

Scanning the full car park, she saw there wasn’t a soul in sight, and with time against her, she hurried back to the machine, opening her purse and fishing for change. The rain continued to blind her as she struggled to read the sign and calculate how much she needed, finally dropping three £1 coins into the slot and pressing the green button, forcing herself to look back at the car every few seconds. The orange machine finally whirred and spat out her parking ticket. Snatching it up, she charged back towards the car, relieved to get back in, and take a moment to catch her breath.

‘It is such a minging day,’ she said, finally opening her eyes and wiping rain from her face.

Looking up at the rear-view mirror, the breath caught in her throat.

Spinning around, she stared at the empty child seat, unwilling to believe her own eyes. It had to be some kind of joke. Where the hell was Carol-Anne?

Alex rubbed her eyes, and then dug her freshly polished nails into her skin to wake herself from the sudden nightmare.

The seat remained empty. Turning back to face the front, the ticket machine was barely visible through the rain-soaked windscreen.

This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

Her heart raced, as her mind desperately tried to connect the dots and determine why her daughter was no longer strapped into the chair.

Pushing her door open, Alex stepped back out, no longer noticing the rain as it splashed against her suit and pressed blouse. Still there was no sign of a single person in the car park. She scanned the area for any sudden flash of colour. Was it possible the alarm had frightened Carol-Anne so much that she’d managed to unfasten her belt, get out of her seat and leave the car in search of her Mummy?

It seemed so ridiculous, but what other explanation was there?

Darting to the back of the car, Alex stooped to look beneath it, scouring the floor, only finding puddles where the rainwater had settled. Then stalking along the row, looking in the gaps between the cars, the feeling of dread continued to grow in the pit of her stomach.

‘Carol-Anne? Carol-Anne?’ she called out, hoping that the sound of her terrified voice would find its way to her daughter’s ears.

There was still no sign of Carol-Anne, as she reached the end of the row, and so she turned and sprinted back towards her car, thick raindrops scraping against her cheeks, mixing with the tears that were already flowing uncontrollably.

‘Carol-Anne!’ she screamed at the top of her voice, until her lungs burned.

And as she spun around, desperately hunting for some tiny glimmer – some explanation – her thoughts returned to the car. What if she hadn’t got out? What if she’d been playing a game of hide-and-seek?

Yanking open the rear passenger door, she dived into the back of the car, pushing at the bags on the mats in the footwell, already knowing that she was wasting time, and that her little girl wasn’t there. What was the alternative? Nobody had been near the car.

Had they?

Alex choked down the urge to vomit, her pulse now dangerously high, and the world began to spin around her head.

‘Carol-Anne!’ she screeched at the top of her voice, calling out for the wind to carry her voice to the far edges of the earth.

There wasn’t a soul inside the car park, the only sound that of the rain falling.

Carol-Anne was gone.

2

‘You playing squash tomorrow night, Ray?’

Detective Sergeant Ray Granger looked up at the desk to his right. ‘Not this week, Owen. Shoulder’s still not recovered from the last time.’

‘You pull something?’

Ray ground his teeth to stop himself revealing the real reason he wasn’t going to make squash this week, the same reason his appearances at the fortnightly meet-ups had been so inconsistent for the last few months: the guilt was eating him alive, but he was like a puppy whenever she called him.

Pressing a hand against his right shoulder, Ray made a windmill gesture with his right arm. ‘No idea, mate, it hasn’t been right for a few weeks.’

A glimmer of concern flickered in Owen’s eyes. ‘You seen a doctor about it?’

Ray pulled a face. ‘You kidding? Hard as nails, me.’

Owen smiled and nodded. ‘Of course, I forgot you old-timers think you’re invincible.’

Ray cocked a sceptical eyebrow, knowing his younger colleague was teasing. ‘For one thing, less of the old; I’m only forty. And secondly, just because I don’t panic over every sniffle and self-diagnose a tumour like you wet-nosed graduates, doesn’t mean I think I’m invincible. I guess I just have a better pain threshold than you.’

Owen offered a slight bow out of courtesy, standing and lifting his mug. ‘You want a brew?’

Ray handed over his mug with a nod. ‘Cheers.’

‘No worries. Wouldn’t want you to develop a hernia by moving too quickly.’ Owen grinned, leaping out of the way as Ray pretended to take a swing in his direction.

DC Owen Hargrove was proving to be a decent copper, and his ability to deliver banter and stir shit was second to none in the unit. Leaning back in his chair, Ray observed his own reflection in the tall window next to his desk. Although he still felt like a man in his twenties, his appearance put him at double that age. Hair thinning from the age of nineteen, he’d shaved his head clean at twenty-five, choosing not to waste countless hours of his life worrying about the developing bald patch and ways to cover it. His father had also lost his hair at an early age, so what was the point in fighting against genetics?

Of course the bulging midriff wasn’t something he could blame on his father. Too many processed meals, grabbed on the hop when time allowed, and too many nights spent sinking beer after beer to reduce stress, had taken their toll. It was lucky he wasn’t applying to join the force today, as he’d struggle to meet the fitness requirements.

‘You thinking about making your comeback as a model, Ray?’

Looking up, he spotted the detective inspector hovering over the soundboard. ‘They couldn’t afford me, ma’am.’

‘Underwear, wasn’t it?’ DI Serena Trent laughed slyly.

Ray grinned back at her. ‘That’s right.’ He paused, as he considered her statement. ‘You know I could have you done for sexual harassment for a comment like that, ma’am. I mean, picturing me in my underwear isn’t exactly professional, is it?’ He laughed to show he was kidding.

Trent pulled a disgusted face. ‘I wasn’t picturing you in underwear, but I am now. Eurgh, the image is ingrained on my eyelids. Thanks for that, Ray.’

He chuckled. ‘Always aim to please, ma’am. Did you want me for something?’

Trent regained her composure. ‘Team brief in a few minutes to check where everyone is with their caseloads. Got something big on the horizon and I’ll need all hands on deck. How was your training course last week?’

A week away from home, staying in a hotel with meals on expenses: it had been just what he had needed. The training itself had been less exciting. When he would ever need to use the hostage negotiation techniques was beyond him, but the DI had recommended he go to aid his development. Not that he could see himself climbing the career ladder anytime soon.

‘It was interesting, ma’am. I appreciate you sending me.’

‘I’ll get you to give the rest of the team an overview in the next few weeks. And if any nutcase decides to rob a bank around here and take hostages, you’ll be the first one I call.’

He mock saluted as she moved away from the desk, calling together the rest of the team. Glancing at the framed photograph on the corner of his desk, he suddenly remembered that Alex’s interview was approaching. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he typed a quick message of support and pressed send.

He grabbed the frame and held it tight. He loved this picture: Alex with her shoulderlength brown hair was positively glowing, while Carol-Anne nestled in her arms, as they both relaxed on holiday. He could still remember taking the picture, and how proud he’d been of his little family. It was the day Alex had told him she was expecting their second child. He lowered the frame back to the desk face down; so much had happened in the six months that had passed since then, yet the pain felt just as raw as the day the sonographer had told them she couldn’t trace a heartbeat. Alex had later admitted to fearing something wasn’t right.

Pocketing the phone, Ray locked his workstation and made his way to the group of ten forming a semicircle around the main board. Perching on one of the desks, Owen handed him his mug of tea, as Trent quietened them down.

‘First of all,’ Trent began, standing in front of the board allowing her to make eye contact with each of them, ‘can we welcome back DS Ray Granger from his trip to Hendon? Ray has been learning the Met’s latest negotiation techniques from an instructor who has been working in Asia and the Middle East for the past decade.’

Ray nodded as his colleagues acknowledged his return. It seemed a bit staged, particularly as he’d only been away for a week, but it was Trent’s way of micromanaging her team.

‘So, when it comes round to the annual pay review, I’ll be delegating to Ray to negotiate on my behalf, and I’ll be expecting a bumper pay rise, Ray.’

‘They won’t know what’s hit them, ma’am,’ Ray smiled.

The group laughed.

‘Onto other matters,’ Trent continued, ‘we’ve had a tip-off that a new crew are smuggling counterfeit goods through the docks. The chief super has signed off a two-week surveillance op with overtime available for those who want to be involved. It’ll mean working all hours, with a view to crashing the ring by the end of the month.

‘I’ll be leading the surveillance, and we’ll be working closely with our colleagues in Organised Crime to identify the main players and set up further surveillance on their activities. The potential return on this one could be in the millions, which is why it’s been sanctioned. I want names on the board by the time I finish today so I can coordinate who’s doing what over the next fortnight.’

Ray pressed a hand to his pocket as his phone vibrated.

‘Everything okay, Ray?’ Trent asked.

All eyes fell on Ray as the phone continued to vibrate in his pocket. Trent was a stickler for keeping work and personal lives separate. She acknowledged that her team all had lives outside of the office, though she didn’t like it encroaching on her time.

‘Sorry, ma’am,’ Ray replied, lowering his eyes.

‘Right, where are we with the armed robbery at the post office in Portswood last Friday?’

An arm shot up. ‘CCTV has four masked men making their escape in a Transit from Portswood,’ DS Jodie Crichton explained. ‘Plates are false. We tracked the vehicle as far as the M3 before we lost sight of it. Having spoken to colleagues in Dorset and Berkshire, this could just be the latest in a string of robberies. It has the hallmarks of raids in Swindon, Bournemouth and Reading. The group are heavily armed – four men and a getaway driver – and only hit post offices, focusing primarily on their foreign exchange booths. One stands watch at the main door, keeping a check on the time via a stopwatch around his neck. He seems to be the one in charge. Each time, when it gets to exactly three minutes, he signals and the rest of the group haul tail out of there. They are very efficient from what I can see, using a different van each time, always with false plates, and always abandoned and torched with no DNA or fingerprints discovered at any of the wrecks or crime scenes.’

‘Do the other teams have any idea who the group are?’ Trent asked.

Crichton shook her head. ‘None, ma’am. The group are masked in all of the footage from the post offices.’

The phone was vibrating again, and this time Ray pulled it out and dropped it into the drawer of the desk he was sitting on.

Trent fired a look at him, before turning back to Jodie. ‘What about MOs of other crews?’

‘Still checking for similarities. I’ll keep you posted.’

‘Ray, you’ve got some free time on your hands. I want you to work with Jodie on this. Okay?’