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He tried more of her friends. Everyone he could think of. Chrissie – in Nottingham, but still possibly in possession of some useful information – Jeffrey, Oscar, Fern, Meg, Jessie. They always knew what the rest of them were up to.
Except now. None of them knew anything.
He stood with the receiver in his hand. If she wasn’t with a friend, then where was she? Images of bodies in ditches or on hospital trolleys came unbidden. He forced them away. That wasn’t it. There was another explanation, a reason she had said she was going to Anne’s and then not shown up, a reason she had not told anyone where she was.
And he thought he might know what it was. Maybe Kevin’s fears were justified.
She had a new boyfriend. Probably older, probably unsuitable – which was why she hadn’t told him and Sandra. And she didn’t want Kevin to find out, which was why she hadn’t told her friends.
Apart from Chrissie. She told Chrissie everything.
He dialled Chrissie’s number again.
‘Sorry to call again, Chrissie,’ he said. ‘There’s one other thing I wanted to ask you.’
‘That’s OK, Mr Cooper. Whatever you want.’
‘I know you said you don’t know where Maggie is, but is there anything I should know? Maybe she told you something and asked you not to tell me and her mum, but if she did, now is a good time to say so.’
‘No,’ Chrissie said. ‘There’s nothing.’
‘Are you sure, Chrissie? Maybe a new boyfriend she wants to keep secret?’
‘I promise, Mr Cooper,’ Chrissie said. ‘I promise there’s nothing.’
She sounded – as far as he could tell – as though she was telling the truth.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘If anything comes to mind, or if you hear from her, call me. Anytime.’
4 (#ulink_a5db36c7-10b6-5533-a65b-fcd1802a6cd2)
She did not call back. No one did. By ten p.m., Sandra was as worried as him.
They sat at the kitchen table. Sandra had a mug of tea; Martin still couldn’t stomach anything. He was sure, now, that something was seriously wrong.
‘Where the fucking hell is she?’ he said. He rarely swore; even now the words felt out of place in his mouth. ‘I don’t understand what she’s playing at.’
‘Me neither,’ Sandra said. ‘But when she does get home she’s going to be in so much trouble she won’t know which way is up for a month. She can’t do this kind of thing.’
‘What if something’s happened to her?’ Martin said. ‘I can’t stop picturing—’
‘She’s fine,’ Sandra said. ‘Don’t think like that. I did this kind of thing when I was her age. It doesn’t make it any better, but this is what teenage girls do. She’ll be in the park, drinking and smoking. Or with another boy. She’s fifteen.’
‘I didn’t do this,’ Martin said. ‘I think there’s a problem, Sandy, I really do.’
‘You were a good boy,’ Sandra replied. ‘That’s why I married you. It looks like she has some of me in her. That’s all it is.’
‘Maybe,’ Martin said. ‘Maybe.’
5 (#ulink_6027e81b-4522-5a5b-ab21-ea431376af54)
At eleven, Martin walked out to his car. He couldn’t stay in the house, waiting, doing nothing, any longer. He had to go and find his little girl.
He decided to start at the park. He pulled up at the entrance and walked through the gates. From somewhere in the darkness he heard talking, and saw the red glow of cigarette tips. He headed towards them.
It was a group of four or five teenagers, boys and girls, all a year or two older than Maggie. They were smoking, bottles dangling from their hands.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
They turned to look at him, their voices falling silent.
‘Yeah?’ one of the boys said. ‘What?’
‘I was wondering if you’d seen my daughter?’
‘Maybe,’ the boy replied. ‘Who is she?’
‘Maggie. Maggie Cooper.’
The name drew blank looks.
‘I haven’t,’ the boy said. ‘I don’t know her. Any of youse seen her?’
One of the girls stepped forward. She looked younger than the others. ‘I know Maggie,’ she said. Her voice was slurred. ‘We have English together.’
‘Have you seen her?’
The girl shook her head. ‘No. I mean, I seen her at school, but not out.’
‘Do you know where she might be? Are there other places kids hang out?’
The girl looked at her friends and shrugged. ‘In town, maybe. Some kids go to the pubs.’
‘She’s a bit young for that.’
One of the boys laughed. ‘Yeah, mate. They let anyone in, especially girls. They want them in.’
Martin didn’t ask for what. He didn’t need to.
‘Which pub is most likely?’ he said.
‘Could be any.’ The boy sniffed. ‘You’ll have to try them all.’
‘OK,’ Martin said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Is she OK?’ the girl asked.
For a moment, Martin didn’t reply. ‘I hope so,’ he said, eventually. ‘I hope so.’
In the car he checked his phone. There were no missed calls, no text messages from Sandra announcing Maggie’s’ return.
It was 23.34. Nearly midnight.
He’d had enough. The best case was she was outside a pub or waiting for a taxi or with some older boyfriend. The worst case was unthinkable.
It was time to call the police.
Twelve Years Earlier, 7 July 2006: Evening (#ulink_035c9c99-35a1-57ff-a7ee-120c4be3a2bf)
1 (#ulink_0d4dd5a0-f30b-5121-bf08-27ce8c013173)
Maggie sat on the bed, legs crossed, arms folded, her fingers stroking the smooth skin of her forearm. The light next to the bed was switched on; she had turned it off but there was no other source of light in the room and the darkness was absolute. There was sweat on her back and forehead; although it was not warm in the room she had, for what felt like an age, screamed and shouted and thrown herself against the door in a desperate – and useless – attempt to find a way out.
She was calmer now, but the panic was there, just under the surface.
Because she knew now there was no way out of the room.
There was no way out of the room.
There was no way out of the room.
And there was no one answering her cries. Was that his plan? To starve her to death in here? No – it couldn’t be. There had to be more to it than that.
The man who looked like a geography teacher – she didn’t know why she chose geography, it could have been one of many subjects, but that was the one that had come to her – had done this for a reason. He’d gone to too much effort for it to be otherwise.
Now she was calmer, the room was silent. It was a kind of silence she had never experienced before. At home, even in the dead of night, there were sounds: plumbing gurgling, floorboards creaking, cars passing by.
But in here: nothing. It felt heavy and dead.
Total, deafening silence.
The smell of vomit.
And then she heard a noise. It came from somewhere behind the door. It was a kind of scraping, like a stone being moved or the brakes of a large truck being hit hard.
A door of some kind being opened, maybe.
She held her breath. The scraping noise stopped, then came again.
The stone being put back. The door being closed.
And then a footstep, right outside the door to the room.
And then the handle turning.
2 (#ulink_43e2e2ba-196a-5af7-871f-e591a19ffa4f)
At first she didn’t recognize him.
She’d been expecting a man in grey trousers and a scruffy shirt, but he was wearing a blue towelling bathrobe. It had a faded insignia on it – some kind of animal – and was tied tight at the waist. He was wearing socks with snowflakes on them – given, perhaps, by a grandchild – and a pair of dark green slippers.
He was tall and heavily built, but looked soft, his muscles slack and fleshy. There was a sheen to the skin on his face that made him look almost like he was made of wax.
In his hands he held a tray. There was a plate of food and a glass of milk on it. He put it on the floor, then locked the door with a key he kept on a chain around his wrist. She made a note of that.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Something to eat.’
His voice was halting, the words coming in bursts. Something – pause – to eat. It was as though he didn’t get much practice speaking.
Maggie looked at the plate. There were some kind of fried potatoes and a few stalks of boiled broccoli, along with some fish fingers. Fish fingers! How old did he think she was? Six?
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. ‘I want to go home.’
He stared at her for a while, his mouth settling into a look of resigned disappointment.
‘I thought you might say that,’ he replied. ‘That’s not going to’ – another pause, followed by a rush of words – ‘be possible, I’m afraid.’ He smiled, his gums pink and fleshy. ‘Sorry, my darling.’
Maggie’s skin prickled. ‘You can’t keep me here,’ she said. ‘Let me go.’
He shook his head.
She clenched her fists. ‘Let me go!’ she shouted. ‘You have to let me go!’
‘I don’t have to do anything,’ he said. ‘Not any more. Not now.’
‘My mum will find me,’ Maggie said. ‘My mum and dad will come and find me so you might as well let me leave now. If you let me go I won’t tell anyone what you did.’
‘I’m touched by your faith in your parents,’ the man said. ‘But I don’t think you’re right. There’s no way she will be able to find you here. No one will. I’ve put a lot of thought – and effort – into this.’ He made a sweeping gesture, indicating the room around them. ‘It’s totally hidden. I made sure of that.’
He spoke in a serious, quiet voice. Maggie fought the urge to scream.
‘What do you want?’ Maggie said. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘I don’t want anything from you,’ the man replied. ‘What would I want from you? I want to help you.’
‘Help me?’ Maggie shook her head. ‘This isn’t helping me,’ she said. ‘This is the opposite of helping me.’
‘No,’ the man said. ‘You say that because you don’t understand. This is what you need. I’m giving you what you need.’
His pink, gummy smile came again. He looked at her, his eyes lidded. He was trying to be seductive, she realized. She shuddered.
The panic came closer to the surface. Her vision blurred. She took a deep breath. It was a struggle to retain what little control of herself she had left.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand. How is this what I need?’
‘Because this will keep you safe,’ the man said. ‘That’s all I want. To keep you safe.’
It was the worst possible situation. He thought he was doing the right thing, and people who thought that were nearly impossible to convince they were wrong, especially when they were crazy.
