She stopped and took a deep breath, swallowed hard. When she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. âI got a letter telling me that sheâd gone missing.â
âWhat happened?â
âShe vanished, simple as that. According to her foster parents, she went out one night and never came home. They were upset, obviously, but since she was eighteen the police werenât interested and that was that.â She picked up the cigarette packet, then dropped it back on to the table. The whisper had darkened. âSocial Services said they thought Iâd like to know. Thought Iâd like to know . Can you believe that?â
âIf she went missing last August,â Thorne said, âthat was only a few months before you received the first photograph.â
âShe didnât go missing. She was taken .â
âDonât you think the two things might be connected?â
If Donna heard the question, she showed no sign of it. She just stared at Thorne, her breathing heavy and her eyes filling as she reached for her cigarettes yet again, turned the packet over and over in her hands. âI need her back,â she said. âI was taken from her. Now sheâs been taken from me.â She looked at Thorne. âCan you find her?â
Thorne could not hold the look. He dropped his eyes to the tabletop, to the changing face of Ellie Langford.
âCan you?â
An eighteen-year-old girl, gone. Missing.
Another one.
The phone buzzed in Thorneâs jacket pocket and he stood up quickly. He saw that it was DS Dave Holland calling, told Donna he needed to take it, and stepped into the corridor.
âItâs Chambers,â Holland said. âItâs not good news.â
âOh, Jesus.â
âBastardâs on TV right now.â
Thorne walked back into the living room and asked Donna if she would mind turning on her television.
It was actually the bastardâs solicitor doing all the talking, posing on the steps outside the Old Bailey and issuing a statement on his clientâs behalf because âMr Chambersâ was âtoo overcome to speakâ. Family and friends were thanked, as were those who continued to believe in his client and to have faith in a just outcome. Chambers himself stood a few feet behind and to the right. He kept his head down, nodding in agreement, looking up only once to wave at the rank of photographers who were shouting his name.
He smiled shyly. Heâd already taken off his tie.
Kate had appeared in the doorway behind Thorne. âHe definitely did it,â she said, nodding towards the TV. âI said that right from the start, didnât I, Don? He killed that poor girl and hid her somewhere. Look at him, you can see it.â
âYou canât see anything,â Donna said. âYou can never tell.â She shook her head. âNot everythingâs what it seems, is it? I mean, I thought Alan was dead.â
âThanks for the tea,â Thorne said.
SIX
Unexpectedly running into his chief superintendent could provoke a wide range of emotions in Tom Thorne. Revulsion, horror and fury were among the most common. But seeing him with his feet under Russell Brigstockeâs desk, today of all days, caused Thorne to feel nothing but a wash of bog-standard bemusement.
Thorne was spotted hovering in the doorway, beckoned into the office and instructed to close the door.
As a man who normally kept well away on days such as this one, blithely wafting the stink of failure in the direction of others, Trevor Jesmond was the last person Thorne expected to see. Had the Chambers result gone the other way, of course, it would have been a different story. Jesmond would have been the first one cracking open the supermarket Cava and saying his finely honed piece to all and sundry.
Failure, though, did not touch the likes of Trevor Jesmond. Not in any sense.
Thorne walked towards the desk, nodding to Brigstocke, who was
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