Behind Closed Doors Read online

  Since taking off into the blue beyond either to punish or to escape parents wasn’t unheard-of behaviour for girls of that age, Andee kept her personal feelings in check as she said, ‘Some kind of upset at home?’

  ‘Things have been a bit tense lately, according to the stepmother.’

  Stepmother. It was a sad truth that steps always rang alarm bells, in spite of the fact that they could often be the best of all parents. ‘What about the father?’ she asked. ‘Is he around?’

  ‘Yes. He’s blaming himself, says he should have taken more notice of how unhappy she was.’

  Yes, he probably should. ‘What did you think of him?’

  Barry shrugged. ‘He seems a regular sort of bloke, worried out of his mind . . . They both are.’

  If the father turned out to be on the level Andee knew she’d have all the time in the world for him. She always had time for fathers who cared. The father of her children cared a lot, about them, if not about her, but that was behind her now, she was moving on. ‘How long’s she been gone?’ she asked.

  Clearly expecting the question, he said, ‘They think about a week.’

  Andee’s eyebrows rose. ‘So not that worried,’ she commented drily.

  ‘Apparently the stepmother thought she’d gone with her father – he’s a long-distance lorry driver, and was away most of last week. And he thought she was at home.’

  ‘Didn’t they speak to one another during that time? It surely didn’t take an entire week for them to realise the girl wasn’t with either of them.’

  ‘No, but when it did become apparent they assumed she was hiding out at a friend’s house to try and put the wind up them, so the stepmother tried to find her. Then the father received a couple of texts from the girl telling him to stop looking.’

  Andee’s eyes narrowed. ‘When was that?’

  ‘He received the first one last Wednesday, just after the stepmother turned up at the best friend’s house to see if she was there. It seems reasonable to assume this visit prompted the text, although the friend is swearing she doesn’t know where Sophie is.’

  No surprise there.

  ‘The second text,’ Barry continued, ‘was sent the next day. In it she’s claiming to be with friends he doesn’t know, so he might as well stop looking because he’ll never find her.’

  Imagining how well that had gone down, Andee said, ‘So what prompted them to get in touch with the police now, rather than straight after receiving that text?’

  ‘Apparently they kept calling her and sending messages, certain she’d give in eventually and tell them where she was, but she hasn’t. The father got home last night, half expecting her to turn up once she knew he was back, but still no sign of her and no more texts.’

  Andee sat with it for a moment. ‘Do they know exactly when she disappeared?’ she asked.

  ‘They can’t put a precise time on it, but it was last Sunday night.’

  Andee checked her watch again. She ought to be back at her desk by now, and as if acting as a reminder her boss, Terence Gould – Terry’s All Gold as most of her colleagues called him – put his head round the door. He was a good-looking man in a severe sort of way, with a gaze that seemed to cut straight through a person’s defences and a bark that could be every bit as fierce as his bite. Though his demotion from a higher rank had happened before Andee’s time she knew all about it, everyone did, and no one considered it deserved.

  ‘Am I getting an update on these robberies this afternoon?’ he enquired, his flinty eyes fixed on Andee.

  ‘I’m on it,’ she assured him.

  ‘Three o’clock, my office.’

  As he left Barry murmured, ‘You know he’s got the hots for you, don’t you?’

  Pretending not to hear, Andee said, ‘So your girl – Sophie, was it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m guessing the Force Incident Manager isn’t ranking this any higher than medium risk.’

  ‘Correct. No sign of foul play, no history of abuse in the family – although that’s still being checked.’

  ‘Has she ever run off before?’

  ‘Apparently not for more than a few hours.’

  ‘What did your instincts tell you about the parents?’

  He inhaled slowly. ‘They seem pretty much on the level, but I’m still worried. A week’s a long time and if it drags on . . .’

  ‘If it does it’ll be recategorised as high risk and you’ll get all the backup you need. For the time being I’m guessing you’ve got the door-to-door inquiries under way?’

  He nodded. ‘Of course. I’m just about to go back there.’

  Andee picked up her bag. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  He hesitated.

  Knowing what was on his mind, she said, ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘But Andee, with your history . . .’

  ‘Why don’t you let me worry about that? All you have to do is talk me through it again as we walk down to the car.’

  Twenty minutes later Andee was at the wheel of her Ford Focus following Barry’s patrol car through the Waverley housing estate, heading for the caravan parks that cluttered the sandy coastline like an unruly crowd with nowhere to go. As she often did when progress was slow, she surveyed her surroundings and reflected to herself how like a library the world was. Each house, office, shop, trailer, car, just about everything, had a door, and behind that door, much like inside the covers of a book, lay a story or indeed, many stories. They could be sad or joyful; embarrassing, shameful, shocking or downright scary. There were weird ones, tall ones, short ones, incredible, full-on intriguing, silly, horrific, heartbreaking and sometimes desperately tragic.

  More often than not she found herself involved in the latter few.

  Flipping down the sun visor as they turned on to Wermers Road, home to Kesterly-on-Sea’s edge-of-town retail superstores, she ignored the fact that she was supposed to be investigating a series of robberies here, and turned her thoughts to Sophie Monroe instead. She began painting a happy picture for herself of how this chapter of Sophie’s story was going to end. Wherever she was hiding she’d soon get lonely, hungry, cold, frightened, and make contact with her parents. They’d then go to pick her up from wherever she was and all would be forgiven and if not forgotten, then at least put aside for the time being as they all tried again.

  This was the denouement Andee and her colleagues most frequently encountered when it came to teenage runaways, though Andee was personally and painfully aware that not all families were quite so lucky when a child disappeared.

  Hers was amongst those who’d not been blessed.

  Perryman’s Cove, known locally as Paradise Cove, or simply the Cove, was an area of Kesterly-on-Sea she hadn’t visited since she was a child, and by the look of it, as they approached through Waverley, it hadn’t changed all that much. Perhaps a few dozen more houses on the surrounding estate, most sprouting satellite dishes like some sort of fungal outbreak, or signs proclaiming themselves B & Bs, or Guest Houses, or Family Run Hotels with Sea Views.

  Sea views, from here? Give her a break! OK if you happened to be a seagull, or a pilot, or zoning in via Google Earth, but in these parts you were lucky to spot the sea from the beach, never mind from a mile inland.

  Taking a right turn at Giddings roundabout she kept behind Barry as they inched with the traffic through a tangle of scrubland and copses, past the Fisherman’s Arms and Albert’s donkey retreat, until they were plunging into the coast’s glittering, flashing, throbbing mayhem of a holiday resort.

  Kesterly’s answer to Vegas.

  She smiled inwardly as a wave of nostalgia swept her straight back to her childhood. Though she hadn’t come here often, four or five times maybe, and never to stay in one of the caravan parks (worse luck), the sudden thrust back in time to those heady, hot summer days was having quite an effect on her. It was suddenly all too easy to remember how she, her sister Penny and cousin Frank used to steal out of their grandparents’ house, up on the head
land, and cycle full speed down to the grassy sand dunes of the Cove where they’d abandon their bikes, never thinking for a minute they might be stolen (and they never were). Once in the Cove they hardly knew what to do first, they were so excited, hit the funfair to ride the Octopus, or shoot ducks, or bump round the dodgems, or stay on the beach to trot up and down on donkeys called Fred or Floss or Frank, which they’d found totally hilarious. An ass named after Frank! The biggest thrill of all was going in search of new friends in the holiday parks who were visiting from all over the country. How they used to envy those kids being able to spend a whole two weeks in a caravan.

  As she rounded the first bend past an old shack calling itself Saucy Spicy Ribs, a crazy-golf course and a crowded café, her memories became so clear she could almost taste the candyfloss and toffee apples of bygone years, and hear the squawk of Punch and Judy. Certainly she could smell fish and chips, and the blare of music punctured by shrieks, bells, sirens and laughter seemed almost as thrilling with the memory doors open as it had in reality over twenty-five years ago.

  How could she have been back in Kesterly for more than a year without coming here once? She knew her kids had been down, probably more often than they told her, but though she passed the place almost daily, generally out on the ring road on her way to the notorious Temple Fields estate, or to the motorway if she was heading further afield, surprisingly nothing had brought her here.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be brilliant to live in this place all the time?’ Frank used to gasp during their escapades, when they’d help their new friends struggle huge urns of water back to their caravans for washing or cooking. If it rained they’d play snap or old maid or spoons, all snugged up in the cosy banquettes of someone’s holiday home, or go to watch a magician, or a fire-eater, or a clown with cute dogs at one of the Entertainment Centres. (It turned out their grandparents had always known where they were, and since the world had been a rather different place back then they’d trusted the stallholders, park managers and various other adults to keep a watchful eye on the adventurers.)

  It was hard to imagine allowing young children such freedoms today. In fact, Andee would rather not try, given how many more predators there seemed to be out there now. As far as she was aware, though, there had never been any trouble, or certainly not of that sort, in Paradise Cove.

  Which brought her back to Sophie Monroe and exactly who the mysterious friends she’d mentioned in a text might be.

  Passing three banners for Eli Morrow’s Dare Devil Show Tonight at 6.30 and a huge blue elephant inviting all takers to eat as much they could for a fiver, she followed Barry into the recessed entry of Blue Ocean Holiday Park. Had she been told it was called Golden Beach she’d have known exactly where it was, but it had apparently changed names since her day.

  It had also, she noticed, as they drove under what appeared to be a permanently upright security barrier, acquired some fancier caravans than those she remembered, and a rather quaint red-brick bungalow near the entrance which, she knew from Barry, was home to the manager, Heidi Monroe, and her family.

  Pulling into a reserved spot outside the dwelling, while Barry and Simon Lear, who was with him, drove on to the site offices and entertainment complex, Andee turned off her engine and was about to gather up her bag when her mobile rang. Seeing it was her mother, she clicked on. ‘Hi, everything OK?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ her mother assured her. ‘Just wondering what time to expect you this evening.’

  ‘Hard to say. Why, do we have something on?’ Please don’t let her have forgotten her mother was entertaining, she managed to let her down often enough as it was.

  ‘No, not us, but I’ve been invited for drinks at the Melvilles’ and I wondered if you’d like to come with me.’

  ‘As your date?’

  Her mother’s laugh rarely failed to make Andee smile. What a sweet, beautiful, courageous woman Maureen Lawrence was. How could life have treated someone so gentle so cruelly?

  ‘How about as my significant other?’ Maureen suggested, having recently learned the phrase from her grandchildren and been tickled to bits by it.

  Still smiling, Andee asked, ‘When do you have to let them know?’

  ‘Oh, you can just turn up,’ Maureen assured her. ‘They’ll be delighted to see you.’

  Since she was fond of the Melvilles, who’d been friends of her grandparents when they were still around, Andee said, ‘What are the kids doing, any idea?’ Since Luke was seventeen now, and Alayna fifteen, they were making serious claims on independence, so it wasn’t unusual to find out where they were or what they were doing after, rather than before, the event.

  ‘Alayna’s here,’ her mother replied, ‘and Luke’s gone into Kesterly with his friends. Oh, I’d better go, someone’s at the door. Call me when you’re on your way, and Alayna said please don’t forget to buy her a strapless bra at M&S, she needs it for tomorrow night,’ and adding an habitual ‘love you’ she rang off.

  After texting Alayna for confirmation of her bra size, Andee dropped her phone back into her bag, and checked her Airwave radio was on before getting out of the car. She had got no further than opening the door when her mobile rang again.

  This time it was Graeme, the antique dealer she’d recently started seeing, and feeling a pleasing warmth swell inside her she clicked on the line. ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked.

  ‘The short answer is fine,’ he replied, his tone lilting with the humour that had attracted her to him in the first place, ‘the long one is in a hurry to get back.’

  ‘But I thought you loved Italy.’

  ‘I do, and I’m still hopeful that the next time I’m here you’ll be with me. As you’re not at the moment, I’m finding myself rather keen to get home to Kesterly.’

  Though she was pleased by the words, she couldn’t help wondering if they were moving too fast. But why was she thinking that when they’d had six dates and had progressed no further than a romantic kiss the night before he’d left? And she couldn’t deny how much she’d enjoyed that. Anyway, she was surely allowed some fun after all the heartache she’d had to go through. ‘Are you on schedule to come back tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he groaned, ‘which is why I’m calling. I’m having to delay by a day, but if you’re free on Wednesday evening I’d love to cook for you.’

  She liked the sound of that. ‘At your place?’

  ‘Unless you’ve got somewhere else in mind?’

  Smiling, she said, ‘I’ll bring the wine.’

  ‘Just bring yourself.’

  And an overnight bag? She wouldn’t ask, of course, but she wondered what he’d say if she did. More to the point, what would she do if the answer was yes? Why, she’d take one, of course, and tell her mother and the children she was going . . . She couldn’t think of anywhere off the top of her head, but she’d come up with something. ‘I should go,’ she told him. ‘Call me when your plane gets in.’

  After turning off her personal phone, she got out of the car and paused for a moment to take in her surroundings. Though there was no sign of life inside the bungalow, crowds of holidaymakers were milling around, coming and going from the camp, chomping on ice-creams or toffee apples, while the shop, only yards away, was like a giant cake bursting with people and prizes. Citrussy-coloured beach balls, buckets, spades, luminous inflatables, surfboards, wetsuits, flippers, snorkels (snorkelling in Kesterly!), everything the self-respecting camper could wish for, plus throbbing disco music.

  And across the street was the pulsing, whirling, psychedelic monster of a funfair.

  ‘The owners of the site are currently in Spain,’ Barry had informed her earlier, ‘but the Monroes have let them know what’s happening and apparently they’re keen to co-operate in any way they can.’

  This was good, Andee always liked people who co-operated, though in the case of Jimmy and Jackie Poynter it could be a first. Not that she’d had any dealings with the couple herself, but several
of her colleagues had, so one thing Andee could be certain of was that the Poynters weren’t regulars at the policemen’s ball.

  ‘Mrs Monroe? Heidi?’ she smiled when an anguished-looking woman with beautiful Afro-Caribbean features and a shock of glorious dark hair answered the door. She’d be around thirty, Andee guessed, though the purple shadows under her eyes were making her seem haunted and older.

  The woman nodded and stammered, ‘I – um . . .’ She pressed a sodden tissue to her mouth as her voice caught on a sob. ‘If you could go to the office,’ she said, ‘it’s next to the shop . . .’

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Andrea Lawrence,’ Andee explained, holding up her badge and feeling for the strain this woman was under – provided it was genuine, of course, and she had no reason to think it wasn’t when she clearly hadn’t been expected.

  Heidi Monroe was frowning, as though not quite understanding. ‘I wasn’t . . . They didn’t say anyone else was coming.’

  Still smiling, Andee said, ‘Can I come in?’

  For a moment Heidi seemed at a loss, then a voice called out from inside, ‘Who is it?’

  Stepping back, Heidi opened the door wider for Andee to enter. ‘I’m afraid we’re not very . . .’ she began, but didn’t finish as she led the way along a dimly lit hallway with doors on either side, into a bright, open-plan kitchen-cum-living room at the back. It was cosily furnished with downy sofas and a thick pile carpet, and looked out on to a small garden with a large pebbledash building beyond that blocked any other sort of view. It smelled of oranges and used nappies.

  ‘It’s the police again,’ Heidi announced.

  A stocky man with not much hair and a tattoo on his left arm turned from whatever he’d been staring at outside, which was probably nothing. The anguish in his eyes was so stark it was almost palpable, and the tight white line around his mouth showed the inner struggle with his conscience. Was he to blame for his daughter running off? What should he be doing to try to find her? No sign at the moment of the infant Archie whom Barry had mentioned, though the smell, jumble of toys scattered around the place, and cute clothes hanging on the washing line outside firmly established a baby in residence.