Cold Blood by Jane Heafield (great books to read txt) 📕

it was plain, without bells and whistles, and the garden was easily the untidiest around. Unlike most, it also had no curtains or blinds, so Liam could stare right into the living room.

How it had changed since Lorraine lived there. He could remember all the little signs of her around the place. The slippers she always liked to leave by the front door, and the lampshade she’d made herself out of pigskin, Ed Gein-like. The hair bobbles she always left hooked over interior door handles. She had insisted on a nautical theme, with unfinished wood windowsills, seashells everywhere, and blue wallpaper contrasting with a sand-coloured rug.

‘Good day to you all. I thought I’d let you know…’

Bennet wound down his window, at first sure he was hearing things. He wasn’t. His eyes found a nearby telegraph pole, and the siren clamped to it.

‘…so, this infection they’re calling 2019-nCoV has now reached the USA, making it five countries with confirmed diagnosis and over five hundred affected…’

It was Turner’s voice oozing out of the siren. Across the road, a front window opened and a woman looked over, also listening. The councillor had installed or commandeered a public address system to speak to his people. Bennet was surprised for all of half a second.

‘…there’s talk about this new infection becoming very large and very deadly, but I don’t think we need to worry. Also in America, it’s National Hug Day, so let’s adopt it. If you’re out and about and get a chance…’

When the announcement was over, Bennet felt his already low mood sink a little further. He’d had good times here, but they were gone forever. He wondered why he’d even detoured here. It was no longer Lorraine’s house, and he wasn’t the same person he’d been back when he used to visit. His home was miles away and it was time to head back there.

20

Bennet’s phone rang as he was approaching the Panorama. Unknown number, so probably not Lorraine. Still, he cut a sharp turn into the Panorama’s car park and answered with urgency. But it was a male voice.

‘Former Detective Sergeant Ford,’ it said.

It was the former detective Hooper had mentioned, once part of the investigation into the disappearance of Sally Jenkins.

‘I hear some people are making a documentary. For the ten-year anniversary of a missing girl, Sally Jenkins. Up in the Peak District. As you probably know, I was part of the investigating team, and I’d like to help.’

For about half a second, Bennet didn’t care to speak to the guy. But then he realised he’d spoken to the mother of the missing girl and a man who’d put himself centre of the investigation, and he barely knew a thing about the events of March 6, 2010. He was intrigued and to learn everything all he had to do was hold an electronic device against his ear for a few minutes.

‘Thanks for your call, Mr Ford. Anything you can tell me would be great.’

‘Happy to. Do you know if they pay? And will I be interviewed for the film?’

Bennet sensed the guy might open up more if he thought he’d get some glamour and cash. ‘Could be. I’ll pass your information and number on to them, then we’ll see. But I need to know what you know. Start with an overview of the case. Everything you remember.’

‘Sally Jenkins, ten years old…’

21

Sally Jenkins had been at a birthday party at a place called the Winding Wheel, in Chesterfield, about twelve miles away. The party was due to end at six thirty, but Sally wanted to leave at half five. She’d gone with a friend and that girl’s mother, Kate, and they dropped her off. But not quite at home. Sally had exited the car at the end of Arton Place because her friend lived closer to the centre of the village; it was a short walk down the cul-de-sac, across the green, where children often played, and onto Grodes Place. It was a journey Sally had made myriad times without problem.

‘Nobody saw Sally on Arton Place or crossing the green, but she never arrived home,’ former detective Ford said. ‘She was dropped off at 6.05, and a dog walker on the land saw nothing and no one at around 6.45. So we believe she was abducted or ran away in that forty-minute period. Our information is that no other children were at the park.

‘Sally’s mother, Anika, hadn’t known that her daughter had left the party early, because Sally had said she wanted to surprise her, and so the friend’s mother, Kate, hadn’t informed her. When Sally hadn’t shown up by about half seven, Anika called the police. Their response was rapid and within half an hour officers had invaded Lampton’s streets, rapping doors and searching. By midnight, all manner of nooks and crannies had been examined and all Sally’s friends and neighbours spoken to. As darkness rolled around the next evening, it was determined Sally wasn’t in the village and the search boundaries moved outwards to include every home, farm and other building within a two-mile ring around Lampton. Roadblocks were installed to stop and question drivers. Nothing. The search widened.’

‘What about the friend who dropped her off?’ Bennet asked, transferring his phone to the other ear. ‘Why didn’t the mother or father take her?’

‘I was getting to that. The party was hosted by someone Sally’s friend’s mother, Kate Harper, knew. Sally’s parents didn’t have an invite. But she offered to take Sally along.’

‘CCTV of any of the journey?’

‘Yes, I was getting to that too. CCTV outside the Tesco captured Kate Harper’s car entering Lampton from the north, and it was slowing down, suggesting it did indeed stop at the end of Arton Place. Kate’s car was on a neighbour’s camera arriving home eight minutes later, just her and her daughter inside. No Sally. Unfortunately, there was only one resident on Arton Place with a camera, but it covered their garden and didn’t show the street.

‘Nothing led us to