Lost Souls by Jenny O'Brien (android e book reader txt) 📕

as if someone was taking a chisel and chipping away. Gaby Darin: acting DI. Not Gabriella: sister, friend, lover.

Last week had been a good week, the best week in ages. Her relationship with Rusty Mulholland, the resident pathologist, was continuing to blossom. Still only friends, she could see that changing to something more but only if she was allowed the opportunity of cultivating their growing rapport.

‘Ma’am, are you there?’

With a huge effort, Gaby pulled herself together. It wasn’t like her to wallow in self-pity and it certainly wasn’t like her to daydream about red-headed pathologists with startling blue eyes and a temper that was on an even shorter fuse than her own. She was there to fulfil the role she was paid for. If she didn’t like it, she could always … She shook the thought away. No. She couldn’t!

‘Yes, sorry, Williams. It must be a bad line,’ she said, crossing her fingers behind her back as the easy lie slipped through her lips. She wasn’t going to tell him the truth. ‘Go on, you were saying?’

She grabbed her keys from the centre of the table and, heading into the hall, picked up her bag and jacket from the newel post, careful to avoid the mess that was currently her lounge. Painting the wood panelling that lined the bottom half of the room at the weekend wasn’t the greatest of ideas but, with work being quiet, she’d optimistically thought that she’d be able to get it finished in the evenings after work, refusing to dwell on the image of cosy meals for three while she continued getting to know Rusty and his young son, Conor.

‘We got the call about thirty minutes ago. Elodie Fry, age ten. Her mother went to wake her this morning only to find that her bed hadn’t been s-s-slept in,’ he stuttered, heaving air into his lungs. ‘After phoning around and a quick search, she rang us. I’m heading over to interview her.’

‘I’ll meet you there – and, Jax, grab Amy. The sooner we get a FLO involved the better. It’s times like this that family liaison officers come into their own.’ She pushed against the front door to check the latch had caught, making a mental list, which she started to tick off in the maelstrom that was now her mind. ‘And get Marie and Mal involved ASAP. They can get the search underway while we wait for Owen.’

‘Did you want me to give him a ring too?’

Owen. Her fingers gripped her keys, the hard, cold metal biting into the soft flesh of her palm. How would he take another missing girl after the recent ordeal that his wife and unborn child had gone through? How would he stand up to the pressure when he’d nearly decided to throw his career away? There was only so much she could do to protect him on a case like this.

‘No, let me contact him. You’ve enough to do. What’s the address?’

Ystâd golygfa’r môr, or Sea View estate, was the largest housing development in Colwyn Bay. A mixture of social housing, the sprawling concrete jungle had a reputation that struck fear into the hearts of the coppers who had the misfortune to attend any of the frequent call-outs. But as with most of these estates the inhabitants got on with their own business, the few bad ones spoiling it for everyone.

Number 312 was a narrow, two-bedroomed house with distant views over the Welsh coast and bordered by a wasteland of tarmac littered with potholes and the odd dolls’ pram along with the usual detritus of cola cans and sweet wrappings. But the house was different again. While small and cluttered, it was spotlessly clean. The sofa and recliner chair were arranged around a small TV, the mantelpiece over the three-bar electric fire displaying unframed photos, all of the same pretty blonde girl. But Gaby wasn’t interested in the girl’s appearance, not yet. All her attention was on the faded middle-aged woman currently leaning forward on the sofa, a long, low keening sound coming from her mouth.

Jax dipped his head to whisper in Gaby’s ear. ‘Ms Anita Fry, ma’am. She’s been like that ever since we arrived. I’ve sent Mal and Marie a copy of the most recent photo for distribution and DS Potter is on her way.’ He turned, adding over his shoulder, ‘I thought I’d make her a cuppa. S-s-she looks as if she needs it.’

Gaby nodded in agreement, her gaze pinned to the woman in front of her. About forty, and dressed in jeans and a loose top the colour of an overripe avocado, Ms Fry had the complexion of someone who’d had several knocks over the years: her jawline saggy, her skin that pasty tone of too little time spent out of doors. Life was hard for some families, none harder than in this room.

As an experienced detective, it took a lot to engage Gaby’s sympathies. She’d seen far too much of the human race to ever believe what was in front of her. She’d been lied to and conned in both her personal and professional life far too many times to take people on trust. But if anyone was going to engage her compassion it was this woman.

‘Hello, Ms Fry. My name is DI Gaby Darin.’ She dropped into the chair opposite, leaning forward, her clasped hands dangling between her legs, the line of her favourite navy Zara jacket bunching around her shoulders. ‘I’ve already pulled a team of officers together to scour the neighbourhood but I need to ask you some questions that will help us. To begin with is there any reason you can think of that might have made Elodie decide to run away? And are there any friends or family she might have gone to stay with?’

‘Ellie.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘No one calls her Elodie. It’s Ellie and she’s not like that. She’d have no reason to run away.’ Ms Fry raised her head from where she’d been staring down at the floor,