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

him. She’d use this as a trial run and see how he measured up in a crisis. Her lips twisted. Welcome to her life.

‘Good evening, sir. We have a problem.’

Chapter 23

Marie

Monday 3 August, 7.45 p.m. St Asaph

Marie squinted down at the little clock displayed on her screen. It was well past the time when she should be thinking of going home but with Malachy having volunteered to join the search party along with Jax, she’d offered to stay in the office until eight when the late shift took over the reins. It wasn’t fair that Owen should have to stay when there was nothing for her to go home to apart from an empty room. Oh sure, she had the whole of Malachy’s apartment to roam, all apart from his bedroom which was out of bounds, but there was still the embarrassment to work through. It had been a very long time since she’d lived with anyone apart from Ivo, her soon-to-be ex-husband, and she was determined not to outstay her welcome.

With the makings of a casserole slow-cooking in the crockpot since first thing this morning, she didn’t even have to worry about having to prepare a meal. What spare time she had was her own and she had no better thought of how to spend it than to continue with her search into anyone and everyone who’d ever come into contact with Ellie Fry and her mother.

The array of dirty mugs told their own story as she stood and stretched, her shoulders bunching under the thin fabric of her cream blouse, which was sticking to her skin. Caffeine was the very last thing she wanted but the thing she needed to keep her from flagging. With a flick of her hand, she scrunched the tell-tale KitKat wrapper into a ball, flinging it into the bin under her desk before collecting up all the mugs and heading to the sink, frowning across at Diane Carbone on the way. Not that the middle-aged blonde would notice. Her head was nearly completely masked by two large computer screens, which held all the CCTV footage available within a six-mile radius of Ellie’s home.

The policewoman was an unknown entity, someone she’d come across from time to time when she’d had to visit the Llandudno Station but she’d only ever spoken a few words to her that weren’t work-related. Now was the time to change all that especially as she’d overheard Gaby speaking to Owen about encouraging her to undertake her sergeant exams.

‘Fancy another one?’ she said, angling her head in the direction of Diane’s mug. ‘You must be square-eyed after a day in front of the screens.’

‘You’re a lifesaver. Milk, no sugar.’ Diane lifted up her hand to her smooth chin-length bob, tucking the ends behind her ears. ‘Any luck with the school search?’

Marie shook her head. ‘Nope but that’s what I’d been hoping.’ She picked up the glass coffee pot, pleased to see that it was half full. ‘A sexual predator is exactly what we don’t need right now. Are you going to go on for much longer or—?’ Marie handed her back her mug and, propping her hip against Diane’s desk, eyed her over the rim.

‘For a bit. Since my dear husband ran off with the barmaid from our local, there’s nobody to go home to apart from the cat and Delilah is well able to fend for herself for a few hours,’ she said, flashing her a brief smile.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘No reason why you should. It happened while I was still working in Llandudno and was the reason for my transfer. With the kids having deserted the nest and the house sold, the only remaining link is my surname and I’m in the process of changing that. Diane Smith here I come, and not a minute too soon.’

‘I never knew that it was so easy?’

‘Best eighteen quid I’ve ever spent. I should have kicked the jerk out years ago.’

Marie couldn’t help but admire the strength and confidence exuding from the attractive blonde, so very different to how she’d been feeing since the break-up of her own marriage and she vowed there and then to change both her attitude and her name as soon as possible.

‘How are you getting on with the CCTV?’ she finally asked, taking a long sip of her drink, trying and failing to ignore the aftertaste that only stewed coffee could give.

‘I’m backtracking a bit over some footage taken yesterday to see if I can come up with a better image of the person she’s with. They’re too grainy to identify them by anything apart from their clothes and rucksacks. If I can just get a decent shot of his face we can show it around – maybe even include it in the media releases. Here, what do you think?’ She stretched out a hand, pushing a small pile of printouts across the desk. ‘The one on top is the best image by far. It was taken from a camera off the top of Upper Mostyn Street.’

Marie placed her mug down and picked up the photos, shuffling through slowly. CCTV footage was a waste of time mostly, the images too distorted and grainy to be of any use except in giving the briefest idea as to what someone looked like. But they still had to go through them on the off-chance that they recognised someone.

There were four photos that featured the man, more of a lad really, dressed in a padded anorak on what was one of the hottest days of the year. That jacket told her a lot about the kind of person he was as did the large rucksack strapped to his back. But for Marie the most telling part of the sharing exercise wasn’t either the clothes or the bag but the lad’s face – a face she thought she recognised.

‘Be back in a sec.’ She hopped off the desk and within seconds was logging in to her laptop but this