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

Jax was also one of those people who if he wasn’t doing, he didn’t feel busy. But with leaders such as Dafydd Griffiths on the ground and the team over at Caernarfon coordinating the air search there was very little for him to do apart from check in with them on a regular basis.

Sitting at his desk with his refillable water bottle his constant companion, he pulled up the notebook App on his phone and started flicking back through the pages for inspiration on ways to shift the lacklustre investigation to the conclusion they all wanted. The safe return of Ellie Fry. He couldn’t countenance any other outcome and he was young enough to still have youthful optimism on his side to drive away the negative thoughts that were currently eating away at his more experienced colleagues. No, what was needed was action but with no leads apart from an eighteen-year-old lad in the company of an instantly recognisable young girl …

Jax nearly tipped over his water bottle in his race to expand on the idea. It didn’t take long for him to sit back in his chair with his drink cradled in his palms, barely registering the slight metallic taste from the water that was now an unsavoury lukewarm. If he was right – it didn’t even cross his mind that he could be wrong – he was about to start a hunt for a very different set of clues.

Llandudno was heaving with holidaymakers, the beaches packed, and the ice-cream van – along North Parade – doing a roaring trade. Jax would like nothing better than to dip in the enticing, almost Caribbean-blue sea instead of taking advantage of the police station’s car park and heading up towards the Great Orme, his long legs making short work of the distance.

He could have asked for assistance but, Jax being Jax, he decided not to pull any of the uniformed officers away from the search. With a street map downloaded onto his phone and a printout of the locations of all the public bins provided by the Conwy County Borough Council, he pulled on a pair of sturdy rubber gloves borrowed from the CSIs, much to the amusement of a giggling pair of teenage girls who were perched on the wall opposite, their tanned legs swinging in the air to the beat of their headphones.

They were easy to ignore. He had a job to do and the quicker he did it the quicker he could head back to St Asaph and to the nearest shower he could find. With his sleeves rolled up and his watch hidden away in his pocket, he followed a path from the last known sighting of Ellie near the Great Orme summit and back down Marine Drive towards Upper Mostyn Street, where the scent had gone cold.

Jax switched his mind off from the unsavoury task: the half-eaten take-outs, mingled with sweet wrappers, parking slips and even a broken bucket and spade. Apart from the list of clothes and belongings that Ellie’s mother had provided, he didn’t know what he was looking for as he mentally ticked off the next bin on his route to the train station. If he was unlucky with his choice of direction, he’d just have to follow an alternative route.

After the first hour, he could have written a thesis about the effects of recycling on modern-day North Wales. By the second, the rank scent of detritus had snuck up his nose and refused to budge. By the third he had a stained shirt, a perspiring brow and tomato pips running down his right trouser leg but he also had a carrier bag, the handle stained rust with the instantly recognisable mark of oxidised blood.

Chapter 33

Ronan

Tuesday 4 August, 8.40 a.m. Caernarfon

Ronan’s day usually started a lot earlier than 8.40. If he wasn’t up and about at six, there was a good chance one of the early morning dog walkers would catch him sneaking out of the cave – the very last thing he wanted. He wasn’t so worried about the warden. Now that the caves were locked, there was no need for the man to check on whether someone had chosen one as an impromptu place to rest their head. So, unlike any other teenager he knew, he went to bed early. He was usually able to sneak back into the cave when the tea-time lull hit around 5.30 and most nights found him drifting off to sleep at eight, nine at the latest. The hard ground did little to prevent his weary muscles from relaxing after a day that included whatever back-breaking work the vicar had lined up for him interspersed with the hours he spent roaming the streets.

But today wasn’t a usual day for Ronan. He’d found it impossible to settle after Ellie’s outburst, his restless mind trying to puzzle out what it was that could have made her flee from everything she knew and everyone she loved. He must have eventually dropped off – his head hunched up in his neck, his legs stretched out in front of him – when the sun had started to shift the moon from its starlight perch.

He finally woke to the sound of clattering in the kitchen and cramp in every muscle possible. For an instant, just one, he missed the cave. The cave was his safe place, somewhere no one could touch him. It was his memories that were the problem. His memories that he was struggling with. The impossibility of sweeping away his past under the cloud of shame that both smothered his future and broke his resolve. If only he could forget … but it was as impossible as reaching for the moon. He’d managed fine before the bullies had intervened. Now he had difficulty remembering what it felt like to have fun. To enjoy life.

In the dark of night when his defences were at their lowest, he dwelt on