Little Girl Gone: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns. Stephen Edger

on Alex’s face. ‘I would understand if she had children or a man in her life, but once again she’s bailed at the last minute.’ Sophie paused when she saw Alex was still by the door. ‘Don’t tell me you forgot! Have you made other plans?’

      ‘No, not exactly, it’s just …’

      Sophie was already through to the living room, turning on the main light and looking around, pausing when her eyes fell on Alex’s swollen face still sheltered by the front door. ‘Oh gosh, what’s happened? Are you all right?’

      How could Alex begin to explain the magnitude of what had happened that afternoon? They’d been friends for two years, since Alex and Ray had moved in next door to her. As a single woman with little responsibility other than her lease, how would Sophie understand the torment?

      ‘Is it Ray?’ she pressed. ‘Has something happened? You can tell me, sweetie. You know I’m discreet.’

      Alex allowed Sophie to lead her through to the living room; it didn’t feel like home as she sank into the armchair. Carol-Anne’s scent still filled the room, and for a moment Alex allowed herself to pretend none of the last few hours had occurred.

      Sophie reappeared a moment later with two large glasses and the bottle of wine she’d brought over. Pouring a generous measure into each, she handed one of the glasses to Alex. ‘Take your time, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere.’

      Alex took a sip from her glass, before taking a much larger gulp, almost draining the contents. It tasted crisp and dry, and for the first time that evening, the weight of events lifted a fraction as the alcohol numbed the pain.

      ‘Someone’s taken Carol-Anne,’ she said, in one quick breath, hoping that admitting the truth would be less painful if spoken quickly, like removing a plaster.

      Sophie’s mouth dropped, as deep crevices sank in her forehead. ‘I … what do you mean? Ray’s taken Carol-Anne?’

      Alex took a deep breath. ‘I was parked in town; one minute she was strapped into my car, and the next …’

      Sophie gasped, her eyes widening, the shock of the words hitting home. ‘Oh, sweetie, I don’t know what to say.’

      Alex lowered her near empty glass to the table. Alcohol wasn’t the answer. She needed to keep her wits about her, and if the police needed to speak to her urgently, she didn’t want her breath smelling of wine.

      Sophie took a nervous sip of her own drink. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex. What have the police said? I’m sure they’ll find her. Whatever you need in the meantime just say.’

      This was precisely why Alex hadn’t wanted to inform her. Sophie was a sweet girl, and not the sort of person you’d rely on in a crisis. She was younger, and a free spirit, not someone who worried about a career, a family, the trappings of a regular life. They were polar opposites in terms of aspirations, and that was probably why they got on so well. That, and the fact that Alex had supported Sophie when a previous relationship had turned sour.

      Sophie was perching awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, not knowing where to look or what to say. It would have been kinder to allow her to slip away, and although originally Alex had wanted to be left alone, the presence of someone – anyone – in her home would distract her from the silent reminder that Carol-Anne wasn’t home.

      She didn’t expect to see Ray anytime soon. He would stay at the crime scene until he was forced to leave. Either that or he would be seeking solace in someone else’s company. Although she had no proof that he had been seeing someone behind her back, the distance between them was too vast to ignore.

      ‘What’s with the suit?’ Sophie suddenly asked, her attempt at small talk showing again how ill-equipped she was to deal with such an awful situation.

      Alex stared down at the damp clothing, which she’d picked out especially for today’s interview. She’d woken with such high hopes this morning; it now felt like a lifetime away.

      ‘I should probably get changed,’ she admitted.

      And that was Sophie’s trigger to spring into action. ‘You sit still, and I’ll grab your pyjamas and dressing gown.’

      Alex didn’t argue, knowing Sophie would have done anything to escape the tension in the room. And as silence once again returned to the house, Alex found herself staring at the large print of Carol-Anne on the wall above the television. The photo shoot had been a present from Ray’s sister and husband. The photographer had done such a good job of capturing Carol-Anne’s sweet, glowing innocence. And as Alex studied each line of her daughter’s face, she made a silent vow that she would get her back, whatever it took.

       8

      The area immediately surrounding Alex’s grey hatchback had now been covered with a tent to keep it out of sight of curious bystanders, but more importantly to protect the evidence it contained from being washed away by the elements. A large mobile generator whirred away in the background, powering the temporary brilliant white lights that had been erected and pointed at the scene as the technicians continued to examine and collect samples from the surrounding area.

      The sky overhead was pitch-black, the moon hidden somewhere behind the thick blanket of clouds. At least the rain was holding off for now.

      Ray finished the last of the cigarettes Owen had given him and scrunched up the packet, tempted to throw it into the gutter, but conscious that an eagle-eyed technician would probably take it back to the lab for later examination.

      He was standing between the inner and outer cordoned areas. An area of ten cars either side of where the tent was stretched over the hatchback marked the width of the inner cordon – the area where the technicians’ focus was – while the depth stretched almost to the edge of the car park. The residential street where the car park’s entrance and exit stood had been taped off, with a uniformed officer standing guard at both ends, allowing access only to residents who could provide documentation showing they lived there. Several residents had been watching the scene unfold from the safety of their windows; free entertainment for the curious mind.

      Ray hated waiting for news – he felt so useless since DI Trent had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want him anywhere near her investigation. It wasn’t personal discrimination – he understood the rules – but who better to have on the team than someone who knew the victim so well?

      His phone vibrated, and he allowed himself the briefest smile when he saw who it was from, before the guilt took over. He deleted the message – as he always did – and this time didn’t reply. It was important to keep his mind focused on the job at hand.

      ‘What are you still doing here, Ray?’ Trent called out, ducking beneath the inner cordon and heading over to him. ‘I asked you to go home and wait for our call. I can’t have you anywhere near the crime scene. Please don’t make me have you escorted from here.’

      He pulled the overcoat tighter around his midriff. ‘Please, ma’am, I don’t want to interfere or slow you down, I just want to stay close by to react when there’s a break. I swear you won’t even know I’m here.’

      ‘The rules are there for good reason, Ray, as well you know.’ She softened her tone. ‘I understand that you want to help, and if it wasn’t for your close involvement there’s nobody I’d rather have by my side, but it isn’t possible. I have assigned a Family Liaison Officer who’ll help keep you informed. Please just go home and await my call.’

      ‘I could be useful, ma’am. I’ll go out of my mind with worry if I go home. Let me chase down some leads. Anything? I don’t care how mundane it is, I’ll do it. What about searching for any possible dashcams that might have captured something? Please?’

      She reached out and rubbed his arm. ‘You know I can’t. We have all available resources searching the properties near to your home, canvassing for witnesses, and