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

the team, you know everyone will give a hundred per cent to get little Carol-Anne back to you and Alex.’

      She steered him towards the outer cordon, and gave the uniformed officer there strict instructions not to allow him back within the area.

      ‘I’ll call as soon as we have something,’ she called after him, but he was no longer listening, stalking off to a nearby off-licence to buy more cigarettes and a small bottle of vodka.

      If he had to go home and try not to think about his daughter’s peril, then he couldn’t do it sober. As he unscrewed the cap, though, and moved to put it against his lips, he had a fresh idea, and quickly resealed and pocketed the bottle.

      Any detective worth his salt knows who the key figures in the city are: the people who exercise control over large-scale criminal enterprises. One such figure in Southampton was Gianni Demetrios, the product of a Greek father and Italian mother, raised in the UK but with strong family connections in his parents’ countries of birth. A self-professed crime lord, he made it his business to know everybody else’s; no major activities occurred in Southampton without his prior approval.

      Like most men in his position, Demetrios liked to create the impression that he was just an honest businessman trying to scrape together a living. And among his less-than-savoury businesses, he did indeed run several above-the-counter companies, paying his taxes and providing pension benefits to his employees. The rumours about Demetrios’s wider interests were well known to every detective in Hampshire Constabulary. The trouble with rumours is they’re worth nothing in court. Which is why Demetrios continued to run his operation from the comfort of the outside world, rather than behind bars.

      Most evenings Demetrios could be found sitting behind three feet of mahogany, watching as the hard-working residents of Southampton gambled their wages in his casino. If anyone could provide alternative insight into what might have happened to Carol-Anne, it was Demetrios; which is why Ray was now sitting behind the wheel of his car staring up at the brightly fronted building that welcomed gamblers of all varieties to bet against the house.

      Two large bouncers with shaved heads – one black with thick arms, and the other EasternEuropean-looking – were checking memberships at the main door as Ray approached.

      ‘It’s a members-only club, pal,’ the larger of the men said, sticking out an arm to block Ray’s approach to the door.

      Ray eyed him cautiously. With a good six inches height advantage, it didn’t look like he’d have too much trouble flattening Ray.

      ‘I’m here to see your boss,’ Ray said, as he pulled out his police identification and held it aloft for both to see.

      ‘You got a warrant?’ the bouncer fired back, not even bothering to look at the credentials.

      ‘It’s not official business,’ Ray countered, puffing out his chest as much as he could and pushing himself up on his toes to reduce the height difference. ‘I don’t want any trouble. Can you just ask Mr Demetrios whether he will see me? It won’t take long.’

      The black guard nodded for his colleague to make the call, and peeling away, the call was placed, leaving Ray and the larger man where they were.

      He eventually returned and led Ray in through the doors, past the cloakroom and past the well-dressed members squealing in equal measures of despair and excitement as they won and lost their bets.

      The lift carriage deposited them on the top floor of the building, where Ray was led through two solid oak doors with gilded door handles.

      ‘Mr Demetrios said you should wait here and he will be along shortly,’ the bouncer said, indicating the large leather sofa against the far wall. ‘I’ll be just outside in case there’s any trouble.’

      A moment later, two other doors opened and in walked the olive-skinned, dark-haired businessman, resembling a young Al Pacino in The Godfather.

      ‘It’s Detective Sergeant Granger, isn’t it?’ Demetrios asked, extending a wary hand as he joined Ray by the sofa.

      Ray looked at the hand, before reluctantly shaking it. Ray wasn’t the sort to go cap in hand to anyone, let alone an individual with Demetrios’s shady background, but formalities had to be observed in such quarters. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’

      ‘I’m always happy to make time for the upstanding law enforcers of our fair city,’ Demetrios purred, his coal-coloured curls slicked back. ‘What is it I can do for you?’

      Ray was taking a huge risk being anywhere near Demetrios’s casino; desperate times called for desperate measures. He would worry about the fallout once Carol-Anne was back home and safe.

      ‘I need information,’ Ray began carefully, conscious that Demetrios was the sort of snake who would probably be recording every word of their exchange. ‘You know people, and I need to know the name of the person or persons who have abducted my daughter.’ The words cut his heart to ribbons; it was all he could do to keep himself upright as his knees buckled under the weight of expectation.

      It was hard to tell if the look of confusion on Demetrios’s face was as a result of Ray’s appearance or the words he’d spoken. ‘I’m sorry about your loss, but I’m afraid I really have no idea—’

      ‘Cut the crap!’ Ray barked before he could stop himself. ‘Nobody would sanction something like this around here without your say-so. Was it someone I locked up? Someone looking for revenge? Going after me is one thing, but to snatch my daughter, it’s … give me a name!’

      Demetrios took off quickly, moving back through the doors he’d emerged from, ushering Ray to follow him. Lifting a framed photograph from the corner of the desk, he showed it to Ray. ‘This is my daughter Gabriella. She’s ten now, and lives with her mother and grandparents in Sicily. I miss her every day. I swear on her life, I have no idea who would make a move against you. I would never be involved in something so cruel.’

      Ray examined his face, looking for any twitch or hint of deceit. Finding none, his heart sank. ‘Then can you find out who would do it? She’s only two and I’m terrified that …’ He couldn’t finish the sentence, as he struggled to keep his composure. ‘I will do anything to get her back. Any amount of money, I’ll pay it. I just want my daughter back.’

      And in that moment, their conflicting backgrounds were forgotten about as they shared the pain and joy of paternity.

      ‘Leave it with me, detective. I will see what I can find out. And then maybe one day in the future, you can return the favour.’ There was a momentary glint in his eyes as he spoke, but it was gone seconds later. He pressed a buzzer somewhere beneath his desk, and the bouncer returned and led Ray away by the arm.

       9

      The sound of urgent banging woke Alex from the few disrupted hours of slumber she’d managed on the sofa when her hours of impatient pacing had yielded no news. Ray’s keys weren’t in their usual spot suggesting he’d never made it home, and as she reached for her phone to check for any news on Carol-Anne, her heart sank to find no messages or missed calls. He may not have verbally blamed her, yet his actions were speaking far louder.

      Further banging quickly lifted the fog of drowsiness, and she raced to the front door, yesterday’s suit creased and hanging from her aching body. As she opened the door to see a tall woman in a long skirt and grey cardigan holding her identification aloft, the hope of seeing Carol-Anne bounding towards her faded.

      ‘I’m PC Isla Murphy,’ the woman in the cardigan said, her silhouette framed by the early morning light. ‘I’m your assigned Family Liaison Officer. You were expecting me, weren’t you? DI Trent said she would phone ahead and tell you I was coming.’

      Alex strained her neck to look beyond the woman for any sign of her daughter, but finding an empty and lifeless street, she stepped to one side. ‘You’d