Chapter 27

Chapter 27

A dozen pairs of eyes looked up at her, narrow and scared. The motley collection of waifs, strays and the terminally homeless had gathered together for security and stared at Charlie with suspicion and hostility, sensing that she was here on official business.

‘It's all right, guys, I'm not here to cause you any grief, I just want to ask a few questions.'

But the mere sight of her warrant card made them shrink away. Charlie persisted, explaining the purpose of her visit and offering her hostile audience recent pictures of Mia Davies, Shanice Lloyd and Laura White, but she could tell they were in no mood to help. They had clearly suffered at the hands of the authorities before and didn't believe her story, convinced that as soon the girls were located, they would be dragged off in cuffs.

Relenting, Charlie headed on her way. At Helen's suggestion, she'd headed to the allotments on the south side of Portswood. The city's biggest homeless encampment was to be found here, dozens of unfortunates sleeping in the shadowy pathways that fringed the carefully tended plots. Charlie stalked them now, running an eye over the comatose users and shivering teens who turned away from her as she passed. Charlie was stunned by the sheer number of bodies and deeply saddened by their plight, at least a couple of the teenage girls displaying prominent baby bumps. Was it possible they would give birth out here? It was a fate too awful to contemplate, but tempted though she was to intervene, Charlie kept on walking. She was here to do a job and couldn't let her soft heart distract her.

Across town, the team were preparing to pull Ryan Marwood in, but Charlie had a different, though no less important role this morning. If there was a predator haunting the streets of Southampton, abducting girls at will, then surely they would find evidence of his crime spree here? Charlie still wasn't convinced that Helen was onto something, that such egregious crimes could have gone undetected, but walking these lonely walkways, Charlie couldn't deny that it was possible. The inhabitants of this forgotten part of town were so vulnerable, so isolated, that it would be easy for them to disappear. Who would report their disappearance? Who here would contact the police? Who would even know they'd gone? Trudging solemnly past the stained sleeping bags and discarded cider bottles, Charlie started to wonder if that was the whole point, their perpetrator deliberately targeting teenagers who would never be missed. It was a horrifying thought.

Turning the corner, Charlie kept close to the fence. She was approaching a more built-up area, tired-looking Edwardian houses coming into view, overlooking the allotment. Charlie's heart sank – there would be fewer homeless here because of the actions of the local residents, less chance of Charlie finding anyone to talk to. Disconsolate, she was on the point of giving up when she saw a pair of feet protruding from a gateway to the allotments. Summoning her resolve, Charlie bent her footsteps in that direction, soon finding herself in front of a gaunt teenager, whose tightly plaited pigtails sat in stark contrast to her pallid skin and hollow eyes.

‘Hey there, how are you doing this morning?'

The young girl scowled at her, but there was fear, not anger, in her eyes.

‘You've nothing to worry about,' Charlie continued. ‘I'm not here to cause you any problems. I actually wanted to ask for your help.'

A moment's confusion, then the girl's face set once more.

‘Well, you don't get something for nothing, do you? Got any fags?'

Charlie shook her head sadly; not being a smoker was often a bind in her line of work.

‘Cash then?'

‘I can't give you money,' Charlie responded gently, picking out the track marks on the girl's scrawny arms. ‘But I've got chocolate, if you'd like some.'

She pulled a Twix from her bag, offering it to the young girl. Her companion hesitated, caught between disappointment and hunger, then snatched it from Charlie's grasp. The latter watched patiently, with sorrow, as the girl devoured the two chocolate fingers, forcing them down her throat as fast as she could.

‘I'm looking for some girls,' Charlie said, pulling out her clutch of photos. ‘Three girls who've been missing for some time now. Their parents are very worried about them and so are we.'

The young addict leaned forward, taking in the photos.

‘This is Laura White.'

The girl studied the girl's pretty face, then shook her head.

‘Shanice Lloyd.'

A short pause, then another "no".

‘And this is Mia Davies.'

Instantly, Charlie saw it. A flash of recognition.

‘Do you know her?'

The pale teenager stared hard at the photo, troubled.

‘I can't stress enough that Mia's not in any trouble,' Charlie insisted earnestly. ‘We just need to know if anyone's seen her, spoken to her recently …'

‘I knew her a bit,' the girl finally conceded. ‘In fact, this used to be her spot.'

Charlie felt a shiver of alarm, but kept her tone even as she asked, ‘When?'

‘Three months or so back, hard to say for sure. I used to see her around, we had the odd chat. Then one day she was gone.'

‘You didn't see her leave?'

‘No, one minute she was here, the next she wasn't. It was strange really, because she left most of her stuff here. This is her sleeping bag,' she continued, gesturing at the stained fabric. ‘And I've got her belt too. Doesn't fit me, but I can still make use of it.'

Charlie didn't need to ask how, her eyes flitting to the tourniquet bruising on her arms.

‘And you're absolutely sure it was her?' Charlie asked, holding the photo closer.

‘Course, I'm not blind. Mia was here for over a year, before she took off …'

Charlie digested this, concerned.

‘Has something happened to her?' the teenager asked, her voice shaking.

‘That's what we're trying to find out,' Charlie said kindly. ‘And you've been very helpful, thank you. I'd better go now, but … but you look after yourself, OK?'

Shrugging, the girl turned away, clearly not comfortable dwelling on what might lie in store. Saddened, Charlie moved away, her mind turning on this latest development, but she'd hardly taken a couple of steps, when another voice rang out.

‘Well, well, well, an actual living, breathing police officer. Who'd have thought it?'

Surprise, Charlie pivoted to find a pensioner standing on the doorstep, staring at her with a pinched, cynical expression.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘I've been calling the local nick for months trying to get someone down here. Didn't expect CID if I'm honest, but I'll take what I can get. You've got some clout, correct?'

‘Sorry, what's this regarding?' Charlie queried.

‘What do you think it's about?' the pensioner retorted, visibly frustrated. ‘This lot. The junkies, the pushers, the whores. Every night they're down here, plying their trade, leaving their … their detritus everywhere.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘So you should be. I've got grandkids who come round. Do you think I want them having to step over dirty needles, discarded johnnies?'

‘I'm sure you don't,' Charlie replied evenly, taken aback by his vehemence. ‘So this is a regular thing?'

‘Are you deaf? I've told you it's like Piccadilly Circus down here most nights, people coming and going, parking up at the top of lane, blocking access to my property. They haven't even got any shame, bold as brass they are. At first, I used to go right up to them, tell 'em what I thought, but then one of them got a bit heavy, so I thought better of it. But I still let them know I'm here.'

‘You watch them?'

‘I don't have any choice, it's on my bloody doorstep. I warn them off as best I can, not that it does any bloody good. Which is why we need your lot to get involved.'

‘I see,' Charlie replied, her mind, turning. ‘Would you recognize any of these people? The men that come around here, I mean …'

‘Not really, it's always after dark, and it's hard to make out their faces. But I make sure to take a note of their vehicles. That's what I wanted to talk to you about.'

‘You take down the registration details of the punters?' Charlie asked, suddenly interested.

‘Yes,' the pensioner replied proudly, straightening up and standing tall. ‘Every single one.'