Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Yanking back the throttle, Helen roared down Western Avenue. Cranking up her speed, she tore through the city centre, weaving in and out of the traffic, before changing direction sharply to swing off the main drag into the car park of Southampton Central Police Station.

Parking up, Helen tugged off her helmet, pausing briefly to look up at the towering glass and limestone building which had been her lodestar for over three decades now. This place had saved her, had made her, and she always got the same tingle of anticipation when she arrived each morning. Life as the leader of the Major Incident Team was not without its challenges, especially as she had a new boss to contend with – the highly regarded, highly demanding Chief Superintendent Rebecca Holmes – but Helen nevertheless always looked forward to each new day. Her role here, the heavy responsibility she carried in investigating Southampton's most serious crimes, was one she gladly assumed. Indeed, in her heart of hearts, she knew she'd be lost without it.

Marching across the cold tarmac, Helen buzzed herself into the custody area. She knew the team would be hard at work and she was eager to find out if they had any new leads. Crossing the lobby, Helen unzipped her biker jacket, keen to change as fast as possible and throw herself into the fray. As she passed the main desk, however, she became aware of a heated exchange between the custody sergeant and a middle-aged woman, who appeared tearful and agitated. For a second, Helen was tempted to ignore them and press on, but something in the woman's anguished tone made her hesitate. She sounded desperate.

‘Why are you not listening to me?' the woman complained bitterly. ‘My daughter could be lying in a ditch for all you know. You've got to do something .'

The custody sergeant opened his mouth to let her down, trotting out the same tired excuse he'd used a thousand times before, so Helen nipped in first, before further damage could be done.

‘Can I help at all?' she asked, her tone emollient.

The woman turned, looking up at Helen with tired, red-rimmed eyes. She was a handsome woman, with strong, chiselled features, but she seemed ground down and fearful today.

‘I'm Detective Inspector Helen Grace,' Helen added. ‘I run the CID unit here.'

‘Well, I don't know …' the woman replied uncertainly. ‘I was just telling your colleague here—'

‘Why don't you tell me?' Helen interrupted kindly, ushering her over to a seat.

‘I'm not sure where to start,' the woman said, sitting down, suddenly sounding very tired.

‘Well, first up, why don't you tell me your daughter's name?'

The woman, who looked pleased that someone was finally listening to her, replied, ‘She's called Naomi Watson. I'm her mother, Sheila.'

‘And she's missing, you say?'

‘Has been since late last night,' the middle-aged mum confirmed, anxiety creeping into her voice. ‘She's been living with her dropout boyfriend in Portswood for the last three months, but he dumped her last night. She … she called me just after eight o'clock, probably because she was upset and scared, but then just hung up. I don't know if something's happened to her, or she just couldn't face talking to me …'

‘You're estranged?'

‘No, not estranged,' Sheila countered quickly. ‘But we did have a falling out. Her boyfriend – Darren Haines – was a waster, a parasite, a junkie. Thanks to him, she dropped out of school, started stealing from me, from friends, ended up living in a horrible squat …'

She was becoming visibly upset, so Helen laid a comforting hand on her arm.

‘Sorry, it's just been really hard these last few months,' the desolate mother responded.

‘I understand. So, last night, you rang Naomi back?'

‘Hundreds of times, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. I spent the night driving around looking for her, always doubling back to Hoglands Park, but there's no sign—'

‘Why there? Specifically?'

‘Because I could hear the skateboarders in the background when she called me last night. I thought maybe she'd find somewhere to bed down nearby, but there was no sign of her …'

Her voice shook, distress overwhelming her.

‘I'm just so worried about her. She thinks she's a grown-up, but really she has no experience of the world, no experience of living on the streets …'

‘And how old is she, Sheila?'

‘She's fifteen.'

She managed to get these last words out, then crumbled, sobbing bitterly as she dropped her face to her hands. It was hard not to be moved by her plight; though Helen had no children of her own, she knew this was every parent's worst nightmare. Sheila's daughter had been seduced by an older boyfriend then discarded like a piece of rubbish, left to fend for herself in a dangerous and unforgiving city.

‘Sheila, I understand how upset you are, I really do. But Naomi's only been missing for one night and I'm sure she's sensible enough to keep herself safe. That said, I will make it a top priority to see if we can locate her. Has she got any friends she might have gone to? Other family members?'

Sheila shook her head dolefully.

‘It's always been just her and me.'

‘And is she likely to be using anything, something that might impair her judgement, her ability to identify risk? Booze? Drugs? Medication?'

‘I don't think so. Her boyfriend was a dope fiend, but she never touched the stuff, didn't like the way it made her feel.'

‘That's good. And do you think she'd know to go to a hostel or shelter if she was really desperate?'

‘I don't know,' Sheila replied, wiping away her tears. ‘It's a whole new world for her. I've made sure she's always had a roof over her head, food to eat, clothes when we could afford them … She's never been on her own before and I just don't know how she'll cope. I've … I've spent the night imagining the most horrible things. I was soaked to the skin myself walking through that storm, God knows what it must have been like for her …'

She stared at Helen, hollow-eyed and desperate.

‘Sheila, I know you're scared, but I want you to do something for me.'

The tearful mum nodded, seemingly relieved that Helen was taking control of the situation.

‘I want you to go home. Hopefully Naomi will pitch up there, or call you back, but it's important you're there in case she turns up. In the meantime, I'm going to action a city-wide search, alerting every uniformed officer to look out for her, in the hope that we can have her back with you before the day's out. How does that sound?'

‘It sounds … amazing,' Sheila whispered, looking surprised and tearful. ‘I don't want to cause a fuss, but I wasn't getting anywhere with him …'

Sheila gestured towards the custody sergeant.

‘Which was wrong,' Helen replied sharply. ‘Naomi deserves our undivided attention and I'm going to do everything I can to get her back to you safe and sound.'

‘Thank you, thank you,' Sheila intoned, clasping Helen's hands in hers. ‘I know you must have a million better things to do, but it means so much to know you care.'

Helen took in Sheila's earnest, entreating expression, more moved than she could say.

‘I do care, because I know what it's like. There was a time, years ago now, when I was living on the streets,' Helen confessed quietly. ‘I would have given anything to have somewhere safe and warm to go to back then. So, please leave it with me and try not to worry. You'll need to keep up your strength for when Naomi returns home.'

Sheila Watson stared at Helen for a moment, then threw her arms around her, enfolding her in a fierce hug. Surprised, Helen nevertheless returned the favour, avoiding the eye of the custody sergeant who was looking at her with a world-weary, critical expression. Maybe he was right to be circumspect, maybe Helen had overpromised, but she sensed Sheila needed this certainty, this reassurance today. She just prayed she'd be able to deliver for her, that nothing bad had happened to the missing teenager. Life on the streets was a dark, dangerous experience, where the weak and vulnerable were often exploited. Helen hoped Naomi was safe and well, that she was even now building up the courage to call her mum, but she knew the teenager's welfare, her future, was far from certain. Naomi was out there somewhere, alone and adrift, and Helen knew from experience what she'd be feeling – lonely, disoriented and very, very scared.