Pretty Little Things: 2018’s most nail-biting serial killer thriller with an unbelievable twist. T.M.E. Walsh
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must connect these girls.’
‘All the victims were last seen before they went down country roads,’ Charis said. ‘I’ve already organised a check of nearby farms and any outhouses, stables.’
‘Good, and everyone who gave a statement when the girls were missing, I want re-interviewed.’ Madeleine looked further down the table at a few DCs. ‘HOLMES team,’ she said, ‘cross-reference everything.’
Madeleine set a few more tasks for people to do – more door-to-door, acquiring CCTV footage – before she began to wrap up the briefing.
‘Bryony’s been missing for four days now. Time is crucial.’
The room fell silent, each person more than aware what this could mean.
‘The more time that goes by since the last sighting of Bryony, the more we have to assume we’re looking for a body,’ Madeleine said, voicing what they were all thinking. ‘Given that we now have the bodies of four teenagers, we must assume that Bryony has been taken by the same person or persons, unless we have something concrete to suggest otherwise.
‘Bryony fits the victim profile; she’s in her mid to late teens, she lives in one of the surrounding villages where, as we know only too well, CCTV is limited along the country lanes. We do have one advantage, in that people who reside in small towns and villages tend to notice anything out of the ordinary. We need a fresh appeal for witnesses and I’ll be organising a press conference with the Chief Constable as soon as possible, but I can’t stress this enough: no one is to let slip anything to the media.’
Once the rest of the team dispersed, Madeleine called Charis and Alex into a small, stuffy interview room.
‘You guys are my eyes and ears more than anyone right now,’ she said, looking at each one of them in turn, making sure they understood how the pressure to get speedy results was weighing on her mind.
Alex’s dark-blue eyes looked sideways at Charis. ‘Guv,’ he said, his attention back on Madeleine. ‘Maddy . . . we have your back here. Everyone does.’
Madeleine smiled, but it was weak. Alex was in his early fifties and had a lot of experience, but he’d never wanted to progress to a higher rank. She’d always supposed it was because he didn’t want the axe to fall on his head should an investigation go wrong, as they’d all seen happen before.
Reality was, as Madeleine had come to realise, Alex wanted to remain a DC not through lack of ambition but because he wanted to help the families left destroyed by serious crime. The closer you got to the top, the less time you spent doing the groundwork.
The interaction with the families was key for him, Charis too.
It’s what kept them all focused.
‘No one wanted this investigation,’ Charis said. ‘Remember, you’re the one who stepped up when no one else would.’
Madeleine gave her a smile. ‘It’s my head if we get this wrong.’
‘We won’t,’ Alex said.
Madeleine blew out a long breath and shook her head. ‘Something about this whole case is off. It’s someone local, has to be. The locations, the timings . . . it all seems so random, desperate, like the killer has an insatiable need.’
Charis put her hand out and rested it on her shoulder. ‘We’ll find Bryony Keats alive, Guv. We will.’
Madeleine admired the optimism but the truth was, she knew in her heart that Bryony was almost certainly dead already.
CHARLOTTE
I needn’t tell you that my relationship with Elle was strained before my accident. I wasn’t such a good mother – there, I said it.
I, Charlotte Monroe, was a bad mother.
Was.
Not now. I’m trying to make up for years of putting my career first, never really paying much attention to the beautiful baby girl I had. I missed out on so much of her early years. All those milestones they tell new mothers to document with photographs and scrapbook memories because kids grow up so quickly? That never really resonated with me.
I didn’t feel that maternal instinct and I used to think there was something wrong with me.
I knew what I should be doing, but I could only handle the bare basics.
Iain thinks I could have had a touch of post-natal, but I know the root cause is because of what happened to my brother Miles.
I guess at the time I was scared to get too attached and risk the pain that would result if anything bad happened to my own child. I remember how detached my mother became with me after that summer.
I sit in the living room, staring at the photographs of Elle that are dotted around the room. I don’t appear in many. Mostly it is Iain and Elle.
It wasn’t any surprise to me that Elle bonded well with her father. Best buddies they were and still are, although I can almost feel a sense of jealousy sometimes when Iain sees me focus a lot of my attention on Elle nowadays.
Despite my efforts to really become better acquainted with her, I’d feel an ache I knew to be guilt whenever Elle hurt herself as a small child. She’d reach for Iain first. I was a reluctant second best to her, and to this day it still has the power to break my heart into a million pieces.
Elle comes into the living room, so I quickly press the television off standby, and BBC One comes up. I don’t want her to think I’ve been wallowing in my own thoughts.
‘Savannah’s car’s just pulled up,’ she says.
I look at my watch. It’s still early but I dive from the sofa and head for the stairs. ‘Let her in, will you?’ I say over my shoulder as I take the stairs two at a time.
‘Mum, it’s not even that bad,’ Elle says from the hallway.
I can hear the exasperation in her voice, and I imagine she rolls her eyes, too, for good measure.
I go into the bathroom and stare at my reflection. I hear Elle answer the door and, when the sound of Savannah’s voice fills the air, I’m conscious of the tears that prick in my eyes.
I stare into the mirror above the basin. I stare at my face, at the constant physical reminder of what happened.
I close my eyes, and I can almost feel the moment when I was slung forward in my car that day. I wince now, as if I can still feel that white-hot pain tearing through my skin. I blink back tears and gently try to blend my foundation in a bit better than when I rushed to put it on earlier.
It needs to be perfect before I go downstairs and see Savannah. It needs to be perfect for work later.
I hear the hum of voices from downstairs. Savannah and Elle. This is the most I’ve heard my daughter speak all morning.
I head downstairs.
‘Morning.’ Savannah’s eyes look sad despite the fact that she’s smiling.
She’s putting on a brave face in front of Elle. Savannah’s heard about Ruth’s daughter.
She leans in for a fleeting hug and I can smell the shampoo she’s used on her white-blonde hair this morning.
She smooths out her uniform after she’s released me.
‘You’ve heard then?’ I say.
She looks at me, gives a wan smile. ‘Yeah.’
‘I can’t imagine what Ruth’s going through right now.’
Savannah drops her handbag on the kitchen countertop. ‘She’s doing better than you might expect.’
I’m confused. ‘How…You’ve spoken to her?’
‘Called