‘The diving team will be searching the river Blakewater, although there are no leads to indicate we’re going to find anything in the water. Additionally, we’ve been scouring the land surrounding the farm and, as many of you are aware, numerous items have been seized. Now I know some of you think we’re just collecting litter, but I must impress the importance of early evidence. Abigail is nine years old. You may have children of your own, nieces, nephews, neighbours.’ Ethan gesticulated, his hands conducting his words. ‘Keep them in mind as you search for this little girl. She could be lying somewhere, cold, vulnerable and alone. Or maybe we’re already too late. And if this is the case then we must catch the person responsible, before they strike again. If it means going over the same patch of land three or four times, then so be it. We’re leaving no stone unturned.’ He paused to take a sip from a bottle of Evian.

  ‘Hundreds of items have been seized, from sweet wrappers, to scraps of fabric and discarded chewing gum, but the only one directly tied to Abigail is her glasses. We cannot get complacent. We must continue to bag up anything we feel may be of relevance, until we can determine if there is any connection to the case.’

  He clicked the screen to a map of Haven. ‘Right, moving on. The key area is where she disappeared, but I also want the Community Support Officers to concentrate their efforts on the local community. That involves the continuation of house to house enquiries in both the town and rural areas.’ He paused to regain eye contact with the uniformed officers. ‘You may be the person in the community that finds answers. Speak to holidaymakers, dog walkers, joggers, kids down the skate park. Don’t forget the risk assessments, folks. Haven has its moments, particularly in the more isolated spots. We don’t want you encountering any angry farmers with guns, or amorous bulls.’

  Jennifer rubbed the back of her neck as an ache developed. What she really needed was a strong cup of coffee with two large sugars. Her mouth felt as dry as a sand pit, and she forced herself to concentrate on the tasking and updates Ethan relayed. Footprints and car-tyre print analysis had taken place on the well-trodden land, the usual checks had been made with local hospitals, and visits to the local sex offenders by the public protection team were underway. CCTV was under review in the town, and ANPR – the automatic licence plate notification system – was being matched up with the intelligence system to see if there were any vehicles of note entering or leaving on the day of Abigail’s disappearance. There seemed to be no end to the enquiries, and forty minutes after she entered the room Jennifer was beginning to flag. She shifted from foot to foot, wondering if anyone would notice if she dropped a few inches and slipped her feet from her shoes.

  She had just wriggled her feet in preparation for escape when she found all eyes on her. Her update was requested, and she relayed her notes, wishing she had more information to impart. ‘I believe Abigail’s twin, Olivia, may be key to the investigation. She has what’s often termed as “selective mutism” since the disappearance of her sister, and as we know, she was the last person to see Abigail alive. I’m beginning to bond with her and I hope she’ll open up to me soon. The difficulty is getting her alone, but I hope to overcome that today as I’ve organised a trip out. Sanctioned by DCI Anderson, of course.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ethan said. ‘What do we know about extended family?’

  ‘Nick’s parents have been spending a lot of time at the farm, and they live relatively nearby. They have a good relationship with the family. Joanna’s relations are more of a mystery, and I’ve not yet made their acquaintance. Her mother passed away years ago, and she and her father are estranged. For the last few years he’s been living in a local care home. A couple of weeks ago he had a stroke, and he remains critically ill in hospital. Joanna’s got a housekeeper that she heavily relies on, but her only network of friends seem to be online.’

  ‘That’s something for you to get your teeth into, then,’ Ethan said, turning back to the board. Jennifer made some notes as he ran through a section of calls that had come in since the press appeal. After a round of questions and answers, he finally called it a day.

  Jennifer was pleased Ethan had called her into his office, as he strode into the room. She liked spending time there, away from the chaos of the regular office, with its strewn coffee-ringed files, over-stuffed bins, and jammed shredders. The filing system in her DI’s office was organised with military precision, the chairs were comfortable, and she was pleased to see the percolator had been replenished as the welcome smell of recently ground coffee hung in the air.

  ‘Sorry I was late, boss,’ she said, gratefully taking the cup of Columbian roast from his outstretched hands.

  ‘No problem. The DCI asked me to jump in at the last minute. It’s not my remit, to be honest, but given your involvement in the case I couldn’t say no. How are things going from an Op Moonlight perspective? Have you picked anything up since we spoke last night?’

  So this is why he called me over, Jennifer thought, to ask the questions that couldn’t be discussed in regular briefing, or ‘vanilla briefing’ as Will called it.

  ‘It’s very early days. I’ve only been there a few hours,’ she said, wrapping her fingers around the glass cup, embracing its warmth. ‘The house holds a lot of history, and there’s plenty of spirit attachments, but I don’t know . . . I don’t think her disappearance has much to do with the building itself. I think the family are key.’

  Ethan nodded. ‘It’s difficult with Nick being a fellow copper, isn’t it? But you’ve got to put that aside for now. Tell me, what’s your gut feeling? Using your insight, do you think Abigail is still alive?’

  Jennifer sighed, wishing her answer was yes. ‘There was something. When I was in the house, I thought I heard the voice of a little girl, asking why we hadn’t found her yet. It seemed to come from very far away, which would suggest she has passed on. But it’s not cut and dried. Something thoughts can transmit to me if I have a connection, or have a conduit . . .’

  Jennifer’s eyes widened.

  ‘Maybe that’s it.’

  ‘What?’ Ethan said.

  ‘Olivia was standing behind me at the time. Perhaps she’s a conduit to her twin.’

  ‘In that case, I suggest you get back there. Take her out as planned and see what you can find out.’

  Jennifer wasted no time in finishing her coffee and getting back to the farm. Right now, Olivia was their only hope of speaking to Abigail.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Diary Entry

  It seems ironic that now, when I am finally rid of my old life, I am trapped by the prison of my mind. For all the years I dreamt of being free, I never imagined that I would spend every day tortured by the past. Back then, everything I did revolved around the weight of the depression. These days, I kid myself that I’m normal but I know that, deep down, something is terribly wrong. It’s as if a part of my memory has been disassembled and put back incorrectly. For now, I can only go with my instinct, because I don’t know what normal is.

  I visited Abigail today. I had to see her, just one more time. She was lying there, caked in mud, her blonde hair hanging in dirty strings on her face. I can still see her dead-eyed stare. It’s engraved on the back of my eyelids when I close my eyes. I tell myself it’s not my fault, but her presence bothers me. I think about moving her. It’s unsettling, her being so near the farm.

  * * *

  It’s bad enough that her face is all over the newspapers and online. And as for the phone calls – RING RING RING they torture my brain, making me rake my skin with my nails until they draw blood. The scratches invoke memories of my childhood, and the whole cycle begins again.

  * * *

  It wasn’t just my self-harming that made me different to the other children – I positively reeked of desperation. Never, in the whole of my sorry life, had I one person I could truly call a friend. I hung around limply, straggling behind the other kids, thinking that a pity friend was better than no friend at all. But they didn’t want some fat kid in secondhand clothes embarrassing them, and I was soon told where to go.

  Everything changed at my ninth birthday party, when I suffered the acute embarrassment of being the butt of their jokes. My mother decided to hold a party in my honour, and I was thrilled that so many people came. I thought perhaps it was a turning point, and I gratefully tore through the presents. I got one of those fat Bic multi-pens, and someone even gave me a Rubik’s Cube. Not that I could ever get the better of it. But my joy was short-lived as my mother left us to buy some more crisps.

  For some reason they thought that bringing me plates of leftover cake was funny. One more slice, one more slice, they chanted, stopping only when I had scoffed the lot, my salty tears intermingling with spoonfuls of sticky butter icing as they shovelled it down my throat. I told myself that being the centre of attention was fun. But all I felt was shame and disgust.

  That’s when my father walked in. He found me in the bathroom, crying. I felt physically sick as I retched into the bowl. But no, my body decided to work against me, holding on to the fats and carbohydrates to pile on even more weight than before. Food brought me comfort and pain in equal measures. Yet here was a man I trusted, telling me not to cry, because I was perfect just the way I was. It made me feel grown up to call him by his first name. That’s when he said I should have my photo taken. I snorted, waiting for the punch line. He went as far as listing my redeeming features: my striking eyes, my healthy complexion, and my shiny hair that carried many hues. Like petals of a flower opening for the sun, I bloomed under the glow of his praise. He cast all my self-aspersions aside. I was a perfect model, he said, because I was different from the others, not in spite of it. I wanted to believe him, because he described me as if I was something special, something good. So I smiled. The kind of foolish, fragile smiles that predators love.

  Chapter Seventeen

  One Day Gone

  The timing could not have been better as Jennifer offered to take Olivia to Laura’s stables for a treat. Joanna’s fresh coat of make-up did not disguise the fact that the press appeal had taken its toll, and cracks were finally starting to appear. Jennifer hoped that time away from the gloomy house would draw Olivia out of herself long enough to find some answers. She also wanted to help the little girl, who was at risk of being traumatised by the whole awful situation.

  Joanna marvelled at Laura’s home. Like hers, it was set on several acres of land, but no renovations were needed for this country abode. Unlike the shadowy dampness of Blackwater farm, Laura’s house was bright and airy, each room as large as Joanna’s but tastefully decorated with country charm. Paintings of thoroughbreds lined the walls, alongside pictures of Jennifer and her sister Amy growing up. Daily housekeepers ensured the house was clean, even to Jennifer’s standards, and the grounds that housed the stables were beautifully maintained. Jennifer had nothing but fond memories of growing up in her aunt’s care, and was happy to show Olivia around the paddock.

  ‘This is Toby,’ Jennifer said, introducing the thirteen-hands pony. ‘My sister Amy used to ride him in pony club. He’s retired now, but he still loves to be taken out for a jaunt. Would you like a ride?’

  Olivia’s face lit up for the first time, then clouded over as she gazed at her mother for permission. Joanna hesitated, and Laura intervened.

  ‘He’s very well behaved, and he loves children.’

  Joanna nodded and Laura gently steered her inside to sample the scones she had made that afternoon. Jennifer sighed with relief, and patted Toby on the neck before tying him up next to some steps.

  ‘C’mon then, Olivia, let’s get this hat on,’ she said, adjusting the straps around her cheeks.

  Olivia beamed in response, her eyes resting on the pony before her. Jennifer pointed out all the parts of the saddle and bridle. She used to watch her sister clean the tack at night, the room smelling of aniseed oil and leather. It was an improvement on the beer-and-cigarette smell that had tainted their childhood when their father had been in charge. They had gone from having absolutely nothing to having everything, and even now, Jennifer wasn’t sure if she had ever fully adjusted to it.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Jennifer asked. Olivia nodded more times than she needed to, and tentatively placed a hand on the pony’s rounded belly. ‘Good. Just climb up these steps and hold on to the saddle. Toby will take good care of you.’

  But the little girl’s excitement evaporated as her eyes misted over, their spirit withdrawing into itself. Jennifer felt the change in the air, and time seemed to stand still. She knelt down, touching Olivia’s hand. Her skin was deathly cold, and her chest rose and fell in an effort to breathe.

  Jennifer had seen it before, when her nephew Joshua had allowed himself to be used as a transmitter for voices on the other side.

  ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’ she said, afraid to break the spell.

  Olivia stared into nothingness, her hands hanging numbly by her side. ‘It’s cold here. It’s cold and dark and I want to go home.’ Her voice was hollow, as if coming from very far away.

  Jennifer’s heart skipped a beat. But she couldn’t jump to conclusions. Children were highly suggestible and the last thing she wanted was to put words into the girl’s mouth. ‘Don’t be scared, Olivia, it’s just the stables. It’s not dark, not really.’

  But the child stood frozen to the spot. ‘I’m not Olivia. I’m Abigail. I don’t like it here. It’s dark and I can’t see.’

  Jennifer crouched until she was eye-level. There was no time to wonder if Abigail was really coming through. Such links were tenuous, and very short-lived. ‘Abigail? Describe it for me. Where are you?’ Jennifer whispered, praying for something, anything that would provide her with a clue.

  ‘I’m in a d . . . dark tunnel. With a l . . . light at the end.’ Olivia’s face screwed up and she shuddered a tearless sob. She was a puppet, and the ventriloquist controlling her was crying. ‘Somebody’s at the other end, but I . . . I don’t want to go with them, I’m scared. I want to go home.’

  There was no time for platitudes. Jennifer needed answers.

  ‘Did someone take you? Are you lost?’

  But as Olivia took a sudden breath and blinked, Jennifer knew that contact with Abigail had broken. It was as if she had emerged from underwater, and she took a few more breaths before returning her attention to the pony.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Jennifer asked.

  Olivia nodded, climbing the steps to mount. Jennifer could not ignore the sense of unease creeping up on her. There was change ahead. She could feel it in the air. She had watched her nephew emerge from the same type of trance, and his was not the only case. He had also returned to normality quickly, with no desire to discuss what had happened moments before. She wondered if it was because the children had no recollection, or because it was such an unpleasant experience. It didn’t matter. There would be more to come.

  Jennifer helped her into the saddle, adjusting the stirrups before leading the pony forward. She glanced up at Olivia’s face, alight with happiness. A different child, she was pink-cheeked and smiling with delight. Olivia clicked her tongue, coaxing the pony to walk a little faster across the neatly clipped lawn. Normally the horses would be ridden in the fields at the rear of the stable, but Jennifer had already gained permission to ride on the lawn, within sight of the house.

  Jennifer tried gently to question Olivia on what had just happened, but even in her silence she seemed to have no recollection of the words. Had she really spoken to Abigail? And if so, did it mean Abigail had crossed over from the other side? A dark tunnel, seeing a light, someone waiting on the other side. It had all the hallmarks of a death experience. Or was Olivia trying to communicate her secrets in the only way she could think of? Pretending to be her sister in order to get the message across? Jennifer let go of the bridle, allowing Olivia more control. The pony chewed on the bit between his teeth, plodding contentedly beside her. As she had discovered in her own childhood, animals had an ability to heal, just by their presence. She took a note from Toby, and stayed quiet for the remainder of their session.

  * * *

  ‘Did you have a good time, darling?’ Joanna asked as she joined them.

  Olivia nodded, flashing a toothy smile as she dismounted.

  Joanna returned her smile. ‘That’s wonderful. Guess what? Laura and I have been talking. She’s going to loan us Toby, once we fix up a stable for him. Would you like that?’

  Olivia emitted a gasp of delight, nodding until her over-sized riding hat peaked on her nose. Joanna hugged her daughter tightly, tears prickling her eyes as she mouthed the words thank you over her shoulder. The sight of real emotion crossing Joanna’s face, combined with Olivia’s excitement, brought a lump to Jennifer’s throat, and she wrestled with her conscience for not disclosing that Olivia had spoken earlier that day.

  Jennifer soaped her hands in the kitchen sink as she mulled over Olivia’s words. Working in Operation Moonlight was a huge step forward, and she would be able to disclose full details of the case without fear of ridicule. She dried her hands and gave them a squirt of sanitiser for good measure. Aunt Laura would not allow Jennifer to leave without sampling her homemade scones, and she sat on the patio with a pot of tea brewing in a china teapot. Laura showed Olivia how to groom Toby, before releasing him into the field. She had come up trumps this time, giving Jennifer alone time with both Olivia and Joanna without making it obvious that this was her intention all along. Jennifer tucked in to the scone, allowing the homemade jam and clotted cream to intermingle on her tongue. She washed it down with sip of tea before patting the corners of her mouth.