The Playground Murders by Lesley Thomson

Author:Lesley Thomson [Thomson, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786697233
Publisher: Head of Zeus

Chapter Twenty-Five

1980

Terry gathered the letter and newspaper off the door mat, distantly surprised that there wasn’t more post – he felt he’d been away for weeks. It was twenty-four hours.

‘Stella hasn’t slept in her bed,’ he had called from the doorway of Stella’s bedroom. Unlike the room in his house, this one had living evidence of Stella. Books and papers were heaped on the desk where Stella did her homework, a sweatshirt was slung over her chair.

‘You shouldn’t have gone in there. It’s private,’ Suzie had said when he returned to the living room. She’d put a mug of coffee for him in the kitchen hatchway. He drank it while he tucked in his shirt and did up his tie. The coffee was hot and milky the way Suzie knew he liked it. Making love with her, Terry had felt a delicious mix of familiarity spiced with their first time in the back of his Triumph Herald fifteen years ago. He’d let himself believe that they could start again.

‘I only looked in.’ Stupid to admit that he’d gone right in and, with a detective’s eye, raked the room for clues about his daughter. All he’d learnt was that Stella was doing photosynthesis in biology. He’d ask her about it.

Now, Terry returned to the doorstep and lifted the two pints of milk out of the carrier. Taking them through to the kitchen, he pinpointed when it had gone horribly wrong.

Numb, he’d sat on Stella’s bed. Next minute he jammed her pillow to his face. Fresh cotton, it gave nothing away. Yes it did. It told him that Stella hadn’t come home last night.

‘Where is she?’ He’d pulled his tie taut between his fists then swished it around his shirt collar.

‘Probably at Liz’s. She practically lives there.’ Suzie had yawned. ‘Liz’s mum makes fantastic shepherd’s pie apparently. Just how hard is it to cook up mince and mash a few spuds? The way Stella goes on you’d think it was cordon bleu!’

‘You mean you don’t know?’ An alert had gone off in Terry’s head.

‘I’m not her keeper.’

‘Actually, you are. For crying out loud, Suze, she’s fourteen.’ He strode out to the hall and snatched at the phone.

‘What are you doing?’ Suzie clamped a hand over the dial.

‘I’m putting out a call. Stella’s been missing over twelve hours!’

‘She’s not missing! You’re not “putting out a bloody call”! Suddenly this is The Sweeney?’ Suzie snatched the receiver off him and slammed it down on the cradle. ‘I told you, she’s with Liz.’

‘You said “probably” and who says it’s Liz?’ He’d pictured the girls he’d once seen with Stella outside the Regal. Milling about like streetwalkers, eyes black with kohl, lips glossed bright red.

‘Liz is Stella’s best friend. A bit dull for my liking, but believe me when your kid’s a martyr to hormones, dull is good. The last thing Stella needs is the Met steaming round there guns blazing.’

They had replayed an argument that was itself a replay of sundry others.

Terry shoved the milk into the fridge.

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