Stolen Children by Michael Wood

Author:Michael Wood
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Police Procedural, Fiction, Suspense, Thriller, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780008374860
Published: 2020-10-01T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

Matilda pulled up outside the mortuary on Watery Street just outside the city centre in her Range Rover. She opened the door and felt a sudden gust of cool wind. She looked up and saw a heavy grey sky looming above her. Summer was definitely over. Autumn would quickly descend into winter which would be long, dark, and arduous. Adele was right; she had made a mistake in moving so far out of the city. Hopefully, with Scott and Chris moving in to the apartment and a potential relationship developing with Daniel, things wouldn’t seem quite so lonely.

As she approached the building, the main doors opened and two women stepped out. She recognised the first woman straight away.

‘Bev,’ Matilda called out to her.

The taller of the two women turned at the sound of her name. Bev was in her late forties but looked at least a decade older. Years of working on the streets in all weathers and smoking like a chimney had ravaged her appearance. She layered herself in make-up to hide the wrinkles. She dyed her thinning hair light blonde and over-plucked her eyebrows. She was painfully thin with prominent cheekbones and a turkey neck.

‘I told you this would happen,’ she immediately launched into a tirade at the sight of the DCI. ‘I warned you. You wouldn’t listen and now a woman – a girl – is dead. She was nineteen, Matilda.’ Bev’s voice was hoarse and deep from a lifetime of cigarettes. Usually she sounded harsh and authoritative, but this morning there was a catch of emotion in her voice and tears in her eyes.

‘Bev, I understand you’re unhappy. We are dealing with it, I promise you.’

‘Are you? I don’t see any extra police cars patrolling the area. I don’t see any coppers talking to us, asking how we are, if we’ve seen anything or anyone dodgy lately. Earlier this year that detective of yours promised there’d be more of a presence to make us feel safe. She lied. Who was she, Sarah?’

Bev turned to the smaller woman behind her. Sarah was always in Bev’s shadow. Slightly younger in age, much younger mentally, Sarah followed Bev around wherever she went. They’d worked the streets of Sheffield together for more than twenty years and Sarah listened to everything Bev said. She didn’t think for herself. She didn’t talk for herself.

Sarah shook her head in reply to Bev’s question.

‘She gave us her card. It’ll be in your purse.’

Sarah always carried a large shoulder bag around with her. It had seen better days and was only fit to be thrown away, but it contained everything both women needed – ID, make-up, hairbrush, mints, small bottles of mouthwash, even smaller bottles of vodka, prescription medication, and too many crumpled business cards to count.

She handed Bev a card.

‘Detective Sergeant Sian Mills,’ Bev read, holding the card at arm’s length and squinting. ‘Where is she, Matilda? Where’s the help and protection she promised?’

‘Bev, I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry for your loss, I truly am.

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