Chapter One
It was obvious from the way in which she was driving that Detective Constable Danny Furness was one very pissed off woman.
She changed gear jerkily and jabbed at the accelerator, even though it was her own car, not a police car, and it was her pride and joy — one of the few major indulgences she had allowed herself in the whole of her life. The car surged out of the rear yard of Blackpool Central police station with a screech. Danny threw a right down Richardson Street, followed by another right up Chapel Street towards the traffic lights at the Promenade, which were on red.
She braked, nearly upending the car, then took a deep breath and forced herself to relax into the comfortable driver’s seat of the ten-year-old Mercedes 190. Then she lambasted herself mentally for getting so riled up about the plight and the ‘up yours’ attitude of just another of her customers.
No doubt about it: the job was getting to her.
No, scrap that. The job had got to her.
She thanked the Almighty that last Thursday she had paraded in front of the Chief Constable and had been promoted to Sergeant with effect from the following Monday; this meant she had only a week more to work on the Family Protection Unit (FPU) before she transferred onto the CID and became a Detective Sergeant. She couldn’t wait to go.
She squinted at the sullen figure in the passenger seat next to her. The eleven-year-old girl clung miserably to the door-handle, having refused on a point of principle to put her seat belt on. She wore a scowl of pure loathing splattered across what was actually a very pretty face and. stared angrily ahead through the windscreen, refusing to even acknowledge the detective next to her.
Danny sighed impatiently — at the girl and the unchanging lights.
‘ Look, Claire, let’s face facts: you can’t go around doing exactly what you wanna do all the time. You’re well old enough to realise that you need to consider other people’s feelings besides your own. Your mum has been frantic, really worried about you.’
Claire’s lips curled cynically at Danny’s reasonable words. She continued to stare dead ahead through the rain, her eyes unrelenting pools of liquid steel. The little speech had gone in one ear and out the other.
Danny shook her head in frustration.
The lights changed. She turned left — south — onto the Promenade, smack into the fiercely driving rain and howling gale-force wind which had virtually cleared the sea-front of all pedestrians.
She had spent most of the last two hours trying to get underneath Claire’s tough facade — in the presence of the girl’s nineteen-year-old cousin, who had been as useful as a verruca in a swimming pool — and failed. Danny would have preferred to have had Claire’s mother present, but she had been uncontactable.
‘ You’ve gone missing from home six times in the last two months and the last two times you’ve been nicked for shoplifting. You’re bloody lucky we’ve decided to caution you again; next time we might put you before a juvenile court. Is that what you want? The court might even decide to place you in a home… Do you want to be sent away?’
Danny knew it was only a remote possibility, but Claire didn’t need to be aware of that.
Not that Danny’s words had much effect. The kid exhaled in a manner which suggested she’d heard all this garbage before, turned haughtily to face Danny and with a sneer said, ‘I don’t fucking care.’ She drew her right knee up and wedged her foot on the seat.
Danny had an urge to lurch across the gap between them and give the young lady one almighty slap across the chops. Instead she snapped, ‘Feet off!’
Claire insolently let her foot thud back onto the floor.
‘ Six times in the last two months, eh? Why? What’s behind it? You unhappy at home?’
Claire winced and quickly looked out of the side window at the passing Promenade which was being lashed by a combination of the heavy rain and the waves which crashed over the sea wall, driven by high winds.
Danny missed the reaction. She expelled an exasperated breath and thought, Sod you, you little cow! If you don’t want to open up, I’m not sure I want to be bothered with you.
And yet she was concerned. Which is probably the reason why Danny had been such a success on FPU. She cared.
Why should a kid like Claire, from a good, apparently stable background, doing well at school, popular, likeable, suddenly veer off the rails? There was a multitude of possible reasons, none of which Claire seemed willing to divulge.
It didn’t add up.
And Danielle Louise Furness, soon to be a Detective Sergeant, didn’t like things that didn’t add up.
The remainder of the journey was completed in deathly silence, Danny knowing from experience when she was banging her head against a brick wall. She didn’t have the time or the energy to pursue things further. So instead of trying to draw Claire out, she concentrated on driving, enjoying the car, which despite its age handled and responded beautifully.
Claire, glad of the respite from the pressure, closed her eyes and rested her head on the seat, exhausted.
A few minutes later, Danny pulled up outside the sea front hotel on South Shore Promenade which was Claire’s home.
‘ Here we are,’ she announced, and killed the engine. ‘Home sweet home.’
With a start, Claire opened her eyes. She had almost dropped off to sleep for the first time in thirty-six hours.
She looked quickly — wide-eyed, like a trapped rabbit — at Danny, who saw the expression on the youngster’s face; but it was only on later reflection, much, much later, that she recognised it as fear. There and then, Claire’s reaction to her arrival home did not really register with the detective. It just seemed to be a rude awakening. Nothing more.
‘ C’mon lass,’ Danny urged her into action.
Claire’s shoulders slumped. The corners of her pretty mouth curled down and she pouted with a quivering bottom lip. With resignation she opened the door and climbed out of the car.
Danny unfastened her seat belt and got out too. The rain washed over her immediately, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water at them.
Side by side they walked across the paved parking area outside the small hotel towards the front door. Danny knew Claire’s parents were now home. Apparently they had been out at the Cash amp; Carry warehouse when Claire had been picked up, which was why the police had been unable to contact them. Danny was anticipating the very real pleasure of depositing the uncooperative little brat back into Mummy’s open arms.
She looked down at the grubby ‘misper’ — missing person — by her side.
Claire was dressed in raggy denim jeans, an ‘Oasis’ style anorak and a pair of multi-coloured Reeboks.
By contrast, the older woman was dressed in a practical but elegantly tailored long line suit in a colour described as ‘soft-grape’ and sling-back court shoes with three-inch heels on her feet. Ideal attire for office work as well as the wide range of other activities she carried out on the FPU; completely inappropriate, however, for pursuing a young lady who decided on the spur of the moment that there was no way in this world that she was going to be returned home.
About four yards from the door, Claire twisted unexpectedly. She legged it around a parked car and vaulted over the low wall separating the frontage of her parents’ hotel from the one next door. Then she shifted quickly into top gear.
Danny lunged for her. Missed. Grabbed an armful of fresh air. Swore with words from a vocabulary that could only have come from seventeen years’ police service. And without a second thought, gave chase.
‘ You little bitch!’ she screamed, yanked her skirt above her knees and cleared the low wall with only millimetres to spare. Claire was fast and agile, as an eleven-year-old girl should be. But Danny was determined not to lose her, even though she was not in the peak of physical condition. It was a matter of pride.
She landed awkwardly, going over onto her left ankle, feeling it crick out of shape with a pop. She gasped, regained her footing and belted after the fleeing kid.
