Stephen Edger - Little Girl Gone

Taking a deep breath, she shook the thought from her mind and, wiping condensation from the mirror with the edge of her towel, she stared at the tired-looking reflection in the mirror.

How could you be so stupid? How could you turn your back on her? How could you allow someone to take her?

It still didn’t feel real. Tying a smaller towel around her wet hair, she almost expected to hear the sweet giggle coming from the bedroom next door. As she opened the bathroom door, she was only greeted by silence.

Isla had decided to dial into the team brief from her car, and Alex could see her head bobbing inside the small red car in the driveway. She could only hope that there was positive news. For a city supposedly covered in security and traffic cameras, one of them had to have captured the moment it had happened. Or the vehicle the culprit had used to make their escape.

Alex had replayed the events over and over in her mind as the hot water had thundered against her neck and shoulders. Could she have done something differently? As soon as she’d realized Carol-Anne was missing, could she have done more? She had checked the immediate vicinity, but why hadn’t she gone from car to car, looking for anyone who might have been restraining a frightened child?

Reliving the nightmare was doing nothing to ease the pain and guilt of her reckless choice. Even if her face was masking that burden, every muscle could feel it weighing her down.

Ray had yet to return any of her calls or messages. She knew his words in the back of the car had been delivered in anger, and that he had probably regretted them the moment they had spewed, yet that didn’t make them any less hurtful. Why hadn’t he come home yet? Was he chasing down a lead? Maybe it was a positive sign that he had yet to message her: maybe Trent and her team had already identified the culprit and were fast on their way to make an arrest. And maybe that was why Isla was nodding in the car.

Throwing on tracksuit bottoms and a vest top, Alex didn’t have a clue about how to spend the day. Her car was still with the police technicians, so she couldn’t go anywhere, and even if she had the car, she wasn’t sure there was anywhere she would want to go. It was at times like this that she missed her mum and dad the most. And having been an only child, she had no close family she could speak to. She probably should call Ray’s sister and tell her what had happened, but how could she even begin to explain?

As she prepared to head back downstairs, she couldn’t resist the urge to go into CarolAnne’s room, inhaling her daughter’s smell. The tiny bed was neatly made, as it had been yesterday, and each of Carol-Anne’s favourite teddies were resting against the edge of the frame.

Apart from one.

Carol-Anne had insisted on taking Ballet Bunny in the car with them. The bunny, about ten inches long, wearing a bright pink tutu, was the first toy Alex had bought when she’d learned she was expecting a girl. To Alex’s amazement, Carol-Anne had never been without it. She had tried to clean the bunny in the washing machine last year, but Carol-Anne had sobbed at the prospect. As a result, she’d chosen to handwash the bunny since then, with Carol-Anne attentively supervising the procedure.

Alex made a mental note to ensure she collected the bunny from the team scrutinizing her car. She would give the bunny an extra-careful wash, so she would be fresh and clean for when Carol-Anne returned. Taking a final look around the room at the array of photographs on the wall, Alex tried to focus on her positivity; assuming the worst would only invite negativity into their lives; she had to believe that Carol-Anne would be found, and for the first time since the incident, Alex felt a glimmer of hope.

The sound of knocking at the door indicated that Isla’s call was probably over. Galloping down the stairs, and opening the door, Alex was surprised to see Sophie on the doorstep, holding a cardboard tray of coffee cups, and a bag of fresh doughnuts.

‘Oh good, you’re up,’ Sophie said, smiling awkwardly. ‘I wanted to apologize for last night. You needed a friend and I wasn’t much help. I’m here whenever you want someone to talk to or vent at. Okay? You can call on me at any time of the day, and I’ll be there. It’s the least I can do after what you did for me before. Have you eaten yet? I brought breakfast.’

Alex stepped back and allowed her to enter. ‘Aren’t you working today?’

‘I’m not due in until this afternoon. To be honest I didn’t sleep well last night after what you told me, so I got up and went for a run to clear my head. And then I spotted the bakery on my way back and thought you might need something to keep your energy levels up.’

Alex pulled her into a grateful hug.

‘What was that for?’

‘For not telling me I’m a lousy mother who deserves everything she gets.’

Sophie handed her one of the cups. ‘What kind of friend would I be if I did that?’

Before Alex could reply, Isla appeared on the doorstep.

‘Any news?’ Alex asked hopefully.

Isla gave Sophie a cautionary look. ‘Nothing so far … the team have a number of avenues they are going to be pursuing today, which is positive. DI Trent plans to hold another briefing later this evening, so we should know more then.’

Alex introduced the two women.

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about privately, Alex,’ Isla began, giving Sophie another cautious look.

Sophie gave Alex a quick hug. ‘I’d better get out of your hair anyway. If you need anything – and I mean anything – just call me. I’m meeting Noemi at the gym, but I’m only a phone call away.’

Alex had hoped Sophie would stay, but felt awkward asking; the last thing Sophie needed was a neighbour on the verge of a nervous breakdown, particularly if she’d already made plans with Noemi.

‘DI Trent thinks it would be a good idea to make an early public appeal for information,’ Isla said when they were alone.

‘You want me to go on television?’

Isla shook her head. ‘No, we would handle it in-house at this stage: a formal statement released to various UK media outlets, a copy of Carol-Anne’s picture shared for publication in newspapers and regional news programmes. The thing is: the CCTV footage of the area isn’t great, and while the team will continue to search for any images from the surrounding area at the time Carol-Anne was taken, a public appeal might help identify potential eyewitnesses who either saw the act, or maybe can describe anyone suspicious hanging around the car park.’

‘Great. Okay. Do it,’ Alex said enthusiastically. ‘If it helps bring her back sooner, then go ahead. I’m surprised you’ve even asked for my permission.’

Isla’s nose wrinkled. ‘I have to advise you that there can be repercussions from an appeal of this nature.’

Alex frowned. ‘What kind of repercussions?’

Isla considered her next words carefully. ‘For all the benefits of social media connectivity in situations like this, trolling is still a major issue that’s hard to manage. Even if we don’t name you in the campaign, and only share Carol-Anne’s image and story, nothing stays secret forever, and these things can spread like wildfire.’

‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I mean if everyone is talking about Carol-Anne and sharing her picture that can only be good.’

Isla ground her teeth. ‘You need to be prepared for an almighty backlash. Given the nature of what happened yesterday, there are plenty of mothers who will empathize with what has happened, and there will also be plenty who will call you names and deride you for leaving your daughter unsupervised in that car. I’m not judging you, Alex, but others will. So, to that end, our advice is for you to delete, or at least suspend any of your social media accounts: Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or wherever else you have a digital footprint. Such an appeal is going to thrust you firmly into the spotlight, and once it’s out there, there will be no going back.’