Page 75 of The Unforgiven

Kelly-Anne

Some pictures were of Morgan and one or more of the others, some had boys in them, and Leah, but in one year, lots of them were of the six girls, Kelly-Ann in a handful, Sophie in three or four.

There was the link we’d been searching for.

I carried on studying the photos, looking at the boys in them, noticing the reoccurring names, Brad, Lennon, Craig, Marc. A photo of Evelyn and Lennon together, Brad and Craig, who looked like brothers, a boys versus girls football match on the beach.

Idyllic summers.

Carefree days before going back to school with the realities of homework and exams and what it might be like to grow up and how unprepared we all were.

Days that would never be repeated, because the next time we had that freedom, it would be post-work, post being young, when you knew things weren’t endless.

I picked up three of the scrapbooks, carrying them downstairs. Morgan’s dad was sitting in the lounge, staring at a TV that wasn’t switched on.

“It is okay if I take these? I’ll make sure you get them back as soon as possible.” I lifted the scrapbooks as if it wasn’t obvious what I meant.”

He nodded, not looking at me. “That’s fine. Are you okay if you see yourself - ” he didn’t want to be rude, but he needed me gone. I had no idea where Sonya was but I understood.

“Of course. Take care.”You won’t be okay, but that’s alright, you’re not meant to be. Things will be different, but there will always be a glimmer if you can find it. And it doesn’t get easier, it becomes different.

I got into my car, the scrapbooks on the passenger seat, tappings of rain beginning to drop on the windscreen.

Different. But different didn’t mean wrong.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The office was abuzz when I returned, scrapbooks in hand, but not because we had a connection between the four women, but because Lachy and Nick had arrested Dean Hobson on nothing less than suspicion of murder.

I stood there, clutching the scrapbooks to my chest like the clever girl in the class who’s been stood up for a joke.

Vinny saw me, returning to the office from the room next door, where we could watch a suspect being interviewed. He looked me up and down, frowning. “What’ve you got?”

I knew I was scowling. “Something that’s clearly not useful anymore – why’ve we arrested him?”

Vinny plonked his arse on my desk. “He has at least ten user names that he trolls women on, leaving threats and other shit on their social media posts; he’s done eight months inside for an assault on a woman; he’s sent threatening messages on Evelyn’s, Morgan’s and Brooke’s reels, and at the moment, he has no alibi – he wasn’t online during long periods of time when we believe the three women were killed. How does that suit you?”

“It’s circumstantial at best.”

“He’ll crack. Nick’s also found he has a lock up near Rivington Pike – we’ve got a team going up there now.” Vinny folded his arms. “He’s as squirrelly as fuck, hates women. Lives in a bedsit and earns money through investing in BitCoin.”

I put the scrapbooks down on my desk, elbowing Vinny in the rear to get him to shift. “Look at these.” I opened the scrapbook that had the most photos, turning quickly to the page with the photo of the seven girls, Morgan in a T-shirt and cut-off shorts, Evelyn wearing a cropped top and tiny skirt, the others somewhere in between, apart from Kelly-Anne, who was in sweatpants that were too tight and a T-shirt that had a stain on it. She was overweight and unhappy, her glasses cheap and thick lensed.

“Kelly-Anne?” Isn’t that the same as the girl in the hospital with Charlie Mason?” Vinny frowned at me.

I nodded. “It’s the same name, but hospital Kelly-Anne was admitted because of a severe eating disorder. Hospital Kelly-Anne allegedly died too.”

“People change, although coming back from the dead’s a bit tricky. What about the boys?” He started to look through the scrapbook, probably noticing all the things I’d taken in.

“There’s a scrapbook for each summer she was at Aberwyn. Some of the boys appear in all of them, only two of the girls do. It’s the summer when Morgan would’ve been thirteen. But there has to be a connection, Vin. And we need to identify Sophie and check to see if Kelly-Anne is dead because anyone can place an obituary – if someone’s got a grudge against the girls then they could be at risk.” It was there, that instinct that this was it, we were on the right track, but in the interview room downstairs someone was being interviewed already. “You think it’s connected to social media and someone who’s an incel. What if it’s both – what if it’s one of these boys?”

Dean Hobson didn’t look especially pleased when I walked into the interview room with Vinny, carrying the photo of the seven girls.

“I’m DS Mia McAllister and this is DS Vinny Leigh. We wanted to ask you about where you spent your holidays growing up.” I watched him as he appraised me, a long, slow look and then a glare.

“Well, we know how you got the job, don’t we?”

I sat down opposite him, my brief to get as far under his skin as possible. “A degree, a master’s degree, seven years as a DC and I passed my sergeant’s exams. How did you get your job?”