The Lost Read Free

one of the new Community Liaison Officers, WPC Singh. Her voice was soft. ‘They were planning it.’
    Paula nodded. ‘There you go. It made me think – maybe she was planning to go off with him. Maybe he didn’t abduct her at all. So if we checked her internet searches . . .’
    The DS was shaking his head. ‘And we found her safe and sound. Never thought I’d see the day. Bloody great work – proud of you all today.’ He pointed at the file in Paula’s hands. ‘See you got the Ireland offer then.’
    She shrugged. ‘Allen just wants rid of me.’
    McDonald didn’t deny it. ‘Well, have a drink, lass, you deserve it.’
    ‘He wants his report.’
    ‘Ach, let him wait. Take a moment, for God’s sake.’
    ‘I can’t – too much work.’ That wasn’t the real reason Paula couldn’t celebrate with cheap wine and cheer, but it would do. She retreated to her own glass cubicle and closed the door, took a deep breath. Tried to clear her mind of how the girl had shrieked as they tore her from Mickey Jones’s arms, and the man’s crazy, jittering eyes as they locked him away.
    Paula jumped as herdoor swung open again, bringing in a babble of happy voices.
    ‘McDonald says drink this.’ One of the PCs was putting a plastic cup on her desk. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? Everyone’s dead chuffed.’
    The officer – what was his name again? – leant against the wall, and she watched his long legs stretch out. Andy, was that it? ‘Yeah. It’s great.’
    Andy, if that was his name, had lovely eyes, blue as police sirens and blatantly checking her out. ‘Hey, eh, Paula? You fancy a drink after work, maybe? Celebrate?’
    How old was he? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? A few years younger than her, she was sure. She looked down at her broken nail. ‘I don’t think so. I’m a bit manic here. Maybe another time.’
    He was too open. He was thinking, Is she saying no, or is she really busy? She watched confusion slide over his face. He said, ‘All right. Catch you later.’
    ‘Bye.’ As he went out, her expression changed. Really, she hadn’t time for all this. Kaylee Morris was found, but the in-tray groaned with those who were still lost. She placed Kaylee’s file on her right, under OUT , and lifted the next case off from her left. Picking up the flimsy cup, she took a swig of the cheap sour wine, and set to work.
    The next day’s dawn was colder, mist leaching in from the Thames and creeping up to the windows of Paula’s Docklands flat. She watched it from the sofa, her tea grown cold. It was only seven but she’d been awake for hours. Papers were scattered all around her towelling dressing-gown.
    A male noise came from the bedroom, a throat-clearing nose-blowing sort of noise, and out came PC Andy, wrapped in a very small towel. He ducked his head, shy. Despite his good looks and strapping frame, she’d realised last night he didn’t do this very often. That was a shame. It made things easier if they did.
    ‘Up already? Didn’t hearyou stir.’ He ambled over.
    She swirled the grey tea round her cup, embarrassed at how she’d peeled herself out from his heavy arm and escaped to the living room. He was a cuddler – who’d have guessed? ‘I’m not a great sleeper, sometimes.’
    ‘No? My mum takes these tablets. All herbal, so it’s healthy, like.’
    Paula sighed. Could she get him out without making breakfast? The pale light of dawn highlighted his ribbed stomach, the strong arms grasping the towel. Muscles shifted in his shoulders and she sighed again. ‘Sorry, Andy. I’ve got paperwork.’
    He peered over her shoulder. ‘That the Ireland thing? What is it, cold cases and that?’
    ‘Yeah. There’s a big problem with it over there – lots never got solved, with the border and everything.’
    ‘Sounds like a wicked opportunity.’
    ‘Does it? I think sometimes the past is better left alone.’
    He looked surprised for a moment. ‘But I thought—’
    She shut the file. ‘Anyway, I’m not