Karen was impressed. DI Morgan had been based in the Thames Valley when Amy Fisher went missing. Then again, she should have guessed he would recall some details of the case. In the short time she’d known him, she’d noticed he liked to accumulate knowledge.
‘Amy lived in Heighington,’ Karen said quietly.
DI Morgan considered that information for a moment before replying, ‘It’s unlikely to be related to our missing girls. Emily and Sian are ten. Amy Fisher was nineteen. If the incidents were related and we were dealing with a predator targeting young girls, we’d expect them to be in a similar age range.’
Karen knew he was right but his reply irritated her. It sounded like something straight out of a textbook.
Nettleham was north-east of Lincoln, and they needed to cross the River Witham to get to Heighington. Travelling on the congested A15 was not ideal but, fortunately, the route wasn’t as busy as usual, and they reached Canwick Hill within ten minutes.
Karen’s mobile beeped. It was a message from her sister on the family group chat they’d set up with their parents. She’d check in with them later. After muting the app, she slid the phone back in her pocket.
As DI Morgan turned left on to Heighington Road, he asked, ‘Do you have any local knowledge of the area or know anything about the girls’ families?’
Karen lived just two miles away from Moore Lane Primary School in the neighbouring village of Branston. She’d moved there with her family ten years ago. Branston was full of happy memories. After her husband and daughter had died in a car accident, Karen hadn’t wanted to leave the area. If she did, she felt she’d be leaving a part of them behind.
‘I know the head teacher, Jackie Lyons, is well respected and active in the community. I’m not familiar with Sian Gibson’s family, but I think Emily Dean could be the daughter of one of the Dean boys.’
DI Morgan frowned but didn’t take his eyes off the road as they sped past the open fields. ‘The Dean boys?’
‘The Dean family are known to the local force. They’re forever getting into trouble, petty crime mostly.’
‘Go on.’
‘It goes back to Matthew Dean, their father. I guess he’s about sixty now and does a few jobs here and there. If you ask him, he’ll tell you he labours on local farms, but I suspect most of his income comes from criminal activities. He’s been prosecuted multiple times, and he’s been inside twice for long stretches. Once for actual bodily harm, and once for stealing farm machinery. He’s got two sons and the youngest, Dennis, is as bad as his father. I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure Dennis has a daughter called Emily.’
DI Morgan nodded slowly. ‘We’ll have to find out if they’re involved in any active feuds. In my experience, criminal families like that don’t tend to get on well together, and if someone holds a grudge against the Deans . . .’
Karen looked at him. ‘The Deans are a pain in the neck, but even so, it’s hard to imagine anyone targeting two children to get back at them.’
Karen leaned forward in her seat, willing DI Morgan to travel faster along the straight road. She knew uniform were already on the scene and had started the search, but in a case like this every second counted.
‘I have heard rumours that Dennis’s wife kicked him out a few months ago,’ Karen said.
‘If that’s true, and Dennis Dean feels he’s being denied contact with his daughter, it’s possible he made a grab for Emily.’
Karen exhaled heavily. If Emily was, in fact, a member of the notorious Dean family, things could escalate quickly. The fact that another child was involved made her feel uneasy.
As they turned off Heighington Road and entered Moore Lane, Karen swore under her breath. The lane was packed with parked cars, but DI Morgan took it all in his stride and parked a distance away from the school.
Irritated by the precision of his parallel parking, Karen yanked the door open as soon as the car was stationary.
They walked quickly towards the small school. Groups of parents stood close to the entrance, many of them holding their children’s hands, reluctant to let go after they’d heard about the two missing girls. They were hanging around, anxious for any news, but Karen wished they’d go home. Unless they had information to pass on, they were just getting in the way.
In a crowd like this it would be easy to miss something important. Karen scanned the gathering, looking for anything suspicious, but all she saw were the concerned faces of parents and the wide-eyed, confused expressions of the youngsters, who didn’t really understand what was going on.
A young mum, wearing a navy-blue jacket and tight jeans, pushed her way towards them. ‘Are you the police? What’s going on? Have you found the little girls yet?’ She tossed her long brown hair.
‘We don’t have any news at present,’ Karen said and walked around the woman, heading quickly to the double doors at the entrance to the school.
Before they managed to get inside, Karen felt a tug on her sleeve. She swallowed a sharp retort, and DI Morgan slowly and deliberately leaned over and removed the man’s hand from Karen’s forearm.
‘I understand that you’re extremely concerned, sir, but we need to get inside and do our job.’
The man swallowed and ran a hand through his light brown hair. ‘Of course, sorry. It’s just I think I’ve got some information for you.’
Karen had already turned away and had one hand on the door ready to enter the school, but his words stopped her dead.
‘What information?’ DI Morgan asked.
‘Well, actually it’s not me. It’s Danny, my son.’
DI Morgan and Karen looked down at the young lad standing beside his father. He had brown hair and big, expressive brown eyes, and he looked absolutely terrified.
‘Do you have something to tell us, Danny?’ Karen asked.
The boy’s lower lip trembled, then he looked up at Karen and replied, ‘I saw them climb over the fence in the playground. I saw them leave.’
CHAPTER TWO
DI Morgan went to check on the progress of the search, leaving Karen to speak to Danny Saunders and his father, Matthew. The head teacher, Jackie Lyons, had escorted them to an empty classroom and left them to talk.
Karen sat gingerly on one of the tiny chairs and tried to cram her knees under the low desk. She began by telling Danny he wasn’t in trouble and explaining that anything he could tell her might help get the girls home safe. But Danny wasn’t concentrating. His wide eyes were looking around the classroom. Various posters decorated the walls, along with a brightly coloured chart which listed the pupils’ names.
‘Are you okay, Danny?’
Danny nodded absently but didn’t take his eyes off the chart. Karen followed his gaze but nothing looked unusual. It was just a list of pupils, some with a red sticker beside their name, others with gold stars.
‘Concentrate, please, Danny,’ his father said sternly. ‘You need to answer the policewoman’s questions.’
Danny nodded meekly and turned back to Karen. ‘Sorry.’
‘How old are you, Danny?’
‘He’s eight,’ Mr Saunders answered for his son.
‘I’d really like Danny to answer these questions, please, sir,’ Karen said.