Exposed Read online

  Exposed

  The Missing Children Case Files

  M. A. Hunter

  One More Chapter

  a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

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  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

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  Copyright © M. A. Hunter 2021

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  Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

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  M. A. Hunter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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  A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

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  Source ISBN: 9780008443412

  Ebook Edition © July 2021 ISBN: 9780008443405

  Version: 2021-06-25

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  Content notices: paedophilia, sexual assault, drug abuse, child abuse.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you for reading…

  You will also love…

  About the Author

  Also by M. A. Hunter

  One More Chapter...

  About the Publisher

  Dedicated to all the victims

  of abuse who have suffered,

  and those who continue to suffer.

  The old moon is tarnished

  With smoke of the flood,

  The dead leaves are varnished

  With colour like blood,

  * * *

  A treacherous smiler

  With teeth white as milk,

  A savage beguiler

  In sheathings of silk.

  — Sea Lullaby, Elinor Wylie

  Chapter One

  Then

  Portland, Dorset

  It had been several minutes since she’d watched her sister stomp away from the yard, and whilst she still didn’t really have much concept of time, the fact that the shadow of the house was now totally covering the driveway indicated it was getting late. The shade brought with it cooler air, and the little girl on the skateboard rubbed at her upper arms with her hands, as if enough friction would cause the goosebumps to simply shed from her skin.

  Despite her previous protestations to the contrary, riding the skateboard up and down with nobody to watch and cheer her progress really wasn’t as much fun as she’d thought. She was now able to just about hold herself on her standing foot, while propelling the board with the other, although the uneven surface of the paving slabs made for a bumpy ride.

  Stepping down from the toy, she moved to the edge of the yard, leaning over the low brick wall, the wrought-iron railing pressing into the top of her jeans, and strained to see whether her sister was on her way back yet. Grandma’s house was only a four-minute walk away according to her mum and dad, and her sister must have been gone for at least two or three times that long. She pictured her sitting in Grandpa’s old reclining chair – the one with the plastic handle that made the bottom of the chair shoot out and scoop up their feet. Grandma didn’t like to sit in it herself, not since he’d died, so it meant it was always free for the grandchildren to fight over whenever they’d pop round.

  She pictured her sister on the fully reclined chair, watching cartoons and tucking into a large bowl of Grandma’s apple crumble and thick yellow custard. She could practically taste the cinnamon and brown sugar as she imagined her sister tucking into the pudding. Envy gripped her mind, as Grandma offered a second helping because Anna had managed to walk the route unaided, and she was the only one there to eat the crumble.

  Pushing her head further over the railing, she looked to the left and the right, in case her sister was playing some kind of game, and was secretly hiding just out of sight, so that Emma would only think she’d gone to Grandma’s house. But the road was empty, save for the snake-long line of cars that clung to the pavement edge as if they might all fall if one moved away. The street was deathly quiet. No neighbours; no children playing; no dogs barking; no sign of Anna.

  Emma’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pulled themselves into a huff. It wasn’t fair! Just because Anna was two years older, and was able to better remember landmarks and road names, didn’t mean she should be allowed extra helpings of Grandma’s apple crumble. Abandoning the skateboard, she stomped to the front door and pulled the handle down, letting herself inside. She was taken aback by the blast of warm air that wrapped itself around her shoulders and carried her inside. She hadn’t realised just how cold it was outside, and couldn’t help smiling at the toasty brush against her cheeks. Closing the door to the draught, she hurried inside, throwing herself at her dad’s armchair in front of the television; the one closest to the radiator.

  She could hear the low rumble of voices somewhere nearby – possibly the kitchen – but her dad didn’t appear to be watching the racing cars on the television, so she flipped through the channels, searching for the cartoons she’d imagined Anna watching. All she could find was horse racing, a black and white war movie, and some programme with an old man talking about the history of the church he was standing beside. Switching off the box, she looked around the room for something to do, before spotting her dad’s bag of wine gums. They’d given them to him for Father’s Day, and he must have opened them to enjoy with the racing. He always offered them one when he opened a new bag, and she was sure he would have offered her one if he realised she was in here now.

  Shifting her weight to her knees, she craned her neck over the back of the armchair, tryin
g to see whether either of her parents were likely to emerge from the kitchen anytime soon, but it was impossible to tell with the door closed.

  He wouldn’t be upset if she had just one. She’d choose an orange one because he always said they were his least favourite. If anything, she’d be doing him a favour in eating an orange one, so then he wouldn’t have to. And if he was in here now, she was sure he’d offer her one anyway, so where was the harm?

  Her hand was clammy as she stretched her arm out towards the bag, keeping one eye on the kitchen door in case it was suddenly thrust open. She felt the sharp edge of the plastic bag brush against her fingertips, rustling as it did. A sudden bump behind her had her arm freeze in mid-air, and the gasp catch in her throat. Rolling her head back towards her shoulder, she half expected to see her dad there, staring her down for stealing one of his wine gums, but the kitchen door was still closed.

  It was now or never. Mum or Dad could be out at any second, and her mum would probably disapprove of her eating a sweet so close to dinner time. Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, Emma dug her hand into the bag, and fished around until she found the orange prism of sweet and quickly popped it into her mouth, savouring the citrus bite. A moment later, the kitchen door opened and her parents emerged, continuing their conversation, oblivious to her presence just behind the armchair.

  ‘So, we’re agreed,’ her dad’s voice carried. ‘We go tonight and we don’t look back?’

  Her mum’s voice when she replied sounded pained and hollow. ‘If you think that’s for the best.’

  ‘I don’t see any other way,’ he replied. ‘You get the girls in, and I’ll make the call.’

  Emma chewed the sweet as quickly and quietly as she could, eager to hide the evidence of her crime. She heard the front door open and her mum’s voice calling for them both, but remained where she was until the last of the gummy was safely swallowed.

  ‘Girls?’ her mum’s voice called out as she stepped back indoors.

  Emma swivelled back onto her knees and peered over the back of the armchair. ‘Boo!’

  Her mum caught her breath, and pressed a frail hand over her chest, her face a deathly pallor. ‘Oh, there you are, Emma. You made me jump. Where’s your sister?’

  The warmth of the room and the lure of the wine gums had totally distracted Emma from the real reason she had come inside, but now the image of the reclined chair and big bowl of crumble and custard came flooding back into her mind.

  ‘She went to Grandma’s house,’ Emma said bitterly. ‘Can we go before she eats all of the custard?’

  Her mother’s brow furrowed. ‘Very funny. Where is Anna really?’

  Emma adopted a stern face, put out by the doubt cast upon her response. ‘I told you: she went to Grandma’s house.’

  The frown deepened. ‘You’re being serious? How did she get to your grandma’s house?’

  ‘Duh, she walked, obviously.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Emma shrugged.

  Her mum continued to watch her, as if waiting for some punchline that wasn’t coming, before lifting the phone from the wall and pressing the speed dial button. ‘Hi, Mum, it’s Bronwyn… Yes, we’re all well here… I was just wondering whether I could speak to my daughter please? I need her home because we need to go out soon… Anna of course…’ She turned to face Emma, but kept the phone to her ear. ‘What do you mean she’s not there?’

  Emma peeled herself from the armchair, sneaking a glance at the packet of wine gums, certain her dad wouldn’t mind if she had a second but not daring to risk snatching one with her mum in the room. ‘When’s dinner?’ Emma said, no longer interested in observing the telephone call. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Hold on, Mum,’ Bronwyn said, lowering the phone to her shoulder. ‘Emma, where is your sister?’

  Emma stopped her journey to the kitchen. ‘I told you: she went to Grandma’s house.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Emma shrugged again. ‘I don’t know. A while ago.’

  ‘What happened? Why did she say she was going to Grandma’s?’

  Emma hadn’t wanted to mention her part in the argument that had ensued over the skateboard, but the way her mum was glaring at her now made her think twice about lying. ‘She was being bossy about my new skateboard, and I told her it was mine and I wanted to play with it. She shouted and then said she was going to Grandma’s house.’

  ‘But when did all this happen? You two couldn’t have been in the yard for more than…’ her words trailed off as her eyes fell on her wristwatch, swiftly widening as her mind calculated the difference. ‘Oh God, I didn’t realise it was so late.’ She returned the phone to her ear. ‘Hi, Mum, listen, if Anna does show up at your house, can you call me straightaway, and I’ll come and collect her? No, no, nothing to worry about, I’m sure… Yes, thank you. Love you too.’

  She returned the phone to its spot on the wall, taking a deep breath and then dropping to her knees in front of Emma. ‘Now listen, Mummy won’t be cross, but I need to know where your sister really is.’

  ‘I told you—’

  ‘I don’t care about any of that,’ she interrupted, puffing the fringe from her eyes. ‘I don’t know what prompted the two of you to construct this prank, but it isn’t funny anymore. Okay? I just need to know the truth. Where is Anna?’

  Emma opened her mouth to speak, but Bronwyn cut her off again.

  ‘No lies this time, Emma. I won’t be mad if you just come clean. Is she hiding in her bedroom? Or somewhere in the back garden?’

  Emma shook her head, not happy with her mum’s tight grip on her upper arms. ‘I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where she is. She said she was going to Grandma’s house. She climbed over the wall, and walked as if she was going there.’

  The blood had yet to return to Bronwyn’s face, and she was clearly struggling to keep her voice calm and even. ‘If you’re lying to me, Emma, you will be in big trouble. Do you understand? I will confiscate your skateboard if I find out that you’re covering for your sister.’

  Emma resented the threat to the skateboard, and pulled herself free of her mum’s grasp. ‘I’m not lying! She went to Grandma’s house. That’s what she told me.’

  Bronwyn straightened and moved through to the kitchen, fumbling with the key in the patio door. She pulled it open and stalked into the small square garden, eyes darting left and right, but there really wasn’t anywhere to hide within the frame of the six-foot fence panels.

  ‘Anna? Anna? Are you out here?’

  Gulls squawked in response, but there was no sign of the little girl with a mess of dark hair and glasses.

  Returning to the kitchen, Bronwyn gave Emma another pained stare, hoping for a different response, but Emma didn’t have one to offer. Hurrying upstairs, Bronwyn opened the door to Anna’s bedroom, checking in the flat-pack wardrobe, under both duvets, and the windowsill beyond the closed curtains, but there was no sign of her.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Dev,’ Emma’s dad said absently, studying the screen of his mobile phone as he appeared in the doorway, ‘and everything’s sorted for tonight. I’ll throw some things into a case while you get the girls into the—’

  ‘Anna’s missing,’ Bronwyn said, clutching her throat with her hand.

  Chapter Two

  Now

  Market Harborough, Leicestershire

  It’s nearing six when we leave the motorway, passing farmland on all sides as we head through Leicestershire. It’s the first time during our journey up here that conversation has finally stopped. Poor Jack looks exhausted as he stifles a yawn and puts the takeaway cup of coffee to his lips as we idle at traffic lights, but he quickly winces.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, assuming it’s one of his injuries causing the pain.

  He nestles the cup back into the plastic holder behind the automatic gear stick. ‘Cold coffee,’ he says, swallowing painfully. ‘Might be an idea to get a fresh burst of caffeine before we head into the po
lice station. I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered.’

  I’m sure my body is equally tired, but any signs of fatigue are being squirrelled away, as I feel more alert than I have in a long time. I was all set to send Maddie the outlines of two books detailing everything we’ve faced in the aftermath of Aurélie Lebrun exposing the presence of a secret ring of paedophiles and traffickers operating along the south coast of England, when a call from DS Sarah Yates from Leicestershire Constabulary interrupted me. After what she told me, I saved the draft email, packed up my laptop and an overnight bag, and bailed out of my flat. I still can't believe that the suspect in the fatal shooting of Sir Anthony Tomlinson is demanding to speak to me and that the police are prepared to grant her wish in the hope of extracting a full confession of murder.