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  Praise for the Detective Gaby Darin series

  ‘Mind blowing’

  ‘Keeps you on the edge of your seat’

  ‘A great crime procedural series!’

  ‘An amazing thriller from beginning to end’

  ‘Couldn’t ask for a better read’

  ‘This series just keeps getting better. I was hooked from the first page’

  ‘A five-star read, no question’

  About the Author

  Born in Dublin, JENNY O’BRIEN moved to Wales and then Guernsey, where she tries to find time to both read and write in between working as a nurse and ferrying around three teenagers.

  In her spare time she can be found frowning at her wonky cakes and even wonkier breads. You’ll be pleased to note she won’t be entering Bake Off. She’s also an all-year-round sea swimmer.

  Also by Jenny O’Brien

  The Detective Gaby Darin series

  Silent Cry

  Darkest Night

  Fallen Angel

  Lost Souls

  JENNY O’BRIEN

  HQ

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  1st Floor, Watermarque Building, Ringsend Road

  Dublin 4, Ireland

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

  Copyright © Jenny O’Brien 2021

  Jenny O’Brien asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  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.

  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, downloaded, 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.

  E-book Edition © 2021 ISBN: 9780008457044

  Version: 2021-04-14

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Praise for the Detective Gaby Darin series

  About the Author

  Also by Jenny O’Brien

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Elodie

  Chapter 2: Gaby

  Chapter 3: Ronan

  Chapter 4: Gaby

  Chapter 5: Ronan

  Chapter 6: Janice

  Chapter 7: Gaby

  Chapter 8: Owen

  Chapter 9: Gaby

  Chapter 10: Owen

  Chapter 11: Gaby

  Chapter 12: Barbara

  Chapter 13: Gaby

  Chapter 14: Ronan

  Chapter 15: Gaby

  Chapter 16: Owen

  Chapter 17: Gaby

  Chapter 18: Owen

  Chapter 19: Ronan

  Chapter 20: Gaby

  Chapter 21: Ronan

  Chapter 22: Gaby

  Chapter 23: Marie

  Chapter 24: Ronan

  Chapter 25: Gaby

  Chapter 26: Gaby

  Chapter 27: Gaby

  Chapter 28: Ronan

  Chapter 29: Gaby

  Chapter 30: Gaby

  Chapter 31: Gaby

  Chapter 32: Jax

  Chapter 33: Ronan

  Chapter 34: Owen

  Chapter 35: Gaby

  Chapter 36: Owen

  Chapter 37: Gaby

  Chapter 38: Gaby

  Chapter 39: Marie

  Chapter 40: Ronan

  Chapter 41: Marie

  Chapter 42: Ronan

  Chapter 43: Gaby

  Chapter 44: Janice

  Chapter 45: Gaby

  Chapter 46: Ronan

  Chapter 47: Gaby

  Chapter 48: Ronan

  Chapter 49: Gaby

  Chapter 50: Ronan

  Chapter 51: Gaby

  Chapter 52: Gaby

  Chapter 53: Owen

  Chapter 54: Gaby

  Chapter 55: Gaby

  Chapter 56: Gaby

  Epilogue: Ronan

  Extract

  Acknowledgements

  Dear Reader …

  Keep Reading …

  About the Publisher

  To Joël, Remi and Freya. You inspire me each and every day.

  Be happy, be brave but, most important of all, be kind.

  Chapter 1

  Elodie

  Friday 31 July, 1 p.m. Colwyn Bay

  Elodie Fry was bored. It was only two weeks since school had broken up for summer but she had nothing to do and nobody to do it with.

  The house was quiet, the only sound to be heard the distant hum of the hoover as her mum vacuumed the stairs. She could of course help but when she’d offered she’d had her head snapped off for her trouble, which was such a rare event that she’d retreated to the lounge in a huff with her library book. That was an hour ago. Her book was long since finished, her water bottle empty and there was nothing on the television that grabbed her attention.

  She scrabbled to her feet, her skinny legs almost too long for her body. Her fair hair was still pulled back into the netted bun she had to wear to her ballet lessons, a look that was at war with her pink hoodie and scruffy jeans. She left the lounge and wandered into the kitchen, humming a little tune she’d made up in her head. Her mum’s bag was slung around the back of the chair, her half-full mug of cold tea abandoned on the pine table. She could always start on her lunch but she wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich. Her normally placid demeanour was disturbed by the bitter taste of annoyance at the way her mother had spoken to her.

  While she didn’t have a dad, she did have an amazing mum who worked all the hours to ensure that they had enough money to eke out over the month. There was never much left over for treats and a new school uniform was one of the corners that her mother had to cut in favour of second-hand. But she always managed to scrape enough money together for a pair of proper leather school shoes and a decent pair of trainers, even if they weren’t as designer as Elodie would like. No, Elodie had a lot to be thankful for. Her lack of a dad was a niggle but there were far worse things than a snappy mum and no dad.

  There was nothing in the kitchen that she wanted so, instead of dawdling, she twisted the key to the back door and headed out into the fenced garden, the warm burst of sun on her face causing her to break out into her signature cheeky smile. The garden wasn’t big: barely a few metres of grass bordered by a small patio and with a large shed taking up the whole of one corner.

  After a few walkovers and handstands she was bored again. Her gaze lingered on the shed. What she needed was a ball, something she could bang against the side of the house until her mother had finished whatever she was doing upstairs.

  The shed opened easily under her touch, the bolt sliding back with a slight squeak. She held her breath and her fingers gripped the edge of the door. Her mother had told her on more than one occasion that she had no business going into places that didn’t concern her, which meant that the shed was clearly out of bounds. But just like Eve and that apple, Elodie didn’t heed the warning. She was still feeling aggrieved at being told off and it wasn’t as if she intended to do any damage, she thought, taking in the neat line of old garden tools hanging from brigh
t red hooks beside the freezer.

  Continuing to hum her little tune, she rummaged along the shelves in vain for something to play with. There were no toys but the possibility of an ice cream had her walking towards the freezer, her mouth starting to water. The sound of the shed door banging against its hinges caused her to quicken her step. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, not really. As she brushed a stray cobweb off her sweatshirt, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, her failsafe warning system finally alerting her to the danger up ahead. She turned and stared, her fingers trembling, closely followed by her arm, her breath heaving as her lungs scrabbled around for enough oxygen to meet the sudden rampant demand placed on it by her galloping heart.

  Life paused, then flashed before her in a rapidly blinking strip of images. She couldn’t move when she knew she must. One second passed, then two, before her feet found the will to turn and run, the open door of the shed forgotten in her hurry to escape the very worst of nightmares.

  Elodie pulled the straps of her rucksack tightly across her shoulders, taking the time to scan the room for any essentials that she might have forgotten. There’d be no coming back, not now. Her gaze dawdled on the pile of teddies that had grown exponentially over the course of her young life. She’d allowed herself only one, Ted, because he was small and she was able to tuck him down the side of her rucksack at the expense of a pair of socks. She’d also allowed herself a book, again only the one. But suddenly she felt an affinity with Harry Potter and his Philosopher’s Stone, not that there could ever be a happy resolution to her own personal tale of woe. Unlike Harry there was no Dumbledore to guide her, or Hagrid to protect her from what was coming. She’d poked her nose where she shouldn’t and fleeing the security of the only home she’d ever known was the one outcome left to her.

  Wiping her sleeve across her eyes, she headed for the door, not bothering to close it behind her. Her mother would know soon enough that she wasn’t in the one place she’d expect – bed. With her hand clenched around the banister, she avoided the creaky first and third stairs as she hurried to the bottom, fearful now that her mother might guess that something was up. She’d certainly questioned her at length over the weekend, but what could Ellie tell her? She wasn’t prepared to lie and she’d never in a million years believe the truth. Ellie had spent the last two days trying to persuade herself that Friday had never happened, but it was no good. She only had to close her eyes and she was back in that shed …

  The kitchen was next and this was the place that delayed her the most. She had a few quid, not much but enough for a start. However, she needed food – as much as she could carry but not too heavy to weigh her down. Tins of beans came first, luckily with a ring pull as she didn’t fancy depriving her mum of the only can opener in the overflowing cutlery drawer. A spoon, a fork and a knife. She paused over the knife, an intense look of concentration pulling at her brow. She hadn’t thought of a weapon but what was the likelihood that she might need one? Her hand fingered one of the wooden-handled set of six steak knives that her mother had picked up cheap at some car-boot or other. The knife got placed in the bottom of her bag as did the small wind-up torch that lived in the pot on the kitchen shelf. She also took some matches, bread, cheese and a few other cans before testing the weight of her rucksack and reluctantly pulling the drawstring and lifting it onto her shoulders.

  Ellie was small for her age, but wiry. A life spent practising ballet had firmed her muscles and hardened her resolve. She could do this. She had to do this.

  There was no note. She wouldn’t have known what to write in any case. A solitary tear tracked down her cheek. Instead she picked up a pink Post-it Note and drew a heart before sticking it to the side of the kettle and heading for the door without a backward look.

  Chapter 2

  Gaby

  Monday 3 August, 7.05 a.m. Rhos-on-Sea

  ‘Darin speaking.’

  Acting DI Gaby Darin glanced down at the screen of her mobile, a frown firmly in place. With Owen Bates, her DC, still on paternity leave until later today, she was the senior officer on the North Wales Major Incident Team and as such available 24/7 whether she liked it or not. She didn’t mind covering but she wondered why they always phoned her when she was about to sit down to eat. Porridge was bad enough but cold it was a thick, unpalatable, paste-like gloop.

  ‘Ma’am, it’s Jax Williams. We have a runaway girl.’

  Gaby leant back in her chair, breakfast forgotten, her mind full of another missing girl, a mystery they’d solved only a short time ago: twenty-four years too late. There couldn’t be a second one surely – not so soon. But, hand resting on her brow, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised at the news, only her reaction. Instead of the adrenalin that usually soared through her veins at the thought of a new case, all she could come up with was a deep sense of disappointment. It suddenly felt as if she was losing her identity with each successive crime, as if someone was taking a chisel and chipping away. Gaby Darin: acting DI. Not Gabriella: sister, friend, lover.

  Last week had been a good week, the best week in ages. Her relationship with Rusty Mulholland, the resident pathologist, was continuing to blossom. Still only friends, she could see that changing to something more but only if she was allowed the opportunity of cultivating their growing rapport.

  ‘Ma’am, are you there?’

  With a huge effort, Gaby pulled herself together. It wasn’t like her to wallow in self-pity and it certainly wasn’t like her to daydream about red-headed pathologists with startling blue eyes and a temper that was on an even shorter fuse than her own. She was there to fulfil the role she was paid for. If she didn’t like it, she could always … She shook the thought away. No. She couldn’t!

  ‘Yes, sorry, Williams. It must be a bad line,’ she said, crossing her fingers behind her back as the easy lie slipped through her lips. She wasn’t going to tell him the truth. ‘Go on, you were saying?’

  She grabbed her keys from the centre of the table and, heading into the hall, picked up her bag and jacket from the newel post, careful to avoid the mess that was currently her lounge. Painting the wood panelling that lined the bottom half of the room at the weekend wasn’t the greatest of ideas but, with work being quiet, she’d optimistically thought that she’d be able to get it finished in the evenings after work, refusing to dwell on the image of cosy meals for three while she continued getting to know Rusty and his young son, Conor.

  ‘We got the call about thirty minutes ago. Elodie Fry, age ten. Her mother went to wake her this morning only to find that her bed hadn’t been s-s-slept in,’ he stuttered, heaving air into his lungs. ‘After phoning around and a quick search, she rang us. I’m heading over to interview her.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there – and, Jax, grab Amy. The sooner we get a FLO involved the better. It’s times like this that family liaison officers come into their own.’ She pushed against the front door to check the latch had caught, making a mental list, which she started to tick off in the maelstrom that was now her mind. ‘And get Marie and Mal involved ASAP. They can get the search underway while we wait for Owen.’

  ‘Did you want me to give him a ring too?’

  Owen. Her fingers gripped her keys, the hard, cold metal biting into the soft flesh of her palm. How would he take another missing girl after the recent ordeal that his wife and unborn child had gone through? How would he stand up to the pressure when he’d nearly decided to throw his career away? There was only so much she could do to protect him on a case like this.

  ‘No, let me contact him. You’ve enough to do. What’s the address?’

  Ystâd golygfa’r môr, or Sea View estate, was the largest housing development in Colwyn Bay. A mixture of social housing, the sprawling concrete jungle had a reputation that struck fear into the hearts of the coppers who had the misfortune to attend any of the frequent call-outs. But as with most of these estates the inhabitants got on with their own business, the few bad ones spoiling it for everyone.

/>   Number 312 was a narrow, two-bedroomed house with distant views over the Welsh coast and bordered by a wasteland of tarmac littered with potholes and the odd dolls’ pram along with the usual detritus of cola cans and sweet wrappings. But the house was different again. While small and cluttered, it was spotlessly clean. The sofa and recliner chair were arranged around a small TV, the mantelpiece over the three-bar electric fire displaying unframed photos, all of the same pretty blonde girl. But Gaby wasn’t interested in the girl’s appearance, not yet. All her attention was on the faded middle-aged woman currently leaning forward on the sofa, a long, low keening sound coming from her mouth.

  Jax dipped his head to whisper in Gaby’s ear. ‘Ms Anita Fry, ma’am. She’s been like that ever since we arrived. I’ve sent Mal and Marie a copy of the most recent photo for distribution and DS Potter is on her way.’ He turned, adding over his shoulder, ‘I thought I’d make her a cuppa. S-s-she looks as if she needs it.’

  Gaby nodded in agreement, her gaze pinned to the woman in front of her. About forty, and dressed in jeans and a loose top the colour of an overripe avocado, Ms Fry had the complexion of someone who’d had several knocks over the years: her jawline saggy, her skin that pasty tone of too little time spent out of doors. Life was hard for some families, none harder than in this room.

  As an experienced detective, it took a lot to engage Gaby’s sympathies. She’d seen far too much of the human race to ever believe what was in front of her. She’d been lied to and conned in both her personal and professional life far too many times to take people on trust. But if anyone was going to engage her compassion it was this woman.

  ‘Hello, Ms Fry. My name is DI Gaby Darin.’ She dropped into the chair opposite, leaning forward, her clasped hands dangling between her legs, the line of her favourite navy Zara jacket bunching around her shoulders. ‘I’ve already pulled a team of officers together to scour the neighbourhood but I need to ask you some questions that will help us. To begin with is there any reason you can think of that might have made Elodie decide to run away? And are there any friends or family she might have gone to stay with?’