The Missing Sister

I first heard Angela Rhodes was missing twenty years ago while I was still at school. There were posters of her everywhere. We were the same age. Thirteen. She didn’t live far from me and the safe, relatively affluent neighbourhood was in a panic. Girls simply didn’t go missing around here. They never solved it. Eventually the shiny posters peeled and faded, Angela’s face no longer recognisable. I hadn’t thought about the case for a long time until I opened The Old Curiosity Bookshop. During one of my first weeks, Angela’s sister Saskia came in. She’d written a memoir about Angela going missing and she was doing a book-signing for it. The shop was crammed – everyone wanted to know what she had to say, about Angela and how the family were now.

I hovered around, handing out cheap wine and selling copies of My Missing Sister. We took a lot of money that day. I felt sorry for Saskia, though. The people in the queue weren’t actually interested in her signature – they just wanted to get a look at her, to ask inappropriate questions. I heard one woman ask if Saskia had ever been to a medium, to try and contact Angela from beyond the grave. Saskia looked shocked. ‘We don’t know that she’s dead,’ she whispered. The older woman gave her a pitying look and walked away. That woman was right, though – there is no way Angela could still be alive, but how could the family accept that without a body to put to rest?

After that first flurry of sales, interest in the book died down but it didn’t for me. Saskia had included some interesting information in there, information that the police had never followed up on. I stayed up late puzzling over it, my interest in the case peaked. Saskia and Angela had clearly been very close, and if anyone knew Angela’s secrets it would have been her sister. But what secrets could a girl of thirteen have?

Saskia said Angela had mentioned a crush and she’d often been up late on the family computer using MSN Messenger. Saskia had looked at her account when she went missing. There was the usual teenage girl chat, but one user was different. GingerFreak74 didn’t seem to be someone at Angela’s school, and Saskia suspected he was older. Saskia had told the police about him but they had dismissed it. Just harmless flirting with one of her schoolmates, they said, even though Saskia had pointed out that GingerFreak74 had mentioned watching Angela walk through the school gates from the outside, which suggested he wasn’t a pupil there.

She had mentioned that numbers often corresponded to people’s birth dates in usernames. That would mean GingerFreak74 would have been at least fifteen years older than Angela – a clear sign that she was being stalked by a paedophile. Saskia also mentioned a new necklace that Angela had started wearing. A tiny gold heart on a chain. No one in the family had given it to her and Angela wouldn’t say who it was from when Saskia asked. The police had made enquiries at the school but no one knew of Angela having a boyfriend – not one in the school, anyway. Some of Angela’s friends said she’d been behaving differently in those last weeks – more secretive – but they didn’t know anything about the necklace.

I had thought about writing to Saskia, telling her that I believed her, but I never did. I thought it might make her uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be like all those others, suffocating her with morbid fascination. So I left it. New bestsellers hit the shelves, and soon only one copy of Saskia’s book remained, no longer displayed at the front, but crammed on a back shelf with the rest of the True Crime.

Which is why it caught my eye when someone came in and picked it up. I saw him loitering by the shelf, flicking through it. He saw me looking and moved on, but when I went over to tidy the shelf, I noticed that Saskia’s book was missing. I searched around our shop in case he had put it back somewhere else, but it was nowhere to be found and when I checked online, it was clear it hadn’t been bought either. He must have stolen it – but why?

I looked through the CCTV footage. The proof was there. He had slipped the book under his jacket before leaving the shop. Shoplifting had been a big problem since the pandemic. You don’t really think of people stealing books, but they do. They usually steal bestsellers, though – the shiny new copies displayed right by the door. This felt targeted. I watched the CCTV tapes again. There wasn’t a clear shot of the man’s face but he looked to be in his late forties. He was bald but he had a full beard and I noticed reddish strands in the hair.

My heart stopped. Could this be GingerFreak74? It was far-fetched but if this was a clue, I didn’t want it to pass me by. But why would he be so desperate to steal from my shop? I looked up the online records for My Missing Sister and slumped back in shock. It was out of stock everywhere – except for the one copy that was now missing from our store. Was that down to him? Was he making sure all clues to his involvement were erased?

I decided I needed to try and speak to Saskia. She would have copies still, I was sure, and there might be some clue as to his identity that I’d missed on first reading. I flicked through my records and found her contact details from that talk ten years ago. I dialled the number and held my breath, hoping she hadn’t changed it. After six agonising rings, someone answered.

‘Is that Saskia?’

‘Yes,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘Who is this?’

‘You probably won’t remember me but my name is Felicity. I run The Old Curiosity Bookshop.’

‘Yes, I remember.’ Her tone lightened. ‘So what’s this all about?’

‘It’s a bit delicate…’ I paused. ‘I don’t want to cause you distress but a man came in recently and stole My Missing Sister. It was the last copy – not just here, but everywhere. And, I know this might sound strange, but I feel like he might have had something to do with Angela’s disappearance.’

She did not respond.

‘It’s not just that,’ I continued. ‘He had … red … in his beard, and from the look of it he could have been born in 1974.’

She gasped. ‘GingerFreak74.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But why would he want the book?’

‘I’m wondering if there is something in it that he feels is incriminating. Maybe something you didn’t realise could be a clue. I was wondering if I could borrow a copy from you to see if anything jumps out.’

‘Yes, good idea. Let’s both read it again and share notes. I’ll drop a copy to you this evening.’

As soon as I received the copy I settled down into my comfy chair and started to read. There were lots of things I hadn’t picked up the first time around. The necklace, for example, was very distinctive; it had been engraved with the initials C.L. Saskia had also included some of the conversations between Angela and GingerFreak74. I wrote parts of them into my notebook:

@GingerFreak74 Can’t wait to see again

@AngieRhodes Ny parents won’t let me go out alone

@GingerFreak74 I’ll get on your bus after school. We can talk there on the way home. I’ll be at the stop at 5

Saskia had published the date of the messages. July 14th. The day before Angela had gone missing. How had the police not picked up on this? There would be no CCTV remaining of a bus stop twenty years ago but maybe someone back then had seen him waiting. There could have been pupils catching a late bus. And the driver might have noticed a strange man talking to a thirteen-year-old girl. But how would I begin trying to find any witnesses?

I texted Saskia and to my surprise she shot straight back with more information. The bus driver had been a well-known local figure. He’d worked the school shift every day and all the pupils knew him by name – Glen Carter. I got to work straight away. It’s amazing how much information a simple Google can throw up. There was a Facebook group in appreciation of him. I joined. It didn’t look like Glen himself was a member but there were recent pictures posted of him and, incredibly, it seemed he was still driving the bus route. I checked the timetable. He would be driving from 7am to 9.30am tomorrow. I decided I’d follow the last bus in the morning and try to catch him at the end of his shift.

Saskia wanted to join me, so I picked her up before heading to the school. Saskia had notes on a few things that hadn’t made it into the book. ‘I asked Angie about the necklace,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t give me a name but she said she had a boyfriend. That’s why I pushed it with the police but they dismissed it as a childhood school crush. No one at the school came forward and said they were in a relationship with her, though, and the fact she was being so secretive about it made me think it was someone we wouldn’t approve of. Angie was always very open with me so it was weird that she wouldn’t tell me who he was. I think he must have told her to keep quiet.’

‘Which would make sense if he was fifteen years older than her.’

‘Exactly.’ Saskia wiped a tear away from her eyes. ‘I should have pushed it. I should have done more. I knew she was hiding something but I never thought it would turn out like this.’

I squeezed her hand. ‘You can’t blame yourself. Let’s get this bastard for Angela so she can finally be put to rest.’

Saskia nodded. ‘For so long I clung to the hope that she was still alive, but deep down I knew that she wasn’t. She would have come back by now. I just want to know what happened.’

‘And you will,’ I said with more certainty than I was feeling. ‘We’re going to get to the bottom of it.’

We pulled up by the depot when Glen had parked the bus and walked over to him. He seemed a little surprised to be approached but softened when Saskia told him who she was.

‘Ah, of course. Angela’s sister. My heart broke when she went missing. Such a lovely little girl.’

‘We think you might have been one of the last people to see her,’ Saskia prompted. ‘It seems she was spotted getting on the bus around 5pm but she never came home.’

‘That’s right.’ Glen nodded. ‘I spoke to the police about that. She got off at Mulberry Park. I knew that wasn’t her usual stop but I thought maybe she was meeting some of her friends before she went home. It was a lovely hot evening and the ice-cream van there is always popular.’

‘But the police didn’t follow it up any further?’ I asked. ‘Did they ask you if anyone else got off at the same stop as her?’

Glen frowned .’I can’t remember if they asked about that, but there would have been a few. It leads straight through to Mulberry Estate on the other side so it’s one of the busier stops.’

‘I know it is a long time ago now, but is there any chance you remember the names of anyone else who got off with her?’

‘Well, funny you should mention it, but I do remember one other person getting off. I know him well, you see. He was my mate’s younger brother, Chris. Shame how he turned out.’

‘What do you mean?’ Saskia asked quickly.

‘He’s in prison now. Got done for sexual assault. My mate Gary was disgusted. Refuses to visit him.’

My stomach dropped. If this Chris was in prison he couldn’t be the same person who came into my shop the other day. Maybe we were completely on the wrong track. ‘Do you think Gary would be willing to talk to us?’ I asked. ‘Just in case Chris may have had something to do with Angela’s disappearance.’

Glen looked shocked. ‘You think Chris did it? I never thought of him back then but I guess it adds up now… Gary won’t talk to you, but I think their mum still lives in the house on the estate. Do you want the address?’

‘That would be great,’ Saskia said. ‘We won’t tell her you gave it to us.’

Glen waved his hand. ‘Don’t you worry about that. I’m happy to help with anything that leads you to Angela.’

We left Glen and drove over to the Mulberry Estate. Jeannette Lawlor had a flat on the ground floor of the first building. She opened the door with suspicion after we buzzed the bell. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I’m not buying anything.’

‘We not here to sell,’ I said. ‘It’s about Chris…’

Jeannette started to close the door. Saskia stuck her foot in the gap. ‘Please, hear us out,’ she said. ‘It’s about my sister. Angela Rhodes. I don’t know if you remember, but she went missing…’

‘Of course I remember,’ Jeannette said with a sigh. ‘And you think our Chris had something to do with it?’

‘We don’t know,’ Saskia said, ‘but someone mentioned seeing him with her that day and we thought is was worth following up.’

‘You had better come in,’ Jeannette said, opening the door back up. We followed her into the small lounge and perched together on the sofa. She took the armchair opposite us. ‘I didn’t want to admit it to myself at the time but I always suspected Chris might have had something to do with it,’ Jeannette said, her eyes lowered. ‘When he got arrested I thought maybe he’d confess, but he never did.’

‘What made you think he was involved?’ Saskia asked.

Jeannette looked at her. ‘Please don’t be angry with me for not telling the police, but he is my son. I never thought he would be capable of this.’

Saskia took her hand. ‘I understand. Please, if you know anything, I’d be so grateful.’

Jeannette took a deep breath. ‘You better come to his room. I kept it as it was when he got arrested. I couldn’t bare to go in there.’

I felt a shiver go down my spine. I looked at Saskia. She had gone white and I squeezed her arm. She nodded. ‘Let’s do this.’

We followed Jeannette up the stairs to the room at the end of the hall. She opened the door. ‘I don’t want to go in, but there are things in his bedside drawer. You’ll see what I mean.’

Saskia followed me inside. The room was musty but tidy. I walked over to the chest of drawers by the bed and slipped open the top drawer. I gasped. There it was. The tiny gold heart necklace.

Saskia let out a moan and rushed from the room. I picked up the necklace carefully and followed her out. ‘This is what you mean, isn’t it?’ I asked Jeannette.

She nodded. ‘Yes, when I found it, I knew. The police had mentioned it on the appeals and the initials are Chris’s.’ She pointed to the C.L. carved on the back. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish I’d said something sooner but when he got locked up anyway, I thought it would be dragging up old wounds unnecessarily. Is she OK?’ She nodded anxiously towards the bathroom where the sounds of Saskia sobbing could be heard.

‘She will be,’ I said. ‘If we can find Angela.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help with that,’ Jeannette said.

‘But maybe Chris will, now that we have this.’ I held up the necklace. ‘Which prison is he in?’

‘Oh,’ Jeannette said, ‘I thought you knew. He got out two weeks ago.’

We went to the police immediately. It turned out Chris had always been on the police radar as a suspect but they’d never had enough evidence to charge him. The necklace gave them that. They found him sleeping rough and charged him, and after lengthy questioning he told them where Angela’s body was buried. Saskia finally had her sister back. I wished it could have been a different outcome for her, but at least now she had some semblance of peace.

Before long, the publishers agreed to print a new edition of My Missing Sister and I was interviewed for the new chapters that included how we had discovered Chris’s involvement. For a while I became a local celebrity and I was also being asked to sign the shiny new copies decorating my store front. I helped Saskia set up a foundation on Angela’s behalf – funds for private investigators who would have the time to dig deeper than the police might. And it seemed like I might suddenly have a new career on the horizon. Maybe one day The Old Curiosity Bookshop would become Great Investigations…