Free Lost Girls by Angela Marsons

television in the corner. And a dressing table held a mirror surrounded by a trail of fairy lights.
    Everywhere her eyes landed she saw the personality of Karen’s little girl. Bracelets, rings and coloured hair inserts. A couple of hair scrunchies, a set of multi-coloured braces to be added to any pair of jeans.
    In front of the wardrobe was a collection of trainers: a pair with lights, a pair with wheels and an assortment of colourful laces to mix and match.
    Kim switched on the bedside lamp. Immediately a projection of the solar system began to rotate on the ceiling. She smiled at the effect. As she leaned across to turn it off her arm caught a photograph that faced the bed.
    It was a simple silver frame and held a newspaper clipping of both girls with wet hair beaming into the camera. The lengthy piece was headed with a title that reported a double win at a national gala.
    Clearly Charlie liked to look at that photo before she fell asleep. Kim placed the frame back on the bedside cabinet as the ringing of her phone came from beside her on the bed. The brittle sound fractured the peace and she wanted to silence it immediately.
    It was a mobile phone number that she didn’t know.
    â€˜Stone,’ she answered.
    â€˜It’s Inspector Travis from West Mercia.’
    â€˜Okay,’ she said, frowning. There was a time they had addressed each other on a first-name basis when they had worked together for West Midlands. Until the day she made inspector before him. He had transferred to the smaller, neighbouring force and taken his animosity with him.
    â€˜I have a body,’ he stated.
    Kim found it amusing that he had never once addressed her by her rank. ‘And?’ she asked. What did he want from her – flags and a party?
    â€˜It might be someone you know.’
    The dread that had been following her for hours finally settled in her stomach.
    â€˜Go on,’ she said, readying herself for what she knew was about to come.
    â€˜Male, blond, early twenties – and he has your card in his pocket.’

Nineteen
    T he engine of the Ninja died as it reached the cordon tape.
    She removed her helmet and hung it over the handlebars. The Lyttelton Arms was a gastropub situated on the Bromsgrove Road in Hagley; barely a mile from the border where the two forces of West Midlands and West Mercia met.
    The pub itself was the last property before the road narrowed to a lane with hedges on both sides. Fifty feet from the pub Travis stood in her way, obviously alerted to her arrival by the Ninja. The cars had been cut off at the traffic island so every sound travelled.
    Only the light of his torch illuminated the immediate area between them.
    â€˜I need to take this case,’ Kim said, without preamble. Niceties hadn’t existed between the two of them for more than three years.
    â€˜No chance,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I remember saying the same to you not too far away from here and you shot me down because you were there first.’
    Oh yes, she remembered it well. It had been the body of Teresa Wyatt, which had kicked off the whole Crestwood investigation.
    â€˜Don’t make it personal, Travis. This is not the time to get me back,’ she said, stepping to the side to walk around him. He blocked her path.
    â€˜Why’s this kid have your card in his pocket?’
    â€˜His name is Brad and he has it because I gave it to him,’ she said, stepping to the left.
    Again he moved in front of her.
    â€˜What the hell is your problem?’ she growled.
    â€˜You’re not getting it, Stone.’
    â€˜For God’s sake, I can hardly pick up the crime scene and run away with it, can I? Just let me take a look.’
    Somehow Woody’s instructions to play nice appeared to have wormed into her subconscious. She hadn’t called Travis one foul name yet.
    â€˜Five minutes, Stone. I’ll give you five whole minutes at my crime scene.’
    She shook her