Page 56 of Stolen Ones

‘How so?’

‘Builder’s got to have records. It can’t have happened after the guy had filled in the hole. He planted trees on top of it.’

‘Bryant, there are days when you are worth your weight in gold. Let’s go see what Jenson Butler has got to say.’

Thirty-Two

‘Got anything else to eat, Stace?’ Alison shouted across the office.

‘Since you’ve already had my last packet of prawn cocktail crisps, my apple and emergency energy bar, it’s safe to say I’m all out. But, hey, you’re great for my diet.’

If Alison wasn’t one of her best friends, Stacey would hate her for her ability to eat more than a small village without putting on an ounce of weight.

‘I’ll nip to the canteen for a snack run in a bit,’ Alison said, turning back to the computer.

‘What do you make of him?’ Stacey asked. Her initial doubts about Steven Harte’s involvement were coming under fire with every new piece of information.

‘Hard to tell until I’ve watched more footage.’

‘Why have you turned off the sound?’

‘It’s distracting.’

‘What, listening to what he has to say?’ Stacey would have thought his words would have been of paramount importance.

‘I want to watch his movements, his expressions, his posture. Don’t you ever do that?’

‘What, watch TV with the sound off? Er…no, hearing the script tends to be necessary in following the plot.’

‘Believe it or not you can pick up a lot by just the expressions and body language.’

‘Okay, next time I rent a movie I’ll be sure to watch it with no—’

‘Oh, Penn, I love you,’ Alison said as her colleague walked in the door.

‘Wondered where you’d got to,’ Stacey said, eyeing up the booty in his arms.

‘Thought I’d best get some fuel before Betty closes it down for the night.’

Stacey could see he’d bought the last few cold sandwiches, sausage rolls, crisps and a selection of brownies and cookies.

Alison looked as though Santa had just dropped down the chimney.

‘Penn, I swear if you’re not married in five years’ time, you’re mine.’

He smiled as a little colour entered his cheeks.

‘Any luck on missing girls?’ Penn asked, ripping open a Mars bar.

‘Yeah, I’ve tapped into a list that gives me every outstanding missing child since ’96. Tells me what they were wearing and even what they had for breakfast.’

‘Cool, didn’t know you could do that,’ Penn said.

‘You can’t, dipstick, and I wish it were that easy.’ She consulted her notebook. ‘Did you know that in the UK alone over a hundred thousand children are reported missing every year? Of that number, roughly ninety-eight per cent are reunited pretty quickly, but last report by the missing persons unit stated that over fifteen hundred children are long-term missing, which means they’ve been missing for longer than twenty-eight days. Searching for up-to-date information is a nightmare because the data for each year differs.’

‘How can it differ?’ Penn asked.

‘Take the stats for 2018/2019. Almost seventy-six thousand kids were recorded missing by UK police forces; however there were over two hundred thousand incidents of missing children.’