Page 181 of The Guilty Girl

She expected him to cower. Instead he stared back at her, a slow leer creasing his face. She believed in that moment that she had never seen a more terrifying sight in her life.

81

Albert McAllister was heartbroken all over again. His pain at the loss of his adored daughter was stronger than any anger he could muster. Lottie knew that would come later, and then Albert would be a force to be reckoned with.

He sat by his sleeping wife’s bedside. Mary had been administered a strong sedative and a saline infusion for dehydration before being discharged from hospital.

‘When can we go home?’ His glazed eyes swept around the apartment bedroom.

‘Tomorrow or the day after. SOCOs should be finishing up soon. Albert, I’d advise hiring in contract cleaners for your house. I don’t think Mary will be able to handle the … There’s a lot of blood.’

‘I want to see for myself what that bastard did.’

‘Of course.’ Lottie felt so weary she had no idea if it were day or night.

‘Thank you, Inspector. You’ve worked tirelessly and quickly to catch my daughter’s murderer. I’m still processing everything. I feel so foolish. I welcomed Terry Starr into my home. Introduced him to my wife and daughter. Put all my energy behind him to bring him success. And all the time he was smuggling drugs and targeting my little girl to fuel his perversions. He abused her. Raped her. Murdered her …’

Tears flowed unchecked down his leathery cheeks. ‘I can’t forgive myself for falling for the threatening email he sent. I left my girl alone and he … he …’

‘His plan was to get you out of the way while extorting money from you. It was hatched in conjunction with Brontë Harrison. Because Brontë was pregnant, Terry was preparing to set up his vile business elsewhere. I think he had become suspicious of Lucy.’

‘Why? What did she know?’

‘It’s possible she realised the scale of their depravity once Sharon Flood became Terry’s target.’ Lottie showed him a photo of the little girl. ‘Do you recognise her?’

Through blinding tears Albert studied the image. ‘No.’

‘If you remember anything, let me know.’

As she left the room, Albert was holding his wife’s hand, his tears endless.

THREE WEEKS PREVIOUSLY

Sharon looked up as Lucy McAllister came and sat beside her.

‘Hi, pipsqueak, what’s with the sad face?’

‘Oh, hi.’ Sharon tugged down the legs of her too short jeans and groaned at her dirty socks and her pink runner with no lace. Lucy was a rich girl and Sharon was so embarrassed, she didn’t know where to look.

‘Come on outside for some fresh air. The sweaty smell in here is making me sick.’

Outside the gym, Lucy leaned against the wall, her face turned to the watery sun. Sharon copied her.

‘Shaz?’ Lucy said. ‘That’s what your friends call you, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I want to be your friend.’

‘Cool.’

‘I saw you with Terry Starr. You know him? The boxer.’

‘Yeah. He sometimes watches Jake training. He told me I was cute. He said he wanted to bring me for a drive in his car.’

‘What did your brother say to that?’

Sharon felt her cheeks flare. ‘I didn’t tell him.’