The Stepdaughter. Debbie Howells

and Hollie usually keep in touch?”

      “Messenger,” Niamh says briefly. “Sometimes Instagram. But, you know. Mostly, she just turns up.”

      “Try not to worry.” I place an arm around her shoulders. “She’ll be OK. We have to believe that she will turn up. I’m sure the police are doing everything they can.”

      But I’m not sure. There are no rules when teenagers go missing, just as too many lives are cut short for all the wrong reasons. Right now, Hollie could be anywhere.

      Nicki

      Throughout the village, officers knock on doors and search gardens, woods, and fields, but by early afternoon, nothing of any significance has been found.

      As I leave the Buckleys’ house, I turn to Emerson. “We need to talk to more of the villagers. In places like this, it’s impossible to keep secrets. Someone somewhere must know something about Hollie.”

      “Maybe she left. If she’d decided to run off, she could be miles away by now.”

      “How? There are no buses through here.”

      “A friend could have picked her up. Or she could have walked.”

      I’m silent, then seeing a lay-by, I pull over. “The village church is up there. Let’s take a look.”

      Getting out, Emerson pulls the collar of his coat up as I lock the car and do the same. The path is frozen, the air sharp as we make our way along the path toward the churchyard. As the trees open out, the headstones are gray against the white of the frost. The church is small, dating back about six hundred years, with a small tower in which a single bell hangs. I try the door, surprised when I find it unlocked, but a search of the sparse interior yields nothing. Closing it behind me, as we start walking back toward the road, my phone buzzes.

      “May.” As I listen to the voice at the other end, I feel the blood drain from my face.

      It takes me two minutes to find Furze Lane, then another three to find Deeprose House. Sarah Collins is waiting in front of the heavy, locked gates. “The owners are away. There’s a caretaker who has a key, apparently. We’re trying to get in touch with him.”

      “Where is she?”

      Sarah’s voice is grim. “In the gardens. Milsom and Edwards came in from the fields—there’s a fence that’s easy to climb through. I assume that’s how she got in.”

      “Can you show me?”

      We walk in silence a short way down the lane, where Sarah turns into an opening and climbs over the gate. “Careful. Some friendly farmer has wrapped barbed wire around it.”

      Heeding her warning, I manage to climb over unscathed, then follow her through thick grass to the other side of the field, where there’s a post and rail fence.

      “She’s just through here,” Sarah says quietly.

      All the time we were searching, there’d been hope. But as I cross the gardens, then follow Sarah through a hedge into a smaller enclosed part of the garden, hope is gone. In the pool in front of us, we spot her hair first—long, floating around her as she lies facedown in the water.

      “She was under the leaves, ma’am.” As Milsom speaks, I notice the piles of leaves scraped back around the edges of the pool. “She must have fallen in. She was invisible until we cleared them. The water had frozen over her.”

      She’s wearing the jeans and jacket Stephanie described, but only as Milsom speaks do I notice the ice, encasing her body, her hair, so that only the back of her head protrudes above it.

      “We should inform her parents.” Sarah’s voice is flat.

      “Not yet. We need to be absolutely sure.” Hearing voices, I turn and find two more officers walking across the garden toward us. That they’ve come that way must mean they have a key. They’re followed by two more carrying a stretcher. There’s silence as we stand there, while the ice is broken. Then as Hollie’s body is removed from the water and her face is visible, any doubts are gone.

      “I’ll tell the parents.” As I speak, Sarah nods, her eyes grave.

      I make my way back to my car, steeling myself. Many things about my job aren’t easy, but of all of them, the worst is breaking bad news. When you tell a parent that their child isn’t coming back, you know their life as it was has gone forever.