A Velvet Scream by Priscilla Masters

about Kayleigh’s father, Peter. When did you last see him?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Gradbach said grumpily. ‘Couldn’t tell you.’
    â€˜Do you know where he’s living now?’
    â€˜Nope.’
    Hesketh-Brown had the feeling he should be asking more questions. Maybe more subtle questions but he felt that whatever the truth he would get no more from Gradbach. He had one more try; a stab in the dark. ‘And Christine Harrison?’
    Gradbach still kept his back towards him. ‘Heard she got married again,’ he said. ‘And divorced.’ A pair of bright blue eyes met his. ‘Some women aren’t too lucky in love, are they?’
    This time it was Detective Constable Danny Hesketh-Brown’s turn to shrug.
    Thursday, 2 December. 4 p.m.
    Molly Carraway was Christmas shopping on Stockwell Street with her best friend, Clara. There was a small jewellery shop halfway along what served as the high street which sold inexpensive pieces and Molly had spied a silver bracelet which would be just right for her cousin, Maisie, who at eight years old was becoming quite a child of fashion. She fingered it then turned to her friend. ‘Clara,’ she said, ‘can you keep a secret?’
    The fact was that Clara couldn’t. In fact, telling her a secret was just like putting it on the front page of the Leek Post & Times . However, she looked at her friend and reassured her. ‘’Course I can,’ she said, pretending to be insulted even to be asked. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜I’ve met someone really nice over the Internet,’ Molly confessed. ‘He’s just like Robert Pattinson from Twilight . He’s just gorgeous. He lives in London. I think he might come up and see me.’
    â€˜You lucky thing.’
    Molly moved a little nearer. ‘Don’t tell Mum and Dad, will you?’ Molly’s parents were well known for being strict with their only daughter.
    Clara shook her head. ‘As if,’ she said scornfully. Then she put her hand over her mouth. ‘Molly,’ she said, ‘be careful, won’t you? Make sure it isn’t one of those paedos.’
    Molly laughed. ‘I’m fifteen years old. Bit old for a paedo.’
    Clara was a little more streetwise than her friend. ‘There’s still girls that get groomed and meet people. I mean it.’ She put her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Be careful. Don’t go anywhere without telling someone.’ She tried to make a joke of it. ‘Even if it is just me.’
    But her friend was irritated by her concern. ‘’Course. I’m not stupid.’ She paused and couldn’t resist a further airy comment. ‘I might even go down to London to meet up with him. If I do will you cover me – say I’m at your place?’
    Clara looked awkward. ‘It’ll get me into no end of trouble.’
    â€˜Please.’
    Her friend was difficult to resist. ‘OK.’
    â€˜Thanks. You’re a brick. Now what do you think about this bracelet?’

SEVEN
    Friday, 3 December. 7 a.m.
    J oanna was standing in front of the calendar. The month was closing in on her. It would soon be  . . . She felt a shudder of sheer dread, a sense of nausea and was suffused with an instinct of suffocating panic. She could not breathe. At the same time she was convinced that she would not be able to go through with this. It was as though a dark curtain hung between her life right up until 30 December – and beyond – was nothing. The next second, she was frowning. Whatever was wrong with her? She loved Matthew, didn’t she?
    On cue, he shouted down the stairs. ‘Don’t be late tonight, Jo, I’ve booked a table for eight.’
    She still stood in the kitchen, willing the disturbing feeling to evaporate and for her emotions to return to normal but they didn’t. She couldn’t tell Matthew how she felt. She