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“How old is she?”
“Five.”
“Is she an only child?”
The mother nodded.
“Where do you live?”
“Esholt,” she replied. The rest of the information came out in bullet points. “At the bottom of Main Street, the last house on the left. Near the church hall, opposite the church grounds.”
Goodman knew it. Esholt was a small village a few miles south of the A65 into Leeds, with a pub, a church, and a café. The rest of the area was residential, surrounded by farms and outbuildings. She suspected from the overalls that Gareth worked for one of those smallholdings.
“Does she have any disabilities, illnesses we should know about? Receiving medication?”
“No, no, no,” cried Sally. She slammed the palm of her hand on the desk in front of them. “Please, do something.”
Goodman continued. “When did you last see her?”
Sally turned to Gareth. “You saw her at seven this morning, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“He starts work early. She saw him off at the gate.” Her voice trailed off as she started to weep. “You have to find her. She’s only five years old. She can’t survive out there by herself.”
Goodman doubted she was by herself. “When did you last see her, Mrs Summerby?”
“About twelve-thirty.”
“When did you find out she had gone missing?”
“Three o’clock.”
Goodman was surprised. She continued to make notes. “Where was Chloe in all that time? Where were you?”
“She’d gone to the local playground with her friend.”
“Do they normally go without supervision? Were any other parents or adults there?”
Sally grew defensive – more aggressive. “They go together all the time. And the parents take it in turn to watch. We’re not monsters, you know.”
“Where were you?”
“At home, cleaning.”
Goodman was unhappy with her answers. “What’s the name of her friend?”
Sally Summerby glanced at Goodman with a blank expression, one she couldn’t quite read. But by now she didn’t much care. What concerned her was the whereabouts of a five-year-old girl who had been out of her mother’s sight for at least two and a half hours, time enough for someone to gain a head start if she had been abducted.
“Can you tell me her friend’s name, please?”
“Masie Turner.” As if she had guessed what was coming next, Sally reeled off all the details. “She’s ten years old. Her family live on Station Road, the corner house, at the junction with Main Street.” Following a pause, Sally added, “Masie is very trustworthy. She always looks after Chloe.”
“Do you know whose turn it was to watch the children?”
Sally’s expression changed to one of embarrassment.
“Who was supposed to be looking after them?”
