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was the loss of her own dear little boy, Edward, to meningitis when he was a mere five years old. Such a cruel and contrary world it could be at times. After so many years of miscarriages and failures to conceive, along he’d come, all nine deliciously healthy pounds of him, when Rowzee was almost forty-five, and it simply couldn’t have been possible for a baby to be more wanted. She’d felt from an early age that she was born to be a mother, so when it finally happened it was as though the years had rolled back and she was in her twenties all over again. Everyone adored him, Victor was besotted and her nieces, both much older by then, had spoiled him terribly, while her nephews, closer to Edward’s age, had been more like brothers than cousins.
    It had been a bleak and terrible time for everyone when he was taken, with a sense of shock and disbeliefgripping the family that it had been almost impossible to move on from. Rowzee had never stopped grieving for him, and knew that she never would.
    It was the most heartbreaking thing in the world to lose a child, but at least she knew what had happened to Edward. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like for Blake and the families of children who simply disappeared and were never found. That had to be its own special kind of hell.

Chapter Four
     
    Andee had spent the best part of the day familiarising herself with every aspect of the Jessica Leonard case. Each police force that had been involved, which had included the Met, Greater Manchester, the Transport Police and her ex-colleagues here in Kesterly, had been extremely helpful in taking her calls and providing information. However, it was clear that they were as mystified now by what had happened to Jessica as they’d been at the start of the investigation. None of the calls Andee had made so far to Jessica’s friends in London had in any way contradicted what they’d told the police two years ago. In fact nothing had come to light to make her think that anything had been overlooked, misconstrued or covered up – and considering some of the guest lists of the parties Jessica had performed at, that had surprised Andee.
    There was only one anomaly, which had always been there and was still not yet resolved. It was the call Jessica had received just before going into Goodge Street station. Apparently there was CCTV footage of her taking the call – Andee hadn’t seen that yet – whichhad lasted less than a minute before she’d continued on her way. No trace had ever been found of her mobile, computer or tablet, but the phone company’s records showed that the call had come from a cellular number registered in the UK to a Kim Yoder. An extensive search had been carried out to try and locate this person, both domestically and internationally, but he – or she – had never used the phone again and the address given to the server turned out not to exist.
    So all they knew was that after taking the call from Kim Yoder Jessica had entered the station, apparently turned off her phone, and instead of going to Paddington, which was where she’d been heading when talking to her brother minutes before, she’d gone to Notting Hill Gate. Video of her emerging from that station hadn’t come to light until two days after she’d disappeared, for the simple reason that nothing had come to light to direct the investigation that way. She had no known connection with the area, hadn’t, as far as any of her friends knew, ever been there before, and there was no resident, business or business owner using the name Yoder. However, further viewings of the station’s CCTV prior to that June day showed Jessica coming and going on a regular, though random basis, over a period of two months. After leaving the station, she’d cross the road towards Holland Park, only then to disappear apparently into thin air. With no cameras monitoring the streets she was heading into it wasn’t possible to track her movements, and,