Read Online Torment by David Evans - Free Book Online Page B

some breakfast, even though it’s afternoon.”
    “Oh, all right, do us a coffee then. There’s a jar in the left hand cupboard. It’ll have to be black. The milk ran out last night.”
    Souter filled the kettle and found the jar. “There’s a couple of slices of bread here. Fancy some toast?”
    Sammy pulled the bedclothes over her head in exasperation. “Okay, if it’ll shut you up.”
    Souter switched on the grill, set the bread on the grill pan and slid it underneath.
    “So come on,” she said, sitting back up in bed, “what about Maria?”
    “There’s nothing on Maria yet.” The kettle boiled and he poured water into the mugs. “I’ve asked around about any other missing girls like you said but again, nothing.”
    ”So what’s the point of coming round here if you’ve got nothing to tell me? Unless, of course …” She fluttered her eyelashes.
    “Behave! The fact is, if I’m going to help you, I need your help.”
    “How?”
    “Well the girls are hardly likely to talk to me in an open and frank manner, are they? Apart from police, journalists are not the most popular. And I think the answer has to lie with them.”
    Sammy grew serious. “I’m really worried now.”
    Souter pulled out the grill pan and turned the bread over. “I know you are.”
    “So what do you want me to do?”
    “First off, I need to speak to Tracey.”
    “Might not be that easy.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t exactly know where she lives for a start. For another, she works a number of patches.”
    “We’ve got to try.” He held up a white paper bag. “Sugar?“
    “Two.”
    “Don’t suppose you’ve any butter?”
    “Spreadable, in the fridge.”
    He buttered the two slices of toast, put them on a plate and handed it to her, along with her coffee. He sat on the empty bed, declining Sammy’s invitation to sit on her’s.
    “Now get that down you and we’ll get off and see if you can find her.”
    “Ooh, right away, Mr Souter, sir,” she mocked.
    “You can knock the ‘Mr Souter’ bit on the head. Call me Bob. Everybody else does.”
    She chuckled. “Okay, Bob. Tell me about yourself.”
    “Not a lot to tell, really.”
    “I’m not going anywhere.”
    “Not until you eat that.”
    “Okay, okay,” she said, “but I want to know why you sometimes sound a bit Scottish.”
    “You detect that?”
    “I’m quite good with accents.”
    “Well, I was born in Scotland,” he began. “Lived there until I was six before I came down to Doncaster with my family. And I’ve just spent nearly four years in Glasgow before I joined the Post in January. So I suppose now and then I slip into the accent.”
    Sammy laughed. “I was right, then.”
    “Very good. Anyway, enough of me; what about you and Maria?”
    She started on her second slice of toast and slurped her coffee. “We met in St. Benedict’s children’s home in Otley. Maria’s from Manchester. Her mum died when she was ten and her dad began drinking not long after. She was thirteen when she arrived.”
    “What about you, though?”
    “Never knew my dad. He pissed off before I was born. Mum did her best but she couldn’t really cope.” Sammy stared off into the middle distance. “Succession of blokes. All bastards, except one. Frank. I liked Frank. He was good to me.” She smiled and looked across at Souter. Her expression hardened. “Not like the last shit, Roger. Roger by name and Roger by nature. Started getting into my bed when mum worked a shift in the pub. Bastard.” Tears began to form and she struggled to keep control. “Fucking dirty bastard.”
    “Sammy, don’t. It’s too painful for you. I don’t want to know. You don’t have to tell me.”
    Through tears, she said, “But I do. You have to understand. I’m not a bad person just because I do what I have to do.”
    Souter got up and sat on the end of her bed. “Look, I said when we met yesterday, I’m not judging you. It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re a young woman,