Missing: A gripping serial killer thriller

By Monty Marsden

The search for a missing child reveals she is not the only one... A gripping serial killer thriller for fans of Angela Marsons and Jeffrey Deaver.

In a little village in Lombardy, it's a cold November morning when Ami steps out of her house to go to school... and never comes back. As soon as her father raises the alarm, a frantic search begins. The investigation is led by Police Commissioner Sensi. His men immediately find a trail to follow, but it soon proves to lead nowhere. Three months later, Police Commissioner Sensi decides to visit Dr Claps, an old friend and a renowned criminologist, who guesses from his first few words the real reason for the visit. It's not just about Ami; she's not the only little girl to have disappeared.

What people are saying about MISSING:

'A brilliant gripping book I couldn't put down. It's going to be frustrating to wait for the next one!'

'Full of twists and turns, red herrings and an ending I never guessed'

'Kept me reading to the small hours, very enjoyable'

'I am not sure I am sufficiently experienced at reviewing to actually do this book justice, it was brilliant'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Dec 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781784978969

Monty Marsden

Monty Marsden, a Tuscan by birth, grew up in Milan, where he studied medicine and still works. He lives in the province of Bergamo, with his wife and four children.

Book preview

PART ONE

One hundred days earlier, late November.

Elaji Demba had been in Italy for around twenty years. He had arrived as an illegal immigrant from Senegal when he was about twenty. To survive, he had been a street trader over the summer and had done any type of underpaid, illegal job that he could find during the winter.

Elaji was a strong man – he was tall, with a well-built body, solid like a baobab. He was proud of his family – his father, his grandfather before him and his ancestors, too, were highly respected in the village where he had lived as a child.

Elaji was an honest, calm man. He didn’t like to speak much.

Those who always speak will always know less than those who keep calm and ponder.

After a while, he had managed to legitimise his stay in Italy and had found a job in this little town in the north. He lived near a river that looked very different from those of his homeland – in the winter, it would get colder than he ever could have imagined when he was a child.

Elaji’s life hadn’t been easy, but a baobab thrives whatever the weather.

His jom, the essence of his education, had guided his heart and his footsteps; his ngor, the art of being honest, had always been an obvious quality; his yokute, his willingness to improve himself, had never worn out.

He’d been married only once, to Rama – something which was unique in his family – she had given him two daughters: Alissa, who was seven years old, and Aminata, his fourteen-year-old elder daughter commonly known as Ami. If necessary, he would have given his life for his two daughters.

Elaji owned the house he lived in – the mortgage would take another ten years to pay off. For this reason, he liked to work long hours, so that he could save some money.

That evening in late November a thin fog brooded over the river and he returned home a few minutes after seven. Rama wouldn’t be much longer – she had gone into town to do the laundry, as she did every day.

Only Alissa ran to him.

1

Elaji, are you sure?

Everybody in town knew Elaji Demba – the agent talking to him that night had never seen him so upset.

Maybe she decided to sleep over at a friend’s.

No, she’s disappeared – we’ve looked for her everywhere. Rama called one of my daughter’s school mates – Ami wasn’t at school this morning.

Did you try to call her on the phone?

Ami doesn’t have a mobile phone.

Listen, Elaji – does Ami have a boyfriend? Maybe they just…

Noo! Elaji roared, as he banged his fists on the balcony’s balustrade.

She’s a baby, a little girl. Somebody kidnapped my little Ami.

Okay, Elaji, relax now. We’ll find her, trust me. I’ll ring the police commissioner.

*

A quarter of an hour later, Elaji Demba told Lieutenant Corbi, the police commissioner and head of the central police station, of the events of the day. As on every other day, Ami had left the house early in the morning to catch the school bus to Crema. Initially, Rama hadn’t wanted her daughter to commute so far to school, but there were no high schools in town and Elaji had made a decision – Ami was a promising student, she was well behaved and she loved studying. She had a right to her yokute.

That day, school had finished around 4 p.m. and Ami should have been back home by 6 p.m. – at that time, both Rama and Elaji were still at work. That night, Ami hadn’t come home. That morning, she hadn’t turned up at school.

Somebody kidnapped her, Elaji repeated. Somebody kidnapped her.

Within a few minutes, the police commissioner verified that no black girl had been admitted to any neighbouring hospitals and none of the local police stations had issued a report concerning anybody of Ami’s description.

It had been an hour since Elaji Demba had made his appearance at the central police station. Lieutenant Corbi pulled a grim expression, then decided to call a number at the police headquarters in Milan.

*

Police Commissioner Sensi’s mobile phone vibrated at 9 p.m. He was following, with little interest and some irritation, a talk show on TV, whilst slumped in his armchair.

An underage girl has been reported missing.

For cases like this, a new European protocol of intervention had been introduced a few months earlier, in order to extend the search to a national level as quickly as possible. This protocol acknowledged that the first few hours are paramount to the investigation and instructed the police to spread a message across the country on displays at harbours, airports, motorway services and train stations. Furthermore, the information should be broadcast on radio and television, internet websites and by telephone providers. A little later on, if the gravity of the situation justified it – for almost all suspected kidnappings were usually resolved in a matter of days – the police would form an inter-force investigative unit to co-ordinate the search.

Sensi had been charged with the co-ordination of the project for the Lombardy region.

Aminata Demba, commonly known as Ami, fourteen years old.

The first thing that Sensi had to decide was whether he had to activate a crisis unit, together with the standard warnings according to the protocol.

We have been unable to trace any sightings of her since 7:30 a.m. today, when she left home to go to school.

It’s been fourteen hours already.

We received a notification from the local police station – they carried out the first investigative steps with no results. The policeman on the telephone had written a short report of all the information known to date. We’ve gathered enough information about the little girl, he concluded. and she doesn’t sound like somebody who would leave home out of the blue. This sounds like a serious case.

Yes. Send out the notifications immediately, I’ll be at the office soon. If we don’t solve the case by midnight, we’ll activate a crisis unit. Call Inspector Maiezza – I want to talk to him as soon as possible.

Fourteen hours, Sensi mumbled to himself as he drove through Milan at night. It had been a long time already.

*

Elaji Demba’s house had become increasingly more crowded. The small Senegalese community in the town had gathered to support the family. Friends and neighbours had also gathered outside their house. It was clear that the Demba family were well known and respected by the whole town. The women were gathered round Rama, who was crying quietly while they prayed for and consoled her; the men were standing around with expressions of impotence mixed with blind rage for an injustice that nobody had the courage to call by its proper name. Every now and again, Elaji repeated to himself: They kidnapped her… they kidnapped her.

The opening theme tune of the late night news on television attracted everyone’s attention. Following the headlines – the anchorman announced in a serious tone:

During the evening newscast, we announced that Ami Demba was declared missing – she’s a young girl of Senegalese origin, who was born and brought up in Italy. Her family haven’t had any contact with her since this morning. We can now show you a photo of this young girl.

Ami’s beautiful face appeared on the screen.

She still looks like a baby…

The anchorman’s tone had become much more fatherly.

Ami is fourteen years old and she’s about 1.4 metres tall. When she walked out of her house to catch the school bus this morning, she was wearing a light blue coat – the same one that you can see on this other photo.

Another photo appeared on the screen – it portrayed Ami holding hands with a friend, smiling and waving at the photographer.

Ami goes to a secondary school in Crema. Every morning, she catches a bus to get to the city from her town. Investigators are attempting to find out whether Ami did actually get on the bus this morning. She was not seen at school.

After the photo had disappeared from the screen, the anchorman paused for a moment.

If you have seen or heard news about little Ami, please call the number below. We hope that the girl will be found sooner rather than later.

The anchorman smiled.

We hope that it’s only one of those pranks that are typical of adolescents. Let’s move on with the following news.

Somebody turned off the television. Inspector Maiezza, who had been sent by Sensi to co-ordinate the investigation on the spot, had arrived about an hour earlier. He had already realized that the situation wasn’t one of the most promising – the girl was too young and had never shown any signs of rebelling against her family. The hope that everything was just caused by the girl’s whim and would result in only a bit of a scare for her parents was diminishing. The inspector approached Elaji. Mr Demba, we expect journalists and cameramen to appear on the spot pretty soon – please make sure that…

I don’t want any journalists at home. Elaji interrupted him, abruptly. I don’t want to see anybody, no-one at all. I just want to find Ami.

Mr Demba, this is what we’re all here for.

I’ve nothing to show here. This is not a show. I don’t want anybody here.

I know how you feel, Mr Demba, believe me. But you have to try to be practical – let’s hope that everything will be over by tomorrow morning; if not, the more the news about Ami’s disappearance spreads, the easier it will be to find somebody who has some information about her.

Elaji remained silent and stared at the floor.

They might be able to help, Mr Demba. You won’t have to let them into your house, you might only have to go out and have a few words with them. Our policemen will be on duty to protect your privacy, they’ll make sure that their presence isn’t too invasive.

Elaji lifted up his eyes. Somebody kidnapped her. I’ll do anything to get her back – anything. I’ll talk to them.

Inspector Maiezza would have liked to add something to comfort him, but a policeman entered and signalled him to follow. They walked out of the house to speak.

We managed to contact one of the people who took the bus to Crema this morning.

What did they see?

Ami wasn’t on the bus – he was sure about that.

For the investigation, ironically, this was good news – it narrowed the focus of the search down considerably. Maiezza had followed Ami’s route to the bus stop in the morning. Her house was only a ten minute walk away from the bus stop so it had to be in those ten minutes that everything had happened.

We need to recover any CCTV recordings, he said, decisively. We’ll focus firstly on any CCTV footage of the path between the house and the bus stop and then that of the whole town – shops, traffic lights, banks… I mean, everything.

We’ll have all the recordings by tomorrow morning.

For fuck’s sake – tomorrow morning? Maiezza was furious.

We have to be quick – call all the policemen who are available, pull them out of their beds and get the recordings from the traffic lights. Same for the banks, I’ve noticed one on the way from the house to the bus stop – call the manager. Let’s not waste any time, let’s get on with it right away.

The policeman nodded and turned round to walk away.

What about the telephone line? The inspector asked.

It’s been monitored for over an hour. Do you really think it’s kidnapping? Will anyone want a ransom?

Maiezza stretched out his hand to point out to the Demba family’s humble dwelling. Do you think there’s much here to raise a ransom with?

2

The investigative unit met at the Police Commissioner Sensi’s office at 11:30 a.m. the following morning to discuss the disappearance of Ami Demba. Apart from him, there were six more people in the team – Inspector Maiezza, Police Commissioner Berni, Lieutenant Corbi and three other officials.

Ami had been missing for twenty-eight hours now.

The atmosphere was tense – nobody believed any more that it all may have been caused by the girl’s whim.

Two farmsteads, which were relatively close to the town, were searched during the night. At the first light of dawn, the police had begun to search all the neighbouring fields inch by inch with the help of many volunteers. So far, they had found no trace of Ami.

Nobody had rung the green number to report any sightings, but the police were expecting several calls in the near future. They were hoping that there would be at least one valid report among all the false alarms.

Sensi looked visibly annoyed. Any news from the recordings? He asked Maiezza.

There are three cameras on the route that Ami should have taken yesterday morning. Maiezza began his official report. All of them filmed the girl. The last camera is at the end of the road, about sixty metres from the bus stop – Ami walks past it at 7:33 a.m.

What time did the bus pass?

It comes from the national highway and the reason it’s not caught on camera is that it’s due to arrive at 7:35 a.m, and the bus driver said that he was on time yesterday.

Ami didn’t get on board, though.

We found and interviewed five individuals who were at the bus stop yesterday morning and they all agree – Ami wasn’t there.

Two minutes to walk sixty metres… Sensi muttered to himself. That’s more than enough. She may not have wanted to, or been able to, take the bus.

Ami has never skipped a single day of school in her life, Lieutenant Corbi chipped in. We all know each other here in this town – she’s a good, well-behaved, shy little girl.

Sensi made a noise that almost sounded like a groan.

Go ahead, Maiezza.

There’s no image of Ami on any other CCTV during the following hours. We’ve looked at all possible recordings – she never returned into town.

Sensi looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then spoke to Corbi. What do you think about this? Is it possible that Ami came back into town from a different road that’s not monitored by CCTV?

It’s possible, but she would have had to detour through the fields around the town. The town is really small – she would have been filmed by some cameras in town anyway.

Hmm… Are there any buildings she could have sneaked in to avoid being recorded on CCTV?

Corbi paused for a while to think, then he replied. Yes, there are a few…

We might have to investigate then – we can’t afford to overlook anything. Fuggiano, you take care of this, please.

I’ve noticed something on the recordings, Maiezza said.

Yes, go ahead?

Ami walks past the first camera at 7:21 a.m, then she walks past the second camera, which is that of an ATM nearby, at 7:23 a.m. As we saw, the third camera records her at 7:33 a.m, which is ten minutes later.

What are you suggesting, Maiezza?

It takes about four minutes to walk the distance between the second and the third cameras at average speed. Ami took ten.

Sensi paused for a moment, he looked thoughtful. Ami had disappeared between 7:33 a.m. and 7:35 a.m, at which time she should have caught the bus she never reached. She would have had plenty of time to reach the bus stop. Did somebody convince her to follow them? Sensi asked. Maybe they offered her a lift? Or maybe they… but how would it be possible that nobody noticed anything? What happened during those two minutes? Sensi paused to think. Does it have a connection with anything that may have happened during the six extra minutes that she took to walk from one camera to the other?

We need to reconstruct Ami’s walk all the way from her house to the bus stop. We have to understand what happened during those six minutes. Walk around town, ask anybody – shop owners, passers-by, citizens. As for the recordings, we’ll have to view them again and analyse them frame by frame. Did anybody follow Ami? Find the number plates of all the cars that passed by the CCTV that morning – question the drivers. Ami may have been in one of those cars. We also have to question all those who were waiting at the bus stop again, we need to know everything that they saw and noticed that morning. Sensi glanced at his watch. Let’s do this, he concluded. He stood up from his chair. It’s already been twenty-eight hours and six minutes since she disappeared.

*

Elaji and Rama didn’t sleep that night. They kept staring at the telephone. At dawn, Rama had snoozed for a few minutes on the armchair – she almost carried on crying silently during her sleep.

Elaji couldn’t even feel tired. He wanted to take part in the investigation but he was eventually convinced otherwise. He was sitting before Rama, the pain and anger his heart was burdened with triggering involuntary twitches in his face and chest.

The first troop of journalists had arrived at 10 a.m. and consisted of just the bare essentials: a cameraman and a journalist. It still wasn’t clear how they should label Ami’s disappearance and the producers didn’t want to waste money on a case that could well be solved easily in a few days. April fools don’t attract an audience. They recorded around town and near the house, they didn’t ask to interview Elaji or Rama but asked a few quick questions of the neighbours. They drove away after a few minutes – Elaji watched them with an expressionless gaze from a window.

*

Try to focus, try to remember something. Any detail could be essential.

Maiezza repeated that sentence a thousand times – they had interviewed all of the people who were standing at the bus stop that morning. He had repeated that sentence to them all, many times. He wanted to find some different words – they sounded like an empty phrase from a cheap thriller on TV.

Was there anybody else at the bus stop? Anybody who didn’t take the bus?

His eyes were burning with tiredness; he felt his eyelids becoming increasingly heavy.

I don’t think so… I’m not completely certain though… I’m sorry.

Maiezza grumbled. You don’t need to be sorry, he said to the witness. You just need to remember.

From the night when Ami had disappeared, he had only managed to snooze for a couple of hours.

Okay, he said, more kindly. Were there any cars parked near the bus stop? Maybe a car that passed by a few times in front of the stand?

There was a car parked somewhere… it wasn’t exactly in front of the bus stop.

Where was it?

"There’s a parking space for the supermarket customers on the other side of the road – it’s a small shopping area. It’s not really in front of the bus stop, it must be twenty or thirty metres to the left hand side of it.

Was the car there then?

Yeah.

Were there no other cars in the parking area?

No, the shops are still closed at that time of morning. The man was struggling to remember. I can’t remember seeing any other cars.

Could you tell the make and type of car?

It was black… I’d say a Golf, but I’m not completely certain.

The number plate?

The man spread his arms. I was thirty metres away from it, it was a bit foggy and I had no reason to observe the number plate.

Okay, okay. How was this Golf parked?

I’m not following—

Maiezza groaned again. With reference to the bus stop – did you see the bonnet, the boot or the side of it? His tone was irritated.

The bonnet was facing the bus stop.

Okay, was there anybody in the car? Try to remember, think carefully.

The man remained still for a few seconds, thinking – he was trying to recollect all of his memories from the previous morning. Then he spread his arms again. I’m really not too sure.

Maiezza got rid of him without ceremony, he was busy thinking about something else – including this last witness, four people had noticed a black Golf. This could be a lead, albeit a very small one.

*

There are less than three thousand people in this town, almost ten per cent of them are immigrants. Among them, one third are from Africa, and Senegal is the most highly represented country.

Mrs Ferrari was a school teacher who had retired a few years ago; now she volunteered enthusiastically at the social services office for the town council. She was familiar with most of the immigrants in town. She had been a volunteer for years, she was in touch with numerous associations and she was familiar with the African culture and the African population – she had travelled far and wide across the continent and she was confident she could give Corbi some useful information during the interview.

Lieutenant Corbi tried to make himself more comfortable on the small chair in the tiny office of the police department. Okay, let’s talk about the Senegalese community…

They’re very united. They’re all hard-working people, they’re well integrated but at the same time they maintain their individuality.

Is there any rivalry within the community? Anything to do with religious or racial issues?

"Do you mean

Reviews for Missing

[bayleaf_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In Lombardy Elaji Demba’s 14-year-old daughter, Ami, disappears after leaving for school and later is found dead. Police Commissioner Sensi can make no headway in the case and reaches out to a former colleague, Dr. Claps, for assistance. Claps suffered from aphasia after a knife cut his femoral artery during a former case. He has slowly regained his ability to speak, but it is labored and at times difficult. As the investigation progresses, Sensi and Claps discover Ami may not be the killer’s only victim and it becomes a race to stop another girl from losing her life.Missing by Monty Marsden is a good debut novel. In fact, in saying that I think it’s also one of its failings. At times it reads like the second in a series. There are allusions to a former case, e.g. how Claps lost his memory and his ability to speak, that raise a lot of questions and I can only hope they will be explained in future books. I also wish there were a little more background description. I think it would have been richer for it. Like Claps is a man of few words, Missing is a novel of few words. That said, I liked the story and I hope it’s not the last. There is much to say for the characters and I want to see them develop.