Lost Lives (Emily Swanson Mystery Thriller Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

It hadn't been his photograph in the paper next to vile, accusatory words. It hadn't been his reputation destroyed, his freedom stolen away.
    Yes, people did stop and whisper and yes, they did regard him with a steely candour from a discreet distance, but he was still able to trawl the aisles of the supermarket. When Emily had last entered the supermarket, her hood pulled up in a bid to pass unnoticed, two mothers from her school had dragged her across the aisle by her hair and thrown her into a pyramid of apples. Emily had tried to pick up the fruit while the women screamed terrible things and spat on her back.
    There was just one person ahead of her now. Two men worked the counter, conversing in a language she didn’t recognize. Emily watched them for a minute, then her eyes wandered over the shelves of cigarette packets and painkillers, until they came to rest on a small public message board.
    Among the handwritten postcards advertising rooms to rent and massage services, was a missing persons notice. The photograph at the centre of the notice was grainy black and white, but the person it depicted was unnervingly familiar. The woman had short, light hair parted in the middle, a square jaw and aquiline nose. Her eyes emitted an iciness that permeated right through the paper to prick Emily’s skin.
    She reached the counter. As one of the men began scanning and packing her items, Emily read through the information on the poster.
    Alina Engel. 43 years old. 5’ 4. 60 kg. Reported missing after failing to return home from an evening shift at the Ever After Care Foundation. Alina, who is of German descent, called her husband at around nine pm on Monday, 24th August, stating that she was waiting for the 247 bus on the corner of Romford Road and Fowler Road, IG6. Co-workers confirmed seeing Alina leave at around eight-thirty. She was wearing a blue and white nurse’s uniform and was carrying a light blue backpack at the time of her disappearance. If you have any information or know of Alina’s whereabouts, please call the following number.
    Emily stared in stunned silence, reading the words over and over.
    “You know her?” the shopkeeper asked.
    Emily shook her head. “Do you?”
    “People come in and out every day. They look the same to me.”
    Emily paid the man.
    “I should take it down,” he said. “After three months, that woman isn’t coming back.”
    Behind them, waiting customers grumbled. Emily thanked the shopkeeper and turned to leave. She stared at the poster one last time, memorizing Alina Engel’s features. If only her phone had been in her purse and not switched off in one of the kitchen drawers, then she would have been able to take a picture.
    The street was busier now but she hardly noticed, her mind fixed on the missing woman’s face. She tried to hold it there, an exact image copied from the poster to her brain. Minutes later, she emerged panting and wheezing from the throngs.
    Inside The Holmeswood, someone had taped a notice across the lift doors: GET THIS FIXED! SOME OF US CAN’T USE THE STAIRS!
    By the time Emily made it to her apartment, she felt as if her heart might punch a hole through her chest. Slamming the door behind her, she dropped the grocery bags onto the floor and hurried towards the bathroom.
    The painting was still there, face down against the wall. She flipped it over. Alina Engel stared back.
    ***
    “You’ve got lots of space in here for just one person.”
    Harriet sat at the dining table, peering around the room with an inquisitive eye. Emily had been busy. There were books on shelves and rugs on the floor. An array of photographs and prints hung from the walls, featuring striking landscapes—a dense forest in the grip of autumn, a rickety pier overlooking a tranquil lake—but there were no family photographs, Harriet noted. No people.
    “It’s probably too big,” Emily said, sliding a cup and saucer towards her guest. “I’m having trouble filling it.”
    “A