The Mother: A shocking thriller about every mother’s worst fear…

3

Sarah

My mother was tied to one of the kitchen chairs and a red silk scarf had been wrapped around her face to gag her.

Her chin was resting on her chest and she appeared to be unconscious. But when I let out a muffled scream her head jolted up and she looked at me through eyes that struggled to focus.

For a moment I just stood there in shock, unable to move, unable to take in what I was seeing. All my police instincts, training and experience deserted me. It was left to Brennan to rush forward and remove the scarf from around my mother’s head.

‘I recognise that smell,’ he said as he put the scarf against his nose and sniffed it. ‘It’s chloroform.’

My mother gasped and spluttered and then went into a coughing fit.

‘You’re going to be OK, Mrs Mason,’ Brennan said as he started to untie her hands that were secured behind her back with a length of plastic cable. ‘We’ve got you now. You’re safe.’

I came out of my trance-like state and ran forward to my mother. She was shaking and dribbling and having great difficulty breathing properly. But at least she was alive and looked as though she hadn’t been physically harmed.

‘Where’s Molly, Mum?’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘Where is my baby?’

She tried to speak but the words got stuck in her throat.

I rested a hand on her shoulder, crouched down so that we were face to face.

‘Mum, please. Where’s Molly?’

Her eyes grew wide and confusion pulled at her features. Then she shook her head and her lips trembled.

‘I … d-don’t know,’ she managed. ‘She was in the high chair when the doorbell rang.’

That was when I noticed the high chair for the first time, on the other side of the room next to the back door that stood open. There was a plastic bowl on the tray, along with Molly’s familiar spill-proof beaker.

‘Did you go and answer the door, Mrs Mason?’ Brennan asked her. ‘Is that what you did?’

I turned back to my mother. She nodded and closed her eyes, and I could tell she was trying to cast her mind back to what had happened.

‘A man,’ she said, her tone frantic. ‘He was wearing a hood, like a balaclava. He forced himself in and grabbed me. Then he put something over my face.’

My mother lost it then and started to cry, great heaving sobs that racked her frail body.

She was almost seventy, and seeing her like this, I felt the urge to comfort her, but a more powerful impulse seized me and I jumped up suddenly and went in search of Molly, praying that she was still here and hadn’t been taken away.

I ran out into the garden first, but it was empty except for the cat from next door that was lying on the lawn like it didn’t have a care in the world.

Then I dashed back into the house and through the kitchen, passing Brennan who was standing next to my mother while talking anxiously into his phone.

I checked the living room and ground floor toilet, then hurried upstairs in the hope of finding my daughter in one of the three bedrooms. I called out her name, told her that Mummy had come to get her. But there was a resounding silence. She wasn’t there. She was gone.

A new wave of terror roared through my body as I ran back downstairs. Now it was confirmed. My daughter had been abducted and I had no idea by whom. The nightmare that had loomed over me since I opened up the photograph on my phone had turned into a horrific reality.

The temptation to collapse in a tearful heap was almost overwhelming, but I told myself that I had to hold it together. For my sake and for Molly’s.

My mother was still on the chair in the kitchen and Brennan was trying to coax more information out of her. When she saw me she reached for my hand and said, ‘There was nothing I could do. It happened so – so quickly.’

‘Who could it have been, Mum?’ I said. ‘Do you have any idea?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t see his face. He knocked me out and when I woke up I was tied to this chair.’

I reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.

‘I’m so sorry, Sarah,’ she sobbed. ‘I really couldn’t …’

‘It’s not your fault, Mum,’ I said, choking back tears. ‘We’ll get her back. I promise.’

I heard a siren and the sound of it caused my heart to flip.

‘Your father needs to be told, Sarah,’ my mother said. ‘He’s still at the allotment. He thinks we’ll be meeting him at the pub.’

‘I’ll see to it, Mum,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’

I straightened up and looked at Brennan who told me that he had raised the alarm and that teams of officers were about to descend on the area.

‘I’ve also summoned an ambulance,’ he said. ‘The paramedics will take care of your mother.’

His words registered, but only just, and they failed to provide any comfort. How could they? My precious daughter had been kidnapped. My mind was still reeling and I felt weighted down by a crushing despair.

I was on the verge of losing control so I lowered myself onto one of chairs around the kitchen table. There I sat, my head spinning, my stomach churning, as Brennan gently prised more information out of my mother.

She revealed that the man had rung the bell at just before nine – an hour or so after I had dropped Molly off. My father had just left the house to go to his allotment and she was giving Molly her breakfast before taking her to the park.

She remembered very little about her attacker. His face had been covered and he’d been wearing what she thought was a dark T-shirt and jeans.

‘He was average height but strong,’ she said. ‘I tried to struggle free when he attacked me but I couldn’t.’

She started crying again and this time it set me off. I broke down in a flood of tears and heard myself calling Molly’s name.

I was only vaguely aware of the commotion that suddenly ensued, and of being led out of the kitchen and along the hallway.

Raised voices, more people entering the house, some of them in uniform. Molly’s face loomed large in my mind’s eye, obscuring much of what was going on around me. I wondered if I would ever hold her in my arms again. It was a sickening, painful thought and one that I never thought I would have to experience.

I’d witnessed the suffering of parents who had lost children, seen the agony in their eyes. But as a copper I had always been one step removed, professionally detached and oblivious to the real extent of their plight.

Now I had a different perspective. I was in that horrendous position myself. The grieving, desperate mother wondering why fate had delivered such a crushing blow.

‘We’re taking you next door,’ Brennan was saying as we stepped outside, to be greeted by the flashing blue light on top of a police patrol car. ‘This house is now a crime scene and the forensics team needs to get to work. Mrs Lloyd, the neighbour to the right, has kindly agreed to make some tea for you and your mother.’

‘I don’t want tea,’ I wailed. ‘I want Molly.’

‘I’ll do whatever it takes to find her, Sarah,’ Brennan said. ‘We all will. But look, I really think it’s time that Molly’s father was informed about what’s happened. Do you want to call him or shall I?’

The prospect of breaking the news to Adam that his daughter had been abducted filled me with dread. I knew I couldn’t do it, that as soon as I heard his voice I would fall apart.

‘You ring him,’ I said. ‘Tell him to get here as soon as he can.’

4

Adam

The man in the dock at the Old Bailey looked as though he hadn’t got a care in the world. Even when the judge instructed him to stand up and turn to the jury he didn’t appear to be in the least bit anxious. He was facing the prospect of a long stretch behind bars, but from his expression you would never have guessed it.

‘The bastard is cocksure that he’s about to be acquitted,’ Detective Inspector Adam Boyd whispered to his colleague who was sitting beside him in the courtroom. ‘And I have a horrible feeling he could be right.’

The case against Victor Rosetti – a Romanian national – had been undermined during the past couple of days. One of the prosecution witnesses had disappeared before taking the stand, and the defence had managed to refute some of the forensic evidence, claiming it had been contaminated.

For the National Crime Agency, which was set up to fight organised crime in the UK, it would be a bitter blow if Rosetti did walk. As one of London’s nastiest villains and drugs traffickers, the man deserved to be locked behind bars. But securing a conviction was always going to be a challenge for Adam and his team.

Rosetti had an army of foot soldiers working for him, along with some powerful contacts. Several senior police officers were also believed to be on his payroll.

Adam had managed to build a strong case against him before bringing a charge that related to the importation and distribution of cocaine. But Rosetti’s defence had dismissed much of the evidence as circumstantial and had accused the police of ‘fitting up’ their client.

Things had gone from bad to worse two days ago when the prosecution’s key witness – one of Rosetti’s own drug couriers – slipped out of the safe house he was staying in. All attempts to trace him had failed, and Adam thought it likely that Rosetti’s people had ‘encouraged’ him to vanish by threatening his family.

The jury foreman was now being asked if a verdict had been reached. The foreman said it had and passed a slip of paper to the clerk.

Adam stared with ill-disguised contempt at the man who was known as ‘Rosetti the Cutter’ because of his fondness for slicing up his enemies with a knife.

He was a short, heavyset man with a round face and shaved head. He’d been on the NCA’s radar for a couple of years, but this was the closest they’d come to bringing him down and Adam wasn’t sure they would get an opportunity like this again.

As the judge prepared to ask the jury foreman to announce the verdict, Adam felt his mobile phone vibrate with an incoming message. He ignored it, deciding that whatever it was it could wait. Right at this moment the only thing that mattered was seeing if this Romanian scumbag got what he deserved.

Adam felt his insides contract as he switched his gaze from Rosetti to the jury foreman, a thin-faced man with a scruffy beard.

‘So do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’ the judge asked him.

Adam bit his bottom lip and held his breath. The courtroom fell silent. The jury foreman spoke without hesitation.

‘Not guilty, your honour,’ he said.

Rosetti’s reaction to the verdict was to grin broadly and punch the air with his fist.

It made Adam want to throw up. Although he’d seen this coming it was still a sickening blow.

He had to resist the urge to leap to his feet and berate the jury for being so stupid and to ask who among them had been nobbled. Instead he just sat there, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

Shouts of support came from the public gallery as Rosetti was led out of the dock.

‘What a bloody disaster,’ Adam said to himself, loud enough for those around him to hear.

He didn’t move for several minutes, waiting for the courtroom to empty. He felt wrung out, the emotions thick in his throat.

At length, he threw out a long sigh and got to his feet. He needed some fresh air and a cigarette. And after that a stiff drink, or two, at the nearest boozer.

Outside, a few newspaper reporters and a TV camera crew had gathered on the street. But it could hardly have been described as a media frenzy. The case hadn’t been as high-profile as some of the others that had been taking place at the same time. Victor Rosetti wasn’t exactly a household name, and drugs trials had become so commonplace that they failed to attract much attention these days.

The Romanian stood on the pavement, flanked by two burly minders, as he answered the reporters’ questions.

Adam’s boss, DCI Mike Dunlop, stood to one side preparing to make a statement on behalf of the NCA, in which he would no doubt express profound disappointment.

Adam slipped away from Dunlop and the rest of the police team and crossed the road where he sparked up a fag and tried to suppress the rage that was bubbling up inside him.

He regarded what had just happened as a travesty of justice, and it was going to take him a while to get over it. The thought that Rosetti would now go away and continue to ply his illicit trade made his blood boil.

He watched as the bastard finished answering questions. Then a black Mercedes pulled up to the kerb and he climbed in with his minders. The reporters immediately turned their attention to Dunlop. The Mercedes then pulled away, but instead of driving straight off, it shot across the road and parked next to where Adam was standing.

The rear window was lowered and Rosetti’s face appeared.

‘Cheer up, Boyd,’ he said. ‘You win some, you lose some.’

Adam felt the bile rise in his throat. ‘We may have lost the battle, scumbag,’ he said. ‘But not the war. It won’t be long before I collar you for something you won’t be able to wriggle out of.’

‘Don’t waste taxpayers’ money,’ Rosetti said. ‘It will never happen. Besides, I should be the least of your worries.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Rosetti grinned, showing a set of yellow teeth. ‘You’ll find out soon enough – word is, you’re in for a nasty surprise.’

Adam took a step forward, but Rosetti tapped the driver’s shoulder and the Mercedes drove off, tyres squealing.

Adam stared after it, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t the veiled threat that infuriated him – he’d received so many over the years that he no longer took them seriously. No, it was the fact that he knew that getting Rosetti into the dock again was going to be hellishly difficult, if not impossible.

He dropped what remained of his cigarette and ground it into the pavement with the heel of his shoe. Then just as he was about to cross back over the road he felt his phone vibrate again with another message.

This time he whipped it out of his pocket and saw that both messages had come from DCI Dave Brennan, who was asking him to call as a matter of urgency. Brennan was his ex-wife’s boss and it was a long time since he’d heard from the guy.

Adam arched his brow and called the number. He had no idea, of course, that the bad day he was having was about to turn into his worst nightmare.

5

Sarah

I was in Mrs Loyd’s back garden puffing on a cigarette while praying that my daughter hadn’t been lost to me forever. But it was impossible to keep the negative thoughts at bay. They taunted me, each one a loud, desperate scream inside my head.

Two hours had passed since Brennan and I had arrived at my parents’ house and a lot had happened in that time. My mother had been taken to hospital to be checked over, a police car had been dispatched to pick my father up from his allotment and take him there too, and I’d been sick twice – once on the kitchen floor and once in her downstairs toilet. Luckily I’d known my mother’s neighbour Mrs Loyd for years and she told me not to worry, that she would clean it up.

I was still in a state of raw shock, only half aware of what was going on around me.

A PC was with me in the garden. Her name was Penny and we knew each other fairly well. She kept telling me that everything would be all right and I would soon be reunited with Molly. But, of course, she couldn’t possibly know that and was just saying it to make me feel better.

But words alone were not going to relieve the emotional turmoil that was raging inside me. I needed to find my baby, to see her smile, hear her laugh, hold her in my arms.

I was clutching my mobile phone in my free hand, willing it to ring, for the kidnapper to make contact. If he called to demand a ransom then I’d willingly pay it, no matter how much it was. I’d move heaven and earth to get Molly back, sell my flat if need be, borrow the rest. That wouldn’t be a problem. And I was sure to get all the help I needed from Adam and my parents.

The sun was beating down as I paced up and down the garden, Penny watching from the patio with her arms folded across her chest.

For some reason that made me angry. Why didn’t she appear upset? Why was her face so expressionless? Didn’t she realise how bad this was and how hard it was for me to keep from screaming?

But then it hit me. She was just being professional, doing her job. In the same way I’d done mine for years. Only this time the tables had turned on me and I was the victim, along with Molly and my mother. It was a new and terrifying experience.

Next door in my parents’ garden several uniformed officers were carrying out a search. They were checking to see if there was any evidence to suggest that the kidnapper had taken Molly out the back way.

There was a small patch of woodland on the other side of the fence at the bottom of the garden. Beyond that was a road that wasn’t overlooked by houses or flats. Brennan had already raised the possibility that the kidnapper had parked a car or van out there. He’d also told me in the last half hour that none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything.

Mrs Lloyd had been in her bathroom when the kidnapping took place and hadn’t become aware of what had happened until the police called on her.

I wanted to do something, to join the search, put my police skills to good use, but right now I was in no fit state to be of any use. My body was numb, my mind in utter disarray, and I felt smothered by a dark blanket of despair.

When Brennan suddenly stepped out onto the patio, my stomach leapt. I assumed straight away that it was bad news.

‘Don’t panic,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s been no change. I’ve come to tell you that Molly’s father has arrived. If you pop back in I can update you both at the same time.’

My legs threatened to collapse under me as I walked towards the house, and I could feel a fresh batch of tears building behind my eyes.

When I entered the kitchen and saw Adam standing there next to Brennan, I totally lost control and broke down. Adam rushed over and put an arm around me, and I sobbed into his shoulder. We were used to seeing each other during his frequent visits to the flat to pick Molly up, but this was the first time we’d had physical contact since the divorce.

He spoke in a soothing voice, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I was just glad he was there and the scent of him filled every intake of breath.

When I eventually stopped crying, Brennan handed me a tissue and I used it to dry my eyes. Then I stepped back out of Adam’s embrace and looked up at him.

At six feet he was a good four inches taller than me and was wearing a dark suit and white open-neck shirt. His familiar face was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a thin nose. But his expression was totally unfamiliar, a mixture of fear and incredulity. Sweat had gathered in the creases of his brow and his lips were drawn into a tight line.

‘I’ve been told what’s happened, Sarah,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I can’t believe it. Why would anyone take Molly, for God’s sake?’

I had a sudden, violent urge to vomit again. Brennan must have sensed it because he quickly pulled over a chair and told me to sit down.

Adam came and stood in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the tension in his fingers.

He held out his other hand and said, ‘Can I see the photo?’

Before I gave the phone to him I opened up the message.

‘You should check that first,’ I said.

He clamped his top lip between his teeth as he read the text.

‘This is fucking insane,’ he said. ‘What kind of lunatic would pull a stunt like this?’

He took a shivering breath and exhaled, then tapped on the photo.

I watched the muscles in his neck tighten as he stared at it, his eyes narrowing to slits.

‘Do you by any chance recognise that room?’ Brennan asked him.

Adam’s eyebrows knitted together, and for just a moment hope surged within me.

Please say yes, I wanted to cry out. Please tell us you know who lives there and where it is.

But after an agonising wait he shook his head and my insides shrivelled up.

‘I’ve never seen it before,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely sure of it.’

He continued to stare at the photo and I saw his eyes start to glisten with tears.

‘The bloke who did this obviously knew that Molly would be with her grandmother,’ Brennan said. ‘It’s likely he was watching the house and waiting for your father to leave before striking. That suggests he knew that you were all locked into a routine. And it also suggests that you might know him – or them – since it’s quite possible he wasn’t acting alone.’

It was something that hadn’t occurred to me because my head was all over the place. But now the thought that Molly had fallen prey to more than one man sent my pulse racing.

‘Can you think of anyone you know who’d be capable of this, Sarah?’ Brennan said. ‘Or someone you’ve seen around who was perhaps acting suspiciously?’

I narrowed my eyes, tried to focus, but it was hopeless.

‘I can’t,’ I said.

‘Well keep thinking,’ Brennan said. ‘Something might come to you.’

No one spoke for at least twenty seconds, and the silence threatened to become deafening. Finally Brennan said, ‘You both need to know that we’ve had no success tracing the message. It must have come from an unregistered phone that’s now switched off.’

Adam turned to face him. ‘What time was Molly taken?’

‘Well according to Mrs Mason the guy arrived here at just before nine.’

‘And this message was received about an hour later?’

‘Just over. We’re checking all CCTV and road cameras within a half-mile radius. Unfortunately there aren’t any in this street or in any of those around it.’

‘What about the neighbours? Someone must have seen something.’

Brennan shrugged. ‘We’re still going door-to-door, but none of those we’ve spoken to so far saw a man with a child around the time it happened.’

Adam twisted his lower jaw, considering. Unlike me he was still able to think like a police officer, despite the shock to his system. That was impressive. My brain was far too splintered, and I was struggling to focus on anything other than Molly’s startled expression in the photograph.

‘What about Sarah’s mum?’ Adam said. ‘Has she been able to give you anything useful?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Brennan said. ‘I’ve sent officers to the hospital to get a formal statement from her, but the kidnapper was wearing a balaclava of some sort when she answered the door. The one thing she is certain of is that it was a man and not a woman. He grabbed her and put a scarf doused in chloroform against her face. She was unconscious in seconds then woke up tied to the chair and saw that Molly was gone.’

Brennan went on to say that a full-blown search of the immediate area was under way and that the photo of Molly on the sofa would shortly be sent to media outlets.

‘Reporters and television crews will soon start to descend,’ he said. ‘It’ll turn into a media circus outside for sure. So I suggest that you go home.’