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

12

Sarah

I was in a dreadful state by the time we got to the station. It had only just turned five p.m. and already it was the longest day of my life.

The latest text from the kidnapper had hit me hard. I’d bellowed like a wounded animal and Adam had had to put an arm around me to calm me down. I dreaded to think how much more strung out I’d be if not for the sedative that was sloshing around inside me.

The fear was like razor wire inside my mind. I’d finally stopped sobbing, but now I had trouble thinking, trouble seeing.

Adam said he thought it might be best if Sergeant Palmer took me back home, but I insisted on going up with him. I needed to find out what was happening and if my colleagues were in a position to offer us any hope. If not then I was sure that the fear and uncertainty would soon engulf me.

It felt weird to be entering the building for the second time that day. This morning I’d been a very different person – upbeat and energised after a long, lazy weekend. Now I was little more than a zombie, struggling to hold on to reality as my world tilted on its axis.

Several of my colleagues approached me as we made our way up the stairs and they told me they were confident that Molly would soon be found safe and well. Others just gave me sympathetic looks, while some pointedly avoided making eye contact, presumably because they didn’t know how to react.

Brennan was waiting for us just inside the incident room. Beyond him I took in the familiar scene, detectives talking into phones and staring into computer screens. I also noticed the whiteboard with photos of Molly pinned to it. It turned my stomach to see my little girl’s face there. I’d seen scores of children’s faces over the years while working on cases they’d been involved in. Each one had been someone’s son or daughter. But it was only now that I truly realised how desperate and helpless those parents would have felt.

‘Let’s go straight to my office,’ Brennan said and steered us in that direction.

His office was small and cluttered and through the window rain clouds were now bruising the sky above South London.

Adam waited until we were all seated before he let rip. ‘How in Christ’s name did it happen?’ he yelled. ‘The kidnapper gave a clear warning. You were supposed to stop that photo being released.’

Brennan held up both hands, palms out, fingers splayed. ‘I know and I feel as gutted as you do,’ he said. ‘But it was due to a breakdown in communication. It wasn’t deliberate.’

He told us how a member of the media liaison team had released the picture of Molly and Adam responded by shaking his head and swearing.

‘Well someone’s head should bloody roll,’ he seethed. ‘God only knows what’s going to happen to our daughter because of the force’s rank incompetence. I don’t fucking believe—’

I reached across and grabbed his arm, causing him to snap his head towards me.

‘Stop it, Adam,’ I said. ‘Going on about it won’t solve anything. I for one came here to find out how close they are to finding Molly. I feel as angry as you do, but there’s no point ranting and raving over something that can’t be changed.’

He seemed so angry that I thought he’d ignore me. Instead he closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Then he opened them again and gave a slow nod.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to be,’ Brennan said. ‘I completely understand why you’re pissed off. I would be, in your position.’

Having calmed down, Adam sat back and listened to what Brennan had to say. We both did. But what he said did nothing to raise our hopes or allay our fears.

So far only the one woman had come forward to say she had seen a man with a child near my mother’s home. The phone from which the messages had been sent had not been traced. And there was just one short clip of video footage from a street camera.

We viewed it on Brennan’s computer and the sight of my baby in the kidnapper’s arms sent my heart into freefall. The footage was in colour and slightly blurred, but I could tell straight away that it was Molly. She was looking back over the man’s shoulder towards the camera, wide awake and clearly upset. One arm was wrapped around the kidnapper’s neck and her head was raised and moving from side to side.

When Brennan paused and enhanced the image, I could see that her little face was scrunched up and her mouth was open.

I felt a cry in my throat but I refused to let it out. Instead I just gazed at the screen as the muscles around my eyes tightened.

‘Unfortunately we only have the rear view of the kidnapper,’ Brennan said. ‘As you can see he appears to be of average build and height, just as Molly’s grandmother described him. He could be aged anywhere between twenty and forty.’

It was hard to tell because he was wearing a dark hoody and jeans and there were no distinctive markings visible on his clothes.

We watched the video through twice and after the second time I sat back in the chair and had to will the tears not to come.

Brennan asked if I was OK to carry on and I just nodded and wiped my eyes with a tissue.

‘I’m still hopeful that by the end of this evening we’ll have more to go on,’ he said. ‘We’re still going door-to-door and people in the area are gradually returning home from work. It’s possible a neighbour we haven’t yet spoken to saw something. There’s also the outside chance that someone has seen the photograph on the telly and recognises the room that Molly’s in, which is obviously why the kidnapper didn’t want it released.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ Adam said. ‘There must be hundreds of thousands of white sofas in homes across London alone.’

Brennan then asked me a series of questions. Did I have any idea how the kidnapper got my number? No. Had I spotted anyone watching me or the flat in recent days or weeks? No. Did Molly have any medical conditions that required ongoing treatment? No.

He then asked Adam a bunch of similar questions. Did he know who the kidnapper might be? No. Did he know of anyone who had a grudge against Sarah? No. Did he himself have any enemies? Yes, lots.

Adam was in such a state that he was struggling to respond. I could tell that his mind was leaping in all directions and he was finding it hard to make sense of anything.

Finally, and almost reluctantly, Brennan told us about the two perps whose names I’d given him, the pair who had threatened retribution. He said Frank Neilson was still banged up, but the rapist Edwin Sharp had been released from prison a month ago and they were trying to trace him.

‘I didn’t mention him to begin with because I don’t want to overstate the significance,’ he said. ‘Just because he’s out, it doesn’t mean he’s been up to no good. It’s more than likely he doesn’t even remember making threats against you, Sarah.’

I thought about this for a moment and said, ‘On the other hand it might be all he’s been thinking about for the past five years.’

It didn’t seem like five years ago to me. The Edwin Sharp case was one of those that had stayed with me, and I could remember every detail. In fact, I still had some of the newspaper cuttings in a file at home. That was because it was one of my most high-profile cases and even earned me a commendation.

Sharp was an arrogant cocaine-obsessed stockbroker who raped a 23-year-old woman after a drug-fuelled office party. It happened shortly after I joined Lewisham CID and just before they teamed me up with Adam.

I arrived at Sharp’s terraced house with a WPC named Felicity Trant. When he answered the front door, it was clear he was high on drink and drugs. He was wearing a dressing gown with nothing underneath and his eyes were wide and glassy.

He became aggressive and abusive when I explained why we were there and he called us bitches and whores.

When I said I was going to arrest him and take him to the station, he lost it completely. He leapt to his feet and punched WPC Trant in the face, sending her flying across the room. Then he dashed into the kitchen before I could stop him.

I was only a couple of seconds behind him, but by the time I reached him he’d armed himself with a hammer from a drawer and lashed out at me with it.

I suffered a painful blow to the shoulder before I managed to force him to the floor and put cuffs on his wrists.

And that was when his dressing gown fell open to reveal a small flaccid penis, which made him blush and bare his teeth.

‘You fucking cunt,’ he screamed. ‘I won’t forget this.’

The next day, during the formal interview, Sharp gave me a look that could melt wax and said, ‘If I go down for this I’ll make sure I’ll see to you when I get out, Detective Mason.’

Sharp pleaded not guilty in court to rape and claimed the sex with the woman had been consensual. But the jury rejected his story and it took them just three hours to find him guilty of rape and assaulting police officers.

The judge condemned him for not showing any remorse during the trial, and as he was led out of the dock he looked across the courtroom at me and stuck up two fingers.

‘I’m confident it won’t take long to track Sharp down,’ Brennan said, wrenching me back from the past. ‘We’re trying to reach his probation officer and the landlord of the flat he stayed in for just a week. We’re also contacting his family and friends.’

‘Sharp is a nasty piece of work,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to try to finish what he started with the hammer. But it’s hard to imagine that he would have it in him to kidnap my daughter.’

Brennan shrugged. ‘Our prisons are filled with people who hold grudges, Sarah. For some of them the thought of eventually getting sweet revenge is what keeps them going. And it’s often the case that the sweeter and more elaborate the revenge the better.’

13

Sarah

So was the man on the street camera footage Edwin Sharp? Was he the bastard who had abducted Molly after attacking my mother?

It was impossible to tell, of course, because his features weren’t visible on the tape. But Brennan went on to point out that the very latest description of Sharp had him at five feet nine tall, with a slim build and dark hair cropped close to his head. He was aged thirty-six, and when he walked out of Wandsworth prison four weeks ago he was apparently in good health.

Brennan brought a photo of him up on his computer and I took a quick intake of breath.

‘This was taken just before his release,’ Brennan said. ‘The prison sent it over a few minutes ago.’

It was amazing how little the man had changed. It seemed he had hardly aged. There were the strong cheekbones and dimpled chin, the mouth that was flat and narrow, the jaw that was dark with stubble. He still had the kind of face that gave him an air of unbridled arrogance.

‘According to the prison he served the full sentence imposed because he didn’t know how to behave himself,’ Brennan said. ‘He got into a few scuffles and was once caught in possession of drugs.’

‘I don’t understand how he can just disappear,’ Adam said. ‘Surely under the terms of his release he would have had to remain on the radar.’

Brennan agreed. ‘Rest assured that’s one of the questions I’ll be asking.’

The DCI then looked at his watch and said he needed to get back into the incident room.

‘I give you my word that I’ll call you straight away if there are any developments,’ he said. ‘There’s really nothing more I can tell you at this stage. But I do want you to know that more than fifty detectives are now working directly on this case. All leave has been cancelled and I’ve been given the go-ahead to bust the overtime budget.’

I exchanged an anxious glance with Adam. He shook his head and expelled a puff of air.

‘I suppose we have to resign ourselves to a long night then,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

‘The team will be working flat out until we get a result,’ Brennan said. ‘If we’re not able to return Molly to you by tomorrow morning I intend to arrange a press conference and I’d like one or both of you to attend.’

I sat there, nerves jangling, as the dread pooled in my stomach and my eyes started tearing up.

Brennan got to his feet and came around his desk. He stood next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

‘I have no idea what your religious beliefs are, Sarah,’ he said. ‘But if you do believe in God then it might help to pray like you’ve never prayed before.’

Like a lot of police officers who are frequently exposed to the ugly realities of life, I’d always had a hard time believing in God. But that had never stopped me asking for his help.

I’d been mouthing silent prayers ever since I’d discovered that Molly had been abducted. Such was my desperation that I refused to accept the possibility that it was a waste of time.

‘Please bring my baby back to me,’ I whispered to myself as we left the station. ‘And I beg you not to let that man hurt her.’

Sergeant Palmer was waiting outside for us next to her own car and she’d be driving us home.

Once we were settled in the back seat and she was behind the wheel, she said, ‘The DCI wants me to stay with you at the flat tonight. Would that be all right? I have an overnight bag and I’ll make myself comfortable in the living room.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ I said.

‘Thank you. What about you, Mr Boyd? Are you returning to the flat?’

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I don’t intend to go home just yet.’

I felt a surge of relief and reached out to touch his arm.

‘You don’t have to stay with me,’ I said.

‘I know, but I want to.’

There was a sudden clap of thunder and I realised that dark clouds were now clustered overhead. Within seconds big drops of rain were pounding the windscreen.

‘I’d like to go and see my parents before I go home,’ I said. ‘They’re staying with my aunt in Balham. I need to tell them about the latest message and I don’t want to do it over the phone.’

On the short journey to Balham my phone rang four times and each time my heart leapt into my throat. But the callers were just friends and former colleagues who had heard the news about Molly. I told them I couldn’t speak to them, and it got to the point where I wished I could switch my phone off. But of course I couldn’t because I had no idea if and when the kidnapper would make contact again.

My aunt Tessa lived with her husband Jeff in a terraced house off Balham High Road. She was four years older than my mother and had a son who lived in Australia.

It was a solemn-faced Jeff who answered the door. He was a thin, fragile man with hollow cheeks and wispy grey hair. He immediately pulled me into an embrace.

‘Oh you poor darling,’ he said. ‘This is so terrible.’

‘How’s Mum?’ I asked him.

‘Come in and see. Are you by yourself?’

‘I’m with Adam and a police officer. They’re going to wait outside in the car.’

It was Adam’s idea not to come in because he reckoned he would be a distraction. My parents hadn’t seen him since before the divorce and there was no telling how they’d react. My father William was a curmudgeonly 64-year-old and had vowed never to speak to Adam again.

In the event, I didn’t think it would have been a problem. My mum and dad were far too distressed to be concerned about anyone other than their granddaughter.

Naturally they were eager to know if there had been any news.

‘That’s why I came right over,’ I said. ‘The bastard has sent another message.’

I told them what was in it and they took it badly. My mother collapsed in tears and my father kept shaking his head and telling us that he feared we would never see Molly again. It was all very upsetting and I was actually glad to leave the house. It was just after eight p.m. by then and the evening was drawing in. The rain had eased off but the air was heavy and moist.

When we got to my flats we had to run the gauntlet of reporters and photographers again. Now there were even more of them outside the flats.

Upstairs, Sergeant Palmer offered to make us both something to eat, but neither Adam nor I had an appetite.

‘I’ll have a drink, though,’ I said. ‘Something stronger than tea.’

I told Palmer to help herself to whatever was in the fridge and went into the living room.

‘You sit down and I’ll pour you something,’ Adam said. ‘Is the booze still in the same place?’

I nodded and he went to the cupboard next to the dining table.

‘You’ve got a bottle of whisky and half a bottle of gin,’ he said.

‘I’ll have whisky and make it a double.’

I sat on the sofa feeling weak and empty. My mouth was dry and my chest was thudding. I had no intention of going to bed. What was the point when I knew I’d never be able to sleep? I had no option but to sit back and wait for news while destructive thoughts ran riot inside my head.

As Adam handed me a glass half-filled with whisky, I asked him how long he planned to stay.

‘All night if that’s OK with you,’ he said.

I just nodded.

I fired down some whisky and felt it bite into the back of my throat. Adam poured himself a glass before switching on the TV.

A moment later we were looking at another photo of Molly, this time one that Adam had taken a few weeks ago on his phone. It showed her in the park throwing bread to the ducks.

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