THE TAKEN GIRLS
G. D. Sanders

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © G. D. Sanders 2018

G. D. Sanders asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © December 2018 ISBN: 9780008313203

Version: 2018-09-13

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Acknowledgements

About G. D. Sanders

About the Publisher

As a boy he liked small things, living things which moved. At least, they were moving when he caught them, moving when he first put them in his jars. Later they would stop and he would transfer them with a pin to the boxes in which he kept his collection. He never tired of his collection.

Prologue

Who should it be? A 17-year-old, one who kept herself to herself, not shy but perhaps a little old-fashioned; such a girl would be perfect.

He’d studied several and chosen Teresa. Hers was an ordered life: school, church and home. On Fridays, she left her Bible study class at half past five and returned to her parents’ house on the southern edge of Canterbury, in an affluent neighbourhood well away from the tourist-packed city centre. There, beyond the Kent County Cricket Ground, the Nackington Road footpath was overhung by trees and poorly lit. It was a good spot and only five minutes’ drive to the building in the woods, where, behind a chain-link partition, the bed, handcuffs and buckets were prepared for the girl’s arrival. Later he would buy chiffon scarves. Already stored out of sight were the drugs and equipment he’d need when she was ready.

He’d chosen the girl, the place and the time. On Friday, 8 March 2002, the sun was due to set at 5.40 p.m. Teresa should arrive just before six. He would be waiting.

The last of the daylight was disappearing in the west as he coasted the van to a stop between two street lamps. Spring was still 12 days away and the nights were cold. In order to move more freely, he’d left his heavy winter coat on the passenger seat. Shivering in the evening chill, he leant against the warmth of the engine, waiting until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A glance at his watch and he was sure they were Teresa’s. One more bend in the road and she’d see the lamps at the entrance to her home. As he soaked the pad and returned the bottle to his pocket, an image of his mother entered his head and he felt sick, hit by a wave of revulsion, which subsided to a lingering apprehension. He steeled himself. It had to be done. Focus. Teresa was a schoolgirl. It would be a young body against his own.

He grabbed her from behind. One arm encircled her waist while the other clamped the pad over her nose and mouth. Teresa was off guard and off balance. There was no time for her to register individual events before she was overwhelmed and he felt her legs buckle beneath her. Supporting the weight of her unconscious body, he walked her to the side door of the van and placed her gently on the floor inside.

It was done. He’d held his nerve.

The van swayed and bumped on the rough track through the woods. At the building, he parked under cover in the adjacent shed. Six minutes later, Teresa was behind the wire partition, handcuffed and chained to the wall. He sat in the armchair waiting for the effects of the ether to wear off. He could relax. He was in control. No element of chance stood between him and success.

Sunday morning. The first tolling of the bell for Holy Communion was followed by brief cawing and a flurry of wings as four black crows rose from their overnight perch and circled the tower of St Mary’s. Mrs Siddenham, the last of the small congregation to arrive, paused in the church porch to adjust her hat, a much-prized copy of the one the Queen had worn several weeks ago at the funeral of her sister, Princess Margaret. Satisfied all was well, Mrs Siddenham pushed open the heavy oak door and joined her fellow communicants in the musty pews.

The small congregation began the Prayer of Preparation. ‘Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid …’ Later, having dispensed the body and blood, the vicar drew the service to a close by completing the Prayer of Dismissal: ‘… and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be among you and remain with you always.’

‘Amen.’

‘Go in the peace of Christ.’

‘Thanks be to God.’

As the final words of the ceremony were exchanged, Mrs Siddenham reached for her handbag and, excusing herself to her neighbour, hurried away down the nave. There was the sound of her lifting the latch, a moment of silence and then her scream, cut short by the oak door slamming shut behind her.

The vicar was the first to respond. He ran down a side aisle and wrenched open the heavy door. Outside, Mrs Siddenham, hat askew, was staring at the sun-bleached wooden bench on the far side of the porch. Propped in the corner was the body of a teenage girl, head slumped forward with dark hair obscuring her face. The vicar knelt, moved the girl’s hair aside, and placed two fingers to her neck.

‘It’s the missing girl, Teresa Mulholland. She still has a pulse. Call 999!’

When paramedics had lifted Teresa into an ambulance and driven away, the older of two detectives questioned the vicar.

‘You identified the girl?’

‘Yes, Teresa Mulholland, the schoolgirl who disappeared. She didn’t seem hurt but she’s been missing for 30 days, yet her school uniform was clean and neatly pressed. How could that—’

The detective raised a hand, cutting the vicar short.

‘Where are the Mulhollands, her parents?’

‘Oh … at home, I should think. They attend our morning—’

‘We’ll drive out to see them. If we need to speak again, someone will contact you.’

Later, the vicar was approached by a local reporter who was particularly interested in what the girl looked like and the state of her clothes. However, the next edition of The Canterbury Chronicle carried only a brief report buried on page two. There was no mention of the surprising state of her clothes.

Weeks went by with no contact from the police and no further articles in the press. It was as if the incident had never happened.

For ten years the silence was absolute.

1

The Duty Sergeant looked up as she entered the building. There was no smile of welcome. Did he think she’d be apprehensive? No chance. Holding his gaze, her deep brown eyes shining confidently from beneath short dark hair, she approached the desk.

‘DI Ed Ogborne. I’ve an appointment with Chief Superintendent Addler at 16.00.’

‘Sergeant Barry Williams, Ma’am,’ the Sergeant introduced himself. ‘You’d best wait in Interview Room 2.’ He nodded his head to her left. ‘On the right down the corridor. I’ll ring you when the Super’s ready.’

Walking in the direction Williams had indicated, she imagined he was already on the phone to a colleague. ‘That Edina Ogborne’s just arrived. She looks a damn sight fitter than in the photograph we downloaded.’ Too true. While waiting for her transfer, she’d doubled the time spent working out. Twenty-seven and five-six in her trainers, she was now a toned nine stone.

The windowless Interview Room was newer and cleaner but its essentials were a carbon copy of those she was used to in London. Ed resisted checking her appearance in the one-way mirror. Expecting a short wait, she pulled out a chair and sat facing the wall-mounted telephone by the door. A transfer to the provinces hadn’t been her idea but she was ambitious and her boss, Chief Superintendent Shawcross, had made it crystal: there would be no early prospect of promotion at the Met.

Twenty minutes earlier, she’d been en route from London with the roof down, the wind in her cropped black hair flashing natural blue glints for no one to see. At the turning for Canterbury the trip meter showed she was 50 miles from her home in Brixton. As she approached the outskirts of the city, Ed caught her first sight of the cathedral with its twin west towers dazzling in the summer sunshine and the meter clicked to 60, adding another ten miles to her sense of separation.

With an eye for maps and a good memory she had no difficulty finding the Police Station. The dash display read ten to four. Good timing was another of her strengths. Patience was not. Waiting in Interview Room 2, Ed glanced at her watch. It was 35 minutes since she’d entered the building. She resisted a growing urge to confront the Desk Sergeant. After what had happened in London she could have done with a friendly welcome but, given the manner of her transfer, a hostile reception was always on the cards. Knowing her arrival was bound to ruffle feathers she’d vowed to play it by the book. A further ten minutes passed before the telephone rang.

‘DS Ogborne? The Super sends her apologies. Her previous meeting overran. Now she’s been unexpectedly called away. She’ll see you tomorrow at 08.00.’

Provincial ineptitude or was she being given the run-around? Biting back her fury, Ed managed to say, ‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ before adding, ‘by the way, it’s DI Ogborne.’

‘As you say, Ma’am.’

Determined to remain cool, Ed called, ‘G’bye Sergeant,’ as she passed the desk on her way out of the building. If Williams responded before the door closed behind her, she didn’t hear him.

Ed slotted her car into a reserved space, checked in, and went straight to her room at the ABode hotel. She still thought of it as The County from years ago when she’d stayed with her grandfather. The name change, with its implication of mergers and takeovers, reminded her of the way she’d been shunted from the Met.

The rumours were that it had come to a head the previous November. Later, when she was told her fate, Ed realized the gossip had been right: the boys’ club had closed ranks. She could imagine a coarse instruction coming down from someone among the top brass: ‘Get her wetting her knickers worrying about disciplinary sanctions, possible demotion, even dismissal. Leave her to stew, then sweeten the transfer with a promotion. Get her onside and bloody grateful to move.’

Ed hadn’t been grateful to move but she was onside and she intended to stay onside. Transfer out of the Met would happen; it wasn’t an option. If she wanted a career in the Force she would have to toe the line. Ed was ambitious. One day she’d be in a position to change things. The sense of injustice was no longer sharp but the issue still rankled and she was troubled by the feeling that leaving London would increase her loss. This made no sense but she’d lived her entire life in London and it was there where they had been together briefly before her son was taken from her.

The decision had been made in the past, but a nagging sense of guilt remained. Had she acted in his best interests or her own? Had she abandoned him? Ed had become adept at brushing those thoughts aside, but they frequently returned. The move from London wouldn’t increase their separation but somehow the logic she applied as a detective didn’t always work in her private life. As a detective she was focused and methodical. In private she could be impetuous but, like Piaf, she steadfastly refused to regret her choices.

This time it hadn’t been her choice but, as she saw it, her career in the Met had been put on hold. She was hurt, but she would be professional and make the most of her opportunities in the provinces. Ed rejected the idea that it was a fresh start, regarding her move to Canterbury as a brief hiatus, a chance to broaden her experience and expand her CV. Her new posting would begin on Monday. Until then, apart from her postponed meeting with Chief Superintendent Addler, her time was her own and she intended to cosset herself.

Ed dialled room service and then the hotel restaurant to reserve a table for dinner. With a sandwich and half a bottle of wine, she sat at her laptop looking for somewhere to live. The income from the house in London and her increased salary meant she could afford somewhere decent, central and with a garage for her new car. A couple of hours on the internet passed rapidly. Calculating that her meeting tomorrow morning with Addler wouldn’t last longer than an hour, she made three appointments for viewings in the afternoon. Now she could relax. Ed ran a bath and thoughts of work were banished by the warmth which enveloped her body. Later, she selected clothes for the evening: a grey silk top and a bias-cut skirt. You never knew who you might meet when dining alone.

2

Parked at the far end of Hollowmede, he watched Lucy leave her home and walk past the junction with Elham Road. Certain she was taking the footpath to Debbie’s, he drove round the block to check she entered her friend’s house. Thirty minutes later, the two girls were still inside and he was confident they were there for the evening. It would be two hours before Lucy left to walk home, plenty of time to swap his car for the van, eat and return to wait.

It was ten years since he had taken Teresa. She’d been the first and, he’d thought at the time, the last but he’d been thwarted; her parents had been clever. Teresa and her mother had gone abroad for a year. On their return, his baby daughter was with them. He’d thought he would care for her from afar but soon after their return there was a For Sale sign by the lamps at the entry to the Mulhollands’ home. The house was deserted. The family had disappeared and he’d been unable to trace them. After six years he’d changed. He wanted a son. He’d chosen Kimberley from a different social class but yet again he hadn’t been prepared for what happened, and it was four more years before he had the confidence to try again.

In retrospect, he realized the mistake he’d made moving from Teresa to Kimberley. Choosing from a different social class was good; overlooking the lack of religion had been bad. Kimberley had shown no scruples when she discovered she was pregnant. He’d resolved to do better next time but finding a churchgoing young woman proved difficult. Then he had a stroke of good fortune. By chance, he’d discovered that Lucy Naylor had a strong interest in religion. She didn’t attend church, but the more he observed her, the more he was convinced she’d be a good mother for his child.

Lucy would be the third, but now he was beginning to think she wouldn’t be the last. He had no fear of being caught. There were two risks. Lucy might not follow her usual route home or there could be people on the street when she did. If so he would terminate the mission. Termination would be a minor setback. The mission was his life’s work. There would be other opportunities. With sufficient time and money, success was assured.

He’d watched Lucy and Debbie for weeks. Neither had a boyfriend and they spent their free time together. Friday nights they went to the cinema in Canterbury or spent the evening at Debbie’s. When Lucy left to walk the quarter mile home she typically took the narrow path which linked their two roads. At the end of the path there was a triangle of grass across from the primary school. Tonight he expected Lucy to leave about ten. The area by the school should be deserted and he would be waiting.

3

Armed with a novel, Ed decided to have a cocktail before dinner. The hotel bar was a small room with some half-a-dozen barstools and as many tables. All of the tables were occupied. Ed sat at the bar and signalled to the barman. In keeping with the name on his badge, Gino was short and dark with a perceptible Italian accent and a friendly warmth conveyed by his relaxed smile.

Ed knew exactly what she wanted: something cool. ‘A gin martini with three olives.’

‘Perfetto!’

Gino placed a bowl of matchstick-thin cheese straws beside her novel and busied himself with the drink.

‘Something cool …’

The phrase sparked a vivid memory of her first meeting with Don. The meeting had been her undoing. Before she could switch thoughts, the scene was replaying in her head.

Manchester, a smart conference hotel, mid-evening; she’d chosen the smaller of the two bars. Ed was about to signal to the barman when Don appeared at her side.

‘What can I get you?’

As an opening gambit this was banal in the extreme, but Don was physically imposing. Faced with three nights away from London, Ed decided to play along.

‘I don’t normally drink with strangers …’

Immediately things improved. He’d known the words.

‘Something cool?’

It was a track on one of her father’s CDs. Who was singing … Julia … Julie …

‘Julie …’ she said.

‘… London,’ he said.

‘Julie London!’ they said together and laughed.

Two drinks, the pretence of a nightcap in his room and, before she’d paused to think, things had gone too far. They were both in over their heads.

The following night he confessed. He was a DCI at the Met, not just the Met but three floors above her at Bishopsgate. It was then he produced the two mobile phones. It didn’t take an ambitious DS to realize that DCI Donald ‘The Don’ Johns had done this before.

Manchester, Don and the mobiles had precipitated her downfall from the Met. Had she declined the mobile, perhaps she would have got away with a warning. Despite the ensuing catastrophe, she wasn’t bitter. Subliminally, her shoulders shrugged. She made decisions, often precipitously, and lived with the consequences. Bitterness wasn’t part of her nature.

Ed’s thoughts were interrupted by Gino moving her novel slightly to make space for her gin martini beside the cheese straws. She studied the oil droplets on the surface of the cocktail. Biting into the first of the olives, Ed relished the savoury taste with its kick of alcohol. The mobile Don had given her was still in her room. It had taken her some weeks to come to a decision, but now she was sure. She took a mouthful of martini to celebrate and began to feel good. After a second congratulatory mouthful she felt even better.

‘Do you mind if I take one of your cheese straws? Gino seems to have forgotten mine.’

Lost in her thoughts Ed had barely noticed someone take the seat next to her at the bar. She swivelled towards the voice.

‘No. Please. Help yourself.’

Ed moved the bowl closer and took in her new companion at a glance. She was some ten to twelve years older than herself with short, impeccably cut steel-grey hair, little or no make-up and a well-tailored suit: no doubt a businesswoman in town for a few days and on her own for the evening.

The woman sipped her white wine before taking a cheese straw. She looked at Ed with a faint smile but didn’t speak. Ed broke the silence.

‘Are you staying at the hotel?’

‘No. What makes you say that?’

‘You mentioned the barman’s name …’

‘Ah … I frequently drop by after work.’

‘So you work in town?’ Stupid question, thought Ed.

‘I’m at The Chronicle.’

‘You’re a journalist?’ Alarm bells rang in Ed’s head. Journalists were not considered good companions for a police officer unless they were open to a little corruption, a career path which Ed despised.

On the barstool beside her, the woman inclined her head fractionally before replying. ‘The local paper, I’m the editor.’

Another silence accompanied by the same faint smile. This time Ed waited for her new companion to continue.

‘And you?’ She paused, assessing the situation. ‘An academic, visiting the University?’

Another pause. Ed remained silent.

‘No, if you were, your colleagues would have organized an evening out. You’re here for a day or two on a business trip … alone.’

‘Alone …?’

The woman nodded towards the novel on the bar beside Ed’s martini.

Observant. Ed smiled. ‘Half right, I’m treating myself this evening. I arrived this afternoon. I’m starting a new job on Monday.’

‘Congratulations.’ The woman extended her hand. ‘Verity Shaw.’

Ed held the proffered hand briefly while saying, ‘Ed Ogborne, I’m the new DI with Canterbury CID.’

There was a flash of surprised admiration on Verity’s face. The widening of her eyes and movement of her eyebrows were involuntary, rapid and brief, but Ed had been trained to detect such signs.

‘That must be worth a celebratory drink. Unfortunately this evening I’m meeting people for supper.’

Ed’s mobile vibrated but she ignored it. She remained silent, her quizzical expression inviting Verity to expand.

‘They’re not big drinkers. I dropped in here for a glass before joining them.’

Ed smiled. Here was a woman after her own heart.

‘Don’t tell me. I know the feeling.’

Verity glanced at her watch and made a sad face. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to go. Perhaps we could have that drink another time?’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Canterbury’s a small world. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.’

Ed watched as Verity Shaw, editor of The Canterbury Chronicle, left the bar. It had been a chance meeting but, after her reception at the police station, she was pleased to have made a sympathetic contact outside the Force. She reminded herself that Verity was a journalist. She’d need to tread carefully but Ed was used to operating on her toes. It would add a little piquancy, keep her mind sharp.

In no hurry to finish her gin martini, Ed reached for another cheese straw. When she checked her phone there was an email from Chief Superintendent Addler, with no apology for missing their afternoon appointment, just a curt reminder they were to meet at 08.00 the following morning.

4

When he returned to Wincheap, he parked with a view of Debbie Shaxted’s house and waited for Lucy to leave. It wasn’t long before he heard voices through the open window of the van. It was Lucy saying goodnight to Debbie’s parents. He watched her walk straight down Victoria Road. In three minutes she would be at the narrow path which led into Hollowmede.

He drove the alternative route to the triangle of grass, parked in the last empty space and switched off the engine. It had taken 40 seconds for him to be in position. The pad and bottle were already in his coat pockets and the balaclava was on his head ready to pull down over his face. He was about to leave the van when a car appeared and tried to park. Ducking out of sight, he heard the car brake and drive away with a squeal of tyres. It parked at a distance and the driver hurried into a house on Hollowmede. Once out of the van, he half opened the side door, quickly crossed the grass to press his back into the tall hedge and waited for Lucy to arrive.

He reminded himself of the care he should take. Keeping Lucy in good health was crucial to his mission. Everything had gone according to plan with Teresa and Kimberley. There was no reason why things shouldn’t go just as well with Lucy. It was unfortunate his actions would cause distress but there was no other way. Eventually, she would be returned to her friends and family, returned to the life she knew. As yet he didn’t know when because he didn’t know how long he would have to hold her. In time that would become clear. Lucy would tell him.

Hidden by the hedge from the approaching Lucy, he steeled himself against an anxiety-provoking image of his mother. Lucy was a schoolgirl, not a woman. Hearing footsteps, he soaked the pad, barely noticing the sweet heavy smell. Lucy appeared two feet to his left. Stepping behind her, he pressed the pad over her nose and mouth while his free arm encircled her waist. She had no time to react before she was overwhelmed and easily pulled back into the shadow of the bushes. Her struggles weakened and he soon felt the dead weight of her unconscious body. Holding her upright he walked her to the van, slid open the door with his elbow and laid her between the seats on her side in case she vomited during the journey. A quick search revealed nothing but a handkerchief, a purse and a mobile telephone, which he immediately switched off. It took him less than 12 minutes to reach the lane through the woods.

His destination was at the end of a track, deep in the wood some 250 yards from the lane. He drove into the shed and sat in the van until his breathing returned to normal. Grabbing the girl from the street was the most dangerous phase of his mission. It was the only act which was out of his control. Place and time were dependent on her actions. He could reduce the risk but he couldn’t eliminate the possibility of discovery. Others may seek adrenalin highs but this wasn’t a game; he wasn’t in it for thrills. Now that he was safely hidden, the adrenalin was leaving his bloodstream. He could relax. Lucy was the third. This time he would be successful.

The main building had three rooms. The smallest, on the left, remained intact as his private room. The central space into which the outer door opened contained cooking equipment, a table with a lantern, two plastic chairs, and an old armchair turned to face the room on the right. He’d first prepared that room for Teresa, stripping the lath and plaster from the stud timbers of the dividing wall and putting chain-link fencing in its place. He’d replaced the door with a stout wooden frame covered with chain link and secured with a padlock. Parallel to the left-hand wall stood a cot-like bed and beside it he’d set a metal rail into the stone wall. After Teresa, the room had held Kimberley and now it was ready for Lucy.

He went to the table, switched on the lamp and changed his balaclava for the black lightweight hood which hung behind the entrance door. Before going out to the van he released the padlock and opened the door to Lucy’s room.

Returning with her inert body in his arms, he placed her on the bed and fastened her left arm to the rail using padded handcuffs and a length of chain. This time he searched her carefully but still found only the handkerchief, purse and mobile telephone. Satisfied that she was still breathing freely he took the purse and mobile to his private room. He removed the SIM and placed the phone, battery and card at the back of separate drawers. After glancing through her purse, he placed it in the drawer with her disabled mobile.

Back in the central room he settled in the armchair, silently watching through the chain link, waiting for Lucy to regain consciousness. He wanted to upset her as little as possible so he’d prepared a reassuring recorded message using a sampled voice. There was also a choice of cold food and a drink. During these first hours she was bound to be upset so the drink contained a dissolved sleeping pill to ensure she got a good night’s rest.

5

The weekend lay ahead of them. He hoped it would go as it had with Teresa and Kimberley. At first the girls had been disorientated and fearful. Then, when they became aware of what was happening, those feelings were replaced by terror. They screamed and cried, pleading to be released. With Teresa he was calm and unmoved, hoping she would follow his example – but he was wrong. Only exhaustion stopped her outbursts. Only then could he establish his authority, show he was in total control. Finally, when she’d accepted the situation, Teresa appeared to believe his assurances that he would set her free.

Kimberley was less grounded than Teresa. It had taken longer but, eventually, she accepted her fate. And why not? What else could they do? Was it really so bad? Boring maybe, waiting until their time came, but the girls were well looked after.

He practically knew the speech by heart. ‘Nobody saw me snatch you from the street. Nobody knows where you are. There’s no way you can escape.’ Here he’d pause, let the message sink in. Then he would explain what the girls had to look forward to. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Do what I ask and I shall look after you. When the time comes I shall release you to your friends and family.’ Faced by his implacable but benign control, Teresa and Kimberley had reacted in the same way. Eventually their alarm and distrust had subsided to resentful resignation. It would be the same with Lucy. Then, as soon as she’d grown quiet, he would demonstrate his good will by drawing up a shopping list for the clothes and other items she might need.

He had intended to watch Lucy through the chain-link partition, waiting for her to recover. After all, her welfare should be his priority but ever since the previous night he’d been worried about a recent addition to his collection. Fresh blood was seeping into the preservative making the jar and its contents unsightly. The fluid must be changed. He unlocked his private room and left the door ajar so that he would hear Lucy regain consciousness.

After stepping over the uneven flagstone, he went to his bench. All he needed was here. At eye level, the jars housing his new collection were already filling half their allotted space. Above and below were bottles of formalin and ether. The drugs, instruments and more glassware, which he would need when Lucy’s time came, were in cupboards and drawers beneath the bench.

More blood had leached into the preservative. He pulled on latex gloves, poured the discoloured fluid into a bucket and carefully slid the contents of the jar into a shallow dish. He worked efficiently and soon rehoused the specimen in a clean jar, which he topped up with fresh formalin. At that moment there was a sound from Lucy’s room. The new label would have to wait. He discarded his gloves and returned to the central room. When Lucy regained consciousness he’d need Mr Punch. The reed was in his pocket and there were five spares at the back of a drawer. He didn’t want to be forced to buy new ones. ‘That’s the way to do it!’ Over time he’d mastered a voice less strident than the seaside original.

As he slipped the reed into his mouth there was movement beyond the partition. The effects of the ether were wearing off and Lucy was coming round. At first she was disorientated and woozy, but soon she was aware of the chain and began screaming for help. He did nothing to stop her. They were deep in woodland, far from the nearest farms and houses. At this time of night there would be nobody remotely within earshot. Still shouting for help, Lucy began to pull at the chain. He had to act. With the reed in his mouth he spoke with authority, firmly but calmly.

‘Don’t do that, don’t hurt yourself. You can’t escape. You’re in an isolated building miles from anywhere. No one saw me take you from the street and nobody knows where you are. I’m in complete control. You’re totally dependent on me.’

The shouting stopped and she turned her head to his voice. It must sound strange and totally unexpected. She looked at him in horror, struggling to speak.

‘What … who are you? Let me go!’ The attempt at defiance failed to mask her fear.

‘Be quiet and listen.’

She began to scream, shouting for help and pulling frantically at the chain. He knew the handcuff was padded and secure so he ignored her. At her first pause for breath, he switched on his pre-recorded message. Lucy listened for a moment but soon returned to screaming and shouting for help. The message finished. He observed her in silence. Her screams continued. Now she was shaking with fear as she grasped the full horror of what was happening.

He’d often tried to imagine it from the girls’ perspective. Chained and helpless, held captive by an unknown man, his voice distorted and his face covered by a black hood. They must be petrified. The hood and voice were necessary precautions but he realized they turned him into a nightmare figure. Then there was the unknown. Lucy would have no idea what he planned to do with her. In such a situation, instinct would take over. She would struggle and scream because she could do nothing else. It was too early for acceptance and submission.

He waited, silent and unmoved. Eventually she would exhaust herself but it was some time before she stopped screaming for help and began begging to be released. Later her pleading was replaced by sobbing and cries of despair. When she lapsed into moments of exhausted silence he used Mr Punch to take control.

‘Listen to me.’

Lucy continued to sob. Without raising his voice he repeated the command, firmly but calmly.

‘I said … listen … to me.’ Her sobbing was reduced to sniffles. ‘That’s better. Now, I know it’s hard but you must listen to what I’m saying. You must be desperate to know what’s going to happen to you. I’ll tell you. Nothing’s going to happen. If you do as I say you’ll be well looked after.’ He paused. ‘Earlier, you didn’t listen to my message. I’ll repeat what it said.’

She looked directly at him. He imagined his image as it appeared in the mirror. Through the slits in the black hood she would see the light glinting from his eyes. He tried to look kindly at her but even without the hood he knew she would be seeing him as an unknown horror. He had to convince her of his good intentions and that would take time.

‘I intend to treat you well. I’ll make your stay here as comfortable as possible and, when the time comes, I shall release you. You’ll be free to go about your normal life.’

She appeared to be listening but she had closed her eyes. He wanted her full attention.

‘Look at me!’

He waited for Lucy to obey but, instead, she turned her back to him and faced the wall, sobbing quietly. For the first time he raised his voice, struggling to keep the tone reassuring despite the distortion of the reed.

‘I said … look … at … me!’

In the silence that followed he heard the echo of his voice, not as his voice but as Mr Punch. It struck him that the interior of the building was a stark contrast to the normal world of sunlit sand where children sat enthralled at the sound of Punch and Judy. ‘That’s the way to do it!’ He waited. Slowly Lucy turned her head to look directly at him.

‘Good, that’s much better. Now, listen carefully. In 15 minutes, I’m going to put out the lights and leave. If you don’t have something to eat and drink now, you’ll be searching for it in the dark.’

He left her and went to sit in the van. Ten minutes later he returned to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, eating and drinking. Stressed and disorientated as she was, it appeared not to have occurred to her that the food and drink might be drugged or, even worse, poisoned. It wasn’t. Well, it wasn’t except for the crushed sleeping pill. As he’d done with Teresa and Kimberley, he intended to look after Lucy and treat her well.

He asked her to put the empty plate and glass on a shelf by a slot cut in the chain-link partition. She seemed afraid to approach him even from the other side of the barrier but, after a moment, she did as he’d requested. He took this as a good sign.

‘I’ll put another drink here in case you’re thirsty during the night. There’s a bucket at the other end of the bed, rather primitive but we’re far from any modern sanitation. Don’t be shy. I’ll respect your privacy. I’ll shout to warn you before I come in.’

Without another word, he extinguished the lights and left.

The building was pitch black; no light penetrated from outside. Lucy heard an engine start and a vehicle drive away. The sound faded to silence. Left alone, chained in the darkness, she found her arms and the duvet inadequate comfort. Crushed by a sense of absolute helplessness, she whimpered and shook with fear until tiredness overcame her and she slept.

6

In her hotel room, Ed Ogborne slipped naked into bed. Reaching for the light, she caught a glimpse of an arm in the dressing-table mirror and was reminded of her last day before the furore broke in London.

At that time the November weather had been miserable, wet and cold. She was alone at the house in Brixton. It had been a tough week but she was comfortable and relaxed, admiring her body in the mirror at the end of her bed. She felt like a woman in one of her grandfather’s art books, a woman positioned by Schiele, ready to be captured in effortless black chalk and startling touches of red gouache. If pushed to pick one, she’d say Egon’s Crouching Woman with Green Headscarf – there was something about the face.

At precisely nine-thirty in the evening, the mobile beneath her pillow had started vibrating. Still admiring her body in the mirror, she reached for the phone with her left hand.

‘Hi …’

It was Don, always on time for these calls. Ed knew all his lines and could anticipate what he’d say without him having to speak, but knowing what was to come only heightened her arousal at the sound of his voice in her ear.

‘Where do you think I am?’

She moved a leg to exaggerate her pose.

‘Not on it. I’m in bed but with the duvet pushed aside so I can see myself in the mirror. Where are you?’

There was a pause.

‘Naughty.’

Ed sank back into the pillows, still looking at her image in the mirror.

‘What I always wear for us. You’d love the colour.’

There was another pause.

‘Red wine. A burgundy to match my underwear.’

There was a further pause and Ed took a sip of wine.

‘Mmmm … that sounds nice.’

At that point, a second mobile on the table beside her bed had started to ring.

‘Fuck!’

She grabbed it with her right hand.

‘DS Ogborne.’

Ed spoke sharply, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice.

‘Right, I’m on my way.’

To her left hand she said, ‘That was the Station, serious assault in Victoria Park. I have to go.’

Then, in response to sounds of displeasure: ‘How do you think I feel? Text me to set another time.’

Ed had swung her legs off the bed, reached for her glass of wine but thought better of it. Within five minutes, dressed for work, she’d been walking to catch the tube at Stockwell. Her frustration gradually dissipated as she travelled towards Moorgate. Getting on the CID team at Bishopsgate had been her dream move. She was on track to make DI at 27 and her career plan didn’t stop there. Detective Inspector would be one of several steps towards a top job at the Met. Ed loved working as a detective but, ultimately, she wanted a position from which she could influence policy, institute change and improve prospects for female officers.

Arriving at Bishopsgate Police Station, Ed had paused at the desk, ‘Assault in Vicky Park, what’s the score?’

‘You’ve had a wasted journey. The victim’s now claiming she was raped. It’s already with Sapphire.’

‘Typical, you get a girl out of bed and then disappoint her. Still, better that than the other way round.’

Before leaving, Ed checked her email. Chief Superintendent Shawcross wanted to see her at 08.30 tomorrow. A thought crossed her mind but she dismissed it. Surely it was too soon for a promotion?

The next morning, Ed had been up early, in by eight, and outside Shawcross’s door at eight-thirty.

‘Come!’ Ed had opened the door and closed it carefully behind her. ‘Ah, DS Ogborne.’ The Chief Super indicated a chair and frowned at her for some moments before saying, ‘You must know why I’ve sent for you.’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Manchester!’

Ed’s stomach dropped. ‘Manchester, Sir?’ She’d known what he meant but needed to play for time.

‘Yes, Manchester, but it didn’t stop at Manchester, did it, Ogborne?’

She looked down at her hands and immediately wished she hadn’t.

‘Do I have to spell it out for you, Ogborne? Manchester. You were at the conference attended by DCI Johns.’

Ed felt herself blushing. Of course it would get out. Apart from Manchester she hadn’t put a foot wrong. As soon as she’d discovered who Don was, she knew it had been a mistake, but by then they were in too deep. Still playing for time, Ed looked across the desk and held Shawcross’s eye while continuing to feign puzzlement. ‘Sir …?’

‘Starting a relationship with a senior officer in the Met would be bad enough but this man’s married, in the same Division, here in this building. This is serious, Ogborne, a disciplinary matter, potentially demotion, even dismissal, although I’m hoping it won’t come to that.’ Shawcross looked sternly at her, his eyes fixed on her face, allowing his words to sink in, letting her stew as he waited for a response.

When it finally came, Ed’s response had been pragmatic.

‘I’m sorry, Sir. You gave me a chance and I’ve let you down.’

‘I’m sorry too. I’ve had you in mind for promotion but I can’t let this situation continue. I can’t have you and DCI Johns together in the same building. You’ll have to transfer.’

Ed had struggled to control her outrage. Why me? Why not him? However, despite her sense of injustice, she didn’t argue. She knew her perception of fairness would have no match among the senior hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police. Coppers protect coppers and Chief Superintendent David Shawcross, with the backing of those above him, had chosen to protect Detective Chief Inspector Donald ‘The Don’ Johns.

Without appearing to breathe deeply, Ed controlled her anger and replied meekly, ‘Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.’

From station gossip she knew that other female officers had made the same mistake, several with the same man. The Don’s attitude to women was shit but he was a good DCI, the best in the Division, and his family was established in London. Ed felt her considered reaction had been the right one. She knew Shawcross valued her work and would protect her as far as he could. She watched her Super’s features soften into something short of a smile and was sure senior management had been of the same mind. Outraged but controlled, Ed waited for Shawcross to announce their decision.

‘You’ll have to transfer but I’m doing all I can to link the move with a promotion.’

‘I appreciate your efforts, Sir, but I was born in London. I grew up in Brixton. I did my police training at Hendon and I’ve worked in London ever since. More than anything, I want to stay in London and have a career with the Met.’

‘Trust me, Ogborne, a spell outside London won’t prevent you having the career you want. A stint in the provinces will broaden your experience and prepare you for a return to the Met.’

Despite these assurances, Ed hadn’t believed the top brass would put her career in London on hold. However, she’d realized that resistance would not alter the decision and that a fight would harm the career she wanted. She was a realist. This was how the world turned. She would scratch their backs now in the expectation that sometime in the future they would scratch hers. The image had made her shudder.

‘Are you all right, DS Ogborne?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, Sir. It will take a while for me to get used to the idea that I’m leaving the Met.’

‘It won’t be for ever. Give it a few years – we know your worth.’

Ed hadn’t been so sure, but Shawcross had left her in no doubt that a transfer out of the Met would happen.

Even with the Commissioner’s help, negotiating a promotion to DI in the provinces had taken longer than anticipated. Ed and Don were careful to avoid seeing each other at work but the frequent late-night telephone calls continued. Eventually, Ed was offered the post of Detective Inspector in Kent at Canterbury. She accepted immediately. Her transfer from the Met was set for the early summer.

Having decided to make career progression her number one priority, Ed intended the new post to be a short-term move, a brief interruption to her long-term career with the Met. With this in mind, she was determined not to sever her ties with London. She put the Brixton house in the hands of rental agents and most of her personal effects into storage. As a reward to herself she traded her parents’ Honda Civic, and the bulk of the money she’d inherited, for an MX-5 Roadster. The day before the tenants were due to arrive, Ed had squeezed her grandfather’s art books and her CDs, together with two suitcases, into her new car and headed east on the South Circular.

Transferred to Canterbury, many of the books, and all of her CDs, were still in the hotel car park, locked in the boot of her car, but Ed was determined to waste no time finding herself somewhere to live and the books a new home.

In the soft darkness of her hotel room she closed her eyes and was overwhelmed by a vivid memory of the back seat of Craig’s Mercedes the first time they’d parked in a deserted cul-de-sac near one of the south London commons. Craig was long gone, a previous life never to be repeated, but she wanted him with her in the hotel bed. Forcing the desire from her mind, Ed turned on her side and settled to sleep. Tomorrow she would have to negotiate her first meeting with her new line manager, Chief Superintendent Karen Addler.

7

Lucy was awake. It was pitch black. She’d woken in an instant. One moment nothing existed, not even a dream. The next she was suffocating.

The darkness pressed on her body from all sides. There was no sound. Silence enveloped her like a coffin. Without light there was nothing beyond her skin. She felt trapped, suspended in heavy oil. There was no air and she knew she was close to death. She wanted to scream but fought against the impulse which would expel life’s last breath from her body.

Tightly wrapped by the duvet, she threw it from her with a sweep of her right arm. Now it was her clothes that held her prisoner, preventing her from living. She was contained by an oppressive presence composed of all that surrounded her. She wanted to tear the clothes from her body, desperate to step into the night and feel cold air against her skin, to open her mouth and draw fresh life-giving air into her lungs, but she was held fast by the handcuff and chain. Unable to move, feeling that she would die if she remained within her body, she lay rigid on the bed and struggled to escape her physical being, to retreat within herself, to live within her mind, to create space and light. Only in her imagination could she wander in cool shade, turning her nose and mouth to the salvation of a sea breeze.

She held that thought, held her body in conjured liberty until she could briefly observe her plight. Slowly her rational mind reasserted itself. She was breathing freely but the air felt no cooler than her body. She was contained in an unyielding presence but her ribs were expanding and contracting with each breath. She held fast to the space and freedom she’d created within her head. Imperceptibly the panic subsided and she slipped back to the non-existence of a dreamless sleep. As she slept the panic dissipated, disappearing as night terrors disappear with the rising sun.

It was Saturday morning when he returned to the building and found Lucy still asleep. He checked her breathing and her pulse; both were fine. The effects of the drug should have worn off by now. Typical teenager; no wonder so many could be seen rushing to school at the last minute. With the paraffin heater, it wasn’t cold in the room but he covered her with the duvet, which must have slipped off during the night, and checked the handcuffs and chain. Satisfied all was as it should be, he left the room, methodically locking the door behind him.

Today he hoped she’d be ready to talk and they could at least draw up a shopping list. He was content to let her sleep while he ran over his plan. He knew that if he were to buy too many things for a teenage girl in one shop it could raise suspicion. To avoid that he’d plotted a long drive with stops at several towns. He was determined to escape detection.

There was still no sign of Lucy waking so he unlocked his private room and left the door ajar while he inspected his collection. First things first, he completed the label for last night’s rehousing and replaced the jar. Running his eye along the shelf he noticed the preservative in Nos. 4 to 6 was looking cloudy. Just then, there were sounds from the other side of the chain-link partition. He made a mental note to change the cloudy formalin at his next opportunity.

Before going to the waking Lucy, he slipped the Mr Punch reed into his mouth and pulled the hood down over his face.

8

Ed entered the Station at 07.55. At first Sergeant Williams treated her to the same nonsense as the previous day, addressing her as DS Ogborne and asking her to wait in Interview Room 2, but three minutes later she was knocking at Superintendent Addler’s door.

It was a spacious corner office with a conference table to Ed’s right and Addler to her left behind a large desk at an angle across the corner windows. The Super looked up and indicated a visitor’s chair three feet from her desk.

‘DS Ogborne, Chief Superintendent Karen Addler as I’m sure you’re aware. In better circumstances I would have said welcome to Canterbury CID but your arrival has not been received as good news. Frankly it’s created problems for me and resentment among the staff.’

‘I’m sorry my arrival has led to difficulties but the transfer was totally out of my control.’

‘That’s as may be, Ogborne, but I, and you, must face the facts of the situation.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘My duty is to run a smooth, efficient ship. At the moment the waters are extremely choppy. I can manage the problem but only you can cure it.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘I’ll give you six months to get your team behind you and to be accepted by the staff as a whole. If that hasn’t happened by December I’ll push strongly for you to be moved on. Understood?’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘Good. This is the position. DS Saunders leads our CID team. He was about to be promoted to DI when I heard from the Chief Constable that Saunders would have to move to Maidstone because a young DS from the Met was being transferred to the DI post in my Division. I think Saunders has been badly treated and so do my staff.’

Addler reached for a fat fountain pen, checked the cap was in place and returned it to the pen tray on her desk before redirecting her gaze to Ed’s face.

‘It would be surprising if you didn’t meet some hostility. It will be your task to overcome it. I hear you impressed people at the Met. I hope you can do the same here.’

‘I appreciate your frankness, Ma’am, and assure you that I shall do all I can to resolve the situation you say my arrival has caused,’ Ed said.

‘I don’t just say it, Ogborne, the situation I’ve described is exactly what your transfer has caused.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘So be it. Come, I’ll introduce you to the CID team.’

‘Just before we do that, Ma’am, may I ask a question?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘My understanding is that my transfer here was linked with promotion from Detective Sergeant to Detective Inspector.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘But you and Sergeant Williams have consistently addressed me as DS Ogborne.’

‘Correct. Until I receive official notification of your new rank, your status here is that of Detective Sergeant. You’ll work under DI Saunders’s direction until he moves to Maidstone.’

‘DI Saunders?’

‘His promotion came through a few days ago.’

With that, Addler swept Ed out of her office and down the corridor. As they passed the desk, Ed thought she caught sight of a smirk on Williams’s face. Clearly everybody in the Station was aware how the Super had decided to play this one. Stay cool, Ed, she reminded herself.

In the Incident Room, Addler’s commanding ‘Good morning’ was met by overlapping responses of ‘Good morning, Ma’am’ from three of the four detectives sitting round the table. The response of the fourth lagged slightly behind those of his colleagues as if caught by surprise that speech was required.

‘Ah … erm … good morning, Ma’am.’ He was a tired-looking man in his early forties with thinning hair and something more than the first signs of a paunch.

He was still speaking when Addler pointed in his direction and said, ‘DS Potts’ followed by ‘DC Eastham, DC Borrowdale, and, of course, DI Saunders.’ After a brief pause, she added, ‘And, as you all know, this is DS Ogborne, duly arrived from the Met. I’ll leave you to bring her up to speed with the missing girl.’ Addler’s parting shot, ‘Let’s get this one cleared up quickly’, was delivered as she turned and left the room.

Saunders looked down the table from his position at the far end and said, ‘The four of us have been here since six. We’ll get some coffee and then go over what we know.’

No smiles, no welcome and no further introductions as they trooped silently en masse down the corridor to the coffee machine. Were they all feeling as uncomfortable with her as she was with them?

Back at the Incident Room, DI Saunders said, ‘Bring your coffee to the table and we’ll get the introductions out of the way.’

Ed sat next to DS Potts, facing Saunders. The DI looked about the same age as Potts but he had no sign of a paunch and his hair had not receded an inch. Ed thought that of the two, in a tight situation, she’d rather have DI Saunders watching her back. At that moment, he cleared his throat and, looking a little uneasy, took charge of the meeting.

‘You’ve heard our names from the Super. Now I’ll introduce you properly to the team.’ He inclined his head towards the sharp dark-haired young man to his left who could have come straight from a barrow in Petticoat Lane. ‘DC Borrowdale. Nat is quick to react and faster on his feet than any of us.’ The DI’s gaze moved to the young woman on his right whose honey-blonde-framed face reminded Ed of a sunny soot-grimed one standing beside an ambulance in the Blitz. ‘DC Eastham. Jenny joined us earlier this year and her memory is proving better than the rest of ours put together.’ Saunders looked across the table at the older man slumped in the chair beside Ed. ‘And DS Michael Potts, born and raised in Canterbury; Mike knows the place and the people like the back of his hand.’

As they were introduced, Borrowdale and Eastham merely nodded in Ed’s direction while Potts managed a grunt. Saunders, if he were aware of the frosty reception, chose to ignore it.

‘I’m DI Brian Saunders, recently promoted and soon moving to the county town, Maidstone. And you are DS Ogborne, Edina Ogborne, recently of the Met.’

Ed cringed. ‘Edina was my grandmother’s name. I prefer Ed, even if it can cause problems for people who don’t know I’m a woman.’

Saunders acknowledged her preference with a nod.

‘You’ve met the Super. As for Canterbury, we’ll arrange a guided tour this evening. Right, let’s press on with the missing girl. Jenny, fill us in on where we’re at.’

The DC didn’t respond immediately so Ed took the opportunity to speak.

‘I know my arrival must have been a surprise, totally unexpected, but that went for me too. I was told nothing of the situation here. Had I known—’

‘I’m aware of that.’ Saunders cut across her and barely paused before adding, ‘So, what have we got, Jenny?’

Feeling firmly put in her place, Ed shifted her attention to the young DC.

Jenny put down her coffee cup and delivered her summary without once looking at her notes.

‘Lucy Naylor, 17 years old, from Hollowmede in Wincheap. The house is down the road from the local primary school. Lucy was reported missing by her parents at 22.57 last night, Friday, 15 June. Her friend, Deborah Shaxted, also 17, of Victoria Road, Wincheap, confirmed that Lucy had spent the evening with her. Lucy left Debbie’s house just after ten to walk home. Unfortunately, she never arrived. Her parents, Rachel and Simon Naylor, contacted Deborah’s parents around ten-thirty; Mrs Shaxted remembered the television news had just finished. Both fathers left their homes and walked between the houses, each taking one of the two routes Lucy would probably have followed to get home. They found no trace of the girl. At that point, Lucy’s father ran home and telephoned the police.’

Saunders interrupted, ‘What about boyfriends? In a case like this …’

‘Lucy’s parents said she didn’t have a boyfriend.’

Jenny took another mouthful of coffee and Nat Borrowdale, who had been visibly itching to speak, seized his chance.

‘Mr and Mrs Shaxted said the same and Debbie confirmed it. She said neither of them has a boyfriend.’

Saunders’s eyes flicked from Eastham to Borrowdale. ‘I assume you got a description and a recent photograph?’

‘We got a good head and shoulders taken three months ago.’ Nat glanced down at his notes. ‘Her parents described her height as five-three to five-four, jaw-length mid-brown hair. She left home last night with a grey-blue cardigan over a white blouse and faded jeans. She was wearing brown flat-heeled shoes.’

‘The Shaxteds gave a similar description and Debbie confirmed the clothes,’ said Jenny. ‘She may be 17 but from the photo I’d say she looks younger and her clothes are rather old-fashioned for a teenager.’

DS Potts, whose eyes had been directed at his cupped hands, raised his head. ‘The photo’s been copied and distributed to the morning shift together with her description.’

‘So, what have we got?’ Saunders began to summarize. ‘Lucy Naylor, a 17-year-old schoolgirl with no known boyfriend, disappeared just after ten yesterday evening sometime during the five to six minutes it would take her to walk from the home of her friend, Debbie Shaxted, on Victoria Road to her own house on Hollowmede.’

‘What’s that stretch like between the two houses?’

Canterbury was Potts’s domain. He immediately roused himself and responded to Ed’s question.

‘Depends which way she went. Debbie said she left the house and turned left. That would give her two routes home, but Debbie said they generally took the pathway that runs from the southern end of Victoria Road directly into Hollowmede. The other possibility is via Cogan—’

Saunders interrupted. ‘Thanks, Mike, DS Ogborne will get to see the area later.’ The DI took a mouthful of coffee before continuing.

‘Last night, when Lucy was reported missing, we had a car patrol in the area while Nat and Jenny spoke to the parents. By then it was approaching midnight. Nobody was about and there was no sign of the girl. Neither Debbie nor either set of parents thought it remotely possible that Lucy had gone to visit somebody else. So, at the moment we have nothing but a missing girl.’

While the DI was talking, Mike Potts raised both hands to stifle a yawn and Nat Borrowdale appeared to be trying, without success, to catch the eye of Jenny Eastham. Saunders leant forward in his chair.

‘We’re assuming Lucy’s been abducted but, as yet, we have no evidence and no scene of crime although we currently have SOCO and uniform searching both routes between the girls’ homes. Perhaps we’ll get lucky. All the uniform officers on the morning shift are out with Lucy’s description and the photo but we’ve had no reported sightings.’

Looking directly at Ed, Saunders asked, ‘Where would you go from here?’

From the moment Jenny had begun her summary Ed had pushed aside all thoughts of her reception and focused fully on the case.

‘Do we have Lucy’s mobile number?’

Nat moved to consult his notebook.

Jenny began reciting, ‘07867—’

Nat immediately interrupted. ‘If he has any sense he’ll have switched it off.’

Mike cleared his throat and started to explain many areas didn’t have reception.

Ed coughed and cut across them all. ‘If we don’t get forensics to try locating her mobile we’ll never know.’

From the other side of the table, Brian Saunders held up a hand and said, ‘That was the first thing I authorized. Her mobile’s off or in an area with no reception. If the abductor has any sense, he’s removed the SIM.’

‘Thanks.’ Ed knew this was the moment she had to impress the team. As inconspicuously as possible, she took a deep breath.

‘Right, given the time of night, I assume the interviews with the Naylors and the Shaxteds were brief so we should question them in more detail. They’ll probably not come up with anything new so we need witnesses who saw something that might help. As a starter, we should cover every property on the routes Lucy could have taken from Debbie’s house in Victoria Road to her own in Hollowmede.’

‘Agreed.’ Saunders looked at DC Eastham. ‘Jenny, take Ed to talk to the parents. Mike, you and Nat organize the door-to-door. Split the two routes between you. Has anybody anything to add?’

Nobody spoke.

‘Right, we’ll meet back here in 30 minutes.’ His eyes moved to meet Ed’s. ‘Come with me. I’ll show you your desk.’

Ed followed Saunders to her desk where he left her in order to see the Super. Clearly it was going to be a busy day. Ed called the estate agent to rearrange her viewings for Sunday.

9

There was no sunlight and no birdsong as Lucy began to wake. Still drowsy, she reached out with her right hand to find Tomkins the Ted. These days he was the only one of her fluffy toys she allowed to share her bed. She couldn’t find him. He wasn’t there. That was strange; he was always there. Her uneasiness began to bubble into panic and then all was well. She was at the seaside. Tomkins must be safe at home. She was on the beach at Broadstairs. She could hear the Punch and Judy, ‘That’s the way to do it’.

‘Ah … you’re awake. Excuse the voice. Don’t be frightened. I’m going to treat you well.’

It wasn’t Mr Punch. She remembered that voice, those words. Her rising panic was replaced by a cold, debilitating fear. Lucy tried to turn towards the voice but couldn’t, her left arm was held by something soft but unyielding. She was helpless. Panic overcame her helplessness and she struggled against the restraint but it held firm. Fighting back tears of fear and frustration she raised her head and looked towards the voice. It was there, the figure from last night, standing outside the wire mesh partition, staring at her through two holes cut in its black hood. Without realizing what she was doing, Lucy began to scream.

The figure waited patiently until her cries weakened. Then the strange voice, the Mr Punch voice, came again.

‘Please don’t pull at the handcuff. I really don’t want you to hurt yourself. You’ll probably want to use the primitive sanitation. Remember the bucket at the end of the bed. There’s soap, water, and a towel on the table. I’ll step outside for ten minutes while you do what you have to do.’

Lucy watched him leave and biological necessity overcame her fear. The bucket disgusted her. It was difficult to use it while chained to the wall but she had no choice. She hurried to wash, not sure when he would return. It was at least ten minutes before she heard a knock and his Mr Punch voice call, ‘I’m coming in!’ She didn’t reply. A few moments later the door opened and he came back into the building.

‘Breakfast is limited this morning. There’s buttered toast with jam and tea, instant coffee or a glass of milk. The milk’s room temperature. There’s no fridge. Otherwise there’s water.’

Lucy wanted to be strong, to argue logically as she did in the debates at school but the panic returned, overwhelming her intentions.

‘I don’t want breakfast. Just let me go.’ She looked at him pleadingly, unable to keep the fear from her voice or the tears from her eyes. ‘Please … please let me go.’

He didn’t respond. The eyes behind the black hood looked at her impassively.

‘Why are you keeping me here? What do you want? Just let me go and I’ll not say anything. I’ll tell them I can’t remember what happened.’

Desperate to convince him, she was surprised that a clear logic was returning to her thoughts. To sway her captor she must tell him what he would like to hear.

‘I’ll say I don’t know what came over me, that when I came to my senses I found myself wandering the back streets of Canterbury. I was disorientated. Then I recognized where I was. I got myself together and walked home.’

While she spoke, the figure continued to remain silent but, as soon as she paused, it took command.

‘It’s imperative you remain here. You’ll be alone for much of the time but I’ll always return. Eventually, when I’m ready, I’ll let you go back to your family. For the moment, you need some food. I’ll get toast and while you’re eating we’ll make a shopping list for all the things you’ll need.’

He didn’t wait for a response but began to prepare breakfast.

Despite her fear Lucy decided it was best to play along with her captor. She was also hungry. As she ate the toast, he encouraged her to give him a list of what she would need: food and drink for a week and some changes of clothes. Already she was getting used to his Mr Punch voice.

‘I’ll get you a toothbrush and toothpaste, of course. However, perhaps there’ll be some more feminine items you’ll need. Remember you could be here for a month, perhaps six weeks or so. Here’s the list and a pencil. Write down all the extras you’ll need and add your sizes for the clothes.’

He asked her to give him the breakfast plate and glass through the slot in the chain link and, in return, passed her the paper and pencil. As she wrote he washed the breakfast things.

‘Have you finished?’

She offered the paper through the slot.

‘Don’t forget the pencil.’

She passed him the pencil.

‘I’m leaving now to do this shopping. It’ll take a few hours. Here’s a bottle of water and some biscuits.’

Lucy was beginning to feel more reassured and the waves of cold fear and panic were becoming less and less frequent. It was still an effort to be rational and pragmatic but that was the aim on which she must focus. Her screams and pleading had upset him. He was in control so she had little option but to do as he said. She needed him for food and drink. She must look for a weakness. What did he want? What did he plan to do? Trying to read him, to answer these questions, to search for a way out, would prevent the horror of her situation taking over her mind.

‘What about my parents?’

‘What about your parents?’ His tone lacked concern, as if her question was of no importance.

‘They’ll be worried.’

‘That’s unavoidable.’

Those were his last words before he turned and disappeared from the building leaving her chained and alone.

Rapidly, the ability to distract herself, to think of other things, slipped away. ‘When I’m ready, I’ll let you go.’ What was that all about? Just words, words spoken to reassure her, to keep her calm until … until he was ready; but ready for what? Lucy could not see beyond or around that unknown fate. It filled her head and robbed her of all thought and control. Girls who are taken are usually found dead. The thought which she’d struggled to push away hadn’t come as words but as an amorphous knowing whose meaning was only too clear: there was a very real chance he would kill her; she was going to die.

Lucy’s mouth felt dry, her skin damp, and her limbs began to tremble.

Desperately, she planted her feet, grasped the chain with both hands and pulled as hard as she could; nothing. She wrapped it once round her waist and threw her body backwards, crying out with pain as the links dug into her flesh. The chain held fast to the wall. She was totally helpless; unable to fight, unable to escape, and there was nowhere to hide. Overcome with dread, Lucy sank to the floor, drew her knees to her chest and encircled them with her arms in a vain attempt to stop the shaking. Please, if she was going to die, let it be quick, let it be painless.

10

‘How do you want to play this, Ma’am?’

The CID cars were parked near the triangle of grass. DI Saunders had sent Potts and Borrowdale to organize the door-to-door teams while he spoke with SOCO. Left alone, Jenny was leading Ed along Hollowmede past the primary school to Lucy’s home.

‘Let’s start by dropping the Ma’am. I’m happier with Ed if that’s fine with you.’

‘Of course.’

‘You saw them last night. Introduce us and then I’ll lead the questioning.’

Jenny rang the bell and almost immediately the door was opened by a distressed man in his late thirties. He looked as if he hadn’t slept.

‘Have you found … Is there any … news?’

Jenny didn’t respond immediately so Ed stepped in. ‘Perhaps we could come inside?’

‘Sorry. Of course.’

A short woman of about the same age appeared at the man’s shoulder. Her clothes were crumpled and there were streaks of mascara beneath tired eyes, which looked questioningly at the two policewomen.

‘Mrs Naylor, Mr Naylor, I’m Detective Constable Eastham. You may remember I was here last night. This is Detective Sergeant Ogborne. Perhaps we could go somewhere to talk?’

Mr Naylor turned to his wife. ‘I’ll take the officers into the front. Perhaps you could bring the tea through.’

They had barely sat down before Mrs Naylor reappeared with a tray. The detectives both declined the proffered tea and biscuits. Lucy’s parents looked expectantly at Jenny. Ed coughed and spoke.

‘As Jenny said, I’m Detective Sergeant Ed Ogborne. I wasn’t here last night. Let me begin by offering our sympathy for what you must be feeling at this time. There’s nothing we can say to take away the pain and anxiety but we’ll be doing everything we can to find your daughter as quickly as possible and to bring her safely home.’

Mrs Naylor, who had been sitting rigidly in the corner of the sofa with her hands clenched in her lap, could contain herself no longer. Her shoulders sagged. ‘There’s no news then? You haven’t found her? You’ve no clues as to where she is? You don’t know who’s taken our Lucy?’

‘Mrs Naylor, I know it’s difficult but it is early days. We have teams of officers going house to house questioning everybody in the area in case they saw something that might help. We’re here to speak with you and then we’ll talk to the Shaxteds.’

Mr Naylor reached for his wife’s hand and turned towards Ed. ‘What more do you want? We spoke to your colleague last night. We’d rather you were out looking for Lucy.’

‘I know how you must feel but it’s vital that we get a true and accurate picture of the situation. The regular officers are on the streets with a description of Lucy and her photograph. I’d like to go over everything from the beginning. This morning you may recall something you didn’t mention last night.’

Simon Naylor pressed his lips together, almost shrugging, and settled for the easy option. ‘You’re the expert. Whatever you think will help.’

‘We just want our daughter back,’ said his wife in a voice too tired to argue.

‘Thank you.’

Ed glanced at Jenny to check she was ready with her notebook.

‘Yesterday was Friday. Could you describe a typical Friday evening for yourselves and your daughter?’

‘I get back from work about six. Rachel, my wife, has supper ready. Usually, the … the three of us eat together. Rach and me generally have a quiet night in and Lucy goes round to Debbie’s.’

At this point Mrs Naylor began to weep softly into a screwed-up handkerchief. Mr Naylor put his arm round her shoulder and continued.

‘Fridays, they usually go to see a film but they didn’t fancy what was on this week.’

‘What time did Lucy leave?’

‘Just before seven.’ He looked at his wife for confirmation and she nodded.

‘So she would have arrived at Debbie’s about seven o’clock or just after. What time did you expect her back?’

‘She’s just finished her A levels. We didn’t insist she be home early. Even so, she said she’d be back just after ten.’

‘She wanted an early night. We’d given her 50 quid. A reward for working hard on her exams. She was going to London today. Shopping with Debbie. I don’t suppose they’ll be doing that now.’

Mrs Naylor stifled her distress by pressing the handkerchief to her mouth and turning to bury her face in her husband’s shoulder.

Ed’s stomach hollowed with a flashback to the anguish of being separated from her own child. Ten years ago, with no one to support her, Ed had made a voluntary decision to give her son up for adoption. Mrs Naylor had her husband’s support but she’d had no choice in the loss of her daughter; Lucy had been forcibly taken from her. Ed felt the pain but she was a police officer, a professional, trained to keep her own emotions in check and to interview with sensitivity.

‘When did you become concerned?’

‘Quarter past ten or so we wondered where she was. Ten minutes later, Rach asked me to look outside. You can see the path from Victoria Road.’

‘It’s no distance … no distance at all,’ said Mrs Naylor, clearly shocked that her daughter could disappear so close to home. Her husband continued with his methodical account.

‘There was no sign of Lucy. I rang Ted and Joyce, the Shaxteds. Apparently Lucy’d left half an hour earlier. Ted said he’d help look. He walked here via the path and I went to their place via Elham and Cogans. That’s the other route Lucy could take. There was no sign of her. I ran back here. Called the police. That would’ve been about eleven.’

‘So Lucy’d been missing for an hour.’ Ed paused and Mr Naylor looked at her, waiting for her next question. ‘She’s 17. Did she have a boyfriend?’

Mrs Naylor raised her head from her husband’s shoulder. They both hesitated. After a moment, Lucy’s mother replied.

‘Plenty of time for that … Lucy’s still a schoolgirl.’

‘Even so, Mrs Naylor, many girls her age do have boyfriends.’

‘She’ll have time for boyfriends later.’ Mrs Naylor looked uncomfortable, her anguish forgotten for a moment as she spoke defensively. ‘Lucy’s a good girl. She concentrates on her schoolwork … her exams.

Mr Naylor supported his wife. ‘Lucy’s going to university. She wants to be a teacher.’

‘What does Lucy do in her spare time?’

‘As Rach said, her A levels, studying in her room.’

‘And when she wasn’t studying?’

‘She and Debbie are good friends. They’re always together.’

Ed altered her position in the chair and leant slightly towards the couple.

‘Mrs Naylor, Mr Naylor, I’d like you to take a moment to think carefully before you answer my next question.’ She looked from wife to husband. They both nodded. ‘How has Lucy been over the last few days? Has she seemed her usual self or have you noticed a change in her behaviour?’

After a few seconds Mr Naylor said, ‘A bit tired with all that revising but—’ he looked at his wife ‘—otherwise, much the same as usual. Wouldn’t you say, love?’

‘Being tired with the exams, you’d expect that. Once they were over, she perked up. She was excited about going to London.’ At the mention of the London trip, tears started again in Lucy’s mother’s eyes.

Ed swallowed, aware of the fine line between allowing a child freedom and losing them for ever.

‘So, Lucy was her usual self then?’

The Naylors nodded. Ed looked at Jenny, whose pencil was poised over her notebook. Jenny gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Ed turned back to Lucy’s parents.

‘Thank you, that’s been very helpful.’ Ed got to her feet. ‘Before we go, may DC Eastham and I take a look at Lucy’s room?’

‘You’ve already taken her computer! Why on earth do you want to go up there again?’ Mrs Naylor’s initial astonishment turned to anger as she continued. ‘Our daughter went missing between here and the Shaxteds’ house. You should be on the streets looking for her, not poking around in her bedroom.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, Mrs Naylor,’ Ed said calmly, ‘but a careful look at her room will help us form a picture of Lucy and that could aid our inquiries.’

Before his wife had a chance to respond Mr Naylor said, ‘Her bedroom’s at the back. Turn left at the top of the stairs. We haven’t touched it.’

Ed and Jenny were moving towards the stairs when he added, ‘Her room is just as Lucy left it.’

At his words, Mrs Naylor’s face crumpled and she burst into tears.

Ed was surprised when Jenny opened the door to Lucy’s room. She’d expected they’d have to pick their way around a typical teenager’s bedroom. Instead, everything appeared to be in its appointed place. There were no pop posters. Delicate floral wallpaper covered the walls and the same pattern was continued on the duvet cover and pillowcase. A well-worn teddy bear was propped against the bed head. Other fluffy toys formed an orderly line under the window.

‘Check the wardrobe and bookshelf, Jenny. I’ll take the desk.’

Lucy’s laptop had been taken for forensic examination the previous evening. Now there was nothing on her desk except a blank pad of lined A4 paper and a pot with assorted pens and pencils. Ed turned her attention to the drawers, which contained other stationery items and a journal or diary with a small brass-coloured lock. She searched the drawers but failed to locate a key.

‘Anything interesting, Jenny?’

‘Not in the wardrobe. You?’

‘Nothing promising except for this.’ Ed waved the journal. ‘It’s locked but a bent paperclip should crack it. What’s on the shelves?’

‘Her very neatly filed A-level notes, study guides, a complete set of the Harry Potter novels and a couple of box files.’

At that moment the simple lock clicked open. Ed riffled through the pages and sighed.

‘I thought it looked suspiciously new. The pages are completely blank. It’s not been used.’

‘Just like this box file, brand new and empty, but the other’s crammed.’

Ed reached for a suitcase on top of the wardrobe. It felt heavier than she expected but inside there was nothing except a wash bag and an empty backpack. She turned back to Jenny, who was going through the papers from the box file.

‘What have you got there?’

‘It’s all printouts and hand-written notes about different religions. At the bottom there’s a Bible and a translation of the Quran.’

‘Probably for a school project. That’ll do for here. We’ll take that box file for a careful search.’

Mr and Mrs Naylor were waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Did you find anything that might help—’

Mrs Naylor cut across her husband. ‘That’s Lucy’s stuff. What are you doing taking her private things? You’ve already got her computer.’

‘We need forensics to take a look. There could be something relevant among these notes, just like there could be a lead in social media on her laptop.’

‘We didn’t encourage her to use social media.’ Mr Naylor spoke quietly.

‘Nonetheless, forensics will need to check it.’

‘But that box is Lucy’s. Her things are private. We don’t even go in her room.’ Mrs Naylor took a step forward, as if to retrieve the box file.

‘Rach …’ Mr Naylor put a hand on his wife’s shoulder and she turned to face him. ‘The most important thing is to get Lucy back. The police know what they’re doing.’ He dropped his hand to her waist and pulled her close. ‘Do what you think best, Officer. Just find Lucy, we want her home.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ed. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

‘We just want our daughter back …’

Mr Naylor moved his arm to his wife’s shoulders and hugged her to him.

‘We hope to God you find Lucy quickly.’

‘We’re already doing everything we can. If you think of anything else, here’s my card.’ Ed stopped abruptly, realizing that she hadn’t yet been given cards for Canterbury. Smoothly, without betraying her moment of embarrassment, she turned to her colleague. ‘Jenny?’

Jenny handed across two cards.

‘We’ll see ourselves out.’

Mrs Naylor’s softly spoken words followed the two detectives down the hall.

‘Just find my daughter.’

Debbie and her parents sat together on the family sofa facing the two detectives. Ed took them through routine questions about what happened the previous evening. They confirmed what the Naylors had said and added nothing new.

‘I have one final question. It’s for all of you.’

Ed leant forward in her chair, reducing the distance between herself and the family on the sofa.

‘I need you to answer this question truthfully. If you think you’re betraying your friends, remember, we are doing this for Lucy’s sake.’ Ed paused and then asked, ‘How does Lucy get on with her parents? Has there been a recent falling-out between them?’

The family responded without hesitation, speaking over each other.

‘No,’ said Mr Shaxted.

‘Lucy gets on well with her parents,’ said Debbie.

‘They’re a loving family,’ said Mrs Shaxted.

‘Thank you, that’s very helpful.’ Ed held out her hand to Jenny, who quickly gave her two cards. ‘Should you think of anything you haven’t mentioned, please call us on this number.’

As the two detectives were about to leave, Ed appeared to have another thought.

‘Debbie, you stood at the door and watched Lucy walk down the road. Perhaps you could show us the point she’d reached when you last saw her?’

In the front garden, Debbie pointed down Victoria Road. ‘I watched her until she reached the corner of Cogans Terrace. I’m sure she continued down Victoria towards the path.’

‘Thanks, Debbie, that’s a great help. Oh, by the way, are you sure she might not have dropped in to see somebody else on her way home?’

‘We’re not friends with anybody around here.’

‘And boyfriends? Are you sure Lucy wasn’t seeing someone?’

‘No … I mean yes, I’m sure she wasn’t. She’d have told me. We’re best friends.’

‘I forgot to ask when we were inside. Did Lucy have a holdall or backpack with her?’

‘No, nothing like that. Just her purse and mobile.’

‘Okay, thanks. If you think of anything else call the number on this card.’

On cue, Jenny handed Debbie one of her cards.

At that moment Ed noticed Mr and Mrs Shaxted appear at the door of the house. She stopped Jenny with a hand on her arm and spoke to Debbie.

‘One last thing, Debbie. DC Eastham is going to walk down the road. She’ll turn and wave when she gets to Cogans Terrace. Watch Jenny as if she were Lucy. Then, go back to your front door just as you did last night.’

Ed stood where she could see both Jenny and Debbie. Jenny reached the road junction, paused to wave, and then continued walking. She was across Cogans Terrace and stepping onto the pavement to continue down Victoria Road as Debbie turned back to the house.

‘Thanks, Debbie.’ Ed shifted her gaze to the parents. ‘We’ll be on our way. Time is of the essence in a case like this.’

Ed hurried to join Jenny. Time was of the essence if you had a clue. So far they had nothing. Well, they didn’t have much, but at least Ed was now sure which way Lucy had started to walk home.

‘Jenny, I’m sure Lucy continued down here, she didn’t go via Cogans Terrace. We’ll look for a spot where an abductor might have struck.’

By the time they’d reached the primary school they were sure there was only one spot: at the end of the path where it joined Hollowmede by the triangle of grass.

‘I think he waited here, hidden by the hedge,’ said Jenny.

‘And, assuming it was a he, that’s where he left his transport, where our cars are parked.’

Ed and Jenny walked over to DI Saunders who was discussing the progress of the house-to-house. He turned to face them.

‘We’ve got nothing from the door-to-door so far.’

‘We may have something,’ said Ed.

She explained the most likely spot for the abduction was where the path reached the triangle of grass.

‘We think the abductor left his transport here and waited for Lucy by the hedge.’

Saunders didn’t respond so Ed continued. ‘He must have been tracking her. He must have parked, waiting for Lucy to leave Debbie’s house. We should identify the spot.’

‘The junction of Cogans Terrace and Victoria Road would be the favourite. Mike, get the teams to ask specifically about a vehicle parked in that area last night, say between 21.30 and 22.05. Also ask if people were out last night around that time, walking the dog, coming home, going out, whatever. He must’ve had transport so anything about a vehicle could be vital. Jenny, get SOCO over here to me. Lucy Naylor was probably abducted from this very spot.’

Ed frowned. Borrowdale and Potts were still in earshot. She coughed to catch Saunders’s attention and added, ‘That’s what Jenny and I concluded.’

For a moment there was no response from the DI. When Saunders did speak, he changed the subject.

‘Ed, Jenny, you’ve finished with the parents so join the door-to-door. I’d like to wrap up here by early afternoon. Liaise with Mike and Nat. Tell them we’ll meet in the Incident Room at 14.00 to review what we’ve got.’

Once again, Ed thought it was going to take time to become part of the team, let alone lead it, but that would be her job. As a step towards that end, Ed resolved to make sure Mike and Nat were made aware of the contribution she and Jenny had made to the investigation when the team met back at the Station.

11

Ed and Jenny were the first to arrive in the Incident Room. Ten minutes later, Borrowdale and Potts entered with fish and chips closely followed by Saunders, carrying nothing but a coffee. To escape the greasy smell, the women went to the machine and returned with coffees of their own. As they resumed their seats, Brian Saunders looked at Ed.

‘Did you get anything new from the parents?’

‘From the parents, no, but we checked Lucy’s room. It wasn’t a typical teenager’s room: no pop posters and very tidy, a bit old-fashioned like her clothes. We took a box file crammed with notes. Her laptop was taken last night and is already with forensics. We may get a lead from her email or social media but I doubt it – her parents actively discouraged her. Jenny and I also spoke with Lucy’s friend, Debbie, alone. We’re convinced there’s no boyfriend and we got a new piece of information.’

Saunders made no sign she should continue but Ed was determined to spell out their contribution in front of Mike and Nat.

‘Debbie always watches Lucy leave and doesn’t go back indoors until she turns to wave. Jenny re-enacted Lucy’s departure and waved just before crossing Cogans Terrace to continue down Victoria Road. By the time Debbie turned away, Jenny was committed to the Victoria Road route. Taking that route Jenny and I identified the probable site of the abduction as the spot where the footpath joins Hollowmede.’

Having spoken to the table in general, Ed looked pointedly at Saunders before asking, ‘Did SOCO find anything useful?’

‘Freshly broken twigs in the hedge and some fibres. There were faint signs that something had been dragged from the hedge to where a vehicle was probably parked. The marks could have been made by Lucy’s shoes.’

‘No trace of the vehicle?’

‘There was fresh rubber as if someone had pulled away sharply but nothing SOCO could get a tread from. Analysis of the rubber might give us a lead but residents park there all the time.’

‘When they can find a space,’ said Nat.

‘Find a space?’ Saunders looked impatiently at the DC. ‘What are you trying to say?’

Potts straightened in his chair and interrupted. ‘An irate resident couldn’t get into his usual parking space last night. It seemed like a useful outcome from the door-to-door but in the end it was something and nothing.’

Potts looked back at Borrowdale who was only too ready to expand.

‘A guy on Hollowmede said he came back Friday night just after ten and there wasn’t a space. He was really pissed off. Claims there’s an unwritten rule among the locals. Some use the spot by the grass and others use their driveways. He always uses a space by the grass and was furious he couldn’t park there.’ Nat winked across the table at Jenny and added, ‘I bet the rubber from the road will match his rear tyres.’

‘Did he notice a vehicle he’d not seen before?’

‘We pushed him but he wasn’t clear. Said he was tired. Couldn’t wait to get home. Eventually he said there must have been an outsider’s car but he couldn’t be specific.’

‘Nothing else at all?’ asked Saunders.

‘Well … he did say that one of the parked vehicles may have been larger than a normal car.’

‘How about the other houses, especially those near the grass and those near the junction of Victoria Road and Cogans Terrace?’

From a grunt and movements at her side, Ed realized Potts was revving himself up to take over. About time – he was the senior officer responsible for house-to-house questioning.

‘Nothing of any value, Brian, but we’re asking about ten o’clock on a Friday evening. People were at home or in town. Only one person admitted looking out. A woman on St Mildreds Place. She was putting her milk bottle out. Said she saw nothing unusual.’

Saunders let out an exasperated breath. ‘So, nobody saw anything remotely significant?’

Ed trod carefully. ‘There was the guy on Elham Road …’

‘About the right time,’ agreed Potts. ‘He wasn’t clear. Nothing precise to go on.’

‘At the moment we’ve nothing to go on.’ Saunders turned to Ed. ‘What did he say?’

‘He’d just walked back from the pub. He was putting his key in the front door when somebody drove by. He glanced round but didn’t pay much attention.’

Saunders leant forwards. ‘What time was that?’

‘About 22.00. He aims to get back for News at Ten.’

‘What about the vehicle?’

‘That’s the problem. He thought it was a van. Then he changed his mind. Said it was like a van but different. He was very apologetic. Didn’t think it important at the time and didn’t pay attention.’

‘Colour?’

‘It was dark, the street lighting’s poor, grey was the best he could do. But there was one thing he was sure about. The vehicle was coming down Elham Road, going towards Hollowmede.’

‘At last.’ Saunders sat up with a look of satisfaction. ‘It’s not much but it’s the right time and the vehicle was going in the right direction.’

‘That would tie in with the guy on Hollowmede. A vehicle larger than a car parked in his spot by the grass,’ said Jenny.

‘So there was a vehicle in the area at the right time that was larger than a car and like a van but not a van. Maybe it was a minibus. What would you do next, Ed?’

Saunders had put her on the spot again. If her reception hadn’t been so frosty she’d believe he was giving her a chance to shine or, at least, to show she was competent. Ed looked round the table. Saunders was the reliable professional but his nose must be severely out of joint. They all blamed her but the transfer had been out of her control. She could have turned it down but, at the time, she didn’t know what was happening in Canterbury. And if she had? Would she have sacrificed her career for his? Unlikely. Ed looked at the others. When Saunders left, Potts, Borrowdale and Eastham would be her team. She had to get to know them quickly and get them on her side if she was to make a success of her transfer.

‘Ed?’ It was Saunders prompting her.

‘Sorry. I was thinking. I’m new here.’ Don’t state the bleeding obvious. ‘I’ll talk it through in the light of my experience on the Met.’ Brilliant, remind them that the big boys parachuted you in and spoilt their family party.

‘Abductions without a ransom demand are usually a nasty business. To be successful we need to find the victim within a day or two. If that doesn’t happen, should they ever be discovered they’ll be dead and we can only hope death came quickly.’

At these words, Jenny compressed her lips and frowned while Ed continued with her disturbing prognosis.

‘With Lucy Naylor the signs aren’t good. A ransom demand is unlikely; the Naylors aren’t in that league. If it’s sexually motivated then we’re probably already too late. She’ll turn up traumatized or we’ll find her body. If it’s not rape then we may have longer to find her but God help her.’

That was better, but she was telling them what they should already know. If they were going to have any chance of finding Lucy quickly she needed to motivate them.

‘Think of her, Lucy Naylor, just 17, young for her age, a bit naive perhaps, one close girlfriend, no boyfriends, not much of a socializer. This young woman was poised between school and university, about to make her way in the world. Right now should be one of the great times in her life but where is she? Raped? Dumped in a ditch? Something worse?’

Ed paused, looking at each of her future team. Potts and Borrowdale were sitting up and taking notice. Jenny Eastham looked concerned, almost upset, but determined.

‘And it’s not just Lucy. Think of her parents, Simon and Rachel. Think what they’re going through. They’ve lost a daughter. It’s our job to find her. For Lucy’s sake and her parents, we have to find her fast.’

Saunders’s face was expressionless. Had she gone too far, doing his job for him? Sod it, he’d asked and she responded. The Super wanted it cleared up quickly. Of course she did – she was thinking of her statistics. Ed and Jenny, perhaps Saunders, and now maybe Potts and Borrowdale, were thinking of the girl. This is why they were in the job. They were doing it for the girl and if, God forbid, she turned up dead they were doing it for the parents, to get them justice. Ed glanced at Saunders and he nodded for her to continue.

‘So far we don’t have much to go on, but there are four lines to follow. First, we need to speak to all close friends and family. The perpetrator is often somebody close to the victim. Second, this may be the abductor’s first but often they’re serial attackers so we should check for similar cases in a reasonable radius, say 30, perhaps 50 or even 75 miles.’

‘We’ll do Kent and East Sussex,’ said Saunders.

‘Third, we should check the register of sex offenders for any likely suspects, and fourth, assuming it could be serial and local, have you had any similar cases in the last five to ten years? I’ve not included the vehicle because the description’s so vague – larger than a car, van-like and grey when seen in poor light – but, if we get a suspect, we should check ownership or access to something like a minibus.’

‘I’ll go along with that,’ said Saunders. ‘If we don’t solve this quickly it’ll be your case anyway and the Super will be on your back because I’ll be away to Maidstone. I’ll put a call out to neighbouring forces for information about similar cases. Nat, search records for any local cases. Also check the sex offenders register. Mike, start organizing interviews with friends and family, use Jenny to help. Ed, come Monday, go to Lucy’s school. See if the Head knows anything the Naylors and Shaxteds don’t. Or maybe something they’re keeping from us.’

Saunders gathered his papers together but, before rising from his seat, he added, ‘All of you take a break for a couple of hours. Back here at 20.30 when we’ll take Ed on a tour of Canterbury’s less than salubrious bars.’

12

The circular route via Ashford, Maidstone, Chatham, Gillingham, Sittingbourne and Faversham took him more than five hours. He didn’t shop in Canterbury but at each of the other towns he visited supermarkets, buying a few items at each, always using the self-checkout and paying with cash.

At the building in the woods he slipped the reed into his mouth, knocked on the door and called out, ‘I’m back and coming in.’

There was no reply. He opened the door and reached to put two bags in the entrance. ‘I’ll get the other shopping and then I’m coming right inside.’

There was still no reply. Feeling a twinge of anxiety, he grabbed the hood from its peg behind the door, pulled it over his head and went to look through the chain-link partition. Lucy was lying on the bed, headphones on her ears, listening to the iPod he’d left in her room. Relieved, he went back to the car and returned with the other shopping bags. This time he shut the door firmly behind him and she looked up as he came into the room. She was making an effort to compose herself in his presence but it was clear she’d been crying. He got the impression she was struggling to look defiant but lacked both energy and determination. The face she presented was one of resigned submission. When she spoke her voice carried little conviction. He took these as very good signs.

‘You said you’d warn me before coming in.’

‘I said I would and I did. You didn’t hear me because of the music.’

She was silent and then, with an obvious effort, retorted, ‘More likely your funny voice. Why don’t you speak normally?’

‘I intend to release you. Your parents and the police will ask what happened and where you’ve been. They’ll ask about me. I’m breaking the law but I don’t intend to get caught. The less you can say the better. I have a distinctive voice so I use this device to disguise it.’

‘If you don’t want to be caught, why kidnap me in the first place? Why keep me here?’

‘That’s my concern.’

Turning his key in the padlock, he opened the chain-link door and placed three plastic bags within her reach. Before she could move he left and locked the door behind him.

‘Check those bags and make sure I’ve got what you need.’

While she looked through the shopping he unpacked the food, selected a large pizza and put it in the Calor gas oven. He was dividing a pre-packed salad between two bowls when she called out.

‘Where’re the jeans?’

‘I got skirts. They’re easier for me to wash and iron. Have you’ve got everything else you asked for?’

‘Yes.’ There was a pause and then, in a soft voice, she added, ‘Thank you.’

He felt good. This time he’d chosen well. She really was a very sensible girl. After they’d eaten he asked her to change into a set of new clothes and give him the ones she was wearing to be washed.

‘Where will you be while I change?’

‘I’ve things to do in the other room. It’ll take me 10 to 15 minutes so you’ve got plenty of time to change. I’ll warn you when I’m coming out.’

‘I can’t change my clothes with this handcuff and chain on my wrist.’

‘Come to the slot and I’ll unlock it. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll be here early to give you breakfast. If you’re sensible we’ll do without the handcuff for longer.’

‘What d’you mean, sensible?’

‘When you’ve changed your clothes, I want you to put the handcuff back on and let me lock it.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘I’ll leave you without food or water and I won’t return until tomorrow evening. Believe me, by then you’ll be hungry and very, very thirsty.’

She came to the slot and held her arm up so that he could unlock the handcuff. He left her to change and went to his private room. With the door closed he pulled on latex gloves and began decanting the cloudy preservative from Nos. 4, 5 and 6. With each jar he slid the contents into a shallow dish and refilled it with fresh formalin before returning the specimen and screwing the lid into place.

He imagined Lucy behind the chain-link partition. There was no image of the young woman in his head, just a logical analysis of what she must be doing and thinking. She’d be hurrying to change her clothes before he re-emerged. His irregular comings and goings must unsettle her. He wished he could avoid that but he had to fit caring for Lucy around the face he presented to the world. If she was beginning to think beyond her immediate predicament she must be wondering what he was doing in his private room. Wondering what it had to do with her. Wondering what was going to happen to her. Hoping but still unsure she’d be released.

Lucy was changed and sitting on the bed reading well before there was a loud knocking and his strange Mr Punch voice called, ‘I’m about to come out. Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

He came to the slot in the partition. She passed him her clothes, folded so that her underwear was hidden between her top and her jeans. Without being asked, she held her wrist and the handcuff near the slot. He locked the handcuff in place, put her clothes into a plastic bag and left.

Alone in the dark, listening to music, Lucy was overcome by a sense of despondency. At first she couldn’t understand why. Nothing had changed. She was totally dependent on him for food and drink and had little option but to do as he said. He was in control but she was coming to terms with that. She had a plan and she drew strength from that. Trying to read him, searching for the best thing to do, for a way out, would occupy her thoughts and prevent the horror of the situation taking over her mind. But, if nothing had changed, why was she feeling sad?

Turning on the bed to get comfortable, Lucy sensed her bare legs and was reminded of the new clothes. Something had changed; he’d taken her own clothes, her last contact with the real world. Now she had nothing of her own, nothing but things he had given her. Everything, even the most intimate things, had come from him.

It was long before Lucy tried to sleep, and longer still before she succeeded.

13

Ed registered names and places as Mike Potts drove her around the streets of Canterbury cataloguing the local crime scene. When they arrived at the Brewers Tap, DI Saunders was talking to a man behind the bar. Borrowdale and Eastham were sitting at a table with near-empty glasses. Ed took the opportunity to build bridges.

‘What can I get you?’

‘We’re still on duty,’ said Nat.

Perhaps the edge was harder than he’d intended. Either way the message was clear. We may be with you in a pub but that doesn’t make it a social occasion.

‘Mine’s a Diet Coke, Nat’s on orange juice.’ Jenny spoke with a softer tone, attempting to pour oil.

‘Alcohol-free beer for me,’ said Potts as he pulled out a chair beside Nat.

With no ‘please’ or ‘thanks’ ringing in her ears Ed walked to the bar alone and asked Brian Saunders what he was drinking. Before he could reply there was a shout from the far end of the room.

‘Well, if it ain’t Potty Potts! Who’s a brave boy then, coming in my boozer?’

A thickset man stepped out from a group of companions at the far end of the bar. His neck was as wide as his head with hair razored to a grey stubble. If his nose hadn’t been broken and poorly re-set then he’d been an unfortunate child.

‘Ah … but y’re not s’brave are ya? Y’got yer slag of a daughta f’protection.’

Ed saw Potts stiffen and turn.

‘Nah … can’t be yer bleedin’ daughta cos yer bleedin’ daughta’s bleedin’ dead. Ain’t she?’

The speaker looked at his target with malevolent contempt.

Potts’s ruddy face turned white and he struggled for control.

The thickset man continued to goad him. ‘Cummon then, Potty, y’wanna tek me on?’

‘Fynn McNally, you bastard!’ Potts got to his feet and stepped forward raising his arms.

At this, McNally moved towards the DS. Closing in, he pulled a knife and lunged at the detective’s stomach. Potts was inclined to be slow but this time he was on the front foot and even slower checking his forward momentum. With his failure to pull back and his assailant’s inability to check his own lunge, the knife seemed destined to bury itself in Potts’s body.

After the event nobody could agree quite what happened next. There was a flash of legs as Ed launched herself like a fullback, making a flying tackle on the edge of the area. There was the slap of a break-fall as her right hand and forearm made contact with the floor while her right foot hooked behind McNally’s right ankle and the sole of her left foot struck his knee.

With his forward movement abruptly checked, the look on McNally’s face changed from a snarl of rage, through a flash of surprise, to a yell of agony as his knee dislocated and he collapsed in a heap at Potts’s feet. Ed flipped McNally over and pinned his arm high behind his back, forcing his face into the floor and the knife from his hand.

‘Cuff him!’

Nat was first to reach her. He grabbed the free arm and snapped handcuffs in place. McNally’s companions turned back to their drinks at the bar. They made no move to intervene as Saunders called for back-up.

Uniform arrived quickly. Fynn McNally was arrested and taken into custody. The landlord offered drinks on the house but Potts was clearly upset and Saunders said they’d call it a night.

‘That was unorthodox, Ed, but very effective.’ Saunders paused to let his praise hang in the air. ‘I’ll drive Mike home. Nat, you and Jenny drop Ed back at her hotel.’

Ed was silent in the car. Saunders was right: her actions had been unorthodox. Much of what happened in Brixton when she was younger was unorthodox. Ed recalled the incident which had led to the move she’d used to take out McNally. Those distant events were behind her decision to join the police. She might have been on the other side of the law but she’d separated herself from that scene.

Whenever she heard female voices raised in threat, Ed knew she would see a circle of girls around their victim. Ten years ago she’d been that victim, cornered after closing time in the entrance to Morley’s. They’d wanted her cash and cards. Her mother’s repeated advice came instantly to mind. If ever you’re mugged, God forbid, just give them what they want. Your health and your life are worth more than they will ever take from you. Ed had been about to hand over what her attackers wanted when there was a shout from across the street. It came from the corner of Electric Avenue.

‘Oi! That’s my girl Eddie.’ Like Superman without a phone box, Craig, all supple swagger and a voice that carried distance and authority, was by her side. The young muggers slipped rapidly away.

‘You al’right, Eddie?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘Ya goin back to y’yard? Want me to come with?’

‘I’ll be all right, thanks.’

‘I’ll put the word out. Pum pums will get rushed next time. Nobody’s gonna get facety.’

‘Thanks, Craig, see you Monday.’

Walking home she’d wondered if Craig already had that power. Whatever, she was never bothered again. At home she mentioned the incident to her mother. By the following week her father had arranged self-defence classes. The emphasis was on surprise and effectiveness rather than orthodoxy. Ed was a natural. She never missed a meeting and soon few students fancied pairing up with her for a contact session.

At school, Craig often sought Ed’s advice about assignments but the incident at Morley’s was never mentioned. She knew he worked hard but he seldom performed as well as she thought he could. It was as if Craig was content to know his own strengths but unwilling to reveal them to others. Perhaps he felt this gave him an edge. The teachers regarded him as no more than average but among the students he had a position of authority which was never challenged. Ed wondered if his status had been won on the streets of Brixton because at school she’d never heard him threaten anyone, never seen an act of aggression.

Craig left school at the end of Year 11 and Ed returned to the Lower Sixth, assuming she’d never see him again – but she was wrong. Leaving the school gates a couple of weeks or so into the new term, she saw a group of students standing round a parked car. As she turned to walk home, a voice she knew well called her name.

‘Eddie! Why you in such a hurry? I’ve got my car. Come, I’ll give you a lift.’

Craig had left the group and was walking towards her. When he caught her eye, he half spun, making a show of pointing to his car.

‘It’s dope, ain’t it? Wanna come for a drive?’

It was all so unexpected, so unlikely, Ed was intrigued. Without a moment’s thought she said, ‘Okay.’ For weeks he was always there. Their roles reversed, he became the tutor and she surrendered enthusiastically to new experiences and new sensations. Ed was determined not to let her schoolwork suffer but she spent all her free time with Craig. He was happy to drive her around Brixton but when intent on parking somewhere discreet, he would drive further afield to quiet spots near the south London commons. If they wanted to see a film, Craig took her to the West End. They never went to clubs and never joined groups of friends.

All this changed when Ed discovered she was pregnant. Craig disappeared. Sometimes when they were together he’d get a message and, apologizing, say he had to go. Until the last time when she never saw him again. At home, her parents struggled to hide their disappointment and Ed felt she’d been left to face the future alone.

From the outside, the Ogbornes appeared to be the close-knit family they’d always been but, for Ed, the warmth she’d felt all her life had diminished. With her grandfather, things were different. They never spoke of Ed’s condition, or the decision she faced, and it was clear his love for ‘little Edina’ had never faltered. At first, she was uncertain what to do, then, in an instant, her mind was made up: she would not have a termination. The decision had arrived fully formed for reasons which were unarticulated and which Ed didn’t explore.

As her pregnancy progressed, Ed had worried about the consequences of raising the child as a single mother. Despite her anger at Craig’s abandonment, she’d wanted the best for their baby, her baby. After her son arrived she’d decided early to offer him for adoption and signed the papers six weeks after he was born.

Now, ten years later, Ed had long since ceased to contemplate the ways her life would have been different had she not opted for adoption. However, she’d never broken free from a nagging guilt: had she acted in her son’s best interests or her own?

14

Nat dropped Ed outside her hotel. During the short ride she formed the impression that her companions were silent because they had no wish to prolong the evening, at least not with her. Before Nat drove away Jenny moved to the front and Ed assumed her hunch was correct. She went straight to her room, checked her email and found the estate agent had confirmed all three of her viewings for Sunday. As she closed her laptop, one of the mobiles beside her bed began to vibrate. It could only be Don.

‘Hi, Eddie. Where are you?’

‘The County.’

‘Kent?’

‘A hotel in Canterbury.’

There was a pause. When he next spoke the note of irritation in his voice was more pronounced.

‘I called three times this evening. Why didn’t you pick up?’

‘I was out, didn’t have the mobile.’

‘Out …?’

‘With the team. Checking out lowlife.’

‘I thought you didn’t start ’til Monday.’

‘Suspected abduction last night. The Super introduced me to the CID team at 08.15 this morning. Everybody behaved as if I’d already started. No open arms so I didn’t rock the boat.’

‘Yeah … best to play it by the book.’

‘I thought so …’

‘Where are you now? In your room?’

‘Yes.’

‘In bed?’

‘No.’

At this moment, with Don on the other end of the line, bed was the last place she wanted to be. For Don it was different. When he called he only wanted one thing: telephone sex. That had been his aim from the very beginning, with the added frisson that they’d actually slept together. Impetuously, Ed had gone along with his suggestion, equally excited by their hands-off/hand-on encounters, but, on arriving in Canterbury, she’d drawn the line. Ed stayed where she was, at the desk with her laptop.

‘Eddie … it’s Don.’

The irritation had returned, tinged with surprise.

‘Yes …’

Of course it was Don. She was holding the cheap pay-as-you-go phone he’d given her in Manchester. Nobody else had the number.

‘Weren’t you expecting my call?’

‘Yes … No … I don’t know.’

‘What d’you mean, you don’t know?’

Ed thought for a moment. Last night in the hotel bar she’d finally made her decision. She should have done it months ago as soon as the furore broke in London, but back then she was in limbo waiting for her transfer to come through. After her meeting with CS Shawcross she’d needed comfort and sympathy. Instead, she’d settled for telephone sex. It was a brief release but, sod it, she enjoyed it while it lasted. Dumping Don wasn’t an act of revenge, simply ending that period in her life. Now was the time to go for it.

‘I hear you’ve got a new phone,’ she said.

‘Well … you’re in the sticks.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Why …? Manchester.’

‘And why was I in Manchester?’

‘You were ideal.’

‘For Manchester?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ideal for you in Manchester?’

‘For the conference.’

‘And for you?’

‘Come on, Eddie.’

It was still the same old Don. Had she really expected him to be different? The Don might grace you with his favours but only for as long as it gave him what he wanted. What had he ever given her? Good sex, well, that worked both ways. The mobile phone, yes, but from the sounds she heard he got as much from it as she did. What had he given her that wasn’t also a gift to himself? There’d been no consideration for her position following the furore. This wasn’t revenge, but she was going to enjoy goading him a while longer.

‘Don, it was you, wasn’t it? You fixed my trip to Manchester.’

‘Eddie, you know the score.’

‘Do I, Don?’

‘Sure you knew.’

‘And Canterbury?’

‘Canterbury?’

‘What’s the score there?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Old Boys 1; Naive Bitches 0?’

‘For Christ’s sake!’

‘Oh, it was for him too, was it?’

Ed smiled to herself in the mirror, enjoying Don’s discomfort. She savoured a sense of power that was different from her manipulation of their telephone conversations, holding back from the brink, tension gone, relaxed because the end is inevitable, poised waiting for the moment of release and surrender to the uncontrollable rush when every aspect of existence is reduced to a single point of concentrated feeling, waiting, knowing it will burst, radiating to every extremity, muscles tensing to prolong the sensation.

‘Be reasonable, Eddie.’

Reason was the last thing on her mind when she felt her toes curl involuntarily and she knew … but no. She dragged her thoughts back to the present. Decision made, it was time to deliver the message.

‘What was reasonable about the way I was treated?’

‘One of us had to go?’

‘The junior officer?’

‘My hands were tied.’

‘Band of gold?’

‘Come on, Ed. You knew—’

‘—the score?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s not go there again.’

Don was silent. She waited. This wasn’t a last chance; she’d stopped thinking about immediate gratification and she would have liked him to do the same. Just one time, if he could stop thinking only of himself she’d be able to feel better about their relationship. If only he would ask her how things were in Canterbury. It was a forlorn expectation. He hadn’t done so earlier when she’d prompted him so there was little chance he’d do it now. Nonetheless, Ed let him stew. Finally he broke the silence.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Don’t bother. I’m upgrading.’

‘Upgrading what?’

‘The phone.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s an old model, about to be superseded.’

‘It does the job.’

Her mind flashed back to previous times she’d held the mobile with Don’s voice in her ear. She looked at the bed but remained resolute.

‘It did the job.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I want a new model too.’

‘You’ll transfer the number?’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean, No?’

‘New job, new phone, new number.’

Ed wasn’t sure where the new model would come from but she was determined that her relationship with Don was at an end.

‘Eddie!’ Irritation had turned to exasperation.

Ed had no second thoughts.

‘Goodbye, Don.’

There was a pause. The tone of his voice changed. ‘I’m sorry.’

Ed knew this was not contrition for the way he had behaved but perhaps it was genuine sorrow that he was losing her. Maybe his new model was falling short of the old. She smiled at the unvoiced compliment but he was too late. Her mind was made up.

‘I’m sorry too.’ Ed was sorry for many things. It had been a mistake to start the affair in the first place but she needed a man in her life and in that sense it had been good while it lasted. Would smart hotels always remind her of that? Something cool … She closed her eyes to block her view of the room.

‘Can’t we …?’

‘No.’

‘Eddie …?’

‘You’ve got to go.’

‘You’ve got to go? What’s the rush?’

‘No, Don, you’ve got to go. It’s over.’

‘No chance …?’

With her decision made and the message delivered, Ed was rapidly losing interest in the conversation.

‘None.’

‘So that’s it?’

‘That’s it, Don.’

She was about to end the call but before she could speak he became decisive.

‘Okay, but don’t forget—’

‘Forget what?’

‘The phone’s mine.’

‘What do you want to do – recycle it?’

As if on cue Ed’s work mobile rang.

‘Work calls. Goodbye, Don.’

She thumbed off the personal phone, tossed it across the room and reached for her work mobile. It could only be someone from the Canterbury force. Stay cool, play it by the book.

‘DS Ogborne.’

‘Hi, Ed. It’s Brian … DI Saunders. I’m in the hotel bar and thought you might like to join me for a nightcap.’

Something cool … not again. She hadn’t come to Canterbury to jump straight into bed with another colleague. Ed hadn’t given much thought to DI Saunders but her first impression had been of a good cop and a family man. There was every sign that they would have been able to work well together. It was unfortunate that her arrival had resulted in him being pushed out to Maidstone. Surely he wasn’t hitting on her already? If so, she’d have to let him down gently. He wasn’t her type. Even if she’d been up for it there was no way she’d have been tempted.

‘Give me five minutes.’

15

Four and a half minutes later Ed walked into the hotel bar. DI Saunders was at a corner table, his glass already empty. Seeing her approach he started to his feet.

‘What’ll you have?’ he asked.

The barman was already coming to the table.

‘You’re empty. I’ll get them. What’s yours?’

‘Single malt, Bowmore. Thanks.’ Saunders sank back into his chair.

Ed turned to the barman. ‘Good evening, Gino. A double Bowmore, and a vodka tonic for me, please. Charge it to my room.’

‘Certainly, Ms Ogborne.’

‘You seem to have settled in well.’

‘It was easier here than at the Station.’

‘I guess so.’ Saunders looked shamefaced. ‘Actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m here.’

Ed relaxed. For the moment at least his late-night visit was work-related. Their drinks arrived and she raised her glass.

‘Cheers.’

Saunders acknowledged her toast and they sat in silence, sipping their drinks.

‘So, what did you want to say about work?’

‘Let’s leave that for a moment. First I want to give you the full story behind tonight’s incident in the pub.’

‘I assumed there was previous.’

‘Fynn McNally is the local big fish in a small pond. He’s behind most of the villainy that goes on round here. If he’s not behind it he expects a slice.’

‘What’s going on between McNally and DS Potts?’

‘It goes back to childhood.’ Saunders took a sip of whisky. ‘They were at school together. McNally’s always been a bully. Mike got some of it when he was a boy. Their lives went different ways and then collided when Mike became a copper. He wasn’t vindictive but he was always out to get McNally for his crimes. The trouble is, McNally’s a wily bastard; he’s smart and he knows it.’

‘I don’t see how that accounts for this evening’s outburst.’

‘There’s more. Three years ago Mike’s younger daughter, Susanne, was killed in a hit and run. The word is that McNally was responsible but we can’t prove it. He got to witnesses and made sure they’ll not talk. He knows he’s safe and the arrogant bastard enjoys rubbing it in.’

‘But attempted assault with a knife, surely he’ll go down for that?’

‘That was out of character, a big mistake. It was a crazy stunt to pull with all of us as witnesses. Of course, his friends will testify that DS Potts made the first threatening gestures and it’ll be their word against ours. He’ll not be inside for long.’

‘Thanks for telling me.’ Ed toyed with her glass for a moment and then asked, ‘Has Mike got other children?’

‘An older daughter and a son, both at university. He and his wife took Susanne’s death hard. Reminders from the likes of McNally don’t help. I’m sure Mike’s over the initial hurt but he’s collapsed in on himself. The drive he once had has gone. I think he’d like to put the loss of his daughter behind him but something’s preventing that. He’s always ready to go for a drink after work. I wonder if things aren’t too good at home.’

After the DI’s behaviour at the team meeting that morning, Ed was surprised Saunders was now treating her like a trusted colleague. She nodded sympathetically and thought she’d use the moment.

‘And the DCs, Jenny and Nat, what can you tell me about them?’

‘Neither has been with us long but both come with baggage.’

‘Don’t we all?’

Ed received the briefest look from Saunders as if her throwaway comment held particular significance but he quickly continued.

‘Despite their youth, I don’t think either’s had the easiest of times.’

‘How so?’

‘Nat played football, had a trial with Gillingham FC. He won a development contract but was let go at the end of the year. By all accounts he took it badly, gave up football and joined the Force.’

‘And Jenny?’

‘Ah, you’ve noticed. It’s clear he fancies her but, on that score, she’s more difficult to read.’

‘I meant her background?’

‘Right … something’s not gone well in her life. I don’t know the details but I gather it’s personal. Since joining the Force, she’s making good progress.’ He paused as if going to expand but appeared to change his mind and concluded, ‘Both are shaping up to be good officers.’

Ed took a couple of sips of her drink and waited for Saunders to continue. He filled the pause with a mouthful of malt before leaning towards her without touching the table.

Alarm bells rang and Ed became wary but Brian’s next words were not what she expected.

‘I’m sorry you had such a cold reception.’

‘It was to be expected given the nature of my arrival. I’m sorry you’ve been transferred to Maidstone. I was unaware, knew nothing ’til I got here.’

‘If you’re feeling bad, don’t. I’m the one who should apologize.’

‘You? Apologize?’ Ed was genuinely puzzled. ‘What on earth for?’

‘I’m not sorry to be moving. I should’ve made that clear to my colleagues. I’ve known them for years. Couldn’t bring myself to make them think I was pleased to get out.’

‘Why d’you want to go? You’re settled here.’

Saunders took another sip of malt. ‘Nobody else knows but you deserve to. You’ll keep it quiet?’

Ed nodded.

‘I may be settled in the job but I want out. Your transfer to Canterbury was my ticket. The Force is not good for relationships. Many marriages don’t survive. Mine’s one. Ellen, my wife, resented the time I spent at work. A year after our youngest went to university she asked for a divorce. I hadn’t noticed anything, but she’d been seeing someone for months. I can’t wait to get away.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Aye, it’s a bit late for me to be starting over. Maidstone’s more of a desk job. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone new in the office.’

‘What about your children?’

‘They’ve moved out. We haven’t told them yet. I’m sure I’ll continue to see them.’

Saunders finished his drink and stood up.

‘That’s enough melancholy for one night.’

Ed left her drink unfinished and went with him to the street.

Watching her colleague walk towards Westgate Towers, Ed’s thoughts turned to the missing girl. When on a case, the victim barely left her head and some memories remained long after the case was closed. To break her train of thought, Ed turned back into the hotel. Her immediate priority was to get settled in Canterbury. She needed somewhere to live and tomorrow she’d make a start with the viewings. Before that she had something else in mind.

Walking through the hotel lobby, Ed went to retrieve her unfinished drink. When standing to accompany Saunders to the street, she’d recognized somebody sitting at the bar. Drink in hand, she slipped onto the adjacent barstool.

‘Do you mind if I take one of your cheese straws? Gino seems to have forgotten mine.’

Verity Shaw turned with her habitual half-smile and nudged the bowl towards Ed.

‘I was hoping you’d come back to finish your vodka tonic.’

And I was hoping you’d still be here, thought Ed. She took a cheese straw but remained silent.

With a look of candour, Verity caught her eye. ‘I lied last time we met.’ She paused, holding Ed’s gaze. ‘Sometimes I come here for a nightcap. Will you join me?’

‘I’m not sure I should have another vodka.’

‘Me neither,’ said Verity whose drink looked identical to Ed’s. ‘Let’s celebrate your new job with something less alcoholic. Two glasses of champagne and then we’ll call it a night?’

‘Sounds good to me.’

Ed made to signal the barman but Verity stayed her hand.

‘My treat.’

Ed allowed herself to be treated and the events of the day receded. They talked easily and it crossed Ed’s mind that she’d never had a female friend before, someone with whom she could relax. The two glasses of champagne became two glasses each before they called it a night.

Standing on the pavement outside the hotel, Verity said, ‘Now you’ve settled in, give me a call should you fancy a break from the Station. We could meet at Deakin’s for a coffee.’

‘Thanks, I’d like that.’

The half-smile returned to Verity’s face. Ed raised a hand in farewell and watched her new friend walk into the night.

16

Lucy hugged herself for warmth and companionship. She’d been woken by foxes. Their high-pitched shrieks, like a distressed child, were disturbing when she was in her own bed. Here, alone without light in an isolated building, the noises were terrifying. The cold shiver, which was no more than a brief sensation at home, persisted and grew until her body shook uncontrollably.

She’d tried not to think about it, to bar it from her mind, but Lucy knew from many news reports that girls reported missing were usually found dead. She’d been taken from the street, she was missing and she was completely at her kidnapper’s mercy. Much though she wanted to believe his assurances that he would set her free, deep down she couldn’t escape the thought that she would die. Whatever he had taken her for, eventually he would kill her. She struggled to overcome the feeling of utter helplessness. Only by staying alert would she have any chance of ensuring her survival.

As light began seeping through the high windows, Lucy used the pail and washed. When he arrived she was listening to music but she heard him knock and call out because his warning coincided with the end of a track. The sound of the outer door was followed by a brief silence before he came into sight and the strange voice asked how she was feeling.

‘I want to go home. You say you’re in control, so why won’t you let me go?’

‘That’s my business. You’ll stay until I’m ready to let you go but, remember, you’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve promised to release you and I keep my promises.’

He approached the wire partition.

‘Come here and put your wrist close to the slot so that I can unlock the handcuff.’

Lucy did as she was told.

‘There … that should feel better. Get some exercise while I make breakfast. Before we eat I’ll want you to put the handcuff back on and stand here by the slot so that I can lock it.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘That wouldn’t be wise. You’ll have no breakfast and nothing to eat or drink until the handcuff’s back on.’

After they’d eaten, he was in no hurry so he left Lucy on the bed listening to music and went to his private room. Inside there was a slight smell of preservative. He felt comfortable here. All was ordered, everything in its place. He let his eyes wander over the gleaming bottles and jars. This collection was more important than the one he’d had when he was a boy. Things were different then. His thoughts drifted back to when he was a child, a time he remembered clearly, a time he would never allow himself to forget.

In his mind he sees the room, or rather he doesn’t see the room. He’s in the room but he can’t see it because it’s dark. The curtains are drawn and it’s so black that if he held his hand in front of his eyes he wouldn’t see it. But he doesn’t do that. It’s cold. In the morning his breath will have frozen on the window pane. He keeps his hand under the scratchy blanket, breathing the cold air in through his nose and out through his mouth into the bed. The warmth never reaches his feet but the rhythmic breathing and self-induced shivering distract from the cold. He’s not afraid. Unlike some children he has no fear of being alone, no fear of the dark. Nothing bad can happen. It’s happened already. When he cried and was comforted, the smell was different and the arms that held him were thinner than before.

Sometimes he was woken during the night by sounds, animal sounds. Later he realized those sounds came from their mother’s room. He never thought of her as his mother, always their mother; it spread the pain. The sounds came every evening a man was there. It was always a man. Not always the same man, but always a man and always loud. Telling their mother she was good enough to eat. She would laugh and turn to the mirror for a final touch of lipstick. She didn’t seem to notice that whenever she turned away the man’s eyes were all over her daughter.

Often, especially when it was a new man, their mother would notice a last-minute crease in her blouse and ask Reena to get the ironing board. If her daughter were slow to move she would be urged by a commanding ‘Doreena!’ Even then, he knew his sister hated her full name. With the board in place but the iron barely warm, their mother would take off her blouse and give it a quick pass. Facing the man, she would slowly re-button the blouse, turn to the mirror and say, ‘There, that’s better.’ The inevitable reply, ‘I liked you better without it’, would be countered with a ‘Not in front of the children’ softened by a satisfied smile.

Reena was big for her age. By the time she was 11, whenever there was a man around, she’d taken to doing a bit of ironing of her own. He wanted none of it. As soon as he heard the doorknocker he went to his bedroom. The voices continued until he heard the front door shut behind their mother and her latest man. Sometimes, as a parting shot, Reena was encouraged to be a good girl but their mother never came to wish him goodnight. The next morning she would appear bleary-eyed and tell him to go play in his room. He’d hear voices and then the front door would close.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.