LITTLE BOY LOST
J. P. Carter

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © J. P. Carter 2020

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover photographs © Stephen Mulcahey

Cover photographs © Shutterstock

J. P. Carter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Contains Parliamentary information licensed under the Open Parliament Licence v3.0.

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.

Source ISBN: 9780008313333

Ebook Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008313340

Version: 2019-12-04

Dedication

This one is dedicated to little Oliver Proctor, the latest addition to the family.

Epigraph

‘The whole country has been shocked by the most appalling scenes of people looting, vandalising and thieving. It is criminality pure and simple. And there is absolutely no excuse for it. We will not put up with this in our country. We will not allow a culture of fear to exist on our streets. And we will do whatever it takes to restore law and order and to rebuild our communities.’

Prime Minister David Cameron speaking in Parliament during the London riots, which shook the capital in August 2011.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by J. P. Carter

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

The tension was mounting in the back of the armed response van as it sped towards its destination.

Officer Barry Noble’s mouth had gone dry and his heart was thumping against his ribcage. He didn’t doubt that the other members of the seven-strong team were just as nervous as he was. But then they had every reason to be as they prepared to confront members of one of London’s most notorious gangs. They were taking part in a series of coordinated pre-dawn raids across the capital, targeting a major drug-dealing network. More than a hundred officers were descending on fifteen addresses south of the River Thames, and Noble knew that they could never tell just how much resistance they’d encounter.

This was the second operation in just over a week that he had taken part in. The first raid, on a flat in Lewisham, had been hugely successful. No shots were fired and three significant arrests were made. The team also recovered a large haul of Class A drugs and an arsenal of weapons, including a sawn-off shotgun, two Beretta pistols and a Kalashnikov assault rifle.

This morning’s target was a house in Balham that had been under surveillance for several days. An Afro-Caribbean man named Warren Fuller was renting it. He was one of the gang leaders responsible for the huge rise in violent crime across London during the past year, which included over a hundred and forty murders.

Officer Noble was all too familiar with the grim statistics. He was reminded of them every day at Scotland Yard briefings and when he read the papers or tuned in to TV news programmes. It was a sad state of affairs all right, and there was no sign of the situation ending any time soon.

As a Londoner it filled him with sadness. And as the father of two children it scared him shitless. The streets were no longer safe; youths as young as twelve were carrying knives and running drugs, and some inner-city council estates were fast becoming no-go areas.

‘We’re approaching the property,’ the team leader announced suddenly. ‘So brace yourselves and be ready to expect the unexpected.’

Noble felt an instant jolt of adrenalin. He sucked in a silent breath and tightened his grip on the assault rifle he was carrying.

Less than a minute later they turned into a quiet residential street that was lined on both sides with parked cars.

The van came to a stop in the middle of the road about thirty metres short of the mid-terrace Edwardian house, and three support vehicles pulled up behind it.

Warren Fuller and several other people were known to occupy the property. The surveillance team weren’t sure exactly how many there were because a number of men and women had been seen coming and going. At least one had been identified as a guy who was wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of a rival gang member. For that reason the team had been warned to expect fierce resistance.

Noble and six other officers exited the van and with cool professionalism moved onto the pavement and jogged towards the house. The sun had yet to rise so their dark, padded vests and visored helmets were like shadows against the low walls and hedges.

There were no lights on in the house, which Officer Noble hoped meant that the occupants were still in bed and would therefore be less alert and responsive.

As they moved through the small front garden, Noble noticed it was paved over and held only a selection of wheelie bins. The team had been instructed to force open the front door with a battering ram and charge right in and, as he watched from the relatively safe distance of a few men back, he saw they wasted no time getting on with it.

Within seconds the door was off its hinges and they were piling inside. The three officers at the front moved along the narrow hallway to check the ground-floor rooms, while Noble and three others started up the stairs.

Noble was the first to reach the landing, and just as he did so a door to the right was wrenched open. A man wearing boxer shorts and a startled expression stood there. Noble recognised him instantly as Warren Fuller.

‘Don’t move,’ Noble screamed as he pointed the rifle at him. ‘Just stay there and put your hands behind your head.’

But Fuller ignored him and quickly stepped back into the darkened room, pushing the door shut behind him.

Noble rushed forward, twisted the door handle, and pushed it back open. As he entered the room, Fuller charged at him and grabbed the barrel of his assault rifle, which he tried to rip from his hands.

Noble’s finger was poised on the trigger, and the sudden movement caused him to squeeze it unintentionally. The gun exploded and a split second later a cry rang out as the bullet claimed a victim.

But the victim wasn’t Warren Fuller.

CHAPTER ONE

Three days later

The images on the television screen filled Detective Chief Inspector Anna Tate with a deep sense of despair. They showed police officers under attack, buildings and cars on fire, shops being looted, and other acts of mindless, wanton vandalism.

It would have been shocking enough if it had been happening in some far-flung, lawless country. But these appalling scenes were being captured by news cameras right here in her beloved London. What’s more, most of the action was taking place south of the River Thames, where Anna lived and worked. When she turned down the volume on the TV she could hear the urgent chorus of sirens outside.

According to the news, the neighbourhoods worst hit were Brixton, Peckham, New Cross, Rotherhithe and Clapham, all within a short distance of her terraced house in Vauxhall. It was why she’d changed her plans and decided not to take her daughter out for dinner at the local McDonald’s. Far too risky.

Civil unrest had descended on the capital three nights ago following a police raid on the home of a known drug dealer named Warren Fuller. During the raid his twenty-seven-year-old wife Grace was shot and killed by a firearms officer who claimed it was a tragic accident. She was in a bedroom with her husband when the officer entered. The gun apparently went off during a struggle between the two men, and Mrs Fuller, who was cowering in a corner, was hit in the chest, the shot killing her instantly.

Within hours of the news getting out there was a backlash, with Grace Fuller being described as the latest victim of brutal police tactics. Her family called for the officer who fired the shot to be charged with murder.

It didn’t matter that she was the wife of a dangerous gang member. What mattered was that as well as being unarmed, she had also been four months pregnant with her first child.

The situation quickly spiralled out of control as people took to the streets to protest against what they were calling the murder of an innocent bystander. They were even claiming that the killing had been racially motivated because the victim was black.

Anna, who had spent the last month off work, had already contacted the office and offered to report for duty. She’d been told to stand by and wait for a call back.

Meanwhile, she had heeded the warnings to stay indoors and so had watched the drama unfold from the comfort of her living room sofa.

She had expected the riots to be short-lived, but instead they’d spread like wildfire and had become increasingly more violent. Disbelief had given way to anger as her city was being torn apart before her very eyes.

‘We’re now hearing that Scotland Yard is calling for re-inforcements from forces around the country,’ the newsreader was saying over footage of a pitched battle between hooded rioters and police. ‘So far two hundred arrests have been made and fifty people have been injured, including ten police officers. This afternoon the Prime Minister convened another meeting of the Government’s emergency response committee to discuss the growing crisis, which is being likened to the riots that engulfed London in 2011.’

Anna was a detective inspector back then, and she could well remember how bad it was. The unrest lasted for five days and nights and spread to other parts of the country. Five people died and damage to property topped two hundred million pounds.

Those riots started after an undercover police officer shot dead a man of mixed race who was suspected of being armed and a threat. Since then the seeds of disorder had again been taking root, and what was happening now had been widely predicted. In fact, Anna had been surprised when she heard the Metropolitan Police Commissioner himself describe London as a powder keg. The comment came during a speech in which he criticised the latest round of spending cuts that were being imposed on the force at a time when the city was in the grip of an epidemic of knife and gun crime. In the previous year the number of murders in the capital had reached a ten-year high.

As a senior officer with the Major Investigation Team based in Wandsworth, Anna had seen first-hand how dangerous London had become in recent years.

It was due to a combination of factors – the sheer number of ruthless gangs, a growing sense of alienation felt by ethnic groups and those living in deprived areas, and a significant reduction in police numbers. Plus the skyrocketing cost of living that was pricing many Londoners out of their own city. A culture of grievance and blame had been allowed to take hold and now the city was suffering the consequences.

Anna’s eyes remained anchored to the TV screen as she sipped lukewarm coffee from a mug. The newsreader had linked to live coverage from Brixton where a double decker bus was completely engulfed in flames. A reporter at the scene explained that the youths responsible had been chased off by police in riot gear, and went on to remind viewers that the district had also experienced mass rioting back in 1995, sparked by the death of a black man in police custody.

Next came pre-recorded footage of a supermarket being looted in Clapham. The looters were making so much noise that Anna almost didn’t hear her phone ringing. She had to rush into the kitchen where she’d left it on the table.

The caller ID told her it was her boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Bill Nash.

‘I’ve been expecting you to ring, guv,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised it’s taken you so long.’

‘Well I was hoping I wouldn’t have to,’ he replied. ‘But as I’m sure you’ve seen for yourself, things have got much worse out there today and I’m afraid your compassionate leave is over. I want you back at work immediately.’

‘Is it for general support or something specific?’

‘Specific. We’ve got an unusual case, and I need someone on it I can trust to do a good job. It’s like a war zone out there and we’re stretched to breaking point.’

‘So what is it?’

‘Four hours ago rioters set fire to a derelict pub in Camberwell,’ Nash said. ‘The brigade were on the scene pretty quickly and put the blaze out before it destroyed the building. But there was a fatality. A boy no older than ten or eleven was found inside and it seems he died from smoke inhalation.’

‘Do we know who he is and what he was doing in a derelict boozer?’ Anna asked.

After a beat, Nash said, ‘He hasn’t been identified yet, but we know why he couldn’t escape the fire. He was chained to a wall in the cellar.’

CHAPTER TWO

Even after seventeen years on the force, Anna still found it hard to believe some of the things that people did to one another. The thought of a small boy dying while chained in a cellar like an animal caused the blood to stiffen in her veins.

‘Forensics haven’t yet processed the scene but it’s believed he’s been there since before the riots began,’ Nash said. ‘If so, then whoever put him there probably wouldn’t have known the building was going to be set on fire.’

‘Has anyone been dispatched to the scene?’ Anna asked.

‘DI Walker is there but I want you on this as senior investigating officer. And bear in mind that we’ve been drained of resources. Some of your team are helping out elsewhere and things are going from bad to worse so who knows how the hell we’re going to cope …’

‘Should I arrange for a squad car to pick me up?’

‘No point. You’ll need to make your own way. Virtually every vehicle in the Met is being deployed as we speak.’

‘OK. What’s the address of this pub?’

‘I’ll text it to you. It was known as The Falconer’s Arms before it was abandoned four years ago.’

‘I’ll get there as soon as I can.’

‘Thanks, Anna. There is something else you need to know. You’re probably aware that the rioters have been targeting police cars, ambulances and fire appliances—’

‘That really doesn’t surprise me, guv. It’s what they always do.’

‘I know, but the homes of about half a dozen police officers have also come under attack. And some addresses are even being circulated on social media.’

‘Jesus.’

‘I’m telling you because I assume you won’t want to leave your daughter alone in the house. Once it gets dark, we’re expecting another night of complete mayhem as many more nutters take to the streets.’

Anna checked her watch. It was four-thirty p.m. Only a couple of hours of daylight left.

‘I’ll call Tom and get him to come over,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’

‘Good. Sorry, I should have asked … how are things working out between you and Chloe? It’s been a couple of weeks since we last spoke.’

‘It’s not been easy to be honest, especially for Chloe. She’s still struggling to come to terms with what’s happened. And who can blame her? She’s been to hell and back.’

‘But she’s back where she belongs now, Anna. And you’ll both get there in the end, of that I’m sure.’

A wedge of anxiety lodged in Anna’s chest when she hung up the phone. She had spent every day of the past month with her daughter and she didn’t feel ready to leave her now and return to work. But in the circumstances, she really had no choice.

It had been a tough four weeks for both of them, not least because they’d been the focus of frenzied media attention, which was understandable given the level of interest in their story.

Anna had reluctantly agreed to take part in several press conferences and to give interviews to a number of journalists. After all, the papers and TV news organisations had played a vital part in helping to reunite her with her daughter, and she felt indebted to them.

The story was still considered to be newsworthy even though there had already been blanket coverage. The latest edition of a popular magazine, which had been delivered that morning, carried one of the interviews Anna had given, and the feature was spread over no fewer than four pages.

But naturally Chloe had hated being thrust into the limelight, and not only because she was a mere twelve years old. Her life had been turned upside down and she was trying to deal with a tsunami of emotions from grief to the shock of learning that she wasn’t the person she thought she was. For most of the time she suffered in silence, but the tears flowed whenever she was asked about her father and the woman named Sophie who had helped to raise her. The pain and sense of loss was there in her eyes for all to see, and it broke Anna’s heart.

She had done her best to shield her daughter from the glare of publicity and to make her feel safe, comfortable and loved. But the poor girl had been so traumatised by events that it had proved to be a real challenge. It was only in the past week that Chloe had started to open up and engage with the mother she’d been told had died ten years ago.

Anna had been granted two months’ compassionate leave and she’d been hopeful that by the end of it they would have formed a much-belated bond. But now she feared that these bloody riots might set them back and shove a dirty great spanner in the works.

CHAPTER THREE

As usual Chloe had spent most of the afternoon closeted in her room. It wasn’t the room she had occupied when she’d last lived in the house – up until the age of two. Anna continued to use that room as her study, and the walls were still covered with photos taken before Chloe’s father abducted her. Anna had wanted to leave it be so that Chloe could see that her real mother had never stopped thinking about her … Or given up searching for her.

This bedroom was a work in progress, and Chloe had yet to put her own stamp on it. Many of the belongings she’d brought from her previous home were still in boxes, including books and posters and some of her clothes.

The door was ajar so Anna knocked lightly and then eased it open and stepped inside. Chloe was sitting on her bed with her back against the wall. Her knees were up and her precious photo album was resting against them. Anna had laid eyes on the album for the first time a month ago, and it had been a moving experience. It was her daughter’s link to the past, filled with ten years of memories that Anna hadn’t shared with her. And for Anna it was a painful reminder of what she had missed. All those Christmases and birthdays that made a child’s formative years such a joy. They were all there in the photos, but Anna found it hard to look at them without choking up.

‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’

Chloe looked up and smiled. It was a half-hearted smile, but Anna was used to that. She knew her daughter needed more time to embrace her new life. Things could only get better.

Anna crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The fact that Chloe no longer flinched when she got close was the clearest sign yet that they had made significant progress in the short time they’d had together.

‘I’m afraid I have to go out to work,’ Anna said. ‘I know it’s sooner than expected but it can’t be helped.’

Chloe frowned. She seemed curious rather than alarmed. ‘Is it because of all the rioting?’ she asked.

Anna chose not to tell her about the boy in the cellar. It would only play on her mind and stir up painful memories of her own kidnap ordeal at the hands of a brutal villain.

‘It’s connected to the riots, yes,’ she said. ‘There’s been a serious crime and they need me to take charge of the investigation. But I’m going to call Tom to get him to come and stay with you.’

‘He doesn’t need to. I’ll be OK by myself.’

There was an edge to her voice, but there always was when the conversation turned to Anna’s boyfriend, Tom Bannerman. Chloe had convinced herself he wasn’t happy that she had entered their lives because it made it less likely that he would be allowed to move into the house in the near future.

For her part, Anna wasn’t sure what to believe, although it was undoubtedly true that it had placed a strain on their relationship. Tom had only stayed overnight on two occasions during the past month and in that time they hadn’t had sex or gone on a date.

‘There’s no way I’m leaving you here by yourself,’ Anna said. ‘A lot of bad things are going on out there and I want to be sure you’re safe.’

Chloe responded with a shrug, so Anna reached out and placed a hand on her knee.

‘I love you so much, sweetheart. You know that don’t you?’

Chloe hesitated, and for a fleeting moment Anna thought she was going to say that she loved her back for the first time. But instead, Chloe nodded and said, ‘I know you do, Mum.’

Anna was disappointed, but took comfort in the fact that at least her daughter was now calling her Mum. It was something Chloe had struggled with in the beginning. That was because the only mother she had ever really known had plunged to her death from a warehouse roof only four weeks ago.

‘I’ll get Tom to make you some dinner and I promise to come home as soon as I can,’ Anna said.

As Chloe shifted her gaze back to the photo album, Anna’s breath caught in her throat. She still found it hard to look at her daughter without feeling the swell of emotion. They’d been apart for so long and there had been times over the years when she thought she would never see Chloe again. There was still so much they didn’t know about each other, so many unresolved issues.

One of those issues was that her daughter did not like to be called Chloe. After her father ran off with her, he changed her name to Alice. Alice Miller. She said she preferred that name, which was why Anna referred to her as sweetheart most of the time. She didn’t want to make a big deal of it at this early stage because it was one less thing for her daughter to have to wrap her young mind around.

Anna knew she had to be patient. Indeed, the child counsellor appointed by social services had warned her that it would be a long, mentally challenging process. Not only was Chloe still shell-shocked from what had happened to her, she was also only weeks away from her thirteenth birthday, so hormones were flooding her developing body and she was facing a storm of social, physical and emotional pressures.

Not for the first time Anna found herself staring intently at Chloe’s face, mesmerised by the button nose, dimpled chin and bright blue eyes. She had retained most of her baby features and it was amazing how accurate the age progression image of her had turned out to be. Anna had commissioned it on the tenth anniversary of her disappearance and it had been instrumental in bringing her home. The only difference was her hair, which her adoptive mother had recently allowed her to have cut short and dyed blonde.

‘You’re doing it again,’ Chloe said, without moving her eyes from the album. ‘I told you I don’t like it when you stare at me.’

Anna laughed. ‘I know and I’m sorry. I just can’t get over the fact that I’ve got you back. And I’m terrified of losing you again.’

Chloe turned to face her. ‘I don’t want to lose you either,’ she said. ‘You’re all I’ve got.’

Anna stood up quickly to stop herself crying. Tears came easily these days, usually triggered by something Chloe said or did, or just because she was finding it increasingly difficult to control her feelings.

‘I’ll go and ring Tom and then get ready,’ she said. ‘Is there anything you want?’

‘No, thank you.’

Anna leaned over and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

‘I’m going to take good care of you, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘You’re my world now, and I promise I won’t let any more harm come to you.’

As she stepped back out of the room, Chloe was still turning the pages of her album, no doubt reliving some of the memories it contained of the times she’d spent with her father and the woman who’d brought her up from the age of two.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tom was a social worker who always stayed in his office on Fridays to deal with the paperwork he had accumulated during the week. In the seventeen months they’d been dating he had often skived off early to meet Anna for a drink or to come to the house to cook her dinner, and she was pretty confident that she could rely on him to help her out even though it was such short notice.

‘No problem,’ he said after she explained the situation over the phone. ‘I’ll have to pop home first but I can probably be there in under an hour.’

His flat was just over a mile away in Nine Elms, so Anna could live with that. Tom was Mr Reliable, after all. She had never known him to let her down or disappoint her. It was one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him – he was the exact opposite of her ex-husband.

Matthew had been selfish, short-tempered, egotistical and controlling. Tom, on the other hand, was kind, calm and generous.

The pair were also miles apart physically. Tom was a six-foot hunky black man with tight curly hair and the most amazing come-to-bed eyes. At forty-seven he was four years older than she was.

Matthew had been five foot six and pale-skinned, with severely receding fair hair. If he hadn’t been murdered three years ago he would now be forty-four.

‘Are you sure Chloe won’t mind me babysitting?’ Tom asked. ‘I always get the impression she doesn’t like having me around.’

‘It’s your imagination, Tom. I’ve told you that. She’s just finding it hard to relate to anyone right now, including me.’

‘Well I hope you’re right. For both our sakes I need her to like me.’

‘I can assure you she does. We have to give her time to settle in to her new life. It’s all so overwhelming for her. And scary.’

‘I can appreciate that, Anna. And I have to say that I think she’s coping really well, considering she’s only twelve. She’s a remarkable girl … You must be so proud of her.’

‘I am. I only wish I could wave a magic wand and take away all the pain that’s still eating her up inside.’

‘You will,’ Tom said. ‘It’s early days, and it’s clear you’re doing a good job. It’s such a shame your compassionate leave is being cut short.’

Anna sighed. ‘I know, but it can’t be helped. It’s really kicking off out there, and no way can I just sit back and watch it on the telly.’

She told him then what Nash had said about the homes of some police officers coming under attack.

‘Well don’t you worry about Chloe,’ he said. ‘If anyone comes to your house to cause trouble I’ll make sure they regret it.’

Anna was comforted by his words, and as she started to get herself ready, she reflected once again on how lucky she was to have him in her life. But an unwelcome thought had crept into her mind: Would he stick around?

Even before Chloe came back into her life, Tom had begun to feel insecure. He had wanted to move in with her, but she had resisted, telling him, truthfully, that she wasn’t ready. She was content with the arrangement they had because it gave her a degree of independence. It meant she’d been able to spend much of her spare time searching for clues to Chloe’s whereabouts, mainly through social media appeals, the FindChloe Facebook page she’d set up, and interviews with newspapers and magazines.

She took the view that cohabiting would not only have made things more difficult, but that it wouldn’t have been fair on Tom either.

However, in recent months she had begun to fear that unless she agreed to move their relationship forward, there was a chance Tom would get fed up waiting and end it. In fact she had almost reached the point where she was going to invite him to move in.

But as soon as she got Chloe back she knew she couldn’t do it. At least not yet.

Her daughter took priority over everything else. Including the love of her life.

*

It didn’t take Anna long to get ready. She kept the make-up to a minimum and changed into a black polo sweater and navy trousers. She dragged her long dark hair back into a ponytail and put on her three-quarter-length overcoat. October had arrived with a vengeance and she wanted to be prepared for what was almost certainly going to be a long, cold night.

She went back into the living room to pick up her shoulder bag, and caught the tail-end of an interview with Gary Trimble, London’s Police Commissioner, who was appealing for calm.

‘The death of Grace Fuller was an unfortunate accident,’ he was saying. ‘It in no way justifies this mindless criminality. I would urge those responsible to think what they’re doing to this great city and to community relations.’

Anna was in no doubt that his words would fall on deaf ears. The blue touch-paper had been lit and the riots were not going to end any time soon.

She knew she had to try to view them as a distraction and to focus on the boy who had died in the pub cellar, but it wasn’t going to be easy – that much was obvious.

She was on her way out the front door, having told Chloe that Tom was on his way over, when her phone rang. She smiled when she noted the caller ID: it was DI Max Walker, her most trusted wingman, who was already at the crime scene.

‘Hello, guv,’ he said. ‘The boss told me he’d called you in. I’m sorry you’re having to cut short your leave.’

‘Can’t be helped. I’m just leaving the house. Should be there within fifteen minutes, traffic and rioters permitting.’

‘OK. I’m just ringing to let you know that we’re pretty sure who the boy is.’

‘That was quick.’

‘Well it wasn’t difficult because I recognised him from the photographs that were plastered all over the papers on Tuesday morning. I reckon he’d still be front-page news if it wasn’t for the riots.’

Anna felt a pang of dread. ‘You’re not talking about Jacob Rossi? Son of Mark Rossi?’

‘I am.’

‘Oh shit. I was hoping that story would have a happy bloody ending.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Anna checked with central control before setting off. Camberwell was only about two miles away, but she wanted advice on the safest route to take.

She felt a shiver grab hold of her spine when she was told that rioting had broken out around Vauxhall tube station and along South Lambeth Road, both within walking distance of the house.

She sent this information to Tom in a text and urged him to take care. He responded instantly:

I won’t bother going home. Will go straight there xx

Anna let out a breath. She didn’t want Chloe to be alone in the house for too long. That wouldn’t be fair, or sensible bearing in mind what Nash had said.

Control’s advice was to approach Camberwell from the north, but to nevertheless expect some trouble along the way.

She drove with the radio on and listened to continuous news coverage. But at times it was a struggle to hear what was being said because of the urgent screams of police sirens and the roar of helicopters circling overhead.

The rush hour was already well underway and the roads were busy. It seemed incongruous to Anna that life carried on as normal in those parts of the city that hadn’t so far been affected by the rioting.

The impression she got from the news was that some neighbourhoods were effectively lawless. There were reports of several buildings being razed to the ground in Peckham, police officers being attacked in Deptford, and a Sainsbury’s supermarket being looted in Clapham. And a mob of masked youths was now gathering outside MIT headquarters in Wandsworth where Anna and her team were based. The unrest had also reignited racial tensions in the city with white and black gangs fighting each other, and a black shopkeeper had been beaten up in Lewisham in what was being described as a racist attack.

The more Anna heard the more her heart rate increased and her breathing deepened. Something in her gut told her that these riots were going to be more widespread and destructive than those of 2011. There weren’t enough police officers to cope, and social media would almost certainly play a more effective role in fanning the flames of anarchy.

Only one death had so far been confirmed – the boy in the cellar. But Anna found it impossible to believe there wouldn’t be more over the coming hours and days. The media hadn’t yet been told about this first fatality, but the news would soon be out there, and Anna would have to do her best to hold back the details until the parents had been informed.

If DI Walker was right about the identity of the lad – and she had no reason to doubt him – then they would later be heading over to Bromley and the home of Mark Rossi and his wife. Anna had never met Rossi, but like millions of other people she knew quite a lot about him from his appearances on the television.

The man was a Celebrity with a capital C, one of the most popular and versatile TV presenters in the UK. He’d hosted game shows, a travel series and a number of one-off light entertainment programmes on various channels. His last screen appearance had been on Tuesday morning when Anna had watched him make an emotional appeal on BBC news for information on the whereabouts of his ten-year-old son, Jacob.

The boy had disappeared on the Monday while walking home from school. It was feared he’d been abducted because his mobile phone had been switched off and he had never given his parents cause for concern before.

Anna would have to talk to the team who were on the case to find out how far they’d got. But she strongly suspected that the investigation would have been hampered by the riots. After all, there was only so much the Met could cope with at any one time.

The closer Anna got to Camberwell the more uncomfortable the journey became. She saw groups of hooded youths who were clearly roaming around looking for trouble. Roads and pavements were littered with rocks, broken glass, shopping trolleys and wheelie bins, and she counted no less than four fire-damaged cars, one of which was still smouldering.

She got her first glimpse of actual rioting as she passed through Kennington. Traffic came to a sudden standstill because a building was ablaze up ahead, flames and smoke billowing into the sky.

Two squad cars were blocking the road and vehicles were being directed down a side street. As Anna followed the traffic she looked to her left and saw a mob clashing with police in front of the burning building. The officers, who looked to be greatly outnumbered, were using their shields to protect themselves against a barrage of missiles.

Anna got the impression that the rioters were relishing the thrill while at the same time showing a breathtaking sense of impunity. It was scary to think that such havoc was being unleashed all over the capital. On the radio they were now saying that it had spread across the river into East and North London. Shops were being ransacked in Tottenham, which was where the riots of 2011 began.

Anna suppressed a shudder and told herself that however bad it got on the streets she must not lose sight of the fact that she had been given a specific task: to find the bastard – or bastards – who had imprisoned a young boy in a derelict pub cellar where he met a cruel death.

CHAPTER SIX

Five minutes after her mother had left the house, Chloe was still lying on the bed looking through her photographs.

It was something she never got tired of doing. Some of the photos made her smile while others made her want to cry. As usual she flicked to her favourites, including the one that showed her taking her first paddle in the sea, and the one where she was sitting on her father’s shoulders and pulling at his hair. She touched his face with her finger and a ball of sadness grew in her chest. Despite what he had done she still missed him. A part of her wished she had never found out the truth. At least the memories of her years in Spain would not have been so bittersweet.

As always it was like a trip down memory lane, each picture a precious moment from her previous life as Alice Miller.

She now knew that her father gave her that name when she was two years old. He changed his own name as well from Matthew to James so that when he ran away with her nobody would ever be able to find them.

She didn’t discover the truth until just over a month ago. That was when everything changed and she learned that she wasn’t – and never had been – the person she thought she was.

She had always believed what her dad had told her – that her biological mother had died of cancer shortly after her second birthday. But it was a lie that carried on for ten years. And now she had to live with that. To put the past behind her and move on. A new name. A new mum. A new home.

It was proving difficult, though, and there’d been times when she had wanted to run away from everything. From the pain, the memories, the lingering grief, the pressure to adapt to this new life.

There were so many questions, so much that she didn’t know about her past, so much that scared her about the future.

For one thing she didn’t want to have to go to a new school in a few weeks, but she didn’t have any choice. She wanted to go back to the school in Shoreditch where she’d spent the past three years. Most of her friends were there, including Rhona, Charlotte and Sue. But her mum had told her it was on the other side of London so it would take too long to get there and back every day.

It wasn’t her mum’s fault. She knew that. Her mum only wanted what was best for her and she couldn’t blame her for what had happened. Her dad should never have done what he did. It was wrong and cruel, and she wished that he was still alive so that she could tell him so.

His face stared up at her now from the album and she felt the swell of tears in her eyes. It was one of the many photos taken during those seven years they lived in Spain. He was standing in front of the bar he ran, squinting against the bright Spanish sunshine. Chloe knew it would have been Sophie who took the picture – she was always snapping shots on her phone and then had the best ones printed so that they could go into the album.

Chloe turned the page and there was Sophie, the woman who became her adoptive mother. Black hair; kind face; wide, familiar smile. This one was taken just over three years ago during the last day they all spent on the beach together. They’d had a picnic, swum in the sea, and played ball games.

It was a few days before Dad brought them to England, and just several weeks before he was killed.

Her mobile phone rang, jarring her out of her reverie. It came as no surprise to see that it was her mum. Who else could it be?

She wanted to check that Chloe was all right and to reassure her that Tom would soon be there.

‘I’m still fine,’ Chloe said off the back of an audible sigh. ‘You’ve only been gone about ten minutes.’

‘I know, but I’m almost where I need to be, and once I’m there it’ll be more difficult for me to ring you.’

‘There’s no need to worry. I was just about to go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea.’

‘Well I bought you a packet of your favourite chocolate biscuits. They’re in the jar.’

‘I know. I had some this morning.’

‘Of course you did. I forgot. Well enjoy your evening and please be nice to Tom. He really does think the world of you.’

Chloe wasn’t so sure about that. Tom seemed nice enough, but she sensed that he wished it was still just the pair of them. Him and her mum. Two grown-ups without any kids around to spoil their fun.

She had overheard them speaking in the kitchen just a week after she came to live here. Her mum was telling him that he wouldn’t be able to move in because she wanted her daughter to settle in first. He said he understood, but it had sounded to Chloe like he wasn’t too happy about it.

She returned her attention to the album. The last photo on the last page. It was one of her at the age of nine. She was standing in front of the marina in Puerto de Mazarron and she was eating an ice cream.

Minutes after it was taken, the man she now had nightmares about turned up. After that nothing was ever the same again.

Chloe put the album back on the bedside table because she didn’t want to upset herself if Tom was going to turn up at any minute.

She got off the bed, checked her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, and decided that she didn’t need to change her clothes. She was wearing faded dungarees over a tight, red sweater, one of the outfits that she was convinced made her look a couple of years older than she was.

The noises outside were getting louder, and it wasn’t just the sirens she could hear. There was shouting too now and it sounded close by.

She peered through the window. Her room was at the front of the house with a view of the road. She could see some of the neighbours huddled outside their homes talking amongst themselves – they all seemed to be looking up the street at something that Chloe couldn’t see.

She wondered if the vandals who had been causing all the trouble across London had turned up here. She hoped not. She’d seen them on the telly doing damage to shops and throwing things at the police who were trying to calm them down. It was truly frightening.

She gathered it was happening because a woman had been shot and this had made a lot of people very angry. But it didn’t justify what they were doing. That was what her mum had said and she agreed. Innocent people were bound to get hurt and that wasn’t fair.

She knew that she’d be safe so long as she stayed in the house. Even so she couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous. She swallowed down the butterflies that rose in her tummy. She’d learned from bitter experience that if bad men were determined to get at you then it was hard to stop them.

She consoled herself with the thought that she wouldn’t be alone much longer. Despite her reservations about Tom she knew he wouldn’t let any harm come to her. Her mum would never forgive him.

Downstairs in the kitchen she put the kettle on. It was the first time she’d had the house to herself and it felt really strange. It still didn’t feel like home and she wondered if it ever would.

When the kettle boiled, she poured the hot water over a tea bag and carried the mug into the living room. Her mum hadn’t switched the TV off and on the screen there was a car on fire and lots of hooded men standing around it cheering.

But Chloe was more interested in the glossy magazine she spotted lying on the coffee table. It was one she hadn’t seen before and she guessed it had been delivered with the shopping that morning.

There was a photo of her and her mum on the cover below a headline that read:

REUNITED AT LAST

THE FULL STORY BEHIND A MOTHER’S TEN-YEAR NIGHTMARE

Chloe picked up the magazine and sat on the sofa to read it. Soon she was oblivious to the sounds out of the street that were growing louder by the minute.

CHAPTER SEVEN

By the time Anna reached Camberwell the neighbourhood was relatively quiet. The rioters had either moved on to other areas of South London or were lying in wait somewhere until darkness descended.

They had left a trail of destruction in their wake. Rows of shops had been damaged and looted, walls had been daubed with slogans, and bins had been emptied across roads and pavements.

Some people had begun to clean up while others stood around in groups looking shocked and bemused.

Anna was relieved to finally arrive at her destination – a street close to Camberwell bus station that was mostly residential.

Two police patrol cars and a forensics van were parked in front of the derelict building that used to be The Falconer’s Arms pub. It was set back from the road with a large forecourt that was littered with ash and puddles left by the firefighters.

Three uniformed officers in hi-vis jackets were standing beyond the crime scene tape that was stretched across the entrance.

Anna pulled up behind one of the patrol cars and climbed out of her Toyota. At once her nostrils were assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke and noxious fumes.

She paused on the pavement to look up at the building and assess the damage that had been done to it. The two-storey structure had clearly never been an architectural landmark. It was square and bland, with a painted brick facade and a pitched tiled roof that had been partly destroyed by the fire. The front double doors had been forced open, no doubt to allow the firefighters to get inside.

Anna was no stranger to Camberwell and she had a vague recollection of having visited the pub some years ago before it closed down. It was unlikely to have been a social visit, so she had probably come here on police business back when the area was a crime hot spot. It still was to some extent, with drug dealing a serious problem along with knife attacks. But in that respect it was no worse than most other parts of London.

She showed her warrant card to the uniforms and one of them went to get her a paper suit and shoe covers from the forensics van. As she slipped them on she was told that two detectives were already inside the pub along with crime scene investigators and the pathologist.

Anna ducked under the tape and trudged across the forecourt. As she approached the building, two figures wearing pale blue forensic suits stepped out through the doorway. She didn’t recognise them until they removed their face masks and lowered their hoods. Detective Inspector Max Walker and Detective Constable Megan Sweeny.

‘We saw you arrive, guv,’ Walker said. ‘Welcome back to duty. Did you have much trouble getting here?’

Anna shook her head. ‘There was a pitched battle going on in Kennington, but I managed to avoid it.’

‘You were lucky then. And so were we. Soon after we left headquarters a mob of rioters turned up outside and I just heard that it’s getting nasty there.’

‘Well I was expecting things to be a lot worse here,’ Anna said.

A muscle flexed in Walker’s jaw as he wiped a hand across the fine film of sweat that had gathered on his bald head.

‘They’ve moved on to Peckham,’ he said. ‘A few hours ago it was pretty bad here apparently. A group of about a hundred crazies tore along Camberwell New Road and spread out into neighbouring streets to cause havoc. Some stopped off at this place and a petrol bomb was lobbed through an upstairs window. So far we haven’t found any witnesses who saw who actually did it, and I’m not sure we’re going to. It took only minutes for the fire to spread, but most of the damage was to the roof and first floor. The brigade was quick off the mark and got here before the whole lot collapsed into the cellar. By then the rioters had cleared off.’

‘If it had there’s a good chance the boy’s body would never have been found,’ Sweeny added.

Anna could tell from the pained look on the detective’s face that she’d been affected by what she had encountered inside the building. But having joined MIT just over three months ago, at the age of thirty-five, Sweeny still sometimes struggled to cope with the harsh realities of the job. Anna was the first to admit that it did take some getting used to.

‘I gather the pathologist is here already,’ she said.

Walker nodded. ‘It’s Gayle Western. She arrived about half an hour ago. She’s already made arrangements for the body to be removed after you’ve seen it in situ.’

‘Then let’s get to it. Are you sure it’s Jacob Rossi?’

‘One hundred per cent. He’s wearing the school uniform Jacob had on when he disappeared on Monday. And there’s a name tag sewn into the inside of his blazer.’

DC Sweeny stayed outside so that she could make some calls, and Walker led the way into the building, warning Anna to tread carefully because it was structurally unsafe. ‘Just so you know we’ve had to ignore the advice from the fire brigade, which was not to come in here until they’ve carried out a full risk assessment,’ Walker said. ‘They’ve got so much on their plate with the riots that it could be days or even weeks before they get around to it.’

‘We’ll just have to do what has to be done as quickly as we can,’ Anna said.

The interior was a total mess, with wet, charred rubble everywhere. Part of the ceiling had collapsed and above it light shone through the damaged roof, revealing clouds of ash and smoke swirling in the air.

Walker stopped in the middle of what would have been one of the pub’s bars. He pointed to a crime scene investigator who was examining an open door at the rear of the building that hadn’t been touched by the fire.

‘There are two doors and five ground-floor windows that look out onto a small car park round the back,’ he said. ‘They’re all still intact because the fire didn’t reach them. So we’re able to see that the lock on one of the doors is broken and the boarding has been removed from two of the windows, along with the glass. It’s my guess that whoever brought the boy here gained access through one of them.’

‘So why wasn’t the building more secure?’ Anna asked.

Walker shrugged. ‘That’s a question for the estate agents who’ve got a for-sale sign out front. They’re bound to say that they thought they’d done enough to keep people out. But you and I both know that vandals and homeless people are breaking into derelict buildings all over London every day.’

‘That’s true,’ Anna said. ‘So where is the cellar?’

‘We’re standing on top of it.’ Walker gestured towards an interior door to their left that stood open. ‘That leads to the stairs. It was closed when the brigade entered the building after they’d put the blaze out. But there’s extensive damage to the floorboards next to it and the cellar was filled with smoke. The fire officers who went down there reckon it was so thick they didn’t spot the boy’s body until one of them almost tripped over it.’

Anna could feel the blood pounding in her ears as she followed Walker down the rickety stairs into the cellar. It was much larger than she’d expected it to be, stretching almost the entire length of the building. There was no electricity, but natural light came from above through the damaged ceiling.

A lead weight formed in Anna’s chest as she took in the scene. At one end of the room the parts of the ceiling that had come down were piled up on the soaked floor. There were no windows and the bare brick walls were festooned with fixtures that had once been attached to beer kegs.

Four forensic officers were present, and one of them was the pathologist, Gayle Western. She was crouched down next to a grey, inflatable mattress on which lay the body of the dead boy.

Anna experienced a cold shiver as she stepped forward and confronted a scene that she knew would haunt her forever.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chloe loved reading, so she had no problem wading through the magazine article that ran to four whole pages.

It mostly repeated what had already appeared in newspapers and on the television during the past month. But there were more details and more photographs. She found it odd the way the writer kept switching between the names Alice and Chloe, and she wondered if readers would find it confusing.

The photos were all in colour and each of them provoked a different reaction. There was only one that she hadn’t seen before and it was of Sophie on her wedding day. The man she married was standing next to her with a wide grin on his face.

Bruno Perez looked very different back then. He was slim, handsome and smartly dressed in a grey suit with a yellow flower in one lapel. Nothing like the brutal monster who Chloe saw for the first time eleven years later when he turned up at her father’s bar in Spain.

He was the man they were running from when they fled to England, the man who went on to murder her dad and then force Sophie to take her own life. The man her mother and everyone else described as a violent psychopath.

Chloe’s eyes settled on another photo and this one caused the breath to freeze in her throat. It was of a tall, ugly building and below it were the words:

It was from the roof of this warehouse in Deptford, South London, that Sophie Cameron and her estranged husband, Bruno Perez, fell to their deaths as Detective Anna Tate and her daughter Chloe looked on.

Four weeks had passed since that night, but to Chloe it still seemed like only yesterday. Every time she closed her eyes, she recalled every horrific second of what happened on that roof as well as the events that led up to it.

It began that morning when she and Sophie were getting ready to go on holiday to Spain, the first time they’d been back there since leaving three years ago.

Chloe didn’t know at the time that Sophie planned for them to stay and never to return, fearing that Bruno had found out where they lived in Shoreditch and was planning to do them harm.

After Chloe had packed her suitcase, she pleaded with Sophie to let her go and see one of her friends who lived close by, just a brief visit before they were due to leave for the airport. Against her better judgement, Sophie allowed her to go. But it proved to be a costly mistake because Perez was waiting outside in a van.

He snatched Chloe off the street and then phoned Sophie to tell her what he’d done. Chloe was in the room when he made the call and she could still hear his violent words, as though it had happened only hours ago:

‘You should know that before I arrived at your place today my intention was to abduct you and then make you wish you had never been born. But catching hold of Alice allows me to take your punishment to a whole new level and to make sure your suffering is not short-lived … Alice will be my guest for a couple of days and I’m going to have some fun with her. I even plan to share her with a couple of the guys who work for me … I’ll send you photos and maybe even a video.’

Perez then threatened to kill Chloe if Sophie went to the police. Sophie knew she couldn’t take the risk so she did the next best thing – which was to enlist the help of the woman she had only just discovered was Chloe’s real mother – Detective Anna Tate.

Before describing what happened next, the article took readers back ten years to when it all began, and Chloe read it with tears streaming down her cheeks …

Anna had only recently divorced her husband Matthew following an affair he had. They shared custody of two-year-old Chloe, although the girl resided with her mother.

Matthew started begging Anna to take him back and when she refused he abducted their daughter after sending Anna a note that read:

You won’t let us be a family again because I made a stupid mistake. So I’m starting my life afresh with my lovely daughter … Don’t bother trying to find us because you never will.

Matthew acquired fake passports in the names of James and Alice Miller and moved to Spain where within weeks he met an English ex-pat named Sophie Cameron, who was working in a restaurant. He told her he was a widower and that his wife, Alice’s mother, had died of cancer.

But Sophie also lied to him by saying that she was single when in fact she was married to a man who was in prison for a vicious assault on another man. His name was Bruno Perez.

Sophie and the man she knew as James fell in love and spent the next seven years together, during which they did not find out the truth about each other.

Sophie acted as Alice’s adoptive mother even though she and James never married. The three of them were a happy family in all but name.

Then three years ago Bruno Perez was released from prison and the life they’d created for themselves came to an abrupt end.

Perez, who was part of a crime family operating in Spain and the UK, set out to punish Sophie because she had refused to provide him with an alibi that would have kept him out of prison. Instead, she saw his conviction as a way to escape an abusive relationship at the hands of a violent control freak.

With the help of his family and various contacts inside the Spanish police, Perez tracked Sophie down to Puerto de Mazarron on Spain’s Costa Calida, where she, James and Alice were living. He turned up there and made threats against Sophie, forcing her to confess to James that she hadn’t been honest about her past.

James forgave her and they decided it would be too dangerous to stay in Spain, so they fled to England and rented a house in Southampton.

However, Perez traced them again after only a few weeks. James was returning home from the town centre when he spotted Perez following him. He decided to confront the man, but first he phoned Sophie and told her to flee the house with Alice and wait for him to call her.

But he never did call because he was stabbed to death in a park. Sophie chose not to tell the police that Perez was the killer because she knew they would never be able to prove it. She also didn’t want to take the chance of losing Alice after the authorities discovered that Sophie wasn’t her real mother.

So she moved with Alice to London, rented a flat in Shoreditch, and worked as a cleaner for three years.

Meanwhile, Anna knew nothing about any of this until just over a month ago when she found out purely by chance that her ex-husband was dead and that their daughter was last seen three years earlier leaving a house in Southampton with a mystery woman …

Chloe paused to wipe the tears from her face with a tissue. Her heart started beating rapidly as though it was about to explode in her chest. She blew her nose into a fresh tissue and turned to the fourth and final page of the article.

The top half contained two photographs – one was of her as a two-year-old and the other was the age progression image that was supposed to show what she looked like now. Even Chloe had to admit that the forensic artist had done a good job. The resemblance was striking.

Underneath the photos the story continued:

It was a twist of fate that ended Detective Anna Tate’s ten-year-long search for her daughter.

She was heading up the investigation into the abduction of nine children from a nursery school in South London and the murder of one of their teachers.

Anna appeared on television news bulletins and among those who saw her was a man named Paul Russell, who was dying of cancer in a hospice.

He got in touch with her just days before he passed away and told her that he used to be a master forger and he had produced the fake passports for Anna’s ex-husband that enabled him to take their daughter to Spain. He also revealed that the pair had moved back to the UK three years ago. He knew because he had been approached to provide them with more fake documents.

Anna hired a private detective who picked up the thread and the mystery started to unravel. Police in Southampton confirmed that a man named James Miller had been murdered in a city centre park three years ago and that he’d been living with a child and a woman who disappeared after he was killed.

Anna then told this story to the Evening Standard newspaper, which ran it over two nights.

Sophie Cameron happened to read it, and that was when she discovered that the man she had known as James Miller had been living a lie and that his ex-wife was still alive.

A heartbroken Sophie realised that the net was closing in and made arrangements to flee the country with Chloe. But Bruno Perez suddenly appeared on the scene again and kidnapped the girl. He took her to one of the warehouses owned by his family, and Anna’s police colleagues traced him there.

Before they could arrest him he took Chloe to the roof and held her hostage while demanding that Sophie come to him.

In an interview with this magazine, Anna described what happened – how Perez held on to Chloe and threatened to jump off with her unless Sophie took her place.

Chloe’s adoptive mother agreed to do so without a moment’s hesitation. She then told Chloe that Perez was the man who had murdered her father and that Detective Anna Tate was her birth mother.

Sophie Cameron then took matters into her own hands. Rather than wait for Perez to pull her over the edge, she pushed him backwards and they both plunged to their deaths.

Chloe broke down then and sobs racked her body as that awful scene was replayed in her head. Tears flowed and she felt the muscles knotting painfully in her stomach.

It was a full minute before she got a grip and managed to stop crying. She inhaled a deep breath and decided to go and clean herself up before Tom arrived.

But as she rose from the sofa a noise outside seized her attention.

She stepped over to the front window and pulled back the curtain. To her horror she saw a group of young men with their faces covered marching along the middle of the road. Some were punching the air with their fists while others were holding up placards. On one of them, Chloe saw the words: Kill all cops.

CHAPTER NINE

The boy was lying on his back on the inflatable mattress with his head resting on a single pillow. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and his lips were red and badly cracked.

He was chained to the brick wall, his wrists shackled by a pair of leather manacles with mini padlocks attached.

There was no way he could have done anything to escape the fire since the chain was only about five feet long.

Gayle Western, the forensic pathologist, stood up and turned to Anna. She spoke through her forensic face mask, her voice tense and clipped.

‘This is beyond barbaric,’ she said. ‘The poor lad didn’t stand a chance.’

‘How long has he been dead?’ Anna asked.

‘Only a matter of hours. And it seems obvious to me that death was due to smoke inhalation and carbon monoxide poisoning. Tell-tale signs include the colour of his skin and the state of his lips. During the post-mortem I expect to find damage to his upper airways and respiratory tract.’

The boy was wearing a blue shirt drenched in water, and grey trousers. Next to him on the floor was an uncovered quilt and a pair of black scuffed shoes, along with several empty plastic water bottles and food wrappings.

Walker drew Anna’s attention to a small polyester holdall between the mattress and the wall.

‘It’s filled with sweets, sandwiches and various drinks,’ he said. ‘It suggests to me that whoever abducted him had planned to keep him here for a while.’

Walker then pointed to something else that Anna hadn’t yet noticed. It was a portable camping toilet with a steel frame and a plastic seat over a disposable bag.

‘Seems like his captor – or captors – thought of everything,’ he said. ‘The bag’s half-filled with urine.’

‘So if the boy has been here since Monday it must have been emptied on a fairly regular basis,’ Anna said. ‘It means that the perp or perps might have been caught on nearby CCTV cameras.’

Walker nodded. ‘We’ve thought of that and I’ve already asked for a trawl to be carried out. But we shouldn’t expect results soon. Most local uniforms are dealing with trouble elsewhere.’

‘Of course they are,’ Anna said.

‘In any case, there aren’t many cameras in the immediate area and some have been vandalised by the rioters.’

Surveillance cameras had proved enormously effective during the 2011 riots and were instrumental in bringing many offenders to justice. It stood to reason that they’d become prime targets during subsequent periods of civil unrest.

Anna knew that it was just one of a number of problems that would in all likelihood hinder her investigation. The sheer scale of what was happening on the streets would swamp the Met’s resource structure, slow down communication lines, and make it difficult for officers to move freely, and safely, across the capital.

‘The boy’s blazer was hanging from a nail over there,’ Walker said, with a flick of his head towards the opposite wall. ‘It’s already been bagged up. There were no personal belongings in the pockets, but his parents have said that he was carrying a mobile phone and a wallet when he went missing. There’s no sign of them or his school rucksack.’

‘Do we know what kind of wallet it is?’

‘Just one of those folded Velcro types that kids like, and it had his name on it. He supposedly carried his front door key around in it along with loose change and some sweets.’

Anna stepped closer to the body and crouched down beside it. As she did so she felt tears push hard against her eyes. She had attended a great many ghastly crime scenes since joining the force, but this was one of the most unusual. An icy chill slid down her back as she took in the marks on his wrists where he’d try to free himself from the cuffs. The sight of his emaciated, tear-stained face caused the heat to rise in her chest.

A wave of fury rattled through her at the thought of how much the lad would have suffered. And not just when the smoke drifted down into the cellar and started robbing him of oxygen.

There seemed little doubt that he had been here since Monday when he disappeared, chained up for four days and nights and terrified beyond belief. The questions surged through Anna’s mind.

Had he spent the nights in total darkness?

Had he been physically or sexually assaulted?

Was this the work of one evil monster or several?

What was the motive?

Was he a victim of human trafficking or had the intention been to seek a ransom from his parents?

Anna stood up and said to Gayle, ‘Can you tell if he’s sustained any injuries to his body?’

Gayle shook her head. ‘His face and hands are unharmed as you can see. I’ve checked beneath his shirt and there are no cuts or bruises on his torso, but I haven’t removed his trousers. I won’t know for sure what he went through until he’s in the lab.’

Anna dragged her eyes back to the boy and tried to bring to mind the photo of Jacob Rossi that she’d seen on the news. But when that failed, she took out her phone and googled his name. In the picture his family had shared with the media Jacob was in his school uniform and grinning at the camera. He had short, dark hair and a thin face with high cheekbones. It struck Anna that he was the image of his famous father.

‘Before we break the news to his parents, I want to talk to whoever has been leading the investigation into his disappearance,’ she said.

‘It’s a DI Joe Benning who’s based over in Bromley,’ Walker told her. ‘Control have already been in touch with him and he’s on his way here now.’

‘Good. In the meantime, we mustn’t allow the press to get wind of the fact that it’s a small boy who died here.’

‘One of the calls DC Sweeny is now making is to the media liaison department,’ Walker said. ‘She’s briefing them on what we’ve found and asking them to ensure the fire brigade keep schtum.’

Anna asked Gayle how quickly she’d be able to perform the post-mortem.

Gayle shrugged. ‘I really can’t say for certain. Everything is up in the air because of the riots. I have no idea how many bodies we’ll have on our hands by tomorrow morning. But I promise I will try and prioritise this one.’

Anna knew that she could depend on Gayle to do her best. The pair had worked cases together for some years, and had become firm friends as well as colleagues. They knew they could count on each other to pull out all the stops when it mattered.

Anna cast her eyes around the cellar and asked Walker how much more work the forensics team needed to carry out.

‘Unfortunately most trace evidence will have been destroyed by the water,’ he said. ‘Everything down here is soaking wet, and they’re concerned that the ceiling is unstable. So the aim is to haul stuff out as quickly as possible after the body has been removed.’

Anna nodded. ‘Then we’d better leave them to it. We need to crack on and inform the parents. After that we have to try to pull together a team and I fear that’s not going to be easy.’

Anna started towards the stairs just as another suited-up figure came hurrying down them. She saw at once that it was a man because he wasn’t wearing a mask or hood.

He was somewhere in his forties with closely cropped brown hair and a pale, gaunt face that was tight with tension.

‘DI Benning,’ he announced to no one in particular as he held up his ID card. ‘I got here as quickly as I could.’

Anna pulled down her mask and introduced herself, but instead of making eye contact with her, Benning stared beyond her at the boy’s body.

‘Please tell me that’s not Jacob Rossi,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid there’s almost no doubt it’s him,’ Anna said. ‘It’s our guess he’s been here since he went missing on Monday.’

Benning got near enough to see for himself that it wasn’t a mistake and his body went rigid.

‘Oh my God this wasn’t supposed to happen,’ he said. ‘I promised his parents that I would bring him home to them.’

Anna’s heart went out to the detective, who was clearly devastated. He had obviously put everything into finding the boy and in doing so had no doubt got close enough to the family to feel their pain.

‘His name tag is on his blazer, which has already been bagged up,’ Anna said. ‘But so far there’s no sign of his phone or wallet.’

Benning shook his head. ‘My gut was telling me all along that I’d find him alive.’

‘And he still would be if a petrol bomb hadn’t been hurled into the building.’

Benning turned away from the body and looked at Anna. Tears had welled up in his eyes and he spoke through gritted teeth.

‘What the fuck am I going to say to his parents? I made them believe that there was hope.’

‘You won’t have to say anything to them,’ Anna said. ‘That will be my job. This is now an MIT investigation.’

Benning shook his head again. ‘I need to stay with it, ma’am. I can’t just step back. Not now. And I’m guessing that with things the way they are you’re going to need all the help you can get.’

Anna nodded. ‘You’re absolutely right on that score, DI Benning. It makes sense for you to be part of the team considering what you already know. I’ll make a call and get it sorted. It shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Thank you.’

Anna reached out and touched his arm. ‘And rest assured that we’ll do everything we can to find the bastard or bastards who put him here. As far as I’m concerned whoever was responsible might not have meant for him to die, but they still deserve to spend the rest of their lives behind bars.’

CHAPTER TEN

Chloe was now back upstairs at the bedroom window and her heart was in her mouth.

Youths wearing hoods and masks were still trooping past the house and she could see now that they were heading towards the council estate at the end of the road where a large mob was gathering. There was lots of shouting and chanting, and in the distance the sound of police sirens.

Not all the youths were on the move. Four of them were standing outside the house across the road where an elderly man was yelling at them over his fence because his wheelie bin had been pushed over and rubbish was strewn across the pavement.

Chloe couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could tell that the youths were laughing at him and making abusive gestures with their fingers.

Suddenly one of them pushed open his gate and charged at him. The old man turned to rush back into his house but he wasn’t quick enough. The youth, who was wearing a grey shell suit and a black scarf around the bottom half of his face, caught up with him before he reached his front door.

He grabbed hold of the old man’s jumper, pulling him to the ground effortlessly, and kicked him several times in the chest and stomach before raising his arms like footballers do when they score a goal.

Chloe swallowed hard and fought the urge to be sick. Her whole body started to shake involuntarily.

She watched the youth walk back onto the pavement and high-five one of his mates, while the old man struggled to get up from the ground.

It was all too much for Chloe and she was about to turn away from the window when something else caught her eye. It was a car and it was pulling up at the kerb in front of the house. She recognised it immediately as Tom’s white Honda and it sent a wave of relief flooding through her.

She hurried down the stairs and got to the front door just as the bell rang. Tom was standing there when she opened it, phone in hand and smartly dressed in dark trousers and a brown leather jacket over a white shirt and tie. He looked as relieved to see her as she was to see him.

As she stood to one side to let him in, he shook his head, and said, ‘We’re not staying here, Chloe. Get your shoes and coat on. I’ve just sent a text to your mum to tell her I’m taking you to my place.’

Chloe was shocked and a frown tugged her eyebrows together.

‘It’s too dangerous here,’ Tom said by way of explanation. ‘The area is filling up with rioters who are bound to cause a lot of damage. It’s best I get you somewhere safe. It’ll be dark soon and Christ only knows what it will be like then.’

Chloe had no problem with that. She was scared now. Terrified in fact.

Her black puffer jacket was hanging up in the hallway and her trainers were under the stairs. It took her less than thirty seconds to slip them on.

‘Leave everything else,’ Tom told her. ‘We need to move.’

Tom took the keys from inside the door and locked up as they left the house.

He held Chloe’s hand and pulled her along the short pathway towards his car. She had to trot to keep up and his grip was so tight it hurt.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘We’ll soon be away from here.’

But Chloe was afraid, more so now that she was outside and able to see along both sides of the street. To her right smoke was rising above the heads of the crowd in front of the estate, which was about a hundred yards away. The shouting and screaming had got louder and she could also hear windows being smashed.

To her left more rioters were heading in their direction towards the flats, and some were pouring out of the grocery shop on the corner, grasping bags and boxes of goods that they had no doubt stolen.

To Chloe it was like a scene from one of those end-of-the world movies where society breaks down and there’s no law and order. It just didn’t make sense to her that so many people could behave so badly.

‘In you get,’ Tom said to her as he let go of her hand and wrenched open the front passenger door of his car. ‘Quick as you can.’

Chloe felt numb with shock as she sat down and Tom slammed the door shut behind her. Her hands were shaking so much that she couldn’t put the seat belt on. She was still fumbling with it as Tom got in behind the wheel.

But before he had even switched on the engine there was an almighty crash and the windscreen shattered into what looked to Chloe like a thousand pieces. Another crash followed and caused the glass to cave in, showering both of them with sharp fragments.

Chloe screamed and Tom swore out loud. In the same instant, Tom’s door was jerked open and hands reached in to seize his right arm. He hadn’t buckled his belt so there was nothing to stop him being pulled from the car.

Chloe carried on screaming and only realised that the door on her side had also been opened when she felt herself being dragged out.

‘She’s just a kid,’ a male voice yelled. ‘Leave her be and let’s give the black cunt a kicking.’

Chloe was dropped onto the pavement where she landed on her right side with a painful thud. She’d stopped screaming, but now she was struggling to breathe as the terror took hold.

Tears impaired her vision, but that didn’t stop her from bearing witness to what was happening. The car was now surrounded by a group of rioters and Tom was involved in a scuffle with three of them in the middle of the road. They surrounded him while throwing punches and insults.

Chloe scrambled to her feet and called out his name. He snapped his head towards her and shouted, ‘Go back into the house, Chloe. Now.’

But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the men closed in and started to pound him with their fists and boots.

Chloe couldn’t just stand there and do nothing while the man her mother loved was badly beaten. So without thinking she ran into the road and screamed at them to leave him alone. But by then others had gathered round and were cheering the attackers on.

No one paid her any attention so she rushed right up to them and tried to pull them off Tom. Surely they wouldn’t hurt a twelve-year-old girl, she told herself.

But she didn’t get far before someone shoved her in the back and she fell face down on the ground. As she lay there her head spun and her senses were battered by all the noise and commotion. She managed after a few seconds to haul herself up but saw straight away that there was nothing she could do to help Tom. Through the chaos of bodies around her she watched as the three men who had beaten him picked him up. They threw him onto the bonnet of his own car and forced his legs through the broken windscreen. That was when Chloe saw that someone was in the driver’s seat.

A moment later the car lurched forward and roared off down the road towards the estate, with Tom lying face down on the bonnet. Dozens of jubilant rioters followed.

Chloe stared after it, scarcely able to breathe, her mind paralysed by fear and dread. Her thoughts were in disarray and despair clawed at her insides.

She decided to ring her mum to tell her what was happening. But when she reached in her pocket, she discovered her phone wasn’t there because she hadn’t brought it with her. It was still in her bedroom.

She stood there frozen to the spot for what seemed like ages. Then her mind suddenly seized on what Tom had told her:

‘Go back into the house, Chloe. Now.’

She forced herself to move and turned back towards the house. But that was when she realised that she wouldn’t be able to get back inside for two reasons.

The first was that Tom had put the keys into his pocket after locking up.

And the second was the fact that two men were standing in their tiny front garden. One was peeing up the wall while the other was daubing something on the front door with bright red spray paint.

As the dauber stepped back to admire his work, Chloe saw what he had written.

POLICE BITCH LIVES HERE

She couldn’t think what else to do now other than to give in to the panic that was spiralling through her.

So she sucked in a breath to stifle the scream that was bursting to get out. Then she started to run, with absolutely no sense of where she was going.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Presenter: ‘This is the BBC news at six o’clock. Police are preparing for another night of extreme violence across London as the rioting continues. A number of buildings have been set on fire and shops and stores are being looted.

‘A police officer in Deptford has been rushed to hospital after a man he was trying to arrest attacked him. Since Tuesday a total of ten officers have been treated for injuries sustained during confrontations with rioters.

‘The main trouble spots right now are Clapham, Peckham, Vauxhall and Tottenham, where mobs of youths are on the rampage. Clashes between rival gangs and different ethnic groups are also being reported. The Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Gary Trimble, has announced that officers are being drafted into London from other constabularies.’

Commissioner: ‘The situation we’re facing in the capital is a serious one, and I urge the public to steer clear of areas where violence has broken out.

‘More than fifty people have been hurt so far and the number of arrests is into the hundreds. I want to impress on those taking part in the rioting that they will not escape justice.’

Presenter: ‘But as the Commissioner was issuing that statement angry mobs were congregating outside several police stations in South London. Missiles have been thrown at windows and police patrol cars. I’ll pass over to Brian Cohen for a detailed roundup of what’s been happening …’

CHAPTER TWELVE

The first thing the detectives did when they stepped out of the building was to take off their forensic suits.

Anna then fished a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and offered them round. Walker took one but Benning said he wasn’t a smoker and popped a mint in his mouth instead.

It was almost dark now and the temperature had dropped significantly. The street in front of the pub was quiet, but sirens continued to scream across the city.

Anna dragged on the fag and tried to push the image of the boy in the cellar out of her mind. But it was impossible.

She needed to focus on the mystery of why he’d been put there and by whom. Solving it presented a significant challenge, though, because the crime scene had been seriously contaminated, and it was becoming clear that she would be working with fewer people than usual.

‘I was about to drop in on Jacob’s parents and update them on progress – or rather the lack of it – when central control contacted me,’ Benning said, his voice laden with emotion. ‘All the way here I prayed that it wouldn’t be him. I still can’t believe it.’

‘How have they been coping?’ Anna asked.

‘With difficulty, as I’m sure you can appreciate. Jacob is – or was – an only child. The couple doted on him.’

‘Did they have any idea what might have happened to him?’

‘None at all. He was a good kid by all accounts. He’d never been in trouble or gone missing before.’

Anna looked at her watch. It was after six already.

‘I’ll head to Bromley now to break the news,’ she said. ‘Any chance that you can come too so that you can brief me on the way?’

‘Of course.’ Benning pointed towards the road. ‘I got a lift here from a colleague. She’s waiting outside. We can go in her car or yours.’

‘We’ll go in mine. I don’t want to leave it here.’

The three of them crossed the pub forecourt to the entrance where DC Sweeny was waiting. Beyond it a few of the neighbours had gathered to see what was going on, while another group had started cleaning up the debris on the street left by the rioters.

Anna introduced Benning to Sweeny and the DC told them what she’d been doing.

‘I’ve talked to media liaison and they’ve agreed not to release details until we give the go-ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ve also contacted the estate agents who are responsible for the building. The manager, a Mr Bob Turner, said they sent someone to inspect it two weeks ago. The back doors were all locked and the windows boarded up apparently. They were due to revisit in another week. I’ve asked him to provide us with a list of all the people who have access to the place.’

‘And who owns it?’ Walker asked.

‘A property developer bought it off the brewery eighteen months ago,’ Sweeny said. ‘But they haven’t been able to shift it, partly because of problems with planning permission. It was last viewed by a potential buyer three months ago.’

‘It’s probably safe to assume that whoever abducted Jacob had already made plans to bring him here,’ Anna said. ‘They would have known the building was empty and must have come here before Monday to check it out. A pub cellar was the perfect place to hide him. I suspect he was warned not to make a noise, but even if he’d screamed and shouted I doubt very much that he would have been heard.’

‘So the perp could be someone who lives or works around here,’ Walker said. ‘Someone who’s familiar with the building and was able to slip in and out unnoticed. I reckon the inflatable mattress and provisions were placed in the cellar before the boy arrived.’

‘That’s why we need to secure CCTV footage and carry out a door-to-door,’ Anna said. ‘Surely something will turn up.’

She took out her phone to call DCS Nash so that she could arrange for DI Benning to be seconded to the investigation. As the screen lit up she saw that she had a text message from Tom, which had been sent about ten minutes ago.

FYI I’ve picked Chloe up and am taking her to my place. It’s all kicking off in Vauxhall so I want to make sure that she’s out of harm’s way.

Anna immediately speed-dialled Tom’s number, but when there was no answer, she tapped out a reply to his message.

Bless you, hon. I knew I could count on you to watch out for her. Keep her safe for me. We’ll talk later.

‘Is there a problem?’ Walker asked her.

‘Thankfully, no,’ she said. ‘Tom just let me know that because of the disturbances in Vauxhall he’s taken my daughter to his flat in Nine Elms. It means I won’t have to worry about her if I’m working through the night, which I assume I will be.’

Anna then phoned Nash and updated him. He agreed with her that it would be a good idea to keep Benning on board and said he would sort it.

The boss had already been told that the dead boy had been identified as the son of celebrity Mark Rossi and he pointed out, unnecessarily, that it would spark a media frenzy even if the riots continued to dominate the headlines.

‘So what’s the situation with my team?’ she asked him. ‘How many officers will be working with me on this?’

‘You’ll have to make do with just a handful to start with, Anna. You’ve got Walker and Sweeny, and at least four other detectives are still here at headquarters waiting for instructions, along with a few admin staff. The rest have been assigned elsewhere. We’re currently dealing with a shooting in Lewisham, a stabbing in Bermondsey, a hostage situation in Mitcham, and lootings galore. Plus, we’re trying to disperse a mob of about a hundred lunatics who are gathered in front of our building slagging off the police.’

‘I’ve been told there’s trouble in Vauxhall as well,’ Anna said.

‘That’s correct. The Marwell Estate, which I know is close to where you live. There are clashes between black and white youths. Two rival gangs are using the riots as an excuse to tear into each other.’

The Marwell Estate had once been a smart and respectable place to live. But in recent years it had been tainted by drug dealing, prostitution and racial tensions.

Anna told Nash that she was now planning to go and see Jacob Rossi’s parents at their home in Bromley.

‘While I do that DI Walker and DC Sweeny will stay here in Camberwell and see what they can dig up from neighbours and CCTV,’ she said. ‘They’ll also feed through some tasks to the lads back at base. I’ll aim to get everyone together for a team briefing later.’

‘What about forensics?’ Nash asked.

‘The team are in the building as we speak and the stuff they recover will be rushed back to the lab. But it’s pretty messy down in the cellar so I’m not sure they’ll come up with much that’s useful.’

‘And the boy’s body?’

‘Gayle Western is on hand and will arrange for it to be transported to the mortuary,’ Anna said.

‘Well at least you’re on top of things. That’s good.’

‘Will you be hanging around, sir?’

‘The Commissioner has just summoned me to a crisis meeting of senior officers at the Yard,’ Nash said. ‘But call me if you need to and be careful out there. We’re all bracing ourselves for a hellish night.’

The others had heard what Anna said to Nash so there was no need for her to repeat it. She told Walker and Sweeny to do the best they could.

‘And before it gets dark can one of you take photos of the outside of the building and the surrounding properties?’ she said. ‘I haven’t got time to look around so it will be useful to have some snaps for the evidence board.’

‘Consider it done,’ Walker said. ‘We should also put this place under surveillance since those responsible for taking the boy might be planning to come back.’

Anna nodded. ‘That’s a good point, Max. After forensics have finished up it’ll be deserted again. Can you sort that out as well? Someone sitting in a car or watching from one of those houses across the street should do the trick.’

Anna then turned to DI Benning, who was staring back at the pub with his jaw tightly clenched and his eyes intent under a jutting brow.

She could tell that he was in a state of complete shock, and she briefly considered telling him to go home. But she thought better of it, knowing she needed him to pass on everything he had learned about Jacob Rossi and his family since the boy’s disappearance.

‘It’s time for you and me to go to Bromley,’ she said, and her words seemed to snap the man out of his reverie. ‘I don’t want the news to leak before we’ve spoken to Jacob’s mum and dad.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sheer terror compelled Chloe to keep on moving. She was walking now because she physically couldn’t run any more; she’d already fallen over twice, her breath was coming in ragged gasps and there was a sharp burning sensation in her chest. At the same time her head was filled with strident voices that were screaming at her to do different things.

Find a police officer and tell him or her what has happened to Tom.

Knock on someone’s door and get whoever answers to phone your mum.

Don’t forget what you’ve been told so many times – which is never to stop and speak to a stranger in the street because they can’t be trusted and they might hurt you.

And the streets were swarming with strangers, mostly angry young men who were making a lot of noise and causing a lot of damage.

She’d searched desperately for Tom as she’d walked past the estate where the crowd of faceless rioters were brawling with each other. But there had been no sign of him or his car.

It didn’t mean that he wasn’t still alive, she kept telling herself. They could have driven him down one of the side streets, or onto the estate itself. Or perhaps he’d regained consciousness and had managed to run away from the men who had taken him. Oh God, she hoped so.

The estate was behind her now and she was on a street lined on both sides with small shops. Some of them were being targeted by the rioters who were smashing windows and kicking at doors. A clothing store was on fire and a shop selling electrical goods was being looted. Burglar alarms were going off and there was smoke everywhere. The noise was deafening, and there were no police around to restore order.

Chloe wished she’d remembered her phone because she was lost without it. It meant she couldn’t call her mum to ask her what she should do. As it was, she had no idea how to respond to what was happening. It was far worse than the nightmares she’d been having in which that horrible man, Bruno Perez, had risen from the dead so that he could kidnap her again. At least those weren’t real and she always woke to find that she was safely tucked up in her bed.

But this wasn’t a nightmare. It was real and she was scared and helpless and lost.

She didn’t know her way around this part of London. Nothing was familiar to her and everything was strange and threatening. There were so many people, but no friendly faces amongst them, no one around who looked as if they might be able to help her. She was alone, confused, gripped by a raging panic that had seized control of her legs and was propelling her forward. But to where?

She had no idea where she was going. She needed someone to tell her, someone to grasp her by the hand and assure her that everything was going to be all right before leading her to a place of safety.

She needed her mum.

The flashing blue lights of a police car appeared as if out of nowhere, stopping Chloe dead in her tracks.

The vehicle screeched to a halt in the middle of the road junction that was just up ahead. The sight of it lifted her spirits, but only for a fraction of a second because that was how long it took for the rioters to turn their attention to it.

The police car was bombarded with missiles, including bottles that smashed against the shiny bodywork. It started to back up but collided with a van that had stopped behind it.

As the rioters rushed forward, two police officers leapt out of the car and sprinted towards what looked like a small park beyond the shops.

Chloe decided that her best option was to follow them, but as she stepped off the kerb into the road she failed to check if it was safe to do so.

It wasn’t.

A motorcyclist tore past at that very moment and she heard him scream at her to get out of the way. At the same time there was a loud squeal of tyres on the tarmac as the rider swerved dramatically in a bid to avoid hitting her. But Chloe didn’t react quickly enough.

The nearside saddlebag struck the side of her body and the impact sent her flying back onto the pavement.

Her head struck the concrete first and an explosion of pain pulsed through her entire body.

It was the last thing she was aware of before a huge black hole opened up and she was sucked into it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

On a normal day the eight-mile journey from Camberwell to Bromley would have been fairly straightforward, even in rush hour. But this day was anything but normal and the riots were causing traffic chaos.

Diversions were in place, main roads blocked, and warnings were being issued over the radio to avoid certain areas.

Anna and Benning got stuck in a jam on Denmark Hill within minutes of leaving the crime scene.

‘This shit has been brewing for ages,’ Benning said. ‘We should have been prepared for it. There were enough bloody warning signs. The gangs, the stabbings, the growing contempt for the law among young people. But no. The powers-that-be thought it would be a good idea to cut police numbers and take a softy softly approach to criminals. Utter madness.’

They were the first words he’d spoken to her since getting into the car, having been on the phone to his superior officer. Anna couldn’t help but agree with him. It was hard to believe that the capital, and indeed the whole country, had been so ill-prepared for public unrest on this scale, given what had been happening in other parts of Europe, including France with the costly Yellow Vest protests.

‘It’s already obvious that these riots are much worse than those of 2011,’ he said. ‘And they’re still gathering momentum. Last night they were more widespread and violent than the night before, and I guarantee that tonight will be even worse.’

Anna’s thoughts turned to Chloe and she wondered how she and Tom were getting on. Her daughter had never been to Tom’s flat so the whole experience of being taken there for her own safety must surely have unsettled her.

But Anna was confident that Chloe was being well looked after, and she was so grateful to her boyfriend for seizing control of the situation. Not having to worry about Chloe meant she could concentrate on the job in hand. A job that was going to be difficult, demanding and emotionally challenging.

‘We can’t allow the riots to sidetrack us, DI Benning,’ Anna said. ‘We have to focus on the case. So I’d like you to start telling me what you’ve unearthed during your missing person’s investigation.’

Anna took her eyes off the road for a second to look at him. Sweat beaded his top lip and she could tell that the guilt would be eating away at his insides. He’d had four days and nights to find Jacob Rossi and he’d failed, even though the boy had been alive the whole time. That was a lot for any detective to handle.

‘You can’t blame yourself for what’s happened,’ she told him. ‘You did your best. But as we now know this is an unusual case. Not a run-of-the-mill abduction. There’s something more than a little strange about it.’

He nodded. ‘That’s what the skipper just said. But it doesn’t make me feel any better. And the rest of the team are going to be just as devastated when they find out.’

‘How many officers have you had working on it?’

‘Well on Monday night and Tuesday there were twenty of us, including uniforms and the liaison officer assigned to the family. But then it fell back to five on Wednesday because of the riots. It’s been a struggle since then.’

Anna felt a chill flush through her body. It was awful to think that the rioting that had resulted in Jacob Rossi’s death had also had such a serious impact on the investigation into his abduction.

‘So start from the beginning,’ Anna said. ‘I was on leave until a couple of hours ago so all I know about the case is what I saw on the news. And that includes the appeal made by Jacob’s father.’

‘OK,’ Benning said, and Anna felt his eyes on her. ‘But let me say at the outset that I’m aware of your own personal story, ma’am, as is everyone else in the Met. So I know that you can appreciate more than most what the boy’s parents have been going through, and that will be a great help.’

Anna bit down on the inside of her cheek and felt her stomach tighten.

‘That’s true up to a point,’ she said. ‘But I was lucky in that I eventually got my daughter back. The Rossis will never see their son again.’

Benning explained that Mark Rossi made the 999 call to report his son missing at six p.m. on Monday. It was passed on to Bromley CID and prompted an immediate response.

‘I was the only one in the office at the time so the case fell to me,’ Benning said. ‘I believe the boy was abducted shortly after he left his school – the local private prep school – to walk home at about three-thirty. At three-fifty his mobile phone stopped transmitting a signal. There was a delay in raising the alarm because both his parents were out when he was due to arrive home, and they only realised something was wrong when they discovered he wasn’t there and that his phone was switched off. They spoke to the school and several of his friends and there was nothing to suggest he hadn’t headed straight home.’

‘Did he usually walk home alone?’ Anna asked.

Benning nodded. ‘Since he turned ten a few months ago. His parents are now cursing themselves for letting him.’

Anna was well aware that there was no legal age for when a child could walk to and from school alone. In fact she’d read somewhere that ten was the average age at which most British parents felt it safe for their offspring to do so.

‘And how often did the boy let himself into the house?’ she said.

‘A couple of times a week apparently. His dad works all kinds of hours on his programmes and his mum is a solicitor who’s based in the town centre. The school is only half a mile from their house so it didn’t take Jacob long to walk there and back, but only during daylight. He wasn’t allowed to do it in the dark – then, he would either be picked up by one of his parents or get a lift from a friend’s mum or dad. Unfortunately the route he usually took includes a short stretch with fields on one side and woods on the other. And the whole area is a bit of a CCTV black spot, so vehicles can pass through it without being picked up at either end. Consequently, we had no joy with vehicle identification.’

‘So the abductor was probably aware of the situation with cameras.’

‘That’s the assumption. It comes back to the whole thing being carefully planned from the snatch to the choice of the pub cellar as a sort of holding cell. We’re looking for someone who put a great deal of thought into this.’

‘And you’ve found nothing to suggest what the motive could be?’

He shrugged. ‘There are the obvious conclusions to draw. He was the victim of a sexual predator or a psycho who wanted to kill him. Or it was someone who intended to ask for a ransom from his well-off family. But so far there’s been no contact or demand.’

‘It could also be someone who has a serious grudge against the parents and wants them to suffer.’

‘That occurred to me too. Mark Rossi might well be a popular TV entertainer with the viewing public, but the nature of his job as an entertainer means that there are plenty of people out there who aren’t so fond of him. He’s the target of a fair amount of online abuse. Plus, he’s made a few enemies of people who used to work with him at a production company that went bust.’

‘That sounds interesting.’

‘It was run by his stepfather, Isaac Rossi, and employed twelve permanent staff. Most of them have struggled to find work since while Mark Rossi’s career has continued to blossom.’

‘Have you talked to them?’

‘Only one of them. He’s a former producer named Gavin Pope, who lives in Richmond. He recently confronted Rossi in front of everyone at a TV industry event and accused him of not doing enough to help his former colleagues.’

‘Is he in the frame?’

Benning shrugged. ‘He claims he knows nothing about the abduction but doesn’t have a cast-iron alibi. He says he spent all Monday afternoon at home by himself and was joined in the evening by his wife.’

‘Is he the only suspect?’

‘There’s one other,’ Benning said. ‘A bloke named Neville Quinlan who was seen hanging around outside the school three days before the abduction. He’s on the sex offenders’ register having abused two boys some years ago. He lives a few streets away from the school but he claims he was out walking on Monday afternoon and didn’t go past the school. He reckons he can’t recall which route he took, which sounds dodgy to say the least.’

‘We’ll need to interview both of them again,’ Anna said.

‘That goes without saying.’

Anna sucked on her lower lip in concentration for a few beats, her mind racing with questions. ‘Well it’s clear we have two strands to this investigation and two perpetrators. The first is the kidnapping and whoever carried it out. The second is the fire and whoever started it.’

She paused there to listen to a newsflash on the radio. There were two breaking stories relating to the riots.

A security guard had been stabbed while confronting a gang of youths who were looting a store in Brixton. And three children under ten were in hospital with serious burns after flames tore through a parade of shops in Lewisham, trapping families in the flats above.

‘It’s not even seven o’clock yet,’ Anna said. ‘I hate to think what the death and injury toll will be before this night is over.’

The thought made her catch her breath and it continued to play on her mind as they headed towards Bromley to deliver the news that no parent should ever have to hear to Mr and Mrs Rossi.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In her dream, Chloe was reliving one of the saddest occasions of her young life – the funeral two weeks ago of her adoptive mother, Sophie Cameron.

It had been the first time Chloe had gone inside a crematorium and it all proved too much for her. Half way through the short service she became so tearful that Anna had to take her outside.

It was her own fault for insisting on going despite the advice of the child counsellor who had told her it would be best if she stayed away.

But she’d had to go because she’d needed to say goodbye to the woman who had nurtured her from the age of two.

The woman who had changed her nappies and potty-trained her.

The woman who had picked her up at the end of her first day at school.

The woman who had taught her how to read.

The woman who had made the ultimate sacrifice in order to save her life by jumping from the roof of that warehouse.

In the crematorium garden Anna held her in her arms and tried to console her. It felt strange but comforting.

Eventually she stopped crying and when the service was over the only other two people who had attended joined them – Sophie’s closest friend Lisa, and Jane, the sister Sophie hadn’t seen in years.

They both spoke fondly of Sophie and said how much she had loved Chloe. And they both made a point of saying that Chloe should be thankful that her birth mother, Anna, had never given up searching for her.

There were more tears when Sophie’s ashes were scattered over one of the flower beds in the garden. And Chloe was awestruck when the clouds above parted suddenly and a shaft of sunlight spread warmth over her adoptive mother’s remains.

*

A noise wrenched her back to consciousness. One moment she was surrounded by the serenity of the crematorium garden, the next her senses were being pummelled by a harsh mix of thunderous sounds.

When she opened her eyes, she was staring up at a face she didn’t recognise. It belonged to a young black woman wearing a hooded parka and a thick woollen scarf around her neck.

The woman was leaning over her, and when she saw that Chloe was awake, she smiled and turned her head towards someone who was standing to one side of her.

‘Christ almighty, I thought she was dead,’ the woman shouted. ‘But she’s alive.’

‘Well now you know she’s all right we should get going,’ replied a male voice.

‘But we can’t leave her here. She’s just a kid.’

‘Makes no difference. She’s not our problem. We need to stick with the others. If we don’t, we’ll end up like her or get ourselves arrested.’

The woman turned back to Chloe and said, ‘Where are your parents, love?’

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat and she started to sob instead.

The woman stroked her cheek with a gloved hand and leaned closer to make herself heard above the racket around them.

‘I would call for an ambulance but it’d be a waste of time because it won’t turn up,’ she said. ‘I can phone your mum and dad for you, though. Have you got their number?’

Chloe shook her head, but it was so painful it made her cry out.

‘You’ve got a nasty bump on your forehead,’ the woman told her. ‘I saw what happened with the motorbike so I reckon you’re lucky you weren’t more seriously hurt. The bastard rode off without stopping.’

Chloe took a deep breath and managed to find her voice, which was weak and barely discernible even to her own ears.

‘How long have I been …’

‘Only about a minute. We were close by when it happened. I came straight over.’

‘I’m lost and I don’t know where my mum is,’ Chloe said.

‘You poor thing. What’s your name?’

‘Alice.’

‘Well mine is—’

Before she could finish the sentence the man who was with the woman suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet.

‘Stop pissing about, babe,’ he snapped. ‘You either come with me now or I’m leaving you here.’

The woman looked down at Chloe with a pitying expression on her face, and said, ‘You’ll be OK. Just get to your feet and move away from this street to a safer place. Then find someone who can help you. I would if I could, but I have to go. I’m really sorry. Good luck, Alice. And take care of yourself.’

The woman disappeared, leaving Chloe lying on the pavement, her lungs clutching for air, her head spinning.

She made herself ignore the pain in her head and struggled to get up. As she did so her muscles burned with the effort and tears streamed down her cheeks.

As soon as she was on her feet, she felt giddy and sick, and her eyes drifted in and out of focus. But once she regained her equilibrium, she was able to start to take in what was going on around her.

And it was enough to cause the fear to swell up inside her like a big inflated balloon.

There seemed to be even more angry people on the street, and many of them were standing around the abandoned police car that was now on fire. Others were smashing their way into shops to steal things and anyone who tried to stop them was being threatened or attacked.

Chloe felt invisible because nobody was paying her any attention. They were all too busy running riot to even notice her. Or if they did see her, they didn’t care that she was so obviously in desperate need of help.

It meant she would have to look after herself, first by getting away from the violence and then by trying to contact her mum.

As she started walking again, she realised that lights were coming on because it was getting dark. It made her heart pound even faster and ignited a fire in her belly. She was sure now that she was going to die out here. What was happening was more scary than any story she had ever heard and any film she had ever seen. And it was just as frightening as that day when she left the flat and Bruno Perez grabbed her and pulled her into his van.

She passed a man who was smashing the windows of a bus shelter. Then two other men who were openly brandishing long, lethal-looking knives.

Further on she came across a homeless man lying in a doorway, his face and blanket splattered with blood.

Then a woman rushed past her pushing a shopping trolley with a large TV in it.

Chloe did not see any more police – it was as though the area had been left to the mercy of the rioters. She’d seen the violence on the television over the past couple of days, but it hadn’t seemed so bad then. She’d been detached from it. Watching from a distance. Secure in the knowledge that it was happening to other people and not to her. But now she was caught up in it and she was petrified beyond belief.

She came to a corner where looters were ransacking a convenience store. Through the broken windows she saw young men and women feverishly clearing the shelves.

The street to the right looked to be deserted, but it led nowhere. There was a large open car park on one side of the road and several low, windowless buildings on the other. They looked similar to the factories that were situated close to the flat she used to share with Sophie in Shoreditch. At the far end of the street was a high wall in front of a partially demolished building.

Chloe turned into the street without hesitation and headed for the car park, which was empty and had very little lighting. She thought it would be a fairly safe place to hide while she worked out what to do next.

But before entering the car park, she glanced back over her shoulder – and was just in time to spot something that caused her heart to lurch in her chest. Two men wearing hooded jackets were now standing on the pavement outside the convenience store on the corner.

As Chloe watched, one of them lifted a finger and pointed directly at her. She saw his lips move, but wasn’t close enough to make out what he was saying. But her stomach flipped when she saw his companion break out in a slow, leering grin.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It turned out to be a relatively uneventful journey to Bromley for Anna and DI Benning. They drove south through Dulwich, Forest Hill and Beckenham. Thankfully the riots hadn’t yet spread to those areas. But traffic remained heavy and it took them close on an hour to get there.

Benning had phoned ahead to let the family liaison officer know that they were coming. He told her only that they had an update, not that Jacob’s body had been found.

Mark and Clare Rossi lived in a large detached house close to a park. They’d moved in only ten months ago, which was when Jacob had been enrolled in the private prep school nearby.

Anna felt weighed down by dread as she drew the car to a halt on the driveway. No matter how many times she delivered news of a loved one’s death, it never got any easier.

The FLO answered the door to them. She was a tall, thin woman and she introduced herself to Anna as Phillipa Moore.

‘Jacob’s parents are waiting for you in the living room,’ she said. ‘You should know that they’re fearing the worst because I haven’t been able to tell them what you’ve got to say.’

‘Well it’s not good news, I’m afraid,’ Anna said.

Moore nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’

On the inside the house was modern and spacious, with light-coloured walls and carpets. One of the first things to catch Anna’s eye was a framed photo of Jacob on a table in the hallway. He was wearing a football kit and giving a thumbs-up to the camera.

His parents were sitting next to each other on a long white sofa in the living room. They were facing a wall-mounted TV that had been muted while tuned to a news programme showing footage of the riots. Another white sofa was positioned at an angle to it and behind that patio doors provided access to the rear garden.

Mark Rossi stood up as Anna and Benning entered the room. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and jeans, and his face was pale and unshaven. He seemed a shadow of the man she had seen so many times on the television. Anna knew he was in his mid-forties but he looked much older here in front of her, which was understandable in the circumstances.

He switched his gaze between the two detectives and panic flashed across his features.

‘So what’s happened?’ he said, anxiety rattling in his voice. ‘Have you got news about Jacob?’

‘Can I suggest that you sit back down, Mr Rossi, and I’ll explain everything?’ Anna said. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Tate and I’m now leading this investigation.’

Rossi opened his mouth to reply but his wife beat him to it.

‘Does it mean you’ve found our boy?’ she said, her voice wavering with emotion. ‘Is that it?’

Mrs Rossi spoke while remaining seated, her back ramrod stiff, her hands tightly balled together in her lap.

She was a slight woman about the same age as her husband, with short curly blonde hair and a narrow face. Her eyes were glassy with shock and exhaustion, and Anna wondered how much sleep, if any, she’d had since Monday night.

After an awkward pause, Anna cleared her throat and bit down on her bottom lip. There was no easy way to say what she needed to say so she decided just to come right out with it.

‘I’m really sorry to have to tell you both that your son is no longer alive. His body was found a few hours ago. We got here as quickly as we could to inform you.’

Clare let out a shrill cry of anguish and dropped her face into her hands. Her husband screwed up his face and said, ‘Are you sure it’s him? Please tell me it could be a mistake.’

Anna shook her head. ‘You’ll be asked to make a formal identification, Mr Rossi, but I can assure you that it isn’t a mistake. If there was any doubt I would tell you. The boy who’s been found is definitely your son. A blazer with his name in it was near to his body.’

Rossi started crying then, great wet sobs racking his body. He dropped back onto the sofa and put an arm around his wife.

Their suffering was palpable, and Anna knew it would intensify after she told them how and where Jacob had died.

The FLO hurriedly left the room, saying she was going to put the kettle on, and Anna was certain she saw tears in the woman’s eyes.

It didn’t surprise her, though, because she felt like crying herself, and if she’d been alone she probably would have.

Instead, she sat down on the other sofa and Benning sat next to her. His breath sounded laboured suddenly and his hands shook. It was as though the guilt he felt had reared up to consume him. Anna had seen it before with other detectives who believed they had badly let down victims of crime. One thing they all had in common was that they always found it hard, or in some cases impossible, to forgive themselves.

It took Rossi almost a full minute to regain control of his emotions. As his wife continued to sob into her hands, he wiped his tears with his sleeve and looked at Anna. Red veins laced the whites of his eyes and the lines across his forehead were more pronounced.

‘We need to know what happened,’ he said. ‘Was Jacob in an accident? Did someone hurt him?’

An image of their son chained up by his wrists in the cellar resurfaced in Anna’s mind, sending an icy flush through her veins.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat, and said, ‘It saddens me to have to tell you this, Mr Rossi, but your son died this afternoon from smoke inhalation while trapped inside a derelict building that was set on fire by rioters. Whoever was responsible for the fire almost certainly wouldn’t have known he was inside.’

Clare Rossi’s head shot up and the shock was evident in her expression.

‘Are you saying that our son was alive all this time?’ she sobbed.

Anna nodded. ‘He was indeed, Mrs Rossi.’

The woman turned her gaze on Benning and her features hardened.

‘So why the hell didn’t you find him? You told us that you would. You promised.’

‘There’s a reason that DI Benning’s team were unable to locate Jacob,’ Anna said. ‘The person or persons who abducted your son went to great lengths to ensure he wouldn’t be found.’

Clare frowned. ‘What do you mean? Where has he been since Monday?’

There were times when Anna wished she hadn’t followed in her late father’s footsteps and become a copper. And this was one of them.

She pushed back her shoulders, drew in a breath, and said, ‘The building Jacob was found in is in Camberwell and it used to be a pub. It’s been derelict for some years. It appears that Jacob was taken straight there after he was abducted on his way home from school. And he remained there until today. If it wasn’t for the riots he would probably still be alive.’

‘But who would do such a thing?’ Rossi said. ‘And why didn’t anyone know he was there? Surely someone would have seen or heard him crying out.’

‘We have no idea at this stage why he was taken there,’ Anna told them. ‘However, we do know why nobody came across him and why he couldn’t escape. But you really need to brace yourselves for what I’m about to …’

‘Oh, just get on with it, Detective,’ Rossi cut in. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing else you can say that will make us feel any worse than we do already.’

Anna knew that he was wrong on that score, but she also knew that they had a right to know the full story. And better they heard it from her before it was in the public domain.

She left it a beat and then spoke in a low, sympathetic voice. ‘I’m afraid your son was being held in the pub cellar. And he was chained to a wall. When the building went up in flames the smoke deprived him of oxygen. His body was discovered by fire officers after they put the blaze out and went into the building.’

The couple reacted in different ways to the gruesome revelation. Rossi lifted his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and screamed something unintelligible at the ceiling.

But his wife made not the slightest sound as her eyes rolled upwards in their sockets and she slumped forward onto the floor where she promptly passed out.

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