Kitabı oku: «The Mother»
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 AVON 2017
Copyright © Jaime Raven 2017
Cover layout design © debbieclementdesign.com 2017
Cover photographs © Getty
Jaime Raven asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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: 9780008253462
Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008253479
Version: 2020-01-22
Dedication
This one is dedicated to my agent Leslie Gardner, whose help and guidance is very much appreciated
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
Also by Jaime Raven
About the Publisher
1
Sarah
I was attending the morning briefing when I received the text message that was going to bring my world crashing down.
I heard the ping as it arrived on my phone, but I decided it would be impolite to check it straight away because DCI Dave Brennan was in full flight. He wanted us to know that there was a lot going on and that we should prepare ourselves for a busy week ahead.
‘As you all know there was a near-fatal stabbing last night in Peckham,’ he said. ‘And in the early hours of this morning a warehouse was turned over in Camberwell. A security guard was badly beaten and goods worth a hundred grand were stolen. All this on top of a caseload that already has us stretched to the limit.’
It wasn’t such an unusual start to a Monday morning, certainly not in this part of South London, which had been a crime hotspot long before I joined the CID team. That was four years ago, and in that time I’d come to realise that the job was never going to get any easier.
London’s population was growing at an alarming rate and so were the number of criminal gangs. Yet at the same time cutbacks in manpower and resources were continuing to put pressure on the force. We were trying to control things from a position of weakness, and reckless politicians were content to let it happen.
‘I’ve managed to beef up the overtime budget,’ Brennan said. ‘That means you should all expect to work longer hours, at least until we get a handle on things. And it goes without saying that I’ll be turning down any requests for time off. So don’t even think about booking any last-minute holidays.’
Chance would be a fine thing, I thought. I hadn’t had a holiday since before Molly was born, when Adam and I spent a week in Spain. The aim of that sojourn had been to try to get our marriage back on track. But it had been a total disaster. We ended up screaming at each other during a drinking session on our hotel balcony and that was when he confessed to an affair and I told him that I wanted a divorce. A month later I discovered I was pregnant with his child and six months later we were both single again.
‘I want you to assist on the stabbing, DI Mason,’ Brennan said, looking at me with those bulbous eyes of his. ‘The victim’s undergone surgery on a punctured lung at King’s College Hospital. He should be about ready to make a statement, so let’s find out what he remembers.’
‘I’ll get right on it, guv,’ I said.
Brennan was a tall, gruff Irishman who commanded the loyalty and respect of his team. He was in his mid-fifties, and I was one of his biggest fans, partly because he’d seen fit to promote me to detective inspector on my return from maternity leave. It was something I’d welcomed at the time, but the extra work and responsibility often conflicted with my role as a single mother.
More than once I’d considered switching to a desk job with regular hours and less stress. But I hadn’t, mainly because I loved being a front-line copper despite the drawbacks.
‘There’s something else you all need to be aware of,’ Brennan was saying. ‘It’s about my forthcoming retirement. For reasons I won’t go into, I’ve had to bring it forward. So now I’ll be bowing out at the end of September. That’s four months from now.’
This didn’t come as a great surprise to anyone. We all knew that Brennan’s wife was suffering from early onset dementia and that she needed him to look after her. Nevertheless, it prompted a strong reaction.
‘We’ll miss you, boss,’ one detective said.
‘Hope we’ll all get invites to the leaving bash,’ said another.
Everyone else either rushed towards the front of the room to shake Brennan’s hand or made a sound to express their disappointment.
I decided to hold back so that I could take the opportunity to see who had sent me a text message, just in case it was important. There were two messages in the inbox. The first had come in half an hour ago and I hadn’t noticed. It was nothing important, just notification of my latest electricity bill.
But the second message made me frown. It was from a private number and there was a photograph attached. The photograph showed my Molly sitting on a sofa with a cuddly toy on her lap that I hadn’t seen before.
The text below it was short and sweet and it caused my stomach to twist in an anxious knot.
Thought you might like to see your daughter settling into her new home.
The message totally threw me.
As usual, my fifteen-month-old daughter was supposed to be spending the day with her grandparents. But the picture had not been taken at their house in Streatham.
The white leather sofa that Molly was sitting on was unfamiliar to me. And so too was the room she was in. I was absolutely certain that I’d never set foot in it before. I didn’t recognise the red cushions either side of Molly, or the framed print on the wall behind her. It looked like a sailboat on water.
I used my finger and thumb to expand the image and saw what appeared to be a startled look on Molly’s face. She was staring directly into the camera, her large brown eyes wide as saucers.
I didn’t doubt that the picture had been taken this morning. She was wearing the same pale green dress she’d had on when I’d dropped her off at my parents’ house before coming to the office. And her shiny fair hair was just as it had been then, swept away from her face and held in place at the back with a grip, the fringe hanging down across her forehead.
Was this someone’s idea of a joke? I wondered. And if so who? It certainly wouldn’t be my parents, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d think it was funny.
Panic churned in my belly as I looked again at the photograph and thought back to what Mum had said about her plans for the day. She was going to take Molly to the park this morning because the weather was set to be warm and sunny. My father was spending a few hours at his allotment and they were going to meet up later and have lunch together in a pub garden.
I looked at my watch. It was just after ten-fifteen, about the time I would have expected Molly to be enjoying herself on the park swings and slide and roundabout. But the photo suggested she was somewhere else.
Thought you might like to see your daughter settling into her new home.
What the hell did that mean? Molly’s home was in Dulwich where she lived with me. So why had she been photographed sitting in what appeared to be a stranger’s house?
I tapped out a short reply to the message – Who are you? – but three seconds after I sent it I got a message back: The recipient you’re sending to has chosen not to receive messages.
I needed to halt the rising sense of alarm so I speed-dialled my mother’s mobile number. But after a couple of rings it went to voicemail. I then rang my parents’ landline. My heart leapt when no one answered.
I would have called my father next but he didn’t have a phone of his own. He’d always insisted that he didn’t need one.
The ball of anxiety grew in my chest as my eyes were drawn back to the photograph. I wanted desperately to believe that it was nothing more than a misguided prank and that Molly was perfectly safe. But surely if there was an innocent explanation then my mother would have answered the phone. Did that mean she was in trouble? Was Molly still with her?
‘Oh, Jesus.’
The words tumbled out of my mouth and fear flooded through me like acid. I had to find out what was going on and I needed to be reassured that Molly was OK.
I took a moment to get my thoughts together, then dashed towards the front of the room to where my boss stood surrounded by a small bunch of detectives. I forced my way between them and seized Brennan’s attention by addressing him in a voice that was charged with emotion.
‘You’ll have to get someone else to visit the hospital,’ I said. ‘I need to leave right away.’
He arched his brow at me. ‘Bloody hell, Sarah. Whatever’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
I took a deep, faltering breath. ‘It’s my daughter. I have to find out if she’s all right.’
‘Well I’m sure she’s fine,’ he said with a hesitant smile. ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’
I held my phone up in front of his face.
‘Because someone just sent this photo to me,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a really bad feeling about it.’
2
Sarah
Brennan took the phone from me and squinted at the photo. Then as my fellow detectives fell silent he read the text message out loud.
‘I have no idea who sent it,’ I said. ‘It’s from a blocked number. And I don’t recognise the room Molly’s in.’
Brennan lifted his eyes and pursed his lips. ‘You usually leave her with your parents, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘That’s why this is so weird. I dropped her off earlier and Mum was going to take her to the park.’
‘And have you tried calling your mother?’
‘Of course, but there’s no answer on her mobile or on my parents’ home phone.’
I explained that my father didn’t have a mobile and that nothing like this had ever happened before.
‘Well you shouldn’t jump to conclusions,’ Brennan said. ‘We’ll help you get to the bottom of it. First thing to do is run a check on your phone to see if we can unblock the number of the caller.’
‘That’ll take time,’ I said shakily. ‘I can’t hang around. I have to go to the park and then to Mum and Dad’s.’
‘I quite understand, Sarah. In fact, I’ll come with you while your colleagues make inquiries.’
Brennan assigned two of the other detectives to the task and told another to go to the hospital to interview the stab victim in my place. Then he got me to forward the message and the photo to the office manager’s phone so that he could arrange for it to be checked out.
‘Try not to worry,’ he said, turning back to me. ‘I’m guessing this is some unfortunate misunderstanding or someone’s pathetic attempt at humour.’
The trouble was he didn’t sound convinced of that, and the knowing looks he gave the others sent a wave of adrenaline crashing through my bloodstream.
Brennan drove and I sat in the passenger seat of the pool car. The park was only a few miles from the police station in Wandsworth, and that was going to be our first stop.
It was within walking distance of my parents’ house and where my mother usually took Molly. If they weren’t there, then we’d go straight to the house.
I prayed silently to myself that I was overreacting, but it was impossible not to dwell on the worst-case scenario – that my daughter had been abducted.
It was every parent’s nightmare, and I’d had first-hand experience of the devastating consequences of such an event. During my time on the force I’d investigated seven cases where children had been kidnapped by strangers. Only four of them had been found safe and well. Two were still missing, and one six-year-old girl had been brutally raped and murdered.
But in none of those cases had the abductor sent a photograph of the child to the mother. And I hadn’t heard of it happening before. That at least gave me reason to believe that this might not be a straightforward snatch; that perhaps it was indeed some pathetic prank.
‘Try calling your mother again,’ Brennan said, as he steered the car along side streets in order to avoid the worst of the South London traffic.
I tried but it rang out and went to voicemail. I’d already left a message for her to call me and it wasn’t like my mother not to respond asap. I left another just the same and this time I told her I was desperately worried.
‘Please get back to me straight away, Mum. It’s urgent. I need to know that Molly is OK.’
I rang my parents’ landline again but still there was no answer.
My heart was in my throat as I hung up. I gulped down a breath and squeezed my eyes shut.
Oh God, please don’t let my worst fear be realised.
I opened my eyes and looked again at the photograph of Molly on the sofa. My beautiful little girl clutching a beige teddy bear that I didn’t recognise. I wanted to believe that my parents had bought it for her, but I doubted it. Molly had plenty of cuddly animals both at home and at her grandparents’, and I had always discouraged them from spoiling her with too many toys.
So who had got it for her? And who had sent me a picture of my daughter claiming she was settling into her new home? What the fuck did it mean?
‘Are you sure you have no idea where the photo was taken?’ Brennan asked me.
‘I’m positive,’ I said.
‘Then it could be the home of someone your mother knows. Maybe she went there instead of to the park.’
‘I’ve thought about that,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t explain the creepy message or why the photo was sent.’
‘What about your ex-husband? Could he have taken Molly?’
My body stiffened. I hadn’t given any thought to Adam, but that was partly because I knew he wouldn’t dream of scaring me like this. Sure, we were divorced, but we made every effort to get along for Molly’s sake. He saw her every week as part of the custody arrangement, and as a copper himself he would know better than to do something that would cause such alarm.
I said as much to Brennan and added that I’d been to Adam’s flat in Mitcham and he did not have a white leather sofa like the one in the photo.
‘Perhaps you should call him anyway,’ Brennan said. ‘I’m sure he’d want to know what’s happening.’
‘I will, but not yet,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily if Molly’s at the park or at home with Mum.’
It was a big if and with every passing second I was becoming more worried.
Why hadn’t my mother called me back? Why hadn’t I received another message from whoever had sent the first one?
What was I going to do if we couldn’t find Molly?
We reached the park fifteen minutes after leaving the station. It wasn’t much more than a small patch of greenery surrounded by flats and houses.
There was a children’s playground in the centre and as we pulled into the kerb I could see that it was busy. But then it usually was on a day like today with the sun beating down and not a cloud in the sky.
I jumped out of the car even before Brennan had switched off the engine. As I ran across the grass I stared intently at the playground in the hope of spotting my grey-haired mother.
But as I drew close it became evident that she wasn’t there, and I felt the panic swell up inside me.
I counted eight mums, two dads and about fifteen pre-school kids. But my own mother and daughter were not among them.
I walked around the playground and looked beyond it towards the surrounding roads, but there was no sign of them.
When Brennan caught up with me he was out of breath and struggled to speak.
‘Don’t assume the worst,’ he told me. ‘Maybe they’ve been here but are now on their way back to your parents’ place.’
‘We’ve got to go there,’ I said.
‘Is it far from here?’
I pointed. ‘About half a mile in that direction.’
‘Come on then.’
As we hurried back across the field towards the car, Brennan took out his phone and made a call that I assumed was to the station. But I couldn’t hear what he was saying because my head was filled with the sound of my own heart banging against my chest.
I couldn’t believe that this was happening. The day had started off so well. Molly, bless her, had been on her best behaviour this morning, as excited as ever at the prospect of spending time with her grandparents.
I felt tears well up in my eyes as I thought back to when I’d dropped her off. My dad had picked her up in his arms and got her to wave goodbye and blow me a kiss.
She was so sweet, the sweetest little girl. The centre of my world. I couldn’t bear the thought that she might be in danger. Or that I might never see her again. The prospect filled me with a cold, hard dread that settled in my stomach like a heavy rock.
‘You need to stay calm, Sarah,’ Brennan said, when we were back in the car.
‘That’s easy for you to say, guv,’ I replied. ‘I just don’t understand what’s going on. The photo, the message, the fact that my mother won’t answer her phone.’
He left it a beat and said, ‘I’ve just called the office and told them to circulate the photo and alert uniform. Just to be on the safe side.’
It should have reassured me but it didn’t. Instead his words brought a sob to the surface and I had to force myself not to burst out crying.
‘Take this,’ Brennan said, handing me a handkerchief he produced from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
I lowered the visor and looked at myself in the mirror. The face that stared back at me was pale and gaunt. I suddenly looked much older than my 32 years.
Tears sparkled in my eyes and my short brown hair was dishevelled from where I’d been raking my hands through it.
I dabbed at my eyes with the hanky and then used it to blow my nose.
‘You need to tell me where to go,’ Brennan said.
I cleared my throat and told him to take a left at the next junction and then the first right after that. He didn’t respond, just concentrated on the road ahead.
‘Thank you for coming here with me,’ I said. ‘I’m grateful.’
‘You don’t need to be,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t let you do this by yourself. I can imagine what you must be going through.’
Brennan, who had a grandson a similar age, had met Molly a couple of times when I’d taken her into the station. He had always been understanding of the problems faced by single mothers in the department and I’d come to view him almost as a father figure as well as my boss.
Right now I was so glad he was with me. I knew he would do whatever he could to help me find my daughter.
‘It’s the house up there on the left behind the privet hedge,’ I said.
My childhood home was a semi-detached pre-war property in a quiet, tree-lined street. My father’s ageing Mondeo wasn’t parked out front so I took that to mean that he was still at his allotment.
‘Have you got a key?’ Brennan asked.
I nodded and extracted my keys from my shoulder bag.
A short paved pathway led up to the front door and as I approached it my emotions were spinning. I didn’t bother to ring the bell, and my hand shook as I fumbled to insert the key in the lock.
As soon as the door was open I called out and stepped inside. But my heart sank when there was no response.
‘They might be in the back garden,’ Brennan said as he followed me in.
I hurried along the hallway and threw open the door to the kitchen, hoping to see or hear Molly.
Instead I was confronted by a sight that caused my stomach to give a sickening lurch.
3
Sarah
My mother was tied to one of the kitchen chairs and a red silk scarf had been wrapped around her face to gag her.
Her chin was resting on her chest and she appeared to be unconscious. But when I let out a muffled scream her head jolted up and she looked at me through eyes that struggled to focus.
For a moment I just stood there in shock, unable to move, unable to take in what I was seeing. All my police instincts, training and experience deserted me. It was left to Brennan to rush forward and remove the scarf from around my mother’s head.
‘I recognise that smell,’ he said as he put the scarf against his nose and sniffed it. ‘It’s chloroform.’
My mother gasped and spluttered and then went into a coughing fit.
‘You’re going to be OK, Mrs Mason,’ Brennan said as he started to untie her hands that were secured behind her back with a length of plastic cable. ‘We’ve got you now. You’re safe.’
I came out of my trance-like state and ran forward to my mother. She was shaking and dribbling and having great difficulty breathing properly. But at least she was alive and looked as though she hadn’t been physically harmed.
‘Where’s Molly, Mum?’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘Where is my baby?’
She tried to speak but the words got stuck in her throat.
I rested a hand on her shoulder, crouched down so that we were face to face.
‘Mum, please. Where’s Molly?’
Her eyes grew wide and confusion pulled at her features. Then she shook her head and her lips trembled.
‘I … d-don’t know,’ she managed. ‘She was in the high chair when the doorbell rang.’
That was when I noticed the high chair for the first time, on the other side of the room next to the back door that stood open. There was a plastic bowl on the tray, along with Molly’s familiar spill-proof beaker.
‘Did you go and answer the door, Mrs Mason?’ Brennan asked her. ‘Is that what you did?’
I turned back to my mother. She nodded and closed her eyes, and I could tell she was trying to cast her mind back to what had happened.
‘A man,’ she said, her tone frantic. ‘He was wearing a hood, like a balaclava. He forced himself in and grabbed me. Then he put something over my face.’
My mother lost it then and started to cry, great heaving sobs that racked her frail body.
She was almost seventy, and seeing her like this, I felt the urge to comfort her, but a more powerful impulse seized me and I jumped up suddenly and went in search of Molly, praying that she was still here and hadn’t been taken away.
I ran out into the garden first, but it was empty except for the cat from next door that was lying on the lawn like it didn’t have a care in the world.
Then I dashed back into the house and through the kitchen, passing Brennan who was standing next to my mother while talking anxiously into his phone.
I checked the living room and ground floor toilet, then hurried upstairs in the hope of finding my daughter in one of the three bedrooms. I called out her name, told her that Mummy had come to get her. But there was a resounding silence. She wasn’t there. She was gone.
A new wave of terror roared through my body as I ran back downstairs. Now it was confirmed. My daughter had been abducted and I had no idea by whom. The nightmare that had loomed over me since I opened up the photograph on my phone had turned into a horrific reality.
The temptation to collapse in a tearful heap was almost overwhelming, but I told myself that I had to hold it together. For my sake and for Molly’s.
My mother was still on the chair in the kitchen and Brennan was trying to coax more information out of her. When she saw me she reached for my hand and said, ‘There was nothing I could do. It happened so – so quickly.’
‘Who could it have been, Mum?’ I said. ‘Do you have any idea?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t see his face. He knocked me out and when I woke up I was tied to this chair.’
I reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.
‘I’m so sorry, Sarah,’ she sobbed. ‘I really couldn’t …’
‘It’s not your fault, Mum,’ I said, choking back tears. ‘We’ll get her back. I promise.’
I heard a siren and the sound of it caused my heart to flip.
‘Your father needs to be told, Sarah,’ my mother said. ‘He’s still at the allotment. He thinks we’ll be meeting him at the pub.’
‘I’ll see to it, Mum,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’
I straightened up and looked at Brennan who told me that he had raised the alarm and that teams of officers were about to descend on the area.
‘I’ve also summoned an ambulance,’ he said. ‘The paramedics will take care of your mother.’
His words registered, but only just, and they failed to provide any comfort. How could they? My precious daughter had been kidnapped. My mind was still reeling and I felt weighted down by a crushing despair.
I was on the verge of losing control so I lowered myself onto one of the chairs around the kitchen table. There I sat, my head spinning, my stomach churning, as Brennan gently prised more information out of my mother.
She revealed that the man had rung the bell at just before nine – an hour or so after I had dropped Molly off. My father had just left the house to go to his allotment and she was giving Molly her breakfast before taking her to the park.
She remembered very little about her attacker. His face had been covered and he’d been wearing what she thought was a dark T-shirt and jeans.
‘He was average height but strong,’ she said. ‘I tried to struggle free when he attacked me but I couldn’t.’
She started crying again and this time it set me off. I broke down in a flood of tears and heard myself calling Molly’s name.
I was only vaguely aware of the commotion that suddenly ensued, and of being led out of the kitchen and along the hallway.
Raised voices, more people entering the house, some of them in uniform. Molly’s face loomed large in my mind’s eye, obscuring much of what was going on around me. I wondered if I would ever hold her in my arms again. It was a sickening, painful thought and one that I never thought I would have to experience.
I’d witnessed the suffering of parents who had lost children, seen the agony in their eyes. But as a copper I had always been one step removed, professionally detached and oblivious to the real extent of their plight.
Now I had a different perspective. I was in that horrendous position myself. The grieving, desperate mother wondering why fate had delivered such a crushing blow.
‘We’re taking you next door,’ Brennan was saying as we stepped outside, to be greeted by the flashing blue light on top of a police patrol car. ‘This house is now a crime scene and the forensics team needs to get to work. Mrs Lloyd, the neighbour to the right, has kindly agreed to make some tea for you and your mother.’
‘I don’t want tea,’ I wailed. ‘I want Molly.’
‘I’ll do whatever it takes to find her, Sarah,’ Brennan said. ‘We all will. But look, I really think it’s time that Molly’s father was informed about what’s happened. Do you want to call him or shall I?’
The prospect of breaking the news to Adam that his daughter had been abducted filled me with dread. I knew I couldn’t do it, that as soon as I heard his voice I would fall apart.
‘You ring him,’ I said. ‘Tell him to get here as soon as he can.’
4
Adam
The man in the dock at the Old Bailey looked as though he hadn’t got a care in the world. Even when the judge instructed him to stand up and turn to the jury he didn’t appear to be in the least bit anxious. He was facing the prospect of a long stretch behind bars, but from his expression you would never have guessed it.
‘The bastard is cocksure that he’s about to be acquitted,’ Detective Inspector Adam Boyd whispered to his colleague who was sitting beside him in the courtroom. ‘And I have a horrible feeling he could be right.’
The case against Victor Rosetti – a Romanian national – had been undermined during the past couple of days. One of the prosecution witnesses had disappeared before taking the stand, and the defence had managed to refute some of the forensic evidence, claiming it had been contaminated.
For the National Crime Agency, which was set up to fight organised crime in the UK, it would be a bitter blow if Rosetti did walk. As one of London’s nastiest villains and drugs traffickers, the man deserved to be locked behind bars. But securing a conviction was always going to be a challenge for Adam and his team.
Rosetti had an army of foot soldiers working for him, along with some powerful contacts. Several senior police officers were also believed to be on his payroll.
Adam had managed to build a strong case against him before bringing a charge that related to the importation and distribution of cocaine. But Rosetti’s defence had dismissed much of the evidence as circumstantial and had accused the police of ‘fitting up’ their client.
Things had gone from bad to worse two days ago when the prosecution’s key witness – one of Rosetti’s own drug couriers – slipped out of the safe house he was staying in. All attempts to trace him had failed, and Adam thought it likely that Rosetti’s people had ‘encouraged’ him to vanish by threatening his family.
The jury foreman was now being asked if a verdict had been reached. The foreman said it had and passed a slip of paper to the clerk.
Adam stared with ill-disguised contempt at the man who was known as ‘Rosetti the Cutter’ because of his fondness for slicing up his enemies with a knife.
He was a short, heavyset man with a round face and shaved head. He’d been on the NCA’s radar for a couple of years, but this was the closest they’d come to bringing him down and Adam wasn’t sure they would get an opportunity like this again.
As the judge prepared to ask the jury foreman to announce the verdict, Adam felt his mobile phone vibrate with an incoming message. He ignored it, deciding that whatever it was it could wait. Right at this moment the only thing that mattered was seeing if this Romanian scumbag got what he deserved.
Adam felt his insides contract as he switched his gaze from Rosetti to the jury foreman, a thin-faced man with a scruffy beard.
‘So do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’ the judge asked him.
Adam bit his bottom lip and held his breath. The courtroom fell silent. The jury foreman spoke without hesitation.
‘Not guilty, your honour,’ he said.
Rosetti’s reaction to the verdict was to grin broadly and punch the air with his fist.
It made Adam want to throw up. Although he’d seen this coming it was still a sickening blow.
He had to resist the urge to leap to his feet and berate the jury for being so stupid and to ask who among them had been nobbled. Instead he just sat there, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
Shouts of support came from the public gallery as Rosetti was led out of the dock.
‘What a bloody disaster,’ Adam said to himself, loud enough for those around him to hear.
He didn’t move for several minutes, waiting for the courtroom to empty. He felt wrung out, the emotions thick in his throat.
At length, he threw out a long sigh and got to his feet. He needed some fresh air and a cigarette. And after that a stiff drink, or two, at the nearest boozer.
Outside, a few newspaper reporters and a TV camera crew had gathered on the street. But it could hardly have been described as a media frenzy. The case hadn’t been as high-profile as some of the others that had been taking place at the same time. Victor Rosetti wasn’t exactly a household name, and drugs trials had become so commonplace that they failed to attract much attention these days.
The Romanian stood on the pavement, flanked by two burly minders, as he answered the reporters’ questions.
Adam’s boss, DCI Mike Dunlop, stood to one side preparing to make a statement on behalf of the NCA, in which he would no doubt express profound disappointment.
Adam slipped away from Dunlop and the rest of the police team and crossed the road where he sparked up a fag and tried to suppress the rage that was bubbling up inside him.
He regarded what had just happened as a travesty of justice, and it was going to take him a while to get over it. The thought that Rosetti would now go away and continue to ply his illicit trade made his blood boil.
He watched as the bastard finished answering questions. Then a black Mercedes pulled up to the kerb and he climbed in with his minders. The reporters immediately turned their attention to Dunlop. The Mercedes then pulled away, but instead of driving straight off, it shot across the road and parked next to where Adam was standing.
The rear window was lowered and Rosetti’s face appeared.
‘Cheer up, Boyd,’ he said. ‘You win some, you lose some.’
Adam felt the bile rise in his throat. ‘We may have lost the battle, scumbag,’ he said. ‘But not the war. It won’t be long before I collar you for something you won’t be able to wriggle out of.’
‘Don’t waste taxpayers’ money,’ Rosetti said. ‘It will never happen. Besides, I should be the least of your worries.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Rosetti grinned, showing a set of yellow teeth. ‘You’ll find out soon enough – word is, you’re in for a nasty surprise.’
Adam took a step forward, but Rosetti tapped the driver’s shoulder and the Mercedes drove off, tyres squealing.
Adam stared after it, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t the veiled threat that infuriated him – he’d received so many over the years that he no longer took them seriously. No, it was the fact that he knew that getting Rosetti into the dock again was going to be hellishly difficult, if not impossible.
He dropped what remained of his cigarette and ground it into the pavement with the heel of his shoe. Then just as he was about to cross back over the road he felt his phone vibrate again with another message.
This time he whipped it out of his pocket and saw that both messages had come from DCI Dave Brennan, who was asking him to call as a matter of urgency. Brennan was his ex-wife’s boss and it was a long time since he’d heard from the guy.
Adam arched his brow and called the number. He had no idea, of course, that the bad day he was having was about to turn into his worst nightmare.
5
Sarah
I was in Mrs Loyd’s back garden puffing on a cigarette while praying that my daughter hadn’t been lost to me forever. But it was impossible to keep the negative thoughts at bay. They taunted me, each one a loud, desperate scream inside my head.
Two hours had passed since Brennan and I had arrived at my parents’ house and a lot had happened in that time. My mother had been taken to hospital to be checked over, a police car had been dispatched to pick my father up from his allotment and take him there too, and I’d been sick twice – once on the kitchen floor and once in her downstairs toilet. Luckily I’d known my mother’s neighbour Mrs Loyd for years and she told me not to worry, that she would clean it up.
I was still in a state of raw shock, only half aware of what was going on around me.
A PC was with me in the garden. Her name was Penny and we knew each other fairly well. She kept telling me that everything would be all right and I would soon be reunited with Molly. But, of course, she couldn’t possibly know that and was just saying it to make me feel better.
But words alone were not going to relieve the emotional turmoil that was raging inside me. I needed to find my baby, to see her smile, hear her laugh, hold her in my arms.
I was clutching my mobile phone in my free hand, willing it to ring, for the kidnapper to make contact. If he called to demand a ransom then I’d willingly pay it, no matter how much it was. I’d move heaven and earth to get Molly back, sell my flat if need be, borrow the rest. That wouldn’t be a problem. And I was sure to get all the help I needed from Adam and my parents.
The sun was beating down as I paced up and down the garden, Penny watching from the patio with her arms folded across her chest.
For some reason that made me angry. Why didn’t she appear upset? Why was her face so expressionless? Didn’t she realise how bad this was and how hard it was for me to keep from screaming?
But then it hit me. She was just being professional, doing her job. In the same way I’d done mine for years. Only this time the tables had turned on me and I was the victim, along with Molly and my mother. It was a new and terrifying experience.
Next door in my parents’ garden several uniformed officers were carrying out a search. They were checking to see if there was any evidence to suggest that the kidnapper had taken Molly out the back way.
There was a small patch of woodland on the other side of the fence at the bottom of the garden. Beyond that was a road that wasn’t overlooked by houses or flats. Brennan had already raised the possibility that the kidnapper had parked a car or van out there. He’d also told me in the last half hour that none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything.
Mrs Lloyd had been in her bathroom when the kidnapping took place and hadn’t become aware of what had happened until the police called on her.
I wanted to do something, to join the search, put my police skills to good use, but right now I was in no fit state to be of any use. My body was numb, my mind in utter disarray, and I felt smothered by a dark blanket of despair.
When Brennan suddenly stepped out onto the patio, my stomach leapt. I assumed straight away that it was bad news.
‘Don’t panic,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s been no change. I’ve come to tell you that Molly’s father has arrived. If you pop back in I can update you both at the same time.’
My legs threatened to collapse under me as I walked towards the house, and I could feel a fresh batch of tears building behind my eyes.
When I entered the kitchen and saw Adam standing there next to Brennan, I totally lost control and broke down. Adam rushed over and put an arm around me, and I sobbed into his shoulder. We were used to seeing each other during his frequent visits to the flat to pick Molly up, but this was the first time we’d had physical contact since the divorce.
He spoke in a soothing voice, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I was just glad he was there and the scent of him filled every intake of breath.
When I eventually stopped crying, Brennan handed me a tissue and I used it to dry my eyes. Then I stepped back out of Adam’s embrace and looked up at him.
At six feet he was a good four inches taller than me and was wearing a dark suit and white open-neck shirt. His familiar face was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a thin nose. But his expression was totally unfamiliar, a mixture of fear and incredulity. Sweat had gathered in the creases of his brow and his lips were drawn into a tight line.
‘I’ve been told what’s happened, Sarah,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I can’t believe it. Why would anyone take Molly, for God’s sake?’
I had a sudden, violent urge to vomit again. Brennan must have sensed it because he quickly pulled over a chair and told me to sit down.
Adam came and stood in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the tension in his fingers.
He held out his other hand and said, ‘Can I see the photo?’
Before I gave the phone to him I opened up the message.
‘You should check that first,’ I said.
He clamped his top lip between his teeth as he read the text.
‘This is fucking insane,’ he said. ‘What kind of lunatic would pull a stunt like this?’
He took a shivering breath and exhaled, then tapped on the photo.
I watched the muscles in his neck tighten as he stared at it, his eyes narrowing to slits.
‘Do you by any chance recognise that room?’ Brennan asked him.
Adam’s eyebrows knitted together, and for just a moment hope surged within me.
Please say yes, I wanted to cry out. Please tell us you know who lives there and where it is.
But after an agonising wait he shook his head and my insides shrivelled up.
‘I’ve never seen it before,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely sure of it.’
He continued to stare at the photo and I saw his eyes start to glisten with tears.
‘The bloke who did this obviously knew that Molly would be with her grandmother,’ Brennan said. ‘It’s likely he was watching the house and waiting for your father to leave before striking. That suggests he knew that you were all locked into a routine. And it also suggests that you might know him – or them – since it’s quite possible he wasn’t acting alone.’
It was something that hadn’t occurred to me because my head was all over the place. But now the thought that Molly had fallen prey to more than one man sent my pulse racing.
‘Can you think of anyone you know who’d be capable of this, Sarah?’ Brennan said. ‘Or someone you’ve seen around who was perhaps acting suspiciously?’
I narrowed my eyes, tried to focus, but it was hopeless.
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘Well keep thinking,’ Brennan said. ‘Something might come to you.’
No one spoke for at least twenty seconds, and the silence threatened to become deafening. Finally Brennan said, ‘You both need to know that we’ve had no success tracing the message. It must have come from an unregistered phone that’s now switched off.’
Adam turned to face him. ‘What time was Molly taken?’
‘Well according to Mrs Mason the guy arrived here at just before nine.’
‘And this message was received about an hour later?’
‘Just over. We’re checking all CCTV and road cameras within a half-mile radius. Unfortunately there aren’t any in this street or in any of those around it.’
‘What about the neighbours? Someone must have seen something.’
Brennan shrugged. ‘We’re still going door-to-door, but none of those we’ve spoken to so far saw a man with a child around the time it happened.’
Adam twisted his lower jaw, considering. Unlike me he was still able to think like a police officer, despite the shock to his system. That was impressive. My brain was far too splintered, and I was struggling to focus on anything other than Molly’s startled expression in the photograph.
‘What about Sarah’s mum?’ Adam said. ‘Has she been able to give you anything useful?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Brennan said. ‘I’ve sent officers to the hospital to get a formal statement from her, but the kidnapper was wearing a balaclava of some sort when she answered the door. The one thing she is certain of is that it was a man and not a woman. He grabbed her and put a scarf doused in chloroform against her face. She was unconscious in seconds then woke up tied to the chair and saw that Molly was gone.’
Brennan went on to say that a full-blown search of the immediate area was under way and that the photo of Molly on the sofa would shortly be sent to media outlets.
‘Reporters and television crews will soon start to descend,’ he said. ‘It’ll turn into a media circus outside for sure. So I suggest that you go home.’
‘I don’t want to go home,’ I said. ‘I have to be involved in this. I have to help find my daughter.’
‘You know that’s not going to be possible,’ Brennan said. ‘You’ve both got to step back and let us get on with it.’
This was something I was going to find hard to accept, but I knew we’d have no choice. We were the parents of the child who had been abducted. It meant we could not be involved in the investigation. We’d just have to sit it out and pray that our colleagues got a quick result. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Come on, Sarah,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll take you home. There’s nothing we can do here anyway.’
Every nerve in my body was vibrating as I stood up. Despite my best efforts, my eyes began to fill with tears, but something in me resolved not to break down again.
‘If there’s a development, I’ll be sure to let you know straight away,’ Brennan told me.
He walked with us to the door and said that a number of officers, including someone from family liaison, would be sent to my place to be with us.
I knew the drill, of course. And I knew that the Met would commit a huge amount of resources to finding Molly, and to providing us with support. They would look after their own.
But what I didn’t know was that the person who had taken my daughter would soon be making contact again.
And sending me another photograph.
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