by C J Parsons
‘So this is his mother’s house in’ – Tara squinted at the text – ‘“an isolated corner of south-east Surrey”.’ She flipped to the next page. ‘Ah, there’s a map. Hmm. Magazines don’t usually include those, because of security. But it’s his place, so I guess it’s his decision.’ Flip-flip. ‘And check it out: before and after blueprints going all the way back to its vineyard days.’ When she reached the end, she put down the magazine and sat on one of the stools in front of the counter, picking up her drink. Carrie resumed carving the chicken. ‘Josh must be really proud of her work, to give it so much space in his magazine.’
‘Yes.’
‘Quite a coincidence, that you’re an architect and he runs an architecture magazine.’
‘Yes,’ Carrie said again, then realised it was her second one-word answer in a row, so thought she’d better expand it. ‘The coincidence is a good one, since it gives us a shared interest to discuss.’ She forked chicken slices onto their plates, adding potatoes and the tomato salad from the fridge.
Tara picked up the now empty prosecco bottle on the counter, holding it aloft.
‘Another dead soldier.’
‘There’s one more. Shall I open it?’
‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’
It was only as Carrie began twisting the cork out of the bottle’s throat that she suddenly remembered something.
‘What was it you needed to tell me?’
‘Sorry?’
The cork popped free, sending foam surging upward. She held it over the sink to keep it from spilling.
‘Just before Josh arrived, you said you had something to tell me.’
‘Oh. Did I? I don’t remember. I guess it couldn’t have been very important.’ Tara did a two-syllable laugh, then held out her glass for a refill. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we drink a toast to something that is important? Crucially important, in fact.’
‘OK.’ She placed the plates of food on the counter then settled onto the stool next to Tara’s. ‘What?’
‘Our friendship.’
Our friendship. Carrie held the words tight, feeling shy and tipsy and elated, all at the same time.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘To . . . our friendship.’
And she raised her glass. Inside it, prosecco bubbles were racing up from the depths, popping across the surface like tiny fireworks.
Sixteen
‘Fuck,’ Alistair said, dragging a hand along his jaw. ‘What kind of drugs?’
‘Weed. Ecstasy. A bit of coke. Not huge amounts, just small orders for the rich kids in the neighbourhood. The park is a handy pick-up point, given its lack of CCTV.’
The two of them were seated at the only window table of Ella’s Place, a traditional English café whose staunchly unimaginative menu centred around sandwiches and baked potatoes. It was almost closing time, and their only companions were three workers in paint-spattered overalls eating sausage rolls and crisps at the back. Juliet had chosen Ella’s for their ‘debrief’ because of its late hours and handy location, directly across from the police station. Alistair had been tied up with the Sanchez case all evening, so was only now finding out what had happened in the interview room after he’d left. The scale of the setback.
‘But what about the cart with Sofia’s hair in it? The secret trip to a closed-off area of the park?’
Juliet gazed out of the window for a moment, at the night-dark clouds slung low in the sky, heavy with unshed rain. She took a sip of coffee (black, five sugars), which was predictably terrible. Ella’s coffee always tasted terrible, but for some reason she kept ordering it.
‘Laude leaves the cart parked by the hut with the keys in it every Sunday at around the same time before heading to the tadpole pond to pick up the drugs. He has a casual sexual relationship with the woman who brings them. They smoke a spliff together and fool around by the old pond. Hence the footprint. Hence the mosquito bites. Then he heads off to the picnic area on the south side to rendezvous with clients, pausing very occasionally to do bits of his actual job.’
Alistair rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. He suddenly looked paler, making his freckles stand out.
‘So, if this checks out . . . Laude’s just an unwitting pawn. The abductor knew his routine: when and where the cart would be left and how long Nick would be out of the way.’
‘Not to mention where the spare key to the hut was hidden, which uniform to steal, and where the canvas sacks and gate keys were kept.’ Juliet tipped her head towards her left shoulder, then her right, trying to release some of the tension that had lodged itself in her neck. ‘Whoever took Sofia did their homework.’
Alistair puffed out a sigh. ‘Shit.’
‘Yes. Shit indeed.’
The clouds suddenly broke apart, releasing their burden. Slashes of rain cut across the glass. A man in a suit ran by, holding a soggy newspaper over his head like a shield.
‘So not only have we got the wrong person, but it would appear that the right person is a more organised and sophisticated criminal than we’d thought.’
‘Yep, that about sums it up.’ Juliet said. And she took another sip of coffee, wincing at the bitter taste.
The policewoman’s call arrived like a storm out of a clear blue sky, stealing the sun, draining colour from the world. Striking when Carrie’s guard was at its lowest, when she was actually happy.
She had spent the morning working in her study, putting the finishing touches to her design for the new hospital wing while Sofia played on the floor just behind her. Apparently the stuffed animals were having a party and deciding what food to serve. From the sounds of it, the feast would be comprised of cake, chocolate drops and Haribo. Tonight Josh was coming round with a takeaway dinner for the three of them and tomorrow Tara was dropping by for coffee.
For the first time since her break-up with Simon, Carrie felt like she belonged.
Then the phone rang.
‘It’s not him,’ Carrie echoed, after DCI Campbell broke the news. ‘Whoever took her is still free.’ She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.
‘I know this is disappointing. But you can rest assured that we are on the case and determined to catch the person responsible. Meanwhile, I would advise you to take extra security precautions.’
‘Why would you say that?’ She looked instinctively towards Sofia, lying on her stomach on the floor just behind her, arranging the animals in a circle. Carrie cupped her hand over the receiver, lowering her voice. ‘You told me you’d already ruled out everyone who knows her, making it appear unlikely that this was a targeted abduction. Are you now saying that’s not the case?’
A pause. DCI Campbell cleared her throat.
‘New developments have led us to reassess that theory. The abduction appears to have been more carefully planned than previously believed. Someone put a lot of thought into how and when to carry it out. So, by extension, it’s possible that they also put a lot of thought into which child to take.’
Carrie could feel clammy fingers of dread squeezing at her insides as she watched her daughter bounce a pair of stuffed rabbits up and down.
‘Why choose Sofia?’
‘That’s what we need to work out. So I’m going to ask you once again, and please think very carefully before you answer: can you recall anyone showing a special interest in your daughter during the weeks leading up to the abduction?’
Carrie was about to say no when a voice echoed through her memory.
We’re old friends, you and me, aren’t we Sofia?
Should she mention the chance encounter with Tara at the birthday picnic – if only for the sake of full disclosure? The police probably wouldn’t even bother looking into her, given that she’d been in the park, leading the search so soon after the abduction.
Unless . . . what if they had to investigate everyone whose name Carrie provided – wastin
g precious time on a wild goose chase?
And how was Tara going to feel when she found out that Carrie had given her name to the police, had reported her for . . . for what? Chatting with Sofia and rescuing her balloon?
No. It felt wrong. They were friends. Friends were supposed to trust each other.
‘There’s no one,’ she said. And gave her wrist a firm pinch.
Josh paced back and forth across the kilim rug, his restless energy ratcheting up Carrie’s tension levels. She wished he would sit down, join her for coffee at the table. He had been halfway to work when he’d heard about the park keeper’s release on Radio 4, calling her straight away to say he was coming over.
‘Maybe you should stay at a hotel for a while, until whoever did this is caught. Or you’re more than welcome to stay at my place. It’d be bit of a tight squeeze, but at least you’d be safe.’
‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary,’ Carrie said. She’d spent a long time thinking after the DCI’s call. And had reached a decision: it was time to accept the possibility that Sofia’s abductor might never be caught. Accept it – and find a way to live with it. Because if she didn’t, fear and paranoia would become the forces that shaped her child’s life. Sofia would grow up never knowing a moment’s freedom, under the constant surveillance of a mother who jumped at shadows. Carrie was determined not to let that happen. So she was going to take all reasonable precautions – and then force herself to move on. ‘I’m having a complete security system installed. Cameras. Keypad. Everything. And I’m getting the kitchen window fixed.’
Josh finally came to a halt behind the neighbouring chair, but remained standing, fingers gripping its curved back.
He glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Why?’
‘It doesn’t lock properly. The latch is broken.’
He blew out a puff of air, eyebrows plunging towards the bridge of his nose.
‘OK. Well . . . it’s better than nothing, I guess. When are they coming?’
‘Thursday.’
‘Thursday. If you don’t want to stay at a hotel or my place, why don’t I crash in your spare room until then, as an added precaution? I can be your one-man security company – at least until the real one shows up.’ He looked towards Sofia, who was sitting on the sofa with her arms around her knees watching cartoons (Octonauts, Carrie noted absently. The episode with the narwhal).
The coffee had finished brewing, so she pushed down on the plunger as she tried to formulate a response. It was very kind of Josh, volunteering to stay and protect them. And she could understand his concern. She’d had a similar reaction when DCI Campbell had first told her the news. But now that she’d had a chance to think, she was determined to stand her ground – to remain calm and rational.
‘It’s been more than two weeks since the abduction. If someone really was determined to take Sofia, wouldn’t they have made a move by now?’
He shook his head, fingers tight against the chair-back.
‘Not necessarily. We don’t know how this person’s mind works. Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?’
‘A high-tech security system will be installed on Thursday. Unless something happens to show we’re in imminent danger, that will have to do. Because I’m not going to let this one bad experience define the rest of our lives.’ She poured coffee into cups. ‘Would you like some cherry pie?’
But Josh didn’t respond. He was staring straight ahead, lips pressed tight, forehead folded into deep creases. His fingers drummed the chair-back, the sound overlaying the simulated call of the narwhal.
‘Josh? Did you hear me?’
He blinked and looked at her.
‘Yes, I heard. You and Sofia are staying here alone unless something happens to prove you’re still in danger. Correct?’
‘Correct.’
He shook his head. ‘To me that seems a very risky strategy. But it’s your decision, at the end of the day, so there’s not really anything more to say. And yes’– the creases smoothed out as he finally pulled back the chair and sat down – ‘coffee with pie sounds fantastic.’
Carrie lifted the corners of her mouth as she placed a mug in front of him, to show that she appreciated how concerned he was for their safety, despite having known them only a short time. But then, it had been a very intense couple of weeks; so much had happened.
Her smile must have looked OK, because he gave her one in return.
‘This looks delicious.’ He transferred a slice of the leftover pie onto his plate and dug in, raising a forkful towards his mouth. ‘Did you make it yourself?’
‘No. Tara made it.’
‘Oh.’ The fork returned to the plate, still carrying the chunk of pastry.
Carrie served herself a slice. ‘It’s very good.’
He took off his glasses and began polishing them with the tail of his shirt.
‘How long have you known Tara?’
‘I met her the day Sofia went missing. She helped me.’
‘Really? How exactly?’
‘She organised a search of the park. Then she called the police.’
‘Hmm. And how long did this search take, from start to finish?’
Carrie took a bite of pie, wondering where Josh was going with this.
‘The search itself lasted half an hour. Some mothers were around and she asked them to help, got everyone organised and sent them to different parts of the park. She was a . . . a . . .’ – she paused, hunting the right words – ‘a good Samaritan.’
‘Right.’ He seemed to be taking a long time to wipe the lenses. How dirty could they be? ‘So, all told, Tara’s actions probably delayed calling the police by almost an hour, factoring in the time spent giving instructions and dispatching mums all over the park. Well. Not quite all over, since I gather no one was sent to the part Sofia was actually taken out through?’
‘She was the one who made the call to the police,’ Carrie said, wondering why he was focusing on the things Tara hadn’t done, rather than the things she had. ‘And the area Sofia went out through is unused and fenced off, so she probably didn’t know it existed.’
‘Right.’ He finally put his glasses back on. ‘And then, lo and behold, you just happen to bump into each other at the indoor play place.’
‘Bundy’s. Yes. Tara was there with her son.’
‘And you don’t find this chance encounter a little’ – he picked up his mug – ‘odd?’
‘No. Why would I?’
‘It just seems like a remarkable coincidence.’ He took a sip of coffee, leaving the pie untouched.
‘I disagree. It was too hot for the park and Bundy’s is the nearest indoor play centre. I don’t find it surprising that we would both decide to take our children there.’
He held up an open hand. ‘OK, never mind, I take it all back.’ There was a pause while he sat back in his chair, drinking coffee. ‘So what’s Tara’s son like? Do he and Sofia get on?’
‘They haven’t met.’
He lifted an eyebrow (the left one). ‘I don’t understand. You were all at the inside play place together. How could they not have met?’
Carrie took another bite of pie. It didn’t taste as good as she remembered.
‘Tara’s son was already inside the play structure and we left before he emerged.’
‘So she didn’t call to him, ask that he come out so the two children could meet?’
‘No.’
Josh’s jaw shifted sideways, so that his teeth didn’t line up. ‘You have actually seen him, though? In the park, the day Sofia disappeared?’
‘No. She dropped him off with his father right before we met.’
‘And you haven’t had any playdates together?’
‘No. We . . . that hasn’t worked out yet.’ She put down her fork, no longer hungry. For reasons she couldn’t define, Josh’s qu
estions were making her uneasy. ‘We will soon, though. I’ll call her today and set one up.’
He sipped his coffee. ‘Good idea. Let me know how that goes.’
His lips pulled sideways as he said this and she wondered what that meant.
‘Carrie! Hello! How are you?’
‘I’m well. I’m calling to arrange a playdate with Peter.’
She stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the back garden with the mobile pressed tight against her ear. The hosepipe ban had taken its toll, crisping the grass to a dull brown.
‘A playdate,’ Tara repeated, dragging out the word. ‘Right. When were you thinking?’
‘This afternoon. Here. I could make an early supper.’
‘Oh. That’s . . . very soon. Let me just take a quick look at my schedule. One sec . . .’
Carrie transferred the phone to her other ear, pouring herself some tap water in the pause that followed, the liquid hissing against the glass.
‘Mummy.’
She glanced over her shoulder at Sofia, who was lying on the floor beside the book shelf.
‘Yes, my love?’
‘Have you seen my Playmobil Stephanie?’
‘I think she’s in the farmhouse.’
Sofia peered inside the plastic structure, part of a miniature village that had sprouted up on the living room rug.
‘Oh, there she is!’
A rustling sound came through the phone, then Tara said: ‘Looks like this afternoon is clear. So I guess it’s a date.’ Her voice sounded different, rising to a high note with a slight wobble. ‘What time?’
‘Four-thirty,’ Carrie said, feeling pleased and oddly relieved. ‘I’ll be done work by then.’
‘OK. But I should probably warn you . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Yes? Warn me about what?’
‘Actually, never mind. I’ll tell you when I see you.’
Seventeen
‘Let’s go back to the beginning.’
