The Stolen Children

by Oliver Davies

  Inside, the room had an abandoned, empty feeling and nothing seemed disturbed other than a tapestry missing from the wall. Behind it, there was a safe, the door open.

  “Have you touched the safe?” I asked Rebecca.

  She raised an eyebrow. “No.”

  “Alright, we’ll dust that over,” I said. “See if there are prints. How much money is missing?”

  “I wasn’t privy to the safe combination,” Rebecca said stiffly. “That was between Mr and Mrs Wooding alone.”

  “I see,” I said quietly. With one of those people dead, it seemed evident that the other had done, or sent her son to do it, perhaps, though that seemed unlikely.

  “And downstairs?” Stephen asked. “Was a window broken? The door?”

  “Oh no,” Rebecca said, looking almost affronted at the idea. “It had been opened with a key.”

  I nodded silently. “We’ll do those prints,” I said, whilst privately thinking that the person who’d done this seemed clear. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have the fingerprints, if it did turn out to be who I thought it was.

  “I’ll put some more tea on,” Rebecca said. She took us back to the ground floor, and from there, she headed towards the kitchen. Stephen and I returned to the car.

  “God, those scones were divine.”

  I sent Stephen an incredulous look as I was pulling the kit we needed from the car boot. “You’re seriously thinking about that?”

  He gave me a wounded look. “I’m thinking about the case too. I can multitask, Mitchell.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So, Mrs Wooding, right?” he said, with a touch of defiance.

  I nodded, making my way back into the house with the case of equipment bumping against my leg as I walked. “That’d be my best guess. It’s her things, her house. She had a key, and the safe combination. Seems unlikely it’d be anyone else.”

  Stephen hummed his agreement. “Yeah. Why did she come back, though?”

  I shrugged. “Ran out of money, I think. Plus, she wanted some of her own things.”

  “She’s free to move around, then,” Stephen surmised. “She’s not under duress.”

  I hesitated. “I would assume so,” I agreed tentatively. “Although someone could have something more powerful over her, and she came here to get the money for them.” I tilted my head, not entirely convinced by this theory, but it was a possibility.

  “Was it a coincidence that Lawrence left the hospital so soon before this?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it. “I don’t know. Might be, might not be.”

  Stephen sighed. “And here I was hoping that you’d have all the answers.”

  I smiled. “I know I’m amazing, but I’m not a mystic, Huxley.”

  We’d walked back up to the Woodings’ rooms while we were talking, and we stepped into Mr Wooding’s to take the prints from the safe, if there were any. I got to work dusting the area while Stephen went across the corridor to have a poke around in Mrs Wooding’s room, looking for anything out of place. I could hear the click of his phone taking pictures even from across the hall.

  “Anything?” he asked after a while, sticking his head around the door.

  “Possibly.” I focused on carefully lifting the print from the safe’s door and squinted at it. “Yeah, that might work.”

  “Nice job.”

  I began to pack up, turning to look over my shoulder at Stephen.

  “And you? Did you find anything?”

  He pulled an apologetic face. “Nada, sorry.”

  I shrugged. “Oh well.” I zipped the case of equipment and straightened up, my back clicking painfully. “I wonder whether Rebecca checked Lawrence’s room.”

  Stephen hummed. “Good point. Let’s go ask her.”

  I chuckled. “You’re just hoping she has more scones.”

  He smiled back. “Maybe so.”

  We headed downstairs, making our way to the kitchen and taking a couple of wrong turns along the way.

  “This place is enormous,” Stephen complained.

  “You only just noticed?” I teased and got an elbow in the rib for my troubles.

  At the kitchen door, I paused in the hallway outside as a thought occurred to me. Stephen looked back at me with a quizzical frown. “What is it?”

  I shook my head. “I was thinking about why she might’ve come back here for cash. She’s got so much on her card, right?”

  Stephen considered for only a moment. “Yeah, but there are cameras at ATMs, and tracking.”

  “Exactly. So she’s deliberately staying under the radar.”

  “Except, by coming here, she’s let us know she’s still in the area.”

  “Aye, that too,” I agreed.

  We walked into the kitchen after that, where Rebecca was waiting for us. Her husband, Nicholas, was also there and seated at the table with a mug of tea in front of him.

  “Good to see you,” I said, giving him a nod.

  “Likewise,” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

  Rebecca supplied us with hot drinks as we sat down, plus another plate of scones, which Nicholas dug into as eagerly as Stephen and I. I caught Rebecca with a half-smile on her face as all three of us reached for her cooking, but she saw me looking and turned away to fetch the teapot.

  After filling up a cup for herself, she took a seat at the table and looked over at us.

  “Lawrence loves my scones, too,” she said quietly. Nicholas reached over to put a hand on his wife’s arm, and she gave him a nod.

  “Have you been to see him?” I asked hesitantly. I was aware that Lawrence was no longer at the hospital and that neither Rebecca nor Nicholas likely knew of this yet.

  Rebecca straightened her spine slightly. “It wouldn’t be our place.”

  I suppressed my initial response to that, which was impolite. “You’re surely more familiar to him than his aunt and uncle, nice people that they are,” I said, instead.

  “They are good people,” Rebecca agreed.

  “Would you know where he might go, if not here?” I asked her slowly. “Early this morning, he left the hospital premises.”

  Rebecca and Nicholas looked up sharply. “He- left?” Rebecca said sharply.

  I sighed. “Yes. The cameras show him leaving voluntarily.”

  “You should be out there looking for him!” Nicholas cut in abruptly, making me jump. “Not fannying around here talking to us!” It was Rebecca’s turn to pat her husband’s arm.

  “He’s not a legal minor,” I said apologetically, “and since there was no indication of him leaving against his will, there’s not much we can do. We spent several hours looking for him, but it seems he’s found somewhere to hole up. Can you think of anywhere he might be?”

  The couple looked at each other. “Only his friends’ houses,” Rebecca said after a moment. “We’ll check the grounds here, too, of course, but he’s not been in the house.”

  “Did you notice anything missing from Lawrence’s room?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I did check there too,” she said, “but nothing had been disturbed.”

  I briefly considered asking to see in there, too, but I reckoned that Rebecca knew better than I did what was usually in Lawrence’s room. If she said that nothing was missing, I was inclined to believe her.

  I nodded, turning things over in my head but not wanting to say it aloud in front of the housekeeper and her husband, for fear of worrying them.

  “Thank you for your help,” I said finally, glancing over at Stephen to see if he had any final queries, but he shook his head.

  “You’ll keep looking for him?” Nicholas demanded.

  I grimaced. “I know you’re concerned-”

  Nicholas slapped the table with his palm. “He was kidnapped, dammit! He’s not fit to be out roaming the streets-”

  “Nick, Nick,” Rebecca said gently, touching his shoulder. “The police are doing their best.”

  “To be honest with you both,” I said, “
we’ve got another child missing, a thirteen-year-old girl. We’re concerned about Lawrence, too, and we’ll put out the word about him, but we can’t divert resources to look for him as it stands. He’s an intelligent young man, and I’m sure he’ll return to you sooner rather than later.”

  A muscle ticked in Nicholas’s jaw, but he gave a stiff nod after a moment.

  “You’ll keep us updated,” he said, a statement rather than a question.

  “Of course,” I said. “Although, you’d do better to keep in touch with Lawrence’s aunt and uncle. They were out looking for him the last time we spoke to them. They’ll be the first with any news on him.”

  “Alright,” Rebecca said. “Thank you, officers.”

  We excused ourselves soon after that, leaving Rebecca and Nicholas to search the house grounds in case Lawrence had somehow gotten himself all the way out here and was hiding in one of the outhouses. It seemed rather unlikely to me, but I understood the couple’s need to do something, anything, that might help.

  “That was difficult,” Stephen said quietly, as we crossed the drive back to the car.

  “Aye,” I agreed. “They care for him as much as his aunt and uncle, if not more, I’d say.”

  Stephen nodded. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and I moved around to the other side of the car.

  “What do you think of it all?” Stephen asked as he pulled out, heading through the gates and back towards the little road that led up to the grand house.

  I chewed my lip. “I’m not sure. The fact that none of Lawrence’s things are missing, but his mother’s are, is troubling.”

  “Right,” Stephen agreed. “Suggests that they’re not travelling together, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye, unfortunately.”

  “So maybe it wasn’t his mother who told him to leave the hospital, if they’re not travelling together.”

  “Perhaps not,” I agreed. “The timing is odd, though.”

  Stephen hummed in agreement. “All right, what next, boss?”

  “Back to the station,” I sighed. “We’ve got paperwork and research, your favourites.”

  Eighteen

  I handed the possible prints I’d gathered from the safe in the Woodings’ house over to the lab once we returned to the station. They’d run it through the system, but I wasn’t confident that they were going to find anything. If it did belong to Mrs Wooding, as I thought it did, she had no criminal record and no reason for our system to have her prints on it. But my thinking was that they might prove useful, if we needed them in the future.

  We wrapped up the day around five as Stephen headed home to his family.

  “Say ‘hi’ to Annie for me,” I said as we parted ways, him to his car and me towards the changing rooms.

  He gave me a cheery wave. “Will do.”

  Running home relaxed me as thoroughly as a glass of good wine. I collapsed onto the sofa with a takeaway container full of noodles as a treat, with my legs feeling pleasantly exercised.

  I’d left my phone on the side in the kitchen, and it was only when I wandered back in for a cup of tea an hour or so later, that I realised I had two missed calls on my phone.

  Frowning, I picked it up. The number was an unknown one, and I wondered who would call me at this time in the evening as I called them back.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice said, when the phone was picked up.

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  There was a long pause. “My name is Ellie Wooding, I believe-”

  “What?” I said before I could stop myself. My heart had sped up when she said her name and I dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. “Mrs Wooding? Where are you?”

  There was another pause. “I’ll get to that,” she said finally. Her voice had an elegant lilt to it, and she sounded just as upper class as I might’ve imagined. There was an undercurrent of urgency to her tone, though, and I was desperate to know why she was calling now of all times. “I hear that Lawrence ran off out of the hospital, is that true?”

  How did she know that? I wondered.

  “Yes, it’s true,” I said slowly. “Did you encourage him to do that?”

  She scoffed, which took me by surprise. “No, of course not. He ought to be recovering. Why wasn’t he better guarded?” she demanded.

  I bristled slightly at her imperious tone. “He was staying in a private hospital, and there was no indication that he’s in danger. Unless you have information that indicates otherwise?”

  “I do have information,” she said, skirting around my question. “And I’ll share it with you, but only in person. It’s too sensitive to discuss over the phone.”

  She was all business, and I frowned as I listened to her. Though she’d asked after her son, she didn’t seem especially concerned for his welfare or interested in what we were doing to find him, like his aunt and Rebecca had been.

  “I see,” I said slowly. “What kind of information do you have?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” she said flatly. “But it’s important, and pertinent to your investigation. You’ll want to know.”

  “You can come into the station tomorrow,” I started, knowing even as I said it that she’d never go for it. She’d been far too secretive up until now to agree to meet at the station.

  “No, no,” she said, predictably. “Somewhere less conspicuous, in case they’re following me.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “I can’t say over the phone,” she snapped, sounding annoyed now. “Meet me alone, tonight, at the cafe on the right of the Minster. The outside is painted blue. It’ll be busy with a music night tonight. I’ll tell you there.”

  She hung up abruptly, before I had the chance to ask her anything more and I stared down at my phone after she’d hung up.

  “What on earth…?” I muttered to myself. The woman seemed to think she was in some kind of spy movie and I sighed, hoping that her evident paranoia wasn’t actually justified.

  But, unwise as it might be, I’d already made up my mind to meet her, and so I only paused for a moment before picking up my phone again and sending a text off to Stephen to tell him where I was going. His reply came almost immediately and wasn’t particularly encouraging.

  Are you nuts? He’d written, Tell her to come to the station!

  She refused! I texted back. We need answers. I’ll text you when I get home again.

  I turned my ringtone off after that and shoved my phone in my jeans pocket. As I headed out, I debated whether it would be better to back off on this one and insist that Mrs Wooding met me at the station. But I suspected she’d just disappear into thin air again rather than do that. She’d suggested meeting in a public place so, even though it was dark out now, I weighed the risks and decided that it was worth it. And if I didn’t check in with Stephen within an hour or two, hopefully, he’d send the calvary out to find me.

  I parked up in the city and made my way towards the Minster which was lit up from below and rose tall and proud from the low, cramped shambles. The town was busier than I might’ve expected for a work night, but the streets were relatively abandoned as I made my way across the square and towards the café Ellie Wooding had told me to meet her at.

  It was the only place that was lit up nearby and, as I got closer, I could hear the live music coming from inside. Even though it was spring, I was shivering by the time I reached the door and pushed it open, the warmth inside very welcome.

  I recalled the pictures of Mrs Wooding that I’d seen online as I scanned the small crowd inside. There was a festive atmosphere amongst the patrons, most of whom were holding what looked like non-alcoholic drinks and seemed relaxed but not drunk.

  Weaving between the small groups of people talking, I headed over to the counter. As I’d already guessed, they weren’t serving wine, so I sipped at a coke as I leaned against a wall and studied the room. The live music consisted of a female singer accompanied by two guys on guitar and keyboard. The songs they were doing were mostly ballads, and the
y were making a decent job of it. I decided that this would be a nice place to come on an evening off, if I ever got the time.

  For now, though, I was still working, and so I stayed on the alert for Mrs Wooding. Half an hour in, I hoped she wouldn’t take too much longer to turn up, because the day was catching up with me and yawns kept creeping up on me.

  “You look like you need a coffee.”

  I turned sharply, finding a petite, brunette woman looking at me. For a minute, I couldn’t place her, before I realised that she was Ellie Wooding, despite the change in hair colour and how the make-up she was wearing cleverly changed the shape of her face.

  “Mrs-”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t use my name here.” She glanced down to the mostly empty drink in my hand. “Wait here for me.”

  She walked away towards the counter, and bemused, I watched her go. I couldn’t help but be fiercely curious about where the heck this woman had been the last month and a half, and what she was doing wanting to talk to me now. But I also couldn’t quite rule out that her intentions weren’t pure, so I told myself not to relax just yet.

  “There’s a table upstairs,” she told me as she handed me another coke, before she led the way up the stairs. I followed after her, finding a cosy, wood-panelled loft upstairs, filled with tightly packed tables and chairs, most of which were occupied. But there was an empty table in the back corner, so Mrs Wooding and I sat down there.

  I cupped my hand around the cold, damp glass of my soda, taking a cool, sweet sip as I waited for Lawrence’s mum to tell me why she’d gotten in contact with me.

  “How exactly did you get my phone number?” I asked, as the thought occurred to me.

  She’d bought herself some kind of yellow fruit juice, and she dabbed her lips before answering. “I saw your card on the table in Lawrence’s room,” she said.

  “And you stole it?” I said, my eyebrows raised.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. Up close, her blue eyes were intense and faintly unsettling, despite being very pretty. Their pale colour and the firm set of her mouth made her look cold.