Kill or Die

by Samantha Lee Howe

  ‘Your boss told me that this was a matter of urgency,’ Stanners says. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

  ‘As you know, we work for MI5,’ I say. ‘For the last year we’ve been investigating childhood disappearances.’

  Beth goes into a practised spiel about Archive’s investigations of cold cases – our default cover for the general public.

  ‘We have news of your missing daughter,’ Beth says choosing her words carefully. ‘But we need to ask you some questions about her disappearance first.’

  Stanners sits forward in his chair. ‘You’ve found Georgia’s body?’ he says.

  ‘When did your daughter go missing?’ I ask, ignoring his question.

  ‘It was thirty years ago this August,’ Stanners says. ‘She’d just turned five. She was with her nanny, on the way to a private birthday party. We lived in the London house then. It was several hours later when they should have returned that my wife rang the mother of the child whose birthday it was to see where they were. It appeared that they had never arrived. We rang the police and the nanny’s car was searched for, but never found. It looked like she had abducted Georgia.’

  ‘There were no other leads or possible explanations?’ Beth asked.

  ‘The police investigated it. Neither Georgia nor the nanny were ever found,’ Stanners says.

  ‘That must have been hard for you both,’ Beth says.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I believe she was your only child?’ I ask.

  ‘My wife had had such a difficult time conceiving and after Georgia was born, because of the problems she had, the doctors recommended a hysterectomy. It didn’t matter to us because we had the child we’d both always wanted.’

  ‘Tell us about Georgia,’ I say. ‘What was she like as a child?’

  Stanners smiles at the memory. ‘Very intelligent. Gifted even. She had an instinct for languages and she was speaking fluent French with the nanny by the age of four. We’d thought it an odd thing to start teaching so young, but the nanny was French and she spoke to Georgia in both English and French from the beginning. She was reading and writing both well by the time she was five. The nanny told us all the time that she was special.’

  ‘Can you tell us more about the nanny?’ Beth asks.

  ‘She wasn’t very old, early twenties as I recall. Quite a mousey girl really. We liked her and trusted her because she was so dedicated to Georgia. We were pleased to have someone working for us who cared. My wife Sabrina often commented on how fortunate we were. I remember that particular morning, Sabrina had said, “We’ll never have to worry about Nicole, she’d protect Georgia with her life.”’

  ‘How did you find Nicole?’ I ask.

  Stanners thought for a minute. ‘It wasn’t really my area, but my wife and her mother went to a recommended nanny agency. The girl had excellent references. They interviewed a few nannies and she was hired.’

  Beth and I exchange a look. We are watching Stanners’s reactions to our questions, and it’s time to reveal our hand.

  ‘Lord Stanners,’ I say, ‘we have reason to believe that Nicole worked for an organisation who kidnapped children in order to … radicalise them.’

  ‘What do you mean? Radicalising how?’

  Beth takes a breath.

  ‘It’s a matter of national security and I’m afraid we can’t tell you more as it may compromise you. But we believe your daughter may be alive, living under another identity,’ I explain.

  Stanners blinks and looks around confused. ‘Alive? After all this time?’

  ‘Yes. We also think that in the last few months she has freed herself from these people. We are certain she knows that you are her real father, and might try to contact you,’ Beth explains. ‘That’s why we are here. If she does get in touch, we need you to let us know. We have to find her. She will have information that may help us capture these people.’

  Stanners slumps back in his chair. ‘She was right. It wasn’t all in her head.’

  ‘Who, Lord Stanners?’ Beth says.

  ‘My wife. She’d said she’d seen Georgia, all grown up but she recognised her.’

  ‘When was this?’ I ask.

  ‘A few months ago,’ Stanners says. ‘She told me Georgia had been to see her. That she came here and was in her room.’

  ‘Security Agent Martin told us your wife is ill,’ Beth says. ‘May we ask what’s wrong?’

  ‘Sabrina has Alzheimer’s. It started a while ago. Then at the beginning of this year her condition worsened. She still has days when she recalls things. But mostly her mind confuses the present and the past. When she said she saw Georgia I just thought she was remembering her and getting mixed up.’

  ‘I need to know everything you can recall about the day Lady Stanners says Georgia visited,’ I say. ‘Were there any visitors, or did anything unusual happen?’

  Stanners sighs. ‘We had some interviews for new cleaning staff and the housekeeper was vetting them in the Estate Office. We’d had one girl move away and another was pregnant. So we were looking for two new reliable housemaids. Sabrina and I had been in London for a few weeks, and we’d arrived back the day before. Sabrina always gets a bit more confused when she’s tired, and she wasn’t well that day, so I’d encouraged her to stay in her room and rest. I sent food up to her, and I checked in on her regularly. By the afternoon she came running downstairs. She said, “Albert, it’s wonderful, Georgia is back. She says she’s going to look after me.” After that I couldn’t get much sense out of her. She rambled about our little girl and the nanny, and how special she was. It was a confused mess. In the end she was so excitable, I called the doctor out. He came to see her and gave her a sedative.’

  I ask Stanners where Sabrina was now.

  ‘She’s in care. Her condition worsened and we couldn’t contain her. We had a nurse live in for a while, but Sabrina became too much and needed twenty-four-hour care. Sometimes we’d find her wandering around the garden in the cold in only a nightdress. She was always looking for Georgia. As you can imagine it was very disturbing.’

  Beth removes a wallet from her flight bag. Inside are various pictures of Olive Redding. We need Stanners to confirm that she is Georgia and so Beth places the first picture, of Olive aged five, in front of him.

  ‘Is this your daughter?’ I ask.

  Stanners stares at the picture, and his eyes fill with tears as he nods.

  Next Beth lays down a picture of twelve-year-old Olive. ‘Could this be Georgia?’

  ‘Yes!’ Stanners says. ‘She has her mother’s eyes.’

  The next picture is of Georgia aged fifteen and the final one is a picture that our computer system has digitally aged to show a thirty-five-year-old version of the little girl.

  ‘Oh my God!’ says Stanners. ‘I know this girl! She works at the home where we put Sabrina.’

  We take the details of the home and warn Stanners not to tell anyone what he’s told us.

  ‘You think she’s our daughter?’ he says. ‘She’s gone there to be near to Sabrina, hasn’t she? She’s taking care of her, just as my wife believed she would.’

  At that moment the butler knocks on the door and brings in a tray of tea.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Beth says. ‘We have to leave. But please remember what we said.’

  The butler leads us back through the house in silence and we exit through the door we came in by. I have an odd, prickly feeling as the butler closes the door behind us.

  ‘Do you think the butler was eavesdropping?’ I ask as we walk back to the car.

  ‘It had occurred to me,’ Beth says.

  ‘We need to get to this home before someone warns Olive and we lose her,’ I say. ‘Or before someone from the Network gets to her first.’

  In the car, Beth rings Ray and tells him what has happened. I set the sat nav for the home. It’s a place in Glasgow and we now have a tense journey ahead. I hope, when we arrive, that Georgia Stanners (aka Olive Redding) is oblivious to our knowle
dge of her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Michael

  The Braemar Care Home is in a former manor house which was converted in the 1980s to become a residential care facility for the old and frail of wealthy Scottish families. As a private facility it resembles a hotel more than a care home, and as I drive into the car park, I’m reminded of the estate used in an old adaptation of Brideshead Revisited. The building and grounds are immense, and I can think of worse places to end up in my dotage.

  I park the Range Rover and take my gun from my rucksack, stowing it in my suit jacket pocket. Beth checks her weapon too and places it in the waistband of her skirt at the small of her back for convenient access. We are both very aware that Redding is dangerous and there’s no telling how she will react when she sees me.

  We get out of the car and walk into the building reception.

  I flash my badge to the receptionist.

  ‘We’re here to see Lady Stanners,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you to let anyone on your staff know of our presence.’

  The receptionist is young and easily intimidated and she points to the stairs, telling us which room Sabrina Stanners is in.

  We climb the stairs, taking our time, and at the top I turn and follow the left-hand corridor until we find the room. Screwed to the door is a plaque with ‘Sabrina’ written on it.

  I knock and a small voice invites us in.

  Sabrina Stanners is sitting in a chair by the window. She’s looking out onto the perfect lawn attached to the property.

  ‘Hello,’ says Beth as she moves into the room. ‘I’m Beth. Are you Sabrina?’

  Sabrina looks at us, and I see the resemblance between our aged picture of Olive and her. There is no doubt that Sabrina is her mother. However, as happens with dementia sufferers, Sabrina is overly thin and very frail for a woman only seventy years old.

  Beth pulls a chair close to Sabrina and begins to talk to her. Small inconsequential snippets at first, asking how her day has been. Graduating to the weather as she tests how aware Sabrina is.

  ‘I believe your daughter works here?’ Beth slips in.

  ‘Oh yes,’ says Sabrina. ‘But it’s our little secret.’

  Sabrina presses her finger to her lips and frowns as though she’s realised that she has spoken out of turn.

  ‘Is Georgia here today?’ Beth asks.

  ‘Who are you?’ Sabrina says looking at me. ‘Are you a friend of Albert’s?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I answer.

  ‘You’re here for the wedding?’ she says.

  Beth nods her head to encourage me to go along with Sabrina’s confusion.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Albert makes me so happy,’ says Sabrina. ‘It was such a whirlwind romance. Are you his best man?’

  I nod, then also pull up a chair alongside her.

  ‘That’s right,’ Sabrina says. ‘You’re Andrew.’

  I glance at Beth.

  ‘Albert told me you were younger than him. How did you two meet again?’ Sabrina asks.

  ‘Didn’t Albert tell you?’ I ask.

  Sabrina frowns for a moment. ‘Oh yes, of course! I remember now.’

  I try to coax the answer from her but her mind is already elsewhere.

  ‘Is Georgia working here today?’ Beth asks, bringing Sabrina back to why we had come.

  ‘Oh yes. She was here a few moments ago. Then she got a phone call and she went away.’

  ‘Where did she go?’ I ask. ‘She’ll be back, won’t she?’

  ‘Oh yes. She always comes back before she goes home. She’s looking after me,’ Sabrina says.

  ‘I’m going to take a look around,’ I tell Beth. ‘Stay here in case she returns.’

  Beth turns her chair to give her an advantage if Olive does come back into Sabrina’s room. I slip out and walk down the corridor.

  Most of the doors are open and so I’m able to glance inside to see if anyone is there. If Olive/Georgia has taken a job here to be with her mother, then she will have other duties to attend to even if she does contrive to spend time with Sabrina.

  At the end of the wing there’s no sign of her and few of the residents are in their own rooms.

  I walk down the north corridor and discover this is the male wing of the home. A nurse is in one of the rooms and she’s giving medicine to a small, fragile old man in a wheelchair.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asks.

  She isn’t Redding and I wonder if I dare risk asking her about Olive. But I don’t know what name she’s going by and so this gives me a dilemma.

  ‘Lady Stanners? She’s looking for someone she says is her daughter,’ I say. ‘I’m visiting and I’d like to thank her for being so kind.’

  ‘Oh, you mean Sally,’ she says. ‘It’s really sweet how Sabrina thinks she’s her daughter. Sally doesn’t mind either if it helps her. Poor dear.’

  ‘Ah, that’s right. Do you know where Sally is right now?’

  ‘On a break, I think,’ says the nurse. ‘She’ll be downstairs. The canteen is just off the reception.’

  I go back downstairs and see the receptionist talking to a woman with a severe cropped haircut. The receptionist points to me as I approach.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the other woman says. ‘I’m the manger here. What are you doing talking to Lady Stanners?’

  ‘I’d prefer that you not ask me that right now,’ I say. ‘Where is the canteen?’

  ‘Canteen?’ asks the woman.

  ‘Where your staff have their break?’

  The receptionist points to a door behind her, around the back of the counter. I come round, walk past them both and go inside.

  The room has a few nurses and carers in. Those facing me I quickly dismiss as I can see they aren’t Olive. But one does have her back to me. I approach and take a seat opposite her.

  Olive Redding stares at me in dumb silence. Frozen in the process of taking a bite of a sandwich.

  ‘Hello, Sally. Or should I say Olive? I’m not here to hurt you,’ I say. ‘In fact, if you tell me what I want to know I’m going to go upstairs to your mother’s room and give you a head start so that you can run.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’ she says.

  ‘Where did Neva come from?’

  Olive looks around the room. The manager is standing in the doorway watching us with a look of concern.

  ‘I just wanted to spend some time with her,’ Olive says. ‘The nanny took me from them.’

  ‘Nicole? What happened to her?’

  ‘She was called Tracey Herod after that. She’s dead now, as you know.’

  The link between Herod, Olive and Neva is stronger than I’d suspected.

  ‘I’ve always believed that Neva was Simone Arquette’s daughter,’ Olive says.

  I sigh. ‘We have all of your files from the House. We know that’s not true.’

  ‘I don’t know the answer,’ she says.

  ‘Neva told me you said you knew her mother,’ I say.

  ‘So you’re still helping her?’ Olive says. ‘She has you enthralled. The best of us can do that to men. I was never beautiful enough to have that kind of power.’

  Olive’s words are designed to destabilise me by implying Neva controls me. I ignore them.

  ‘Who are her parents?’ I ask again.

  At that moment the manager comes over to the table.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she says. ‘I really must insist―’

  Olive takes advantage of the interruption and leaps from her seat. I catch hold of her arm before she gets any further.

  ‘Go away,’ I say to the manager. ‘I need to speak to this woman and you are interfering with an ongoing investigation.’

  The woman is shocked that I’m so rude.

  ‘I’ll speak to your superior―’

  ‘You do that,’ I say. I pull Olive around the table and force her to sit down next to me.

  The manager storms away and I know I’m on borrowed time.

 
‘Look, you left the Network, they haven’t found you. When I leave here, I promise I’ll give you a chance to get away. But if you don’t tell me, I’m taking you in.’

  ‘I’m telling the truth. I don’t know who her parents are. But I saw her mother once. She came to the House, not long after I took over as the head there. I was told not to ask any questions. No one ever used her name, but she was with a heavy security team. I knew she was someone important to the Network because Beech had sent her to do an inspection. He did that on occasion to try and keep us on our toes.’

  ‘How did you know she was Neva’s mother?’

  ‘At the time I didn’t. But I had to give the woman a tour of the House so I spent a fair amount of time with her. She was so cold, so matter-of-fact about the training – brainwashing. I hated her. Then when you and Neva came to the House, and I saw her for the first time, I knew she was her daughter: she was the image of her – just younger. It all made sense.’

  I take one of my cards out of my wallet and hand it to her because I believe her.

  ‘If you remember more, then contact me,’ I say. ‘Now get the fuck away from here and don’t come back.’

  I stand and walk away. Out at the reception the manager is making a fuss. Beth comes down the stairs and sees me talking to her. She hurries over and that is when she glances through the open door and sees Olive Redding getting into her car.

  ‘Mike! There she is!’

  Pulling her gun out, Beth runs to the door and hurries into the car park. She fires a shot at the car, but Redding is already too far away.

  I follow Beth and we get into the Range Rover but, with its heavy frame, it is the worst car for doing a chase in. Olive’s little sports car is long gone before we are even out of the car park.

  ‘Shit!’ says Beth.

  We drive up and down a few nearby roads in the hope that we can spot the car, but there’s no sign of her.

  ‘Sorry, this is all my fault. That receptionist told her manager we were here and the woman was freaking out. I’ll have to go back there and sort it out before she calls in the police and we have some explaining to do.’