Found

by Erin Kinsley

‘Are you aware of the Evan Ferrers case?’ asks Naylor. ‘An abduction, late last year?’

  Lindsey nods.

  ‘I heard about that, yes. A boy taken on his way home from school.’ She stares at Naylor. ‘Not Gary’s school? Was he working there? You know, after the incident with Izzy, I thought about reporting him, but I didn’t because I thought it was just me. Tigress mummy, over-protective, you know? He must have passed all the DBS checks to be working in schools, mustn’t he?’ Naylor’s eyebrows rise. ‘Oh my God. I did the right thing getting him out of here, didn’t I?’

  ‘You absolutely did,’ says Naylor. ‘I just hope for the children’s sake you did it soon enough.’

  ‘Now that’s what I call a result,’ says Hagen, as they walk back to the car. ‘If Prentice is still caretaker at Evan’s school, he’ll be easy enough to track down. I’ll put a call in and get someone to bring him in.’

  He presses the button on his key fob to unlock the car doors.

  ‘This fella asking questions about the car a while back,’ he goes on, climbing into the driver’s seat, ‘and us here on an anonymous tip-off. I don’t suppose our anonymous tipster by any chance goes by the name of Ron?’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Bradley,’ says Naylor.

  FORTY-THREE

  22 December

  In the interview room, Gary Prentice has adopted a bored expression which doesn’t quite hide the spark of arrogance in his eyes. His solicitor is a dour, middle-aged man who’s glanced at his watch once already, and clearly doesn’t expect to be here very long.

  Naylor settles in her chair next to Hagen, who’s unnecessarily rearranging papers in his file. Prentice settles back in his chair, extending his legs in front of him so his feet touch hers. It’s a power-grab on his part, taking up more space, but Naylor doesn’t care. She folds her feet under her chair and gives Prentice a warm-up smile.

  ‘Could you do the honours, Brad?’ she says.

  Hagen presses the buttons on the recorder, and they wait for the red lights to be steady and the beeping to stop before he recites the preliminary words – who’s in the room, and the standard caution.

  ‘We have a few questions for you, Gary,’ he says. ‘But before we start on those, we want to let you know we’ve been over at your house having a good look round, and we brought away a few things for closer examination. Laptop, phone, stuff like that.’

  Naylor and Hagen watch Prentice’s face, where the bored expression suddenly looks hard work and the spark of arrogance has gone.

  ‘You had no right to do that! That’s an infringement of my civil liberties!’

  The solicitor shakes his head to let Prentice know he’s wrong.

  ‘Actually, it’s all above board. We’ve a warrant all nicely signed and official,’ says Hagen. ‘Your girlfriend was a bit upset, I’m afraid. It isn’t nice having people tramping all over your home, I realise that. But we believe the trouble was worthwhile.’

  ‘We have some guys upstairs who really know what they’re doing,’ says Naylor. ‘Everybody thinks when you press the delete button and empty the recycle bin, all that embarrassing stuff on your tablet or your laptop you never want anyone to see has vanished, like a magic trick. But those guys upstairs in forensics are really good at bringing files back from the dead. Stuff you’ve downloaded, especially. There are little bits of data that get right down into the innards of your computer – down into the sewers, you might say – and that’s where those guys go fishing. And they’re going fishing on your laptop, Gary. I wonder what they’ll find?’

  Prentice is silent.

  ‘I’m curious too,’ says Hagen. ‘I’m wondering what’ll get snagged on their lines. Do you want to tell us what’s down there?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Hagen smiles a wide smile.

  ‘This is no time for no comment, Gary. We’ve been talking to your ex, Lindsey Stockman. You remember Lindsey, of course. According to her, you lived together for a period of time at the address where she’s still living in Woking. That would be, we assume, while you were employed – as you told us in your original statement – at a school in Guildford. Woking to Guildford, that’s an easy enough commute.’

  Prentice doesn’t speak.

  ‘While you were living there, she confirms you and she owned a red Ford Focus, registered in her name but bought and sold through your eBay account. Is that right, Gary? And that’s of great interest to us, because that car is the very one which had Evan Ferrers locked in the boot. What’re the chances, eh? You right there on the day Evan goes missing, almost the last person to see him before he’s snatched, and here you are again, a one-time owner of the car he was found in.’

  The solicitor is paying close attention, making lengthy notes on a pad of paper.

  ‘There’s more,’ Hagen continues. ‘While Evan was locked in a car boot, being taken – well, maybe you can tell us where he was being taken? No? Anyway, while he was being driven away from his home and family, he overheard a conversation, two men talking about someone buying a Spider. I think you owned a Spider, didn’t you, Gary? Maybe you still do. That’s not conclusive by itself, but it’s certainly a coincidence some might say connects you to those men. Put it all together and I’d say it’s a good thing you’ve got legal representation.’

  Prentice glances across at his lawyer, whose attention seems all on his notes.

  ‘So this is where you start talking to us and volunteering information,’ says Naylor. ‘Do you know someone called Brian? Brian Birch? We’re giving you an opportunity here to save your own skin. Only to an extent, of course. You know you’ll be going down for a stretch. But that stretch could be much shorter, if you’ll help us out. We’ll get a result with or without help from you, so this is a short-term offer only. Talk to us about Evan Ferrers and Liam Keslake, and we’ll persuade the judge to look favourably on you when it’s time for sentencing. I should say, while you’re considering your options, that we’ll be making the same offer to Brian when we catch up with him, and only one of you can benefit. There might be a decent reduction in the offing, but it’s you or him. So what you have to ask yourself is, when we make Brian that same offer, will he refuse it to save your skin?’

  Prentice’s response is almost immediate.

  ‘I want to speak to my lawyer in private,’ he says.

  FORTY-FOUR

  23 December

  Tuesday morning, and everyone’s in so early, by 8 a.m., the coffee machine is on its second refill. Naylor’s trying to make good use of her time, going through some of the statements on a new incident where a businessman and his family were robbed at gunpoint. It’s a serious case – shotguns, violence and three traumatised children – and it should be getting her full attention, but her mind’s on what she hopes is happening in Sunderland.

  A few minutes after nine, Campbell walks into the office, sharp-suited and overloaded with aftershave. For once, he doesn’t have to call for attention. All eyes are on him, and a hush falls on the room.

  ‘OK, listen up,’ he says, unnecessarily. ‘I’ve just got off the phone with Northumbria, and I’m pleased to report a fantastic result from there.’

  Naylor’s surprised to notice she has butterflies in her stomach, and finds herself willing Campbell to say what she wants to hear.

  Campbell glances at his page of notes.

  ‘Acting on information received from Gareth – known as Gary – Prentice, forced entry was made at an address in Sunderland early this morning. Two children – two children, ladies and gentlemen – were removed from the scene, one female, aged approximately six years old, identity not yet established – an interpreter is being sought – and one male aged eleven, who gave his name as Liam Keslake.’

  A cheer goes up around the office. Naylor turns to Hagen, who’s grinning, and Hagen gives her a double thumbs up. From across the room
, a smiling Dallabrida gives her a wink.

  ‘Furthermore,’ goes on Campbell, when they settle back down, ‘two arrests were made at the location and a further two have subsequently been made at addresses in Lancashire and Essex. Four men remain in custody to be charged with a range of offences. They are . . .’ He looks again at his notes. ‘Brian William Birch, Daniel Kawcznski, Neil Alexander Roper and Peter Clive Sewell. I’ve been asked to pass on thanks from both Northumbria and the Chief Constable to everyone who’s played a part in what I think we can call a highly successful operation, which will of course be front and centre in the press when the news breaks. So, well done everyone. Great result.’

  When Campbell’s gone, the air of celebration remains, but as Naylor approaches Hagen, her delight at Liam being found is tainted by the feeling that the path they followed to make the arrests was too long and too slow.

  She sees the same in Hagen’s face.

  ‘Is it a great result?’ she asks.

  Hagen shrugs.

  ‘We did our best,’ he says. ‘And they got Liam out.’

  ‘We might have got to Brian Birch earlier, if Border Control had been able to confirm in a timely manner he never went to Spain. That was a clever plan, shipping his missus over there as a decoy.’

  ‘How could we have proved he hadn’t left the UK?’ asks Hagen. ‘We couldn’t have known he wasn’t there until we found him here. We didn’t drop any balls, Rachel. We just juggle so many of them, it isn’t humanly possible to keep all of them in the air. If we’d been allowed to stay dedicated to this case, chances are we’d have got a faster result. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Just think how happy Mr and Mrs Keslake are at this moment.’

  Naylor recalls giving Claire Ferrers the news Evan had been found, the car journey to Pontefract, the way Claire ran down the hospital corridor to find her son, and knows Hagen is right. Better late than never.

  ‘Someone had better call Mr and Mrs Ferrers,’ she says. ‘It’ll be great news for them.’

  ‘I hope so,’ says Hagen. ‘Maybe we should let them enjoy their Christmas first.’

  Naylor understands his diffidence. There’s no doubt Claire and Matt will be relieved Evan’s tormentors are finally behind bars. But their arrests bring the prospect of courts and prosecutions, and proceedings which may cause as much stress to Evan as they will to those sitting in the dock.

  FORTY-FIVE

  25 December

  Christmas morning, 6.30 a.m. Sitting in his chair with its view out of the window, Jack has drunk a pot of tea, but has no appetite this morning for his toast and marmalade. The blackness from outside seems oppressive, but there’s no prospect yet of sunrise lightening the sky.

  He’s thinking about Christmas mornings of days gone by: boyhood days, the almost sleepless Christmas Eves and the unbearable excitement of the weight of a full Christmas stocking on the end of his bed, the thrill of a new bike or sledge under the tree. He’s been remembering too his first Christmas with Dora, when he bought her an engagement ring that cost him a month’s wages. In later years, that ring looked as cheap as it was, a tiny chip of a solitaire she needed a magnifying glass to see. As time went by, he bought her better jewellery, but the first ring he bought her never left her finger.

  Now she’s wearing it in her grave.

  He feels that pain again in his chest. It’s come and gone more regularly these past few days, a crushing, aching pressure which makes his fingers tingle and numbs his shoulder. If he sits still, it will shortly pass, and when it passes, he’ll go and find his tablets and his inhaler.

  The kitchen door opens, and Evan is there, looking small in his dressing gown – though Claire’s recently bought him new slippers to replace his outgrown old ones – and carrying a pair of Christmas stockings.

  Something gives a cruel stab to Jack’s heart, sharp enough to take his breath away, and he feels his face lose colour. Even so, he finds a smile for Evan.

  ‘Here he is,’ he says, with a cheerfulness he’s pressed even to fake. ‘Merry Christmas!’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Grandpa.’ Evan holds up one of the stockings. ‘Father Christmas left this for you. I thought we could open them together.’

  Jack smiles, and the stabbing in his heart fades.

  ‘Father Christmas brought me a stocking? Well, that is a surprise! I don’t suppose I’ve had a stocking in fifty years! I wonder where he found the stuff to fill a stocking for an old man like me?’

  ‘Harrogate, mainly,’ says Evan. ‘Shall we open them in here?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, since it’s Christmas, you run through to the front room and light the fire. Let’s have it warm like your mother likes it, though the rest of us will be boiled to death like Christmas puddings. And then we’ll go and sit nice and comfortable on the sofa, and see what we’ve got.’

  Evan leaves him, and Jack takes advantage of the hiatus to force himself from his chair. His tablets and inhaler are in the drawer, and the hit from the inhaler brings almost instant relief, making him wonder why he lets himself get so miserable with unnecessary pain. Downing the maximum dose of tablets, he puts the kettle on to make more tea.

  In the lounge, Evan’s beaming with excitement.

  ‘Look at all the presents, Grandpa!’ he says, and it’s true there are plenty, put there by Matt when they’d all gone to bed. With the fire going and the tree lit, the room’s festive, but he’ll miss the little niceties from Dora, the chocolate brazils and merino wool socks and the Marks and Spencer’s vests he’s always worn.

  Evan’s waiting expectantly on the sofa, the first of the brightly wrapped gifts from his stocking in his lap.

  Jack sits down next to him.

  ‘Come on, then,’ he says, and takes out his first parcel. It’s a thoughtful gift, but fuel for his heartbreak: like Dora always used to buy him, a box of chocolate brazils.

  Boxing Day has been and gone, and in the squalls and gales of mid-winter, Ainsclough Top is bleak. There’s snow on Blackmire Ridge which looks like it might be there till spring, and the old house will miss the cheering fairy lights and tinsel of another Christmas past.

  Claire is sad to be leaving. Matt’s business commitments have called him back to the office, and Claire wants to spend time with him at home, but she will miss Evan badly. She’ll miss Jack too, and the farm; she’s come to love the peace of its isolation almost as much as Evan does, and the gentle routine of its unhurried days is soothing to her soul. She’s found time for things she never thought she’d enjoy – baking and reading – and she’s dared to have a go at knitting with some of Dora’s old yarn.

  She’s put one of her bags in the car boot, and she’s hurrying back to the kitchen through the driving rain when the phone rings. Jack’s sitting on the sofa, and it seems a shame to make him get up, so she answers it herself.

  ‘Is that Claire? I’m glad I’ve found you. It’s Rose Yazici here, from Ashridge police station. How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ says Claire. She remembers Rose: the pretty one who looked after Evan when he was interviewed at Harrogate. ‘You just caught me. I’m heading back south today. We’ve all been up here for Christmas. I think Matt’s feeling it, coming home to an empty house every night, so I think it’s time I did my wifely duty.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve had a good break,’ says Rose. ‘Recharged your batteries. I’m afraid you’re going to need to be at peak resilience.’

  Claire’s heart sinks.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s good news, in many ways. I’d have come to talk to you in person, only we don’t have the budget to keep making the trip.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ says Claire. ‘Please, just tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘We’ve had a breakthrough in Evan’s case. We’ve made some arrests.’

  Claire sits down heavily on the stairs.

  �
�You’re kidding me. After all this time.’

  ‘We haven’t gone public yet because the operation’s ongoing and there are more suspects out there we don’t want to abscond. And of course we want you to know before it’s in the press. There’s even better news. We’ve found Liam Keslake.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Tears fill Claire’s eyes. ‘Is he OK?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to say that, not to you. You know better than anyone that there are degrees of OK. But he’s alive, and going back home to his family as soon as the doctors give permission. Not only that, we’ve rescued another child, a girl who isn’t known to us. We think she may be from Eastern Europe, but at the moment she’s too traumatised to speak.’

  ‘So where was this? Where did you find them?’

  ‘In the north-east, in Sunderland. Please tell Evan we wouldn’t have found them without his help. He was very brave and very unselfish to help us with those interviews. I know he didn’t want to, and how difficult it was for him. So please thank him from everyone, especially Liam’s family.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘The thing is,’ says Rose, ‘we’re going to need him again. There’ll be a trial, of course, and we’ll need Evan to give evidence. It won’t be for a few months yet. There’s plenty of time to get him ready emotionally.’

  ‘It can’t be avoided?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. But it will be video testimony. He won’t have to see his abductors.’

  ‘How many were there?’ Claire has asked the question before she realises she doesn’t want to know, and Evan doesn’t want her to know. ‘No, don’t tell me. What do you think we should do about Evan seeing the news? Do you think it would be good for him?’

  ‘If he asks, then let him,’ says Rose. ‘Remember you gave him your word you’d take no interest. I would just leave the news alone. Watch something more cheerful instead.’

  It isn’t until Claire hangs up that she notices Evan at the top of the stairs, standing in the shadows, listening.