The Disappearance of Katie Wren

by Cross,Amy

  “Still,” he continues, “it would seem appropriate to try. Are we just going to drive around until morning?”

  “Maybe!”

  “Go to a police station,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I'm serious!”

  “That'd be like delivering ourselves on a platter. They'd probably frame us for what happened to dumb little Agnes.”

  “Of course they wouldn't!” I spit back at her. “The police aren't completely insane!”

  “Your belief in those assholes is consistently cute, Winnie, but right now I'm a little too busy to explain for the umpteenth time why you're dead wrong. Emphasis on the dead!” She keeps her eyes on the road ahead. “What would you do right now, Harry?” she whispers under her breath. “Come on, you were always good at thinking on your feet. What would you do if you were in this situation?”

  She takes a left turn, although this time the car briefly mounts the pavement.

  “Shit!” Annabelle hisses, as the car bumps slowly against some boxes of fruit and vegetables outside a convenience store. Some of the boxes are knocked over, but Annabelle keeps going until we're back on the next street. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Low-speed car chase in progress with a bad driver at the wheel.”

  “We could go to the media,” Tim suggests.

  “Yeah, like that'd work!”

  “But if -”

  Suddenly Annabelle accelerates, and the car rushes along the street.

  “What is it?” I ask. “Where are we going?”

  “The only place we can go,” she explains, as the black car disappears into the distance behind us, evidently electing not to give chase. “We're going home. Or at least, to Tim's place. My laptop's there, and there's a chance I can still get to it.”

  “Won't they have already sent someone to the apartment building?” I ask.

  “Sure, but they might still let us inside. As long as we're doing things that surprise them, they'll be at least a little cautious. They're confident but they're not arrogant, and they'll know there's still a teeny, tiny chance that maybe I've gotten hold of something that could cause them problems. The trick right now, the only possible trick, is to act like we're in control, like we're not scared. That way, they'll keep us alive while they're figuring out whether or not we're bluffing.”

  “But we are bluffing!” I point out.

  “Of course we are, so let's do it right.” She glances at me. “I reckon by now they're gonna be regretting that they ever decided to pick on Katie. They're gonna be thinking they should've found an orphan, or someone nobody cared about. If it makes you feel any better, I bet we're being quite irritating right now.” She looks ahead, watching the road once again. “It makes me feel better,” she mutters. “Harry wouldn't want me to back down and run. He'd be proud if he could see me now. If he's looking down and watching all of this, he'll want me to figure out how to sock it to 'em.”

  For the next couple of minutes, we drive in silence. I glance over my shoulder every few seconds, to check whether we're still being followed, although I gain little solace from the fact that the black car seems to have left us alone. My mind is racing and I keep telling myself that this situation has been blown out of all proportion, although the horrific memory of Agnes being run over is enough to make me realize that we're dealing with some very dangerous people. When I look at Tim, I can see the fear in his eyes, but neither of us says anything. Perhaps, like me, he keeps hoping that at some point he's going to wake up from this nightmare.

  “Almost there,” Annabelle announces finally. “Remember, when we get to the building, try to act confident. We're just gonna walk through the front door. I think I've finally come up with a plan. I know what we're gonna do after this.”

  I look ahead, but suddenly I spot blue flashing lights outside the apartments, and I realize there are several police cars.

  “We're saved!” I stammer, feeling a rush of relief. “The police have finally -”

  Before I can finish, Annabelle slams her foot against the brake pedal, bringing the car screeching to a halt.

  “This is bad,” she whispers.

  “Bad?” I stammer. “Of course it's not bad! I might be willing to believe that I encountered a few bad apples when I went to the police before, but now they're finally going to take us seriously!”

  “This is the one thing I didn't expect,” she continues, staring at the half dozen patrol cars as she starts drumming her fingers against the wheel. “What are they playing at? What are they trying to get us to do?”

  Opening the door, I step out of the car.

  “Winnie, wait!”

  “I'm going to talk to them,” I tell her, “and I'm going to explain what's been going on. We've tried things your way, and it ended with us driving around in circles with nowhere to go. I still have a shred of faith left that ordinary people, innocent people, will be protected from this sort of thing.”

  She calls after me, but I make my way along the pavement, heading toward the front of the building. There are scores of police officers around, with several heading into the building and several more coming out carrying boxes. After everything that has happened this evening, I feel immensely reassured by the thought that the proper authorities are finally getting involved. I just have to find someone and introduce myself, and tell them about Katie and about what I saw outside Knott's Court.

  “Hello,” I say as I reach one of the officers, “my name is -”

  “Over there,” he replies dismissively, pointing toward an ambulance that's parked near the main door.

  “But I -”

  “Please, M'am, talk to the commanding officer over there.”

  With that, he turns and hurries away. I see Annabelle over on the other side of the street, with Tim just a few steps behind her. They both look utterly shocked, although there's an extra hint of fear in Annabelle's eyes.

  Turning, I make my way past the building's front door, toward a small gaggle of police officers who have gathered near the ambulance. I can hear radio chatter filling the air all around, and the flashing blue lights from the police cars are bathing the whole scene. For a moment, as I get closer to the officers, I feel a little dazed, as if the sheer madness of this entire situation has finally caught up to me. Even when I reach the swarm of police, they don't seem to notice me at first, and they're so busy talking to one another that I eventually have to nudge one of them on the arm, hoping to get his attention.

  “Can I help you, M'am?” he asks, sounding distracted. “I'm afraid we're in the middle of -”

  “My name is Winifred Wren,” I tell him, “and I've seen something tonight that I think you need to know about.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Please,” I continue, “whatever else is happening here, can you just -”

  “Mum?”

  As soon as I hear that voice, I freeze. After a moment, I turn and look at the back of the ambulance, where a couple of paramedics are tending to a girl who's sitting shivering on the back step. There's a foil blanket around her shoulders and she looks to be wearing nothing underneath, with cuts and dirt all over her bare legs, but I recognize her as soon as I see her eyes.

  “Mum?” she stammers, pushing the paramedics aside as she stumbles to her feet. Tears are streaming down her face, and she quickly hurries toward me. “Mum!”

  “Katie?” I whisper, barely able to believe what I'm seeing. “Katie, is that -”

  “Mum!” she screams, racing toward me and sobbing as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Mum, I thought I'd never see you again!” she weeps, as her whole body convulses with shock. “I thought I was going to die down there!”

  “Katie!” I gasp, feeling a flood of joy rushing through my body. “Oh my poor dear girl, where have you been?”

  As she continues to sob against my shoulder, I look past the ambulance and see Annabelle watching with an expression of great concern in her eyes. Behind her, two police officers are putting Tim in ha
ndcuffs.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Basement

  “He kept hitting me every time I made a noise,” Katie sobs, as she sits on the edge of the hospital bed. “I had tape over my mouth, I could barely even breathe, but even...”

  She stares into space for a moment, as if she's struggling to come up with the right words.

  “I kept panicking,” she continues finally. “I know that sounds stupid, but I kept getting these, like, panic attacks that made my whole body shudder. I couldn't stop them, I was getting three or four a day, and it's like they paralyzed me. I wanted to fight back, to get free and force my way out of there but...”

  Her voice trails off, and suddenly she breaks down again.

  I put my arm around her and pull her close, kissing the side of her head.

  “It's okay,” I whisper. “You're safe now. It's all over.”

  “I'm so sorry to put you through this, Katie,” the police officer says, making some notes on her file, “but it's very important that we get some basic information from you. There'll be time for a fuller interview later, but right now we have to be sure that there are no other girls who are in danger.”

  “I didn't see any other girls,” she whimpers.

  “I know, and that's good, but...”

  The officer hesitates, with tears in her eyes. She seems genuinely shocked by Katie's plight, and I can tell that she's struggling to continue the interview.

  “I just want to go home,” Katie sobs, putting her arms around me. “Mum, can we go home? Can we go back to Shropley?”

  “Of course,” I reply, kissing the side of her head again. “Just as soon as you're given the all-clear to leave the hospital, we'll be on the first train out of London. We won't even look back.”

  “We're still waiting to get the results back from the tests that were run earlier, Katie,” the officer continues. “I know this is a very delicate subject, but I'm afraid I have to ask and I always feel it's better to be direct in these circumstances. While he was keeping you captive in his basement, did Timothy Ashford-Clarke at any point touch you in a sexual manner?”

  Katie clings to me tighter than ever, still sobbing.

  “Some of the photos we recovered from his computer,” the officer adds, “were taken by hidden cameras in the bathroom in your apartment. They showed you naked, which leads us to believe that there most likely is a sexual component to -”

  “He made me touch him!” she blurts out.

  The officer makes some more notes.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, feeling my blood starting to run cold. “Katie, what exactly did he make you do?”

  “I don't want to say,” she whispers breathlessly.

  “Nobody is judging you, Katie,” the officer continues. “At this early stage in the investigation, we just need to get an outline of what he was after. Timothy Ashford-Clarke is clearly a very disturbed individual, and evidently he's been very good at covering his tracks. When you say that he made you touch him, would it be correct to assume that this involved intercourse?”

  I shake my head, still finding it hard to believe that a nice, gentle man like Tim could possibly be responsible for all of this.

  “Yes,” Katie whimpers.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, before realizing how foolish I must sound. “Katie, did Tim really -”

  “He did awful things to me!” she sobs. “Over and over again!”

  “But are you -”

  For a moment, I feel as if I've frozen up, as if my body has simply stopped. I simply can't reconcile everything Katie is saying with the kind man that I've come to know.

  Katie is weeping now, and it's quite clear that this line of questioning is upsetting her.

  “Are you sure it was him?” I ask finally. “I spent time with Tim, he was helping me and -”

  “We're quite sure, M'am,” the officer replies.

  “But if -”

  “It was him!” Katie blurts out, pulling away from me for a moment and staring at me with reddened, tear-stained eyes. She seems angry. “Don't you believe me? Do you think I'm lying?”

  “Of course I believe you,” I reply, hugging her again. “Of course, sweetheart. I don't doubt you for one second.”

  “Predators can be very deceptive,” the officer says. “Mrs. Wren, you shouldn't feel at all responsible for failing to pick up on any of the warning signs. To be getting away with something like this for so long, Timothy Ashford-Clarke must have been a very manipulative individual.”

  “But why would he have done something like this?” I ask. “Why would he have targeted my poor Katie?”

  “We think Katie is just the latest girl,” the officer continues. “Based on some of the indicators in the basement, we're quite certain there were others before her. It looks like this has been going on for quite some time. Mr. Ashford-Clarke is rapidly revealed as one of the most horrific predators this country has ever known. And we might never have caught him, if Katie hadn't managed to escape. Your daughter's a hero, Mrs. Wren.”

  ***

  “You can't be fucking serious!” Annabelle hisses, following me along the hospital corridor, having accosted me as soon as I emerged from the room. “Winnie, think about this for a moment, Tim is so not responsible for this!”

  “Annabelle, please -”

  “They're setting him up!”

  I can't help sighing.

  “You know it!” she says firmly. “You're not an idiot, Winnie! Deep down, you know that Tim is being framed!”

  “They found Katie in his basement,” I continue, through gritted teeth as I feel a surge of anger rising through my chest. “She was tied and bound, and gagged, and there are signs that she'd been abused. She'd managed to partially escape, and that allowed her to scream for help.”

  “So? They're blatantly making him the fall-guy! Come on, we both know Tim's the softest, most decent guy around! There's no way he'd -”

  “Katie said it herself!” I snap, turning to her as I reach the coffee machine. “I've just sat and listened while she told a police officer about all the awful, intimate things he did to her! Or are you calling my daughter a liar?”

  “No, but -”

  “She says that Tim kidnapped her from her room one night and that she woke up in the basement! She says that for the past few days, he's been keeping her down there, and that...”

  My voice trails off for a moment as I think back to some of the more horrific acts that Katie described. Some of them make my blood boil, and some of them I don't even understand.

  “I really don't want to talk about it,” I stammer finally, turning and starting to make a cup of strong coffee. “I don't even want to think about it. I just want to get her out of here and take her home. She's been through so much.”

  I start tapping the machine to make selections, but I'm very much aware that Annabelle is staring at me. I want her to go away and leave me alone, but she's like a dog with something in her jaws. She clearly won't let go.

  “Let me guess,” I mutter finally, as I set a cup under the nozzle, “you still believe that there's some vast conspiracy going on here, and that Tim is being used to cover the truth.”

  “Who killed Agnes?”

  I can't help sighing.

  “Who ran her over?” she asks. “Who drove after us along the street?”

  “The police officer said that in a separate incident, a jealous boyfriend was -”

  “Bullshit!”

  “They've arrested him!” I continue, already exasperated by Annabelle's refusal to accept the truth. “It was Fernando, he -”

  “Fernando's dead! Agnes told us that!”

  “Evidently she was mistaken,” I reply, “because I've seen photographic proof that he was arrested tonight, and that he was driving the car that ran the poor girl over.”

  “And you believe that? They're just setting up another lie and making sure it's believable! What about everything Agnes told us?”

  “She was an opportu
nist and a gold-digger,” I continue. “It's quite clear she was just telling you what you wanted to hear, so that you'd pay for her ticket back to France. You can't believe a single word that came out of her lying, filthy mouth.”

  “Seriously? And what about Knott's Court?”

  I sigh as I take my cup and smell the coffee.

  “What about Knott's Court?” she asks again, her voice filled with frustration.

  “Knott's Court is a private club for gentlemen,” I reply, trying to stay calm despite her constant provocations. “That's all. I asked one of the officers about it, and she said it's a normal club that operates strictly within the rules. They even have a bar license.”

  “That's bullshit and you know it!”

  “I admit that there have been a few coincidences,” I continue, “but that's all they were. Coincidences. And upon that foundation of coincidences, you built a grand conspiracy theory that ties into something that quite clearly consumes your every waking moment. You preyed on my fears.”

  “What about the necklace?” she asks. “If Katie was never at Knott's Court, how did Agnes get the necklace?”

  “That's a very good question,” I reply, “and one I've been meaning to ask you. How did she get hold of Katie's necklace, when you'd already recovered the same necklace from the alley behind the apartment building.”

  Annabelle opens her mouth to reply, before hesitating for a moment. For perhaps the first time since I met her, she seems a little speechless.

  “Well?” I continue. “Doesn't that seem odd to you?”

  “Okay, listen,” she replies cautiously, “I'm gonna admit something here and I need you to not over-react. The necklace I claimed to have recovered the other day might have been a copy I had made.” She sighs. “I needed some way to get you on my side, and when I checked out Katie's social media pages I saw that she never took that bloody thing off from around her neck. So I had one of my sources knock up a quick, cheap copy.”

  “And the version that Agnes claimed to have obtained?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Was that another of your cheap copies?”