A group of kids about her own age went past eating chips out of cardboard cartons, and Lucy realised just how ravenous she was. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. One of the kids dropped a long fat chip on the ground and she had to restrain herself from lunging forward to seize it. The boy laughed and squashed it flat with his trainer. He saw Lucy watching and glared at her.
‘What's your problem, gipsy?’
Lucy hurried on. The harbour path curved round to meet a road and she walked unsteadily along the pavement, aware that people were staring and moving aside to avoid her. She knew she couldn't keep going much longer. As she passed a café, a warm aroma assailed her: bread, sausages, coffee, chocolate, she didn't know exactly what she could smell but she knew it was food. The door was open. The tables were empty. She stumbled across the step and fell against the nearest table.
‘We're closing,’ a voice called out. ‘Bloody hell, what's that?’ it added in surprise. Lucy thought it was a man's voice, but he sounded young, nothing like Zoe's father who wasn't Zoe's father. She was as safe here as anywhere and she couldn't walk any further anyway. Unresisting, she allowed herself to sink to the floor where she lay, whimpering and trembling. She no longer cared about what was going to happen to her, aware only of the intolerable hunger and thirst gnawing at her guts.
59
SCHOOL
Geraldine was unable to concentrate on anything while a specially trained officer questioned Ben again, with his father present, but all the boy was able to tell them was that Lucy had said she was going to stay with her best friend. He had never heard her talk about anyone called Zoe, and Matthew was adamant he knew nothing about Zoe either.
‘If Lucy did have a best friend called Zoe, she kept very quiet about her,’ the sergeant who had spoken to Ben concluded. ‘The boy was withdrawn but I'm sure he told me everything he could. He's desperate to get his sister back safely. Matthew Kirby was extremely agitated throughout. It didn't help having him in the room. He kept interrupting, demanding to know who Zoe is, and insisting we set up a nationwide search for Lucy straightaway. I had to explain several times that we haven't yet been able to establish who Zoe is.’
‘You didn't tell him what we now know about Zoe?’ the DCI asked and the interviewer shook her head.
The only Zoe they had been able to trace was Zoe Mason, and there was no point visiting her again because they now knew that Zoe was a false name Lucy's abductor had been using. It wasn't a lead as such. York Regional Police force was alerted to the situation and they set about contacting all the teachers and children Lucy had known before she moved South as it was possible Lucy had returned to her former home. Meanwhile, Geraldine went back to Harchester Grammar School to question some of the pupils.
‘This is Debra. She's in Lucy's class.’ The deputy head ushered in a girl with badly dyed blonde hair, heavily made-up eyes, and a skirt rolled over at the top so that it barely covered her thighs when she sat down. Chewing gum with her lips apart, she slumped in the chair and stared at Geraldine, defiant and sullen. As soon as Geraldine mentioned Lucy's name Debra's mouth shut tight and she stared at the floor.
‘We're trying to find out where Lucy's gone,’ Geraldine explained.
Debra muttered something under her breath which sounded like ‘Good riddance.’ Geraldine pressed on, the girl consistently responding with unhelpful questions of her own. ‘Dunno, do I? What are you asking me for? How am I supposed to know that?’
‘Who might know? Who were Lucy's friends?’ Geraldine asked and suppressed a flicker of annoyance as Debra snorted with laughter. Geraldine would have liked to tell the blonde girl sitting comfortably in front of her what might be happening to Lucy Kirby at that very moment. ‘While you're sitting here, safe and warm, Lucy is probably being raped and tortured, she might be dying right now –’ but of course she couldn't say anything of the kind. With luck it might even prove wide of the mark. So she thanked Debra for her time and handed her a card. ‘If you can think of anything that might help us find Lucy, or anyone she might have gone to see, please let us know.’
‘Do you think she's gone off with a bloke then?’ Debra asked, with a first flicker of interest. ‘Though she wasn't exactly one to drive boys wild,’ she added with a faint smirk. Once again Geraldine had to suppress a flash of anger at the complacent teenager sitting opposite her.
‘I'm not able to discuss any details, Debra. Thank you for your time.’
‘Is that it then?’
‘Unless there's anything you can tell me about Lucy?’
It was the same with all the girls in Lucy's class. Several of them mentioned Lucy's Northern accent in disparaging terms, and they were all interested in the fact that her mother had been murdered and the theory that Lucy had run off with a man. They all told Geraldine that Lucy was ‘weird’.
One of the boys claimed he had never even spoken to Lucy, although he called her ‘the weird new girl’.
‘Weird in what way?’ Geraldine asked in exasperation.
‘I don't know, do I? I never spoke to her. She was weird.’
One serious looking boy told Geraldine that he believed Lucy was being bullied.
‘The head teacher is aware of the issues surrounding Lucy Kirby and is dealing with them,’ the deputy cut in quickly.
‘Can you tell me who is bullying her?’
The boy glanced nervously at the deputy head and Geraldine held up a hand indicating to the deputy head that she should say nothing. ‘Most of the other kids in the class,’ he replied earnestly. ‘Lucy's a bit –’ He struggled to find appropriate words to describe her. ‘She's a bit odd.’
‘Odd how?’
‘Just different, you know. She doesn't fit in. No one likes her.’
‘Does she have any friends at school?’
‘No.’
‘Is she a loner by choice do you think?’
‘No I don't think so. I mean no one really wants to be left out, do they? And it's not just that. Some of the others are pretty horrible to her.’
‘What do they do?’ Out of the corner of her eye Geraldine was aware of the deputy head shifting on her chair. Geraldine was there specifically to enquire about Zoe and was straying off her brief.
‘The usual stuff, you know. They tease her about being ugly. But she doesn't help herself.’
While Geraldine was occupied at Lucy's school, Peterson had been questioning Matthew Kirby and his sister again. On their return to the station they discussed what they had found out. It didn't amount to much but one thing was clear: Lucy had been abducted exactly two weeks after Abigail's murder.
Peterson thought the two must be connected. ‘First the mother, then the daughter. What are the chances it's a coincidence?’
‘The connection might be tenuous. Lucy was unpopular, neglected, with a mother wrapped up in her work and a father preoccupied with his mistress. The two crimes could be related only by virtue of the fact that her mother's death made Lucy even more vulnerable to the attentions of anyone offering friendship.’
‘But it's possible the same person killed Abigail and Lucy.’
‘We don't know Lucy's dead.’
‘Well, if she is then – and even if he's not planning to kill her – it's still an attack on Matthew's family.’
‘I'm not convinced this has anything to do with Matthew. He seems to think all this is happening because Charlotte's ex-boyfriend is out to punish him. But if this Ted character is so insanely possessive of Charlotte it makes no sense for him to want Abigail out of the way. Surely he'd be attacking Matthew, if anyone. No, there's something else going on here.’
‘What?’
‘I wish I knew.’
60
CAFÉ
‘Come on.’ Someone was helping Lucy onto a chair. She opened her eyes and blinked until her vision came into focus. A woman with short grey hair was talking briskly. ‘That's the way. Sit her down and let her get her breath back. Now make her some tea, with plenty of
sugar.’ She bent down and spoke to Lucy. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘For goodness sake, mum, she's filthy,’ another voice interrupted. Lucy raised her eyes and saw a young woman staring at her.
‘Yes, Irene,’ a man was talking to the older woman. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, I wouldn't get too close to her if I was you.’
‘That's enough,’ the grey haired woman said sharply. ‘Cara, make the tea.’ The young woman walked off, muttering to herself and Irene turned back to Lucy. ‘Now can you tell me what's happened to you? Are you hurt? Don't be scared. I'm going to help you.’
‘Mum!’ the young woman protested from across the room.
‘I said that's enough, Cara. You can see she's frightened. She's only a child.’
‘I need a drink,’ Lucy mumbled. ‘Can I have some water?’
‘Here.’ Irene handed her a mug, unexpectedly hot. ‘It's tea. Drink it.’
Lucy took a sip and pulled a face. ‘Yuk. It's got sugar in it.’
‘Drink it,’ Irene repeated firmly. ‘You need it. You've had a nasty shock.’ Lucy obediently sipped the tea. It wasn't too bad. As she drank it she looked cautiously around. She was sitting on a black leather armchair at a low table. Three more tables were arranged with similar black chairs. Along the opposite side of the room were two wooden tables with upright chairs and an archway leading into another dining area. On a counter along the back wall brightly coloured salads, rolls, iced buns and cakes were displayed, smelling of coffee and toast, fruit and cakes.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ Irene asked, following the direction of Lucy's gaze.
‘Yes. No. That is, I'm starving but I haven't got any money.’
‘Don't worry, we can sort that out later. But first you need to tell me what's happened to you. Has someone hurt you?’ Lucy shook her head. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Nowhere. I don't live anywhere.’ She tried to stand up but couldn't summon the energy to move. She just wanted to sit in the warm café feeling safe, and have something to eat. Then she'd leave. The last thing she wanted to do was answer a load of questions.
‘How old are you?’
‘Fourteen.’
Irene was tall and thin, her eyes bright beneath her grey fringe, and like her two companions she was wearing a white t-shirt and black apron.
‘Fourteen,’ Irene echoed. She moved away and engaged in a hurried conversation with the younger woman, before coming back to Lucy with a plain white roll and a glass of milk. She sat and watched Lucy wolf it down.
‘What's your name?’
‘Lucy.’
‘Lucy, my name's Irene. What happened to you?’
‘I need the toilet.’
Irene led the way and Lucy scrubbed her hands and face as well as she could with the small bar of soap. A printed sign had been pinned beside the sink: Now wash your hands. Beneath it a handwritten notice warned: Caution! Hot Water! Lucy sank down on the toilet seat and cried because someone had cared enough to worry that people might scald themselves on the water from the tap.
When she returned to the café, she saw the sign on the door had been turned around. The café was closed.
‘Would you like another roll?’ Irene asked her. ‘What would you like? Cheese? Ham? Or both?’
Lucy licked her lips and glanced at the door. ‘You're closed,’ she said. Apart from Irene the café was empty.
‘We're closed to customers. You're a guest.’
‘Where are the others?’
‘They've gone home.’
‘Why haven't you gone home? I don't need anyone to take care of me. I can look after myself.’ She looked at the door, wondering if it was locked.
‘I'm hungry,’ Irene replied. ‘I'm going to make myself a toasted cheese sandwich. Would you like one?’
Hunger overcame Lucy's resistance and soon she and Irene were drinking tea and tucking into a plate of toasted cheese sandwiches.
‘What have you put in these sandwiches?’ Lucy asked earnestly, in between bites. ‘They're the best thing I've ever tasted, really.’
‘That's because you've never been really hungry before.’
‘I could work for you,’ Lucy suggested hopefully.
Irene just smiled. ‘Eat up,’ was all she said. ‘You look better already. A hot shower and clean clothes and you'll be –’ She broke off as someone rapped on the door.
Through the glass door Lucy saw two uniformed police officers. ‘You have to hide me,’ she stammered, jumping up, but Irene strode to the door and opened it. The two policewomen came in and stood blocking the doorway.
‘Lucy Kirby?’
‘How did you know I was here?’ As she spoke, Lucy realised that Irene had called them. ‘I'm not going with you. You can't make me.’ She was on her feet, trembling with anger.
Suddenly someone pushed past the police and Lucy saw her father, tears streaming down his face.
‘Lucy! Thank God!’
He ran to her and threw his arms around her. He didn't recoil from her filth and foul smell but held her as though he would never let go. ‘Lucy, come home with me. We need you. Ben's going crazy without you.’ He pulled away and blew his nose. ‘I don't know what to say any more. Your mother would have known what to do, but –’ He began to sob. ‘I'll never see Charlotte again if that's what you want. Lucy, all I care about is you and Ben.’ He paused to regain his breath and Lucy waited. ‘If I wanted to be with Charlotte I would've left your mother years ago, but I stayed with you and Ben. There's no way I'd risk losing you, not for anyone. The only person I ever loved as much as you and Ben was your mother.’ His voice broke and he dropped his face in his hands. His voice was muffled. ‘Come home, please!’ By now Lucy was sobbing so hard she couldn't speak. ‘Will you come home with me, Lucy?’ he begged.
‘Yes.’
One of the police officers stepped forward. ‘Lucy, when you're ready we'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened to you.’
Matthew nodded. ‘Yes, Lucy, the police want to know who Zoe is.’
‘Zoe –’ Lucy hesitated.
‘We know Zoe was a false name,’ the police officer continued gently. ‘Will you help us to find the person who locked you up? I don't need to spell out how important it is that he's found and stopped.’ Behind her, Lucy heard Irene mutter a curse under her breath. For a few seconds no one spoke. Lucy looked at her father who nodded at her.
‘Yes, alright,’ Lucy's voice shook. ‘I'll help you. And when you find him, I hope you lock him up somewhere foul and never let him out again. Ever.’
61
ARREST
Geraldine and Peterson spoke very little on the way to Whitstable.
‘I'm so relieved she's been found,’ Geraldine said as they drove off, and the sergeant grunted his agreement. Neither of them mentioned the man who had groomed Lucy so efficiently over the internet claiming to be a girl her own age called Zoe.
A female officer, trained and experienced in working with young victims had interviewed Lucy who described her abductor as ‘gross.’
‘He's tall and dark-haired and skinny. He's disgusting.’
‘How old was he?’
‘I don't know. Old. He's all sweaty and he stinks.’
They had a sketchy description of the man they were looking for: oldish, tall and dark-haired. The broken lock on the garage door had been fixed so that from the outside it was impossible to tell that Lucy was no longer a prisoner inside. As soon as Lucy's abductor opened the door he would be apprehended, but not before. If he was frightened off without unlocking the door and disposed of the key they would only have Lucy's word to rely on for a conviction, and that might not hold up in court. No marked cars entered the street and police activity in the surrounding area was kept to a minimum with sirens strictly off-limits. Nothing was allowed to disturb the normal quiet of the streets and raise suspicion.
Geraldine and Peterson parked round the corner and entered the empty property across the road from th
e garage through a side door half way along the alley that ran along one side of the house. They found a local detective sergeant and a constable in an upstairs front room watching the garage. There were no curtains at the window so they had to position themselves carefully to ensure they couldn't be seen from the road. Geraldine and Peterson flashed their ID cards without speaking.
‘Nothing so far, ma'am,’ the local sergeant told them in an undertone. ‘We've got uniform out of sight downstairs and in the shed next to the garage, and in the house next door. The neighbours reported seeing a dirty black van parked there recently.’
Geraldine nodded. ‘Lucy said he picked her up in a battered old black van.’ Everything fitted. Now all they could do was wait for him to turn up.
‘What if he doesn't come back?’ the local constable asked after an hour had passed.
‘Why wouldn't he?’ Geraldine replied irritably. She regretted having come. It was uncomfortable hanging around, keeping out of sight of the window. It had seemed like a brilliant idea, to be there at the arrest of the man who had brutally abducted Lucy Kirby, but sitting around in a draughty upstairs room, watching an unfamiliar sergeant pressed up against the wall staring sideways out of the window wasn't an enjoyable way to pass an afternoon. She had forgotten how boring stakeouts were. Peterson was sitting in a far corner, nearest the door, hunched over with an air of suppressed excitement. His optimism raised her spirits. This wasn't helping them to find Abigail Kirby's killer, but it felt as though they were doing something to support the dead woman, by protecting her daughter.
Suddenly the sergeant at the window tensed. His fists clenched, his head craned forward cautiously and he began talking rapidly into his radio. ‘Stand by! Stand by! An old black van's drawn up right outside the garage… A tall, dark-haired man's getting out. He's approaching the garage. It looks as though – damn, I can't see. He's behind the van. Right. The garage door is opening. Go! Go!’
A few seconds later the sergeant turned round grinning broadly. ‘We've got him. Caught red-handed opening the garage door, and he fits the description the victim gave.’ Geraldine returned his smile and they trooped down the stairs and out by the front door.
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