The Child Catcher (A DI Erica Swift Thriller Book 4)

by M K Farrar

  Then, one awful Thursday evening, everything had fallen apart.

  He’d been out at a work’s dinner and drinks that had felt more like a business meeting with alcohol. His mobile phone had rung, but he’d turned off the volume and ignored it. He knew his boss would have been annoyed if he’d taken a personal call. But then he’d made his excuses and slipped off to the gents, only to find he had more missed calls, from both Helen and a number he didn’t recognise, and when he’d listened to the answerphone message Helen had left him, his initial trickle of worry had leaped into full-blown panic. He hadn’t even been able to understand what she was saying—it was all just choked sobs and half-formed words—but then the message after was from the unknown number, and a calm male voice had told him he needed to get to the hospital immediately. There had been an accident involving Naomi.

  He hadn’t even bothered to tell his boss where he was going. He’d just burst from the toilet and run out of the restaurant and straight to his car. His heart had pounded, and he’d repeated a mantra to himself: Please let her be okay, please let her be okay, please let her be okay.

  He’d driven too fast and sprinted into the hospital. The moment he arrived and saw Helen on her knees in the corridor, howling with pain, he’d known he’d been too late.

  Helen had been giving Naomi a bath. The phone had rung, and she’d run to get it. She’d only been on the call for a matter of minutes, but when she’d hurried back upstairs, Naomi had been facedown in the water. Helen had thought she was playing at being a mermaid and had called for her to sit up, but when she didn’t get any response, she’d panicked and hauled her unconscious daughter from the bath.

  The coroner’s report ruled it as an accident. Naomi had a bump on her forehead, and it appeared as though she’d stood up in the bath when her mother wasn’t there—perhaps to reach something, or even climb out by herself, they’d never really know for sure. She must have slipped, hit her head, and slid back into the tub where she’d drowned.

  After the accident, Helen blamed him for things he could never have predicted—for being out that night, so he hadn’t been there to answer the phone. She blamed him for their life being in ruins now, for him never having wanted a second child, so they no longer had a reason to try to keep going. He knew she was turning the anger and blame she had for herself onto him, and he bit back the retorts that went through his head.

  She could’ve just ignored the phone...

  If she wasn’t able to keep one child safe, how could she be trusted with another...

  He’d been just as heartbroken as she was, but she seemed unable to see that. For a reason he didn’t fully understand, because she’d been Naomi’s mother and he was only the father, Helen’s loss was considered so much greater than his.

  They hadn’t been able to get past it. Helen didn’t want him around, and he couldn’t stand to be around her, either. Yes, it had been a terrible tragic accident, but deep down he still blamed her. Instead of helping each other through their grief, they’d pushed each other away. Their relationship had grown more and more toxic, until one day he’d decided this wasn’t good for either of them and he’d left, and she’d seemed more than happy to watch him go.

  Tim had done his best to get on with his life, and Helen had done the same. Things had been as all right as he suspected they were ever going to get, but a few months ago, Helen had started to make contact with him again. At first, he’d been happy to hear from her, hoping she was doing well, but their conversation had been strange, and some of the things she’d said hadn’t made sense. Not long after, she’d shown up at his work, and from then on, she kept appearing at places he frequented. Their conversations kept taking more and more bizarre turns, leaving him unsure what to think, and this last time he’d seen her, she’d talked about him coming to visit children.

  Children they didn’t have.

  He’d argued with himself for hours, trying to figure out what the next best step was. He worried she might have had some kind of breakdown, but what did he do with that knowledge? Should he go to the police and tell them he was worried she might hurt herself, or someone else? But Helen was his ex-wife now, and he wasn’t sure they’d even listen. How many ex-husbands probably thought their ex-wives were crazy? The police would probably think he was just making up an excuse to get her in trouble. He’d go to the doctor, but again, he was no longer her spouse and had no idea if they’d take him seriously, or even if it was any of his business.

  After going back and forth over this for hours, he’d eventually decided the best option was just to go and talk to her, so now here he was, standing in front of his old front door, lifting his hand to ring the bell. It felt strange being back here. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever rung the bell in the entire time he’d lived here—he’d always had his keys.

  He waited, but no one came to the door. Leaning forward and angling his ear towards the glass panel in the door, he frowned. He could hear movement going on inside. It was getting late now and starting to get dark. Was it possible she’d already gone to bed?

  Tim opened the letter box and crouched to shout through. “Helen? Are you in there? It’s Tim. I thought we should have a chat.”

  He straightened and waited.

  The door opened a crack, and one of Helen’s blue eyes peered out. “What do you want?”

  “I thought you wanted me to come around more often.” He forced a smile and put both hands out either side of his hips. “So here I am.”

  “Not now, Tim. It’s not a good time.”

  “Helen, let me in, please. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. Please, just go away.”

  There was desperation in her voice, and the more she begged for him to leave, the more he was convinced there was something really wrong.

  A familiar sound came from inside the house.

  His frown deepened. “Is that a baby crying?”

  “Oh, I’m babysitting for someone, that’s all.” She turned her head to glance over her shoulder in the direction of the cries, and as she did, he caught sight of her cheek.

  “Jesus, Helen. What happened to your face?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “That doesn’t look fine. It looks as though someone bit you!”

  The cries from inside grew more frantic, and she didn’t seem to want him there. Considering she’d practically stalked him for the last couple of months, he didn’t understand the change in her behaviour.

  “Which friend are you babysitting for?” he asked, hoping to get a name out of her.

  “You don’t know her. I have to go now, Tim. Na—” She cut herself off. “The baby needs me.”

  Alarm spiked through him. Had she been about to say Naomi?

  “Does this baby have a name?” he asked.

  “I have to go.” And with that, she slammed the door in his face.

  Tim stood on the doorstep, unsure how to react. He wished he’d shoved his foot in the gap and had barged his way in. Why did Helen look as though someone had bitten her—and bitten her hard enough to break the skin. He might not be a doctor, but he was fairly sure those teeth marks had been made by another person.

  He didn’t want to get Helen in trouble, but he was concerned.

  Maybe he should contact the police after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was getting late, and Erica had been working from first thing that morning without a break. She was running on a mixture of adrenaline and caffeine, but with it was the certainty that they were getting closer.

  She wasn’t the only one working late. With the third child in a matter of weeks now missing, she’d arranged a meeting with the detective working on the other cases.

  “DS Shariff,” she said, shaking hands with the detective in charge of the MisPer case. “It’s good to meet you in person.”

  DS Naeema Shariff was in her late thirties, her shiny black hair pulled into a ponytail at her nape, a set of expensive-looking black-framed gl
asses propped on her nose.

  “You, too, DI Swift. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I’m sure not all of it has been good,” she only half joked. What she’d been through, especially with the Eye Thief case, had circulated around the internet and all the newspapers, so even if her colleagues didn’t gossip—which they were bound to do to a certain extent—the other detective most likely still would have heard about it.

  “Mostly good,” the other woman said with a smile. “But I’m sorry about your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Erica didn’t like to talk about it and quickly moved on. “We have three missing children now, all from this part of London. What are the chances they’re connected?”

  “So far, I can’t find anything that links the three children, except they’re all minors and they disappeared while out with their parents, but I can’t help feeling there’s something. I thought it might be better if we joined forces and shared our knowledge.”

  “Absolutely, Erica said, “though I’m not sure how much help I can be. Currently, all we have is some CCTV footage of a potential suspect, and a tip that Ellie Dempsey was put into a twenty-fifteen Ford Focus when she was taken. Unfortunately, we don’t know how reliable that information is, but we’re looking into it.”

  “I have my team checking the CCTV footage from where the fourteen-month-old baby, Cora Jean, was snatched from her pram outside of a café. The mother was distracted by a phone conversation she was having and didn’t notice until she turned around and saw the child missing.”

  “God, she must have been frantic.”

  Naeema Shariff nodded in agreement. “She was, poor thing. She still is. I thought it would be helpful for us to compare notes and see if the parents had any connection with the Dempsey case.”

  “Good idea.”

  Erica led the DS to her desk and pulled her up a spare seat. “Can I get you a coffee or anything?” she offered.

  Shariff shook her head and sat down. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  Erica took her usual chair and brought her computer to life.

  Over the next hour, the two women compared everything they knew about the two cases, but there seemed to be frustratingly little that tied them together. Eventually, they decided to call it a night.

  “If you get any leads, will you keep me updated?” DS Shariff asked as she gathered up her bag and jacket.

  “Absolutely. Same on your side.”

  Erica’s phone rang, and she glanced down to see Natasha’s name on the screen. “Excuse me.”

  Shariff nodded. “Of course.”

  Erica walked across the office to give her a sense of privacy and swiped the screen to answer. “Tasha, what’s up?”

  “Poppy’s missing.”

  Those two words pierced fear into her heart. “She’s what?”

  Natasha’s voice was high-pitched and frantic. “I don’t know where she is. I went up to check on her, and her bed was empty.”

  Poppy had her own little camp bed at Natasha’s house now. Erica hated that it was necessary, but there ended up being so many times where she was either working the late shift, or else would have a case that she simply couldn’t leave, that it had made sense for her to have her own bed. It was in Natasha’s youngest daughter’s room, so it wasn’t as though the baby—though she was a toddler now—minded. If anything, Natasha said, she loved having Poppy come for sleepovers.

  Only now that bed was empty.

  Cold fear drenched through her like ice.

  “Have you searched the house? Are you sure she’s not there? Maybe she’s hiding somewhere.”

  “I’m so sorry, Erica. I did that before I called you. I’ve searched everywhere and I got the kids to help as well. We can’t find her.”

  “How long have you been looking?”

  “I’m not sure. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “She’s already been missing for fifteen minutes?”

  A single thought buzzed in her head. Someone was kidnapping children in London. Poppy wasn’t the only child to go missing. What if the same person had snatched her daughter, too?

  Maybe they found out she was on the case and decided to track Poppy down? Could it be some kind of revenge? Erica couldn’t help the way her mind jumped to the way in which she’d lost Chris. What if the same thing had happened and someone had decided to take Poppy as a form of retribution?

  “I’ll be right there.”

  She hung up to find Shawn frowning at her. “Was that phone call what I thought it was?”

  Erica found herself blinking back tears of fright. “Poppy is missing. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “I’ll come with you. I can help.”

  “No, you’ve got work to do here.”

  “There is no way I’m letting you go by yourself.”

  She wanted to say yes—hell, she wanted to take the entire department with her—but they were in the middle of a case for another missing child, and she couldn’t expect them to take resources away from this case to search for her daughter. Poppy was probably just hiding somewhere. She’d been having a tough week.

  She looked around for DS Shariff, thinking she could at least let MisPer know, but the other woman had already left.

  “I’ll call you if I need you,” she said to Shawn instead.

  “Hey, Erica.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Call me anyway, okay. I want to know she’s safe, and I want to know you’re all right, too.”

  She squeezed his hand in return and had to hold herself back from throwing her arms around his neck and bursting into tears. She couldn’t let herself crumble like that.

  “Thanks, Shawn. I have to go.”

  He nodded. “Go.”

  Erica turned and ran from the building, ignoring the questioning glances from those who were also working so late. She was sure Shawn would fill anyone in who wanted to know the details, and they’d understand. Someone in the city was stealing children, and now her own child was missing. It really was a parent’s worst nightmare.

  She reached her car and jumped behind the wheel, throwing it into gear and slamming her foot on the accelerator. She was in such a rush, she forgot to put on her headlights until she was swinging out of the car park and someone driving an oncoming vehicle flashed their headlights at her.

  Shit, she needed to pull herself together. She wasn’t going to help anyone if she ended up in an accident.

  Erica forced herself to take a couple of deep, slow breaths, but it didn’t help her racing heart or loosen the clutch of her fingers around the steering wheel. God, she wished Chris was alive. She missed him desperately, wanting nothing more than to be able to phone him and have him tell her that everything would be okay, and he would find Poppy.

  The drive to her sister’s house felt longer than ever before. She drove too fast, weaving through traffic. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad at this time of night, and the traffic lights were on her side for once, turning green as soon as she approached so she flew through.

  A couple of streets from her sister’s house, a corner shop caught her eye. Something about the people hanging around outside, the way they were craning their necks up and down the street, gesturing to each other, an air of urgency about them, gave her reason to pause. Instinctively, she slowed and wound down her window.

  “Everything okay?” she called out to them.

  Someone spotted her and jogged over. “A little girl’s been found walking down the street in her pyjamas.”

  Erica’s heart lurched. “Are they purple pyjamas with dalmatians on the front?”

  The woman’s eyes widened at the description. “Yes, they are.”

  Erica jammed on the handbrake. “Oh my God.” She threw open the door and jumped from the car, not even bothering to shut it behind her again. The keys were also in the ignition, but she didn’t even care. Someone could steal the car if they wanted—it would be worth the seconds saved.

  She sprinted towards the shop. “Poppy! Poppy, are
you in here?”

  She ran through the doorway to see a tearful Poppy sitting on a stool at the counter, a CBeebies magazine balanced in her lap. A couple of worried-looking, middle-aged women fussed around her.

  “Mummy!”

  Poppy scrambled down from the stool, the magazine flapping to the floor. She ran for Erica, and the two of them collided, Poppy crashing into Erica’s body. Erica wrapped her arms around her daughter and lifted her, and Poppy hooked her legs around Erica’s hips and buried her face in her neck.

  “We were about to call the police,” one of the women said primly.

  “There’s no need,” Erica replied. “I am the police.”

  She turned her attention to her shivering daughter

  “Oh. My. God, Poppy. What were you thinking? How did you even get here?”

  Poppy spoke in small, hiccupped sobs. “I-I-wanted to go and see Daddy.”

  “You wanted to see Daddy?”

  “Yes, at the cemetery. It was late, and I knew Aunty Tasha wouldn’t let me go, and you said you were working, so I thought I’d just go by myself. I thought it would be okay ’cause Daddy would be there.”

  Erica had been conscious of the slightly judgemental stares of the women in the shop, and how they’d softened at the mention of Poppy’s dad being in the cemetery.

  “Oh, darling, when I said you could go there to talk to him whenever you wanted, I meant I would take you. You should never go anywhere by yourself. It’s dangerous.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She needed to call Natasha and tell her Poppy was safe. Her sister would be frantic. She’d text Shawn, too, and let him know Poppy had been found, and she wouldn’t be back into the office. She was sure they’d be able to manage without her until morning. She was so relieved her daughter was safe. Nothing else in the world would matter to her if something bad happened to Poppy.

  “Thank you for taking care of her,” she said to the women who were still watching. “Do I owe you anything for the magazine?”