Tom Douglas Box Set 2

by Rachel Abbott

  ‘For God’s sake, David, she’s thirteen years old. She’s not a small child who’s going to wander out onto a busy road, and I would have thought the last thing she would want is to be treated like a prisoner. We don’t know how she’s been treated in the past, but that would seem to me to be counterproductive if we want to bring her into this family.’

  ‘What do you mean, if we want to bring her into this family. She is in this family.’ David had stopped pacing and was glaring at Emma. She silently cursed herself.

  ‘Sorry. That was a bad choice of words. Of course she’s part of this family, but I meant that if we want her to accept that she’s part of this family.’

  ‘Well maybe if you stopped treating her like a stranger it would help,’ he said, his voice petulant.

  Emma was about to launch into her own defence when her frustration evaporated. Irritating and irrational as David was being, she couldn’t imagine how he must feel at the moment. And she couldn’t in all honesty ignore her own negative feelings – however fleeting – about her stepdaughter.

  She took two steps towards him and reached out her hand for his.

  ‘Let’s stop this, and we should try to keep our voices down. Ollie’s asleep,’ she said, turning to look at her son. ‘He was so upset by all the shouting. It’s taken nearly the full hour since I phoned you to get him settled.’ To Emma, even in sleep Ollie looked fretful. He kept moving his head from side to side, and his cheeks were so red. She needed to calm everything down for his sake, if nobody else’s.

  ‘The important thing is that Tasha came back,’ Emma said, squeezing David’s hand gently. ‘She said she wanted a bit of fresh air and so she’d gone for a walk down the lane.’

  ‘You said she was talking to somebody. What if the people that took her had grabbed her again? What then?’ David said. Emma could feel a slight tremor run through his body, and she gently pulled him towards her and put her arms around his waist.

  ‘That’s exactly why I ran after her,’ she said. ‘Look, I’ve thought about this a lot. Somebody must have brought her back.’ She paused at his impatient look but made herself go on. ‘Think about it. How could she have got here on her own? That afternoon when she appeared in the kitchen, she wasn’t wet. It hadn’t stopped raining all day, so she can’t have walked here. I really think they must have decided to let her go, for reasons that we don’t understand yet, but we will. And yes, I did think I heard her talking to someone out in the lane but I wasn’t fast enough to see who it was, and I could have been wrong.’

  She pulled David closer and he rested his cheek against hers. ‘There’s so much we don’t understand. Why won’t she talk to us? She’s my daughter.’

  As Emma searched for some words of comfort, their momentary silence was interrupted by the strident peal of the front door bell. She glanced at David and raised her eyebrows in question.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he said. ‘And I’ll get rid of whoever it is.’ He smiled at her – the first normal smile she had seen in days - and she felt a layer of anxiety fade away. But it did nothing to eradicate the underlying fear that had no name – the one she couldn’t even voice to her husband.

  She could hear David’s footsteps coming back along the hall and could immediately tell that he wasn’t alone.

  The door opened. ‘It’s the police,’ David said, ushering Becky Robinson and Charlotte Hughes into the room. ‘They want to talk to Tasha again.’

  *

  Becky sensed a slight change in atmosphere when she entered the Josephs’ kitchen. Emma and David appeared more in control, no longer reeling from events. She felt sure she was about to disrupt their fragile peace.

  ‘Inspector Robinson, what can we do for you?’ Emma asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

  ‘I’m sorry that we have to disturb you. I know we promised to leave you alone for a couple of days, but something’s come up with regard to Natasha, and we need to bring you up to speed. And please – call me Becky. This is Charley. It will probably make Natasha more comfortable if we drop the formality.’

  ‘Do you mind if we go into the other room,’ Emma said. She nodded her head towards Ollie, and Becky smiled at his cute face. Babies were at their most adorable when they were asleep, as far as she was concerned.

  ‘Of course. Is there somewhere with a table?’ she asked.

  David led the way into a formal dining room that Becky hadn’t seen before. She couldn’t imagine it was used much, given they had such a huge table in the kitchen cum living room, but maybe the less friendly environment would suit her purposes.

  David indicated that they should all sit down and slowly, with as much detail as possible, Becky explained what they had seen on the CCTV on the train and at the station and the conclusions they had drawn.

  ‘Are you sure it was Tasha?’ David asked.

  ‘Yes, we are – although of course we’d like your confirmation.’

  Becky opened her briefcase and took out four large still images, grabbed from the footage. They were the best shots of Natasha’s face and body.

  David looked at the images, and then up at Becky. He didn’t need to confirm anything – his face said it all.

  ‘But I don’t understand why you’ve assumed this has anything to do with drugs. You’ve got a thirteen-year-old girl on a train – something I expect lots of kids do to get to school – and she gets off and talks to somebody and forgets her backpack. Why drugs?’

  Becky decided not to comment on the fact that they had no evidence to suggest Natasha had ever attended any school – travelling by train or otherwise.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to scare you – but initially British Transport Police thought it was either drugs or guns. We’re now reasonably certain it’s drugs because of where she was going and the station she got off at. They’ve been monitoring that line for a while, and the pattern’s been consistent. The trouble is, they don’t want to arrest the kids – they’re no use to them really. They want the bastards who are controlling the kids, and that’s a bit harder to achieve.’ Becky looked at the faces opposite and saw nothing but confusion. They deserved an explanation.

  ‘Somebody will have been using her as a runner – maybe regularly, maybe only this once, we don’t know. Kids like Natasha are used as mules – but it doesn’t mean that she was managing any kind of drugs operation herself. It does suggest, however, that wherever she’s been living there was an association with gangs or maybe an organised crime group.’

  David’s skin had turned pale and waxy. ‘Why would these gangs use kids to do this? Tasha only turned thirteen a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘They need to be creative, it’s too easy for us to catch them otherwise. Look, we’re trying to track down the boy she left the backpack with, and I’m confident we will. Then we should know more.’

  Becky saw David’s expression. Images of the life his daughter had led, a life he had failed to protect her from, must be haunting him.

  ‘Can we talk to Natasha now, do you think? Of course this sadly means she is a suspect in a crime, so you should stay, David.’

  Emma stood up.

  ‘I’ll tell Tasha to come down and then I’ll go and sit with Ollie. I’ll leave you to it.’

  David’s arm shot out and he grabbed Emma’s hand in his.

  ‘No, Em. It’s time Tasha started to see us as a unit – we’re both supporting her, and we’re on the same side. If Ollie’s awake that’s fine too.’ Becky saw the doubt in Emma’s eyes, as did David it seemed. ‘Please, Em?’

  She gave him a smile full of such understanding and warmth that Becky felt a stab of envy.

  David tried to make conversation with Charley and Becky while they waited. He was clearly distracted, listening for signs of his family coming downstairs, but none of them heard Natasha enter the room. She was so slight that, walking barefoot, she hadn’t made a sound, and then suddenly there she was, standing stony-eyed in the doorway.

  For a moment, the sight of this strange
girl silenced them all, but the trance was broken as they heard Emma approach along the hallway and she followed Natasha into the room, clutching a sleepy Ollie in her arms. He immediately leaned sideways to clutch at Natasha’s jumper, trying to attract her attention. She ignored him.

  ‘Sit down please, Tasha,’ David said. ‘Becky and Charley want a chat with you.’ David looked towards his wife, who was heading back towards the door. ‘Em? Are you coming?’

  ‘I’ll be there in a second – I’m just going to make a drink for Ollie and Tasha.’

  Becky smiled and said hi to Natasha, neither expecting nor getting any response. Sitting down, Natasha pulled the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands and, head bowed, she played with the same loose thread as she had the last time they had seen her, watching more of the sleeve unravel.

  Becky turned the photos of Natasha back over and pushed them across the table.

  ‘Can you take a look at these photos, Tasha,’ Charley said, her voice gentle.

  Natasha raised her eyes to Charley’s and for a second Becky was sure she glimpsed a vulnerability, a plea for understanding, before the shutters came back down.

  She lowered her head to look at the pictures, and Becky didn’t need to be a child psychologist to recognise the expression that passed over her face. Even with her head down, Becky saw Natasha’s eyes open wide for a second, the top teeth come down over the bottom lip. And now she wouldn’t meet anybody’s eyes, staring instead at a teapot in the centre of the table.

  ‘Do you want to tell us about this, Tasha?’ Charley asked. There was no answer.

  ‘What was in the bag. Can you tell me that?’ Becky continued. ‘We’re asking you to tell us the truth, Tasha.’

  David spoke. ‘Tasha, can you please answer Inspector Robinson?’ Becky wasn’t sure whether her title was being used to scare Natasha or not, but it didn’t seem to have much effect. They all stayed silent, and when David looked at Becky she shook her head slightly. He got the message and resisted his obvious temptation to try to persuade his daughter to talk.

  Nobody spoke for over two minutes.

  ‘It was books.’

  ‘Yes? What sort of books – novels, schoolbooks?’

  ‘Just books.’

  ‘Okay – so why did you leave the backpack?’

  ‘Forgot it.’

  ‘Did you report it lost?’

  A shake of the head.

  ‘Whose books were they?’

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘What kind of books did you have, Tasha?’

  A shrug.

  ‘Who was the boy at the station you were talking to? Did you know him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you talk to him, then?’

  A shrug.

  ‘Tasha, we know you caught the next train back. You never left the station, in fact. You arrived on one train, spoke to the boy, dumped your backpack and caught a train back fifteen minutes later. So why did you go all that way?’

  ‘Supposed to meet a friend.’

  ‘What’s the friend called?’

  There was a pause. Natasha looked as if she thought about shrugging again, but seemingly realised that she should have known the name of her friend. The pause went on for quite a few seconds.

  ‘She’s called Serena.’

  ‘Does Serena have a surname?’

  ‘Dunno – she’s just Serena to me.’

  And so it went on. Round and round in circles. They got nothing else from her. She didn’t know where this Serena lived, had no means of contacting her and, when pushed, Natasha answered, ‘She’s moved.’

  Becky had one more card left to play. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out another photo.

  ‘Who’s this, then?’ she asked.

  Natasha gave it an indifferent glance, clearly expecting to see another photo of the boy at the station. But it wasn’t. It was somebody else entirely.

  The girl didn’t look up, but Becky saw her mouth open slightly and every muscle in her body went rigid. She waited, perched on the edge of her seat for no more than ten seconds. When she looked up, her face was wiped of expression.

  ‘I don’t know him,’ she said.

  Her ability to present an impassive face was remarkable for one so young, but as far as Becky knew, nobody had the ability to control when their pupils dilated.

  20

  ‘Boh, boh, beep, beep,’ Ollie said in his singsong voice as Emma carried him upstairs for his bath and bed. He seemed wide awake at the moment, his head bobbing from side to side, as if there were a tune in his head somewhere but he hadn’t yet learned to make the right notes. Fortunately, Emma knew that as soon as she put Ollie in his cot, he would go to sleep.

  And long may it continue, she thought, given that neither she nor David seemed to have had a decent night’s sleep in days.

  As soon as the police had left after dropping their bombshell, David had called his daughter back downstairs to the dining room. They had tried to speak to her about the drug trafficking, but once again had failed to make any progress.

  ‘Tasha, nobody’s blaming you for any of this. We know that sometimes people live in environments where drugs are commonplace, and that children can be made to do things they wouldn’t do out of choice. You won’t tell us about your life over the last six years, but anything you were forced to do is absolutely not your fault. Do you understand?’

  David had been calm and reasonable with Natasha, but it hadn’t helped. In the end he had decided to go back to the office to work on a report he said he had been struggling to finish. Emma didn’t believe him. He wanted to go somewhere quiet and lick his wounds. He would be back for dinner, but for a while Emma had just enjoyed spending some time playing with her baby and pretending that everything was normal. Tasha, of course, was in her room and couldn’t be tempted downstairs.

  Emma laid Ollie tenderly in his cot and bent down to give him a kiss, breathing in the aroma of baby powder and nuzzling her nose against his soft skin. She sat down in her comfy chair, just looking at her son as he drifted off to sleep. This had always been her idea of bliss, watching his eyes flutter for a while until they were fully closed and he was fast asleep. But the disruption created by Natasha’s arrival had ripped that gentle peace apart. It wasn’t the child’s fault, but in spite of that – and hating herself for the thought – she wished she had stayed hidden.

  The room suddenly felt hot and airless, guilt at her selfishness causing her cheeks to flush. She stood up and opened the window slightly, pulling the curtain across so that there was no danger of Ollie being in a draught.

  Through the open window she could vaguely hear a voice, although she could hardly make out any words. Maybe she had left the radio on downstairs.

  Then she heard one word. ‘When?’ She stayed completely still, her ears straining to hear more. There was silence for a few seconds. ‘Please – make it soon.’

  Although the voice was using a pleading tone she had never heard before, there was no doubt in her mind that this wasn’t the radio. It was Natasha.

  *

  ‘David, she was talking to somebody,’ Emma whispered into the kitchen phone, terrified that Natasha would come downstairs and hear her reporting back to David. ‘Yes, of course I’m sure. She sounded upset, but when I knocked on her door she refused to answer. I didn’t want her to know that I’d heard her, but when I tried the door she’d put something behind it again. I asked if she wanted to help me make a pizza, but I got no response.’

  ‘I was hoping this would happen,’ David said, and Emma could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Not that something would upset her, of course, but that she would use the phone I gave her to contact somebody from her other life.’

  ‘What, so we can trace them?’ Emma said, hope in her voice.

  ‘Yes I’m tracking all her calls. I put an app on the phone before I gave it to her. I can see who she’s called, read her texts and find out where she is at any given moment.’

 
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Emma asked, uncertain whether she should applaud David’s cleverness or be appalled at his duplicity with his daughter.

  ‘Because I didn’t know if you would approve. If you thought it was wrong thing to do, I wouldn’t have put it past you to tell her.’

  Emma was speechless.

  ‘Don’t give me the silent treatment, Emma. If she’d gone missing again, I wanted to know where she was. I’m not losing her again, and don’t forget that when she wandered off you were out of your mind with worry.’

  ‘I know,’ Emma said softly. If somebody had taken Ollie from her she would want to rip their throat out with her bare hands, so she could understand how David must feel.

  Emma could hear David typing something into his keyboard.

  ‘I checked this morning, and up to now she hasn’t used her phone for anything. But it should show up now. Here we go.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Huh. That’s odd. Emma, are you sure you heard her talking? It couldn’t have been the radio?’

  ‘I’m positive. Why?’

  ‘Because I’m checking her records now, and she hasn’t made any calls. Her phone hasn’t been used at all since the day we gave it to her.’

  *

  It’s all going wrong. I’ve screwed up.

  Natasha was staring out of her bedroom window, seeing nothing. It had all seemed so easy to start with. Anything was better than the alternative. She would have been thrown in The Pit if she had refused – just for as long as it took to make her do as she was told – and then she would have gone the way of the others, ended up like Izzy.

  She felt the back of her eyes sting but fought it. She might be wrong about Izzy. Maybe it wasn’t her body that the police had found. She should never have told Izzy about the job, though. It was dangerous and stupid. But she had needed somebody to tell her she was doing the right thing.

  Now the police had that CCTV footage on the train. She’d been such an idiot, smiling at him like that. If it ever got out – got back to them – they would kill her. They would never trust her again.