‘I brought you a few things,’ Tina says, holding out a plastic bag. ‘Mostly essentials, like toothbrushes and shower gel. I got Aiden some paints as well.’ She glances at my son, who’s sitting on his own bed scrolling through his phone again. ‘I thought you might find it therapeutic. Well, both of you.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ I reply. My voice sounds distant, the edges fading away. I want to disappear with it.
‘I’ll put these away.’ Aiden begins to organise the contents of the bag, taking the toiletries into the bathroom.
I eyeball Stevenson. If he’d had news, he would’ve led with it. I knew as soon as he walked through the door that he had no fresh information for me. I know his face now, and I know the various expressions that mean I don’t know where your child is, and I don’t know where to look.
‘The Met is still examining the CCTV footage all around the area.’ He pulls the desk chair around to face me and perches on it, his long limbs too big for the cheap frame. ‘We know that the woman took Gina through the car park and onto the main road. She turned off the main road into another car park where she exited onto a grassy area between council estates. It’s here, I’m afraid, that we lose her. We think she walked across the grass to a vehicle somewhere in the area. She planned this carefully, researching a place to leave a car that’s away from cameras. However, we are asking the private residences around there if they have any security cameras set up. People have doorbell cameras now, and you never know what they might’ve captured. If we can figure out the make and model of her car, we might be able to track her journey.’
‘Are residents likely to hand over their camera footage? I’d imagine trust in the police around housing estates is pretty low.’
‘You’d be surprised by what people will do for a missing child,’ Stevenson replies. ‘They’re on your side, Emma.’
I glance down at the papers. Heartbreak is the word of the day. I’m heartbroken by the kidnapping of my child. The kidnapping of my second child. But lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice, does it? How long are they going to stay on my side? And if they aren’t on my side, then they’re not looking for my daughter.
I nod cautiously and take another bite of my croissant.
‘Would you be willing to do a press conference later today?’ Stevenson asks. ‘It’d be with DI Khatri, not me. But I thought I’d come to ask because you know me.’
‘Of course I will. Anything to help her.’
‘Good. I’ll let them know.’ He pauses. ‘Listen, I’m not PR and I’m not an expert, but I’ve learned a couple of things watching other high-profile cases. First, don’t court the press. And second, don’t smile. The media will follow the money.’ My fingers tighten around the pastry in my hand, crushing it. ‘If you’re the best story, that’s where they’ll go. Don’t be anything other than the grieving mother. Don’t be beautiful. Don’t be religious. Don’t be political. Be the grieving mother.’
The part that makes my stomach churn is the fact that I know he’s right. Tina stands there with her mouth flapping open, staring at him. I assume he isn’t supposed to be saying this to me.
‘They’re going to talk about Aiden,’ he continues. ‘And that conversation is going to insinuate that he’s dangerous.’ He leans forward. My heart is pounding now but I stay still, listening, taking it in, letting the words sour. ‘There may even be experts that will suggest he could have been irreparably damaged by what he went through in the bunker. They may believe he could do to Gina what was done to him.’
I flinch away from him and throw the pastry down on the bed in disgust. ‘No. They wouldn’t dare. Aiden was in front of a camera at the time of her disappearance!’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says. ‘He could’ve had help. There will be a ton of conspiracy theories thrown around and you have to brace yourself for the worst.’
‘What?’ Aiden strides back into the room from the en-suite, hands balled into fists. He walks purposefully towards the detective and I have to stand up and physically block his way.
‘It’s not something I believe,’ Stevenson says hastily. ‘I’m preparing you both for what might be coming.’ His voice remains calm, and if he was perturbed by Aiden’s aggression, he doesn’t show it. ‘Like I said, they’ll go for what sells the most newspapers, and that’s probably going to be Aiden. Don’t let them. I think Aiden should be at the press conference supporting you, Emma. Holding hands. Show the press some emotion.’
‘I don’t like the thought of my son being forced to perform for a crowd,’ I say.
‘It’s OK, Mum. I’ll do it,’ he says. ‘I would’ve done it anyway.’
I turn to face him and place a hand on his arm. His eyes are focused on the patterned carpet of the hotel room. The anger I saw a few moments ago has fizzled out as quickly as it came.
‘I’ll give you a call when they’re ready for you,’ Stevenson says before leaving.
Tina hesitates by the door. ‘I’ll be in the hotel lobby for a little while. If you need me, give me a call, OK?’ She hands me a card with her phone number before disappearing through the door.
‘I don’t trust him anymore,’ Aiden says. ‘I think he said all of that to see how I’d react.’
I’m not sure what to think. A numbing sensation spreads over me. My thoughts are all jumbled up. I’m both exhausted and wide awake. Adrenaline won’t allow my body to relax.
‘He’s not our friend,’ Aiden says, and I’m inclined to agree with him.
At eleven, I realise that Gina has been missing for twenty-four hours and my heart skips a beat. Most children don’t come back to their parents alive after the first twenty-four hours. This is the point where police – and parents – are forced to admit that their child didn’t wander off; their child was taken.
I’ve been here before. The red coat in the Ouse.
I’ve lost hope before, too. I won’t do that again.
Tina goes out to buy us some new clothes before the press conference, and the entire time I think about Stevenson’s words. Be the grieving mother. It implies that Gina is dead, and I hate that, but I understand the concept. It’s who I am anyway. I think about Gina every moment of the day. But it isn’t all that I am. No one can cry all day and all night. I’m also a woman with opinions and ideas about how to find my daughter, but no one wants that from me. They don’t want me to be active.
‘The blue shirt, Aiden,’ I say. ‘It’s similar to what you were wearing yesterday. Maybe it’ll jog people’s memories.’
I decide on a cardigan over a plain dress. I don’t style my hair; I leave it limp and lifeless. I sit down in the chair and crumple the dress. People can’t know that it’s new. I can’t be thought of as someone who could go shopping the day after my daughter was kidnapped. The press needs to focus on Amy. Any small detail about me could detract from the real culprit.
‘Do you need anything to eat or drink before we go?’ Tina asks.
I shake my head, the thought of eating just makes me want to throw up.
‘Can I have some water, please?’ Aiden asks. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped forward. There’s paint on the tips of his fingers.
‘Wash your hands,’ I say, nodding to the paint. ‘They can’t think we’re doing anything normal.’
While Tina takes a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, Aiden goes to wash his hands.
‘I’m sure they won’t notice,’ Tina says.
But I shake my head. ‘They’ll notice everything.’
By the time he comes back, I’m pacing the length of the hotel room. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
He nods.
‘I know what Stevenson said, but you don’t have to do this if you don’t want.’
‘This is all my fault,’ he says. ‘So I do have to do this.’
I stop pacing and face my son. ‘No, it’s not.’ I take his face in my hands and force him to look into my eyes. ‘What makes you think that?’
<
br /> ‘Because I insisted on doing the interview.’
I pull him into a hug and for once he wraps his arms around me. ‘It’s not your fault. None of this is. I promise you. OK?’
His head moves against my shoulder.
‘We’re going to get her back. Amy isn’t going to win.’
He nods again.
‘I promise, Aiden.’
He pulls away. ‘Don’t make any promises.’
‘OK, I won’t.’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ Tina says. ‘But it’s time to go I’m afraid.’
My face is wet with tears that I desperately want to wipe away, but I don’t. I let them dry on my cheeks.
Chapter Ten
EMMA
‘There are some reporters outside the main entrance,’ Tina warns. ‘We can either go out the back of the hotel where it’s quieter, or we can go through the reporters. Which would you prefer? I’ll have the car brought around whichever.’
‘The front,’ I say, and then glance at Aiden to check that’s fine for him too.
He nods.
I turn to Tina. ‘I don’t want them to think we have anything to hide. But we won’t say anything to them.’
‘OK.’ Tina makes a quick call, and then we make our way out of the hotel.
‘Would you like me to hold your hand while we do this?’ I ask Aiden.
‘Yes.’
Gently, I take his hand in mine and follow Tina out of the hotel. She has a couple of male police officers with us, who open the door and stop the journalists from getting too close. As soon as we set foot outside, I feel the camera lenses on me. I feel the weight of them leaning in. But it’s just a few seconds before we’re in the back of a car.
‘You’d think they’d all be at the conference, not here,’ I say, half to myself.
‘Many newspapers are doing both,’ Tina says by way of explanation. ‘I think some wanted more candid photos. We’ve asked for privacy, but they never listen.’
The press conference is held at a small town hall not far from the studios where Gina was taken. Tina leads us through a corridor where we meet DI Khatri and a PC.
‘Good afternoon, Ms Price,’ she says. ‘Did you manage to get much sleep?’
‘No.’
‘No one ever does in this situation,’ she says. ‘I promise you, we’ve been working hard to find your daughter. This is a good step. You can appeal for information and get the general public to help you. The eyes of the country are searching for your little girl, which gives us a lot to go on. Can I take a quick peek at your statement?’
I hand her a piece of paper and she scans it.
‘Good, yes,’ she says. ‘Can I just suggest . . .’ she pulls a pen from the top pocket of her jacket and scribbles out a few words. ‘Let’s not get too aggressive. No warnings for the kidnapper. Appeal for information. Appeal for anyone who might have taken her to give her back . . . That’s really all we can say right now.’
‘We know who took her, though,’ I say, retrieving my statement. ‘We know it was Amy.’
She cocks her head to one side. ‘Do we?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, sensing her dismissing my theories as mere paranoia.
‘Look, I understand how it might feel like that,’ she says. ‘You have a gut instinct and I don’t blame you for having one. But I can’t base any of my investigation on your prior history with Amy Perry. I need to examine the evidence. Amy is certainly a suspect and will remain one until she’s eliminated.’
‘What are you doing to find her?’ I ask.
‘We’ve been to her house on Singer Lane in Bishoptown and it’s empty. According to a neighbour she moved out without warning and without leaving a forwarding address. The house hasn’t been put on the market as a sale or a rental property, so it seems that she still owns it. Where she is, we don’t know.’
‘That’s pretty suspicious, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Khatri concedes. ‘Trust me, she’s a suspect. But let us do our job, Ms Price.’
And I should do mine, I think. Be the grieving mother.
The condescending tone of this woman brings out a bitterness in me. She makes me feel useless. Perhaps I am. I grit my teeth, biting back any possible retorts.
‘Are you ready?’ she asks. ‘The cameras are all set up and the press are here.’
Many years ago, I did this for Aiden. I still remember the sea of faces. What I don’t remember are the words I spoke. It was such a blur that the memory is more of a dream. Rob was beside me that time, now it’s Aiden himself.
‘Aiden?’
His skin is a pale shade of grey and there are purple bruises beneath his eyes. But he nods. It hits me, suddenly, just how unfair all of this it. Neither of my children should have been put through such terrible things. A small voice attempts to break through my mind, wanting to plant seeds of fear. That voice whispers all the disgusting things that could happen to Gina. I silence it and focus.
‘Is Aiden going to speak?’ Khatri asks.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘He’s here for support.’
‘OK,’ she says. ‘That’s fine. Shall we go out there?’ She gestures to the door surrounded by PCs ready to allow us through.
‘Yes.’ I take Aiden’s hand in mine and follow DI Khatri into the hallway.
The room is bright. There’s a large picture of Gina next to the back table. It’s a good picture, chosen from a selection I gave the police. She’s at the top of a slide, grinning. They’ve cropped it so that just her face is visible.
Khatri strides confidently into the room clutching a bottle of water. She sits behind her name card. Aiden and I follow, each finding our seats.
There are camera clicks and murmurs. A microphone has been set up on the table in front of me. My body is pulled tight with tension. I glance at Aiden, who sits rigidly in his chair, eyes direct to the camera. Please don’t let him be the focus of this, I think.
Khatri thanks the press for coming and explains the situation. In an emotionless voice, she tells the press that Gina was taken by a woman with red hair at eleven o’clock on Wednesday morning. She mentions that the woman may either have been wearing a wig or have since dyed her hair. She describes her clothing, then goes on to describe Gina’s clothing.
Next to me, Aiden is breathing heavily. The camera flashes are frightening him. All of the doors to the room have been closed and I know he feels penned in with all these people. My son is a man, but he needs protection. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it, trying to bring him back.
‘After this press conference is over, we will be showing images from the relevant CCTV footage,’ Khatri continues. ‘And we are appealing to the general public to get in touch if they recognise this woman. We thank you all for your co-operation. We also thank you for respecting the privacy of Ms Price and her son, Aiden, who are heartbroken over the abduction of little Gina.’
There’s that word again, heartbroken. It suggests, to me, that Gina is already dead.
But she isn’t, I refuse to believe that.
‘Ms Price is going to say a few words now.’ Khatri leans over and nods to me.
Eyes have been on me since the very beginning, but now is the moment I feel each and every eyeball. I also notice the brightness of the room. The pens tapping notebooks. The pounding of my heart. The sweat at my temples.
‘I would like to say a few words on behalf of Aiden and myself,’ my throat is dry as a bone, ‘about the funny, smart little girl we both love. Gina is the light of our lives and we miss her more than anything. Please, if you see anything, report it to the hotline. Even the smallest detail could help the investigation. We just want Gina to come home safe. And if you did take her, if the woman in the CCTV footage is watching this right now. Don’t hurt her. Bring her back to us.’
Khatri nods in a way that tells me I should shut up now. I let out a long exhale as she’s wrapping up the conference. Some of the reporters have questions, but I don’t hear them. All I can
hear is the beating of my own heart. It isn’t enough. What I said isn’t enough. There wasn’t enough time to adequately explain how much Gina means to us. This entire show feels formulaic, like I’m part of a reality TV programme. No one is being the real version of themselves, except perhaps for Aiden, who can’t be anything other than real.
I find the camera and direct my gaze towards it. ‘Amy.’
Khatri quiets. ‘Ms Price, what are you –?’
‘Amy, I know you have my daughter.’
‘That’s all we have time for –’
‘Give her back to me. Give her back before I come and find you.’
Khatri tries to grasp my wrist, but I pull away from her. Out of the corner of my eye I sense her panic.
‘If you harm a single hair on her head, I will kill you. I don’t know why you took her, whether it’s revenge or something worse. But I do know it was you who took my daughter. I know it was you, Amy.’
Hands hook beneath my arms.
‘Amy Perry! That’s who took my daughter. Find her!’ I try to lean into the microphone but I’m being dragged away.
Aiden follows as I’m manhandled out of the room, his skin changed from grey to white. When the police officer lets go of me, he reaches out and touches my upper arm.
‘Are you OK, Mum?’
‘What the hell was that?’ Khatri demands. ‘Is that the image you want the general public to see? You taken out of a press conference by force?’
‘It was your choice to pull me away.’
‘No,’ she says, ‘it wasn’t. You named and shamed a suspect on live television. Do you have any idea how much you’ve jeopardised this investigation? That was the stupidest . . .’ She shakes her head, cheeks flushed, unable to find the words. ‘I’ve never seen a parent do that before.’
Regret begins to seep in, but I push it away. She doesn’t know Amy the way I do. Nothing I did jeopardised the investigation because Amy knows this is personal anyway. What I’ve done is rattled her, which might help flush her out from whatever hole she’s hiding in.
‘What you did has far bigger implications than this investigation,’ Khatri warns. ‘I could arrest you for inciting violence. If Amy Perry turns out to be innocent, you could have ruined her life. Do you understand that?’
Stolen Girl Page 6
