by Adam Croft
You know what happens if I find out you told them.
I’m looking at Ellie right now. I’ve got eyes on you too. Say one word to the police and I will kill her immediately.
Only one way you can get her back.
The staccato sentences worry me. They sound like someone panicked. If this person has Ellie, the last thing I want them to do is panic. I fire off a reply as quickly as I can.
I told no-one. I understand.
I hope this says it all while remaining deliberately ambiguous. The possibility is still there at the back of my mind that I’m either going to have to go to the police about this person or that it’s some sick prank and that they’re going to try and lead me into doing something stupid and then call the police themselves. I’m certainly not going to put anything incriminating in black and white.
As I have with the other messages, I make sure I delete both Jen Hood’s emails and my replies, both from their main folders and from my ‘Deleted Items’ folder, too. The police might want to look through my phone and laptop again at some point, and I can’t be too careful. I’m sure there’d still be some deeper trace somewhere if they wanted to find it, but there’s no reason for them to look more deeply unless I’m actually under suspicion, so I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.
As I hit the last ‘Delete’ button, I jump up and dart over to the bedroom window with the sudden realisation that the person who sent the email must be able to see the house. If they know there’s a young policeman standing outside, they must be nearby.
My heart’s racing nineteen to the dozen as I try to get my head round this. That policeman’s been there since they called off the search last night, so there’s nothing to say that this Jen Hood is outside right now. In fact, it’d be pretty stupid for them to be outside right now. But how did they manage to get close enough to the house to see the policeman without him seeing them?
In my mind, there’s only one answer to that. They didn’t have to go anywhere. They live on the street.
I try to gauge the lines of sight from the other houses on the street to where the policeman is standing. To the right the line of sight would be broken by the huge hedge that separates our house from next door. To the left, whoever was watching would be hidden by the bend in the road on one side and their own walls and hedges on the other. I guess it’s feasible that a few houses could have decent sight lines from their upstairs windows, but there’s only one which has a perfect view. The house that’s sitting there looking at me right now, gloating. Number 39.
I feel the anger flooding into me, thinking back to when Derek told the police he didn’t see me putting Ellie in the car. Why would he lie? All I know is that he has to be involved somehow. Why else would he try to throw the police off the scent?
Before I can even reason with myself, I’m bounding down the stairs and out the front door. The policeman turns and looks at me.
‘Ah, I was hoping you’d be up soon,’ he says. ‘Mind if I use your loo?’
‘Be my guest,’ I say, as I walk quickly past him and cross the road.
Within seconds I’m hammering on Derek’s door. He can’t have seen me coming, because he opens it shortly after and seems genuinely shocked to see me. I don’t wait to be invited in and I make my way through into his kitchen.
He closes the door behind him and shuffles through after me, looking more scared than angry that I’ve just barged my way into his house.
‘Where is it?’ I ask, staring him down.
‘Where’s what?’
‘Come on, don’t play stupid. Where’s your computer?’
‘I don’t own a computer,’ he says, looking confused. ‘What the hell would I want with one of those?’
I realise this is the most I’ve ever heard him say in twenty-odd years of walking past his house twice a day and then living opposite.
‘This Jen Hood thing. The emails. What’s it all about?’ A small part of me appears to be floating above my body, watching ashamedly as my rage and emotion all boils to the surface. The rest of me is completely consumed by it, feeling the blood pulsing in my temples as I stand face-to-face with the man I think has kidnapped my daughter.
It all makes sense. The way he managed to see her, grab her and get her out of sight within the space of a minute and without me hearing a car. The way he knew there was a policeman standing outside my house. It’s because he was there all along, right opposite, watching me.
‘Where is she?’ I yell as I start to pace through the archway into his living room before skirting back round and heading upstairs. ‘Ellie? Ellie!’
The upstairs rooms are filled with rubbish – old ornaments and boxes of papers. I know one thing for certain – there’s definitely no computer in this house. The guy doesn’t even look as if he knows how to work a vacuum cleaner.
Despite this, I find myself rifling through his belongings, emptying drawers and throwing things all over the place in my desperate search for something – something – that might lead me towards Ellie.
I’m back out on the landing and yanking at the loft hatch when I hear the now-familiar voice of Derek downstairs.
‘He’s up there,’ he says.
Before I can get any further, the policeman who’d been standing outside my house is tugging on my arm and leading me back down the stairs.
16
Nick
By the time I’ve been frogmarched back to my own house by the policeman, McKenna and Brennan are already sitting in my living room, waiting for me. Tasha’s there, too.
‘What the hell, Nick?’ she says, as I try to avoid looking anyone in the eye. The anger has subsided now and all I feel is shame and embarrassment.
‘Don’t, Tash,’ I say. McKenna and Brennan have left the room to speak to the officer who was posted outside and who came to get me out of Derek’s house.
‘No, seriously, what the hell? We’ve been out knocking on doors, handing out photos of Ellie, scouring every fucking inch of the area and you’re, what, ransacking some old guy’s house?’
‘Tash, I know. But you have to just believe me, alright? I want Ellie back as much as you do. More than you do.’
‘More than I do? Are you serious?’
‘It’s my fault she went missing, isn’t it?’ I say, looking at her for the first time. ‘Don’t you think I don’t know that? Don’t you think I’m not beating myself up every minute, every second? I want her back, too, and I’m doing what I can, in my own way, to make sure that happens. You just have to trust me, Tash.’
‘Trust you?’ she says, making a snorting noise. ‘Nick, I couldn’t even trust you to get her to fucking school.’
There’s a few moments of silence before I speak again. ‘That’s low.’
‘It’s honest,’ she replies. ‘What were you doing over there anyway? What did you seriously expect to find? Ellie locked up in a cupboard in his spare bedroom?’
‘I thought he might know something,’ I reply, knowing I can’t say anything more. Not now.
‘Like what?’ McKenna asks, having re-entered the room silently with Brennan.
‘I don’t know. I just thought . . . He must have seen something.’
McKenna sighs and shares a look with Tasha before speaking to me. ‘We’ve spoken to Mr Francis again and he confirmed that he didn’t see anything. Among other things that he told us,’ she adds, leaving the comment hanging in the air like a bad smell.
After a few moments, Tasha offers them tea and McKenna follows her out to the kitchen. I notice they don’t ask me if I want anything.
‘What were you looking for, Nick?’ Brennan asks once they’re gone.
‘Nothing,’ I reply.
‘You must’ve been looking for something,’ he says, sitting down in the armchair in what seems like some sort of attempt to lighten the atmosphere. ‘I mean, you don’t just go around ransacking your neighbours’ houses just for the sake of it, do you?’
I’m not sure how to respond to this.
What can I say? I received a ransom email saying I could have Ellie back if I kill Tasha, and I thought he sent it? Sure, I could very well say that. Only I don’t want to. And deep down I know why I don’t want to. But I still can’t shake the two enormous questions hanging over my head: who and why?
A lot of what’s being said to me right now isn’t really entering my brain. Their words are sort of floating around the outside of my head, trying to find a way in but not succeeding. All I can think of is that email and why someone would want to send it. I hope to God it’s not real, but what if it is? What if this person really does have Ellie and really does want Tasha dead?
An ex-boyfriend? Someone she got into trouble at work? A colleague she screwed over? Some sort of dark shadow from her past who’s been waiting, lurking, ready to exact their revenge at the right moment? None of this makes any sense whatsoever.
It’s at this point that I realise why my frustrations are aimed at the police investigation and the search for Ellie. It’s because I know that the longer the search goes on, the less likely it becomes that Ellie will be found. Most missing children are found within a few hours. After that, it becomes exponentially less likely that they’ll be found. If that happens, I’ll only be left with one way to get her back. By telling the police about the email I received from Jen Hood, it could potentially help them find her sooner. If it’s real. But if it’s just a vicious troll? Diverting police resources away from finding Ellie and towards tracking down a troll is the last thing I want. I need to weigh up the odds. Is it more likely this email is real or fake? Right now, there’s only one answer to that: the chances are it’s a hoax. In these precious first few hours, I desperately need the police to be putting everything into looking for Ellie.
‘Let me level with you, Nick,’ Brennan says, clearly attempting to play good cop to McKenna’s bad. ‘I know you’re under a lot of stress with the situation. Trust me, I see it all the time. I don’t mean that to sound patronising. And I know people respond in different ways to stress. But the way you’re behaving and reacting to things . . . Well, it’s not doing you any favours, put it that way.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ I ask, partly grateful for his efforts to see things from my point of view and partly sceptical of his motives.
‘I’ve been doing this long enough to get an eye for a situation. I’ve got a pretty good copper’s nose. I know you didn’t do anything to harm Ellie, but the way you’ve been reacting to things, other people might think otherwise. See what I’m saying?’
I barely hear a word that comes out of his mouth after he says Ellie’s name. Even though, thanks to Derek, I know the police have suspected something about me, I’m still stunned by the first actual mention of the possibility that this could have been some sort of deliberate ploy on my part. I can see why it’s crossed their minds; you see it all the time in books and on TV, the parents being unhinged and harming their own children and then reporting them missing. The police have to consider everything. But the first time you hear that said about yourself, it’s like a ton of bricks landing on your head.
Brennan must have noticed me standing there open-mouthed as he tries to backtrack. ‘I’m just anticipating how these things go, you know? Just trying to give you a bit of friendly advice. I’m pretty certain you’ll want to make sure we’re putting our efforts into finding Ellie and not worrying about what you’re going to do next. See what I mean?’
‘Yeah. Course.’
‘Only, according to Mr Francis, you said something about a computer. You were shouting out Ellie’s name and asking him something about an email. What was that all about?’
Now’s my chance. I could tell them about the emails and have them put a couple of officers on to finding out who sent them. But I know that’s pointless. They’ll have been sent in some sort of untraceable way, I’m sure. It’s not my area of expertise, but I can only assume the sender will have used some sort of encryption or something. And in any case, who are they going to find? Some kid fucking about on the internet. But almost certainly not Ellie.
I can’t deny it, though. The possibility that this is all real and that this Jen Hood person really does have Ellie is growing all the time. Especially since I found out that the person who sent it can clearly see my house. Or can they? Isn’t there a bloody good chance that there’d be a police officer outside my house at the moment? Was it just a lucky guess? Or was there some sort of local news coverage which showed the officer in the background?
With the increasing possibility that this is all absolutely real, I feel my entire body flooding with fear. I know this is now or never. But something is still holding me back. Since the incident with Derek lying to the detectives and them suspecting that I’ve got something to do with it, how can I have any faith in the police? Would they turn this back on me somehow? They seem to have done fuck all so far, and I’m not convinced I can trust them.
My head’s spinning. I don’t trust the police, but I don’t want to use up their resources. I think the messages are fake, but I think they’re real. Everything has become a blur and I just want to scream and yell and let it all out and let someone else shoulder the burden, let someone else find her. But I know that isn’t going to happen. I’ve been through enough to know that there’s only one person I can trust. One person who I know will do everything within their power to get Ellie back. And that’s me.
‘I dunno,’ I say. ‘I’ve not been sleeping well. I’d been napping and I woke up confused. Lack of sleep does that to me sometimes and it’s not exactly easy to let your mind wind down when your five-year-old daughter’s missing.’
‘Perhaps you should see a doctor,’ he says.
‘Perhaps,’ I reply.
The atmosphere is broken by the return of Tasha and McKenna, clutching their mugs and passing one to Brennan. It still doesn’t dawn on anyone that I’ve not been asked if I want anything. Or perhaps it does and it’s a deliberate ploy. The way my mind’s working right now, anything’s possible.
‘Now, Nick, are you going to tell us what that was all about?’ McKenna says, getting straight to the point as always. I’ve got a million thoughts going through my head right now, but the one that concerns me is that they seem to be more preoccupied with me and my actions than they are with finding Ellie.
‘Does it really matter? We should be out looking, not going over stuff which doesn’t matter,’ I say.
‘It does matter, though, Nick. It matters that you forced your way into an elderly man’s house and ransacked it,’ McKenna replies.
‘I didn’t force my way in.’
‘You weren’t invited,’ she says.
I just shake my head and release a slight smile and a laugh.
‘Something funny?’
‘Only the fact that we’re wasting time here,’ I say. ‘Anyway, have you looked more carefully at Derek Francis? Everyone around here knows he’s not quite right. You’d do better to be questioning him than me.’
‘Questioning him about what?’ Brennan asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, eventually.
McKenna paces towards the front window. ‘About Ellie’s disappearance, you mean?’
‘Why not? He had a full view of the driveway. He’s the only one who did. And he says he was stood at the window at the time Ellie went missing. Yet he still didn’t see anything. That’s a bit weird, don’t you think?’
‘Not particularly. It comes down to your word against his, doesn’t it? You say you put Ellie in the car and went back inside. Derek Francis says he didn’t see you do anything of the sort. He also says he rang your doorbell earlier that morning to give you the letter he’d had delivered to his house by mistake and got no answer.’
‘I’ve already told you all this,’ I say, frustrated. ‘I didn’t answer because I was getting Ellie dressed. And I doubt very much it was him at my door, seeing as he doesn’t communicate with anyone. He’s a hermit.’
‘Was the letter on your mat when you came
downstairs?’ McKenna asks.
‘Well, yes.’
She just looks at me. ‘So it would seem that that part of his story is true. Why not the rest?’
‘Because he’s lying. I know exactly what happened that morning. I was there. I’m not some senile old pensioner who doesn’t know what he sees and doesn’t see.’
‘So he’s an unreliable witness but you still want us to question him and find out what he really saw? That doesn’t make much sense to me, Nick.’
I can feel the weight of McKenna’s comments pressing down on me. Tasha’s face is a composition of confusion, frustration and hurt.
‘Why would you believe him over me? I’m the one whose daughter has gone missing. Look into his record, alright? Just look into him and then tell me you believe his word over mine.’
‘We have,’ McKenna says, adding another layer of atmosphere to the room. ‘We’ve looked into his record and we’ve looked into yours. His is clean.’ She leaves it hanging in the air for a few seconds before speaking again. ‘Now do you want to tell me everything?’
17
The car feels like it’s rolling into corners far more than it usually does, but I know the problem isn’t mechanical – it’s the result of the substances that are swimming around in the chemistry of my brain. I’ve only been legally old enough to drive for just over a year, but I feel an enormous sense of confidence as I take the bends on the country roads with relative ease.
I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles slowly turning white. I can feel the blood pulsing at my temples; a strangely irregular rhythm. I keep repeating her comment over and over in my head. That was where things started to go wrong. It was derisive, almost mocking me. And I don’t think she was joking. From there, everything she said began to turn the screw, slowly grinding away at me until I couldn’t take it any more. There was no argument – just a growing knowledge and acceptance on my part as to what I was going to do tonight. Once the red mist had descended, that was it. There was no going back. Once I step over the line, I stay over the line.
