by Jake Cross
‘He managed to make you quit a good job and leave London, Anna. Maybe you don’t even know what kind of control he exerts over you.’
She wanted to hit him, but there was no energy for that, either.
‘You can’t talk to me like one of your overworked staff, Dad. What is it with you? My daughter is missing, for God’s sake, and you accuse me of being involved? Of this being a set-up with Josie used as some kind of… bargaining chip? Don’t you have a damn soul?’
That attack found a chink in the armour. He turned away again and got up. She heard his bad knee pop.
‘I can’t go to your mother’s without Josie.’
‘I want my daughter back right now, Dad. Not in four days’ time. Right now, and I’d give anything for that.’
There was no face to see, but a slumping of the shoulders said he’d acknowledged his mistake. But all he said was, ‘You should have Josie’s bed in your room from now on, and I’ll get you a bedroom door you can lock,’ and then he scuttled from the room, gone before she could think of a response.
Guilt wrapped powerful limbs around her. This was a time of great stress for her father, too, and if attacking her, if a wild accusation, was to be his way of pressure release, so be it. A lifetime of blame and disrespect had immunised her to his disrespect. She would gladly take his pain, and Jane’s, into her own, because they would barely dilute it. She also knew that he partly blamed himself. Her father, the great entrepreneur, business-maker, couldn’t tolerate mistakes and, for the very reason he’d interrogated the police, abhorred having any aspect of his life beyond his control. Blaming himself after the unavoidable death of Anna’s mother had cemented his inability to deal with failure. Scrambled emotions explained his errant tongue.
But his accusations had left an acidic residue in the air, which she couldn’t avoid breathing deep into her mind. Nick. She recalled a claim both of them had uttered in anger at one point: I hope one day I’ll come home to find you’ve just left for ever.
Mixed with the evidence that said he’d taken Josie, it looked bad. But not to someone who really knew Nick. Not to her. If Nick ever had the idea to leave with Josie, he would have given it a voice, if only to make a threat. No way would he just run with her, and certainly not in the middle of the night. The only concept more ridiculous was that he’d snatch her in order to extort money. But Father and the police seemed willing to jump all over that one.
She got on her knees and reached under the bed. She returned with a present in wrapping paper, which she quickly tore open. She’d spotted the item when searching for her lost phone. Then, it hadn’t mattered, but now it did. She needed it to beat back all that confusing evidence against Nick and remind her that he was a good man.
The card said…
To My Darling Wife, Happy Writing
It was attached to a bow-wrapped box containing a writing pad, pen, mini voice recorder, and CD of ambient music, which she couldn’t write poetry without.
‘Excuse me?’
She looked round to see a brand new uniformed police officer, an overweight female in heavy boots and latex gloves. Lettering on the breast of her jacket said SENIOR CSI. A Crime Scene Investigator, Anna realised, with shock. Someone else who had sneaked in while she was in the bedroom. Someone whose job was to find fingerprints and DNA and… blood. The horror took all words from her.
The CSI said, ‘I haven’t worked the girl’s room yet. Heard you in here, didn’t want to intrude. All done?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. But my daughter, her name is—’
She stopped as the phone rang.
Express concern for the individual-in-crisis and ask for proof of life, phrased in such a way that only the kidnapper can answer.
She was led into the living room like a condemned woman, Miller’s hands on her arm, that scratchy voice close to her ear. So many people in her house, so many more than she’d expected. Miller had promised to insulate her from them, but the ringing phone had drawn them out, and all were watching her.
The coffee table had been dragged into the centre of the living room and her mobile was there, connected to a laptop. Everyone stared at it like a ticking bomb. Around the laptop were the cards Miller had given her earlier. She noticed Bennet holding her father’s arm, but unlike her he wasn’t being led to the phone. He was being kept away from it. Jane was by a wall, cracking her fingers nervously, and Anna suddenly felt for her: the sisters had always been able to rise up, superhero-like, to help each other with a problem, but this was a shared one. And this one was beyond anything they’d ever had to cope with.
‘It’ll be fine, Jane,’ she said as she was virtually shoved towards the phone.
‘Unknown number,’ Miller said. ‘Compose yourself for a moment, then answer. Everybody else, please, move back.’
Not Nick’s mobile number. She stood over the phone, staring down at it. Such a simple item, tiny and immobile, yet it terrified her.
Retain a helpful attitude while making no firm yes or no to demands or monetary figures asked for.
‘How long… to stay on?’ Anna said. She clutched Miller’s arm like a saviour. She tried to tell herself this was silly behaviour, because Nick was going to be on the other end of that phone. It didn’t work.
Leave silent gaps, including before answering the call, so that the police can determine background noises.
‘The trace takes moments,’ Miller said. She started to tap each of the cards. ‘Keep staring right at these as you talk, dear. Cycle through them. Please, stay calm.’
Her mind was caught in a whirlwind and nothing much made sense or seemed real – it felt like a film scene – and the words on the cards wouldn’t click. But she remembered it all.
Start with ‘Hello’, just in case the unknown number belongs to an inquisitive neighbour.
It didn’t seem like much help from people with experience in these matters, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d had a week’s worth of training – this was her daughter, and her husband, and the rulebook could take a flying leap.
She snatched up the phone and said, ‘Nick, is that you? What’s going on? Where are you? Is our little lady okay? I’m so scared.’
That all-important silent gap was provided by the caller. She had expected those surrounding her to panic at her instant decapitation of the rules, but they just watched. Silent, unmoving, just another day at the office. Suddenly she couldn’t hear the laptop’s fan whirring, or the little carriage clock on the fireplace ticking; even the rain had ceased lashing the world, as if Mother Nature herself had become entranced by this sliver of the universe. Two, three, four seconds ticked by. And then:
‘I believe I told you not to involve the police.’
A deep male voice, and suddenly the horror was undeniably real, no longer a simple misunderstanding but a true waking nightmare. Not Nick, so another. Someone who didn’t care about Josie. Her throat closed up.
Miller shook her head, which Anna understood: don’t admit it. They didn’t look shocked that the caller wasn’t Nick, after all their suspicions.
‘I didn’t,’ she said. Her fear spiked. A lie, and it could kill Josie and Nick.
‘Involving the police was betrayal. I should take a finger off your girl for that.’
She was about to scream an apology when Miller stepped forward, silent as a ghost, and grabbed her shoulder. Their eyes met and right there Anna realised the other woman also knew the caller wasn’t Nick. She mouthed, Don’t admit.
‘I didn’t,’ Anna repeated, and it felt like pulling the trigger of a gun aimed at Josie’s head.
‘If any police know the next time I call, you’re no longer a parent. I’ll call soon to let you know how your man’s dues can be paid.’
She was supposed to talk about Josie: what she liked to play with, cartoons she enjoyed – and her milk allergy, she was supposed to mention that. But the fear wobbled logic. ‘Please, let me talk to her. I need to know—’
Click.
> Three
Like a zombie, she staggered for the door. People in her way got elbowed aside, even her father as he attempted a rare moment of concern during this whole ordeal. But Jane, aware of her presence, fumbled for an arm, locked on to it, and guided Anna towards the bedroom. Various voices tried to ask questions – Was that Nick? Did you recognise the voice? – and it was sweet music to hear Miller order her to be given a few minutes alone.
‘Your girl,’ Jane said, a moment before Anna’s legs gave way and she collapsed, a dead weight, on to the bed. Jane was almost dragged over with her, such was her sister’s grip on Anna’s flesh. ‘He said your girl. That wasn’t Nick.’
Jane had a slight smile, as if she thought this was good news. But Anna just stared at her and shook her head.
‘And he said, if the police know next time. If they know. Not if they’re still there. I don’t think he knew you’d called the police, Annie. Don’t you think?’
‘You’re right, but don’t you see?’ Anna said. Jane didn’t, given her puzzled look. Anna could hardly bring herself to pop the bubble. ‘It’s not Nick, so some stranger has Josie. Someone who might hurt her. And Nick’s in danger, too.’
Jane sat on the bed and shook her head. ‘But the police said…’
That word: as Anna had stumbled from the room, she’d heard it uttered loud and clear, the very same word Jane was thinking: accomplice. ‘I wish that were true. But it’s not, Jane. It’s just not. The police think it’s Nick but it’s not. We know him and they don’t. You know he wouldn’t do this. It’s not Nick and that means both of them are in danger.’
Jane’s long pause cut all the flesh off her claim: ‘We don’t know that.’
‘What did Nick do to prevent this?’ The impromptu question surprised Anna almost as much as it did Jane.
‘You mean what they said about him paying his dues?’
She had wondered that, but it wasn’t what she’d meant. ‘He was right there, Jane, when they took Josie. What did he do to stop it?’
Her sister’s shock immediately yielded to something else. ‘You need to kill that train of thought right now.’
But that thought was a rolling boulder, gathering power over time, and might already be unstoppable. Nick had been up, awake, but there had been no sound of a fight, no yelling – had he frozen in fear, like a little child himself, while strange men took everything that mattered to him?
She heard the front door slam, which cut through everything. Then the clack of high heels on her path, and her father saying something about needing petrol. He and a female police officer, heading out to his home in Loxley. His garage was where she and Nick kept all their old belongings, mostly duplicated items left over from when they moved in together and two homes became one. Someone had told her they needed to search it for information about Nick’s old life: people and places that could shed clues as to his whereabouts. So, while she’d been thinking weak, the police had continued to think guilty.
‘Father’s worried that he can’t take Josie to Mother’s,’ she said. Something else impromptu.
‘They’ll be going, don’t worry. It’s days away and Josie is coming back to us today. Isn’t she?’
It was a forceful prompt. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but she desperately didn’t want Jane to worry about her sister as well as her niece. ‘Yes, she’s coming back today.’
It was a weekly routine: Sundays, after dinner, Father would take Josie to see her grandmother’s grave, because she had constantly asked where “Grandy” was since that day she just wasn’t awaiting her at the front door. Anna tried to picture two people at opposite ends of the age spectrum sitting together on grass – but the calming image eroded as Jane jumped to her feet.
‘Nick?’
‘What’s wrong?’ Anna rose, too, shaky.
‘Didn’t you hear that? Someone said Nick’s just been arrested.’
Four
‘You can’t leave.’
The young pregnant DC, Hicks, had her hand raised, palm out, a clear and universal gesture. Anna wanted to return with an equally recognisable obscene one. But instead she said: ‘That’s my husband and my daughter.’
‘I understand, but the kidnappers might call. You have to—’
‘Got it,’ Anna said, holding up her mobile. ‘And now I’m going.’
The dark was beginning to diffuse from the sky and a couple of lights were on in houses across the way. To her right, a bedroom curtain moved. She didn’t care and ran down the path, heart thudding. At Miller’s car, Bennet had one long leg into the passenger side when he spotted her, and he showed her he was as versed as his DC in hand signals.
But she barely got a word into her assertion that they would not be leaving her here: she heard Miller, already in the car, say it was okay, and he jerked a thumb at the back seat. She climbed inside and once the car was on the move, before she could ask the question she’d been desperate to, Bennet said, ‘A couple reported a drunk man acting suspicious on a road near Meadowhall—’
‘Nick?’ she cut in. He liked to have a little drink each night, which she constantly complained about, but he hadn’t been drunk for a long time. ‘He wouldn’t get drunk. Not… he’s working tomorrow.’
Bennet continued as if she hadn’t even spoken. ‘Two officers arrived and arrested him for breaking into a lock-up garage. He’s at the Sheffield Custody Suite, about three miles east of here. They ran his name and discovered he was wanted. He was found staggering around, dirty, incoherent—’
‘What do you mean, incoherent? There’s no way he would be drunk. He never drinks that much. And not with Josie. It can’t be him. No. It’s not Nick.’ Her elevating hopes that her loved ones had been rescued began to sink.
She looked at the rear-view mirror, seeking help from Miller, who met her glass gaze and offered it. But not the kind she wanted. ‘Your man’s fingerprints are on file because of a drink-driving offence. It’s him, dear. No mistake. And, look, we’re sorry for trying to do this without you.’
Bennet said, ‘It was the 999 call that said he was drunk. The arresting officers think he’s under the influence of drugs.’
That hit her like a hammer. Nick, as far as she knew, had never taken drugs. It made no sense, like just about everything else on this unforgettable night. But it didn’t matter. Nick and Josie had been found.
That got him a sharp glance from his boss, who said, ‘But he’s okay, Anna. And now we can get his story and find out about Josie.’
‘Find out? What are you saying? Where’s Josie?’
This time Miller turned her whole head, avoiding the impersonal mirror. ‘He’s not making much sense, I’m sorry. But Josie wasn’t with him.’
The Custody Suite, a £14 million new construction, was a futuristic-looking beast three miles away, and just half a mile south of the £250 million shopping centre called Meadowhall. As Miller’s £11,000 Mondeo turned into the car park, Anna’s mind was thrown back to the day she had met Nick, both at a police station in Hackney to record witness statements. Anna had been there to give a statement on behalf of her friend, whose brother had broken into her car, and Nick was describing a figure he’d spied fleeing the scene of a mugging. That event had started so much; how would today’s shape the future?
She tried to be first out, almost before the wheels had stopped turning, but the door wouldn’t open. The DS had to do it. ‘Lawbreaker locks,’ he said, a joke about the child locks.
Miller was more serious: ‘I’m sorry, dear, but although you’re here, for the moment we have to chuck you in a room, okay? Until after we’ve seen Nick. I can’t let you just barge on in there. Are you okay with that?’
Arguing wouldn’t help and she’d never get past all the locked doors and police inside, so she nodded. All three briskly entered the building through a back entrance and followed a corridor. She had expected the zoo-like thud and roar of caged beasts, but the place was unnervingly quiet. They cut into a second corridor and then Ben
net strode ahead towards double doors at the end, but Miller turned to stop her. Anna noticed a small kitchen to her left. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be chucked in a room.
She shook her head. ‘I want to see him.’
‘I’d be a muppet not to know that, dear. But it’s not a good idea until after—’
‘You’ll have him in a cell. He’s here and I want to see him. He’s innocent. He might not tell you where Josie is, but he’ll tell me. I want my little lady.’
‘I know. A massively delicate moment here, though, and you can’t turn it upside down. I’ll have you carried away if you insist. I’m sorry. Really.’
Anna believed that last statement, but it meant nothing. ‘No, I have to see him. I have to know he’s okay.’
‘And I don’t know yet if he is.’
That was the reason? Anna grabbed Miller’s arms in both of hers. ‘I expected to see him dead, do you understand? Anything is better than that. I don’t care how messed up he is. He’s alive. You need to see my happy face, don’t you?’
‘As a child, dear, I bet you got your way all the time.’ Miller turned and walked away. Anna took it as permission and followed. They passed through the double doors, into a reception area where four or five officers hung about behind a counter and a thug in a shell suit was being asked officially if he was likely to harm himself while here. Bennet must have already explained why they were here because one of the officers led them onwards without a word. A door later they entered what looked a little like a corridor of lockers, although a sign above the entrance had said ‘Cells 01–14’. They stopped at a door with another officer outside and Anna pushed ahead of Miller to peek through the big square vision panel.
The bed Nick sat on was nothing but a blue mat, like something from a school gym, on a low shelf along one wall. He wore plain blue tracksuit bottoms and a white T-shirt bearing a picture of Peppa Pig under a speech balloon that said ‘GREATEST DADDY’. His feet were bare. His hair, much shorter than in the picture on the fridge, was matted with blood that also stained the left side of his hairless face and one arm of the T-shirt, and his arms were grimy with dirt. He was swaying side-to-side, eyes closed. Under the influence of drugs, they’d said. She thought he looked like the survivor of a natural disaster.
