Little Girl Gone

by Stephen Edger

  Where the hell was Ray? It had been almost half an hour since she’d called him, and he had yet to make an appearance. She needed his paternal instinct to take control and do whatever it took to get their little girl back.

  As if she had willed it, the living room door burst open as Ray rushed through. ‘Where’s the laptop? Show me what he sent,’ he demanded.

  Alex handed it to him.

  ‘Is this even today’s paper?’ he asked, opening a new search window and typing in the journal’s name. The headline on the page was a perfect match.

  ‘What did Trent say?’ he continued. ‘Do we know if the picture is genuine, or has been Photoshopped? Did it definitely come from the same account as yesterday?’

  ‘Isla’s still trying to get hold of her.’

  ‘At least Carol-Anne is smiling,’ he said evenly, his eyes glued to the screen.

  The statement was bittersweet. ‘Do you reckon the picture is real?’

  Ray zoomed in, examining the outline of Carol-Anne’s body, looking for any jagged edges suggesting it had been cut from a corresponding image and pasted onto the image of the newspaper. ‘Why wouldn’t it be real?’

  ‘You said last night you thought the person who emailed was a crank. I told you there was more to it than that!’

  His head snapped up, but there was no anger. ‘I’m sorry I doubted you,’ he said.

  The apology brought a lump to her throat, and going over to him she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, relieved when he returned the gesture.

  ‘I knew I hadn’t imagined it,’ she said, her head buried in his shoulder. ‘I always said I was telling the truth – that someone had taken Carol-Anne from the car – and now this proves I wasn’t lying.’

  She enjoyed the feeling of him holding her close: the warmth of his embrace, the way she could feel his heart beating through his chest, and the intoxicating aroma of his cologne. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d shared this level of intimacy. And she didn’t want to let go.

  The moment ended as quickly as it had begun, with Ray’s attention once again diverted by the grizzled nose and snarl of the old man on the screen.

  ‘Do you know him?’ she asked.

  ‘Maybe … I don’t know. It could be someone I arrested once? It’s impossible to remember every face in my line of work.’

  ‘What if he is someone you arrested? Maybe he’s the one behind all this. Maybe he did it to get at you. We need to find him to get Carol-Anne back.’

  Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing. He broke free of her grip, closing the laptop lid and moving across to the window. ‘It’s all my fault, isn’t it? Someone’s done this to get back at me, and now Carol-Anne’s life is in danger.’

  She immediately crossed the room, but rather than welcoming her embrace, he shrugged it off, eyes shining as he stormed away, slamming the door behind him.

  34

  Dropping the cigarette to the floor, Ray pulled the collar of his overcoat around his neck, doing his best to ignore the rain passing through the leaves of the tree he was sheltered beneath. He stared out at the approaching headlights, relieved to recognize the anxious face behind the wheel. Darting from the tree, he reached for the door handle as the car pulled to a stop at the kerbside.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, as he brushed excess water from his shoulders and swung himself into the passenger seat.

  ‘You’re lucky I did,’ Owen replied, staring out into the darkness as the windscreen began to mist up. ‘I kept telling myself to turn around at every set of lights on the journey over.’

  ‘Well, I appreciate you coming,’ Ray said, meaning every word.

  Owen’s patience was already waning. ‘Why am I here, Ray?’

  ‘I tried calling Trent; she wasn’t in the office.’

  ‘No, she’s still in—’ Owen froze, narrowing his eyes in Ray’s direction. ‘Wait, if you called me over here just to ask for more details about the case, then you can get out now. For fuck’s sake, Ray! You said it was an emergency. You ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?’

  ‘No, listen to me, Owen, that’s not why I called you.’ Ray fished into his coat and pulled out his phone, opening the email message he’d forwarded from the laptop.

  Owen read the message: ‘“Simon Says … Carol-Anne is such a cutie, do your maternal duty. He deserves to die, and he knows why. If you don’t fulfil my wish, I will gut her like a fish. 2 days.”

  ‘Where did this come from?’ he asked, his eyes widening.

  ‘Someone sent it to Alex about an hour ago. As far as I can tell it’s from the same person who sent the message yesterday.’

  ‘Shit! Does Trent know?’

  ‘That’s why I was phoning the office. She’s off at the nature reserve in Fleet; I presume that’s where she is?’

  ‘You know I can’t answer that.’

  ‘I was in the Incident Room when she ordered SSD to go and search for shallow graves. Remember? It was her who involved me in this investigation, not the other way around.’

  ‘She also said none of us were to talk to you without her prior consent or presence in the room. I’m risking my job just being here.’

  ‘You didn’t have a choice. I’m your superior and you only acted under orders; that’s what I’ll tell her if it comes to anything – which it won’t – okay?’

  ‘She needs to know that a second message came through.’

  ‘The FLO is still trying to reach her. Listen, there’s more.’ Ray took the phone and opened the first of the images. ‘It’s from today’s newspaper. Do you realize what this means? Carol-Anne is still alive; she isn’t buried in some nature reserve in the middle of nowhere. I was wrong about Alex; we all were.’

  Owen didn’t answer, unable to meet Ray’s gaze.

  ‘This was also attached to the message,’ Ray continued. ‘You recognize him?’

  The look of wide-eyed surprise on Owen’s face spoke volumes.

  ‘You recognize him, don’t you? Who is he?’

  Owen was glaring angrily at Ray. ‘If this is some kind of joke, it’s fucking sick!’

  ‘I swear to you, this is no joke. Who is he?’

  Owen shook his head, unwilling to believe Ray’s story. ‘Get the fuck out of my car, Ray.’

  Ray wasn’t moving without an answer. ‘Who’s the old man, Owen? If he’s the one who’s got Carol-Anne, then—’

  ‘Jack Whitchurch,’ Owen interrupted. ‘Okay? His name’s Jack Whitchurch.’

  Ray’s mind raced to find out why the name was ringing an enormous bell in his head. ‘Whitchurch, wait isn’t that …?’

  ‘He’s the recently released sex offender we had to rehome this week. I mentioned it in the brief on Tuesday morning. Remember now?’

  ‘He’s a paedophile?’

  Again, Owen’s face told Ray all he needed to know.

  Ray’s brain was already two steps ahead. ‘If you rehomed him, you must know where he lives now.’

  Owen quickly shook his head. ‘Oh no, no way am I taking you to his house.’

  ‘Please, Owen, you’ve got to. If he’s got Carol-Anne, then we can save her tonight. Now!’

  ‘I can’t and I won’t take you anywhere, Ray. I promise you, I will find Trent and update her. You need to go back inside.’

  ‘Bullshit! You owe me, Owen. And I have seniority. You will drive me, or I will raise a complaint of insubordination against you.’

  ‘Go ahead! I’m pretty sure we both know whose side Trent will take. We’re even now. I don’t owe you anything. Besides, there’s no evidence to suggest he has any involvement in what happened on Tuesday afternoon. In fact, I can say beyond a reasonable doubt that he couldn’t have been the one who snatched Carol-Anne, as he had a police guard outside his new home on Tuesday afternoon. Officers were with him from one until six while he settled in.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he isn’t involved. His alibi is a little too conve
nient, don’t you think? It couldn’t have been him because he had a police alibi? Sounds fabricated. Come on, Owen, I’m not saying we have to arrest him on the spot. We could just drive to his house and have a look around.’

  ‘There’s no evidence, Ray.’

  ‘You know as well as I do that lots of these sex pests know one another. They meet in online chat rooms and talk about their desires. He may not have physically taken her, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t orchestrate it, or know who’s behind it.’

  Owen paused. ‘Wait a second, what did the first message say? Have you got a copy?’

  Ray flicked through his emails. ‘“Simon Says … If you ever want to see Carol-Anne, all you need to do is kill a man. If you kill Jack, I will give her back. Refuse to comply and Carol-Anne will die. 3 days.’”

  ‘“Kill Jack”,’ Owen repeated. ‘Read the messages together, and you’ll see the picture of Jack isn’t confirmation that he took her, it’s telling you – or rather Alex – to kill Whitchurch. I need to phone this in immediately.’

  In all the confusion of the day, Ray had forgotten about the content of the original email, and now, all of a sudden, Owen’s words slotted the pieces into place.

  ‘Threat to life,’ Ray suddenly blurted. ‘That’s all you need to visit him at home. For all we know, the person who took Carol-Anne is watching Whitchurch’s home now, and means to do him harm. Come on, Owen, you are duty-bound to check he’s okay. We both are.’

  Owen made no attempt to restart the engine, fixing Ray with a pained expression. ‘No, Ray, I am duty-bound to check on him. You’re not. You’re not on this case. Can’t you see that you’re too close to help Carol-Anne? Earlier you were convinced that your wife had killed her, and when you got in the car you assumed Whitchurch was involved, and now you think he’s a victim instead. Your mind is all over the place, mate, and I’m not about to let you screw things up anymore. I will check on Whitchurch and speak to Trent. I’m not taking you with me, and I don’t care if that pisses you off; you’ll thank me for it one day.’

  35

  Like wasps that had scented jam, the uniformed officers swarmed around Alex’s house. No matter which room she entered, she would find at least one of them – offering that empathetic look they wore permanently – if not two, whispering in a corner. The conversations always ceased the second she stepped into the room. She just wanted to run, to leave the home and memories behind her.

  Owen had been the first to arrive at the house, to advise her that a team would be coming over. He and Ray must have had some kind of argument outside, as Ray had been moping ever since, getting under everyone’s feet. He had only agreed to go upstairs when DI Trent had finally arrived and barked orders to everyone who had descended on what had once been a happy home.

  How Alex missed those days now.

  There’d been no sign of Isla since Owen’s arrival. Maybe she’d been deemed surplus to requirements.

  What they’d all wanted to see was the laptop where the email message had been received. If only they’d taken last night’s message as seriously, maybe Carol-Anne would already be home. Trent had yet to come and speak to her, though the furtive glances she kept firing in Alex’s direction suggested she had something she wanted to say.

  And then she came over. ‘I wondered whether we could have a word in private, Mrs Granger.’

  ‘Um, of course,’ Alex said, sliding from the kitchen stool.

  Trent stepped into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. ‘I will need to conduct a formal interview with you at the station, Alex. For now I’m hoping you can answer a few pressing questions for me.’

  Trent’s tone made Alex feel uneasy. ‘Do I need to call a solicitor of some kind? Or maybe Ray? He’s just upstairs—’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Trent said, cutting her off. ‘Tell me, Alex, do you recognize the man in the picture that was attached to the email?’

  Alex shook her head. ‘As I told Owen and the other officer who asked, no I do not.’

  Trent’s eyes narrowed. ‘And when you showed the picture to Ray, did he say he recognized the man?’

  ‘No. He said he looked familiar but couldn’t place why. Who is he?’

  ‘You’re certain you’ve never seen his face before?’

  ‘No! I mean, yes, I’m certain.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him hanging around outside in the days since the abduction?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t see him at the car park on Tuesday?’

  ‘No. Why? How is he involved in this? Did he take my daughter?’

  Trent shook her head, her expression unchanged. ‘There’s nothing to suggest he’s involved in the abduction, save for the fact that his picture has been sent to you.’

  ‘So why all the questions about him, and why won’t you tell me who he is?’

  ‘Does the name Jack Whitchurch mean anything to you, Mrs Granger?’

  Alex considered the name. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘And Ray hasn’t mentioned the name Jack Whitchurch? Particularly in the last couple of days?’

  Alex snorted. ‘We’ve barely spoken all week, so no, he hasn’t mentioned the name.’

  ‘And this is the only email you’ve received since the one yesterday evening?’

  Alex sighed at the constant questions without answers. ‘Yes this is the only email since yesterday. Don’t you think I would have told you?’

  ‘So to clarify, you don’t recognize the man in the picture, nor the name Jack Whitchurch?’

  ‘How many times! No, I do not.’

  ‘Where did you grow up, Alex?’

  The change of tack threw her for a moment. ‘Salisbury, why?’

  ‘And when did you move to Southampton?’

  ‘Seven years ago, when I came to university.’

  ‘You would have been what …?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Did you ever come to the city before you attended university?’

  ‘Probably. I’m sure my mum would have brought me to the shops at some point. What does all this have to do with Carol-Anne?’

  Trent checked the door was closed properly before taking a step closer to Alex, lowering her voice. ‘Ordinarily I wouldn’t share this information with you, but given Ray is in the force and probably already knows, it’s better you hear it from me. The man in the photograph – Jack Whitchurch – is a convicted sex offender.’

  Alex gripped the edge of the stool as she felt her legs wobbling.

  ‘He has been behind bars for the last nine years,’ Trent continued plainly. ‘Before that he was under investigation for allegations of child abuse. He was groundskeeper at a school, you see. The investigating team couldn’t secure the evidence they needed to press charges. That was until …’ her words trailed off, as if she was unsure whether Alex had the strength to hear the conclusion.

  Alex’s knuckles were white as they clung to the stool, her breathing shallow. ‘Tell me.’

  The skin around Trent’s eyes tightened. ‘Until he was caught in his office with a fiveyearold girl.’

  Alex gasped, and the stool went crashing to the floor, with her tumbling after.

  Trent’s grasp was too late to catch her, but she promptly pulled Alex back to her feet, securing the stool and sitting Alex on it. ‘Whitchurch was released on parole on Tuesday morning and relocated to a safe location in the county.’

  ‘And you think …’ Alex took a deep breath to enable her to utter the words, ‘he’s responsible for my daughter’s abduction? That’s why you were asking whether I’d seen him hanging around, right?’

  ‘I can’t say for certain how he’s involved in your case. Somebody obviously thinks he’s connected, which is why they sent you his picture. At the moment I can’t determine whether he’s involved and toying with us by sending the picture, or whether whoever took Carol-Anne wants revenge on him for some reason.’

  ‘“Revenge”?’

  ‘The two emails have
told you he must die for you to get Carol-Anne back, so what I need to determine is whether one of his former victims is using you and your daughter to seek the justice they felt they never got.’

  36

  Ray could hear people moving about on the landing, though what exactly they were searching for was beyond him. Did they still doubt Alex’s or his credibility? Despite the messages, did they still think either – or both – of them were involved in their daughter’s abduction?

  Alex would undoubtedly be up here soon enough, but what could he say to her? She seemed to think that he somehow had the ability to solve their crisis and get Carol-Anne back. And as much as he wished that was the case, the truth was he was just as powerless as she was. There was no way for him to locate Whitchurch, and deep down he knew the best people were trying to identify the message sender.

  Still, none of that explained what Alex had been doing in Fleet for half an hour on the morning of the abduction. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Having checked the calendar downstairs, he’d found no trace of an appointment or reason for her to be there.

  He had noticed she’d started wearing long-sleeve tops again, despite the humid weather they’d faced recently. When Trent had asked him about the counselling he had neglected to mention Alex’s history of self-harming. It was something she’d only told him about after he’d proposed. She’d said it was during a difficult time at university, and that the act of drawing blood from her own limbs somehow helped alleviate the pressure building inside. He’d never quite understood how inflicting pain on oneself could relieve stress. She’d assured him it had. When he’d come upstairs earlier today he’d found the remains of a bloody tissue floating in the toilet bowl – he was afraid she might be harming again to deal with the pressure.

  Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he lurched towards Alex’s dressing table, opening the small drawer at the front and pulling out the address book she kept in there. If she’d been visiting a friend in Fleet then their address would undoubtedly be in this book. As he flicked through the pages, skimming the addresses, he realized it was a waste of time: she didn’t know anybody in Fleet, at least, nobody she deemed worthy enough to keep a note of their address.