Little Girl Gone

by Stephen Edger

  ‘Demetrios confirmed he’s the silent partner?’

  Ray nodded.

  ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Nothing that will aid our investigation,’ Ray replied curtly.

  ‘And did Jodie Crichton go with you?’

  Ray frowned. ‘No, ma’am, I figured she’d be here interviewing Papadopoulos.’

  Trent’s face remained emotionless, which was a sign she was keeping something from him. ‘How is Alex holding up?’

  ‘She’s terrified we’re never going to see Carol-Anne again. Tell me you’ve found something.’

  She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether or not to say anymore. ‘Maybe.’ She headed to the back of the room, ushering with her head for him to follow. ‘I’ve had Owen trawling the case notes of the original investigation into Whitchurch, on the theory that the person behind all this is one of his former victims.’

  ‘And?’

  Trent raised her eyebrows at Owen. ‘Tell him.’

  Owen sat up in his chair, the desk in front of him covered in pages, while three boxes of files stood at the side of his desk. ‘We know that Whitchurch was convicted on three counts of indecent activity with minors, but those three weren’t the only ones to make statements to the police. Bear in mind, we’re going back fourteen years in investigative terms, and techniques and procedures have improved since then. In total, statements were taken from eight victims. Because their allegations weren’t taken forward by the CPS, references to those statements have been largely redacted, which isn’t a great deal of help to us. However, what I also found were the notes of the SIO from the time, which did name – first name only – the witnesses, and included the reasons why the CPS didn’t deem those cases strong enough to pursue.’

  Ray perched on a nearby desk, wishing Owen would hurry up and get to the point, not willing to interrupt his flow.

  ‘When Whitchurch was arrested and his computer seized, the technicians managed to find images of the three victims they successfully prosecuted for. That was what helped push those charges over the line, according to the SIO’s notes. We’ve made contact with those three victims – each of whom is living under a new name outside of the county – and there is nothing to suggest they have anything to do with this. They all have cast-iron alibis for the time of the abduction, and lack the motive to exact revenge in this way.’

  ‘How can you be certain they lack the motive?’ Ray questioned. ‘They were his victims: it’s human nature to want to seek revenge against a bully and abuser like that.’

  ‘I appreciate that, sarge, but they saw justice. I’ve spoken to each of them, and I just don’t see it. However, one of the victims from the unsuccessful prosecutions? I find that much easier to believe.’

  ‘We don’t know who they are.’

  ‘We have first names,’ Owen corrected. ‘And one jumped off the page at me.’

  ‘Who?’ Ray encouraged, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘One of the first victims to come forward was a ten-year-old who was already known to the authorities. She’d been served an ASBO, and was described as a bit of a tearaway. Her mother had died about a year before, and her dad drank heavily. Anyway, she was caught shoplifting, and when she was brought in for questioning, that’s when she made the allegation against Whitchurch. She couldn’t name him, but gave an adequate description and was able to confirm his address. Obviously the interviewing officers had to take the allegation seriously and brought Whitchurch in for questioning. He denied the allegation, and was released on police bail while further enquiries were made.

  ‘While he was out, the girl’s father died in a hit-and-run. There was no reason to believe the two incidents were connected, and she was taken in by social care, disappearing off the radar as far as this case was concerned. Her father’s death took a toll on her, and as the case grew against Whitchurch she withdrew her complaint.’

  ‘Who is she? What’s her name?’

  Owen rifled through the papers on his desk before locating what he was searching for and handing it to Ray.

  ‘A DNA report? I don’t understand.’

  ‘The girl’s father’s death was unsolved. It was assumed that the hit-and-run was as a result of joyriders, and nobody was ever brought to trial for his death. Turns out his DNA was still on file, and when we ran it, there was a hit. A sample of familial DNA – his child’s – was just pulled from the back of your wife’s car.’

  ‘You’re saying this girl – this woman – has been in Alex’s car?’

  ‘Only one sample was found: a single hair in one of the hinges in the child seat; it is a positive match to the profile we have,’ Owen concluded. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean that this woman took your daughter; however, unless you know who she is and can think of a reason a single strand of her hair would be anywhere near your daughter’s car seat, I think it requires further investigation.’

  ‘Who is she? What’s her name? How do we find her? Can we speak to the original SIO and see if he remembers her surname?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ Owen said with regret. ‘We reached out to other members of the team, and while two of them could vaguely remember what she looked like, nobody could recall a surname.’

  ‘What about social services? They must be able to tell you what happened to her; where she went, where she might be now.’

  ‘We’ve asked the questions, and we’re waiting for a response,’ Trent confirmed.

  ‘And this DNA match: any other hits in the system? Has she broken the law since she made the allegation?’

  Both shook their heads grimly.

  ‘Why does it feel like we’re putting all our eggs in one basket?’ Ray asked.

  ‘Because we’re running out of time, and we have nothing else we can use. CCTV was a bust; all the IT guys can tell us is that whoever is behind this is using a VPN to mask their IP address, and our enquiries on the street have turned up zilch. Whitchurch is refusing to comply with our offer of protection, so unless the abductor comes out into the light, we have no way of tracking him or her.’

  Ray fixed Owen with a look. ‘What made this kid jump off the page to you? You said something caught your eye, which you initially dismissed.’

  Owen passed him another sheet of paper. ‘These are the SIO’s notes I mentioned. The second name on the list. It’s Simone. I just thought it was a bit of a coincidence, what with the Simon Says messages.’

  ‘What would this Simone have against me or Alex?’

  Owen could only shrug.

  ‘That’s why we’re sharing this with you, Ray,’ Trent replied. ‘Do you know anyone called Simone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, the girl was ten when she made the allegation, which would make her twenty-four now … she might have changed her name and appearance. Is there anyone around that age that you know who might have an axe to grind?’

  ‘No, I can’t. I …’ His words trailed off as his mind began to whir into action: a woman aged twenty-four, whose father had died when she was younger, and someone who would understand the complexities of an investigation like this.

  ‘What is it, Ray?’ Trent asked as she watched Ray’s eyes glaze over.

  There was only one person’s face that appeared in his mind, but surely she wouldn’t risk everything over something so manipulative and horrific. Would she?

  Ray reached for the phone and punched in a number. It went straight to answerphone. ‘Owen, I need you to trace a mobile number for me. I need to know where it was last broadcasting from.’ Ray scribbled the number and handed it over, reaching for the phone again.

  ‘Talk to me, Ray,’ Trent demanded. ‘Who are you calling?’

  ‘Alex. I think she’s in serious danger.’

  55

  At the end of the road, Whitchurch turned sharply, disappearing into yet another line of trees. Sensing he may suspect he was being tailed, Alex upped her own pace, relieved to find a public footpath cut between the trees. Whitc
hurch was fifty or so yards along it, and he was turning to look back. Alex quickly dove out of the line of sight, her heart galloping.

  For a man who had given the impression he was near death when exiting the police car, he was disproving the theory with every step he took. It had already been tough for Alex’s fast walking pace to keep up; she had practically jogged to get to the footpath.

  Where was he going? It was too coincidental that he had happened to come out of his building immediately after the police car had pulled away, which had to mean he’d been watching and waiting for them to go. Had he seen the officers’ exchange with Alex? Had he seen and recognized her? Was that why he was checking back to see if she was following?

  It had been thirty seconds since she’d jumped out of the way. Would that be long enough for him to gain confidence that he was alone? Alex was unfamiliar with this town, and she feared losing sight of him would mean losing him altogether.

  Taking a deep breath, she peeled back onto the footpath just in time to see Whitchurch turn left at the end of it. Clutching her bag at her side, Alex burst into a sprint, quickly eating up the distance between them, and stopped herself at the end before casually strolling out and looking to the left. He was ten yards ahead, at the start of a small run of shops: a barber’s, a newsagents and a bank. There was only one other person on the street – a vicar by the look of him – across the road, and busy chatting on his phone as he walked. If Alex continued her pursuit, she would be exposed. Two glances back and he would spot she was following him.

  Quickly crossing the road, she hurried up to the vicar, waving him down. He had to be a good foot taller than her, with a barrel-like chest: clearly a man who enjoyed his food and drink. His receding hair was copper-coloured, and a cut on his chin suggested he’d not long since shaved. He couldn’t keep the look of frustration from his brow as he lowered the phone and pressed it to his purple shirt.

  Ducking behind his substantial frame, Alex kept one eye on Whitchurch over the vicar’s shoulder.

  ‘Can I help you with something?’ the vicar asked.

  Alex’s mind raced for an excuse for interrupting him. ‘Church,’ she blurted. ‘I’m looking for a church. Is there one nearby?’

  ‘What denomination are you? Anglican? Catholic? Lutheran?’

  ‘C of E,’ she said without thinking.

  ‘Ah, I’m the reverend at St Edmund’s. I’m on my way there now if you wish to accompany me. Are you looking for confession?’

  Her head snapped up and she looked at him. Could he somehow read her mind? Did he know what she was planning? ‘Confession?’

  ‘We open for Reconciliations at 10 a.m., I assume that’s why you were looking to attend church?’

  Alex looked away, grinding her teeth. Whitchurch had now crossed onto the same side of the road as them, still heading away. He’d looked back at the footpath once and there was no way he could have seen her talking to the vicar.

  ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ the vicar asked.

  Patting his arm, Alex offered a smile. ‘You’ve no idea. Thanks for your time,’ and then she moved off in the direction of Whitchurch, leaving the vicar flabbergasted by the whole encounter.

  Alex didn’t look back or make any attempt to explain her actions. Whitchurch was now thirty yards ahead, but the road was windy, so she would be able to take cover as they went. A brown sign on a lamppost indicated they were heading into the town centre, and a further sign indicated a car park with a hundred spaces was a few minutes away.

  He had to be meeting someone: that was why he was acting so surreptitiously, and why he’d dropped the decrepit old man act as soon as the police had departed. But who, why and where? Was it something to do with Carol-Anne’s abduction? Had he been behind the whole thing after all?

  Alex’s mind raced with conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory, none of which rang true in her head. Wherever he was headed though, at least he was currently alone.

  At the next bend, Alex’s heart skipped, as she realized Whitchurch was no longer ahead of her. Had he ducked into one of the houses along the road? If he had, she’d have no chance of finding out which one, without going door-to-door. He was her only link to Carol-Anne and now she had lost him.

  She stopped, trying to calm the growing ache in her heart, looking around for any sign as to where he might have gone. There was a side road across the street, but no sign of him on either pavement there. Left with two choices – carry on, or retrace her steps back to his flat – she opted for the former and ploughed onwards. As she did, she spotted a second footpath, which had been invisible to the naked eye earlier. That had to be where he’d gone.

  Turning onto it, she raced along the path. At the end, it opened onto a much more open space, with pavement at forty-five degree angles to the left and right, and directly in front of her there was a building site of some sort. Tall wooden fences enclosed the large space, with a wire gate off to one side, and it was here she spotted Whitchurch, slipping through the gap between the gates. He was alone, with no business being on a building site. There was nobody else in sight, and there was no sound of machinery being operated inside either.

  Darting across the road, Alex looked through the wire gate and into the site, seeing a small two-level multistorey car park inside. Despite the secured perimeter this had to be the car park that had been signposted earlier. It was out of use and destined for demolition, according to the site plan on the fence nearest to her. The developer had acquired the land and planned to build a luxury apartment building.

  Alex didn’t like the nervous anxiety flooding her body. If Whitchurch was an innocent party in this whole mess, he was acting very suspiciously. The logical step would be to phone Trent and explain what was going on; however, to do so would be to admit that she’d been sent his address and had followed him from there. Even if Alex professed she had no intention of doing harm to Whitchurch, it would be a hard sell to Trent.

  Against her better judgement, and chiding her own curiosity, Alex pulled on the gates and ducked beneath the chain and padlock as Whitchurch had done moments earlier, heading inside. She’d seen him enter the car park via the car ramp, and as she did the same, she desperately tried to listen for any sound to indicate where he was and why he’d come here.

  The ground level was clear, with only a smattering of litter where the wind had blown it in. Quickening her pace, she headed along the up ramp to the second level, and that’s when she spotted him, at the far side, looking out at the church in the distance. He must have sensed her movement behind him, as he turned and stared at her. There was no alarm or concern in his eyes. It was as if he’d been expecting her.

  With no other choice, Alex moved forward, reaching into her bag for the secure feeling of the gun between her fingers. ‘Jack Whitchurch?’

  ‘Aye, that’s me, luv,’ he said passively. ‘I know why you’re here.’

  Alex frowned with surprise. Had the abductor told him she was coming? That didn’t make sense. ‘You do?’

  ‘You want me dead. I understand that … after everything I’ve done, I suppose it’s what I deserve.’

  Simon had to have told him. Either that or he was acting on the police warning that his life was in danger, and he’d connected the dots. Either way: he’d anticipated her, and that’s why he’d come to somewhere so deserted. Did he want to die?

  ‘You know who I am?’ Alex asked, her voice straining.

  ‘Aye, I know who you are. And you should know that I’m sorry for what I did.’

  He turned suddenly, and Alex’s instinct kicked in: dropping the handbag, she held the weapon in her hand and brought it up to arm’s length.

  Whitchurch took an unsteady step back, his hands apart. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn’t mean to startle you. Please, I want you to hear me out first.’

  ‘Just shut up,’ Alex said, as her vision blurred with tears. ‘I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.’

  ‘I know my apology wi
ll mean nothing to you—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Alex yelled, gripping the gun tighter, her finger hovering near the trigger guard.

  ‘Not until you let me explain,’ he growled back. ‘I never meant to hurt you. The things I did, the things I said, it wasn’t right, but I was ill – am ill. This … thing inside me, it’s a sickness, a curse. I couldn’t stop myself. It was almost as if someone was pulling my strings.’

  The thought of him interfering with Carol-Anne made her stomach turn. ‘Just shut up!’

  ‘If I could go back to that time and stop myself, I would. In prison I had so long to contemplate what I’ve done in my life, and I am ashamed of the person I became. I’m sorry if I hurt you, Simone. You’ve got the right to kill me, and I’ll—’

  ‘Wait,’ Alex interrupted. ‘What did you call me?’

  ‘That’s your name, isn’t it? Simone?’

  Alex’s arm lowered a fraction. ‘I don’t know anyone by that name. Who exactly do you think I am?’

  ‘You’re the woman who called and told me to meet you here.’ For the first time there was concern in his eyes. ‘You said you wanted to talk about what I’d done to you all those years ago … are you not Simone?’

  Alex couldn’t get the thoughts straight in her head. He thought she was one of his victims, someone who had contacted him and told him to meet her here. It couldn’t be coincidence, could it?

  A whirring noise snapped her back to reality. From the floor, her mobile phone was vibrating and glowing inside the handbag. Keeping the gun trained on Whitchurch, Alex bent low and scooped it up. Unlocking the screen with her thumb, she gasped as Carol-Anne’s face filled the screen. It was a live video call, and there was her daughter, strapped into a child seat, smiling as she recognized her mother’s face on the alternate phone screen.

  A voice boomed through the phone’s speaker, ‘Simon Says: kill him now, or say ciao.’

  ‘Who’s that? Who’s on the phone?’ Whitchurch demanded, rushing towards Alex.

  Before she could stop herself, the shot rang out, the sound echoing off the low ceiling.