‘I don’t know but let’s get him back safe, yes?’ Janine said.
‘She wouldn’t hurt him,’ Breeley said but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
‘She’s grieving. She’s lost a child and taken a replacement. Mandy’s on the run. She knows we’ve arrested you. The game’s up. When things are that bad it can feel like there’s only one way out. Are you willing to take that risk. With Sammy? With Aidan?’ Janine spoke quietly, firmly. ‘Too late, she said. But it needn’t be.’
Joe Breeley hesitated, obviously torn.
‘Come on, Joe. We need your help. Aidan needs your help. Wherever she is headed, she can’t hide, not on her own, not with two children. I’m concerned for her safety and the children’s safety. For Aidan.’
‘I told you, she wouldn’t hurt him,’ he said.
‘How can you be sure, she’s never been in this situation before. She knows that we’ve arrested you, she probably understands it is only a matter of time before we work out what has happened. Where is she going?’
‘I can’t,’ he said.
‘It’s better this way, believe me. You’ve already lost John, let’s keep everyone else safe. Mandy can’t do this on her own. She won’t be thinking straight. She knows you’ve been arrested, she knows you’ll be charged and remanded awaiting trial. You’ll probably be convicted. You won’t be there for her, the only thing you could do now is help us so we can reach her and bring them all back safe. Please help us do that.’
He shuddered, the motion shaking his shoulders and arms, rippling through his face. He put his hands to his head then said quietly, ‘Isle of Man. She’s cousins in Douglas. We used to talk about moving there. She thought it’d be a better place to bring up the kids.’
‘Thank you. How do you usually get there?’ Janine said.
‘The ferry from Liverpool,’ he answered.
Janine asked Richard and Butchers to remain with Joe Breeley and took Shap with her to try and intercept Mandy at the ferry.
‘We should be with you in about thirty minutes,’ Janine said to a contact in the port police. ‘Mandy Breeley could be volatile. She’s grief-stricken and she may be feeling desperate. We’re faxing descriptions over for you. Let her board. Try not to do anything to spook her. Can you instruct your people not to approach her?’ He agreed and assured her that the harbour master was prepared to delay sailing if necessary.
Shap was a good driver at speed and as the car raced along the M62 with an escort ahead to clear the traffic, Janine tried to ease the tension twisting in her guts. She wanted to be there now, faster, sooner. Her stomach was a heavy ball, her back stiff, even her fingers and toes felt locked, rigid. What if they were too late? Mandy’s words: Too late. When the prospect of saving Sammy was in sight, what if it was snatched away? The Wrays would never survive that and Janine didn’t think she would either.
She spoke to a hostage negotiator and gave him a summary of the situation. He said he’d meet them at the terminal as soon as possible but roadworks on his journey south might affect his expected arrival time.
At last the terminal came into view. They passed the cargo container depot with its massive stacks of metal boxes, followed the plethora of signage directing traffic to parking, loading and ferry-boarding areas. Overhead, gulls wheeled and shrieked and a fierce wind snatched at flags and litter. With their lights and sirens off, the unmarked cars drew up close to the ship itself.
Janine and Shap were greeted by the port police officer who was expecting them. Janine shook hands with him.
‘We’ve done a discreet search,’ he said, ‘she’s on the top deck. Coastguard standing by.’
‘Thanks,’ Janine said, ‘social workers should be here anytime.’
‘No negotiator yet?’ he asked.
‘On their way,’ Janine said, ‘the traffic’s bad, an incident on the M6.’ Janine didn’t want to wait, felt that the outcome could be worse if they delayed and Mandy began to suspect something was wrong. She thought for a moment and then said, ‘I know the situation. I’ve met her before. She might talk to me.’
He nodded.
‘We go up,’ she said, ‘when I find her if we can clear that deck…’
‘Sure, I’ll brief these guys,’ he nodded to his officers.
When everyone was clear on the strategy, Janine and Shap climbed the stairwells between the decks followed by the port officers. The ferry was busy with travellers: a stag party dressed in monkey outfits, families of all shapes and sizes, couples and solo travellers. Janine caught a whiff of hot fat and sugar from one of the cafés on board, mingled with the oily smell of diesel.
When they reached the top deck the wind was even fiercer. Janine saw Mandy at the far end, at the rail looking out to sea, Aidan in her arms, a baby feed and changing bag over her shoulder. Sammy was beside her, holding her hand. Sammy wore different clothes but had his red shoes on and his glasses.
Janine nodded and Shap with the port officers assisting him began to approach the other passengers and quietly ask them to go downstairs, making sure that no-one passed Mandy and alerted her to the evacuation. The wind helped them, masking the noise of people moving.
Soon they were alone and Janine walked closer to Mandy. She was perhaps ten yards away when Mandy turned, panic stark in her face as she caught sight of Janine. Mandy scooped up Sammy and began to retreat, edging along the perimeter of the deck.
‘Mandy. Are you OK?’ Janine said. She kept moving trying to narrow the distance between them.
‘Go away,’ Mandy said.
‘We know about John,’ Janine said, ‘I am so sorry. You must miss him terribly.’
‘He’s fine,’ Mandy glanced at the boy in her arms. ‘Aren’t you, love? We’re fine. Just leave us alone.’ The wind whipped at her hair.
‘That’s not John. That’s Sammy. He hasn’t been ill with chickenpox. He’s sad and he’s frightened and he misses his mum,’ Janine said.
‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Mandy said.
‘You saw him at the park. T-shirt just like John’s. Same age, looked alike, that blonde hair. John had gone but you wanted him back. It hurt so much, didn’t it?’ Janine said.
Mandy started to cry.
‘It can’t work – a secret like that. That’s Sammy, isn’t it?’ Janine said.
Mandy didn’t speak, her mouth trembled.
‘Mandy?’
The woman nodded, but she was still holding on tight to Sammy. She looked down at the freezing water. Janine’s chest tightened. Janine didn’t know enough about Mandy, about her history, her previous mental health, to know what she was thinking but given what Mandy had been through she must be disturbed. Anyone would be, to see her husband kill her first son, to have to relinquish him, to keep the ghastly deed a secret and play happy families whenever the police called round, to snatch Sammy and cope with the fear she must have felt every time someone came to the house.
‘Joe told us what he did,’ Janine kept talking, edging closer, keeping her voice as low as possible but fighting to be heard above the wind. ‘You weren’t there. You’d have stopped him. You love them. John and Aidan. I can see that. It was Joe, just Joe. He’d done it before.’
Mandy frowned.
‘When he was a child himself. His brother. And now his boy,’ Janine said. If she could just get her talking, interacting. Janine had done a basic course in hostage negotiation, you started by communicating, by interacting, by listening and empathising and enabling the person to open up to you.
‘No. It’s not like that,’ Mandy said.
‘Tell me,’ Janine said.
‘I wanted to get an ambulance,’ Mandy said, ‘to get help, but he wasn’t moving.’ Janine thought of her holding her child through that long, dark night. Feeling his lifeless body grow cold, then stiffen, the colour fade from his skin. Mandy hitched Aidan higher up on her shoulder. ‘He just snapped, he’s not a bad man, he has a temper but he’s not a bad man. I was late back. Jo
e said we’d lose it all. With his brother, it was an accident, but they still put Joe in care, his mother left … Joe said he’d go down for it, and they’d take Aidan away … we’d lose everything … he was so sorry. Now, it’s even worse – we’ve lost everything, anyway. There’s nothing left.’ Sammy began to grizzle and wriggled in her arms. She couldn’t hold both children indefinitely.
Mandy, weeping, looked to the water again.
‘Imagine if someone could bring John back?’ Janine said. ‘They can’t, no-one can. But you can do that for Sammy’s mum and dad. You can bring Sammy back for them. You know what it must be like for them, how sad they are. Please. Come with me now, Mandy. Come on. Please, Mandy. This is all a mess, but part of it we can put right. Part of it, you can make better.’
Mandy wept, snot on her face and tears damp on her cheeks. Around them the gulls called, their cries harsh and mocking.
‘Please, Mandy.’ Janine stepped closer, ‘let me take Sammy.’ Her mouth was dry, her heart in her throat. What if she misjudged it, lost all of them. ‘I know you didn’t want to hurt anyone. You were hurting. All you wanted was your little boy back, for things to be the same.’
Janine reached Mandy. Sammy was still crying quietly. ‘That’s it,’ Janine said, soothing her as much as possible, ‘that’s it, I’ll take Sammy, come on, that’s it.’ Janine put her hands round Sammy’s waist. ‘I’ve got him, come on Mandy, that’s it. Come on Sammy, there we go. I’ve got you, Sammy.’ Mandy relinquished her grip on Sammy and Janine lifted him into her own arms. ‘That’s it. Good. It’s all right.’
Mandy moved Aidan to the centre of her chest, wrapping both her arms around him, kissing his head, her tears falling on his fine blonde hair.
Janine turned to where the social workers waited near the steps and nodded. One of them came up onto the deck and approached them.
‘Sammy?’ she said.
Janine nodded.
‘Hello, Sammy,’ the woman said, ‘off we go then, that’s it.’ She took the child from Janine and walked back. Janine waited until the clang of her shoes on the metal steps had faded then put her arm around Mandy’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go down now. You give me your bag.’
Wordlessly, Mandy eased the bulky hold-all off her shoulder and Janine took it. Gently she steered Mandy, one arm on her back along to the steps and slowly guided her down, the other officials melting out of the way.
Mandy froze when she saw the small crowd of people waiting on the dockside at the end of the passenger walkway.
‘It’s all right, Mandy,’ Janine said. The words were meaningless, something to keep the woman walking, keep the child safe. ‘Come on.’
A woman with a name-tag on stepped forward and met them as they stepped off the ship.
‘Mandy,’ she said, ‘I’m Glenys, I’m Aidan’s social worker.’
Mandy began to cry fresh tears.
‘I know this is really hard but I will make sure that Aidan is well looked after.’
‘Can I see him?’ Mandy cried.
‘Yes, of course,’ Glenys said, ‘I’ll arrange visiting as soon as we have things straightened out. You’re still his mum, remember that, nothing can ever change that.’
The compassion brought a lump in Janine’s throat.
‘He’ll want a bottle in an hour or so,’ Mandy said through sobs like hiccups. ‘There’s a change of clothes in his bag. And his teddy. He likes rusks and apricot.’
Janine handed the bag to Glenys.
Glenys smiled at Mandy. ‘Thank you.’
Mandy held her cheek against Aidan’s head. ‘Oh, baby,’ she said, ‘Oh, baby, I love you. Mummy loves you.’
Weeping helplessly she handed her son to Glenys.
‘Mandy,’ Janine said, ‘I have to arrest you now.’
Mandy nodded, her chin quivering, wiping away her tears and snot with her hands, the wind still slapping at her hair. Janine began the caution, dimly aware of the passengers up on deck staring down at the unfolding drama.
Chapter 28
Janine accompanied Maria, the social worker, from the hospital where Sammy had been taken, back to the Wrays. She had informed the family liaison officer that Sammy would be coming home soon and asked her to prepare them, though how anyone prepared themselves for such a momentous change of fortune, was hard to imagine.
A press embargo was in place until Sammy was safely back with his parents, so the road outside the Wrays was deserted as they arrived. The rain had stopped at last. Millie wanted to organise a photo shoot for later that day, a batch of photographs to be taken by one of the official police photographers and made available to the media; something less intrusive than a scrum of press. Good news of this sort was rare in their work, on most occasions the best they could hope for was catching criminals, seeing them convicted for their crime but to have a child found safe and well after twelve days and reunited with their family was a happy outcome indeed. And excellent PR for the force, which would help counterbalance the wave of earlier hostile coverage.
Millie would also advise the Wrays on media interest. A bidding war for an exclusive was undoubtedly on the cards. It was the ultimate human interest story. They’d be handsomely paid if they agreed and very few families resisted that even if at first the idea seemed distasteful. What the money wouldn’t do, couldn’t do was fix the damage inflicted by the trauma of the abduction. In a lot of marriages and partnerships, relationships never survived that sort of pressure. Even when they did, the individuals were battered, bruised and scarred by the event, prone to emotional and mental illness, depression, PTSD, anxiety. She didn’t know if the Wrays’ marriage would survive. They obviously had their problems and Clive’s behaviour at the outset had not shown him in a good light. But perhaps this ‘happy ending’ would give them a chance.
Janine undid Sammy’s straps and helped him out of the child seat, lifting him out of the car.
Claire flew out of the door and ran down the path followed by Clive.
‘Mummy!’ Sammy, in Janine’s arms, shouted, launching himself forwards. Claire took him from Janine, holding him tight. Clive ruffled Sammy’s hair, kissed his cheek and led his wife and son to the house. Maria and Janine went in with them.
Sammy sat on Claire’s knee and held on to his father’s hand. Sue brought drinks and biscuits.
‘He’s been well looked after,’ Maria told them. ‘He’s been checked out by a paediatrician and there are no worries at all.’
Claire nodded, her face mobile with emotion. Janine could see she was making a big effort not to break down in front of Sammy.
‘I’ll be here to support you over the next few weeks,’ Maria said. ‘You may find there are some different behaviours from Sammy as a result of what’s happened. Trouble with sleep or regression we can deal with as needs be.’
‘What sort of thing?’ Claire said.
‘It’s common to have an apparent loss of skills, whether that is toilet training or language, dressing and so on. You may find he’s clingy, watchful. You can help him by tolerating it. He needs to be with his primary carer as much as possible.’
Claire nodded.
‘Try and reduce the number of times you separate for the time being,’ Maria said. ‘As for anxiety, avoid potential triggers, don’t go to the same park for example.’
Claire shuddered.
‘Routine is good,’ the social worker went on, ‘maintain any routine you had before. Sammy may become very angry for no apparent reason. If that happens it’s important you keep calm; that will comfort him.’
‘The woman,’ Clive said, ‘the one who took him.’
‘She’s in police custody,’ Janine said, ‘along with her husband.’
Clive shook his head. ‘To do that—’ he said.
Janine changed the subject. ‘If the case comes to court, which is almost certain, then you may be called as witnesses.’
Claire gave a little moan, Sammy glanced at her quickly and she smiled to reassure him. Then Cl
aire exchanged a look with Maria – she had seen how alert he was to her mood.
Hypervigilance, thought Janine, the term they used, a response to the trauma.
‘It won’t be for several months,’ Janine said. ‘And if they plead guilty then we won’t have to go through the process of a trial.’
‘Another biscuit,’ Sammy said.
‘Here.’ Clive reached for the plate and Sammy picked up one, then glancing first at Clive and then at Claire, he took a second.
‘Go on then,’ Claire said, smiling, ‘special treat.’
Janine told them about the photo shoot and then said, ‘Is there anything else you want to ask me?’
Claire shook her head.
‘I’ll be on my way. Bye bye, Sammy.’
His mouth was stuffed with biscuit and he gave a little wave.
Clive got up and so did Claire.
‘No, stay there,’ Janine said, ‘please. I can see myself out.’
‘Thank you,’ Claire said, a break in her voice, ‘thank you so much.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears.
‘Yes,’ said Clive.
Janine accepted their thanks, smiled and left them to it.
‘CPS?’ Louise Hogg said crisply.
‘I’m preparing the file now and hope to speak to them early tomorrow. I think it’s looking very promising.’
Hogg’s eyebrows twitched as though she thought Janine’s observation arrogant or overconfident. She looked back at Janine’s interim report, turned a page, then closed the file.
Here it comes, Janine thought, the dressing down for last night. The questions about judgment and competency, about boundaries and professionalism. Had she mentioned Pete and Tina? She still couldn’t remember.
‘Anything else?’ Hogg said.
‘No, ma’am. If you’re … erm … well, the team are having a drink, I’m popping in now.’
‘Is that wise?’ Hogg said.
Oh, God. Her heart sank. Here it comes. When Hogg didn’t hold forth, Janine rallied. ‘I’m on the fruit juice,’ Janine said.
‘No hair of the dog?’ Was she joking?
Make Believe Page 13
