by Michael Wood
Stolen Children
MICHAEL WOOD
One More Chapter
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © Michael Wood 2020
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Michael Wood asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This is a work of fiction. Every reasonable attempt to verify the facts against available documentation has been made.
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Source ISBN: 9780008374860
Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008374853
Version: 2020-09-09
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue: Monday 10th September 2018
Chapter 1: Monday 10th September 2018
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8: Tuesday 11th September 2018
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19: Wednesday 12th September 2018
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29: Thursday 13th September 2018
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37: Friday 14th September 2018
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44: Saturday 15th September 2018
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59: Sunday 16th September 2018
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64: Monday 17th September 2018
Chapter 65
Epilogue: Tuesday 16th October 2018
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Michael Wood
About the Publisher
To Chris Simmons.
For starting the ball rolling all those years ago.
Prologue
Monday 10th September 2018
Avenue de la Corse, Marseille, France.
9am
He walked down the road with cars parked either side. It was early morning, but the sun was already high in the bright blue sky. Up ahead was a golden sandy beach and beyond that, the warm crystal waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
There was a breeze blowing which cooled him down slightly. He was nervous. No, he was petrified. Sweat was running down his face and his Adidas T-shirt was sticking to his back.
He kept turning around and looking over his shoulder. He had no idea how he had managed to leave his hotel room without awakening his “parents” in the adjoining room. He’d crept down the back stairs and scurried through the kitchens. He’d gone unnoticed as breakfast for more than two hundred guests was busily being prepared. He’d dodged shouting chefs and hurrying waiters, stolen a banana and a croissant from a tray, and bolted out of the fire escape. Once he was out of sight of the hotel, he’d sat on the steps of a closed shop and eaten his meagre breakfast. It had tasted foul.
Yesterday evening, while alone in his single room, he’d looked on his phone for the nearest police station. It was less than a five-minute walk, yet he’d been walking for more than half an hour now and he still couldn’t find it. He’d been down the Avenue de la Corse twice and there was nothing resembling a police station at all.
Then he saw it. Above a black door, next to barred windows was a sign which read Police Nationale. He’d thought it was a closed down shop when he’d passed it before. How could such a small building be a police station?
His heart quickened. He glanced around him once more to check he wasn’t being followed, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.
He didn’t know a word of French apart from bonjour. Marseille seemed like a very touristy place, so, fingers crossed, someone in here would speak English and understand him. He approached the desk. A dishevelled man in his mid-fifties with grey stubble and a dark tan looked down at him.
‘Bonjour. Comment puis-je vous aider?’
He looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. ‘Do you speak English?’
‘Non.’
‘Is there someone here who speaks English?’
The policeman looked to the door then back at the young boy. ‘Où sont vos parents?’
He only understood the word parents and took a step back. He looked at the door. This had all been a terrible mistake. He should leave. Run. But where to?
‘Please. I need your help.’ His eyes filled with tears.
The policeman didn’t say anything to him but stepped away from his desk. At the back of the room, he spoke to another man in an identical uniform. Their voices were low, and they kept looking over at him. He still had time to run.
‘Hello. I speak a little English,’ the second man said in a heavily accented voice when they both returned to the front desk.
From his back pocket, the boy took out a sheet of A4 paper that had been folded into fours. He opened it up, placed it on the desk and flattened it out. It was a missing persons poster.
Underneath the red headline was a photograph of a young boy, smiling, with blond hair and blue eyes.
The boy pointed at the photograph and then at himself. He did this a few times.
‘This is me,’ he said. ‘This boy is me.’
‘This is you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are this missing boy?’
‘Yes. I’m him. I’m Carl Meagan.’
Chapter 1
Monday 10th September 2018
Stannington, Sheffield
4pm
Linda Armitage opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out into the bedroom. She was pale and a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. She’d been sick. Again.
She looked at her son, Riley, in his bed. He was lying on his side, mouth agape, breathing deeply. He was finally asleep. She turne
d off the television which was showing an episode of Pingu she had seen thousands of times before and turned on the monitor on the bedside table. Not that she needed to. When Riley woke up, he screamed the house down. However, Linda always needed to be able to hear him breathing. A slight deviation from the norm and she was in his room like a shot to make sure he was still alive.
Hopefully, he’d sleep for an hour or so and she could get some time to herself before she had to start making the evening meal. She flicked the kettle on in the kitchen and sat down at the table. She was tired. She needed a shower; her hair was greasy; her skin was dry, and she hadn’t changed her clothes for a couple of days.
The front door opened and was kicked closed with a bang. Linda braced herself but it didn’t wake Riley up.
Her fourteen-year-old daughter, Jodie, struggled under the weight of the shopping bags and heaved them onto the counter in the kitchen.
‘Are you all right?’ Jodie asked.
‘Yes. Fine. Why?’
‘You’re pale. Have you been sick again?’
‘Just a bit.’
‘Have you eaten anything?’
‘Yes. I had that sandwich you made me for lunch. I managed to keep it down for an hour or so, but …’ she tailed off.
‘Maybe you should go back to the doctor.’
‘I will. Did you get me some ibuprofen?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘No. Mrs Mortimer wouldn’t serve me. She said it was more than her job’s worth.’
‘Oh for God’s sake. She knows they’re for me.’
‘I said that,’ Jodie said as she began to unpack. ‘They didn’t have any ham for Keeley’s packed lunch either, so I bought chicken. Is she here? I could have done with a hand carrying all this.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Linda asked as she rummaged in the drawer looking for any ibuprofen that may have been missed.
‘I told her to wait for me outside the Co-op. She knew I was buying milk. I came out and she’d buggered off. You’re going to have to have a word with her, Mum. I don’t mind helping around the house but she’s old enough to take on a bit more responsibility too, you know.’
‘I will. Found some,’ she said, ignoring Jodie and pulling out a blister pack with two tablets left. ‘I wonder how long these have been in there. They should be all right, shouldn’t they?’ She poured a glass of water from the tap and swigged them back.
‘Mum, did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes, I did. I’ll have a word with her when she comes in.’
‘You mean she hasn’t come home yet?’
‘No. I mean … she was with you.’
Jodie sighed. ‘I’ve just told you that she wasn’t there when I came out of the Co-op. I assumed she’d run on ahead.’
‘Well, she hasn’t.’
‘Then where is she?’
‘I don’t know.’
Mother and daughter stood glaring at each other.
‘I suppose that means I’ve got to go out and look for her then, doesn’t it?’ Jodie said, irritation evident in her voice.
‘Well I can’t,’ Linda said, nodding towards Riley’s bedroom.
Jodie threw the pack of apples she’d been unpacking down onto the table and stormed out of the kitchen towards the front door. She was muttering under her breath, but Linda couldn’t hear what she was saying. She slammed the door behind her. This time, Riley woke, and his screaming began.
So much for having five minutes to relax with a cup of tea.
Linda went into Riley’s room. He was sitting up in bed. His face was red and screwed up as he cried. He was trying to pull at his hair, but he had his mittens on, so he wasn’t able to inflict any injury to himself.
Linda flicked on the light and the disco ball in the ceiling began rotating, casting its soothing colours on the walls as they danced around the room. She picked up the remote and put the TV back on, back to that annoying penguin making that awful noise and pissing on the ice.
The landline in the hallway started to ring.
Linda ignored it and picked Riley up. He started to relax immediately. He felt safer in someone’s arms.
She made soothing noises and rubbed his back gently. The phone continued to ring.
‘Shall we go and see who’s ringing us, Riley?’ she asked in a sing-song voice. ‘It might be your nana to tell us all about her bunions again. Or maybe a nice gentleman will ask if we want to claim back PPI.’
She struggled to move Riley to her other arm. He was getting heavier by the day, and she seemed to be getting weaker. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be unable to pick him up at all.
‘Hello?’ She answered the phone.
‘Mrs Armitage?’
‘Yes.’
‘Linda Armitage?’
‘Yes,’ she strained to hear. With Riley gurgling on one side and a barely audible distorted voice coming through the phone line, she struggled to concentrate.
‘We have your daughter.’
‘What?’
‘We’ve got Keeley. Pay fifty thousand pounds if you want her back.’
‘Who is this?’ Linda gripped the receiver hard. Her eyes widened, her mouth dried, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. This was a joke, surely.
‘We’ll ring back in twenty-four hours.’
The line went dead.
Linda remained frozen to the spot, the phone still next to her ear. All she could hear was the dial tone. Had she just imagined that call? She hadn’t been sleeping too well lately. She hadn’t left the house for six days. Was her mind playing tricks on her? People didn’t get kidnapped for ransom in this country. Well, there was that little boy, Carl something. He was from Sheffield. She couldn’t remember what had happened to him though.
Riley started to struggle in her arms. He flailed his legs, kicking her in the stomach and his glove-covered hands slapped at her face. She didn’t feel it. She ran back into his bedroom, dumped him in his bed and lifted up the railing on the side so he couldn’t get out. He began to cry and scream again, but she ignored him and left the room, closing the door behind her.
She ran into the living room for her mobile and scrolled through the contacts for her daughter’s number. Her fingers were shaking, her eyes were blurred, but she somehow managed to make the call.
The phone began to ring in the kitchen. She ran in and saw Jodie’s mobile on the work top.
‘Fuck.’
In a full-blown panic, Linda dropped the phone and hurried to the front door. She opened it and ran out into the autumn sunshine. At the end of the garden path she looked left and right. There was nobody around.
‘Jodie!’ She called out. There was no reply. She ran to the end of the road. ‘Jodie!’
Tears were streaming down her face. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. She felt completely alone. Alone and desperate.
Curtains began to twitch in neighbouring houses as people wondered as to the commotion.
‘JODIE!’ She screamed at the top of her voice.
‘Linda, what’s going on?’
She turned around and saw her next-door neighbour had come out of her house.
‘Amanda, have you seen our Jodie or Keeley anywhere?’ Linda asked.
‘Jesus, Lin, what’s happened? Are you all right?’ She asked, looking her up and down and taking in her dishevelled appearance.
‘No. I need Jodie.’
‘I saw her leave your house not five minutes back.’
‘Where did she go? Which direction?’
‘I’ve no idea. What’s going on?’
‘Someone’s got our Keeley,’ she cried.
‘What?’
‘Someone’s just called. They’ve got our Keeley. They’ve taken her.’
‘Who has?’
‘I don’t know,’ she screamed.
‘Come on,’ she put a comforting arm around Linda’s shoulders and slowly walked her back to the house. ‘Let’s get you inside. We’ll call your Craig and the pol
ice and let them sort it out.’
‘I can’t lose her. I can’t lose my baby,’ she cried.
‘You won’t lose anyone. I promise. Everything will be fine.’
More neighbours had gathered onto the small street to stare at the commotion.
***
Since Riley was born and because of his subsequent illness, Linda had hardly left the house. She felt embarrassed if he yelled or cried in public and people looked at her as if she was an unfit mother, unable to control her child, so she simply stopped going out. Months went by without her having her hair cut. She no longer showered daily. The weight had dropped off her and she’d stopped sleeping. Her life revolved around the twenty-four-hour-a-day care Riley needed.
Amanda led Linda into the living room and sat her on the sofa.
‘Now, tell me what’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Keeley’s gone,’ she said through the tears. ‘Someone’s taken her.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘What are you talking about? Of course I’m sure.’
Amanda took Linda’s hand in hers. ‘Look, it’s obvious you’ve not been looking after yourself, and I know you’ve not been sleeping too well lately. Are you sure you haven’t just nodded off and had a bad dream?’
‘What? Don’t you believe me?’
Amanda looked away.
‘Jesus Christ! Are you saying I’ve made it up? Do you think I’m going mad or something?’ She ranted, snatching her hands back.
‘I’m not saying anything like that, Linda. It’s just … well, you are under a lot of strain at the moment. Craig’s working all hours and you’re trying to look after three kids on your own. It’s going to have some kind of psychological …’
‘You think I’m cracking up,’ she interrupted. ‘You think I’m imagining things.’
‘There are places Riley can go, respite, so you can get some rest.’
‘I can’t believe this. Haven’t you heard what I’m saying? Keeley has been kidnapped and they want fifty thousand pounds, or they’ll kill her.’
‘Linda, listen to yourself. This is Sheffield, not New York. People don’t get kidnapped for ransom here.’
‘You’re not listening to me,’ she screamed, pulling hard at her hair.
‘Ok, ok, calm down. I tell you what, I’ll phone Craig, he can come home and sort it all out.’
