by Michael Wood
‘Would it … you know, I mean, would you mind …’ he looked at his shoes, his face reddened in embarrassment as he spluttered. ‘I’d like … if you don’t mind that is …’
‘Daniel, do you want to kiss me?’ Matilda asked. Her mouth dried as she felt her heart thumping loudly in her chest.
He looked up at her. ‘I would. Yes. Only if you want to.’
She took a tentative step forward and stretched her neck up, tilting her head until she was level with him.
He placed his hands on her arms and held her firmly. She felt a trickle of electricity run through her. He kissed her. His stubble pressed against her face. It was soft, gently passionate and awkward.
She felt a vibration in her pocket and pulled back.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked, a look of panic on his face.
‘No. My phone’s vibrating.’
‘Oh,’ he smiled.
She looked at the display and saw her colleague, DS Sian Mills was calling. Her pleasant evening with a handsome architect was ruined.
Chapter 4
2015 had not been a good year for Matilda Darke, professionally or personally. Once James had been diagnosed with a brain tumour, it had been a fast downward spiral. It wasn’t long before they were told his cancer was terminal and he had only a few months left to live.
Matilda decided to keep the news to herself. She didn’t want sympathy from her colleagues, offers to make her a casserole, or a bunch of flowers to cheer her up. Her sole task was to cherish the little time she and James had together, and at work, that meant acting as if everything was absolutely fine.
In the days before his death, seven-year-old Carl Meagan had been kidnapped from his home in Dore. His parents were away for the night in Leeds and he was being looked after by his maternal grandmother who was murdered by the kidnappers before they took Carl from his bed. The Meagans received a ransom demand for two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. As owners of a chain of successful organic restaurants throughout South Yorkshire, they were able to collect the money together and a date was fixed for the drop.
On the day of the trade, James Darke succumbed to his tumour and died in hospital with Matilda by his side. She told nobody and went to work in the afternoon as planned. Evening came, and she set off alone to Graves Park with a heavy bag full of money on the front passenger seat.
Looking back, she should have told her boss what was happening in her personal life. She should have taken compassionate leave and handed the case over to someone else. Her mind hadn’t been on the job and she had been in no fit state to work. Her eyes were blurred with tears as she drove through the dark streets of Sheffield and she headed for the car park, waiting for the call from the kidnappers. Unfortunately, she was in the wrong car park.
The kidnappers panicked and fled, taking Carl with them. Almost three years later, and neither Carl nor the kidnappers had been heard from since.
Carl would be eleven-years-old now and his mother refused to give up hope that one day he would be found. Matilda tried to continue, but it wasn’t easy. She was a changed woman and she believed she had Carl Meagan’s blood on her hands. There was no doubt in her mind that he was dead, that she’d failed the Meagan family. She would make sure it never happened again.
***
Following the phone call with Sian, Daniel realised tonight was not the night their relationship was going to take a leap in the right direction. He told Matilda to ring him and he left with the unopened bottle of champagne on the front passenger seat.
Matilda watched him go. She felt nothing for the ruined evening. There was only one thing on her mind – a child had been kidnapped for ransom. There was no way she could mess this case up. She’d let Carl slip through her fingers. She would stop at nothing to rescue a second child. Waiting for Sian to arrive was the longest twenty minutes Matilda had endured. Her mind went into overdrive as it came up with all kinds of scenarios based on the scant information her DS had given her. A child has been kidnapped. That was all Matilda needed to hear for the memories to come flooding back, to remove the hard work she had done over the past three years to restore her mental health. A child has been kidnapped. Who’d taken her? Why? What did they want? Was she already dead? Was Carl dead?
‘Jesus Christ,’ she said to herself as she bit down on her lip to stave off the tears. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. It was selfish of her to think this, but why was this happening to her again, just as she was getting her life settled. Finally.
A child has been kidnapped.
‘FUCK!’ Matilda screamed loudly. The expletive resounded off the walls.
The doorbell rang and she ran to the solid door and pulled it open. Sian was standing there. Her face was ashen.
‘Are you all right?’ Sian asked.
‘No,’ Matilda replied honestly. ‘Come on in. The kettle’s not long since boiled.’
Sian placed her bag on the oak table and pulled out the form she had filled in while at the Armitage house. Matilda told her to help herself to whatever she wanted in the fridge while she tore through the report.
Matilda looked at the photo. ‘Blonde hair and blue eyes. Just like Carl.’
‘That’s what I thought too. Even Finn put two and two together.’
‘Tell me about the Armitages,’ Matilda said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
‘Well, they’re a complete contrast to the Meagans. For a start, they don’t live in a big house. They don’t own restaurants and I doubt they’ve got fifty grand in the bank.’
‘So why target them?’
‘You tell me,’ she shrugged. ‘I didn’t go into any details with them – the mother was practically hysterical; understandable, really – but they have a young son, Riley. He’s severely disabled by the looks of him. I’m guessing any bit of money they have gets spent on caring for him.’
‘So, they’re not rich, and don’t seem to have a lot of money?’
‘No. The ransom makes no sense at all.’
‘Have you contacted the phone company and checked that a call was definitely made?’ Matilda asked.
‘Yes. Finn did that. He emailed me when I was on the way over here. A call was made to the house at seven minutes past four. It lasted less than a minute.’
Matilda frowned. ‘If you’re going to kidnap someone for ransom, you target someone who has plenty of money.’
‘Maybe the kidnapper knows something we don’t.’
‘But if you had money stashed away and had a severely disabled child, you’d be spending it on them to give them a better life, wouldn’t you?’
‘That’s what I’d do.’
‘Precisely. Like you said, either the kidnapper knows something about the family we don’t, or, it’s a hoax.’
‘A hoax? Why would someone claim to have kidnapped a child when they haven’t?’
Matilda returned to biting her bottom lip. Her eyes darted left and right as she tried to think. ‘To cover up another crime, perhaps?’
Sian was about to take a sip of ice-cold water when she stopped, the glass touching her lips. ‘Such as?’
Matilda looked away.
‘Keeley already being dead?’ Sian asked.
‘It’s possible.’
‘What are the alternatives?’
‘Children are usually kidnapped by a parent if the parents are divorced or a family member, for some deep-seated reason. If it’s for ransom then the family are usually well off. If that’s not the case here, and, as you say, it isn’t, then someone is playing a very dangerous game.’
‘Does that make our job easier or harder?’
Matilda ignored Sian’s question. She went over to the window and looked out at the expansive garden, but she wasn’t looking at the view. She was thinking of this poor girl. She was thinking of Carl Meagan, and she was thinking of herself. If Keeley was dead, then it had happened before the police had even become involved. Nothing they could do would bring her back to the family. She couldn’t be blamed like s
he was blamed for Carl’s disappearance.
She closed her eyes softly and shook her head, hating herself for thinking of her own reputation. Keeley may already be dead, but if that was the case, her murderer was out there and needed catching and Matilda would move heaven and earth to catch the sick bastard.
Chapter 5
The role of the Family Liaison Officer is that of an investigator. They gather evidence and information from the family to contribute to the investigation. It is important for the FLO to gain the trust and confidence of the family members who are their main source of support during such a difficult time.
Detective Constable Ellen Devonport was ideal for this role. An experienced and well-respected DC, she had taken further training in order to make her invaluable to South Yorkshire Police. Whenever an FLO was needed, she wanted her name to be the first mentioned by the senior investigating officer.
Sian had given her the basics of the Armitage kidnapping. It was imperative she was circumspect upon her arrival in case whoever was holding Keeley was watching the house. On her approach to the house, she pulled over in her battered Fiat Punto, and made a call to Craig’s mobile, telling him who she was and to act like he knew her personally when she knocked on the door. She parked outside the house and headed up the garden path, taking long strides, and looking determined. She had purposely dressed down for the occasion. Ellen usually took pride in her appearance, always smartly dressed, enough make-up to look professional yet accentuate her best features, with her chocolate brown wavy hair glossy and shiny and bouncing with every step. For this occasion, she’d dressed in comfortable jeans, a baggy sweater and an old pair of Converse trainers. She’d tied her hair back into a loose ponytail and had a black rucksack that had seen better days over one shoulder.
She knocked on the door and stood back. It was opened almost straight away by a tired looking Craig Armitage.
‘Craig, how are you? I’ve just heard. I thought you could do with a friendly face,’ she said. She walked past him into the house and waited until he closed the door before she dropped the character.
‘Good evening, Mr Armitage,’ she held out a hand for him to shake and was surprised by how light his touch was. ‘I’m DC Devonport. Ellen. I’m the Family Liaison Officer. How are you all doing?’ Her accent was soft Geordie, friendly and light.
She turned around at the sound of a cough coming from the kitchen and saw Jodie standing in the doorway with her arms folded. Her eyes were red from crying.
Once Ellen had explained what her purpose was for being here, Craig and Jodie went their separate ways. Linda was in no fit state to talk. She had cried herself to sleep. Craig was keeping a constant vigil, while Jodie was taking care of Riley in his bedroom. Ellen went to join her.
‘I’m guessing he likes penguins,’ Ellen said, noticing the all the stuffed penguins and pictures of them on the walls.
‘Yes,’ Jodie replied as she changed his nappy. ‘Pingu is the only programme he seems to respond to. We’re not sure why. When it’s on, there’s a change in his facial expression. It’s like he’s genuinely happy.’
‘It must be difficult for you all.’
‘Not really. Mum and Dad told us to think of it like we have a baby who won’t grow up. He’ll get bigger, obviously – he’s quite heavy now – but we have to feed him, change him, clothe him, bathe him, and we’ll keep doing that for the rest of his life.’ She turned to look at her for the first time. ‘Our lives, too.’
Once she’d changed the nappy, Jodie dressed him in pyjamas. She struggled with the trousers as Riley kicked his legs, but she took control and he was soon ready for bed. She placed him in the specially equipped bed, put mittens on both hands so he wouldn’t hurt himself during the night, and lifted the bars so he wouldn’t roll out. She flicked a switch on the wall which turned on the soothing colour-changing light and left the room. Ellen followed.
‘Does he sleep through the night?’
‘No. He’ll wake up three or four times, sometimes more. He’ll scream and wail for hours. I sometimes think he’s trying to talk to us, to tell us something but we’re not able to understand him.’ She headed for the living room and slumped down on the sofa. When she looked up, she had tears in her eyes. ‘What are you doing to find Keeley?’ She asked.
Ellen sat on the armchair opposite. ‘At the moment, our primary concern is waiting for the kidnappers to make another call and give your parents more information.’
‘What if they don’t?’
‘They will. They’ve asked for money. They’ve given your parents twenty-four hours to get it. They’ll call back and arrange the exchange.’
‘We don’t have fifty thousand pounds,’ she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. ‘Every extra pound we get is spent on Riley. Dad has two jobs just to keep our heads above water.’
Ellen noticed how mature Jodie seemed for her age. She was fourteen years old, but acted and spoke like a woman double her age. She had a great deal to contend with at home; when did she had time to act like a normal teenager?
‘Leave that to us to sort out. DCI Darke and her team know exactly what they’re doing.’
‘I just keep thinking that we’re never going to see her again. That she’s going to disappear like Carl Meagan did.’
‘What happened to Carl was an extremely rare occurrence, Jodie.’ Ellen leaned forward on her chair. ‘There are still people looking for him. I’m very confident we’ll bring Keeley home.’ She smiled, hoping one would be returned. It wasn’t.
Jodie was about to say something when a scream was heard from Riley’s bedroom. She rolled her eyes, got up off the sofa, and dragged herself to his bedroom.
Ellen didn’t follow this time. She sat back and looked around the living room. Framed photographs on the wall showed the family in happier times at the beach, in parks, on rides. They were all smiles for the camera, but the smiles didn’t reach the eyes on any of them. The eyes told a different story. They’d gone to the beach for a fun day out as a whole family, but there was an underlying sense of something darker. Linda’s smile looked painted on; Craig’s looked painful. Jodie’s was the usual glare of a sullen teenager while Keeley’s was one of rote. Riley’s stare was emotionless and distant. Even when they were all together, enjoying the sun, they were not a happy family. Why was that?
Chapter 6
Sally Meagan couldn’t sleep. In the years since her only child had been missing, she had reached the very pits of despair, drowned herself in alcohol, contemplated ending her own life, anything to end the pain she was feeling that she’d failed her son in the one task a mother has – to protect her child at all costs.
She’d written a book about her experience of a missing persons investigation and the anxiety of not knowing where her child was or what had happened to him. She’d hoped it would be cathartic, to release all the pent-up emotions she was going through. It hadn’t worked. The book had sold well in England, and around the world. Carl’s picture was everywhere; surely someone knew where he was. All the book seemed to do was bring out the attention seekers, the so-called psychics, and the weirdos. Once again, Sally had hit rock bottom.
Earlier this year, she had received a series of phone calls from a child saying he was Carl and wanted to come home. They had, briefly, given her a glimmer of hope, but they stopped as soon as they had started. Were they really from Carl? At the time she’d thought so, but, looking back, the voice hadn’t been at all like Carl’s. Once again, it was some sicko looking for a laugh. As much as she relied on the public to help her find her son, with each passing day she loathed them more and more.
Help had come from an unlikely source. Matilda Darke. The very woman who had screwed up the ransom drop and allowed her son to disappear from the face of the earth had offered words of comfort, and an ally in the form of retired detective Pat Campbell. Between the three of them, they spent their spare time formulating ideas, plans, features, anything to keep Carl in people’s minds in the hope of
finding him and bringing him home.
There had been many reported sightings of him in Sweden. Sally wanted to fly out there, scour the country for him, but Pat and Matilda, and her husband Philip, were against the idea. Carl was a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. He fitted the Swedish make-up. It would be a futile journey and would do nothing for Sally’s already fragile mental health.
Philip was the stronger of the two. He always had been. He coped with the loss of his son by diving into work. Philip was always behind the scenes, creating menus with the chefs, keeping the books in order and making sure they had the best suppliers, while Sally was front of house. She kept the staff in line, ensured the restaurants were clean and tidy and the customers happy. After Carl’s disappearance, she lost interest and stayed at home, waiting for the phone call that would tell her Carl had been found, or an email with a clear image of her son, a few years older, but perfectly healthy and in the hands of officials who were bringing him home. Days went by, then months, then years, and the call didn’t come. Sally realised she would have to move on. She could not spend the rest of her life looking for one child in a world of seven billion.
She flung back the duvet and swung her legs out of bed. It was a little after two o’clock and she hadn’t been to sleep yet. She’d finished reading the David Nicholls book she’d enjoyed but wasn’t in the mood to start another. She put on her dressing gown in the dark and headed out of the room. There was no need to tip-toe; after a long day at work Philip could be in the paddock of a Formula One track and he’d still nod off.
The bedroom door was always ajar. Woody, their golden Labrador, bought for Carl as a birthday present, slept on the floor in their bedroom. However, the next morning, they’d find him outside Carl’s room, curled up. He missed him immensely and hadn’t barked once since his best friend had gone.
As Sally left her room and headed for the stairs, there he was on the floor, keeping guard.
He opened his eyes and lifted his head at the sound of movement.
