Stolen Angels

by Shaun Hutson

‘I’ll speak to the doctor,’ he said.

  Fucking liar.

  Talbot embraced her.

  She kissed him on the cheek and smiled up at him.

  ‘I love you,’ she said.

  ‘I know’ he told her and she watched as he walked towards the exit, turning to wave as he left.

  Dorothy Talbot winced, held her breath against the pain, waiting for the spasm to pass.

  It didn’t.

  She reached into her handbag for the morphine.

  Talbot strode down the corridor towards the main entrance, slowing his pace slightly as he reached the door which bore the nameplate dr m. hodges.

  He paused.

  Go on, you bastard. Go in.

  He raised his hand to knock.

  Do it.

  He wheeled away from the door, almost running from the building to his car, leaning against the Volvo, eyes closed.

  It was a long time before he moved.

  Fifty-six

  Maria Goldman heard the knock on the office door but continued reading, her attention fixed on the piece of paper before her.

  When the second knock came, more insistent this time, she finally managed to mutter something which passed for an invitation to enter.

  The door opened slightly and Nikki Parsons stepped inside.

  ‘Maria,’ she said, quietly, looking at her colleague who was still staring at the report she held.

  When she finally lifted her head, Nikki saw how pale she looked.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nikki,’ she said, softly. ‘I was miles away. Sit down.’

  The younger woman did as she was asked, peering towards the stack of papers on Maria’s desk.

  ‘The doctor’s reports?’ she said, although it sounded more like a statement

  than a question.

  Maria nodded.

  ‘Did he examine all the children?’ Nikki wanted to know.

  Again Maria nodded.

  ‘And?’

  Maria sat back in her chair and blinked hard. It had been a long day and it seemed to be getting longer.

  ‘Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘“Considerable bruising around the entrance of the vagina and on the inner thighs’” she read from one report. ‘“Evidence of anal penetration.”’ She turned to another sheet of paper. ‘“Pelvic injuries, caused by crushing.

  Possible damage to the bladder.” “Cervical rupture.” “Penetration by a sharp instrument, possibly a stick, causing internal lacerations of the anus.”’ She put down the reports. ‘How much more do you want to hear?’

  Maria handed the reports to her colleague, watching as Nikki read them for herself, shaking her head slowly as she scanned the words.

  ‘Rape’ she said, softly. ‘The doctor’s report specifies evidence of rape in the case of three of the girls.’

  ‘All under eleven’ Maria added.

  ‘And anal rape of six of the children, either that or penetration of some kind.’

  ‘Coupled with numerous cuts, bruises, contusions and burns in nearly every case.’ Maria closed her eyes. ‘I think it’s worse than any of us first thought.’

  ‘It says that most of the cuts and bruising were on the ankles or wrists. As if they’d been tied up at some stage.’

  ‘Some of the children specified that in their statements, didn’t they?’

  ‘They also mentioned sex, sometimes with one particular person.’

  ‘Person?’ said Maria, challengingly. ‘Some didn’t mention people, some mentioned animals. Some of these children were forced to have sex with animals, Nikki, if we believe these reports, if we believe them.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t we?’

  ‘We know that the children we interviewed were kept apart from the time they were brought here. There’s no way they could have invented stories like this together. No way they could ensure that each one gave evidence to support his or her friends’ statements. That may be true with older children but not with four-and five-year-olds. You need a good memory to be a liar.’

  ‘Are you saying that some of the children are lying about what they saw, about what happened to them? How can you? You’ve got the medical evidence there to back up their statements.’

  ‘I’m not accusing any of them of lying. Far from it, but just because we might believe them doesn’t mean the police will. These statements wouldn’t be enough to secure a conviction.’

  ‘Even with the medical evidence to back them up?’

  ‘It’s still not enough. No one is named. Who are they going to arrest?’

  ‘But the parents-‘

  Maria cut her short. ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘So you’re telling me that the parents of these children had no idea of what was happening to them?’

  ‘Are any of them named in any of the statements? No. The only references are to aunts and uncles. Not one of them says “Daddy did this or Mummy did that”.

  Even we don’t know how involved the parents are.’

  ‘I think it’s safe to assume that some are!

  ‘The police will need more than an assumption, Nikki. I know, I’ve seen it before. Abused children given back to the people who abused them because there’s not enough evidence against them.’ She exhaled wearily. ‘I don’t want that to happen this time. Especially not this time.’

  ‘You said something earlier today about us having a possible child abuse ring on our hands, hoping that was all we had. What did you mean?’

  ‘I didn’t push it this afternoon; I was worried the rest of you might think I

  was overreacting. But these statements, some of the things the children say -

  there’s a uniformity to them that frightened me. I can’t think of any other word to describe it.’ She found the piece of paper she sought and tapped it with a pencil, running the tip down a list. ‘The sacrifice of animals and being made to drink the blood. Having their bodies painted. Being filmed or photographed while they were being abused. Penetration by sticks. Being given pills and drinks that made them feel funny. Enclosure in cupboards or boxes. A figure who hurt them, people dressing as clowns or monsters. Latin chants.’

  She looked at Nikki. ‘This isn’t ordinary abuse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said the younger woman, frowning.

  ‘I think there could be a ritual element to it. When we asked the children to draw a picture of the person who hurt them, this is what one of them drew.’

  Maria handed a sheet of paper to her colleague, watching her expression as she scanned it.

  The drawing showed a large figure wearing what appeared to be a cloak. Red crayon had been used to colour in where the eyes should have been. There was also red crayon on the figure’s hands. But it was the head which held Nikki’s attention. It was crudely sketched but it resembled the head of a sheep or goat.

  There were two horns protruding from above the eyes.

  ‘As far as that child was concerned’ said Maria, ‘it was hurt by the Devil.

  How many six-year-olds do you know who’d draw something like that?’

  ‘But, Maria, it’s just one child.’

  Leaning forward, Maria laid four more sheets of paper before her colleague.

  Each one showed the same horned figure.

  Fifty-seven

  Frank Reed inspected his reflection in the bedroom’s full-length mirror, running a hand through his hair yet again.

  He looked across at the clock on the bedside table, and then at his own watch.

  She was late.

  He felt his heart quicken.

  What if she didn’t come?

  What if there’d been an accident?

  Perhaps she was ill, or …

  The front doorbell rang and Reed hurried down the stairs, slipping the chain off, pulling the door wide.

  Rebecca Reed stood before him, smiling up at him.

  ‘Becky,’ he beamed, sweeping her into his arms, kissing her.

  It felt like an eternity since he’d see
n her last.

  ‘You look so big’ he told her, cradling her in his arms. ‘I think you’re getting too heavy for me to hold.’ He pretended to drop her.

  Becky chuckled as he set her down.

  ‘There’s something for you in the living room,’ he said.

  She looked round, as if seeking reassurance from the woman who stood impassively on the doorstep.

  Ellen Reed nodded and Becky ran off, disappearing from view through a door on the right.

  ‘Thanks for bringing her,’ said Reed, his smile fading. ‘Do you want to come in for a minute?’ He stepped back and extended an arm.

  An invitation.

  ‘Jonathan’s waiting in the car,’ Ellen told him. ‘I can’t be long.’

  ‘I thought I asked you not to bring him with you,’ Reed said.

  ‘He’s in the car, Frank,’ Ellen said, irritably, stepping inside.

  She followed him through into the kitchen where he boiled the kettle, glancing at her as she stood by the kitchen table.

  ‘You can sit down, you know,’ he told her. ‘This is your house too.’

  ‘It used to be, Frank’ she reminded him, pulling out a chair. ‘You’ve kept it neat.’

  ‘Did you expect me to start living like a pig just because you walked out on me?’ he snapped.

  He handed her a mug of tea and sat down opposite, pushing the sugar bowl towards her.

  She took a sip.

  ‘What happened to your sweet tooth?’ he asked. ‘It used to be three spoonfuls in a mug didn’t it?’

  ‘Jonathan said I was putting on a little weight, so I’ve cut out sweet stuff.’

  ‘Oh, well, if Jonathan says you’re getting fat …’ he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘Has he specified an optimum weight and size he’d like, or will he just tell you when you’ve completed the task?’

  ‘I didn’t come here to argue, Frank’ she told him, sipping her tea.

  ‘I can’t see too much wrong with you’ Reed told her.

  He ran appraising eyes over her and thought how good she looked. Her hair was cut in a short bob, the blonde tresses gleaming. She wore little make-up except for a touch of eye-liner, but her skin seemed to glow. She was dressed in a dark green two-piece suit and a white blouse, immaculately pressed.

  ‘Did he pick those out for you, too?’ Reed asked, nodding towards her. ‘Is he a fashion expert as well as a weight-watcher?’

  As she closed her hands around the mug, Reed pointed to her left hand.

  ‘Where’s your wedding ring?’

  ‘When I left, I took it off. We’re not together any more.’

  ‘But we’re still married. Or was that Jonathan’s idea too?’

  ‘Just leave it, Frank. It’s down to him that Becky’s here today. He suggested I let her see more of you.’

  ‘How fucking magnanimous of him! What am I supposed to do, run out and tell him how grateful I am that he’s agreed to let me see my own daughter?’

  ‘You can’t blame him for everything that happened, Frank.’

  ‘He took you away from me: I can blame him for that.’

  ‘He didn’t take me. I chose to go.’

  ‘Yeah, and take our daughter with you.’

  They both heard footsteps hurrying back towards the kitchen and, a moment later, Becky rushed in clutching a GameBoy, brandishing it like a trophy.

  ‘Look, Mum,’ she said, staring at the screen. ‘It’s got Mario on it.’

  She handed the GameBoy to Ellen then rushed across to Reed and threw her arms around him.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she beamed, kissing him on the cheek.

  He squeezed her tightly for a second, then let her slip from his lap, watching as she reclaimed the game and scurried off into the living room again, blonde hair flying behind her like wind-blown silk.

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a little advanced for a seven-year-old?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘And a little extravagant? You can’t buy her back, Frank.’

  They eyed each other coldly then Ellen spoke again.

  ‘I thought you didn’t approve of those things for kids. I’d have expected you to buy her a set of encyclopaedias or something more educational,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps Jonathan can teach her how to use it,’ Reed snapped. ‘He seems to be an expert on everything else.’

  Ellen got to her feet. ‘I think I’d better go.’

  Reed followed her out into the hallway.

  ‘I’m going now, Becky,’ she called and the little girl ran out from the living room once more, still clutching the GameBoy.

  Reed watched as the two of them embraced, then Becky retreated from sight again.

  ‘I’ll pick her up at eight on Monday morning,’ Ellen said.

  ‘You’d better hurry,’ Reed said. ‘You’ll keep Jonathan waiting.’ He closed the door behind her and stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of her footsteps receding down the path. Then he headed for the living room.

  Fifty-eight

  ‘What the hell are you playing at, Talbot?’

  Gina Bishop stood before him in the bar of the Holiday Inn, Mayfair, lowering her voice, aware that several heads had turned upon her entrance.

  Talbot was convinced it was because of the black, double-breasted jacket and

  short skirt she wore that the attention of some of the other drinkers was momentarily diverted. She towered above him on her heels, blonde hair falling forward as she leaned towards him, whispering her words through clenched teeth.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, running his eyes over her slender legs. ‘You make the place lock untidy.’

  She paused for a moment, then slid into one of the chairs opposite him, catching the attention of a white-coated waiter who hurried across towards her. His speed increased when she crossed her slender legs and her short skirt rode a little further up her thighs.

  ‘What can I get you, madam?’ he said, smiling.

  ‘I’ll have a spritzer’ she said, brushing strands of hair from her face.

  ‘Another Jameson’s, please,’ Talbot added, and the waiter retreated almost reluctantly.

  ‘Been raiding the piggy bank again?’ Talbot said, nodding towards her suit.

  ‘Or has work been particularly good lately?’

  ‘I’ve told you before. Work’s always good.’

  ‘It’s not bad,’ he said, almost approvingly.

  ‘Not bad? It’s Gianni Versace, for God’s sake. The shoes are Manolo Blahnik’

  she said, indignantly.

  Talbot plucked at the sleeve of his own jacket.

  ‘Man at C&A,’ he said, smiling.

  The waiter returned with the drinks, set them down, then scuttled away to another table.

  ‘So, what do you want, Talbot?’ she asked, taking a sip of her drink. ‘You interrupt my afternoon, tell me to be here tonight, you stop me working on one of my busiest nights. Do you know how much I could have made tonight? I had to cancel two appointments because of you. I could have made three grand tonight.’

  ‘A special, was it?’ he said, sardonically.

  ‘Two Japanese businessmen.’

  ‘Japs. You don’t advertise in the Tokyo Yellow Pages too, do you?’

  ‘I was recommended,’ she told him defiantly.

  ‘Two of them, eh? Both at the same time?’

  ‘If that’s what they’d wanted. The Japs tip well, too.’

  ‘Fuck your appointments. You wouldn’t have any at all if it wasn’t for me letting you work that beat.’

  ‘I’m so grateful,’ she said, scornfully.

  They regarded each other in silence for a moment, then Gina spoke again.

  ‘So, what do you want?’

  ‘I want to talk.’

  ‘Like you wanted to talk the other night?’

  ‘I wondered if you wanted to get something to eat. We could walk down the road, there’s a pizza place.’

  ‘Do me a favour, Talbot, you don’t have to wine and dine me. Y
ou know that. If you want to fuck me, let’s go back to my place now and get it over with.’

  ‘I offered to buy you a meal.’

  ‘In a bloody pizza parlour. Do you think I’m walking into Pizzaland dressed in an outfit that cost more than their staff earn in a year?’

  ‘It’s only a fucking suit, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Clothes say a lot about a person, Talbot. I mean, look at the state of yours.’

  ‘You think those designer labels you insist on wearing mean anything?’

  ‘They mean something to me.’

  ‘Maybe, but shit’s still shit, even if it’s wrapped in silver paper.’

  ‘I don’t have to put up with this,’ she snapped.

  ‘Wrong,’ he said, downing what was left in his glass.

  ‘You’re a cunt,’ she hissed.

  ‘Careful, Gina, the mask’s slipping.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Who’s arguing? Now, are we going to eat or not?’

  ‘Not in a fucking Pizzaland,’ she told him and he watched as she opened her bag and pulled out her mobile phone, stabbing digits. She smiled when she heard a voice at the other end.

  Talbot watched her.

  ‘Hello, it’s Gina Bishop, I was in the other night. I was wondering if you had my usual table, I know you must be busy but … Oh, you can, that’s wonderful. I’ll be there in five minutes. Thank you.’ She switched off the phone and slipped it back into her bag.

  ‘One of your customers own a restaurant?’ Talbot asked.

  ‘I eat there a lot. They know me.’ She got to her feet. ‘Come on, Talbot, let’s go. We’ll get a cab. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.’

  He joined her, leaving a ten-pound note on the table to cover the cost of the drinks.

  They walked through the reception together, Gina a step or two ahead of him.

  The blue-clad doorman nodded at them as they walked out.

  ‘Can you get us a taxi, please?’ Gina asked, and the man hurried into the road to hail one.

  As they climbed in, Gina sat behind the driver, aware that he was looking at her in his rear-view mirror.

  ‘If I’m going to listen to your shit all night,’ she said to Talbot, ‘I might as well do it in comfortable surroundings.’ Then to the driver: ‘Overtons please.’

  Talbot looked across at her.

  She was staring out of the window, away from him.