by Linda Huber
And if anything happened to Naomi today Nina knew she would blame herself for the rest of her life.
Sam patted her shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to call Beth. Eat that banana, Nina, it’ll give you energy.’
As soon as she heard Beth’s voice Nina dissolved into tears, and it was a few minutes before she was able to talk coherently. Beth was horrified, and for more long minutes all they could do was cry together.
When she ended the call Sam came back and sat beside her on the sofa. Nina sipped her juice, her teeth chattering against the rim of the glass.
‘This is like waiting for Mum to die,’ she said. ‘She was in a coma for days. I was pumped full of adrenalin all the time, ready to cope with her death. I hardly slept. And now – it’s the same kind of feeling again. Sheer horror and nothing to do but wait.’
Sam put an arm round her and Nina closed her eyes. When would she be able to hold Naomi in her arms? Dear God, she’d known about the paedophilia but she still allowed her only child to come and be a part of it all. She’d been the worst possible kind of mother to her little girl. If only… if only she’d never heard of John Moore, never come to Bedford, and never inherited all that blood money.
In and out, in and out, there was nothing to do except breathe and wait for news to come.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thursday 27th July
Nina slept fitfully on Sam’s spare bed that night, fully clothed in case the police called and she could rush to Naomi. Going to bed when there was still no news of her child was horrendous, but she was so tired… She’d phoned Alan, who was distraught but decided to wait in South Africa in the meantime. Nina could almost understand this, after all, she and Alan would draw little comfort from each other’s presence and the journey from Cape Town was over twelve hours even after the plane took off, and dear God surely Naomi would be found by that time. But it was another rather chilling reminder that she was the only ‘close’ family her child had.
David Mallony called shortly before midnight to report they would continue door to door inquiries the next day, but in his opinion Paul had taken Naomi somewhere else.
‘This wasn’t how he’d planned things; he’ll need time to re-think,’ he said. ‘We’ll put out an appeal tomorrow, Nina. Can you get us a recent photo of Naomi? You won’t have to speak; we know who has Naomi so all we need is a police appeal to the public to keep their eyes open. And of course all the airports and ports are already alerted. He won’t get her out of the country but I don’t for a minute imagine he’s trying to. He’ll be holed up somewhere making new plans.’
Nina’s sleep was broken, full of dark, frightening dreams. Every so often she jerked awake, heart racing, only to fall back into uneasy sleep. Dismal visions of Glen and Cassie and Emily, all shouting ‘help, help’, chased no less fearsome dreams of Claire and her bruised and broken face. Nina awoke at six with tears on her cheeks and knew she wouldn’t sleep again.
There was silence from Sam’s room as she crept past to the phone and punched out the number of the police station, only to be told there was no news but the search parties were already out again in the estates. Nina stood by the kitchen window, forcing back panic. It was a beautiful morning; brilliant sunshine mocked her as it sparkled on the chrome sink. Inside she felt as dark and oppressive as it was possible to feel, and that wasn’t going to change until she had her girl back. Today, please, that must happen today.
She showered mechanically, breathing deeply as the piping hot water flowed over her weary muscles and feeling about a hundred and fifty. Were old people like Emily tired and sore like this all the time? It was a horrible, draining feeling.
Emily… Emily had said quite a lot about Paul. But… Nina stood still, remembering. She’d missed part of it. For a few moments in the middle of the conversation she’d been thinking about something else, hadn’t she, yes – the names on the list. She’d missed some detail about Paul. Emily had a phone in her bungalow, but quarter past six was much too early to call. Nina pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. She would wait till seven and phone the home, ask someone to check if Emily was up. And later she and Sam could go to The Elms. Her great-aunt might know something about Paul that would help find Naomi. Nina shivered. Talking to Emily was the only bloody thing she could do. The police weren’t going to let her and Sam go out and search housing estates, but no way could she sit around all day and wait. She had to do something to help find her child.
Sam still hadn’t surfaced, so Nina booted up his computer. Beth had e-mailed two photos for the police appeal. Taken a couple of weeks ago, one showed Naomi laughing as she played with Fifi the farmhouse cat, and the other a more earnest Naomi doing a jigsaw on a rainy afternoon. Nina sent them on to the police station, then sat sobbing over the keyboard. Naomi had been missing for twenty-four hours; the ‘golden hours’ were long gone.
‘Hey, come on. Come here.’ Sam was beside her, gathering her into his arms.
Thank Christ Sam was here. She wouldn’t have managed any of this without him. Nina told him about her feeling that Emily might have mentioned something about Paul.
‘Good thinking,’ he said. ‘And that goes with something that occurred to me in the night. You should take every one of those photos to show Emily, because one of them might remind her of something that could help.’
‘Hell, Sam, there’s hundreds of them. Do you think she’ll be able to get through them all?’
‘I’m sure she’ll give it her best. It means telling her what’s happened, but you have to do that now anyway.’
Nina pictured Emily’s kind old face and the lump in her throat grew again.
‘I need a mobile,’ she said dully. ‘I need to have a number for the police and Beth and Alan and – in case anyone has to contact me.’
Another thought struck her and she winced. ‘Oh God, I don’t know anyone’s number any more…’
‘You can borrow my old mobile,’ said Sam. ‘If you send everyone on your email address list a mail with the new number they can get back to you with theirs.’
He produced the phone, and Nina wrote her email and sat clicking through her address book. She arrived at Claire’s address and burst into sudden, shocking sobs. She would never send Claire another email.
‘Dear God, Sam – why, why, why didn’t Mum tell me about John Moore? None of this would have happened if I’d known.’
‘She couldn’t have known what he was,’ said Sam.
Nina closed her eyes. She would never understand it. How on earth had Claire managed not to know what her husband was? It didn’t seem possible.
Sam was watching her face. ‘Do you believe she was doing what she thought was best?’
‘Yes.’ It was a gut reaction. There was no way she could doubt Claire’s intentions.
David Mallony was out at one of the estates, but his sergeant broke the seal on John Moore’s door for Nina and Sam. He told them Sabine was still critical in the intensive care unit, and Nina felt her face blanch. Paul had injured Sabine to this extent before he’d lost it so completely. Now he’d be capable of even more craziness and violence…
The sergeant also showed them the text of the appeal due to go out on TV and online that morning. It was short, simply asking for information about Naomi, who was ‘with a distant relative in need of medical attention’. Nina read it, her lips pressed together hard. How many times had she seen a similar appeal and thought vaguely that at least the child concerned was with a relative? She’d had no idea. She swept the photos into a plastic bag and almost ran from the house.
At nine-thirty they were parking under the big tree at The Elms. Emily was waiting, the coffee table cleared in anticipation of the photos. She put her arms round Nina, patting her back in a frail, old ladyish way, and Nina only just managed not to cry again.
‘Oh Emily. We need to know everything you can tell us about Paul, please. We don’t know enough to find him and Naomi. And I think you said something last time but I can’t
remember what it was.’
Emily sat back. ‘He was a strange child,’ she said frankly. ‘A sweet little boy, but as he grew older he became wild and distant. His mother was a nice girl when she was sober but she was an alcoholic, poor thing. I didn’t see much of Paul after you and your mother left. That broke up the family; there weren’t many Sunday lunch parties after that and I was too busy with my own life to worry about Paul. Then later his parents split up. He was sent to boarding school, I’m not sure when. After Jane’s death, I think.’
‘I see,’ said Nina. ‘We didn’t know that; he skated over it when he was talking to me and later he clammed up when Sabine asked him. Do you know why he was sent there? Was it because there was no one to take care of him or - ’
She broke off. Emily was frowning and shaking her head.
‘Well, there was that too, but I rather think there was something more. I remember shortly before Jane died – Paul must have been eleven or twelve – she had him at some kind of nerve doctor, a psychiatrist, I suppose. I think he was having problems at school, and I always assumed it was because of Jane’s alcoholism.’
‘A psychiatrist,’ said Sam, sitting straighter. ‘Jeez, Nina, that explains a lot. Childhood trauma can cause… um…’
Nina gave him a warning look. Emily still knew nothing about the paedophilia or the abuse, they should break the news gently. She soon saw that she had underestimated her great-aunt.
‘Young man, you’re talking in riddles,’ said Emily, frowning at him. ‘What trauma do you think caused Paul’s problems?’
Nina glanced at Sam and took Emily’s hand. It was time to tell the truth.
‘It seems his father and others abused him sexually when he was a young boy,’ she said, hearing the tremble in her voice. ‘At least Paul says they did, and at the moment it appears to be true. I’m sorry, Emily. There were paedophilic images on John Moore’s computer, too.’
Emily sat still, then gave a sigh. ‘There is such wickedness in the world. All you can do is hope you never come across it,’ she said softly. ‘And now we have. My own sister’s boy. And your father.’ She reached towards a box of tissues on the coffee table, her hand shaking visibly. Nina was unable to keep her own tears back, and for a moment they both sat wiping their eyes.
Emily tucked her tissue into her sleeve. ‘The important thing is to get your Naomi back. We can deal with Paul later. He needs help.’
Sam unpacked the photos, and Emily fetched her powerful magnifying glass. Nina sat beside her making a list, as she had done with Paul. Come to think of it, Paul hadn’t been happy doing this, so maybe there was something on one of the photos. He’d been very interested in the non-people ones too, so it was important to look at them all.
Nina had filled three pages of her notebook when Emily wilted. Alarmed at her aunt’s pale face, Nina rang the buzzer for the warden.
‘Yes, that’s quite enough for the moment,’ said the woman, helping Emily to her feet. ‘Come on, Emily love, you can lie on your bed and rest for an hour or two.’
‘I want to go on. We might find something important,’ protested Emily, and Nina squeezed her hand.
‘I’ll leave the photos and the pad,’ she said. ‘If you’re up to it later you can carry on yourself, and we’ll phone this afternoon anyway to see how you are. But don’t make yourself ill, Emily. You’ve been a great help, thank you so much.’
The mobile Sam had lent Nina trilled out its sea shanty ring tone when they were on the way back to Bedford, and she scrabbled in her pocket for it, her heart pounding. Was this - ?
David Mallony’s voice was grim in her ear. ‘No news yet, though we’ve ruled out a few places,’ he said tersely. ‘But there’s information coming in about the Wright family. I won’t tell you on the phone but - ’
‘We’ll be with you in – ten minutes,’ said Nina, glancing out. And how horrible it was that she’d driven up and down this road so many times now that she knew within a couple of minutes when they would arrive anywhere. Her summer should have been on Arran, with Naomi pony-trekking and running wild along the beach. Not this.
Nina’s breath was catching in her throat as they hurried into the police station. Information that couldn’t be passed on over the phone wasn’t going to be good news. And it wasn’t.
‘Paul’s girlfriend doesn’t seem to exist,’ said David Mallony. ‘That was presumably a ploy to make you feel safe in his company. Okay, George Wright is currently in Thailand. Colleagues there are out looking for him but as he’s apparently been there for weeks there’s little doubt he’s unconnected with what’s been happening here. When they find him we’ll have him questioned about the abuse Paul’s accusing him and John Moore of. But we can be fairly sure that Paul himself is our blackmailer this time round. And I’m afraid that’s the good news.’
‘Shit,’ said Nina. What was coming now? Not the worst news, because Naomi was still missing – could there be any other bad news?
‘There are paedophilic images on Paul Wright’s computer too,’ said David, his eyes holding hers. ‘Seven in all. Three of them are the worst grade. Now it could be that Paul was doing what he said, researching the abuse dished out to him. Many victims do that, so at the moment we have to keep an open mind about what it means.’
Nina gripped the arms of the chair she was sitting in. Was Paul a paedophile too? And – worst grade? What did that mean? She tried to speak but failed, dear God, all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and howl. No. That was wrong. All she wanted was five minutes with her so-called cousin. What wouldn’t she be capable of doing to the man who had taken and quite possibly harmed her daughter. The thought of what might have happened to Naomi – of what might be happening right this minute – crashed into Nina’s brain and she choked, fighting for control.
David fetched her a glass of water. ‘Try to stay calm. He told you he was ‘researching’. At the moment there’s no reason to think he’d be abusive in that way himself. His former employers have given him a good character, too. He lost his job through no fault of his own. Don’t imagine the worst before we know more.’
Nina sat back, feeling the numbness take over again. She passed on what Emily told them about Paul, then buried her face in her hands. If Paul intended to use Naomi as bait for the men he was still looking for, God knows what he would do. Maybe that had been his intention all along, ever since he’d seen what a beautiful daughter she had. Naomi could be anywhere if that was the case.
‘And you’re quite sure she’s in this country?’ Sam asked the question for her.
To Nina’s relief David Mallony was positive about this. ‘Yes, the ports and airports were alerted as soon as we knew Wright had her. She’s in the country, and the odds are he hasn’t taken her too far away. The appeal’s being broadcast regularly, Nina, and people are keen to help in a situation like this. It’s quite probable we’ll get reported sightings of Naomi all over the place. We’ll check them all out, but the likelihood that they are Naomi is small. So don’t get your hopes up with every sighting, that would drain you.’
Nina swallowed. How was she supposed to not get her hopes up? The hope was almost killing her every single second, because it was all she had left to hold on to.
‘Where do we go from here? Should we print posters and things?’ Her voice sounded almost normal – how the shit was she managing to sound normal?
‘We’ll hold off with that for the moment. We’re still investigating Paul’s flat and his computer, and we’re finding all kinds of places to check. I’m hopeful we’ll find Naomi in one of them. That’s all I can tell you at the moment. And Nina – I don’t know if this helps, but – ’
Nina gazed at him.
‘Very few paedophiles are attracted to both girls and boys. So Paul’s abusers probably had no interest in abusing you, back then.’
Nina nodded silently. So she’d been right about that. Did it make Naomi any safer today? Unfortunately not. Paul was on a mission now to get revenge not
only on his own abusers, but on paedophiles in general. Many might say it was a worthy mission. But it had put Naomi in terrible danger.
‘What do you want to do now?’ said Sam, back in the car.
Nina rummaged for a tissue. ‘This is doing my head in, Sam. I feel numb one minute and terrified the next. Let’s go back to the estate where Paul and I changed cars. Maybe if I walk about a bit this time I’ll find where he parked.’
Sam drove to the top of the High Street and turned left over the bridge. Nina pulled out the mobile he’d lent her. Several people had sent messages of support, but of course the one name she wanted to see on the screen wasn’t there. Oh God, if only she could press a couple of buttons and have Naomi’s voice in her ear. She wrenched her gaze from the mobile out to the street they were driving along. Sam stopped at a zebra crossing and a little family of four passed in front of the car, and Nina stared bleakly. This could be her and Sam, in another time and place. A white, blonde mother and a dark-skinned, handsome father, swinging a cute and laughing little boy between them, an older girl skipping along at their side. She squinted up at Sam. His mouth was tight, and she could feel the band of tension round her own head. If anything happened to Naomi she would go away from this place and she’d never see Sam or Emily again and she’d never want to, either.
They came to the estate where the car-change had taken place and Sam pulled up in front of a solitary shop, a newsagent’s, where a wire guard criss-crossed in front of the window. Nina hunched into her jacket, cold in spite of the warmth of the day.
‘Let’s walk about a bit,’ she said, and Sam nodded. They headed downhill, and Nina stared round in resignation. There were so many streets, most of them mirror images of the last one; they couldn’t possibly walk through them all. This was hopeless. It was the only thing she could do to help Naomi and it was hopeless.
