by Anna King
His head swinging from side to side, looking for someone to vent his rage on, his eyes alighted on the small group of journalists and the two photographers, both of whom had already taken a number of pictures, unknown to the livid senior officer. Flinging out his arm to his assembled men Lewis thundered to no one in particular, ‘Get rid of these vultures. I want them out of here. Do you hear me? Get them away from here – now!’
A group of uniformed men began to advance on the newspaper men, but they needn’t have bothered. The men from the newspapers had already gathered enough information and pictures for a good story for tomorrow’s newspapers. Grinning broadly, for they too disliked the glory-hunting inspector as much as his own men did, they began to depart, watched by the waiting officers who were enviously wishing they could leave too. They’d been hanging around for over half an hour, and all because their inspector was too proud to admit defeat, hoping instead that something, anything might happen to save his face.
Then, from their ranks, a solitary man stepped forward and approached the furious man. As if one, they held their breath in admiration as John Smith planted himself firmly, and without fear, in front of his superior and said clearly, ‘Could I have a word, Sir?’
The plain-clothes man looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing as he saw who dared to confront him. Of course, John Smith. They had joined the force in the same year, but there the similarity ended. He, William Lewis, had always intended to rise in the ranks, whereas John Smith had been content to remain out on the street as a lowly constable. Yet Lewis knew that PC Smith could have made it to the top if he’d wanted to, for he was an intelligent man, and a bloody good copper to boot. With this in mind the inspector motioned John further back from his men. He was anxious to hear what Smith had to say, for whatever it was it would be something worth listening to, and he certainly hadn’t come up with any other plans despite furiously racking his brains. Even so, he didn’t want his men to hear what Smith had to say. There was still time to save face if Smith could come up with a good idea. If he had, he, Lewis, would find some way to take the credit, so it was imperative their conversation was not overheard.
Rocking back on his heels he gave the impression he was doing John Smith a favour by listening to him, but despite his best efforts, PC Smith knew the man too well to be either deceived or impressed.
‘Well, come on, man, if you’ve got something to say then spit it out,’ he barked.
Unaffected by the man’s tone John said in a calm, clear voice, ‘I think we should search the forest, Sir, It’s obvious Stokes deliberately gave the cabbie the wrong address. He must have known we’d question all the hackney cab drivers and this was most likely his way of throwing us off the scent and thumbing his nose at us into the bargain.’
Lewis tipped his trilby hat further back on his head and said shortly, ‘I’ve already worked that much out for myself, Constable. In spite of what you and the rest of the men think of me, I’m not entirely stupid. So if you’ve nothing further to say, I suggest…’
Not at all intimidated by his superior John Smith continued. ‘It’s my opinion Stokes knows this particular area. Look at the facts. He hires a cab and gives the driver the address of the local magistrate. Maybe that was just a coincidence, but I don’t think so. Like I said, he’s trying to rub our noses in it, and what better way than to humiliate us by leading us to that particular house. Look around you, Sir.’ John waved his arm towards the surrounding area. ‘There’s only eight houses in all, and we’ve spoken to every home owner. Every one of them is either a respectable businessman or professional person, that’s only to be expected in a place like this. Yet the address we were given was the biggest and most expensive one, owned by a man who could make life very difficult for us if he has a mind to do so. Like I said, it might just be a coincidence, but it’s the sort of prank Stokes would play, and if that’s the case, then like I said, he must be familiar with the area. Shall I go on, Sir?’
Lewis struggled with his pride before indicating with a nod of his head that John Smith should continue.
‘All right then. We know he doesn’t live in any of these houses, so I think he has a hideaway somewhere in the forest. Think about it, Sir. It’s the only possible solution. He was definitely dropped off here, he was on foot, with a child and no apparent transport, yet nobody saw him. He couldn’t vanish into thin air, so he must be nearby somewhere.
‘And the only place he could be is in the forest. Don’t forget, Sir, we’ve never been able to find out where he lives. Every time we’ve picked him up with a child, it’s always been in some seedy boarding house or hotel. And as despicable as Stokes is, he’s no fool. He’s had years to find or even build a place to bring his victims to without fear of being found, and what better place to hide than in Epping Forest.’
Inspector Lewis nipped nervously on his bottom lip. What Smith said made sense. But if he was right, it would take more than his handful of officers to find Stokes’ hideout. It would take considerable manpower to search the vast expanse of Epping Forest, not to mention the time factor. Even with a hundred officers it might take days, maybe even longer. As Smith said, Stokes was no fool. An image of Kenneth Stokes’ smug, sneering, mocking face floated before his eyes and his face hardened.
‘All right, Smith, we’ll try it your way.’ Taking a gold hunter from his inside pocket he flipped open the case. ‘It’s nearly four now, that leaves us a good four hours if the light holds, but we’re going to need more men.’ Clicking the fob watch closed he continued. ‘Send one of the men back for more officers, and by that I mean every man available, on duty or off. It’ll mean leaving the streets empty for the rest of the afternoon, but I reckon the good people of the East End will be able to fend for themselves until nightfall.’
‘Right you are, Sir.’ John Smith touched the tip of his helmet as a salute. ‘I’ll see to it straight away. And, Sir…’
‘Yes?’ The word seemed to explode from Lewis’s lips as he tried to keep a tight rein on his rising temper. It galled him to have to ask for help from one of his men; it was doubly galling to take advice from this particular constable. But he was wise enough to know that if anyone could find Stokes and the Masters child, that man was John Smith.
Undaunted, John said, ‘Even if we round up all the shift we’re still going to be short of manpower. We need to call in Scotland Yard for additional help, but we won’t be able to manage that today. In the meantime I think we should ask for volunteers to help in the search. Feelings are running high in the East End, and I doubt we’d have any trouble in finding men to help us.’
His lips pursed tight, Lewis gave a curt nod of his head, cursing himself for not thinking of Smith’s suggestion himself. It was the perfect and most logical solution to his immediate problem of the shortage of men.
Stirring himself to action Lewis strode towards his waiting officers, then stood to one side as Constable Smith instructed the men as to the course of action.
As the men began to enter the forest the sound of an approaching carriage caught the inspector’s attention. Thinking it was more reporters arriving he walked forward, holding his arm up to stop the hackney carriage going any further. His face grim he yanked open the carriage door, ready to give the intruders short shrift, but he didn’t get the chance to speak before a tall, rugged-looking man leapt down.
‘Thanks, mate. There yer go,’ he said tossing half a crown up to the cab driver. ‘Hang about a minute, will yer, mate? Just till I see what’s happening.’
‘Righto, guv,’ the driver answered happily, not wanting to leave the scene of the unfolding drama.
‘Just a minute, where do you think you’re going?’
Ted glanced down at the hand gripping his arm, then looked coldly at the man barring his way. ‘If you want ter use that hand in the next couple of weeks I’d take it off me arm if I was you.’
Lewis bridled visibly. He’d had enough humiliation for one day without some nosy sightseer giving him grief.
Assuming his superior demeanour he barked, ‘Don’t take that tone with me, mister. My name is Inspector Lewis, and there is a police investigation going on here. So you can just get back in that cab and…’
Ted shook off the offending arm with ease. ‘I don’t care if you’re the bleedin’ pope. This is a public place, and I’ve got as much right here as you have.’
The two men faced each other, neither one of them prepared to give way, then Ted’s head whipped round as he heard his name being called.
‘Ted, am I glad to see you!’ John Smith appeared, his presence diffusing the situation. Ignoring the hostile atmosphere he clapped Ted on the shoulder. ‘We think Stokes is hiding somewhere in the forest. I’ve already sent one of the men back to get more help, so you can take his place.’ Conscious of his inspector’s growing wrath John introduced Ted. ‘This is Ted Parker, Sir. He’s sort of guardian to Micky Masters, the brother of the child Stokes has abducted.’ Then turning to Ted he said, ‘We’ve been expecting more journalists and the inspector is the only man with the authority to stop them entering the forest.’ The blatant lie uttered in a respectful tone did much to soothe his inspector’s anger while giving the man a loophole to redeem himself, a chance that the man seized gratefully.
Clearing his throat Lewis said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Parker. As Constable Smith said, I thought you were another reporter. I apologise for my earlier actions.’ The words sounded as if they were being ground out, as they indeed were, but he knew that men like Ted Parker weren’t easily intimidated, if at all.
But Ted had already forgotten the surly man’s presence. ‘You’re joking, ain’t yer? Bleeding ’ell, Johnny, it’d take an army to search that place. You sure he’s in there?’
This time the constable didn’t take Ted to task for calling him by name. There were much more important issues at stake. ‘No, we’re not sure, but it’s the only lead we’ve got. Look, let’s get going, I’ll fill you in as we go.’
‘Just a minute, Constable.’ The authoritative voice stopped both men in their tracks. ‘I’m going to take Mr Parker’s carriage back to the station. I should have gone sooner instead of sending an inexperienced officer. I’ll be of more use there than here. I’m leaving you in charge in my absence, Smith. Don’t let me down.’
Striving to keep a straight face John replied, ‘I’ll do my best, Sir.’
Both men waited until Lewis had driven away, then John said in an uncharacteristic manner, ‘Arsehole.’
Coming from the usually staid officer, the word caused Ted to forget the urgency of the moment. Throwing back his head he gave a huge burst of laughter, and John, his lips twitching, joined in as together they walked into the vast forest of Epping.
* * *
Dusk was falling when two market porters, willing volunteers in the search for Molly Masters, stumbled upon an old hut, almost obscured by a clump of trees. Obeying the instructions they had been given not to try and apprehend Stokes without police back up the men shouted for attention, trying desperately to curb the overwhelming temptation to ignore the police order and kick the door in themselves, and waited for the police to arrive. They didn’t have long to wait. Within minutes, two uniformed officers came crashing through the undergrowth and, without any preliminaries, put their shoulders to the door, aided by the excited men who had first stumbled on the hut.
With the combined weight of the four men the door flew open, its hinges shattered by the onslaught as the men crashed into the hut, falling over themselves by the sheer number of their bodies. They were stumbling to their feet when more men, uniformed and civilians alike, converged on the hut, their faces lit up exuberantly. But their joy was short-lived, for although it was clear the two-room hut had recently been used, it was now uninhabited. And the disappointment of the men, who had been combing the forest for hours, after putting in a full day’s work, was so great they could have wept. As word spread through the densely shrouded woods, the euphoria that had gripped the search party quickly evaporated as they realised that once again the lunatic they had been hunting had eluded them, and, with the deepening dusk, they knew they could do no more this night.
‘That’s that, then,’ Ted said tiredly. Like the other men, he too felt like crying with disappointment and frustration. But Ted had more reason than the rest of the men to feel such devastating numbness in his body, for this was the second time in one day when his hopes of finding Molly Masters alive and well had been dashed to the ground.
‘Come on, Ted. There’s nothing more any of us can do today. Let’s go home and get some sleep. We’re going to need as much rest as we can get, because we’re going to be back here at first light tomorrow morning. And by then we’ll have more officers, and probably more volunteers too once the word spreads. It won’t be just us now: Scotland Yard will be quick to get in on the act, and the top brass will send every available man up here.’
John Smith led Ted away from the hut, his face drawn with fatigue. Like every man in the search party he had been on his feet since dawn. He should have gone off duty hours ago, but when the life of a child was at stake, time became immaterial. Looking around him in the fading light he said earnestly, ‘He’s still here somewhere, I know he is, I can feel it. He must have put a lot of time and trouble in getting that hut fit to live in; he’d even put a padlock on the front door to prevent anyone from going in. He must have left in a hurry, because he didn’t have time to put the lock in place.’
‘You don’t know fer sure that hut’s got anything ter do with Stokes,’ Ted said wearily. ‘For all we know it could belong ter some gamekeeper, or…’
‘Nah!’ John cut in sharply. ‘It’s Stokes, I know it is. And if he’s got one hiding place in here, what’s to say he hasn’t got another one? I know this bloke, Ted, he’s clever. He’s been at this game for over 20 years, and in all that time we’ve only managed to put him away twice. But this time it’s gonna be different. We’ll get the bastard, Ted, I swear it, by all that’s holy and good in this world, I swear we’ll get him, and when we do, I promise he’ll never hurt another child again.’
A junior officer approached John, beckoning him to one side. Ted looked on absently as the two men spoke in whispers. Then John was back by Ted’s side.
‘Inspector Lewis has just sent word that the Knight woman’s dead – and her baby. So it’s murder now. And no amount of fancy lawyers are going to get him out of this mess, not this time. It’s the hangman’s noose for Kenneth Stokes, and nobody deserves it more than that evil bastard.’
Ted swung his head from side to side in anguish, the guilt almost tearing him apart. Now he had two more lives on his conscience. He should have acted quicker, instead of poncing about trying to find someone to look after his stall. Those precious minutes could have prevented the tragic events.
‘Don’t take it so hard, Ted. I know how you feel, but there’s nothing you could have done. The best thing we can do now is go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning.’
But Ted didn’t budge. He couldn’t face going back home without Molly, couldn’t bear to see the look of desolation in Micky’s eyes when he knew that he, Ted, had failed him again.
‘You go, John… Officer, I’m staying. I noticed a pub on me way ’ere. It ain’t far, I’ll get a room fer the night.’ Raising his head he stared hard at the man by his side. ‘I can’t go ’ome; not yet, not without Molly. D’yer understand, I can’t go ’ome, not till we find her, I just can’t.’
Knowing it was futile to argue with the distraught man, and too bone-weary to try, John patted Ted on the back. ‘You do what you feel you must, Ted. I’m off home to my wife and bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and I’ll get someone to stop by the bakery. Ellen will be worried if you don’t show up. Take care, Ted. Goodnight.’
Ted, unable to move, remained leaning against one of the hundreds of oak trees that populated the forest. He could have stayed there all night, but his mind alerted him to the fact that if he didn’t move soon h
e might well have to spend the night, and suddenly that idea didn’t seem so appealing. Following the last of the demoralised men back to the road, Ted walked to the pub he had noticed earlier and booked a room for the night.
Two hours and several pints of beer later he stared up at the ceiling and rubbed his eyes. They felt as if they were filled with sand and grit. He desperately needed sleep, if only for a few hours, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Micky’s white, pleading face.
‘I’ll find her, mate. I promise I’ll find her, and bring her back ter yer. Trust me, Micky… Please God! Let me find her. Let her live, God. She’s only a little kid. Don’t let that madman hurt her. Please, God, keep her safe till I find her.’
His prayer seemed to echo and hang in the empty air, mocking and taunting him. Choking back a sob he turned his head into the pillow and closed his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-three
An owl hooted in the dark causing a small huddled figure to jump in alarm. Her heart beating rapidly Agnes tried valiantly to control her rising fear. Nothing had turned out as she had planned; everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Now she was trapped in what she could only describe as a living nightmare. Every sound, even the smallest rustle in the long grass was intensified in the eerie silence of the night, conjuring up frightening images to a woman already teetering on hysteria.
Stifling a scream Agnes tried to focus on the circumstances that had brought her to this predicament.
