The Keeper of Secrets: A stunning crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 2)

by M. L Rose

  She picked up the scrapbook, holding the square paper close to her eyes. It was a birth certificate. She read the name on the top, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her knees almost gave way, but she managed to stand with an effort.

  Baby’s name was James Baker. Mother’s name was Nicole Baker. Father’s name was blank.

  The scrapbook fell from her hands to the table. Arla put a hand to her forehead, swaying. Her eyes were defocused and hazy. The walls bent, then swirled around like they were being twisted. Arla tried to move, but she collapsed. The scrapbook fell on the floor, and she dragged the laptop down with her when she fell. She held onto the edge of the table and somehow stood up, knees shaking.

  Someone was standing a few feet away. It looked like James, but with her eyes now, she couldn’t be sure.

  “Hello, Aunty Arla,” a familiar voice said.

  CHAPTER 68

  “Where’s DCI Baker?” Harry barked as he strode into the room. Lisa looked up from her screen.

  “Last I heard she called Signals Intelligence about tracking a warm signal. Nothing came of it, as far as I know.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, Lisa,” Harry sighed. “She said she was going to see her dad, but she should have been back by now.”

  Harry took out his phone and frowned. Then his face cleared and he swore softly. Lisa stood up.

  “What is it?”

  Harry’s face was ashen. “Have you ever seen Arla’s father?” Lisa shook her head.

  Harry said, “I have once, and bloody hell that looks like him.”

  Lisa came forward and looked at the photo carefully. The phone on Harry’s desk began to ring. In two long strides Harry was on it, the receiver clasped to his ear.

  “Arla?” he snapped.

  “Hello, no…” The female voice on the other end sounded confused.

  “Who are you?” Harry asked in a harsh voice. Something weird was happening and he needed to get to the bottom of it. He needed to get hold of Arla.

  “I am Sharon Stevens, the matron of the Beaverbrook Care Home in Nottingham. The policewoman, Miss Baker, had called me.”

  Harry was instantly alert. This was the care home where Charles Atkins had worked and become close to two students.

  “Yes, I remember. This is DI Mehta. Have you found any new information?”

  “Well, it’s strange, I was looking through the records, and I found some old folders that Charles Atkins had written about the two children. They were fourteen and fifteen years old at the time.”

  Harry was impatient. “Do you have their names?”

  “Well, that’s the strange thing. One of them, the boy, has the same last name as the policewoman. His name was James Baker. On his birth certificate, the mother’s name was Nicole Baker. But when he left us, he made a court affidavit and changed his name to Bennett.”

  Harry sat down heavily on the chair, his heart racing, mind numb. Nicole Baker… Arla’s sister. Memories rose up like shadows from a dark crypt, gripping his head.

  He spoke with an effort. “Can you repeat that please?”

  When she did, Harry beckoned at Lisa. On the phone he said, “And what was the girl’s name?”

  “Her name was Cynthia Mullins. But everyone called her Cindy.”

  “Anything else?” Harry cradled the phone on his shoulder and wrote a quick message for Lisa on a piece of paper – Find James, now! – then gave it to her. She nodded and went out of the room quickly.

  “Yes, Inspector. These two children were very disturbed. They were clever, but God had not been kind to them. They suffered terrible abuse at the convent they came from, and then at the hands of their foster parents.”

  “But they were friends?”

  “More than friends, as they got older. They were very quiet, always kept to themselves. Never bothered anyone. The accident happened just when they left.”

  “What accident?”

  “Sorry, thought you knew. Our old building was burned to the ground. We are housed in new premises now, with the same name. Police claimed arson, and that it was an inside job. But I never believed them.”

  CHAPTER 69

  Arla swayed on her feet, her back against the wall, hand on the table for stability. James went in and out of view, his body merging with the background. She noticed him step forward till he was close enough to touch.

  “Wh… What did you say?” Arla said, wondering why her tongue felt so heavy, and why her speech was so slurred.

  “I said hello, Aunty.”

  “Aunty?”

  “That’s right. I am the son of Nicole Baker. She was your sister?”

  Arla tried to fight the mist of confusion expanding against her brain, knocking against her skull, and failed.

  “Yes, she was. That birth certificate,” she had to pronounce the words slowly, “is yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you come and tell me?”

  “Because I was waiting for the right opportunity.”

  He came closer still, and Arla had her back pressed against the wall. Her anguished mind couldn’t think much, but she cottoned on to one thing. She looked at the four Jameses standing in front of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and they became two.

  “Did you get my phone number? Is that how…?”

  “Yes, that is how those photos were sent to you.”

  Arla’s mouth fell open, and her chest was squeezed remorselessly in a vice-like grip of pain. She croaked and fell to her knees. She retched on the carpet. She wanted to vomit, but only a spit of saliva came out.

  Through bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, she looked at him, standing over her. “But my dad, he’s your grandad. How could you…?”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. James lifted his foot, and kicked her in the chest, knocking her backwards. Arla’s head hit the wall, and pain mushroomed in a yellow-orange wave over her eyes. She tried to scream but no sound came. She slumped on her back, unconscious.

  James looked at her critically, then bent down and grabbed her by the shirtfront. He began pulling her towards the door.

  CHAPTER 70

  Harry was standing in front of Lisa’s door, agitated. “Where is he?”

  Lisa put the phone down. “He’s not answering.”

  Harry gripped his forehead. “Send a squad car to James Bennett’s address, now. Tell everyone he is dangerous, and not to approach him.”

  Lisa gaped at him. “Really?”

  “Yes.” A thought came to Harry. “You worked with him, didn’t you? On that CCTV stuff?”

  Lisa pursed her lips. “Yes, I did. And I did surveillance with him, when we camped outside Paul Ofori’s house.”

  “What was he like? Did he say anything?”

  A frown appeared on Lisa’s face as she thought. “Come to think of it, we were speaking of Maddy’s death. He talked of being in the Army. He was an infantry soldier.”

  “He was in the Army?”

  “That’s what he said. Stationed in Afghanistan. He talked about how one day a teenager was killed, mistaken as a terrorist.”

  Harry swore and gripped his forehead. He needed to think, but panic was suffocating him all of a sudden.

  “Where’s Rob?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Find out, now. Rob and I will go to DCI Baker’s father’s flat. That’s where she was last seen.”

  “What’s going on, guv?”

  “I don’t know. But it seems James Bennett was actually DCI Baker’s nephew. His mother’s name is certainly the same as her sister’s.”

  Lisa digested this in silence. Harry said, “And given how much her stalker knew about her family, I have a very disturbing feeling about this.”

  Lisa nodded, looking shocked. Harry continued. “We also need to locate one Cynthia Mullins. She was close to James when they were growing up. Look in IDENT1, and then anyone with that name living in London.”

  “Why London? She could be anywhere.”

 
; “She could. And her name is common so we might have a huge search on our hands. But if she was close to James, chances are she still is. We have to presume she could be in London.”

  Harry suddenly remembered the person following Arla’s father around. He had described them as short and stocky. He passed on the message to Lisa.

  Rob bustled in from the doorway. “Guv, you wanted me.”

  “Yes, you and I are off to DCI Baker’s dad’s house. Lisa, can you please bring up the CCTV images from Brockwell Park, at Maddy’s last location.”

  Harry checked his phone again. Nothing from Arla. He dashed to his table and rang Johnson’s office. When his boss picked up, Harry explained what was happening.

  “Good God!” Johnson exclaimed. “And you have a photo from Arla’s phone that shows her dad tied up to a bed?”

  “Yes, guv. We know from the path report that Maddy had probably been tied up like that as well.”

  “And what about James?”

  “I have sent a squad car around, and will head there myself after checking DCI Baker’s dad’s place. Hopefully she will call by then to let us know where she is.”

  “OK. Keep me posted.”

  Harry hung up and, with Rob in tow, hurried to the car park. The parking lot was a yellow haze, swimming in a soup of sunlight. Rob blinked and pulled at the tie chafing his neck.

  “I read somewhere that the pollution from cars absorbs the heat. It can’t escape into the sky, that’s why it’s so bloody hot.”

  “It would be bloody hot no matter where you were. But yes, our concrete jungle doesn’t help,” Harry said, turning the AC on full blast.

  When they arrived at Balham, they got lucky. A woman with a pram was trying to get out of the door, and they helped her. They raced up to the third floor. It wasn’t hard to see the only apartment with the smashed door.

  “You sure this is the right one?” Rob asked.

  “Yes. But let’s have a look inside.”

  In fifteen minutes, they were outside. Harry chewed things over. There had no other signs of struggle inside, so the bashed door might well have been just Arla trying to get in. Presumably her father hadn’t been in, or why would she have that photo?

  Harry looked at the shops opposite. “OK, Rob. We ask in every shop opposite. If they have seen an old man like Mr Baker, or DCI Baker herself.”

  “Right. Old man with a stick, or tall, pretty, brown-haired woman in a black summer coat.”

  “And anything unusual. Get cracking, be quick, and meet back here.”

  “Aye aye, guv.”

  Harry didn’t have much luck with the first three shops, but on the fourth one, a newsagent, he struck gold. The turbaned Sikh man looked bored behind his counter, but he faced the street and, as it turned out, his eyes missed little.

  Harry flashed his badge and asked about an old man with a stick, and anything unusual. The man straightened when he saw Harry’s badge.

  “Yes, I did, actually. This old guy, I see him now and then walking up and down. He got into this car. Then all of a sudden, this guy ran across the road, jumped in, and the car took off like it was doing a race!”

  Harry took out the photo of Arla’s father, zoomed into the face only, and showed the man the image. “Is this him?”

  “Yes, that’s the guy. Seen him before as well.”

  Harry’s body felt cold. He flipped to a photo of Arla, and showed it to the man. “Seen this lady? She’s a police officer.”

  The Sikh man snapped his fingers. His bored countenance was now replaced by animation. “Oh yes,” he stroked his beard. “Funny thing, that. She came out from the same house as the old man. But she was with a younger guy, shorter. They got into a car and he drove off.”

  “Describe both cars, please.”

  The man stopped stroking his beard and stared at Harry. “What is it?” Harry asked impatiently.

  “This must be a police case,” the man said.

  “What?”

  “Both the cars were the same. I remember now. It was the same car, I think, a black VW Golf, 2014 registration.”

  “Mr Singh,” Harry said, “you should be policeman.”

  “I have thought about it!” Mr Singh called out as Harry dashed out of the shop.

  Harry flipped out his phone and dialled Rob as he ran. When Rob answered, Harry panted, “Get back to the car. Mr Baker has been abducted, and Arla left with a young man in the same car.”

  “I was just about to call you,” Rob said, sounding like he was running as well. “I just found DCI Baker’s car. It’s parked in a side road by the tube station. It’s locked and there’s nothing inside.”

  “RV to my car. We need to drive to James’ house ASAP. Do you know what sort of car James drives?”

  “A black Golf, I think.”

  They were at James Bennett’s house in ten minutes, blaring sirens through the afternoon traffic. A uniformed officer was leaning against his car, hands in his Kevlar vest as Harry pulled up to a screeching stop.

  “Anything?” Harry shouted.

  The uniform sergeant looked nervous. “No guv, we rang but the door’s locked.”

  “Anyone been in or out?”

  “Nope.”

  “OK, get the battering ram.”

  “Sorry, guv?” The sergeant’s mouth fell open.

  Harry was already at the door, looking through the keyhole. Rob explained to the sergeant, and they opened the trunk of the squad car and took out the short, squat, metallic weapon, which looked like a giant truncheon with a handle on top.

  Harry pointed to the door. “Smash it down.”

  “You have authority, guv?”

  Harry was sweating. “Yes, I do. Now do it, for Heaven’s sake.”

  Three meaty blows with the battering ram splintered the door open with a crash. The alarm went off instantly, a loud claxon belting out over their heads as they poured in.

  The apartment was empty. The kitchen door led to a narrow landing that opened out into the garage. It was empty, too. Harry and the team started turning the place upside down.

  Harry focused on the garage. The shelves on the grey cement block wall were full of old magazines and bric-a-brac. He flung them all down, finding nothing till he stood on his tiptoes and passed his hand over the dusty top shelf. Two DVDs in their covers fell to the floor. He picked them up quickly, wondering why they looked familiar.

  The blue and white logo of the National Highways & Motorway Police stared back at him. He opened them up, and looked at the disc with the words ‘CCTV’ written over the top.

  He ran out the garage, shouting at Rob to follow him.

  Where are you, Arla? Harry thought as he drove like a madman. His heart was lying in pieces, and a pain had seized him, making him feel ill. His sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  Where the hell are you?

  CHAPTER 71

  Arla could feel herself rising and falling. She was in a fairground ride with her dad, sitting next to him. She screamed with glee as the ride went up and down, making her bounce. With one hand she clutched her dad’s jumper, the other white knuckle on the seat handle.

  The dream faded, replaced with blackness and a steady drone. But she was still moving, tilting this way and that. Her eyes fluttered open. She was in a warm, dark cocoon. She tried to move her hands. Her fingers crunched, but she felt the plastic cuffs tying her wrists together. She tried to move her feet. Similarly tied.

  There was a jolt, and her body lurched to the left of the small compartment she was in, and her head bashed against something hard. She winced, and moved her head back. She was tied up in the trunk of a car, that much was obvious.

  Her memory kicked into gear. How long had passed since she had been in James’ apartment? The thought filled her with a cold dread. Could this be real? She shook her head. That birth certificate seemed original.

  Where had James been living all these years? Where did Nicole run away to to give birth? There were a lot of unan
swered questions, but the most pressing one in her mind now was how to escape.

  Her eyes got used to the dark slowly. A thin shaft of light came in through a gap in the trunk, and as she looked around she found more tiny stabs of light. They didn’t illuminate a great deal. Arla unfurled her long legs, and found she could stretch them out to almost straight.

  Her lips were cracked dry and her throat was parched. There wasn’t much she could do but lie there, and conserve strength. At least the shafts of light told her it was daytime yet. The fact that the car was moving at constant speed and not slowing down told her she was on the motorway. She closed her eyes, and the movement lulled her to sleep again.

  *****

  When she woke up the darkness was complete. There were no shafts of light coming in through the cracks. It felt colder and she was stiff. There was another difference. She had stopped moving. Arla moved her neck, and tried to lift her head. It bumped against the hood again, and she slumped down.

  Arla listened. It was very quiet, and likely to be evening, or night, given the lack of light. She was still thinking when she heard footsteps approaching. A key turned, and the hood of the trunk yawned open. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, sucking it in greedily. The silhouette of a man appeared, framed against the dark sky. Strong arms grabbed her underneath the armpits, and dragged her up and over. She helped by moving her legs, but she didn’t have much leverage.

  “I can walk,” Arla said as the man tried to pull her across the ground. She stamped her feet lightly on the ground. Her captor stopped. She recognised James’ voice when he spoke, and a feeling of incredulity passed through her again.

  “Your feet are tied. How will you walk?”

  Arla was trying to see ahead of her. Light had faded almost totally, but she felt she could make out the edges of a field. She was out in the country somewhere. The air smelled clean, fresh.

  “If you untie my feet, I can walk.”

  “And let you run away?”