Snatched

by Stephen Edger

  2

  A group of about fifteen men in creased shirts, with their sleeves rolled up, stood in an office that was twice as long as it was wide. It was lined with wooden desks, each topped with a computer. Damp patches beneath the men’s armpits revealed the extent of their perspiration and also explained the whiff of BO circling the room at nose-level. Amidst the testosterone-fuelled creatures were the occasional, soft features of a woman.

  At the front of the throng, stood an average-sized man; he was in a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with a dark blue tie, loosened to accentuate his masculinity. His hairy forearms made him look only one evolutionary step ahead of Neanderthal man. He was pacing backwards and forwards, with the occasional wave of an arm and raised inflection in his voice. He had jet black hair but only at the sides. A few stray hairs remained to cover his otherwise, bald head. To make up for the lack of hair on his head, he had a full, bushy, black moustache. He was a man's man, or at least, that's what he told himself. His seniority in the room ensured nobody else disagreed.

  Behind the pacing man were three dry-wipe boards. On the first was scrawled in big black letters, 'What happened?' On the second board was scrawled, 'What we know?' and on the final board was the word, 'Theories?' This was one of several Major Incident rooms at the recently-opened Police Headquarters in the centre of Southampton. The name of the man addressing the sweaty crowd was Detective Inspector Jack Vincent, though he pronounced it 'Vin-sent' with the emphasis on the second syllable.

  The wooden desks formed an unconventional frame to the room but the layout was perfect for briefing sessions like this one, allowing the officers to perch on each other's desks and face the speaker. The office had been set up this way at Vincent's request as he liked to have everybody's attention when he was leading a briefing. He had his own personal office, the entrance to which was just over his left shoulder, and from there he had a window into the Major Incident room where the rest of his team worked. He liked to be able to watch them work. It was why he made sure he was the first to arrive every morning and almost always the last one to leave every night. He felt he had a duty to lead by example and that meant putting more hours into his daily toil than his colleagues.

  The Police Headquarters were on the edge of the city centre and from the room they were standing in, they had a perfect view of the Southampton docks, where trade boats and cruise ships would arrive and depart daily. The view served as a reminder that there was a big world of crime out there and they, as a team, were an integral cog in the justice-delivering machine and was duty-bound to provide protection to the residents of Southampton. To most of the men standing before him now, it was just a nicely-spaced office with a sea-view. That's why he was the boss and they were his officers, Vincent told himself: they couldn’t see the bigger picture like him.

  The windows to the office were flanked by wooden-slatted Venetian blinds and due to how new all the furniture and machinery was, from certain angles, the office could have been straight out of an IKEA catalogue. This was even truer, given that the local Swedish furniture store was under five minutes' drive from where they were based and had, indeed, been the first port of call for most of the items in the room. There had been a budget to spend and Vincent had made sure it was fully spent.

  On the dry-wipe board labelled, 'What we know' were several A4-sized photographs; some of the photos were in colour but a couple were black and white. The black and white photographs revealed the face of a man in his late thirties with dark, wispy hair and a hang-dog expression synonymous with mug-shots. Below the photograph was written the name, 'Neil Barrett' in the same black ink as the title. Beneath these two photographs were two colour photographs of a young, smiling face with long, flowing, blond hair. The smile was etched from cheek to cheek and had been taken on the child's seventh birthday, just a couple of months earlier. The name under this image was 'Natalie Barrett.' The innocence of the shot was in stark contrast to the furrowed brow of Vincent as he continued to address the listening army before him. The final photograph was of a school building with large blue gates protecting the building behind them.

  'So as I have said, this is a really important case for us,' continued Vincent, making eye contact with a select few individuals to show he was speaking directly to each of them. 'There is going to be a lot of pressure on us from the local media and inevitably the national press within days if we don't make a break quickly. You are here because you have the best detective-brains in Hampshire, and because I have chosen you to solve this case. Are you with me?'

  There were a few positive murmurs from the group.

  'I said are you with me?' repeated Vincent, louder this time.

  'Yes,' was the group's harmonious response.

  'Good,' said Vincent, pleased that his little pep talk had done its job. 'Now, D.C. Cooke was the first on scene when the call was made early on Saturday morning. Cookie, if you'd like to tell everyone what we know so far?' said Vincent taking a couple of steps to the side so that he was next to the first board.

  A woman in a grey trouser suit with a white blouse shuffled off the desk she had been perched on. She was, by no means a large-framed woman, but she was certainly no push-over either. She emitted the air that you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of her in the wrong place but her soft face and striking cheek bones were not in keeping with her muscular arms and betrayed her feminine wiles. D.C. Erin Cooke, or 'Cookie', to her friends, and colleagues, moved to the front of the office where Vincent had been moments earlier, in preparation to address the crowd.

  'Okay,' she said smiling, and taking a breath, 'The little girl in the photograph behind me is Natalie Barrett. She is the seven year-old daughter of Neil and Melanie Barrett of Sholing. She was due to be collected from school on Friday afternoon but when her mother arrived at the school there was no sign of Natalie. The Barretts checked with neighbours and Natalie's friends but none could confirm that they had seen or heard from Natalie. The Barretts went out walking the streets on Friday night to no avail and contacted us in the early hours of Saturday morning, when she still had not arrived home. As per standard policy, a statement was taken from the Barretts by the local uniforms and the case was then passed to the weekend duty C.I.D. I met and spoke with Mr and Mrs Barrett to confirm some details about Natalie.'

  Erin paused and swivelled her hips so that she was half-looking at the whiteboard with the photographs.

  'We know she was wearing a bright red coat, probably with the hood pulled up, as it was raining on Friday afternoon. Now, her mother was due to collect her at three p.m., when the school day ended, but was stuck in an appointment and did not arrive at the school until nearly four. Mrs Barrett is a self-employed nail technician and was at one of her client's houses in Lordshill and was late arriving because of heavy traffic. Uniforms have verified, with the client, that Mrs Barrett left Lordshill at two fifty-five on Friday.'

  Cookie leaned closer to the board and pointed at the mug shot of Neil Barrett.

  'Neil Barrett was arrested for possession of marijuana five years ago, and spent three months inside for intent to deal, but from what we know has otherwise been clean ever since. Local uniform have been called to the Barrett residence, by neighbours, a couple of times in the last three months to break up some arguments. No violence has been recorded in any of the reports but this is an angle we should probably take a look at.'

  'Where was the father at the time?' asked one of the group, before blowing his nose on a stale and used handkerchief from his pocket.

  'Neil Barrett is a mechanic and claims he was on a call-out at the time,' replied Erin. 'We are waiting to get hold of the garage's records to locate the name of the person whose car broke down. We should be able to confirm one way or another in a couple of hours.'

  'What's the kid like?' came the voice of another sweaty shirt.

  'She's very bright from what the Barretts have told us. She doesn't get into trouble, has never run away from home before an
d is a regular at St. Monica's Primary, where she was last seen.' Cookie paused for breath to ensure there were no other immediate questions. 'Mrs Barrett has admitted she has been late collecting Natalie in the past, but that her daughter knows not to walk home or to talk to strangers, so her disappearance is very out of character. Sir?' said Erin to indicate that Vincent would now continue the briefing.

  'Thank you Cookie,' he said, as she returned to where she had been standing earlier, and he moved back to the front of the group. 'Uniforms will be doing door-to-door enquiries of the houses and shops between the school and the Barrett's house today to see if anyone saw her walking or being approached by anyone out of the ordinary. I want half of you to join them.'

  There was a large groan let out from the crowd.

  'Look,' continued Vincent, growing impatient, 'I know none of us like knocking on doors, but we need everyone to put personal taste to one side and get involved. The other half of you are to go and interview all known sex offenders in Southampton. The register is in my office and I will speak further with those after the briefing. I want you to also make contact with your snitches and ruffle some feathers. Somebody knows what has happened to this little girl and I want you to find out.'

  'Are we certain it's not the parents?' asked the man who had blown his nose earlier. 'You know like that family up north a couple of years ago, doing it for the publicity and the money?'

  'We cannot be certain of anything at the moment, and we shouldn't rule anything out. Cookie will go and interview the Barretts again with me today and we'll explore that avenue. In child abduction cases, the first seventy two hours are the most critical.'

  Vincent glanced up at the wall clock to his right before continuing, 'Because of the weekend, we are already in the sixty-ninth hour and have no clues as to what has happened to this little girl. Now, get out there and let's crack this case. You're dismissed.'

  The crowd hopped up off the desks and started milling around. Some headed for the door, in need of an urgent nicotine and caffeine burst, others moved to their desks and started placing calls, whilst a couple went to the boards to take a closer look at the photographs.

  'Cookie?' said Vincent, calling her over. I’m meeting with the Headteacher at the school in twenty minutes and then I'll be speaking to Natalie's teacher. You should come with me. It's going to come as a shock and hopefully your relationship with the school will help smooth things out and help us get to the facts sooner.'

  'My relationship with the school?' she questioned.

  'That's right,' said Vincent, smiling reassuringly. 'Natalie was in Sarah's class. Your girlfriend may have been the last person to see her.'

  3

  The school bell sounded and was followed by the inevitable scraping of chair legs on the tiled floor as twenty-three children simultaneously stood up. They grabbed at the school bags that had been sitting in front of them for the last ten minutes, whilst Sarah had read them a story.

  'Okay, that's today complete,' she told them, shouting over the din. 'Well done for all your hard work today. Have a good night and I will see you all in the morning.'

  The children all made their way towards the single door that led out to where their coats were hanging up and then out of the exit door. In all, it took under three minutes for there to be complete silence and Sarah found herself standing alone, surveying the mess before her. In fairness, it didn't look as bad as it had done at lunchtime, but there were still a few stray chairs that had failed to find themselves back under the table. Not that it mattered, as Sarah was going to have to pick them all up off the floor and stand them on the tables to allow the cleaners to come in and sweep and mop the floors. In truth, it was Sarah's least favourite part of the day, as she genuinely loved each of the children in the class as if they were her own and she would have to wait another eighteen hours until she would see them again.

  The P.E. class in the hall had gone relatively well. She had made them do warm-up stretching exercises to begin with. Technically, they were doing very basic yoga but Sarah didn't want to admit this as the school would be expected to notify all the children's parents that they were being taught yoga by an unqualified instructor: it was just easier to maintain the white-lie. Sarah found that the class, in particular some of the troublesome boys, were much better behaved following yoga, and this is why she practised it.

  The yoga session had been followed by rope-climbing, jumping and basketball dribbling skills. The class had finished at two thirty, and once the children had changed back in to their uniforms, she had read them a story before the bell had sounded. It was a nice way to end the day, and ensured that there was less mess to clear up afterwards. Sarah had planned the class for today to be fun but relaxing and she was pleased that she didn't feel as exhausted as she usually did after class. The reason for today's approach was the evening she had planned for Erin later.

  Today was Erin's thirty-first birthday and Sarah had planned to recreate the atmosphere of their first date. It had been seven years ago and they had met through an online dating website that had deemed them compatible. They had sent emails back and forth for a few days before Erin had plucked up the courage to phone Sarah and talk. They had chatted about their interests and hobbies, where they had grown up and that kind of small talk. The conversation had been a little stilted, with neither quite able to ask the other on a date. Sarah was the one who had decided to bite the bullet and had suggested they go out for a meal together. Erin had just moved to Winchester, since completing her Police Constable training, and didn't have a car. Sarah had been living in Southampton for a little over a year and had volunteered to drive to Winchester. Erin had accepted the offer and had suggested a new Italian restaurant in the city that had recently opened.

  Sarah had been so excited that Erin had agreed to the date that she had failed to ask what dress-code was appropriate. On the day of the date, she had tried on nearly twenty outfits before opting for an elegant black, sequined dress with thin shoulder straps. She thought she was probably hideously over-dressed but preferred that possibility to being embarrassed for being too informal. They had agreed to meet at Erin's flat first, as there was free parking available and the restaurant was just around the corner anyway. When Erin had opened the door, Sarah had been blown away by how beautiful she looked, with straightened, black hair down to her shoulders and a figure-hugging crimson, maxi-dress. Erin would later reveal that she had fallen in love with Sarah at that same moment.

  They had walked casually from the flat to the restaurant in an awkward silence. It was only Sarah's second date with a woman, and she was still coming to terms with her sexuality. Erin had just come out of a two year relationship and was just reacquainting herself with single-life again. The Italian restaurant was beautifully decorated inside and, although small, it had a real Renaissance-feel that made them both imagine they were, in fact, in Rome, rather than Winchester.

  They had ordered a garlic ciabatta as a starter, to share as neither had particularly large appetites and still the awkward, stilted conversation had continued. It felt like a real God-send when the clumsy waiter inadvertently dropped their main courses, as he approached from the kitchen. Sarah had burst into a fit of giggles and soon Erin had been in tears, as she tried to contain her laughter. Erin then admitted that the restaurant wasn't her usual style and had suggested they make their excuses and head for a McDonald's. Sarah agreed that she would feel more comfortable in less-frivolous surroundings, paid the bill and they walked five minutes into the city until they saw the famous golden arches. They knew they looked ridiculous in their luxurious gowns, chomping on fries and drinking milkshakes but they didn't care and it made it feel like they were sharing a private joke that nobody else in the world was in on. Conversation had flowed from that moment and they only stopped talking, when the spotty duty manager had told them they needed to leave, as he had to close up.

  The conversation had continued until they arrived back at Erin's doorstep, where they had s
aid their goodbyes for the night. Erin had leaned in and tenderly kissed Sarah on the lips. An electricity had flowed through Sarah, and she had just known that Erin was the one for her. Erin had blamed an early shift the next day for not inviting Sarah up for a nightcap, but, in truth, Sarah had been relieved that she would not need to allow her clumsy awkwardness ruin what had been a thoroughly enjoyable evening. They had agreed, instead, to meet again at the weekend for a coffee.

  Seven years on and they were living in a two bedroom apartment on the second floor of a luxury block in Ocean Village, Southampton and life could not have been better. Erin had passed her Detective exams eighteen months ago and Sarah had successfully completed a training course on teaching children with learning difficulties, which would widen her scope for one day progressing to the Headteacher role she coveted. Sarah's father had still not accepted that his daughter was a lesbian, but then that was a different story altogether. Erin's parents had passed away in a plane crash when she had been eighteen. But none of that mattered, because, when they were together, they didn't need anybody else.

  Sarah was planning to cook a garlic ciabatta as a starter that evening, followed by a rich spinach and ricotta cannelloni main meal and zabaglione for dessert; she already had a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge. Erin was due home at seven, and Sarah planned to have the food on the table for when she arrived. She had also been to a lingerie shop to buy a seductive one-piece that she planned to put on for the evening. She tingled, thinking of what was to come.