Snatched

by Stephen Edger

  ‘My colleague will now provide you with the images and contact points and again we would ask that you include the Crime Stoppers telephone number in any articles or reports that you run over the next few days.’

  Vincent turned to the Barretts and whispered that it would probably be best if they now left the Communications Suite so that he could receive questions from the press. Jimmy was the first up and out of the door, glad to be out of the glare of the lights and was quickly followed by Neil and Melanie.

  ‘Okay, now you can ask questions,’ said Vincent addressing the crowd, ready to be inundated.

  ‘D.I. Vincent, D.I. Vincent,’ shouted almost every reporter.

  7

  Sarah’s mobile phone vibrated on the kitchen table, behind her. She didn’t hear it at first, as she was singing along to the radio at the top of her voice. It wasn’t often she dared stretch her vocal chords; such was the feedback she had received in the past about her unique range. However, when she was alone, in the kitchen and cooking, it was as if she was auditioning for a talent contest. It was just her way of making cooking-time pass more swiftly. Sarah had returned home an hour earlier. And after a quick shower she had thrown on a pair of jogging bottoms and an old t-shirt, out of fear that the tomato sauce she was preparing would splash up and ruin what she had planned to wear at the meal. Sarah was no Masterchef and had gone to great lengths to find as easy a recipe as possible for the spinach and ricotta cannelloni she had decided to cook. Erin would appreciate her efforts, she knew.

  The mobile phone vibrated a second time, a reminder to the recipient that she had an un-viewed message. This time, Sarah did hear it, as the song on the radio was coming to its end. Sarah turned the knob on the stove to reduce the gas flame, so that the tomato sauce would continue to simmer. She then turned and moved to the small, wooden kitchen table that she had yet to set with cutlery. She unlocked the phone’s screen and saw that the message had come from Erin. She smiled as she opened it. The message read: ‘N.B. Press Conference on SKY news at 6:30. Can you record for me? Will be home ASAP. Luv U x’

  Sarah hadn’t realised that Natalie Barrett’s disappearance would warrant a press conference, and checked the time on the clock over her shoulder. It was nearly six thirty already, so Sarah quickly moved from the kitchen to the living room, grabbed the television remote and flicked through until she found the news channel. A scrolling, red banner, at the bottom of the screen, indicated that the press conference would be the next story on the screen. Sarah pressed the record button on the remote and was about to turn the television off, when she saw Erin’s face appear on the screen walking behind that other detective she had met earlier. Erin’s note hadn’t said she would be on the screen as well. Sarah gushed; she was dating a television star now! Well, not quite, but it was a nice thought and she would probably tease Erin about it later.

  The detective with the dark, bushy moustache sat down at the table in the room where the broadcast had come from and took a sip of water. Erin was no longer in shot and Sarah secretly hoped that she would feature again later. The detective introduced himself to the screen, and explained that he was there to appeal to the public for information about a missing school girl, Natalie Barrett. Sarah felt the cold knife pierce her heart once again, as the reality that Natalie may indeed have been abducted, hit home. She took two steps back and sat down on the sofa behind her, carefully dropping her mobile phone on the seat next to her.

  Images of a smiling, innocent Natalie flashed up on the screen while Vincent’s voice continued to speak in the background, but Sarah wasn’t really listening to him, she was too caught up in the images. What kind of sick bastard would snatch such a sweet child?

  The image of Natalie disappeared and was replaced by Erin once again, this time leading Natalie’s parents, Neil and Melanie, into the room. The picture then cut to show four people sitting at the table: Vincent at the far right of the screen, with Melanie, then Neil and then the man Sarah recognised as Uncle Jimmy. Melanie began to read from a piece of paper, in front of her but stopped after less than a minute and passed the paper to her husband, who continued to read from it. Melanie looked inconsolable and Sarah felt her heart lurch and had to quickly wipe a tear from her own eye.

  The cameraman continued to focus on the four people at the table, but Sarah could not take her eyes from Uncle Jimmy. He looked at least ten years older than Neil and had long scraggly, ginger hair that hung below his shoulders. He was wearing a creased grey suit jacket, which was covering an equally creased, white shirt. Even from where Sarah was sat, she could make out distinct stains on the shirt, which suggested it either hadn’t been washed prior to today’s appearance, or was just so old that those stains had become a permanent fixture. Never had Sarah seen a man looking so uncomfortable. He had a weird squint and his mouth hung down at the left-side of his face. It reminded Sarah of when she had been a child and seen her grandfather after his stroke. There was just something not quite right about Jimmy Barrett.

  Sarah continued to focus on him, until the image on the screen flashed back to the reporters in the studio who advised that they would be looking at the day’s sports stories after a commercial break. Sarah decided to watch the press conference over again and pressed the rewind button on her remote control and watched once more as Erin led the three Barretts into the room. As Jimmy took his seat, Sarah saw that his hair was thinner than she had first realised and that he was, in fact, partly bald on top. The bright lights behind the cameras also seemed to reflect off his forehead, suggesting that he was sweating, during the proceedings. She watched the whole press conference through to the end again and then switched off the screen. As she stood to return to the kitchen, she felt a shudder shoot through her shoulders and down to her feet. Jimmy Barrett looked like the sort of person Sarah would not want to meet on a dark night; he really gave her the creeps.

  Sarah suddenly became distracted by a smell of burning and remembered her tomato sauce was still on the stove. She rushed over to it and gripped the wooden spoon, which was in the pan, in her hand. A searing pain shot through her hand, and she realised that she probably should have removed the spoon when she had originally left the kitchen. She quickly grabbed at a single oven glove, which she slipped over her right hand and stirred the sauce. Pieces of chopped onion were stuck to the bottom of the stainless steel pan and it was this that was giving off the burnt odour.

  Sarah cursed under her breath: she had messed up yet another meal. Oh well, she thought, she’d use the sauce anyway and just leave the pan to soak; hopefully the burnt taste would be covered up by the garlic and cheese-infused béchamel sauce. Sarah placed each of the cannelloni tubes, which she had already stuffed with the spinach and ricotta mixture, in an oven-proof dish and poured the tomato and then the béchamel sauce over. She then grated more parmesan on the top and placed it in the oven, ready to be cooked when she knew Erin was on the way home.

  Sarah walked over to her tall fridge and opened the door. She removed an open bottle of white wine from the door and poured herself a large glass. It had turned out to be a stressful day, finding out about Natalie’s disappearance and then seeing the monstrous-looking Jimmy Barrett at the press conference. A thought struck Sarah like a lightning bolt, nearly causing her to drop her glass of wine. It was the memory of Natalie’s picture that was hanging in the classroom. The picture of the princess, trapped in the castle, waiting for the knight to save her. The image of the dragon in Natalie’s picture, now reminded her of Jimmy Barrett. Was Natalie’s innocent-enough painting, in fact, a cry for help on that rainy Friday afternoon? Was she scared of her Uncle Jimmy? Was it in fact her Uncle Jimmy who stopped her returning home? Sarah drained the entire contents of her glass and vowed to discuss it with Erin in the morning.

  TUESDAY

  8

  Sarah heard the bedroom door open and the shuffling of a pair of feet in slippers. She was aware that somebody was bustling about the room, but her eyes were glued shut, by a mi
xture of sleep and dried make-up. She tried to assess why she still felt so tired and why one of her arms appeared to be jutting out to her left, while the other was contorted and jutting out to the right. There was something soft, beneath her cheek, but, as she began to adjust her head’s position, her cheek came into contact with a damp patch and her lips pulled themselves into an involuntary grimace: drool. She pulled her right hand up to her face and wiped the corner of her mouth.

  Something heavy plonked down on the bed next to her, so that it was touching her bottom through the duvet. The action made Sarah roll over, to see what the intrusion was and as her eyelids cracked apart, she could make out the figure of Erin, sitting in a navy blue trouser suit, staring adoringly back at her. Sarah tried to smile, but her facial expression looked more one of pain than pleasure, so much so that Erin asked, ‘Are you okay?’

  Sarah attempted to say, ‘Yes,’ but it came out as more of a grunt.

  ‘I made you some tea,’ said Erin, rubbing Sarah’s leg through the duvet. ‘I also brought you up a glass of water, as I thought you might need it.’

  Sarah rolled over from her front to her back, and then into a sitting position, so that her back was resting against the soft headboard. She was about to speak when a stabbing pain tore through her head, as if somebody had just stabbed her with a meat skewer. She instinctively moved her hand to her forehead, to protect herself.

  ‘Head hurting?’ enquired Erin.

  ‘Yeah,’ Sarah replied through the pain.

  ‘I thought it might, judging by the empty bottle of wine I found in the kitchen. I’ll fetch you some painkillers.’

  With that, Erin padded out of the room, still in her slippers, returning moments later with a plastic bottle of pills in her hand. She removed the child-safety cap and tipped a couple of white pills into Sarah’s grateful, extended hand. Sarah threw the pills into the back of her throat and washed them down with a large gulp of water from the glass that Erin had brought up and put on the bedside table.

  Erin waited for Sarah to regain some of her focus before saying, ‘I’m sorry about last night.’

  Sarah left the statement hanging while she tried to remember what had happened the previous evening that was making Erin apologise. Then it hit her, causing further stabbing pains as her memory cells started firing. Sarah had watched the press conference and had been eagerly waiting for Erin to arrive home but, when she still had not returned by eight p.m., Sarah had decided to put the prepared cannelloni in the fridge, ready to cook on Tuesday instead. It wasn’t the first time that Erin had not been home in time for dinner and it was the one thing that Sarah detested about her partner’s chosen profession: the unsocial hours. Sarah had continued to drink the wine, and given that she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, she was soon quite drunk. In all honesty, Sarah was usually pretty tipsy after one glass of wine, so she was in no fit state to do anything by the end of her third glass. With no word from Erin, Sarah had headed for bed and a paralytic night of sleep. Well, at least that explained the headache and nausea.

  ‘After the press conference,’ continued Erin, when Sarah didn’t say anything, ‘we started getting all sorts of calls from people claiming to have seen a little girl in a red coat, waiting outside the school and walking past shops, around the corner from the school. Vincent asked me to accompany him to interview one supposed witness, who claimed to have seen her getting into a blue van. We got to her house, just after eight, and she gave us a description of the car and driver, and we were about to radio it in when the woman’s son arrived and explained that his mum suffered with dementia, and couldn’t possibly have seen the little girl, as she had in fact been out to dinner with him at the time. Vincent nearly went ballistic, and was ready to charge her with wasting police time, but I managed to get him out of there before he said something he might regret.’

  Erin paused to check that Sarah was still listening before continuing, ‘We got back to the station just after nine and heard from the rest of the team that they had also experienced prank callers and had no new, tangible leads to work with. It was just a waste of time. By the time I got home, you were already in bed and from the way you were snoring, I knew you must have had a drink, so I slept in the spare room. I’m really sorry I didn’t phone to let you know what was going on, but Vincent gets a bit funny about us making personal calls when on duty. I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Sarah, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. ‘It was for your birthday, so you don’t need to make anything up to me.’

  ‘But I know you went to a lot of trouble to cook for us and I feel bad that I wasn’t here to enjoy it.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  Erin looked down at the small watch on her wrist. ‘It’s just coming up to seven. I thought you might want to jump in the shower before school starts.’

  ‘Oh shit. School,’ said Sarah, wondering how she was going to make it through a day of energetic children, with a hangover. ‘Do you want some breakfast?’

  ‘I’ve already eaten, I’m afraid,’ replied Erin. ‘Vincent wants us in by eight so I’ll have to go in a bit. I can fix you some toast if you’d like?’

  ‘That would be great,’ said Sarah smiling, grateful for the offer and starting to feel less upset about the previous evening’s spoiled date.

  ‘Okay,’ said Erin, standing and patting Sarah on the leg, once more. ‘Jump in the shower and I’ll have the toast ready for when you get out.’

  Erin disappeared out of the room again and Sarah pushed the duvet back and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, feeling cleaner and more awake, Sarah threw on a dressing gown, wrapped a towel around her hair and charged towards the kitchen, eager to catch Erin before she left the house. Sarah had recalled the press conference and the connection she had made to Natalie’s painting.

  ‘Oh thank God you’re still here,’ said Sarah, when she saw Erin standing at the counter top, buttering toast.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Erin, noticing the concerned look on her girlfriend’s face.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ answered Sarah, calming her breathing. ‘While watching the press conference last night, I remembered something Natalie did on Friday.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Erin as she looked for a piece of paper to jot some notes on.

  ‘On Friday afternoon, I asked the children to write a story and paint a picture, depicting a scene from the story. Natalie wrote about a beautiful princess who was trapped in a castle that was being guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. In the story, a brave knight slays the dragon and rescues the princess.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What do you mean, ‘and’? Don’t you get it? It was a cry for help!’ replied Sarah, confused at how Erin couldn’t see what she was saying.

  ‘A cry for help? The story sounds like every child’s story I’ve ever read. What makes you think that it has anything to do with her disappearance?’

  ‘I was watching the press conference and saw Natalie’s Uncle Jimmy there. I think he is the dragon from Natalie’s story.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?’ asked Erin.

  ‘No. Think about it. What do you know about Jimmy Barrett?’

  ‘I can’t really discuss this with you, Sarah. It’s an active investigation.’

  ‘Come on, Erin, humour me.’

  ‘No, Sarah, I can’t do that.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Sarah realising that Erin wasn’t going to budge. ‘I know Jimmy has returned from active duty in Afghanistan in the last year. He is currently living with Natalie’s parents. They live in a three bedroom terraced house; it can’t be easy. Natalie is not the sort of girl who would get into a car with a stranger. What if Jimmy had come to pick her up? She’d have got in a car with him, wouldn’t she? He’s family, after all.’

  ‘Maybe, but how does the fire-breathing dragon fit into it?’

  ‘In child psychology, they say that a fir
e-breathing dragon depicts a monster, right?’ said Sarah. ‘What if Jimmy was hurting Sarah or threatening her, wouldn’t a child deem that person a monster?’

  ‘It’s still a bit of a stretch, Sarah.’

  ‘Is it, Erin? Is it? What about that family up North a few years back who claimed their daughter had been abducted and then she turned up at some uncle’s or neighbour’s house? Do you really think it isn’t possible that he might know more than he is letting on? Did you see how nervous he looked during the press conference? He seemed guilty about something, if you ask me.’

  ‘I can’t go to Vincent and say we should issue a warrant for Jimmy Barrett’s arrest because of a child’s painting. He’d probably kick me off the team,’ said Erin, honestly.

  ‘I’m not saying you should present it to him straight away. Just do some digging into Jimmy Barrett’s background, will you? Find out where he was or what he was doing on Friday afternoon. Do it for me, Erin. Please?’

  Erin looked at her girlfriend and could see the sincerity dripping from her eyes.

  ‘Okay, Sarah. I’ll do some digging. But I’m not going to Vincent yet; not till I have found something.’

  Sarah smiled at Erin and said, ‘Thank you.’

  9

  Sarah paced from the kitchen to her bedroom, and back. She had an important phone call to make, but, like with most important phone calls, her stomach was tense, with a mixture of nerves and excitement. She had been meaning to make this call for several weeks now, and had persistently put it off, feeling that the time just wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t put it off forever.