Isolated

by M. A. Hunter

  ‘I’ve had enough of this!’ Havvard barks, barging me out of the way and pushing past Owen, making for the front door.

  Rimmington moves out of the kitchen and shakes her head when the uniformed officer looks to her to see whether he is allowed to let Havvard leave. ‘Colonel William Havvard, I am arresting you on suspicion of causing or inciting a child to engage in sexual activity, contrary to Section 10 of the Sexual Offences Act 2003. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  I’m almost certain the vein throbbing in Havvard’s head is going to explode as he stares us down, but she isn’t budging and neither am I.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Now

  High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire

  As I walk into the former country manor, the heat from the crackling fireplaces at either end of the open room hits my cheeks instantly. Now converted into an upmarket bar and restaurant, this is where Maddie has suggested we meet.

  We’re now in that awkward period between Christmas and New Year’s Eve when it isn’t clear what the day or time is, and that probably explains why all the tables in the place are filled with families celebrating together.

  I’ll admit to feeling a tad envious that I’m not able to gather with my family at such a venue; Anna is still missing and Mum is back in Weymouth at her nursing home. After much consideration, and further reassurances from Pam Ratchett, I saw that Rachel was absolutely right. I can’t take Mum home and expect us to go back to how things used to be.

  I went up to the home on Christmas Day but it wasn’t one of her good days. Despite my telling her a dozen times that I was her daughter Emma, she continued to refer to me as one of the nurses. I know it isn’t her fault, what with all she’s been through in the last few weeks with her fall and the abuse from the other patient. I also know there will be better days and I cling to the hope that the next time I see her will be one of them. I’ve also made a New Year’s Resolution to see Mum a minimum of once a week when I’m in and around Weymouth. She needs me now and I think I need her too. Her illness is only going to get worse and I need to make the most of the limited time we have left.

  I can’t thank Rachel enough for helping me focus on the positives a new year will bring. Having her at home meant I wasn’t rattling around the old place like a spare part. Instead, we went for a long morning walk along the shoreline, made a small but adequate Christmas lunch together, and laughed so much our bellies ached by the time the sun went down. Both of us needed distracting from our messy families and I think we both managed to achieve that ambition.

  That’s where Rachel is going next. She dropped me at the pub to meet Maddie and is now set to visit her parents in the Cotswolds. How that engagement goes will determine whether I require the hotel room at the Travelodge five minutes from here, or whether she’ll be so cross she can’t bear to spend the night in their company. I do hope it’s the former, as Rachel doesn’t realise how lucky she is to have both parents alive and in good health. I just hope that they set aside their bias and bigotry and accept Rachel for who she is. Only time will tell on that one, I fear.

  Seeing Maddie wave, I raise my hand in acknowledgement, unfurl my scarf and join her at a small round table which is practically on top of one of the fireplaces. She is back to her smart best, not a hair out of place, her makeup carefully applied. You wouldn’t know she’d borne witness to a suicide ten days before.

  ‘I ordered us a bottle of wine,’ she begins, ‘and I know you aren’t much of a drinker but I thought we should have a drop to celebrate.’

  ‘Celebrate?’ I ask, hanging my coat on the back of the chair and sitting. ‘What are we celebrating?’

  Maddie unscrews the lid on the bottle, and pours a measure into each glass. ‘After much to-ing and fro-ing, the legal department has given the green light for the publication of Ransomed. It is set to hit the printing press next week. Because of the delays, they are eager to get the book released as quickly as possible and the PR team has been given a hefty budget to promote it. You can expect to see displays in most of the tube stations in Zone 1. They’re also keen to organise a flurry of signing events across the country if you’re willing to support them – all expenses paid for the two of us, taking in a total of twenty venues over a two-week period. You won’t be their only author on the tour but you will be the big draw, from all accounts.’

  I can feel my face folding in on itself as I squirm and wriggle in my chair. Maddie knows how I feel about making public appearances, even if it is just to sit behind a table signing books.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she chastises like a petulant parent. ‘I know you aren’t keen, which is why I insisted on coming with you. I’ll be sitting right beside you the entire time and I’ll help with any unwanted or unanswerable questions. Okay? I won’t leave you on your own. It’ll be good for you,’ she adds, raising her glass and angling it towards me. ‘It’ll help you build resistance to this anxiety you feel when faced with public appearances. Okay?’

  I lift my glass and clink it against hers. ‘If that’s what they want then who am I to question, right?’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ She smiles encouragingly, before lowering her glass. ‘There was something else I wanted to talk to you about as well. It’s about our phone call last week. I said one or two things that I’d rather you not mention to anyone else – specifically, about Jordan.’

  I hold my hands up. ‘Maddie, I wouldn’t, I swear.’

  She holds my gaze. ‘It isn’t that I’m ashamed of him, I just don’t want people to feel they need to constantly walk on eggshells when I’m around. That goes for you too. It’s eight years since he passed and whilst I miss him every day, I have learned to cope with my grief. What happened with that poor girl last week was a shock to the system and opened an old wound. Taking those few days over Christmas helped me get everything back into perspective. I hope my outburst didn’t worry you overly?’

  Her eyes are longing for me to say I didn’t worry but I don’t want to lie. ‘Next time it feels like things are getting on top of you, I want you to let me know, okay? I know our relationship is a professional one of author and agent, but I like to think we’re more than that, Maddie. You’re important to me and I want you to know that I’m here if ever you need me. God knows you’ve helped me when insecurity looms its head.’

  The smile softens her face. ‘That’s what I’m here to do. It still amazes me that you can’t see how talented a writer you are, Emma. Even with a Sunday Times Bestseller already under your belt and – if my predictions are correct – a second to follow in the coming weeks and months. Pre-orders of Ransomed are already through the roof. The fuss Lord Fitzhume’s proposed legal case has stirred up has been fabulous pre-launch publicity. Let’s hope he makes an even bigger fuss on publication day!’

  ‘I’m thinking about sharing Sally and Natalie’s story next,’ I say, curious to know how she’ll feel about the prospect of her role being brought to life. ‘I’ve already drafted an outline if you want to give it the once-over—’

  She presses her hand onto mine. ‘I think that would be a fabulous idea. A fifteen-year-old mystery featuring witchcraft, murder and a grisly cast, solved by our intrepid narrator? I can see the marketing team going wild for it already. Yeah, ping the outline over and I’ll give it a once-over before forwarding it on to your editor for agreement. If we time it right, and send it the day after Ransomed launches, I can see them falling over themselves to offer you a huge advance too. But you let me handle that side of things. Okay?’

  I clink my glass against hers again but she is suddenly on her feet and holding her arms open to someone approaching our table. ‘Ah, here he is. So pleased you managed to find the place.’

  I look up and am stunned to see Jack staring back. ‘Hi,’ he offers, leaning in as if he’s going to give me a kiss on the che
ek before reconsidering and thrusting his hand out for me to shake instead. He’s wearing dark jeans and a jumper bearing a penguin in a Santa hat.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, as Maddie hurriedly pulls on her coat.

  He frowns with confusion. ‘One o’clock, right? I know I’m a few minutes late but it took ages to get parked.’

  I look back at Maddie who is trying her hardest to keep the smile from spreading across her face. ‘I invited Jack to join us to celebrate the news about Ransomed as he played such a pivotal role in the investigation. The thing is, I’ve just remembered I need to be somewhere else but you two can stay and celebrate without me.’

  I’m about to protest at this lame attempt at matchmaking when Maddie pushes away from her chair. ‘Take my seat, Jack. And please, finish the wine; I barely touched my glass.’

  Maddie leans in and pecks my cheek.

  ‘I could kill you,’ I whisper.

  ‘Have a good time,’ she whispers back. ‘Just relax, okay? And don’t chew the sleeve of your cardigan.’

  And then she’s gone without another word, leaving me with the heat rising to my cheeks.

  Jack lifts up Maddie’s glass and swirls the wine like some connoisseur before taking a sip. ‘Very crisp on the palate,’ he comments, before grinning inanely at me. It’s hard not to mirror his warmth.

  ‘Did Mila have a good Christmas?’

  He nods. ‘Yes, as far as I’ve heard. She was disappointed not to get the horse she was after but her mum and new partner got her an iPad, so she’s the envy of all her friends. I think she’s happy.’

  ‘And you? How was your Christmas Day?’

  ‘I was working, actually,’ he admits. ‘I figured there was no point being cooped up in my stuffy flat.’

  ‘Working on anything interesting?’

  His eyes narrow. ‘I was following up on the contents of Arthur Turgood’s hard drive, as it happens.’

  I blink several times, my brain questioning the signals from my ears. ‘The hard drive? You mean Freddie Mitchell, of course. He told me you’d found videos of him on the same drive that had the one of Anna.’

  Jack nods grimly. ‘I’m pleased he spoke to you about it and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you directly. I wanted to but I know that you and Mr Mitchell are close, and I didn’t want to overstep. What else did he tell you?’

  Videos of me from years ago… where men are… doing bad things.

  The memory sends a shiver through my body.

  ‘He told me Turgood and the others would offer the boys treats if they agreed to be filmed.’

  Jack is nodding. ‘Yes, that’s what he told me as well. None of this came out at the trial and I’m speaking with the CPS at the moment about bringing further charges against the defendants for the production of this illicit material, but it’s still early days. We’d need statements from Freddie and the others confirming who was involved in the video making and then we’ll see if there’s any evidence that proves beyond a reasonable doubt that they were responsible.’

  ‘They were on his hard drive. Isn’t that enough?’

  Jack takes another sip of the wine, this time without the fuss of before. ‘Not necessarily. Turgood could easily argue that he downloaded the videos from somewhere. It’s enough for possession but not creation and intent to supply. That’s what I was following up on, on Christmas Day actually. Based on the sheer volume of footage found on the hard drive, it’s clear that Turgood was purchasing videos from other sources and I’ve been working with a guy who’s trying to unpick the source of the videos, by reviewing hidden meta data. I asked him to do the same with the video of your sister… and we got a hit.’

  My heart skips a beat and the breath evaporates form my lungs. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘We’ve found where the video of Anna was downloaded from. A team raided premises this morning and seized video equipment and computers, and apprehended multiple suspects in simultaneous raids. Now, before you get ahead of yourself, this is merely a distribution network and, given the age of the video on Turgood’s hard drive, there’s every chance none of the people arrested today had any involvement in the production of the video of Anna. It is, however, a step closer to preventing men like Turgood getting their kicks from exploiting vulnerable and innocent children.’

  ‘Where were these premises?’ I ask, my journalistic instincts kicking in. ‘What if Anna is still being held somewhere nearby?’

  Jack shakes his head. ‘As I said, this was merely a distribution network we’ve uncovered. There is no evidence to suggest that the videos they handle were filmed at the premises. Networks like this can sprout up anywhere there’s high-speed broadband and a ready supply of electricity. When they start to feel the heat, they shut up shop and move on. Today’s raids have been two days in the planning and were undertaken with only limited surveillance, due to fears the crew would become suspicious and move before they were apprehended. Everything I’m telling you is off the record. Are we clear?’

  I nod. ‘Where do we go from here?’

  ‘The suspects will be interviewed and will be asked to name names of footage suppliers. Hopefully that might help us turn over a few more rocks but we’ll have to wait and see. I want you to know that I won’t stop until the final lead has been chased down. Okay? I give you my word.’

  I try to force a smile but it’s hard when all I can imagine is monsters trying to bribe my sister to do such horrific things. The mood at the table has turned decidedly sour but it isn’t Jack’s fault. This rendezvous certainly hasn’t gone as Maddie – and I’m sure Rachel – would have hoped. But therein lies the problem. It doesn’t matter what attraction I feel towards Jack, nor whether it’s mutual. Ultimately, with this hanging over us, there can be nothing between us except professional respect.

  I do agree with his sentiment, however. I won’t stop until I know exactly what happened to my sister and, whether she is still out there or I’m just clinging to false hope, I won’t rest until I know the truth.

  THE END

  * * *

  Emma Hunter will return in Trafficked…

  * * *

  Order your copy today!

  Acknowledgments

  I always find writing the acknowledgements in a book so difficult, because there just never seems to be enough space to thank everyone who has had some impact on the production of the story. It could be as simple as a snippet of conversation that inspires a chain of thoughts that leads to an idea for a story, or a previously hidden plot twist.

  I still remember meeting with my editorial team in the HarperCollins offices in late summer 2019 and brainstorming ideas for possible new stories. My editor at the time (the brilliant Charlotte Ledger) challenged me to produce an original series with a main protagonist who wasn’t the traditional lone police detective or private investigator on a mission. She also suggested that the stories should focus on a subject that is so empathic and frightening that readers would tear through the pages to reach the end. And that’s kind of how Emma Hunter was born. That one meeting which lasted all of an hour set off a chain of events in my head that saw me plot out a series of six books that would be released back-to-back in a twelve-month period.

  Having received a green light for the series from Charlotte and Kimberley Young, I was put in touch with the effervescent editor Bethan Morgan who picked up the reins and ran with the series. She’s been a breath of fresh air in helping me develop Emma Hunter into this nuanced and real character. Sadly, I find myself having conversations with Emma in my head as we mull over plot developments. She is as real as you and me in my head, and I’m dreading the moment the series finishes, and I won’t be able to talk to her anymore (though I sense she won’t go quietly).

  I want to thank Lucy Bennett for her work in producing the series’ covers based solely on a few scribbled notes about where the future books would go. Thanks also to Lydia Mason, whose copy edit was relatively painless, and to Tony Russell who kindly completed the
proofread to pull out those all embarrassing spelling mistakes. Finally, no book release is complete without the fervent effort of the publicity team, so big thanks to Melanie Price and Claire Fenby for all they’ve done to raise awareness of the series and encourage new readers to pick up the books.

  Ransomed launched so brilliantly in September 2020, and that wouldn’t have been possible without the support of Rachel Gilbey who organised the 7-day Blog Tour on my behalf, selling the merits of the concept to all who would listen and ensuring everything ran smoothly. Thank you to Mary Anne Yarde who publicised an interview we did back in August to announce the arrival of this series, and to Karen King and Nicola Mostyn who allowed me to pimp my books on their blogs.

  Away from publishing, I wouldn’t be a writer if it wasn’t for my beautiful and always supportive wife, Hannah. She keeps all the ‘behind the scenes’ stuff of my life in order and our children’s lives would be far greyer if I was left in sole charge. I’d also like to thank my mother-in-law Marina for all the championing of my books she does on social media. Thank you as ever to my best friend Dr Parashar Ramanuj, who never shies away from the awkward medical questions I ask him. Thank you to Alex Shaw and Paul Grzegorzek – authors and dear friends – who are happy to listen to me moan and whinge about the pitfalls of the publishing industry, offering words of encouragement along the way.

  And final thanks must go to YOU for picking up and reading Isolated. You are the reason I wake up ridiculously early to write every day, and why every free moment is spent devising plot twists. I feel truly honoured to call myself a writer, and it thrills me to know that other people are being entertained by the weird and wonderful visions my imagination creates. I love getting lost in my imagination and the more people who read and enjoy my stories, the more I can do it. Don’t be afraid to reach out and let me know if you enjoyed Isolated because YOUR message could be the one that brightens my day next.