by M. A. Hunter
Her mouth felt so dry, and as she skimmed the immediate horizon of the kitchen counters for anything resembling a drink, she was left disappointed. The mug of tea she’d all but finished on the table stared up at her, but she wasn’t desperate enough to down the ice-cold congealed contents. She was about to pick it up and attempt to fill it with water from the tap when she heard the key rattling in the door. Tucking her knees beneath her chin, she couldn’t tell if she was relieved or not when Chez crept inside.
‘Oh, you’re up,’ he muttered, closing the door behind him but not locking it. ‘Did you sleep okay?’
His eyes wandered across the table and settled on her pinhole eyes and squashed hair, realising exactly where she’d slept. He flashed her a pitying look, and it was all that was needed for the floodgates to open. She buried her eyes behind her kneecaps.
‘Hey, hey,’ Chez cooed, as he came over and squeezed himself behind the table, wrapping a warm and comforting arm around her shoulders, ‘there’s no need for tears. Your big brother is here now, Kylie, and you know I’ll look after you, don’t you?’
The truth was she knew nothing about him, and although she’d been willing to play along last night – her nails, eating pasta like grown-ups – she was suddenly only too aware of the grimness of their situation and she couldn’t pretend any longer. When sleep had finally come last night, it had been focused on the belief that she would be woken to the kind eyes of a police officer with her parents nearby, waiting to be reunited. She’d hoped if she wished for it hard enough that she could make it happen, but nobody had been listening.
‘W-w-where were you?’ she asked, her sob stuttering the words.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head and gently kissed it, in the same way her father did. ‘I was working.’
He’d said he would be back quickly, but judging by the amount of light that had penetrated the gloom when he’d opened the door, it had to be morning.
‘All night?’ she asked.
‘We were doing a night shoot… It overran. I’m sorry. I thought I’d be back sooner.’ His head suddenly snapped up. ‘Speaking of which, what time is it?’
He checked his watch and she saw his eyes widen with something close to fear. ‘Oh shit! We need to get this place cleaned up. Mr Brown doesn’t like messy quarters.’ He pushed himself away from her, lifting her plate, ready to stack it on his own. ‘You didn’t finish your dinner.’
The spaghetti had hardened during the night and some of the tomato sauce had stained the edge of the plate. It had felt so mature and fun to be eating last night, but now all it did was remind her of what she was missing out on.
‘I wasn’t hungry,’ she lied, as her stomach grumbled in disapproval.
He carried both plates to the kitchen countertop and she watched as he scraped the remnants of dinner into a polythene bag, tied the ends and carried it outside. He didn’t close the door, and a voice in the back of her head told her to stand and move to the exit. She obeyed, despite her terror at Grey’s words the night before.
A carpet of mist hung half a metre off the ground, giving the impression that they’d somehow been transported into the clouds. Beyond the immediate field, she could now see a barbed-wire fence, leading to a second field, on which cows were grazing and braying their woeful tune. Had they been there last night when she’d arrived? She couldn’t recall hearing any animal noises, but now she could hear nothing but their moos and detected the unmistakeable pong.
There was no sign of life in either of the other two caravans but, daring to move down to the next step, she could just make out a tall building beyond the third caravan. A barn of some sort, she would guess, though it wasn’t obvious how the cows would access it, as a small stream bisected the land near to it. As she stepped down again, the barn came into clearer view and it appeared to only be accessible from their current field. If there were fields and cows and a barn, they had to be pitched up on a farm of some sort, which had to mean there would be a farmer or farmhouse nearby. If only she could find it, perhaps she could signal for help.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ Chez said, reappearing from behind the caravan and ushering her back inside. ‘If Mr Brown saw you out in the open, he wouldn’t be happy. Come on, you can dry up while I wash.’
Stepping back inside, she made a promise that she wouldn’t spend so much time thinking about escape when the opportunity next presented itself. Instead, she would just run. To hell with the consequences; it sure beat the alternative.
Chez filled the sink and deposited the plates and cutlery inside, then wiped the table down with a wet cloth and straightened the cushions. He was surprisingly domesticated for one so young, but then he had commented how they were all treated as grown-ups in this place. It triggered a fresh thought in her head.
‘Are there others? Like you and me, I mean.’
He fixed her with a cautious stare. ‘You mean models and actors?’
She nodded.
‘Of course there are.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Ah, well, we don’t all spend time in the same places all the time. You’ll get to meet them soon enough. I’m here now to oversee your arrival, you see.’
He handed her a bubble-covered plate, and she wrapped it in the towel he’d handed her, wiping the suds from the surface, before standing it back on the table, uncertain where the plate had come from originally.
‘How many others are there?’ she tried again.
He passed her a second soap-streaked plate. ‘It varies. People come and go, but on average there’s between seven and a dozen at a time. They’re all a friendly bunch if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘Oh no,’ she replied defensively, ‘I was just curious to understand how all of this works.’
‘It’s best not to ask too many questions, and just go with the flow; easier that way.’
She dried the plate and stood it atop the first. ‘What happens to the videos you appear in? What I mean is, would I have seen you in something at the cinema?’
She didn’t know why she’d asked the question in that way, but something was chattering in the back of her mind.
‘They’re a special type of movie,’ he said. ‘Let’s just leave it at that. Okay?’
It would have been better had he just lied, but she wasn’t as slow on the uptake as he’d wrongly assumed. ‘Do the others act in these movies too?’
Chaz drove his hands into the water, sending a mountain of bubbles to plash up onto the draining board, and she heard him sigh in frustration. She hadn’t meant to anger him and took an uncertain step backwards.
She could see from the movement of his jawline that he was grinding his teeth, and she continued to move backwards like a naïve zoo keeper who had wandered into the wrong cage. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll stop asking questions. It’s just… there’s so much I don’t know, and I thought it would be better to ask you than one of the others. I’m sorry.’
He looked up and the anger immediately left his expression, but it was as if he was seeing someone else when he spoke. ‘I know, and I was wrong to get cross with you. If you can’t ask your big brother, who can you ask, right? It’s okay. Come on, let’s get the cleaning up finished and then we’ll get you changed into something more appropriate for travelling.’
She dropped the towel on the table beside the plates. ‘Travelling?’
He withdrew the cutlery from the plastic bowl, rinsed the suds from them with the tap, and placed them on the drainer. ‘Of course. We have to go and meet up with the others. You do want to meet them, don’t you?’
Her eyes flew to the door. He hadn’t locked it, but he was taller and quicker than her, so she’d never get away without distracting him. Unless…
Hurrying over, she gently wrapped her fingers around his upper arm. ‘Chez, can I ask you one more question?’
He emptied the bowl of water, dried his hands on his trousers, and faced her. ‘Go on then, but then w
e must get changed. I need a shower before we leave.’
Leading him to the cushioned bench, she pulled out the stool and sat. ‘I want to go home,’ she said, as her lip began to tremble. ‘I didn’t ask for any of this, and I really don’t want to be a model or an actress. I want to help people, not perform. Will you help me get home?’
He frowned at the suggestion, looking as though she’d just asked him to voluntarily lop off one of his limbs. ‘I understand your worry,’ he said quietly. ‘I was the same at first; terrified about what life would be like, but then I gave it a chance and it really isn’t all that bad. You’ll see.’
‘But I don’t want to see, Chez. Please, tell me what I have to do to get home.’
She dropped her eyes in what she believed was her most pitiful puppy-dog routine. She half-expected him to shout or grab her, but instead he pressed a warm and clammy hand to her cheek and just held it there until she met his stare.
‘Don’t be silly, Kylie. You are home.’
He wasn’t listening, and this was how she’d feared he would react. But sitting on the cushioned bench, he now had the table between him and her, which could buy her valuable seconds. There was no time to think about it, and she slipped off the stool, and charged towards the unlocked door, bursting through it and leaping off the three steps without even thinking. But impatience wasn’t her friend this time, and she landed in the surprised arms of Grey, whose surprise quickly darkened and he forced her back inside the caravan.
‘What the fuck, Chez?’ he glowered, as the boy fiddled to close and lock the door, with a hundred apologies spilling from his lips.
She rocked and squirmed, determined not to give in, fighting for her freedom with all her might, summoning the rage that had been building in her gut since the argument with her sister. But just as she seemed to be breaking free of Grey’s grip, Chez was at her feet, hoisting up her legs, and leading them through to the back bedroom.
‘Hold her still,’ Grey ordered with a growl, as they forced her onto the bed.
Still she continued to struggle, even more so as Grey placed his forearm across the top of her ribcage, so that he could reach for something inside the pocket of his suit jacket. His hand emerged a moment later and at first she couldn’t tell what he was holding, but then she saw him squeeze off the top of the syringe with his teeth, and before she could resist, the point of the cold needle was in her neck, and she couldn’t keep her eyes from closing as the cool liquid entered her system.
Chapter Fourteen
Now
Portland, Dorset
Jack’s denials about sleeping with this woman are all that fill my mind from the moment I lay eyes on her, and it’s all I can do to choke the words.
‘Wait, how come you’re here?’ is the best I can manage to mask the burning rage in the pit of my stomach. ‘Are you based in Portland now, instead of Poole?’
She smirks at the preposterousness of the suggestion. ‘They’ve drafted in detectives from neighbouring stations to join the hunt. Given my own extensive experience in this area, they’ve asked me to head up the investigation.’
I’m certain there’s an edge of excitement to her voice, like this is just a game to her, but I’m also sure that isn’t the case, and it’s just my feelings of resentment towards her that are colouring this whole experience. And I hope the ‘extensive experience’ she’s referring to has nothing to do with our last encounter; although she was SIO into the sudden emergence of Aurélie Lebrun, it was Rachel and I who stumbled upon the den where she’d been held, and it was my interviews with Aurélie that revealed the true extent of the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her captor, Jasper Derwent. I’m not usually one to blow my own trumpet but I resent anyone taking credit for my work, especially someone who tried to drive a wedge between me and Jack, and lived to tell the tale.
She stands, feet apart and shoulders as fixed as ever, and despite her small frame, she edges me by an inch or two. Her hair is shorter than I remember, but although it has been shaved at the back, her fringe hangs low over one eye. I hate how self-assured she seems when all I want to do is pull the rug from beneath her feet.
‘Is Jack around here too?’ she says casually, studying my face for any sign of reaction.
I do my best to hide my annoyance. ‘Jack’s working with the National Crime Agency now. In fact, they’ve taken over the project he and I were working on so that they can give it the necessary resource and support.’
I hate myself for stooping to her level of cockiness.
‘That’s a shame; it would have been good to catch up with him again.’ The smug look remains plastered over her face, and I wonder now whether she is revelling in the knowledge that she directly undermined my relationship with him. ‘Anyway, I was going to ask you what you’re doing here. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is still an active investigation, and I certainly haven’t called upon the services of “Super” Emma Hunter.’
The air quotes feel like another personal attack.
‘Mr and Mrs Neville asked her to come in,’ the FLO chips in, and I’m grateful she’s picked my side over Cavendish’s in this embarrassing entanglement. Her interruption also serves as a valuable reminder that I shouldn’t be allowing personal feelings to intrude on the gravity of the situation we find ourselves in. Jo-Jo is still missing, and the two of us bickering like adolescents is not what she needs.
‘You know the Nevilles well, do you?’ Cavendish asks, each syllable painted with scorn and mocking doubt.
I take a moment to compose myself before snapping back an answer that will give her the upper hand. ‘As it happens, no, no, I don’t know the Nevilles. I’m at something of a loss to understand why they felt the need to request my help, when they have such an experienced detective at the reins.’
Okay, I know it’s a cheap shot and I should be taking the moral high ground, but it feels good to temporarily wipe the smugness from her face and drag her down a peg or two. Ultimately, we both know I can’t be anywhere near an active investigation without the express permission of the SIO, and even then there are Non-Disclosure Agreements and the Official Secrets Act to be signed. I don’t think either of us is naïve enough to think Cavendish will be reaching out for my help any time soon.
‘And you’re sure it was the Nevilles who asked for Emma here, and not the other way around?’ The question is directed at Robyn, even though Cavendish’s glower doesn’t leave me.
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ she replies without flicking an eye. ‘They’re in there now, and asking for an update on the case.’
Cavendish nods, and it’s the reminder she needs to get things back on track. Pushing between Robyn and myself, she thrusts the door open and enters the room, immediately dropping to her knees at the table’s edge, taking Tina’s hands in hers. ‘Mr and Mrs Neville, we’ve not been formally introduced yet. I’m Detective Inspector Zoe Cavendish, and I’m the Senior Investigating Officer.’
I’m sure the emphasis on the words detective and senior were for my benefit.
‘I am at your service,’ she continues, and for once I don’t think the dutiful tone is fake. It serves as a reminder that before my rude awakening with her last year, she was a highly respected officer and must be well regarded to have earned her promotion to Inspector.
‘Is DS Meyers taking good care of you? If there’s anything you need, then you just need to ask her. She’s one of our most experienced Family Liaison Officers and it’s her responsibility to keep you informed of any updates from my team, and progress on us bringing Joanna back.’
‘She prefers Jo-Jo,’ Tina clarifies, but looks grateful for Cavendish’s personal assurance.
‘Of course, my mistake. Bringing Jo-Jo back is my number one priority. Okay? I have officers being drafted in from all corners of Dorset, and am in constant contact with neighbouring forces in Devon, Hampshire, Somerset, and Wiltshire. We will close the net on whoever took your daughter, and do everything within our power to bring her back
to you safe and sound.’
I lower my eyes, unable to shake the sensation that I wish we’d had someone as determined as Cavendish when Anna had gone missing. How can I despise and respect someone in such equal measure? Does that make me a hypocrite? I feel so confused right now.
The room feels stuffy with the five of us in here. Although there is a large window at one side, it faces out into the secure courtyard and there is no opening mechanism. There is an air-conditioning unit secured to the ceiling above the table; it’s not making any noise, suggesting it isn’t on, but it really should be. The blouse Maddie chose for me is now sticking to my lower back.
My eyes widen as I suddenly realise exactly where I’m supposed to be right now. Glancing at my watch, I know there’s no chance of me getting to the bookstore in the next five minutes, but it would be ill-mannered to whip out my phone and offer apologies to Maddie. I’ll have to message her as soon as I’m out. I’m sure when I explain what’s happened she’ll be understanding – at least, I hope she will.
‘That team of officers are securing surveillance camera footage from the properties and shops near your home,’ Cavendish continues, still crouched by their feet, ‘and that should help us understand exactly how Jo-Jo left the scene, and hopefully give us a valuable lead into where she went and if someone took her.’
The Nevilles tense at this last statement, but nod their understanding. I know better than most exactly what they’re going through, and it becomes clear to me that my being here will only serve as an unwelcome distraction to Cavendish and her team. As much as I want to help the Nevilles recover their daughter, I don’t want to be a hindrance.
‘I know you’ve expressed a desire to undertake a press conference today, and I have a public relations team sorting that as we speak,’ Cavendish continues, ‘but we have to tread carefully. Smothering the news and social media with Jo-Jo’s face is the best way to get the public looking for her too, but it could equally tip any abductor into acting rashly. We’ve already commenced the social media campaign so she’s in the public eye, but it would be my suggestion to wait a day or so before proceeding with the press conference—’
