The Choice

by Lake, Alex

  ‘Well, he loves her books,’ Edith said. ‘He’s a big fan. He was saying not so long ago that she had a new book out.’

  ‘Really?’ Dudek said. ‘When was that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe sometime around Christmas?’ Edith shrugged. ‘But he hardly knows her. He’s just a fan.’

  There was a noise from the room, and a voice called, ‘Come in.’

  Wynne smiled. ‘Well, it seems we can ask him for ourselves.’

  2

  Dudek walked in ahead of her. The minute he was inside, he turned to look at her with an expression she couldn’t read.

  She immediately saw why.

  Carl Jameson was not simply in this room; he lived in this room. There was a bed against the back wall, a large TV facing it, and bookshelves lining the rest of the room.

  Carl was sitting by the side of his bed.

  He was in a wheelchair, his head tilted to the side and resting against the headrest. His legs and arms were wasted, and there was a tube that extended from the frame of the wheelchair to his lips.

  Wynne was familiar with what it was for. It was a sip-puff tube, through which he could control the chair.

  ‘Carl Jameson?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ His speech was slurred and difficult to understand.

  ‘We had a few questions we wanted to ask you, about Annabelle West—’ she caught herself, ‘Anderson.’

  ‘Is she OK?’ His eyes narrowed; the concern seemed genuine.

  ‘She’s missing,’ Wynne said. ‘We’re trying to establish her whereabouts.’

  ‘I don’t know where she is,’ Carl said. ‘But I hope she’s OK.’ His eyes flickered to a bookshelf. ‘She signed her books for me. She read my poems. She liked them.’

  ‘Her husband mentioned that,’ Wynne said. She paused, then added. ‘He said she was a big fan.’

  ‘Really?’ Carl said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Dudek looked at her, puzzled. She’d explain later.

  ‘When was the last time you left the house?’ he said.

  ‘Yesterday. Mum and I go out every day.’

  ‘And two nights ago? You were here?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Carl replied. ‘What happened to Annabelle?’

  Wynne looked at Dudek. There was no point going any further. Whoever had met Matt Westbrook at the exchange was tall and thin and not in a wheelchair. She smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Jameson,’ she said. ‘You’ve been a great help. We’ll let you get on with your day.’

  ‘What happened to Annabelle?’ he said, his voice rising, despite the effort. ‘What happened to her!’

  In the hallway, Edith Jameson opened the door for them.

  ‘You didn’t know his condition, did you?’

  ‘No,’ Wynne said. ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘Well, now you do,’ she said. ‘And he had nothing to do with whatever has happened to Annabelle Anderson. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come back. I don’t want to upset him again.’

  ‘I understand,’ Wynne said.

  ‘He’s had a hard life,’ Edith said, tears forming in her eyes. ‘When he was born there were complications. I don’t know if it was that, but he was never like the other kids. And in the last few years he got this disease – motor neurone disease. I don’t know if it’s linked, or just a cruel twist of fate. But he hasn’t long left, and I don’t want you to disturb him again.’

  ‘We won’t,’ Wynne said. ‘And I apologize for upsetting him today. But we have to follow the enquiry where it takes us. We won’t bother you again though.’

  ‘If she’s OK, would you let me know?’ Edith said. ‘He would like to know that.’

  ‘Of course.’ Wynne backed out of the door. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Jameson.’

  ‘It’s not him,’ Dudek said as they walked to the car. ‘So what next?’

  ‘We find that van,’ Wynne replied. ‘Or we’ve got nothing.’

  Matt

  1

  Matt put the phone down and sank into the sofa. Wynne had told him about the meeting with Carl Jameson, who it turned out was both in a wheelchair and dying.

  Which left them with nothing.

  He looked at his kids. Norman and Keith were playing Minecraft; he normally hated watching them getting so absorbed in a computer game, but it was a relief they had something to take their mind off their mum. Molly was on his lap, her face tilted up towards him. It was the way she had always lain on him since she was a baby.

  And on Annabelle.

  That morning, Norman had woken first and got into bed with him.

  Is Mum still gone? he said.

  Yes.

  When’s she coming back?

  I don’t know. Soon.

  How soon?

  As soon as we can find her. The police are looking.

  Are you looking?

  I am. Do you remember anything about the kidnapper, Norman?

  He tensed. Not really.

  The police will want you to tell them everything you can. Is that OK?

  He paused. It’s OK. If it helps find Mum.

  Keith was different. He lay curled up next to Matt, not speaking. Matt kissed the top of his head.

  How are you?

  He answered quickly. His voice was quiet and strained, as though even this one word was an effort. Good.

  Are you worried? About Mum?

  A bit. A pause. Yes.

  It’s normal to be worried. But we’ll find her, OK?

  OK.

  He hated the feeling of lying.

  His phone buzzed. He looked down. It was Guy.

  ‘Guy,’ he said. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Matt. Is now a good time?’

  ‘As good as any.’

  ‘Is there any news?’

  Matt brushed his lips against Molly’s forehead. ‘None good.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘They thought they had a suspect,’ he said. ‘A fan who had come to her readings. But it turned out to be nothing. We’re still at square one.’

  ‘Damn,’ Guy said. ‘How are the kids?’

  ‘Good, considering. They’re worried. We all are. I think the police are going to talk to them today.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll need any help? Counselling?’

  ‘Maybe. But hopefully Annabelle will be back this afternoon and all this will be over. I don’t want to dwell too long on the alternative.’ He knew that soon he would have no choice; the alternative would become reality.

  ‘I hope so too. I’m heading into the office for a few hours, but let me know if there’s anything you need? I’ll have my phone on.’

  ‘I will,’ Matt said. ‘Thanks.’

  The problem was there was nothing Guy could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

  2

  What did it do to you to lose your mum when you were seven? Or five? Or three?

  He supposed a lot of children went through it. Parents died. Not all the time, but it happened. There were counsellors trained in dealing with bereavement, methods to help children understand and process their grief, then move on and live normal lives.

  Not easy, but possible.

  But what if your mum traded herself to save you after you were kidnapped? There were no methods for dealing with that, no well-trodden paths that led to understanding and acceptance. There would be guilt and pain and bewilderment and who knew what else.

  And then there was him. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her getting into the front seat of her car and driving away. Heard the shout as she saw her children.

  And every time he felt a stab of anguish that he had not stopped it, that he had agreed to let her trade herself for the children, that he had not called the police or raised a private army or done something.

  But they couldn’t have risked telling the police and there was no way Annabelle was going to leave the kids with whoever had taken them. And they had tried everything to track him.

  Their children had been in the hands of a
kidnapper. He could still remember vividly how that had felt. He had been desperate and panic-stricken, like the world was going to end at any moment and there was no price too high to pay to bring them back.

  He would gladly have sacrificed himself, but that was not what was being asked.

  The price was Annabelle and she was always going to pay it.

  But how would they explain that to the children?

  He glanced at his watch. DI Wynne was due in five minutes to talk to the kids.

  Molly was still lying on his chest, her eyes closed. Norman and Keith were playing Minecraft, building their virtual world.

  It was a moment of peace and he forced himself to enjoy it.

  He did not think there would be many more.

  Annabelle

  Annabelle pictured herself springing on the kidnapper as soon as the door opened, wrestling him to the floor, then sprinting away.

  That was hardly going to happen. She was in reasonable shape but she had never been in a fight in her life. Moreover, she had one working arm and the kidnapper was likely to be wary. Her chances of overpowering another adult with one arm and without a weapon or the element of surprise were limited.

  She tensed and straightened.

  She called the kidnapper to mind. Taller than the average woman, yes – maybe five ten, five eleven – but that slender, thin-hipped build …

  The handle turned, and the door began to open.

  Matt

  The doorbell rang just before midday. Matt got to his feet. Tessa was coming to look after the kids. Matt wanted to be there when DI Wynne talked to them, so Tess was going to entertain the two who were not being interviewed.

  He was a single parent, for the moment.

  He opened the door. It wasn’t Tessa; it was Mike.

  ‘Hi,’ Matt said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘Tessa called me. She had to go to the hospital.’

  ‘Oh,’ Matt said. ‘I see.’

  ‘She said to tell you she was sorry, but there was a pile-up on the M6 so it’s all hands on deck. She had no choice.’ Mike shrugged. ‘Life as an A and E doctor, I suppose.’

  It was, in a strange way, a reminder that life went on. For Matt, everything was suspended, but out there people were getting into car accidents and having babies and living and dying as they always did.

  He was about to shut the door when another car – an old Mazda – pulled up.

  DI Wynne got out of the passenger side. She was with another woman, who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was not in uniform and was not dressed in a long, floral dress. She wore glasses and had her hair pulled up in a ponytail.

  She did not look like a cop, Matt thought.

  ‘This is Rory Hall,’ Wynne said. ‘She’ll be the one questioning the children. She’s trained in this kind of thing. I’ll be present and may suggest things to her that she can ask. And you’ll need to be there too.’

  ‘Come in,’ Matt said. ‘The kids are in the living room. Would you like me to get them?’

  Rory Hall smiled. She had a lively, warm gaze, and emanated a sense of energy and intelligence.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. She had an Australian accent. ‘I’d like to talk to you before I meet the children. It’s useful for me to get a sense of who they are, and how best to treat them. I’d also like to know what they’ve told you, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ Matt said. ‘We can go into the kitchen. This is my brother-in-law, Mike. He’s going to look after the children.’

  ‘So,’ Rory said. ‘Why don’t you walk me through it?’

  Matt started at the beginning: he told her how he’d parked outside the shop and the car had been gone when he returned. At first he’d suspected the kids had done something, and then wondered if it was a prank.

  But then the messages came. And the photos and the demands and then the handover.

  ‘Could I see the photos?’ Rory asked.

  He handed over his phone.

  Rory studied them. ‘Thank you,’ she said, eventually. ‘What have the children told you, Mr Westbrook?’

  ‘Not too much. Norman said they were fine. No one hurt them. He said Molly missed me and Keith was quiet, so he tried to reassure him.’

  ‘You must be proud of him,’ Rory said.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Is there any sign of trauma?’

  ‘No. They’re worried, obviously. About their mum. I’m trying to keep things as light as possible, though.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. I think I’m ready to talk to them now.’

  ‘I love them,’ he said. ‘Please remember that.’

  Rory put her hand on his. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘I know this is a terribly difficult time, Mr Westbrook, but they’re lucky to have you.’

  Matt listened as she questioned the children.

  She had a clear method. She started each interview by introducing herself, and telling the child she was interviewing who she was and where she was from, then asked if they had heard of Australia.

  Norman had. He asked why she was here.

  ‘Because I fell in love,’ Rory said, with a warm and genuine smile. He could see why she was good at this job.

  ‘Who with?’ Norman said.

  ‘A guy called Frank.’

  ‘Is he from Australia?’

  ‘No. He’s from here.’

  ‘Is he nice?’

  ‘He is. Now, I heard you had quite an experience. Would you be able to tell me what happened?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Norman. ‘After Dad went to the shop, we were sitting in the car. A man got in. He told us, “Don’t worry, your dad sent me.”’

  ‘What did he sound like?’ Rory said.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was his voice high, like this’ – she spoke in a high-pitched voice – ‘or lower, like your dad?’

  ‘High. I think.’

  Rory glanced at Wynne. ‘Was it a woman’s voice? Or a man’s?’

  ‘A man,’ Norman said. ‘I think.’

  ‘Good.’ Rory said. ‘Did the man have an accent?’

  ‘Not really,’ Norman said. ‘Just sounded normal.’

  ‘OK. So after he got in the car, then what?’

  ‘He drove us somewhere, then gave us Coke. Mum and Dad don’t normally let us have that. And then we fell asleep.’

  ‘And when you woke up?’

  ‘We were in a metal room. I think it was maybe a van.’

  Wynne handed Rory a piece of paper. Rory showed it to Norman. It was the photo of him and Keith watching something on an iPad, while Molly slept beside them.

  ‘Do you remember this?’

  ‘Yes. He gave us more Coke and we fell asleep in there. The next time we woke up, we were on the way to the forest. Then Dad came.’

  ‘Did you see the man’s face?’

  ‘No,’ Norman said. ‘He always wore a hood.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rory said. ‘I think those are all my questions. For now.’

  ‘Did I help?’ Norman said.

  ‘Heaps,’ Rory said. ‘You helped heaps.’

  It was the same with Keith and Molly. Afterwards, DI Wynne, Rory and Matt sat in the living room.

  ‘What did you think?’ Matt said.

  ‘The kids seem to be fine, for the moment,’ Rory said. ‘Although I’m going to recommend that they see a doctor for a physical – and a tox screen as well – and then that they see a paediatric psychiatrist, as well as a counsellor. They’re going to need strategies to cope with this.’

  ‘I agree,’ Matt said. ‘And did you learn anything?’

  ‘Well,’ Rory said. ‘I thought it was interesting that the voice was high pitched. I don’t think we can rule out this being a woman.’

  Wynne nodded slowly. ‘I agree,’ she said.

  ‘Anything else?’ Matt said.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Wynne said. ‘I’m afraid that at the moment there is very little to go on. But we have other lines o
f enquiry.’ She got to her feet and glanced at her watch. ‘DS Dudek should be here shortly. We’re going to want to talk to your brother-in-law, if that’s OK?’

  Wynne

  1

  Mike Anderson sat in the armchair. Wynne was on the sofa with Dudek; she would have preferred to be at the station. She didn’t think Anderson was hiding anything, but you never knew, and she was of the opinion that people felt under more obligation to tell the truth when they were sitting at a table in a police interview room than when they were in an armchair in a family member’s house.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Anderson,’ she said. He looked dreadful, his eyes red and his cheeks hollow. ‘We’ll make this as quick as we can.’

  ‘Take all the time you want,’ he said. ‘If it helps find Annie then it’s fine by me.’

  ‘Where were you on Saturday evening?’ Wynne said.

  ‘I was here, from about nine thirty,’ Mike said. ‘Earlier on I was at the gym – near my home on the Wirral – and then I went for a drink with a friend.’

  ‘Who was the friend?’ Dudek said.

  ‘Duncan. He goes to my gym.’

  ‘His last name?’

  ‘Telford.’

  ‘We’d like to talk to him,’ Dudek said. ‘So if you could pass along his details, that would be appreciated.’

  ‘Checking my alibi?’ Mike said.

  ‘It’s standard practice, Mr Anderson,’ Wynne said. ‘Nothing more than that. After you had a drink with Mr Telford, what did you do?’

  ‘I went home, which was when Matt called me to ask me to come here.’

  Wynne folded her arms. ‘How long have you known Mr Westbrook?’

  ‘Since he met Annie. Maybe fifteen years?’

  ‘And you and him have always got along well?’ Dudek asked.

  ‘Yeah. Matt’s a great guy.’

  ‘No fallings out?’

  Mike shook his head. ‘No. Nothing that stands out.’

  ‘Did he ever mention anyone to you that he had fallen out with?’ Wynne said.

  ‘No. Matt’s a pretty friendly guy. Everyone likes him. You’ve only seen him in these circumstances, but if you met him in the normal day-to-day, you’d know what I mean. He’s funny, kind, relaxed.’