by M. A. Hunter
The alleyway is empty, but I can see from the damp, flattened cardboard boxes that line the concrete that it has been used as a resting spot by someone recently. I turn slowly in a circle, looking for anyone who might be able to tell me if Freddie’s been by, but whoever was sleeping there is long gone. I continue onwards,
The smell of fish is overpowering here, being so close to the water, and I stop for a moment, looking out at the bobbing boats. This was my dad’s favourite part of the town. He used to tell me it was because it was far enough from the bustle of shoppers and beach dwellers, and how the lapping of the sea against the wall almost sounded as though it was applauding our efforts to contain it. I wonder what he’d make of all the council’s attempts to attract more tourists to the town.
‘Give me your purse!’
The deep baritone voice is so sudden that I instantly freeze, and my neck slumps below my shoulders. The breath catches in my throat, and it’s like my body has decided to play musical statues.
I didn’t notice anyone approaching, but I can feel their shadow hanging over me now, and how the breath suddenly bears the scar of tar and stale beer. I don’t dare turn.
‘Give me your fucking purse!’ the voice yells again.
Suddenly there’s a hand on my shoulder and I am yanked back and spun around. A spindly kid of about fourteen or fifteen is standing there, his face a scowl of anger and menace. Light bounces off the blade in his hand and temporarily blinds me. I know if I were braver, I could club him around the head with my bag, and follow it up with a knee to his groin, but that part of me is in hiding. I can’t speak and I can’t move. There is nobody in my immediate periphery, so I don’t think shouting or screaming would help anyway.
My eyes fall on the blade as he moves it closer to me and reaches for the strap of my satchel. I don’t resist as he slips it from my shoulder. All I can think about is how unfair it would be if I were to die right now when my sister has only just returned to me. Then I picture Jack stepping out of the shower and seeing my note and not realising how much I wish I hadn’t screwed up the version with the hand-drawn heart.
The kid wrestles the strap over my trembling wrist and unzips the satchel. Why won’t he just go? He has what he wanted, and I haven’t caused him any trouble.
His eyes rise from the contents of my satchel up to my face. ‘Is this it? Ain’t you got a tablet or anything?’
I literally only grabbed my purse and phone this morning, neither of which have any particular value. I shake my head in answer to his question, aware that my flat keys are in my coat pocket. What if he isn’t satisfied and goes to my house to search for more stuff?
‘P-please,’ I whisper. ‘I have nothing else.’
He narrows his eyes and his gaze lowers to my coat pockets, but then a noise to my left distracts him. A heavyset man in a high-visibility jacket is walking in our direction, laughing uproariously at something he’s just heard on his phone. The kid takes one look at him and scarpers.
My legs go, and I crash to the wet floor.
The man in the high-vis jacket calls 999 to report the crime, and waits with me until the PCSO arrives. I’ve never been so relieved and embarrassed to see Rick Underwood. He takes a description from the man with me who then departs, leaving me leaning against the railings and Rick’s uneasy gaze on me.
‘You’re pale as a sheet,’ he says. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
It’s lucky he hadn’t seen me twenty minutes ago; at least some of the blood is starting to return to my cheeks.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I tell him.
‘Can you describe your attacker, including any distinguishable features that might help us identify him?’
I try my best, but already his face is fading to little more than a blur, as the adrenaline begins to slowly subside.
‘Sounds like one of a dozen of the kids around here,’ he admits sombrely. ‘Could be motivated by any number of factors: drugs, alcohol, boredom. Sorry, I know it isn’t any consolation, but it wasn’t personal.’
Something stirs in the back of my head. The attacks on Rachel, Saskia, and Jack float nearby. Was this really just a random act of violence, or was there another reason somebody wanted to take my purse and phone? Yet further obstacles in the way of the truth. Or am I just being overly paranoid in light of everything that’s happened these last few weeks?
‘I’ll give you a lift home if you like,’ Rick offers.
I think about the look on Rick’s face when I saw him two days ago when Jack and I were on our way to Market Harborough. How has it only been two days? It feels like a lifetime ago.
‘I’m surprised you’re back in town,’ he says, less casually than I think he intended.
The last time he saw me I was clutching my passport and overnight bag, so I suppose he must have assumed Jack and I were off on a short break away. I wish we had been, rather than how things played out that day.
‘Listen, Rick,’ I begin, conscious that now isn’t the time for a conversation about my personal life, ‘I’m sorry about the way we left things. There’s so much going on that I don’t even know where to begin.’
‘It’s okay, Emma. You don’t need to apologise.’ He leans closer, lowering his voice. ‘We never agreed what we were. We went on a couple of dates, which I really enjoyed, and I think you know how attracted I am to you, but we never had the conversation about where things were heading.’
The blood is rushing back to my cheeks in earnest now, but he won’t stop speaking for long enough for me to interject.
‘I’ve read Ransomed and Isolated. I know you and Jack are close, and the last thing I want is to get in the way of that… When I saw the two of you at your place, I was disappointed, as I’d planned to have that conversation with you and had worked it all out in my head. I went home and saw Mum and was in a bit of a mood. She told me that anything worth having is worth fighting for, and it made me realise something: I’m not ready to give up on the possibility of us.’
I don’t know what to say. Verbalising my emotions has never been a strength, and although my mouth opens to reply, my brain has yet to queue up any words to come out.
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘now isn’t the time to be talking about any of this, and it isn’t fair for me to put you on the spot. All I ask is that you think about what I’ve said. I like you, Emma. I really like you, and if you’d give me the chance, I’d spend the rest of my life trying to brighten yours.’
He moves back to his car before I can say anything else. Jack must be wondering what’s taking me so long, but without my phone I can’t even message him to let him know where I am. The last thing I need is for Jack and Rick to run into one another again.
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll walk,’ I tell Rick, brushing some of the sea mist from my jacket. ‘It’ll help clear my head.’
He doesn’t argue, but waits in his car until I’m safely back over Town Bridge before driving away. The walk home is quieter, and I keep my eyes on my feet, now overly aware of my surroundings, and silently questioning everyone around me. It’s why I’m shocked as I near the flat to see a car parked outside my flat, and DI Marina Oakley glaring at me from behind the wheel.
Chapter Fifteen
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
‘Where is she?’ Oakley demands, thrusting her door open and rolling out towards me.
‘Where’s who?’ I ask absently, uncertain why Oakley would be at my door here in Weymouth.
‘Time is of the essence, Miss Hunter, and I would have thought, given your previous experiences, you would know just how important that is.’
A couple have stopped walking to watch the drama unfold. I can just imagine Maddie ticking me off for allowing myself to be videoed having an argument with a senior police figure.
‘I genuinely don’t know what you’re doing here,’ I say calmly, putting my hands up in a not too dissimilar way as I did for the gunman, ‘but please come into my flat, and then we can discuss it l
ike rational people. Okay?’
I extract my house keys from my coat pocket, and hold them out so she knows they aren’t a weapon, before climbing the stairs to my front door and unlocking it. Bored, the couple who’d stopped move off again, as Oakley follows me inside.
‘Finally!’ I hear Jack exclaim. ‘I was beginning to think I should send out a search…’ His words trail off as he steps out of the kitchen and sees me with Oakley.
I don’t have time to get into a detailed explanation about how my morning’s turning into a nightmare, and spin to face Oakley. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I just want to know where your bloody sister is.’
My brow furrows. ‘Anna? I don’t know. I haven’t seen her. Why? What’s going on?’
Oakley stares at me for a long time, and I sense she’s trying to read my body language for signs of deceit. Satisfied, she moves past me and into the living room, looking left and right, before completing a full review of my flat. She hasn’t asked if I’m comfortable with her searching my property, nor has she given any reason why she’d want to, but I let it slide as I know I have nothing to hide.
She returns to the living room, where Jack is whispering to me, asking what the hell is going on.
‘Your sister is in a lot of trouble, Miss Hunter,’ Oakley says, moving to the window, and staring out at the crashing waves across the road, ‘and if you don’t want to join her, you’d better start talking fast.’
I scratch my head, trying to think of why Oakley has driven all the way to Weymouth, and why she might think Anna is here. I suppose she may not be aware that Anna refused to see me after she was bailed yesterday, so if I were in Oakley’s shoes and looking for Anna, my flat seems a logical enough first stop. But why drive four hours to check, when she could have just as easily requested the Weymouth and Portland police stop by? And more importantly, what has happened that means she’s suddenly hunting for Anna again? Have they turned over new evidence and want to pick up where they left off? Surely she would have had to provide them with residence details to be bailed. At the very least they could try phoning Saira and checking, rather than me.
Oakley turns to face me. ‘When did you last speak to your sister?’
I look at Jack for corroboration. ‘I haven’t spoken to her. You wouldn’t let me see her, and then she refused contact once you released her.’
‘I want to see your phone,’ she says, eyeing the satchel I’m still holding.
‘I don’t have it,’ I reply apologetically.
‘Where is it?’
‘You’re not going to believe this, but it was stolen this morning.’
‘What?’ Jack speaks up. ‘Where? When? Is that why you took so long?’
‘I was mugged,’ I tell him. ‘We can discuss all that later.’ I fix Oakley with a hard stare. ‘I’m happy to provide you with my mobile number so you can check with my provider that I haven’t been in contact with Anna. I haven’t made or received any phone calls or text messages since your DS Yates phoned me two days ago. Phone my provider and they’ll confirm.’
‘Ma’am,’ Jack says, ‘if you tell us what’s going on, Emma and I will be only happy to help in any way we can.’
Oakley moves across to the armchair and perches on the edge of the cushion, while Jack and I sit on the sofa.
‘Just before half-past seven this morning, a child was abducted in Southampton. A girl, aged fourteen, who was waiting at a bus stop. A witness who was out walking her son to school said she saw a white Hyundai i20 pull up and the driver speak to the girl, who then climbed into the front before the car sped away. The girl never made it to school.’
My eyes narrow. ‘With all due respect, what does any of that have to do with me or Anna?’
Oakley interlocks her fingers. ‘The i20 was stolen from a residential street five minutes from where the girl was taken. A dog walker reported a woman in her early thirties with a shaved head smashing the rear window of the car with a brick, before speeding away with it.’
My chest tightens and the air evaporates from my lungs.
‘We have traffic camera images of the i20 heading from that scene to the abduction site and then onwards onto the A31, heading west. We lost track of the car just west of Ringwood.’
‘You think Anna abducted this girl? That’s ridiculous. Why would she?’
‘You tell me, Miss Hunter.’
I glance at Jack, who looks equally gobsmacked.
‘Ma’am, if I may? A woman with a shaved head stole a car and then supposedly abducted this fourteen year-old girl? I appreciate how serious a crime that is, but what I don’t understand is how you’re involved.’
She considers the statement, but chooses not to answer it. ‘Where would your sister go, Emma? She’s already in enough trouble because of the shooting without adding child abduction to her list of crimes. I need to find her ASAP.’
I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a nightmare that I can’t wake from.
‘Have you spoken with her solicitor?’ I try. ‘The last thing she said to me was that Anna needed time to clear her head before dealing with the prospect of a long-lost sister. I haven’t seen Anna for twenty-one years, and I have no idea what she’s been up to, or where she might go.’ I pause, and try to gather my thoughts. ‘Just because a witness said a woman with a shaved head stole the car, it doesn’t mean it was Anna. Surely you must have more to go on than that?’
‘The witness also said she was wearing a charcoal-grey sweatshirt and light-grey joggers; the exact outfit Anna was wearing yesterday when she was bailed.’
‘That’s still not enough to leap to the conclusion that another woman with the same taste in threads and haircut isn’t responsible,’ I counter.
‘Nor why you have any involvement in the hunt for her,’ Jack echoes. ‘Do you seriously expect us to believe that in,’ he looks at his watch, ‘under four hours Hampshire Constabulary have managed to rule out all other suspects, and have narrowed it down to the woman who is your chief suspect in the shooting of Anthony Tomlinson?’
She considers Jack for a moment, and I imagine she’s weighing up how she would deal with such a challenge from one of her own team.
‘Who is the girl who’s missing?’ I ask, desperately trying to control my own rising temper.
‘Her name is Daisy Beauchamp.’
The name means nothing to me, and Jack’s face shows no recognition either.
‘Who is she?’ I ask.
Oakley narrows her eyes. ‘On the face of it, she’s just an ordinary teenager, with parents who are worried sick about her.’
‘And is there anything you’ve found to tie Anna specifically to her? What I mean is, are you saying that after she was bailed yesterday, Anna made her way to Southampton and snatched this girl at random, or is there more to it?’
‘The team in Southampton are checking Daisy’s phone records and messages, and examining her computer thoroughly. If there is a connection, they’ll find it.’
There’s more she’s not saying, I can sense it, but I can’t decide if she’s deliberately toying with me, or whether it’s simply that she doesn’t trust me.
‘I swear to you I know nothing about any of this,’ I say earnestly. ‘Thirty-six hours ago I didn’t know for certain that my sister was still alive. I’d like to argue that she couldn’t be responsible for abducting a child because it is so out of character, but the truth is,’ and I sigh as I say it, ‘I don’t know anything about her character. Before you told me otherwise, I would have said no sister of mine could murder anyone…’ My words trail off, and for the first time I’m relieved I didn’t mention any of this to Mum last night.
Oakley pulls a phone from her pocket and checks the display, before looking at the two of us again. ‘Daisy Beauchamp is the great-niece of Ian Beauchamp. Does that name mean anything to either of you?
I shake my head but see Jack nodding in my periphery.
‘As in the Ian Beauchamp? Former Tory backbencher?
Oakley nods, her eyes still narrowed. ‘And one-time party leader candidate, after John Major stepped down in the mid-90s.’
‘His name came up in connection with my work at the NCA,’ Jack whispers, ‘but he was ruled out of any involvement.’
‘I’ve been doing some research of my own,’ Oakley continues, uninterested in what Jack has just uttered. ‘After we bailed your sister, I asked DS Yates to find out more about the two of you. I had no idea you were so instrumental in locating Cassie Hilliard, Sally Curtis, and Aurélie Lebrun.’
Technically, we didn’t help find Aurélie, but I’m loath to correct her. Jack remains silent too.
‘I also spoke to a contact of mine at the NCA where you were recently seconded, PC Serrovitz, and he told me – off the record, of course – that you’ve been investigating a trafficking ring. So it just makes me suspicious that I have a suspect accused of killing one prominent member of society, and abducting the great-niece of another, who just happens to be related to you.’
You and me both, I don’t say.
‘You still haven’t told us why you’re so certain that Anna Hunter is the person you’re looking for in relation to the abduction,’ Jack says evenly.
‘An anonymous tip was phoned through to the 999 switchboard reporting the abduction,’ Oakley replies, ‘naming Kylie Shakespeare as the kidnapper, and specifically mentioning the Tomlinson shooting. I was informed about that call just before eight o’clock this morning while I was on my way to London, and diverted here.’