Hold My Hand

by M. J. Ford

  After a time, a squad car arrived, then an ambulance. The paramedics tried to calm her down, saying something about looking at her face, but Jo had been too busy marshalling the officers, repeating only the essentials they needed to know. On autopilot, she gave them a description of William, in clear, concise terms, and told them to start looking. When asked about the man who took him, she found herself floundering, her mind stubbornly refusing to give up more than the faintest impressions of his appearance. Tall, certainly. Pale. Unclothed. But that couldn’t be right. A naked man couldn’t simply walk the streets. She didn’t remember seeing a vehicle.

  The first clear thought she had was on seeing Dimitriou in the hallway of her brother’s house as she was sitting, wrapped in a blanket, at the bottom of the stairs. He looked completely incongruous, but her surprise was nothing compared to the shock on his face when he saw her.

  ‘Jo, are you okay?’

  ‘He took my nephew, Dimi. You’ve got to find him.’

  ‘Jo, Ben’s dead,’ he said.

  A sound escaped her lips. A sob. ‘I wasn’t there. I didn’t see.’

  ‘We’re looking. We’ve called everyone in. We’ll find him, Jo.’

  She nodded, mutely.

  ‘Is there someone we can call?’

  Somehow she hadn’t even thought about Paul and Amelia, and it was almost too painful to do so now.

  ‘My brother – I need my phone.’

  ‘Let us do it,’ said Dimitriou.

  She shook her head quickly, and the pain shot across her face. ‘No – I’ve got to.’

  He put his arm around her. ‘Jo, you need to go to hospital. You’ve got a head injury. You’re in shock.’

  ‘I’m bloody fine,’ she said, and tried to stand, but she reeled as soon as she did and Dimitriou supported her.

  ‘Jo, you’re not fine. You either get in that ambulance of your own accord, or I will put you in by force. We’ll speak to your brother.’

  ‘They’re having dinner at some company thing,’ she said weakly. She pointed to the table by the door. ‘It’s on there.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said Dimitriou. He led her outside, where blue lights were spinning across the leaves of the trees, and the ambulance waited with its rear door open. Jo followed the paramedics’ instructions compliantly, as they made her lie down on the stretcher and went through the motions she’d seen dozens of times. And though it was a comfort to be a patient, to obey commands, to let her body sink into the mattress, the truth of the matter consumed her every thought and sensation, a great tumour of guilt filling her body.

  William was gone. And every second he was away, he’d be filled with terror; a sweet, innocent, precious young boy who couldn’t possibly understand.

  ‘We’re going to take you to hospital now,’ said the paramedic. ‘Do you want something to calm you down?’

  ‘No,’ said Jo, trying to sit up. There was some sort of strap across her chest, another on her knees. ‘Let me out …’

  ‘We need to secure you for the journey,’ said the paramedic.

  Someone closed the back doors of the ambulance and Jo sagged back on the stretcher. She felt the rumble of the engine as the vehicle stirred into motion, taking her away from the scene of the crime.

  * * *

  They must have given her some sort of sedative, because when she woke up it was in a hospital bed. She wore a gown, and her jaw was throbbing. When she tried to move, her neck was stiff. Reaching up, she realised she had a brace on. Slowly, the jumble of thoughts reassembled, and with it came the wave of nausea. Will … Ben … Her tongue felt thick, her mouth dry. But there was a glass of water on a tray table, and she reached across for it.

  ‘Here, let me,’ said a voice.

  She turned, stiffly, and saw Heidi Tan. The sight of her face almost brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘Have you found him?’

  ‘No.’

  Jo tried to get up, but the sheets over her body were pulled tight, and she felt so, so weak.

  ‘You mustn’t,’ said Heidi.

  ‘I have to …’

  ‘We’ve got units all over the city,’ said Heidi. ‘We’re looking everywhere.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after one,’ said Tan.

  Jo guessed the attack had been somewhere around ten. Three hours already, and no word. She felt a tide of puke climbing her throat and managed to swallow it back.

  ‘Will said he saw him, and I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘Saw who?’ said Heidi.

  ‘The clown – he’s not a clown. He’s something else. Oh God, he’s something else, Heidi. He takes children and he … Oh, God. He’s got Will. He’s got my nephew.’

  ‘Forensics are at the house now,’ said Tan. ‘They’ll get a dog unit too.’

  ‘My brother …’

  ‘Andy’s looking after them at the station,’ said Tan.

  ‘And Em?’ Tan hesitated. ‘My niece.’

  ‘She’s with them too, Jo. She’s safe.’

  Jo tried to think straight, like a police officer. But, each time, her mind revolted, and she was running into the bedroom, seeing that white thing. Carrick’s words came back to her: monsters in the forest. There were no such thing as monsters though. Not like that. Not outside night terrors and stories.

  But it couldn’t be a coincidence. It came for her. For Will. To that house. And that meant it knew her. It was connected to the case, to Alan Trent.

  ‘You’ve got to bring Burgess in,’ she said with a sudden flash of clarity. ‘It’s someone from that group.’

  ‘We’re on it,’ said Tan. ‘He’s in custody already.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘If he knows something, we’ll get it out of him.’

  ‘I need to talk to him,’ said Jo. It took all her strength, but she managed to pull the sheet off, and swing out her legs. She was wearing a gown.

  ‘Where are my clothes?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Heidi. ‘Jo, you’re in no state.’

  Jo managed a few steps, feeling like an old woman, when she saw a face she recognised at the door. It was Emma.

  She stopped. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  Emma ran towards her, and Jo fell heavily into her embrace. It felt wrong, her niece holding her up, but Jo felt like a puppet with the strings cut.

  Heidi Tan was there. ‘Jo, sit down, for God’s sake.’

  Jo let the two of them lead her back to the bed.

  ‘Where are your mum and dad?’ she asked, her head on the pillow.

  ‘They wanted me to go to a friend’s, but I made the taxi stop here first.’

  ‘Em, you shouldn’t. They’ll be worried.’

  Emma put a hand to her face, as she broke down. ‘They said Uncle Ben’s dead.’

  Jo reached out, touched her niece’s arm, and nodded. She stopped herself from crying, just. Emma didn’t need to see that. Her niece shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘Why would anyone take Will?’ she said. ‘He’s just a little boy.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jo. ‘But we’ll find him.’

  The tears were spilling down Em’s face. ‘You promise?’

  And though Jo wanted more than anything to cry too, to release the fear that churned inside her like poison, she managed to hold back and force out the words with conviction.

  ‘I promise.’

  WEDNESDAY

  Somehow, she slept again, and when she woke, it was to clear daylight, startling panic, and a sharp guilt that she could have ever drifted off. She was in the same room, but she was alone. Her head was pounding. Beside her bed, there was a plastic bag. She recognised her clothes inside. Tan must have found them. Her shoes and handbag were in a separate transparent sack. She took out her handbag, then found her work phone, switched off. She tried to bring it to life, but the screen remained stubbornly black.

  She pressed the call button among the array over her bed, and within thirty seconds a female nurse
came through the door.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she said.

  ‘My head kills,’ said Jo.

  ‘We’ll get you something,’ said the nurse.

  ‘And a charger,’ said Jo, holding up her phone.

  ‘I’ll see what we can do,’ said the nurse.

  Jo grabbed her wrist. ‘I need one,’ she said. ‘It’s important.’

  The nurse nodded, pulled her hand away, and left. Jo realised she’d forgotten to ask the time. Had Paul and Amelia been in? She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep, even though she’d seen a hundred head traumas before and knew the effects well.

  The nurse brought a small cup containing two pills and the charger. Jo inserted the plug first, then swallowed the pills before the nurse had even told her what they were.

  ‘They might make you drowsy,’ she said.

  After she’d gone, Jo watched the phone screen, willing it to come to life. When it did, after a couple of minutes, she called Andy Carrick. He didn’t answer. She left a message, asking for him to call her, then got out of bed. Her legs felt much firmer than before, and she opened the clothing bag. Her trousers were a creased mess, and her blouse was saturated with damp blood at the collar. But her knife was there. She began to get dressed and was pulling on her shoes when Andy Carrick came into the room. The expression he wore made her stomach churn. He’d taken off his tie.

  ‘You’ve found him, haven’t you?’

  Carrick shook his head, beside the door. ‘No, Jo, we haven’t.’

  ‘Andy, you’ve got to let me do something.’

  ‘Jo, can you sit down a second please?’ He pointed to a chair.

  ‘I saw him,’ said Jo. ‘He was just like Niall described.’

  Carrick pulled across a chair of his own and sat down. ‘Describe him to me,’ he said. ‘Take your time.’

  There seemed no rush about him, and Jo knew he was keeping something from her.

  ‘You’ve found something,’ she said. ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ said Carrick.

  ‘Where are Paul and Amelia? I need to talk to them.’

  ‘Your brother and sister-in-law are being looked after,’ he said.

  Jo found his voice disconcerting – it was slightly impatient.

  ‘He’s their kid, Andy. My nephew. I need to speak with them.’

  ‘We’re not sure that’s the best idea at the moment,’ said Carrick.

  ‘Why the fuck not?’

  ‘They’re very distressed. So are you.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘He’s gone, and that sick fucker killed …’ The tears grabbed her, and she stifled them. ‘He killed Ben.’

  Carrick took out his pocketbook. ‘Tell me, Jo, what happened. Please, as clearly as you can.’

  She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, but all she saw was the white shape drifting into the bedroom. Had she even seen his face?

  ‘It was dark. Will had woken up. I was putting him back to bed. Then … I don’t know … he was here. He must have hit me with something.’

  ‘This was upstairs? We found blood in William’s bedroom. On his sheets.’

  Jo broke down under a barrage of flashing images. The pirate ship, the Spiderman sheets. Captain Billy-O.

  ‘One of the neighbours said he heard a disturbance,’ said Carrick.

  Jo wiped her eyes. ‘There was a smash. When I was upstairs. I think it was the wine bottle breaking.’

  ‘No,’ said Carrick, running his pen along the page of his notebook. ‘A disturbance as in raised voices. An argument between a man and a woman.’

  As he looked at her, Jo felt strange unsettling currents in the air.

  ‘Ben and I had a row,’ she said.

  ‘A row?’ Carrick’s eyebrows jumped. ‘Your brother mentioned you two had history. What was the row about?’

  ‘He thought we could get back together, I didn’t. But listen, none of that’s important. This guy, this freak – he didn’t have any clothes on. He can’t have—’

  ‘Jo, let me do my job,’ said Carrick. ‘We’re looking for Will, but if we establish an accurate timeline leading up to him disappearing, it will help everyone. You too.’

  Jo wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. What do I have to do with any of this?

  ‘Someone targeted me,’ she said. ‘What’s Burgess said? It has to be linked.’

  ‘Burgess has been helpful,’ said Carrick, without really explaining what that meant. ‘Tell me about the row with Ben.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘I remember now. It woke Will up.’

  ‘It must have been quite a blow-up,’ said Carrick. ‘You’d been drinking, I think?’

  ‘Barely.’

  ‘We found three bottles.’

  ‘We poured one away down the sink.’

  Carrick frowned. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Can you put that fucking book away and listen to me?’ she said.

  Carrick folded the notebook closed. ‘Detective, I am listening, but you’re not making a lot of sense at the moment.’

  ‘I just want you to do your bloody job and find William!’ she said.

  Carrick gave a consoling nod. ‘The neighbour said the argument happened at 21.45 – does that sound right to you?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And it woke up your nephew.’

  ‘Yes. He came down the stairs. I took him straight back up, and told Ben to leave.’

  ‘But he didn’t?’

  Jo breathed a sigh. ‘Evidently.’

  ‘Do you know where his car is?’ asked Carrick, flashing a glance at her.

  ‘Er … yes, in a garage. The cylinders are always going.’

  ‘You know which garage?’

  ‘No, why the fuck would I?’

  ‘There’s no need to be aggressive,’ said Carrick. ‘We’re just trying to find his car. We thought whoever took William might have …’

  ‘Well they didn’t,’ said Jo. ‘It’s in the garage.’

  ‘Okay, back to the timeline,’ said Carrick. ‘The attack, you think, happened a while after Ben arrived? Say before ten?’

  ‘Yes, it must have.’

  ‘So why didn’t you ring the police?’

  ‘I … I did.’

  ‘Someone rang the police from the property at 21.51,’ said Carrick, ‘but they hung up. Later, a car attended the scene at 21.56, but that was in response to the neighbour’s call about a disturbance.’

  ‘No, I must have …’ said Jo.

  ‘You didn’t.’

  And through the fog of troubled, incoherent thoughts, Jo realised with clarity what was happening.

  ‘You can’t think …’ She was shaking her head. ‘Andy, don’t even … I …’

  Carrick let her lapse into silence.

  ‘It was the clown, Andy. It was him! Will even said it.’

  She stood up, and Carrick echoed her movement. ‘Jo, you should stay put.’

  ‘Why aren’t you listening to me?’ said Jo desperately. ‘He’s out there. He’s got him. We got to Niall in time. He’s going to kill him this time. You fucking know that!’

  ‘Jo, I’m going to ask you to stay in this room,’ said Carrick. A uniformed officer emerged behind him. ‘And we’re going to need to take your phone.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘You know why.’

  The officer took her phone.

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘Jo, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. We’re just being thorough. You’re too close.’

  ‘You’re saying I murdered my fucking nephew. Are you insane?’

  Carrick frowned. ‘Jo, no one mentioned murder. Why would you even say that?’

  She felt weak again, light-headed.

  ‘Leave things to us,’ said Carrick. He started towards the door, then turned around. ‘Actually Jo, there’s one more thing. Rebekah Fitzwilliam – when did you last see her?’

&nbs
p; The question came from nowhere, and it took Jo a few moments to think. ‘The press conference. Yesterday morning. What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘She’s been reported missing,’ said Carrick. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. You sit tight, okay?’

  He left the room, and Jo caught her own reflection in the glass. Bloodstained, neck-braced, hair wild. She looked like a madwoman.

  Chapter 24

  The uniform on the door had his back to her. Just doing his job. She didn’t recognise him from the station.

  No one else entered the room, and with no clock on the wall, she had to guess the time. She couldn’t even imagine how Paul and Amelia must be feeling – they’d never have been allowed back into the house, so she guessed they’d be at the station, or maybe at a friend’s house, one of the parade of happy guests at her brother’s party. It seemed like years ago, but it had only been a few days. That night her biggest frustration had been the fact she was off the Dylan Jones case, that Ben had somehow come through everything unscathed. She could never have dreamed it would end here, like this. That Ben, for all the pain he’d caused her, would be …

  She closed her eyes, trying to fight back the tears again.

  Had she really not called the police after finding Ben? She tried to think back, to the moments after she stumbled out of the kitchen. Maybe she hadn’t. And if they’d come …

  They couldn’t really believe that she had anything to do with it. It was preposterous. She tried to put herself in the shoes of an investigator. What was the theory? That she killed Ben and drove away with Will somewhere in his car? It made no sense.

  The problem was, as Ben himself used to say, sometimes life didn’t. Sometimes all you needed were the whats and wheres.

  And even as she struggled with her own incredulity, she knew Carrick’s line of questioning shouldn’t have been such a surprise. In nine out of ten cases of child murder, the suspect was known to the family already. The step-parent, the uncle, the sibling. The trusted, or not so trusted, friend. She saw exactly where Carrick was coming from, and why he wanted her here. Because the alternatives were even harder to fathom. That an attacker somehow chose her brother’s house. Chose Will to be his victim, the nephew of an investigating officer.