The Stolen Children
A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller
Oliver Davies
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
2. One month ago
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
A Message from the Author
Prologue
Liam was prompt as usual, and the doorbell rang at eleven on the dot. My wife had questioned whether I wanted to do something on my birthday other than rehash old memories with a high school student, but I honestly enjoyed Liam’s visits and his enthusiasm. I was looking forward to seeing the little red-haired squirt.
“I swear you’ve shot up another couple inches, lad,” I said as I opened the door. Liam was standing, fidgeting, on the doorstep, with an older man behind him who I assumed was his father. He had Liam’s red hair and pale skin, and the boy’s easy grin too.
Liam rolled his eyes. “You sound like my grandad.”
I smiled, waving him in. Liam’s dad stepped forwards, holding out his hand, which I shook warmly.
“Douglas Perry,” he introduced himself. “And you’re the famous DCI Mitchell.” He smiled to indicate that he was teasing. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh dear,” I said, not quite sure how to respond. “I’m surprised you still wanted to come after all that.”
Douglas laughed. “Nonsense, I couldn’t wait to meet Mr Mitchell, the myth, the legend.”
“Oh crikey,” I said, gesturing for him to step in out of the cool air. “Prepare yourself for disappointment. You must meet people much more interesting than me in your line of work. You’re a journalist, is that right?”
Douglas gave me an exaggerated shrug. “Don’t hold it against me,” he laughed. “Does it help if I say I don’t work for any of the tabloids?”
I waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry. I can’t imagine I’m exactly newsworthy by your standards.”
Liam had gone ahead into the living room to set himself up, and we stepped in.
Douglas gave me a warm smile. “My son certainly thinks you’re newsworthy,” he objected. “And, from reading his articles, I’d agree with that assessment.”
“Well,” I said, stumped. “I appreciate that. Would you like some tea?”
I fetched drinks for everyone, and we got settled. Liam seemed to have added even more stickers to his laptop since his last visit, and you could hardly see the laptop anymore. He looked eager to get started and only briefly sipped at the glass of squash I’d fetched him before he looked at me expectantly.
He leaned forwards. “What happened next? What case did you have after the last one?”
I shared a look with Liam’s dad, both of us fondly amused by his eagerness. “What kind of case would you like?” I asked. I’d already had a think about a couple of cases that might make suitable stories. It was a balancing act between stories interesting enough to keep him engaged but not too distressing, and ones that actually got solved. Unfortunately, there had been too many cases during my career that we had to leave unsolved.
Liam thought for a minute, chewing on his lip. “I think readers really liked the first story; about local people in Lockdale, right? Because they could relate to it and knew all the places you were talking about.” He held up his hands, looking worried that he might have offended me. “Not that they didn’t love the last case!” he added quickly. “But… if there was any story that people could relate to, does that make any sense?”
He looked up at me from under his bushy eyebrows, brown eyes wide like a watchful fox and just as intelligent. I gave him a smile to show he hadn’t offended me in the slightest.
“I think that’s insightful of you, lad,” I said. “People do like to read about things they can identify with and see people like themselves to root for.” Liam nodded like he already knew what I was saying, and I glanced over to his dad. “I expect your dad’s been teaching you all about this?”
Douglas held up his hands. “I can take no credit for that gem,” he said. “I’ve given him a few hints and tricks over the years, but he figured that one out on his own.” He sent his kid a proud smile and ruffled his hair.
“Dad!” Liam protested, patting his hair back down ruefully. He turned his bright gaze on me, and I considered his request.
“Well now, there was a case soon afterwards that involved a couple of school kids.”
Liam straightened in his seat like someone had pulled his strings. “Yeah?” he said hopefully.
I glanced over at his dad. “But maybe that would be too intense.”
“No, no, that sounds perfect!” Liam said hurriedly.
I could see that Douglas looked a touch hesitant. “How about you grab us another couple of biscuits from the kitchen, Liam?”
Liam looked between us, his sharp mind clearly knowing that we wanted to talk without him. But he grudgingly agreed and headed out.
Douglas leaned forwards, just like his son did when he had something to say, and I held back a smile at their similarities. “None of the kids die, do they?” Douglas asked quietly. “Just, I think he’s pretty good with most things. Kids his age are less sheltered than people think-”
I pulled back. “Nothing like that, no. There are some threats and danger, of course, but not like that.”
Douglas looked relieved and nodded. “Excellent, that sounds like a winner, then.”
Liam came back inside, the plate now loaded up with the chocolate bourbon biscuits I knew he liked best. My wife had noticed, too, and she’d picked up a new packet in preparation for Liam coming over.
Stuffing a biscuit in his mouth, Liam chewed quickly before looking at me. “So? The story?”
I chuckled at his keenness and nodded. “Yes, we’ll get to the story now.”
Liam smiled in satisfaction and pulled his laptop onto his lap, getting ready to take his notes as he listened with rapt attention.
Feeling mildly self-conscious at having an audience of two this time, I took a moment to consider where to start before nodding to myself and beginning.
One
His phone in hand, Stephen turned to me as I was walking over. “Darren, we’ve got a new one.”
I had a steaming mug in each hand and put them down on our desks before sitting down. “Go on then,” I told him. “Lay it on me.”
Stephen, the senior DI on my team for nearly six months now, shot me a faintly amused look before sobering. “They’ve found someone kept prisoner in a house near Tang Hall.”
My stomach dropped. “No way,” I said faintly.
Stephen nodded, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He had a face like a weathered rugby captain, with a crooked nose to boot, and he looked particularly foreboding when he wasn’t smiling. But I knew that he was just troubled by the news, as was I. This was something far more serious than petty theft, parking fines and drunk and disorderly behaviour, which was the station’s bread and butter.
We’d had a quiet few months after the heavy case at the end of last year, and it had been pleasant to have a breather for a while, before the quietness had started to get on my nerves
.
“Who’s heading the investigation?” I asked, tentatively hopeful.
He sent me a knowing look, aware of how much I’d been champing at the bit recently. “You, mate. They want us over there ASAP. Gaskell’s out today, but he’s been told and put you in charge.”
“Probably just because Sedgwick is busy,” I muttered, before brightening. “Gaskell’s finally decided to move us off desk duty, then.”
Stephen shook his head. “After the hits you took last year, most people would take it as a sign from the heavens, or fate, or whatever, and settled into a quieter job.”
I rolled my eyes, already gathering my coat and keys. “Rubbish,” I said. “Are you ready?”
He sent me a look that was both faintly exasperated and fond, which was a look he sent me on a fairly regular basis. “Yeah, I’m ready. Hold your horses, tiger.”
“You’ve mixed your sayings there,” I couldn’t help but point out as we headed down the stairs and out into the cool air of new spring. We’d passed the shortest day of the year by a way, but winter hadn’t completely been shaken off yet, and there was still a crispness to the morning.
We hopped in the car, and I didn’t protest Stephen driving, even though he had a tendency to wheel us around corners without once touching the brake pedal. He knew the address of where we were heading, though, so I sat back and held onto the handle above the car window.
I felt almost guilty for the low buzz of anticipation zipping through me, making me bounce my leg and fidget with the radio.
Stephen reached out and slapped my hand, startling me.
“Ow!” I protested. “What was that for?”
“Stop fiddling with the radio, for christ’s sake. You’ve been through like, ten stations in the last minute. Sit on your hands or something, you goddamn toddler.”
I snorted and gave a huff before sitting back to look out of the windows at the sight of the city rushing past. Some days, I missed the rural greenery and familiar sights of my old, countryside position, but I certainly didn’t miss the winding lanes, nor the policing that tended more towards settling neighbour’s arguments over garden gnomes than the double murder that had been my last case. However, I’d dealt with murder in the countryside, too. You got crime everywhere there were people, and I didn’t regret my decision to delve into the thick of it, here in York, considered a relatively safe city.
Stephen pulled up outside a suburban house that would have looked entirely ordinary if it wasn’t for the police tape ringing the outside, the police car, ambulance, and a crowd of curious onlookers gathered outside.
The clustered civilians looked curiously over at us as Stephen and I got out of the car. We shared a look across the roof. People could be so damn nosy, and it made our jobs harder, but it would’ve been a waste of energy to drive them away, they’d end up back again like flies drawn to jam. The news would be here soon, too, no doubt.
“Is the- person they found okay?” I asked, realising I didn’t know anything about the person who was the victim of all this. Stephen hadn’t shared many details.
Stephen sent me a look. “I heard alive, but that was it. I’m not sure why the ambulance is still here, to be honest.”
I shut the car door, and we made our way through. I let Stephen go ahead, with his bulk and scary face parting even the nosiest neighbours. I had a couple of inches on him, but where I was wiry and long-limbed, only enhanced by my running, Stephen was as broad as the side of a shed, and people parted quickly to let him through.
The two DCs originally sent out to investigate the issue met us.
I nodded to the woman, who introduced herself as DC Martin. “What’s the situation here?”
She took a breath. When she ran a hand through her hair, I saw it shaking slightly, though her face was stiff with professionalism. “We were told that there’d been strange noises coming from the houses, and that the neighbour was concerned about the occupant.”
“Why was that?” I queried.
DC Martin focused on me. “She said the lights weren’t going on at night, the bins not being put out, that kind of thing, but she knew that there was someone inside because she heard shouting a couple of times. She said she tried knocking on the door, but no one answered.”
I frowned and nodded, indicating for her to continue.
“The boy is still inside,” she said, her mouth twisting into a frown. “We’re not sure who he is yet, he hasn’t talked much.”
I felt immediately sick. “Boy?” I repeated. “As in, a child?”
She gave me a small nod. “He’s a teenager, yes, I’d guess anywhere from fifteen to eighteen. He’s severely malnourished. They’re trying to get him into the ambulance, but he’s scared.”
I made a noise of acknowledgement and shared a grim look with Stephen, who looked just as upset as I was.
I cleared my throat. “Any ideas for why he was here? Who put him here?” I clarified.
She grimaced, running a hand through her short, dark hair again. “Afraid not. We’re taking statements from the neighbours, but there’s not-” She broke off, looking over my shoulder, and I turned around.
There was a stretcher being carried out of the house, and I swallowed thickly. The boy was mostly wrapped up in an aluminium foil blanket, but his pale face and a tuft of hair were visible.
“They must have sedated him,” DC Martin said quietly.
“Aye.”
We were all silent for a minute, and so were the crowd of people still ogling. I felt a rush of irritation at them all, stood there gawking when it was none of their business.
“Stephen,” I said tightly, “how about we get this lot to disperse now?”
The ambulance pulled away as Stephen and I ducked under the police tape and waved at the onlookers, several of whom were already starting to head off, either in response to the ambulance leaving or to Stephen and I’s arrival.
“Alright,” I yelled over the quiet hubbub that had started up. “Show’s over, go home! Anyone left lingering will end up in my bad books. Go on, get!” I added sharply, when some of them seemed to be dithering.
A journo pushed against the crowd to come towards me, recording device at the ready, and I gritted my teeth and turned my back on him. The press had their place, but as far as I saw it, it was disrespectful for them to be sniffing around here already.
“Hey, officer!” he called. “Can I have a word? Are you the one in charge?”
I walked away, ignoring him, and ducked under the police tape, nodding to the constable who was manning the line and who had kept the rabble from getting in the way too much.
Stephen and I reconvened where DC Martin was waiting for us. “I’ll show you inside?” she offered, and I nodded.
The house looked normal enough from the outside, but inside it was filthy and clearly uncared for. Mud caked the carpets, the kitchen stank, and there was a pervading rank smell in the air that I dreaded to think the cause of.
“He was kept upstairs, in a cupboard,” Martin said, keeping her voice down. Forensics were still crawling over the place and had handed us pairs of plastic booties and gloves before letting us in. I made an effort not to touch the handrail as we climbed the stairs, which creaked under Stephen’s weight.
The smell worsened upstairs, and my stomach turned, making me glad I hadn’t eaten too much breakfast. The upstairs cupboard was in one of the bedrooms and was little more than a couple of feet deep. I could only manage to look at it for a few seconds before I had to walk over to the window. Imagining a teenage boy cooped up in there for days or more was nothing short of awful.
When I’d gotten myself together, I turned back and gave a concerned-looking Stephen a nod. He looked sickly pale too, but he didn’t usually let his feelings rise to the surface like mine did and had himself under control.
“Alright,” I said quietly to myself and walked over. I turned on the torch on my phone and made myself be objective as I looked over the cupboard. The part I couldn’
t bear to think about too hard was the coil of rope on the floor, but I forced myself to look away from that. There were a number of empty plastic bottles on one side, and a blanket was scrunched up in the corner, but beyond that, the small space was barren. The floorboards were bare and paint-splattered, and there was a shelf at about the level of my chin that was clearly meant to be a place to store towels and the like, but that, too, was bare.
“If he had water, he could’ve been here for a week or more,” I said, my voice flat and subdued, as I indicated the water. Stephen nodded, and I straightened up and stepped back.
“Forensics will be combing the place over,” I said. “I say we leave them to it and see what we can dig up back at the station? I don’t think we can help much here right now.”
“Sounds good to me, mate.”
I meant what I’d said, but it didn’t hurt that I couldn’t wait to step out of the house’s front door and into the fresh air again. Stephen looked similarly relieved and inhaled deeply as we headed out into the light drizzle. We stopped by DC Martin to let her know that we were headed out. She gave us a tired nod, promising to send us her full write-up as soon as she could. I sure as hell didn’t envy her and her partner for having the shock of this discovery, nor the grunt work they were currently doing with gathering what they could from the scene. It would then be Stephen and I’s job to unpick that raw information and turn it into some kind of sense.
We climbed into the car, and Stephen’s phone beeped as we set off, me behind the wheel this time. I wanted something to do with my hands and a task to focus on as my mind tried to process what we’d just seen.
The Stolen Children Page 1