The Child Catcher (A DI Erica Swift Thriller Book 4)

by M K Farrar

  She didn’t call them over, though, not wanting any additional interference until she knew exactly what they were dealing with. She could be completely wrong, and this mysterious letter left on her car had nothing to do with the case, but inside, all her alarm bells were jangling. She peered around, trying to spot the locations of the security cameras. Every part of the car park should be covered, so unless someone had tampered with the security cameras—which would take some considerable balls, considering where they were and just how many police officers were coming and going, both day and night—they would have caught whoever left the note.

  Shit. They didn’t need this right now. There was a search that needed to be carried out on the shop, and now she had this distraction to deal with, too.

  Something occurred to her. “I need gloves and an evidence bag. We might finally have a ransom note for Ellie Dempsey.”

  “Here you go.” Shawn came to a stop beside her and placed the case down on the ground. He opened it up and removed a set of gloves, the correct sized evidence bag, and a pair of tweezers.

  They both snapped on the gloves, and then Erica turned back to the note. Careful not to disturb anything else, she pinched the corner and took it from beneath the windscreen wiper.

  It was just a plain piece of paper—like the kind someone might use in a photocopying machine or a printer. Nothing was written on the outside of it, so she carefully unfolded it.

  DI Swift,

  I was at the park that day. I saw someone put a little girl onto the back seat of a car. It was a white Ford Focus with a 2015 plate.

  Hope this helps you find her.

  That wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all.

  She frowned down at the note. “Why would someone write that and go to the trouble of leaving it on my windscreen? Why not just come in and speak to me?”

  Shawn had read the note from over her shoulder. “They weren’t supposed to be at the park that day, for some reason. Being there will get them in trouble.”

  “Do you think it’s real?”

  “Normally, when we get the kook giving us false information, it’s because they’re after attention. This feels like the opposite.”

  “Exactly. There’s no name. They don’t want any attention, quite the opposite. But we don’t have time right now to look into this in more detail. We’ve got the search to carry out.” She pulled out her phone and made a call. “DC Howard, are you free? I need you to come out to the carpark right away.”

  She hung up and within a minute, the detective constable came jogging out of the building.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as he approached.

  She handed him the bagged note. “I need you to look into this for me. I just found it on my car, but I can’t hang around, as we’re about to serve the warrant on the shop.”

  “No problem, leave it with me.”

  Erica turned to Shawn. “Let’s take the pool car.”

  She was going to have to park this nugget of information. She had two cars of uniformed police waiting for her and she needed to keep her mind focused on that rather than what the appearance of the note might mean.

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside the shop, blocking the road to stop any other vehicles from driving down. Uniformed police led the way, moving swiftly to enter and secure the premises.

  Erica and Shawn followed in after.

  The couple of customers who were already in there threw wide-eyed stares in their direction, still clutching whatever loaves of bread or packets of rice they were about to buy. They were escorted from the building to be interviewed by officers.

  More police secured the front and back doors. They didn’t want to be interrupted by any customers wanting to buy their favourite newspaper.

  From the back of the shop, the owner bustled out.

  “What’s this all about?” His face was red with fury.

  “Farhad Khadem,” Erica said, “we have a warrant to search your premises for the missing footage from your security camera. We also have reason to believe you may be harbouring a suspect in the building.”

  His mouth dropped. “That is a ridiculous thing to say. I would never do such a thing.”

  “In which case, you won’t mind us taking a look around.”

  “I certainly do mind. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Why lie to us about the broken camera then, Mr Khadem?”

  “I didn’t lie. You are mistaken.”

  “This warrant says otherwise. Now show us the office.”

  “Fine, but you won’t find anything. It’s this way.”

  Shawn had made his way to the back of the shop and vanished out of a doorway into the stairwell behind. “Swift,” he called out, “we’ve got a padlocked door over here. It might lead down to a cellar or something.”

  Erica stopped following the shop owner and went out to where Shawn was waiting for her. Sure enough, a door leading down to the cellar was kept shut by a large silver padlock.

  “Do you want to tell me what you’ve got locked up in there?” she asked Khadem, who had followed her and was now waiting with his arms folded.

  “It’s just a stock room,” he said sullenly.

  “Why do you have it padlocked?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “To stop people stealing from it, of course.”

  “You’d find having working CCTV cameras would help with that as well, but then you already know that. Now, where’s the key?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She lifted both eyebrows. “You’re telling me you don’t know where the key is to your stockroom?”

  What was he trying to hide? She was aware that they’d wondered if he was harbouring the person from the CCTV footage, but there was something else that came to mind. There was someone else they were searching for, and if there was any possibility of finding her, they had to try.

  Ellie Dempsey.

  Erica banged on the padlocked door with her fist. “Is anyone down there?”

  She listened but no voices called back to her. There was something, though, wasn’t there? She couldn’t place the sound—a kind of humming. No, not humming, something else. There was a smell coming from behind the door, too, only faint but distinct.

  “Get the key, or we’ll be forced to break the lock.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  He handed her the key. She didn’t bother to thank him.

  Erica unlocked the door and swung it open to reveal a set of concrete steps leading down. The smell—musty but weirdly familiar—grew stronger, and the stairs emitted warmth when it should have been cool.

  “What’s down there?” she demanded to know.

  Khadem pushed back his shoulders, his jaw set. “Go down and you’ll find out.”

  “You’re not going down alone, Swift,” Shawn said.

  She jerked her chin at one of the uniformed officers. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

  The officer nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Together, with Shawn close behind, she stepped down onto the stairs. There was a glow of light coming from the cellar space, and with every footstep, the smell grew stronger. Her heart thumped, every muscle tensed, poised for either a possible attack from the person they were after, or even finding Ellie Dempsey.

  Dead or alive.

  She moved off the bottom step and drew to a halt. The space was barely high enough for her to stand up straight in, and Shawn had to duck.

  “What is this?” she wondered.

  Lining the red-brick walls of the room were numerous glass tanks, each with a heating lamp suspended above. The noise she’d picked up on only softly from upstairs grew louder, and she recognised what she’d been hearing was the chirp of crickets.

  Shawn shook his head. “What the fuck?”

  Erica took a step closer to get a better view.

  In each of the tanks were exotic reptiles—snakes, lizards, frogs.

  She exhaled a breath and relaxed a fraction. There was nowhe
re for a man, or even a child, to hide down here. It was just a collection of fucking reptiles.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting this,” Shawn said.

  Frustration and disappointment burst inside her. “Shit. Fucking shit.”

  Trying to control her anger, she turned and made her way back up the stairs. Khadem was waiting there, one of the uniformed police at his shoulder.

  He smiled smugly. “Do you like my collection?”

  “No, I don’t. Why do you keep them down there?”

  “It’s not hygienic, to have them upstairs when I’m selling food and drink. Besides, some of the animals are extremely rare, and technically, are not allowed to be privately bought or sold.”

  “You sell them on?”

  “Not often, but sometimes, if I need space for something new.”

  “Show me the office. I want that footage.”

  “You search however much you like, but you won’t find anything. It doesn’t exist.”

  “That’ll be for us to find out. We have some people on our team who can recover files people believe are permanently deleted.”

  “Please, help yourself.” He seemed so sure of himself. “You won’t find a single thing.”

  Erica wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Helen wished she could stay away from Tim, but it was as though he was a magnet she couldn’t help but be drawn towards.

  This time, she parked a couple of streets away from his office so she could say she just happened to be walking that way at the same time he was due to take his lunch. It would mean hanging out on the corner, waiting and watching for him to emerge, but she could still make it look like an accident. Perhaps he wouldn’t believe her—he probably wouldn’t believe her—but in her mind it was a good enough reason for her to be there.

  Almost forty-five minutes passed, and then she spotted him coming from the building. She set off right away, before he could spot her, pretending to be engrossed in the pavement so she didn’t notice him until he was right in front of her and neither of them had any choice but to acknowledge each other.

  “Oh, Tim. Hi!”

  He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping, but to his credit, he stopped to speak to her. “Helen, what are you doing back here again?”

  “I’m just heading to my car. I met a friend for coffee.”

  He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Seriously, you need to stop doing this.”

  She acted surprised. “Doing what? It’s not my fault you happened to leave work at this time. Like I said, I’m just going back to my car. You’re the one who stopped to talk to me.”

  He looked around for the car. “And you just happened to park on the same road where I work?”

  “No, actually, I’ve parked a short distance from here. You don’t have to make everything about you, you know.”

  “I’m not, but I know you. It’s not as though us bumping into each other is unusual.”

  She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Well, if you came to the house occasionally, I wouldn’t have to ‘bump’ into you.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, as though suddenly exhausted. “Why would I still come to the house? We’re divorced now. It’s not my house anymore.”

  “You could always stop by to see the kids. It doesn’t always have to be about me, either.”

  His brow crumpled in a frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “I know it’s not easy, but you need to move on. I’m trying my hardest to rebuild my life, and as painful as it is, you need to do the same.”

  “You can’t just wipe your hands of your responsibilities now that we’re no longer together.”

  “Helen, you know what happened destroyed me as much as it did you, but I don’t have any responsibilities towards you anymore.”

  “Not me! Your daughter. You can’t just walk out on your daughter.”

  He took her hands, and she didn’t pull away. The feel of his big warm fingers around hers transported her back to a happier time, and her eyes prickled with tears. She blinked hard, not wanting him to see her cry. They’d shared so many tears over the years, but now she wanted him to see that she was stronger.

  “She’s gone, Helen. Naomi is gone.”

  She remembered herself and yanked her hand out of his grip. “Shut up, shut up!”

  “I’m sorry, but you have to face up to this. You don’t seem to have moved on at all, and frankly, the things you’re saying are worrying me.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I won’t hear it, Timothy. I won’t! Haven’t I been through enough?”

  “Yes, you have. We both have, which is why I think you might need some help. You should go and see your GP and ask if they can do something for you, I don’t know, recommend someone to talk to.”

  “What about? I don’t want to talk to some doctor. All I want is for you to start acting like a father.”

  He threw his hands up helplessly. “To who, exactly? Naomi is dead. She died two years ago.”

  “Stop it!” she screamed at him. “You’re lying. Stop lying.”

  People were staring, and she couldn’t even bring herself to care. She turned from him and ran, not even knowing where she was going. She couldn’t be in Tim’s presence right now. How could he say these things when there were children at home who needed to be taken care of?

  Her mind was a whirl, and she knotted both hands in her hair and yanked hard at the strands, some part of her thinking the pain might bring her reality into focus again.

  She was a mother. A good mother. How dare he say that about her.

  She kept her head down, her hands locked in her hair as she half walked, half ran down the street. She bumped into someone’s shoulder, and they exclaimed in annoyance, but she just kept going. She had no idea what direction she was headed in, only needing to put distance between her and Tim. She’d loved him once, but how could she keep loving him when he said such terrible things to her?

  Eventually, she slowed and lifted her head, releasing her hands from her hair. Where had she ended up? She glanced around, trying to place her location. A couple of the shops lining the street seemed familiar, and then she saw the café on the corner, and it all came back to her. Of course she knew where she was. She wasn’t too far from where she’d parked her car. In her anguish, she must have practically been walking in circles.

  A woman sat at an outside table of a nearby café, a tall glass of coffee that probably cost some people’s hourly wage on the table in front of her. Sunglasses were propped on top of perfectly coifed hair, and manicured nails tipped the ends of her fingers.

  Beside her was a baby in a pram, thick black curls topping the child’s head. Bright-eyed, the baby offered Helen a toothy grin. The chubby cheeks conjured a rush of memories, and Helen knew exactly how the baby’s skin would feel when she brushed the tip of her nose across her cheek.

  Naomi?

  Helen gulped back a sob. It was her, she was sure of it. Everything would be all right again. Everything would be normal.

  The woman wasn’t even watching the baby. She sat with her back to the child, and a mobile phone attached to her ear. With her other hand she pushed the baby back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, presumably to keep her quiet. The woman didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her, far more focused on the phone conversation. Sure enough, as Helen watched, she stopped rocking the child altogether and picked up her coffee to drink that instead. The woman squealed with laughter and cackled into the phone before launching into a tirade about some person or another and what they’d done the previous night.

  Helen didn’t even bother to be sneaky. She walked straight up to the pram. The baby wasn’t even clipped in. The baby girl lifted her arms to Helen and gave her another of those wide, chubby-cheeked grins.

  Take me, she seemed to say.

  Helen scooped up the child, holding h
er against her shoulder. Without pausing for a second, she spun back around and hurried away, shushing and jiggling the baby girl in the hope she wouldn’t suddenly start screaming. But the one-year-old was of a sunny nature and didn’t seem to mind at all that another woman had hold of her. She cooed and batted her fat little hand against Helen’s face.

  Helen’s heart thudded. She felt like a clear plastic screen had been placed between her and the baby—Naomi—and the rest of the world. Deep down, she knew this was all very wrong, but she couldn’t seem to connect to that part of herself. All she knew was that the child was hers, the one she’d lost, and she had to have her. Her footsteps echoed with the pounding of her pulse. Every muscle in her body was tense, poised to respond to the angry shout that she was sure would follow her, but none came. Finally, she reached where her car was parked.

  Naomi’s car seat was in the back seat, just where it had always been—Helen had never been able to bring herself to take it out—and so she opened the back door and carefully lowered the baby into it.

  “There you go, baby girl. There you go, Naomi.”

  The child blinked a couple of times, for the first time uncertain about the situation she’d suddenly found herself in. Her rosebud mouth tightened, and Helen could tell she was about to cry. It was the car seat. Naomi never liked being put into a car seat, but it was for her own safety, and besides, it was the law.

  “Hey, it’s okay. It won’t take us long to get home, and then everything will be fine again. It’ll all go back to normal.”

  She shut the back door carefully, not wanting the bang to set the girl off crying, and then rounded the car and climbed in behind the wheel. She glanced into the rearview mirror.

  “Mama,” the baby burbled. Her lower lip jutted out, and her blue eyes grew glassy with unshed tears.

  Helen started the engine. “That’s right, sweetheart. I’m your mama.”