The Forgotten Mother: A spine chilling crime thriller with a heart stopping twist (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 3)

by M. L Rose

  A shroud of blackness came over her eyes, and white pinpoints of stars appeared. A voice spoke from one side, and she was flung back down to the floor, her head smashing on the wood. Pain exploded in her skull, and for a while she couldn't move. She felt her hands being dragged behind her back, and the roughness of rope tying them together.

  A light dazzled her face and she winced, unable to open her eyes. She had her back to the wall now. Cherie stepped in front of the light.

  “Yes, my son. I rescued him from a life of abuse in foster care.”

  The words floated through the slumber of pain and ache in Arla’s mind. She blinked. Cherie was bathed in the halo of the light behind her.

  “After my daughter died, I knew I had to do something. I couldn't help her. But there was no way Jonathan would suffer the same fate.”

  Arla tried to shake the heaviness from her head. It wasn’t working. Despite the grogginess and nausea, she tried to focus.

  “Why couldn’t you help your daughter?”

  “Sadie and Jonathan were taken from me when they were toddlers. I was a drug addict at the time, and a sex worker. It’s not a life I’m proud of. The children being taken was my wake-up call. I was in jail at the time, and couldn't stop them being put into foster care.”

  Arla was aware that Cherie’s tone had changed. It wasn’t flat and dispassionate any more. The words shook as she stopped speaking.

  “I pleaded with social services to get custody rights for my children, but they wouldn't even allow me visiting rights till they were older. I watched…” her words trailed off.

  Jonty spoke from behind Arla. “It’s OK Mama. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes I do,” Cherie’s voice seemed strange, ethereal, emanating from a face shrouded in darkness. “Can’t you see she understands? She gets what happened to Sadie. Isn’t that right, Arla? A similar fate fell on Nicole, your sister.”

  An ache settled on Arla’s heart, and with it, a new dread for the situation she was in. She needed to buy time. She had to keep them talking.

  “No one can change the past, Cherie. If it’s revenge you’re after, then remember it won’t change anything.” Arla lowered her voice. “It won’t bring Sadie back.”

  Cherie stepped forward, the bulge of light behind her growing, expanding the strange halo.

  “No. But the past changes us, Arla. You know that, don’t you? It made you who you are today.”

  A sudden emotion caught in Arla’s throat, and she was surprised by its intensity. Cherie’s words had her mind reeling. With uncanny insight, this cold-blooded manipulator had caught Arla’s life in her cross hairs.

  And for some unknown reason, tears trickled down Arla’s cheeks. She shook her head angrily, desperate to cast away this spell Cherie had on her.

  “You don’t know anything about me. I’m nothing like you. You’re a heartless, cold serpent.” Arla sniffed and lifted one shoulder to rub her nose.

  She said, “How did you get married to David Longworth?”

  Cherie laughed for the first time, and it sent cold shivers down Arla’s spine.

  “Oh, I did go into acting, once I cleaned myself up. Men are easy, you see. They only want one thing. And I was good at it.”

  “Were you really married to your previous husband?” Arla ransacked her brain for the name.

  “Gus Percival?” Cherie said. “Ah, that was a decoy. It worked so well. His wife, the real Cherie, fell for my friendship charms. Stupid Stepford wife that she was.” She laughed again.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Killed her, of course.” Cherie shrugged her shoulders casually. “She was divorced already. I simply took her name and identity, so the other stuff wouldn't catch up with me.”

  “Like the murder of Jonathan's foster parents?” A clarity was spreading in Arla’s mind, and with it, a stark, horrible realisation she was facing a fiendishly clever, bitter, twisted character. How far did “Cherie’s” killing spree extend?

  “You’re catching on,” Cherie came forward till she was standing right in front of Arla. The light behind her was blinding again. She knelt to face Arla.

  “Come join us, Arla. For Nicole’s sake. Think of the evil we could get rid of.”

  Arla frowned deeply, bile rising in her throat. “Join you? You’re an evil witch. A cold-blooded killer, and the saddest thing is you can’t even see it.”

  Jonty appeared. “Enough of this. Mama, we need to go. She’s just playing for time now.”

  Cherie stared at Arla for a few seconds, then raised herself. She looked at her son. “You’re right. My little trooper. Get the car ready.”

  Both of them left the room. Arla waited till the sound of footsteps had faded, then she bent her knees and leaning against the wall, managed to stand. She called to Smita, but her head was lolling over her chest. With heavy legs, Arla stumbled towards the door. The front room was empty, but the main door was open. The still waters of the pond reflected a murky grey sky.

  The sound of a car engine had Arla run to the wall and flatten herself against the window. A black van appeared. Cherie jumped out of the driver’s seat and Jonty ran around the passenger side, then up the porch stairs. Arla didn't have time to escape.

  Jonty smiled when he saw Arla. She ran into the back room, but he was too quick. A sliding tackle brought Arla crashing to the floor. Hands still tied back, she couldn't break her fall. Her head hit the wall with a sickening thud and she cried out, crumpling down.

  Dimly, she was aware of Jonty picking her up. He tied a cloth around her mouth, gagging her. Then he lifted her on his shoulders and went to the car. Cherie had the doors open. Arla landed on her back inside. The door remained open, with Cherie standing guard. Jonty appeared shortly, carrying Smita. The girl landed on a heap next to Arla. She was still unconscious.

  Arla lifted her head to find Jonty staring at her with a sickening grin on his face. “Time for a swim.”

  The door slammed shut. The engine came to life, and the van moved towards the Brent Reservoir.

  CHAPTER 90

  “Hurry, god damn it!” Harry roared, his voice rising above the siren.

  Darren was at the wheel, and his training in the obstacle driving course was being put to good use. He swerved and spun, flinging the five officers inside the car against the sides. He bellowed in impatience like Harry as a builder’s truck blocked their way, slow to pull over to one side.

  Harry’s radio chirped. “NPAS unit 4 approaching location.”

  The helicopter was almost there, Harry sighed in relief. “Roger that,” he said on the radio. “Standby, standby.”

  They had been on the road for more than forty minutes. Sirens filled the air behind them as a convoy of squad cars screamed down the North Circular A406 road. Darren took a hard left, leaving the road for a dirt track. Harry bounced, bashing his head against the ceiling. The cars rolled down the country lane, till on his left, Harry saw the open land of the nature reserve.

  His radio beeped again. “Zero this is control.” It was Rob’s voice.

  “Receiving Rob. What’s happening?”

  “The laptop is moving, guv. It’s out of the woods and heading for the reservoir.”

  “Copy that.”

  Harry got on the pilot’s radio channel. “Unit 4, Can you see anything?”

  “Yes.” The pilot’s voice crackled on the line. “A black van. moving at high speed towards the reservoir.”

  “Stop it,” Harry shouted. “You have a firearms officer on board, right? Shoot the wheels out.”

  The pilot was quiet for a second, the sound of rotors loud in the radio channel. Then his voice came back. “Who’s giving authority for the SFO to fire?”

  “Authority?” Harry almost screamed. “DCI Baker and my sister are probably in that van! Why the hell do you have an SFO if he can’t use his weapon?”

  “I’m sorry sir, DCS Johnson needs to…”

  “Just do it!” Harry bellowed. “You’re n
ot shooting a suspect, it’s a bloody car!”

  “Suspect out of vehicle, repeat, suspect out of vehicle,” the pilot’s voice suddenly had an urgency to it. “He is… oh my God.”

  Harry was shoved against the door as the car lurched into the field. Andy jumped back, he had run out to open the gate that led inside the nature reserve. Darren followed a sign that said Brent Reservoir. There was no road, it was an open field. In the distance, the waters of the massive reservoir gleamed.

  “What’s he doing?” Harry shouted. “Speed up,” he snarled at Darren. Harry was shaking, palms moist. He could see beads of sweat pour down Darren’s forehead.

  The pilot said, “The engine’s on and the van is going into the reservoir. The suspect is now in a car and they’re moving out. Towards you.”

  “Do something to the van!” Harry roared.

  His head hit the ceiling again and he winced. Darren had the accelerator down flat, and the engine whined as the wheels churned up dust. They went past a clump of trees, and ahead, two black shapes appeared, getting larger as they sped towards it. Harry recognized the shape of the van, and a saloon car speeding away.

  The helicopter was hovering in the air, and it started to descend closer. A stream of yellow flash came out of the helicopter window, splattering sparks against the side of the van.

  The back tires of the van exploded, then the front. The vehicle did a funny sideways movement, then lurched to a stop. The wheels sank in the sand of the reservoir, and the van started to sink into the water.

  Harry saw the helicopter take off after the fleeing car. Darren drove like a madman, and they screeched to a stop near the reservoir’s edge. Harry was the first one out. He took his jacket and shoes off. Then he ran towards the van, its front tilting into the water, the back settling into sand.

  Harry pumped his long legs and managed to reach the van just in time. He pulled on the doors, but they were all locked. The side and back doors had no windows. The driver’s seat was empty, as was the front passenger’s.

  “Move guv,” Andy shouted behind him. He splashed into the water, battering ram raised over his head. Harry ducked, hands over his head as Andy shattered the glass of the driver’s window.

  The van was sinking steadily, the water level now up to the wing mirrors. Harry was up to his waist, and it was happening very quickly—the heavy vehicle losing its fight with gravity.

  Harry brushed the glass fragments from his hair. He hooked a hand inside the driver’s door, fingers feverishly searching for unlock button. He couldn’t find it. His fingers were numb with cold, the freezing water making things far worse.

  Andy broke the passenger side window. Darren dived inside, his body more compact. Water gurgled in through the windows and Harry’s heart sank. He knew they had seconds before the car sank altogether.

  Darren opened the sliding side door an inch, grunting against the pressure of the surging water. Harry put a hand inside, gained some purchase and the two of them pushed with all their might. The door screeched back and water rushed inside, pooling into the floor. Harry’s eyes widened. Arla’s scared, gagged face stared back at him. Her legs were untied and she moved forward. Darren grabbed Smita, who was now awake. Both women were bundled out of the car, Harry holding them for dear life, as more water rushed in, pushing Darren inside the van.

  Arla and Smita were dressed, with shoes on, and Harry had to get them out of the water first. Feet sinking into sand, he fought his way back, holding the women by his side. There was a giant whooshing sound behind them, and shattering glass as the windscreen broke and water plunged into the van.

  “Darren,” Harry shouted, but his voice was weak with exhaustion.

  Bubbles broke the water next to Harry and a figure broke out of the reservoir, coughing and spluttering. It was Darren, followed quickly by Andy. Both wore shirts soaked to their skin, chest rigs already discarded before they entered the reservoir.

  The five of them made it back to the muddy, sandy shore and collapsed on it. Harry removed the gags from Arla and Smita’s mouth. Smita whimpered and clung on to Harry, and he swallowed the emotion inside his throat, holding his sister tight against him. His eyes locked onto Arla’s. She nodded, and despite all that had happened, gave him a grin.

  CHAPTER 91

  Commander Wayne Johnson’s room was completely silent as Arla finished speaking. She stood, facing a table that seated Johnson, James Fraser, the Sec of State, Nixon from the MI5 and his boss, and Deakins, the Deputy Assistant Commissioner.

  Harry was to her left, seated. The rest of the team were downstairs. Arla sat back down on her chair.

  Johnson said, “Both Cherie and Jonathan Cross are now in captivity. The other squad cars blocked their escape route. They surrendered without a fight, not that they had any other option.”

  Fraser took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Arla noted how haggard he looked. The earlier polish of his nice suit and gleaming eyes were gone.

  He said, “Do we know Cherie’s real identity?”

  Arla said, “Polly Holdsworth was the name on her birth certificate. But this was a woman who changed her identity frequently.”

  Fraser coughed. “I had a word with the Justice Minister. Simpson’s trial for historic sexual abuse crimes will be brought forward.” He looked down, closing his eyes briefly. Arla could read the guilt in his features. Luke was his son, and he had failed him in every respect as a father.

  When Fraser looked up, he stared at Arla. “I thank you for bringing Simpson to justice.”

  She shrugged. “He was going to get it sooner or later.”

  Johnson said, “All of you did a great job.” His eyes moved from Arla to Harry.

  Deakins, the mild mannered, but cut-throat DAC said, “And now that Commander Johnson has left his post as Superintendent, I think there might be a vacancy looming.”

  Fraser leaned forward. “I heard about that too.” He smiled at Arla, and she felt a lightness in her heart. Expectation filled her being like sunlight. She looked at the men, coming to a stop at Johnson. He cleared his throat.

  “No post has been created as yet. I am still in charge for the time being, as you know.” He gave Arla a grin. “But when the time comes, all of us know who has put herself forward as the best candidate for the job.”

  Arla felt happiness bubbling inside her, rising up in her chest like the first spring morning of the year.

  *****

  The beer was flowing freely inside the pub. Harry had sneaked out for a fag, and Arla had persuaded him to let her have one. A few double gin and tonics warmed her insides and after her near-death experience, she deserved a smoke, damn it.

  Laughter came through the door as they opened it and stepped outside. They were at the rear of the pub and Harry found a dark corner and lit his fag. Both blew out smoke, Arla coughing as she did so.

  “You OK?” Harry asked.

  “A little nicotine won’t harm me. I almost drowned yesterday, after getting my head bashed in.”

  Harry missed the mirth in her eyes and looked away. She stared at his face, wondering. He had been unusually serious since the rescue operation. Smita was fine, despite the scars she now carried. She would pull through.

  She punched him lightly on the forearm. “Hey. It’s over. We did alright.”

  He looked at her then, his eyes large and melting and she felt the breath catch in her throat. She had never seen Harry look so serious.

  “Yes we did,” he said in a low, rough voice. “But I never want to see you like that again.”

  He took a deep breath, his big chest rising and falling as he looked away again. Arla remained silent. The quietness deepened. She was about to say something when he spoke.

  “We have to take better care of you. You try too hard, get yourself into these situations. It’s not right.” He shook his head, throwing the butt away.

  “I can take care of myself,” she said in a small voice.

  “I know, but if anything happened to y
ou, I…”

  His voice caught and his mouth opened suddenly, expelling air. His eyes had a strange light in them as he looked at her. The burning intensity in them held her captive.

  “I…”

  Arla stared at him. He faced her now, and she was aware of how close they stood.

  “I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you. Because I…” he swallowed, suddenly seeming incapable of further speech.

  “Yes?” Arla said, looking up at his shining eyes. “What is it?”

  “Because I…” his forehead creased in an expression that was like pain, but spoke to her of tenderness, of lost hopes and dreams.

  He reached out a hand to cradle her cheek. She felt the warmth of his hand, then the brush of his thumb as he gently stroked her lower lip. She held his hand in both of hers and lowered it. She stepped closer till there was no distance between them. His aftershave smelt of woodspice, and faint cigarettes.

  “Tell me, Harry.” Her voice was the rustle of winter leaves falling to the ground.

  “I think I love you, Arla Baker.”

  She burst into tears, hot saline drops cascading out of her eyes. Her knees buckled. Harry’s arm came around like a life support vest, tethering her to his chest and she leaned in hard, listening to the soft drum of his heartbeat.

  She stood like that for what seemed like ages, arms wrapped tight around him. It was cold and miserable, and every day the city chipped away at her, crumbling her defences, exposing the dark currents of the river running inside her. But for now, she had peace, and she would hold on to it for as long as she could.

  “Say it again, Harry,” she murmured, scarcely believing the words that slipped out of her mouth.

  And he did.

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Thank you for reading this book. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I enjoyed writing it!

  If you did, would you please mind leaving a review on Amazon? It takes 2 minutes to leave a review, but guides other readers forever.