Stolen

by Rebecca Muddiman

  ‘Mr Walker?’ Cartwright asked.

  The man nodded and Cartwright turned his attention back to Abby.

  ‘I just want to find Beth,’ Abby said.

  ‘Who’s Beth?’ Lawton asked.

  ‘My daughter,’ she said, swiping her hand across her forehead and brushing her sticky, sweaty hair from her face.

  Lawton and Cartwright exchanged glances.

  ‘Please, I just want my daughter back.’ Abby rubbed her hand down the side of her face, smearing the blood that had yet to dry over her cheek.

  ‘If you can tell us what happened, Abby, we can help you. We’ll help you find your daughter.’

  Abby stared at Lawton and then let out a breath, her frustration rising. The woman didn’t even look old enough to be a police officer. How was she going to help? She looked at the others standing there watching her. Why wouldn’t anyone help her?

  Lawton ushered Abby towards the police car, trying to sit her down but Abby pulled away. ‘Just tell us what happened, Abby.’

  Abby squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to talk, she just wanted to find Beth. She didn’t want to think about it.

  ‘Abby?’ Cartwright said.

  She sighed. ‘They took me. They put me in a van and hurt me and they just left Beth there on her own. She can’t be on her own, she’s only a baby.’

  ‘Okay, Abby. Who took you? Did you know them?’ Lawton asked, glancing at Cartwright. As he turned to walk away, Abby heard him say, ‘Requesting CID and an ambulance.’

  ‘No.’ Abby’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Please, I don’t care about me but I need to find Beth. Why won’t you listen? She’s on her own. She’s not safe.’

  ‘I am listening, Abby. But I need to know what happened so I can help you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Ambulance is on its way,’ Cartwright said.

  ‘She was in the car. They left her in the car. It was right down there,’ Abby said pointing back down the road. ‘I’m sure that was the way I came. I was driving from town, from Redcar, and I think... It’s a silver Corsa. You must’ve passed it. One of you must’ve seen it.’ Abby looked from Lawton to Mr Walker. They exchanged a glance. ‘You saw it?’ Abby asked.

  Lawton nodded. Walker looked ill.

  ‘I saw the car. I thought someone had left it there, gone for a picnic or something. I didn’t know...’ Walker said and looked between Abby and the police. ‘There was no one in it though, I’m sure.’

  Cartwright rubbed his chin.

  ‘But you might not have seen her. If you didn’t stop, you wouldn’t have seen her. She was in her car seat, in the back. She’ll be frightened on her own, we need to go and get her.’

  Cartwright beckoned Lawton. ‘Wait here while I go back to check the car. And get a statement from Mr and Mrs Walker.’

  Lawton nodded.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Abby said.

  Cartwright started to argue but Abby climbed into the passenger seat. Lawton walked away, speaking into her radio. Mr and Mrs Walker stood huddled together. Cartwright started the car. As they drove back down the hill Abby’s stomach turned, her nausea rising.

  A few minutes later they saw her car on the side of the road. Cartwright pulled over and Abby was out the door before he’d even stopped the car. She ran across the road and pulled open the door.

  She heard the sound, a guttural, hollow noise, and felt Cartwright’s hand on her arm, trying to gently pull her away.

  Beth was gone.

  Chapter Six

  DI Gardner pulled up at the side of the gravel road and took in the scene. All he knew so far was that a woman had been attacked and dumped on the road and was claiming her baby was missing. Usually the kid turned up within hours, sometimes the parents were involved, and occasionally there was no child at all. He felt like he’d come across every kind of person there was in his line of work and yet cases kept coming up that proved him wrong.

  Gardner watched as Dave Sanders, one of the SOCOs, who only ever spoke in scientific jargon, climbed out of his car with his bag of tricks. At least that was something. Sanders was one of the best. They’d worked together many times and Gardner knew he could trust him. If there was any evidence out there, Sanders would find it. He worked his team hard and got results.

  He saw the paramedics standing beside the ambulance, talking to PC Craig Cartwright. That was all he needed, a little shit like Cartwright on the case. Cartwright looked up and nodded across the road. Gardner followed his stare and saw Lawton crouched down beside the woman. That was something. PC Dawn Lawton balanced things out. She was good. Would make a good detective one day.

  Gardner shifted his attention to the woman. Clearly something awful had happened, but he hoped that her ordeal had confused her. It wouldn’t be the first time a parent was convinced a child was lost when in fact the kid had been left at home or school.

  Gardner let out a breath and opened the car door. As he walked towards Lawton he hoped that this would be an easy one.

  Abby sat on the hard gravel road, her arms wrapped around her knees. She noticed the small, sharp stones digging into her flesh but felt nothing. PC Cartwright had given up trying to move her into the ambulance and was instead talking constantly into his radio, seemingly desperate for control over something. She saw his arms moving, fingers pointing to the cars that arrived and the people who climbed out. Yellow tape was unwound and fluttered in the breeze. Abby tuned out his words, desperate to cling onto unreality. This wasn’t a police matter. Beth wasn’t gone. Things were fine. But the arrival of more cars, more police, uniforms, equipment; they all conspired together and refused to let her keep believing in it.

  Two pairs of feet arrived in front of her.

  ‘Mrs Henshaw?’ She recognised Lawton’s voice and ignored her, hoping she’d go away, taking all of it with her. ‘Mrs Henshaw?’ Her feet shuffled and then the second pair moved slightly as someone stooped in front of her. She felt a gentle touch on her chin, manoeuvring her to face him. An older, more experienced face, wearing a concerned expression, looked down at her.

  ‘Mrs Henshaw? I’m DI Gardner.’ He looked back up at Lawton and then at Abby. ‘Can you hear me? If you can hear me, just nod, alright?’

  Abby paused, her brain struggling to comprehend. Eventually she felt herself nod.

  ‘Good. Okay, we’re going to take you to the hospital. Get you checked out, make sure you’re okay and then we’ll have a talk. Is that alright?’

  Abby stared at Gardner and then nodded again. She felt like she wanted to speak but she couldn’t think what it was she should say. What was there left to say? Beth was gone. Gardner moved back to let the paramedics in. They gave her a quick once-over and then helped her stand. As they walked her to the ambulance she looked around at the frenzy of activity. She felt like she was in a film where the hero stands still and alone as the rest of the world rushes around, unaware of the statue among them. PC Lawton got into the ambulance. Abby could hear her talking but couldn’t make out what she was saying. She spotted Cartwright lurking by her car. Another man, wearing latex gloves, backed out of her car holding something. She watched as Gardner approached him.

  ‘Definitely her car,’ he said and handed Gardner some papers. ‘ID in her handbag matches the registration. We’ve got a contact number for the husband, but haven’t got hold of him yet. A uniform’s on the way to try and pick him up.’

  ‘Paul,’ Abby muttered. What about Paul? How was he going to feel? How would she tell him what’d happened? That Beth was gone?

  The paramedic nearest to her helped her into the ambulance and went to close the door. Before he did she heard one last thing from the man with the gloves.

  ‘No sign of a baby in there though. No car seat, no nappies or whatever. No picture in her wallet. Nothing.’

>   Chapter Seven

  ‘Okay, Abby, we’re all done here. Sit up in your own time and when you’re ready you can use the bathroom. If you need anything just let me know,’ Doctor Rosen said, her voice soothing and even.

  Abby watched her as she peeled off her gloves and disposed of them. She looked up, giving Abby a slight smile, comforting and professional. There was no pity in her words or actions. Abby wondered how long she’d done this. Was this all she did? Day after day, taking care of victims. She wondered how the woman felt when she went home at night; unclean and angry, or like she’d done something good? Maybe both. Abby looked down to Doctor Rosen’s left hand but saw no ring. She must be in her late-fifties at least. Abby wondered if she’d never married; perhaps her job had marred her opinion of men. Maybe she just didn’t wear a ring for work.

  ‘Abby?’ She realised the doctor was speaking and looked up into her eyes. ‘Do you want to get up now?’ Doctor Rosen asked.

  Part of Abby wanted to stay put, listening to her gentle voice forever. She wanted to hear that everything was okay. If she were to tell her that, Abby was sure she’d believe her. But she didn’t. Not once had she told Abby that things were fine. She hadn’t told her that she was okay. She hadn’t promised that Beth would be safe. Maybe it was this honesty that inspired trust in the women who came through her doors.

  Abby sat up and felt the room spin. Doctor Rosen put a steadying hand on her shoulder. After a couple of minutes she gave Abby’s shoulder a slight squeeze.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  Abby nodded and slid off the table, glancing from side to side. She stood still, unsure of what to do and where to go. Doctor Rosen held her arm out beside Abby, guiding but not touching.

  ‘Just through here,’ she said, gesturing to a door with her other hand. ‘There are clean towels and a change of clothes. Just leave the gown on the floor.’

  Abby stepped into the bathroom, which was blinding in its whiteness. Doctor Rosen closed the door behind her and for the first time in hours Abby was alone. She could hear her own breaths quietly echoing off the pristine tiles. She stepped forward to the sink, keeping her head down to avoid looking into the mirror above it. After a few deep breaths she raised her head. Abby stared at herself. Blood stained her face and was caked in her hair; the red reminded her of the time she stole her mother’s lipstick and smeared it across her seven-year-old face. Bruises covered a good portion of her face and her lips were swollen and torn. She went to touch her cheek and realised her hands were behind her back, gripping the hospital gown, keeping it closed, keeping the cold out, keeping anyone from seeing her. She looked behind her at the closed door and gradually let go of the thin, papery costume. It drifted apart, exposing her goose-pimpled skin to the harsh overhead lights.

  Abby reached up to her sad clown face and traced a line down the dried blood on one side. She reached her chin and then started again from the top, drawing patterns round the edge of the bruises, trying to make shapes.

  A noise from outside the room made her jump. She turned away from the mirror and looked at the pile of white hotel-folded towels on the shelf next to the bath. She panicked for a moment, thinking she was going to get blood on them, and then decided that Doctor Rosen probably didn’t care. She wondered if they re-used the towels or if they disposed of them like plastic gloves. It seemed a waste, but she couldn’t help feeling sick at the thought of other women, other girls, wiping away their own blood on those same towels.

  On the chair was a pile of clothes, again folded neatly and professionally. Abby brushed her hand along the edge of the pile. Bra, knickers, socks, T-shirt, tracksuit bottoms, jumper, and slip-on trainers; the kind you see in the Sunday supplements. She wondered if she needed all those clothes. She didn’t remember it being that cold.

  Another noise from the other side of the door made her move. There could be someone else waiting to come in, a factory line of victims. Examination – wash – questioning. Abby looked around for another door that would lead her to the next stage but saw none. She’d have to go back the way she came. But what if there was someone in there? The next victim? Do you wait until you’re called or knock on the door to come out? How were you supposed to know?

  Abby turned back to the bath. Behind the curtain was a shower. She wondered which she was meant to use. A shower would be quicker if there was a queue. She turned the taps and a violent flow of water shot out of the showerhead. Abby held her hand underneath the stream and then stepped under it. The hot water stung her face and burned as it heated up. She felt heavy and constricted. She ran her hands down her body and her skin felt like it was pulling away from her bones. She looked down and realised that she was still wearing the gown. Stepping back, she struggled to unfasten the gown; the cord too wet and tight to un-do. She clawed at it but it was too strong. Abby felt her chest tighten with the effort. She pulled at the front of the gown and felt tears burning in her eyes. She slid down the tiled wall until she was sitting at the bottom of the bath, the hot water just about reaching her, steam beginning to fill the room and blank her out. Safe in the knowledge that the water would drown out the sound, she let go.

  Abby turned off the shower and stepped out, leaving a trail of water across the floor. The soaked gown clung to her body. She pulled it up over her head and dropped it to the floor with a heavy splat. Her chest hurt, her throat felt raw. She wondered how long she’d been in there and if Dr Rosen had been hammering at the door like her father used to. She’d missed the sound of his voice after he’d gone, wished he could yell at her just one more time.

  She picked up a large white towel and wrapped it around herself, no longer caring if she made a mess. She threw the pile of clothes onto the floor, watching water seep into the T-shirt, and sat on the vacant chair, her hair dripping down her back. She looked at her arms, red from the heat of the water, and thought about that summer Paul fell asleep in the garden and got sunburnt all over the front of his body. She wondered if Paul had been told yet; if he was waiting out there somewhere. Maybe he was sitting out there right now with Beth on his knee, thinking how she always spends too long in the bathroom.

  Abby got up and dried herself. She examined each item of clothing before putting it on. The bra: slightly too small and fraying on one cup. The knickers: large and comical. The T-shirt: peach and bland. The tracksuit bottoms: too long and too nylon. She questioned putting on the blue jumper, but felt like it must be there for a reason and so slid it over her head. Finally the socks. The socks were OK. She slipped her feet into the Sunday shoes that were a little too big and clip-clopped slowly across the floor back to the mirror. She took one last look at herself before going out to face the world. Reaching up again to her swollen face she touched a bruise and pressed her fingers into it. She let out a whimper and pressed harder. It didn’t hurt enough.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Alright, thanks. Bring him up.’ Gardner put down the phone and rubbed his eyes. The husband had arrived. Abby Henshaw had already been brought in after being examined. Fortunately she’d suffered no serious injury, he’d been told. Fortunately. That was a joke. Cuts and bruises were the least of her trouble. The woman had been raped. Her daughter was missing. If he was going to pick one word to describe Abby Henshaw it wouldn’t be ‘fortunate’.

  Gardner started to walk out to meet Mr Henshaw when DC Don Murphy and PC Cartwright walked in. Murphy had a face like a slapped arse for a change.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Gardner asked him.

  Murphy shook his head, making his jowls wobble. ‘My knee’s killing me. Walking up and down that bloody road all afternoon.’

  ‘So you’re done?’ Gardner asked, looking between Murphy and Cartwright.

  ‘SOCO’s still out there,’ Cartwright said when Murphy didn’t bother. ‘Sanders said he’d call as soon as he found anything.’

  ‘And what about you?’ Gar
dner said.

  ‘I spoke to a couple of dog walkers who saw nothing. The couple that found Mrs Henshaw gave a statement but know nothing useful. Like I said, SOCO’s found nothing so far. Some blood that’s probably hers. A few cigarette butts, a few bottles; nothing useful,’ Cartwright said, with a shrug. ‘Waste of time.’

  Cartwright was a cocky little shit. Ambitious too. Had an eye on the boss’s job. Thought actual police work was below him. Gardner glared at him before turning to Murphy.

  ‘There’s a few footwear marks but no clear ones,’ Murphy said and leaned back so far in his chair Gardner thought it would break. ‘We’ve got an eye out for the van but as she doesn’t know what make it is or a licence plate, it won’t be easy. Unless of course you want us to bring in every white van on the bloody roads. There’s nothing out there.’

  ‘What about door-to-doors? What about searching for the kid?’

  Murphy shrugged. ‘What doors? There’s nothing out there but cows.’ Murphy rolled his eyes when Gardner opened his mouth to speak. ‘There’s a pub and a few houses way back. They’ve covered it all. No one saw anything. No one heard anything. No one knows anything. There’s a team searching the fields nearby but how likely is it that a bloody baby is going to be crawling around out there? It’s a waste of time.’

  ‘I’ll decide what’s a waste of fucking time,’ Gardner said and Cartwright looked down at his feet. ‘I want to know every CCTV camera, every speed camera, on the road from when she left Redcar to the scene. I want to know that every last possible witness has been accounted for. Are you listening?’

  Murphy stopped with his hand in his snack drawer. Lawton walked in but started to edge towards the door as Gardner yelled at his team. ‘Hang on,’ Gardner said to her and she stopped. ‘You,’ Gardner said, pointing at Murphy. ‘Get your fat arse out of that chair and get back out there. When you’ve checked every last inch of that road, when you’ve stopped and checked every single car, and when you’ve looked under every last cow, then you come back here and tell me it was a waste of time. You,’ he said, pointing at Cartwright, ‘go with him. Start knocking on doors yourself. And carry his fucking snacks for him.’