The Family Lie

by Jake Cross

  ‘No,’ Nick said, and Anna agreed. ‘So you’ve got nothing, have you?’

  For the first time, the unflappable DCI gave him an annoyed look.

  ‘So tell us what you’ve got,’ he said by way of an apology.

  ‘The run from the lock-up garage to here, where this photo was taken, is southeast, and if we continue that way, we hit the M1 at Junction 32.’

  ‘So they went to the motorway?’ Anna said, visibly deflating in her seat. ‘So Josie could be anywhere? Anywhere in Britain? You don’t know that until you’ve searched Brinsworth more. No, you’re wrong.’

  Miller rubbed Anna’s shoulder and sat beside her. Anna wiped wet eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry. Please carry on.’

  A pair of cell towers about twenty miles south alongside the M1 picked up the first phone call to the house, at 5 a.m., from a new device, not Nick’s now-dead mobile. The call originated on the A38 heading east off Junction 28. The signal wasn’t picked up leapfrogging towers, so the kidnappers probably stopped their vehicle to make the call. The A38 ran between Sutton-in-Ashfield and Kirkby-in-Ashfield, both market towns. They were being scrutinised for, amongst other things, abandoned buildings and recently rented properties – the kind of place kidnappers might hold someone. And the kind of people who might do the holding.

  The next call, to Anna at the hospital, was made from the village of Nuthall, west off Junction 26, about eight miles south of the previous call. On a photo, someone had marked the route from the lock-up garages, across the M1 and into the two Ashfield towns, and then across the motorway again to Nuthall, creating a ˃ symbol with the M1 running down its middle.

  ‘Brinsworth, then these other towns, then Nuthall?’ Anna moaned. ‘You have no idea, do you?’

  Just eight miles separated the two calls, but they occurred two hours apart. Possibly knowing the police would assume an M1 run, the kidnappers were taking a series of smaller roads to reach their destination, resulting in a much slower journey, and they had passed from one side of the M1 to the other. This might be to avoid CCTV on major traffic lines, or because the motorway offered no escape routes in the miles between junctions. Alternate routes were being examined, of course. But there was no doubt whatever vehicle the kidnappers had, or whichever roads were being used, it was going south. Any clue why?

  Nick held up a hand. ‘Wait a minute. They called the hospital, they knew we were there, so they might have been watching.’

  ‘Well, possibly there’s a second team, see. One with your daughter, one to watch the family.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he said again. ‘If they want money for her, she must be nearby. Close to us. Here, not in bloody Nuthall. Are you hunting the kidnappers instead of our daughter?’

  ‘Second team?’ Anna cut in. ‘How many people do you think are involved in…’ She tapered off and shook her head. ‘No, no, she’s here, I feel it. I’d know if she was far away. Josie is in a room somewhere, not in a vehicle, not driving away. She’s here, she’s close to me. You don’t know anything yet. It’s all guessing. And you’re wrong. You need to search all of Brinsworth.’

  She got up to leave. Nick reached for her, and she let him take her arm. But just for a moment, and then she said, ‘I want to see my sister.’

  When she was gone, Nick hung his head. ‘There was a time when it was me she turned to. Now I’m no good for her. For anyone.’

  The detective leaned past him to tap keys. ‘Try not to let paranoia get you, my friend. But this is actually the main reason I wanted you in here. I didn’t want your wife to see this.’

  Nick sat up straight when he saw another CCTV image. But this one had a ‘PLAY’ symbol: it was video.

  ‘I know you blame yourself,’ she said. ‘I want to prove that you shouldn’t, my friend. Do you think you can watch this?’

  He didn’t want to see it. But he needed to.

  It was CCTV covering his backyard, and he knew it was going to show Josie’s kidnap.

  It was a low-level night vision, taken from a house on their side of the road, six or seven down, found during a neighbourhood canvass that had started once the police knew that Nick hadn’t absconded with his own daughter. The camera was aimed to the right in order to cover the parking area, and the Carter backyard was visible on the right side of the screen. Grainy and grey, but a portion of the image was lit by the light from the living room; although this area was so bright because of the night vision that it was washed out. Like a glowing pool of lava. The road and parking area resembled a lollipop leaning back and to the right.

  A van entered stage left, slid slowly up the road and turned in the parking area. It came back and parked outside the back gate. All the lights were off. Three dark shapes exited, but one black mass remained behind the steering wheel. One climbed the high gate and unlocked it for the others. In they slinked, moving fast and careful, like ninjas.

  When the black shapes entered the glowing pool, they became fuzzy and lost contours, like objects in a heat shimmer. The patio door wasn’t visible at this angle, but Nick realised he must have opened it right then, because the three shapes darted aside. He saw a fourth shimmering form enter the scene, stage right. Himself. Phone call to his friend done, he had decided to step out for a cigarette. Seeing this, he realised he hadn’t craved one since. Only alcohol.

  Here, in his still-hazy memory, was where he froze in fear and got struck to the ground. But that wasn’t what he saw now. His little dark shape floated out, into the garden and towards the three. It merged with one, then veered to the right, following a second. The first was down on the ground. Shocked, he realised he had taken out one of the kidnappers.

  ‘If I’d had a gun…’

  But he didn’t fare so well with number two. He thought he saw an arm come up, curling defensively across the figure’s head, as if to protect itself from his blow. But then the other arm came up, out towards him. It didn’t seem to strike him, too far away, short by a good two feet, yet down he went, as if a magic sleep spell had been cast. The black shape then moved forward, and hovered over him, bending. He thought he could see his head on the doorstep. This, he knew, would be when a syringe of ketamine got a cameo and sportsmanship left the production.

  Then he saw the third figure slip out of the right side of the screen. Into the house, through the door he had opened for them. Nice and easy. Nice’s little dark form didn’t move.

  Miller stopped the video. ‘I wanted you to see that you tried to save your daughter, Nick. You did all you could.’

  ‘If I did all I could, she’d be here with me now. I don’t want to see them take her.’ Nick grabbed the laptop, ready to slam it shut, shut away that video.

  ‘But I do,’ a voice said, startling them. Anna was behind, watching.

  ‘Anna—’ Nick started.

  ‘Don’t. I need to see it.’ She sat next to Nick and lifted his hand from the laptop screen. ‘I need to know what my daughter went through.’

  Miller left them alone to digest what they’d seen, and to talk. But they didn’t get the chance. Into the detective’s void stepped Anna’s father, and immediately, which meant he’d probably been waiting for her to leave. Nick audibly groaned. Middleton took the nearest seat, which might have been for ease or because it was the furthest from him.

  She hoped there wasn’t going to be an argument.

  He put a glass of Coke on the table.

  ‘I was told by DS Bennet. The kidnappers are heading south. Maybe to Nottingham, right, Nick? Or London. You know people in both places.’

  The hope vanished.

  ‘Don’t start,’ Nick said. ‘I’m trying to have a moment with my wife. Keep out of it.’

  ‘What are you accusing him of, Dad? Don’t you know how stupid it sounds to think Nick is involved in this? That’s his daughter. This video proves he’s innocent, that he’s a victim like Josie. Do you want to see it?’

  In response, Nick slammed the laptop.

  Middleton said, ‘Tha
t video doesn’t prove he didn’t tell people about my money.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Nick said. ‘Just come out with it.’

  ‘You should leave,’ Anna hissed. ‘Go, please.’

  ‘You know exactly what, Nick. Come on, who did you tell? Maybe you told those dodgy biker friends of yours about how well off I am. You’ve been hurting ever since I cut you off—’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Nick cut in. ‘You didn’t cut me off from your precious money, and you know it. You cut Anna off. You think I can’t see right through you? You dream that every time we’re short of cash, she regrets the last ten years. When the washing machine breaks and we can’t afford to fix it, you pray Anna will regret not becoming a business tycoon. She’ll look at that pile of dirty washing and think how the great Larry Middleton was right all along.’

  That clearly got to Middleton because he took a deep breath and a moment of careful consideration. ‘I think you told your cronies there was a way to make me hand some of my so-called precious money over. And your share would be half. For unlocking a patio door.’

  Nick shoved the closed laptop across the table. It struck the glass of Coke and sent it spinning away. The glass smashed on the floor as Middleton jumped to his feet, splattered with Coke.

  ‘I’ll pay it to get my granddaughter back. You win, Nick.’ He started to leave, but paused to add something. ‘But I’m going to pay double that to ruin you afterwards. Just watch.’

  In the playroom again, Nick once more traced his fingers over Josie’s Busy Day drawing. Nick’s stick form, standing apart from the others. Leaving the house, leaving the family. Had Josie known about the trouble between her parents? Nick and Anna had discussed a possible split many times, over many hours, but all Josie knew was that Daddy might have to go away for a bit. Or so Nick had thought.

  He was going nowhere. He had felt the pain of losing Josie, of seeing a kidnapper pass Josie, drugged into sleep, through her bedroom window and into the arms of another man, and the image, ever-replaying behind his eyes, was heart-wrenching, and he swore now he wouldn’t feel that emotion again in any form. He wasn’t moving out of the house. Hell, he was going to sleep in Josie’s room every night when they had her back. He would soak Josie up like a camel taking on water, just to fill himself with emotion and memory because he wasn’t sure he’d otherwise cope the next time Josie was away from him, even if it was for school or a day trip or when she saw her grandfather. And he would never again do anything to disrupt the family. If Josie repeated her wish that Daddy and Grandpo ‘made bestier friends’, well, Nick might even attempt that.

  But the thought of Josie being helpless, begging for Daddy, heightened a sense of impotence borne of his inability to stop those masked kidnappers from taking his girl. He’d put up a fight, but they’d taken Josie with ease, hadn’t they? Because anyone could fight, if pushed, but not everyone had a strong fight in them. That night had proved that Nick wasn’t strong enough to look after his girl. And Nick’s stick man was thinner than the others, he noted, as if Josie believed her father was weak, insignificant.

  When Anna walked in with two cups of tea that Jane had made, she stopped dead. Nick realised his face was wet and quickly rubbed the tears away. ‘I couldn’t save her.’

  ‘You’re not invincible. We’ll get her back.’ Said with conviction. She seemed to be the strong one. She was taking this better than he was. Overcome with grief, and a sense of the end, he said, ‘What if we don’t?’

  Her face was stony, sincere, when she said, ‘We will. I promise.’

  She put down the teas and sat next to him. He put his head on her shoulder, and she put her hands on his back.

  ‘We have to prepare ourselves for—’

  ‘No,’ she cut in. ‘It will all be okay.’

  Like a distraught child, he said, ‘How can you know?’ He held up his phone, ready to show her some of his research into crimes against children, but thought better of it and put the device down.

  She said, ‘It will. Everything will be okay.’

  He knew her boldness was a mask designed to ease his distress. If possible, she would take aboard all his grief and let the mass eat her alive. That was Anna, always thinking of someone else first. She deserved a stronger man. Perhaps, when this was over and Josie was back, he should do the right thing and leave the family home.

  Thinking about that made him suddenly see something else in the drawing. Not just a weak dad. Far more than that.

  Josie hadn’t drawn a future she predicted, but one she desired.

  Seven

  9.01 a.m.

  He felt his voice cracking up at the first word.

  ‘Hello, yes. It’s about Josie Carter, year two. She won’t be in today.’

  ‘Thank you. Josie Carter, year two. I’ll make sure to pass the message on. Is she ill?’

  He had to pull the phone away because a tickle in his dry throat instigated a coughing fit. The school receptionist was from Sunderland, just like the owner of the voice on the ransom recording he’d just listened to, and it choked him up. When able, he told the most painful lie of his life: yes, Josie was ill. She was in bed with fever. But after the lady asked if Josie would be back tomorrow, there was no need for a lie:

  ‘I don’t know. I hope so.’

  That should have been it, but the receptionist told him the headmistress, Mrs McKinley, had asked to speak to him. He was put through to an extension. By then he’d already told himself not to scream at the woman if this was about some trivial naughtiness Josie had been up to.

  ‘Mr Carter? Thank you for waiting. It’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to speak to you about the event yesterday in the music room. Did Josie’s mother tell you about it?’

  She had, he said. Josie had gone to the toilet, then taken a curious detour into the music room, just for a look around. Fearful of getting in trouble, she’d hidden under the piano stool when a class entered. For the entire half hour lesson, she’d remained hidden while just about every teacher combed the school. Her teacher, Miss Hood, actually had the police on the phone when the first kid from the next class into the music room spotted Josie under the piano stool.

  ‘I must apologise again. I was off yesterday, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to express my grave apologies. It’s not like Josie to go missing.’

  That speared like a harpoon. ‘No,’ was all he could muster in reply.

  ‘You can’t turn your back for a second at that age, can you? I always—’

  He blurted that he had to go, sorry, and hung up. He didn’t realise he’d been crying until a tear dripped off his chin and splashed on to the screen of his phone.

  As he turned to leave Josie’s room, he saw Anna’s father just beyond the doorway, leaning sideways so he could peer inside. He said nothing and vanished. When Nick left the room, Middleton was at the kitchen sink, filling the kettle, his back to Nick. Nick quietly got out of there.

  * * *

  9.03 a.m.

  Testing a theory, Jane collared DS Bennet alone at the dining table. She sat by him and put Anna’s photo album and two mugs of tea on the table.

  ‘Retinal cancer at twenty-nine months, just in case you’re dying to ask,’ she said.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ Bennet said after a careful, detective-like pause.

  ‘Oh, didn’t give a hoot, eh?’

  ‘I didn’t want to intrude,’ he said quickly.

  Jane laughed. ‘Just yanking your chain. I can’t see these photos. Find me one of Josie about three years old.’

  He took a sip of tea. She could sense his unease, but she heard him slide his laptop aside and pull the photo album closer. Heard pages turn. ‘Here.’

  She traced her fingers over it. ‘I wish someone could make a Braille version. Yes, by the way, people do treat me like I’m inferior.’

  Now he laughed. ‘But you make up for it with mind-reading abilities.’

  ‘I get that sort of thing, too. Do I have superhuman hearing? D
o I dream with pictures? And on a Saturday night, do I correctly imagine what a man’s penis looks like?’

  ‘And I bet you’ve got a bunch of one-liners prepared for all that.’

  ‘The other day I was with my friend at a greasy spoon and the fellow behind the counter asked my friend what I wanted to order. That annoyed me off so much I put my hand on his chest and then told him he needed to get to a doctor quickly.’

  It took a couple of seconds for Bennet to understand. ‘Oh, like he thought you had a special power to sense illness. Got you.’

  ‘The man tried to give me burnt toast, too. It’s only the first bite that’s with the eye.’ She tapped the photo album. ‘So, describe this picture for me.’

  ‘Erm. Well, Josie is about two, I think. She’s on one of those rides at a supermarket. A fire engine. The ones you put a pound in.’

  ‘I remember it. I was shopping with Anna. Nick got left to watch Josie because she didn’t want to go down the aisles. It cost a lot to put Josie on that ride for half an hour. What’s she wearing?’

  ‘Well, she’s got…’

  Aware that Anna thought the police were treating this case as just another day at the office, Jane had had an idea to force one of the detectives to study Josie more closely. Now, she figured, the sergeant was infusing her niece deep into his soul, which turned Josie from an object to be investigated into a real little girl who’d miss her parents. It would hopefully put that little bit of extra urge into him, make him go that extra mile. And it would help her to feel like a part of this, like she was helping her family. Like she wasn’t a useless piece of furniture.

  * * *

  9.06 a.m.

  In a panic, Anna opened her wardrobe. On the top shelf they kept fresh sheets and rarely used clothing in vacuum bags, and the thing she was after. It was in a small aluminium biscuit box along with other valuables, like the necklace her dead mother had given her at six, which she’d worn every day until she was eight and a new physical education teacher at her school forced her to take it off. It reminded her of the beaded necklace Josie wore, a gift from the same woman, and which the little girl tried to avoid taking off if possible, once even arguing with a PE teacher who tried to insist on its removal. Strangely, she hoped it hadn’t got accidentally torn off when those foul Ogres…