Hunting Shadows

by Bugler, Sheila

  Ellen looked at Malcolm. ‘What do you think happened?’

  ‘Thought we was meant to keep an open mind,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you’re always telling us?’

  ‘True,’ Ellen said. ‘But a good detective also follows their gut instinct. What’s your gut telling you, Malcolm?’

  Malcolm ran a hand over his tight haircut and sighed. ‘There’s a part of me, right, that keeps thinking it must be the father. I mean, that’s the most likely explanation, right? Except there’s something else I keep thinking about as well.’

  ‘Go on,’ Ellen said.

  ‘Something about it reminds me of Molly York,’ Malcolm said. ‘Remember that case? I know this is different because Molly was over three years ago and there’s been nothing like it since. But in here,’ Malcolm thumped his chest. Hard. ‘In here, I can’t help thinking the two things might be related. And that makes me feel sick, El– I mean, Ma’am. Sick as a dog. Because if the same person who took Molly has taken Jodie, then, well, you know what that means.’

  Ellen knew exactly what it meant. She remembered the photos of Molly’s dead, mutilated body. The thought of the same thing happening again. She hadn’t seen a photo of Jodie yet, hadn’t spoken to her family or friends or formed any clear picture in her head of what the child was like. But that paperback lying on the ground was all Ellen needed. In her mind, Jodie was already there. Her head buried in Michelle Magorian’s classic story of war and friendship.

  Other images were there, too. Images Ellen tried to push aside. Jodie without her book, her face unrecognisable from fear and terror and pain. The sound of her voice, screaming inside Ellen’s head, begging Ellen to find her, to save her from the unimaginable hell.

  Ellen blinked twice. The images faded until the only thing she could see was Malcolm, a frown creasing his shiny forehead as he stared at her.

  ‘We’ll find her,’ she said. ‘Even if it is the same sick bastard. We’ll find Jodie and we’ll make sure, whoever he is, he’ll never harm another child for the rest of his miserable life. Okay?’

  The frown disappeared.

  ‘It’s good to have you back,’ Malcolm said.

  14:30

  Ellen got out of the car, locked it and hurried towards the white building at the end of the car park. At the entrance, she held her security pass against the door, waited for the red light to flash green, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Keeping her head down, she strode quickly to the lift. When she pressed the button, the doors slid open and she crossed over into the narrow space, only allowing herself to breathe once she’d pushed the button for the third floor and the lift started to ascend.

  Her hands had a slight shake, as if she’d been drinking the night before. Being back here, in this building, it affected her more than she’d expected. She thought she’d prepared herself. Had run through any variety of situations and anticipated emotions. The one thing she hadn’t expected was that she’d feel so damn scared. Nerves she’d expected. Excitement, too. Apprehension, of course. And even a bit of uncertainty. But this? Fear was something new. She didn’t like it one bit.

  Pushing it aside, she tried to focus on the positives. Over the past two months, she’d built up this moment, going over it again and again. Her return to the job. A sure sign that she was starting to put the past behind her and move on with her life. It was good to be back. It had to be. Because the alternative – that she wouldn’t be up to the job, anymore – was unthinkable.

  Malcolm had wanted to come back with her, but she’d made him stay at the scene to co-ordinate things at that end. A team of uniforms had already arrived and were conducting the door-to-doors. Ellen had told Malcolm to set up the school interviews, questioning staff and pupils, looking for any clue as to where Jodie might be or who had taken her.

  The lift stopped, doors opened and Ellen stepped out. The corridor stretched out in front of her, limitless in length. Or so it seemed at that moment. Behind her, the lift doors closed with a whish. Part of Ellen wished she could turn and go back, pretend she’d never been here. The other part of her said she needed to get a grip. Quickly.

  She took a deep breath and started walking.

  Her footsteps were loud against the tiled floor. The sound echoed around the corridor, competing for Ellen’s attention with the flood of memories. People, cases, sounds, emotions – a rush of everything, making her light-headed, almost giddy.

  Suddenly, she had reached Room 3.03. The door was closed, but she could hear the buzz of voices inside the room. Alastair Dillon’s low, Scottish growl; Raj Patel’s rich, resonant rhetoric; and Abby Roberts’ high-pitched, girly voice, as grating as fingernails on glass.

  Ellen pressed down on the handle and pushed open the door.

  A burst of noise hit her, short and sharp, like a slap. Then silence followed, just as startling, as all the faces in the room turned and stared at her. She stared back, unable to speak. She wanted to move forward, make the moment pass, but she was incapable of doing anything.

  There were just the three of them. DC Raj Patel, DC Alastair Dillon who, by some odd coincidence, came from the place as Malcolm McDonald – a small town on the Scottish island of Orkney. And, at the front of the room, separate from the others, Abby Roberts, the family liaison officer.

  Ellen’s eyes locked briefly with Abby’s before the other woman turned back to her computer. Her fingers tapping on the keyboard sounded overly loud in the surrounding silence.

  There was a scraping sound as Raj pushed his chair back and got to his feet, face breaking into a smile, transforming it. Before Ellen could react, he started clapping. Suddenly, Alastair was on his feet, clapping as well, the sound drowning out the tap-tapping of the keyboard as Abby continued typing, ignoring what was going on behind her.

  The noise and the subsequent embarrassment was enough of a trigger to get Ellen moving again. She stepped forward, face burning, and told them to behave. As the clapping stopped, Raj moved towards her, hand outstretched.

  ‘Good to have you back,’ he said. ‘Pleased as anything when I come in this morning and the boss says you’ll be part of this. Between you and me, he looks like he’s feeling the pressure.’

  Ellen managed something approaching a smile, although she felt closer to crying. The reaction from her team was so unexpected. During the dark days she’d been away, she’d thought about them a lot. Missed them and wondered how they were. It had never occurred to her they might be thinking of her too.

  She glanced through the glass panel that split the room in two. On the other side of the glass, a row of uniformed officers were on the phones. Following up statements taken on the door-to-door enquiries, taking calls from the usual selection of well-meaning members of the public and a significant number of nutters who seemed to have nothing better to do with their time. Ellen knew if she went through the list of callers, she’d see a smattering of names she recognised from earlier investigations.

  On this side of the glass a massive whiteboard took up one side of the room. At the centre, a blown-up photo of a young girl with dark hair, blue eyes and a cute, crooked smile. The name Jodie Hudson written underneath in blue pen, alongside the date and time of her disappearance.

  Ellen turned back to Raj, avoiding eye contact. He had this way of looking at people, like he understood what they were thinking. It never failed to unsettle her.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m anxious to get stuck in, but I need to talk to Baxter first, then we can go over what we have. Where is he?’

  ‘In his office,’ Raj said, nodding towards the door.

  She thanked Raj and scowled at Abby’s back, still tensed over the keyboard, still typing furiously. Then she got the hell out of there as quickly as she could.

  Ed’s office was two doors down from the incident room. Unusually, his door was closed so Ellen knocked and waited for him to answer. She was about to knock a second time when she heard his voice, telling her to come in.

  He wa
s sitting at his desk, head in his hands. At first, he seemed barely aware she’d entered the room but when she said his name, he looked up.

  ‘Ah, Ellen,’ he said. ‘Good. Take a seat.’

  She sat down, grateful for the support for her shaking legs. Despite the chill of the day, she was hot. Her hands were clammy and she wiped them several times on her trousers in a futile attempt to dry them off.

  ‘Black no sugar, right?’ Ed said. He stood and moved across to the coffee machine on the shelf beside his desk.

  Ellen nodded, thinking a hot drink and a rush of caffeine to her system was probably the last thing she needed right now.

  ‘Here you go.’

  He placed a mug on the table in front of her and, despite her reservations, she breathed in the rich smell of fresh coffee with relish. She didn’t reach out for the drink, though. She had to wait until her hands stopped shaking.

  ‘You okay?’ Ed settled back in his seat the other side of his desk.

  ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I was fine until I got up here. It feels,’ she searched for the right word before shaking her head. ‘I don’t know how it feels, to be honest. It’s good to be back, though. I know that.’

  ‘It’s good to have you back,’ he said. ‘Even if it is part-time for now. Thirty hours, right?’

  Ellen nodded.

  They both knew the reality would be more than that. She didn’t care. It was thirty hours better than nothing.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Good. Of course, if we find her within the next day or so, we can review the arrangements. Oh, and you need to continue with the counsellor as well. Another six months.’

  ‘Why?’

  Ed wouldn’t look at her when he answered. ‘That’s between you and her, Ellen. If she says you need some more sessions, then who am I to argue with her?’

  ‘What did she say about me?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘She said you’re good to return to work,’ Ed said. ‘Or else you wouldn’t be here. Okay?’

  Ellen shrugged. ‘Guess it’ll have to be.’

  In truth, the counselling sessions weren’t as bad as she’d expected. It was possible they were even helping. A little. Would probably help more if she applied herself to doing the small tasks Briony, the counsellor, set after each session. Except somehow, Ellen always found excuses not to find the twenty minutes it took to sit down each week and write about her feelings. She just wasn’t that type of person and being asked to do something she found so difficult, well, it was easier simply to resent being asked in the first place and ignore the request. Over and over.

  ‘Kids okay?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Great,’ she said. ‘Hard work as well. But lovely. Perfect, in fact.’

  Ed nodded. ‘You know Ellen, you should only be here if you’re sure it’s what you want. I used to think work was what gave meaning to my life. It’s only recently I’ve realised it’s a distraction. Nothing more than that. Family’s what matters. If you want to be with your kids, then don’t let me or anyone else stop you. Okay?’

  ‘Hey.’ She held up a hand. ‘Shouldn’t you be giving me a pep-talk instead of encouraging me to go home again? Seriously, it’s great to be back. I’ve found it really tough these last few months. I don’t know how other women do it.’

  ‘Everyone’s different,’ Ed said. ‘My Andrea never worked a day in her life once Melissa came along. And I don’t think she regrets a moment of it.’

  His voice trailed off and he gazed off to the side. Ellen waited, hoping he’d change the subject. The last thing she wanted was a cosy chat about his home life. Things might be better between them, but she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  She waited for him to say something else. But he stayed quiet, lost in his own thoughts.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Got distracted there for a minute. Right. Where were we?’

  He looked exhausted. Ellen thought she knew why. The case felt like Molly York all over again – girl disappeared, no clues or leads, dead-ends everywhere they looked. Only this time, they had a chance to get it right. To find the missing girl before it was too late.

  ‘Jodie Hudson,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ve been to down to Lenham Road. So far, no witnesses, no leads. Nothing.’

  The tremor in her hands was gone and she felt safe enough trying the coffee. It was good. Just the right side of bitter, with a kick to it.

  ‘It’s as high-risk case,’ Ed said. ‘Obviously. That’s why we’re leading on it.’

  Missing children cases were routinely handled by CAT, the child abuse investigation team. If SCD1 Homicide command were leading, it meant this was being treated as a stranger abduction. Or possible murder. Given the girl’s age, the chain of command made sense.

  Ellen pictured the smiling ten-year-old she’d seen in the incident room. She thought of her own children, the visceral love she felt for them, and shivered. The thought of anything happening to them was beyond anything she could comprehend.

  ‘What about the parents?’ she asked.

  ‘They’ve gone home,’ Ed said. ‘For now. Roberts will go and stay with them. She’ll be the FLO on this.’

  Ellen drained the rest of her coffee. Felt her face flush.

  ‘Is that a problem?’ Ed asked. ‘If it is, I need to know now.’

  He’d promised her, hadn’t he?

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said.

  Ed nodded. ‘Good. You’ll need to speak to her as soon as we’re done. In fact, you’ll probably be working closely with Roberts the whole way through this. Who knows? Might turn out to be a good thing. Give you girls a chance to get over your differences.’

  Ellen stared at him, not trusting herself to speak. Her face was still hot. This time, she knew the cause. Anger. He had a bare-faced cheek trying to turn this into some spat between ‘the girls’.

  She recalled the scene earlier in the room down the corridor. Two of her colleagues standing up to welcome her back. The other one sitting stubbornly at her desk, the angry clatter of her keyboard telling Ellen everything she needed to know about what Abby Roberts thought of her.

  The image faded, replaced by another one. Abby Roberts and Ed Baxter. Abby on her knees, face flushed red as she turned to look at Ellen. Baxter, eyes wide with shock, realising he had – quite literally – been caught with his trousers down. The incident happened two days before Abby’s application for transferral to CID had been approved. By none other than DCI Ed Baxter.

  He had the grace to drop eye contact. Clearing his throat, he shuffled the papers on her desk, refusing to look at her.

  ‘That sounded wrong,’ he said. ‘And patronising. Sorry. I’m trying here, Ellen, but it’s not easy. I made a mistake. I told you that already. Can’t we at least try to move on?’

  What about your wife? Ellen wanted to ask him. Did you ever tell her what you did? Except she knew it was none of her business. Not really. So she kept her mouth shut and waited for him to continue.

  He sighed. ‘Right then. I’m the SIO and I’ll be as hands-on as I can, but I’ve a lot on my plate at the moment. I need you. I know you’re only part-time for now. Even part-time, you could run rings around anyone else in the place.’

  The praise worked. Her anger faded. Damn him. He always knew which buttons to push.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ Ed replied. ‘I mean it. It’s bloody good to have you back. Here, do you fancy a top-up?’

  He lifted the cafetiere and Ellen shook her head. The surge of caffeine, combined with the familiar rush of adrenalin as she focussed on the challenge ahead, was more than enough.

  ‘How did the parents seem?’ she asked.

  ‘Kevin and Helen Hudson,’ Ed said. ‘Good question. There’s something off there. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.’

  ‘Can you be a bit more specific?’

  Ed’s forehead wrinkled, the way it always did when he concentrated.
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  ‘I don’t like the father,’ he said after a moment. ‘But it’s more than that. I don’t like lots of people, but it doesn’t make them criminals. He’s got form, though. Previous. Maybe that’s what my problem is.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he’d harm his own kid,’ Ellen said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Ed said. ‘Maybe not. He did time for GBH. So we know he’s got a history of violence. Couple that with the fact he’s not the kid’s real father and I’d say we’ve got a pretty good case for keeping a close eye on him. They’re hiding something. Him and his missus. That’s the impression I got when we interviewed them.’

  ‘Not the real father?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Kevin’s the second husband,’ Ed said. ‘First husband ran off to Dubai when the marriage broke down a few years back. When Kevin and Helen got married, he adopted the kids and, seemingly, has raised them as his own. Husband number one is still in Dubai. We’ve already checked that. No record of him being back in Blighty over the last few years. No contact with his kids at all, apparently. Helen Hudson’s taste in men obviously leaves a lot to be desired.

  ‘Kevin doesn’t work. Helen’s the breadwinner. Happy to earn the money while her husband lays about the place doing nothing.’

  ‘Hardly laying about if he looks after the kids,’ Ellen said. ‘Why doesn’t he work? Do we know?’

  ‘He’s an ex-con,’ Ed said, as if that was all the explanation that was necessary. ‘Right. I’ve got a lot to get through. I need you to get over to the Hudsons’ as soon as possible. Question both of them and see what you come up with. Speak to Roberts first. Get her view on things.’

  Ellen knew she was being dismissed. Before she left, she had one last question.

  ‘Ed, you haven’t mentioned Molly York yet. Why is that?’

  ‘I’m not convinced,’ Ed said. ‘It was flagged up on HOLMES. But that’s hardly a surprise. Two girls go missing from the same borough. Both the same age; both pretty middle-class girls. That’s what HOLMES does, Ellen. It connects those dotted lines. But it’s not that simple.