‘It’s three years since Molly was taken. Nothing between then and now. To focus all our resources on finding a nonexistent link between the two disappearances would be foolish. I won’t ignore it, of course. But I’m going to make sure we explore every other angle, too. No path unfollowed, no stone unturned. You know the score.
‘And that starts with the family. Let’s focus on them, Ellen. Kevin Hudson’s hiding something. I want to know what that is. And soon. Time’s already slipping past us. I want Kevin investigated and either discounted or arrested. If he’s done something to Jodie, let’s find that out as quickly as we can. If he’s innocent – which I very much doubt – then let’s clear him from the investigation so we can focus our efforts elsewhere. Got that?’
15:15
Back in the incident room, Raj and Alastair were still at their desks. Malcolm was here as well, shouting something about Rangers’ performance the night before. He stopped talking abruptly when he saw Ellen.
Ignoring him, she walked to the top of the room.
‘Where’s Roberts?’ she asked.
‘Gone across to the Hudsons’ place,’ Raj said.
A surge of anger rose inside Ellen. She’d come back here, bracing herself for a confrontation. And now the stupid cow wasn’t here. Even though she knew – she knew – that Ellen would expect to speak to her first.
‘Why the hell did she do that?’ Ellen asked.
Raj shrugged and looked embarrassed. She scanned the rest of the faces in the room. No one would look at her. Ellen didn’t push it. Abby’s attitude wasn’t their problem; it was hers. A frank conversation was on the cards the moment she got her hands on Abby bloody Roberts.
‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘We’ve got more important things to focus on. Malcolm, how did you get on at the school?’
‘Nothing very helpful,’ Malcolm said. ‘Jodie’s a bright, popular kid. Lots of friends, no issues as far as anyone’s aware. Two close friends …’ he consulted his notebook, ‘… Grace Reed and Holly Osbourne. Both claim to have no idea where Jodie could be. I don’t think they were hiding anything. A few of the teachers mentioned that Jodie’s father, Kevin, is a bit odd. Parents at the school gate shared the same view, by and large. Couldn’t get anything definite, though. Just the sense that not many people liked him. Oh, and several of the parents said they’d seen him shouting at Jodie more than once.
‘The head mistress, Celia Roth, wasn’t around. She’s on compassionate leave. Mother died last week. She’ll be back at work on Monday.’
‘What about door-to-doors?’ Ellen asked.
Malcolm shook his head. ‘One old bird thought she saw a white van around the time Jodie was meant to have disappeared. Couldn’t be specific on model or anything else. Apart from that, nothing, I’m afraid.’
Nothing.
Ellen bit back her frustration, forced herself to concentrate. Focus on the family. That was Ed’s instruction. And yet how could she do that and ignore what was staring them in the face?
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Here’s what happens next. Malcolm, get the contact details for all the families in Jodie’s class. Speak to the school admin and get them to give you whatever you need. Then I want you to visit every single family and see what you can find out about Jodie and her family. Parents will have a totally different perspective from the kids and teachers.
‘Alastair and Raj, I need you to start going through CCTV. See what we’ve got. There’s a garage on Lee High Road, several small businesses. We’re looking for anything out of the ordinary. Especially any sightings of a white van. You’ll need to co-ordinate the door-to-doors. Have we got anyone doing Dallinger Road yet?’
Raj nodded. ‘Team went out half-an-hour ago.’
‘Good.’ Ellen turned to the other detective in the room. ‘Alastair, do you remember Molly York? Good. When you’re done with the CCTV, I want you to dig up everything you can find on that case. Make a list of all the similarities between this case and that one. Note down anything and everything. Got that?’
Alastair’s eyes widened. ‘You think there’s a connection?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ellen said. ‘All I know is it’s something we should consider. Just in case. Remember Katie Hope? We only found Katie and her boy because we dug deep into her past and followed leads that, at the time, seemed pointless. We found Katie and we’ll find Jodie, too. We just need to work at it.’
‘What about you?’ Alastair asked. ‘Where will you be if we need to speak to you?’
‘I’m going across to see the Hudsons,’ she said. ‘I need to speak to them as soon as I can. And I’m keen to have a word with Roberts, too. I’m on the mobile. See you later.’
She said goodbye to the team and left them to it. Fear clung to her, wound its way inside her, sat in the pit of her stomach; a dead weight. Fear that she couldn’t do it. That she would mess up and a little girl’s life would be lost. It was good to be scared. Ellen knew that. The fear would push her forward and keep her focussed. Help her find Jodie. Before it was too late.
16:00
Lee, South-East London. A sprawling suburb on the edges of Lewisham and Blackheath. Ellen’s old stomping ground from way back. Not the most exciting place in the world, but it had plenty of green space, good schools and a strong sense of local community. There were worse places to bring up children. Unless you happened to be Kevin and Helen Hudson.
The Hudsons lived on Dallinger Road, a quiet street of detached and semi-detached 1930s houses in the heart of peaceful, prosperous SE12. Their house was at the top of the road. As Ellen stepped from the car, she was hit with a blast of icy wind, full of the promise of snow.
So far, there was no sign of any press. Ellen knew that would soon change. Right now, Ed was sitting down with Jamala Nnamani, Lewisham’s Media and Communications Officer, to finalise the media strategy. This time tomorrow, the road would be crawling with reporters.
Ellen ran through the biting cold to the house and rang the doorbell. As she waited, she looked along the road for Abby’s car, before remembering she had no idea what it looked like.
The anger she’d felt back at the station resurfaced. Abby was good at what she did. Even though it killed Ellen to admit that. It was why she’d wanted the FLO’s insights into the Hudsons before meeting them. Not after. Still, nothing Ellen could do about that now.
Inside the house, she heard footsteps. The door swung open and Ellen was face to face with Abby.
‘Oh,’ Abby said. ‘You. No one told me you’d be here. I could have warned Helen and Kevin.’
The expression on her perfect face was utterly guileless and Ellen wondered if the FLO almost believed the lie herself. Then she got a grip. Abby manipulated everyone to her own means. Everyone except Ellen, who knew only too well how far Abby would go to get what she wanted.
‘Warn them?’ Ellen asked pointedly.
Abby blushed. Some people didn’t suit blushing. Abby Roberts wasn’t one of those people.
‘You know what I mean,’ Abby said.
Ellen pushed past her into the house without bothering to reply. There was an unnatural stillness in the house, something Ellen recognised. During times of great trauma, people’s behaviour became muted, speaking to each other in low voices, moving slowly, as if they’d been drugged.
The hallway was bright and airy, decorated in a pared-back, Scandi style: stripped floorboards, white walls and minimal clutter.
‘This way.’ Abby led Ellen through the hallway, into the kitchen. Like the hall, the kitchen was modern and minimalist. The wall between the kitchen and sitting room had been knocked down, creating a large, open-plan living area.
A man, woman and young boy all sat on red chairs at the white dining table. The woman was short and slim with thick dark hair and huge brown eyes. When she saw Ellen, she jumped up.
‘Helen.’ Abby went over and put her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘This is DI Kelly, Lewisham CID.’
Briefly, Helen’s face lit up. Ju
st as quickly, it crumbled again. She grabbed the back of the chair, as if she might fall otherwise.
‘Is it …?’ her voice trailed off and she seemed to be struggling to breathe.
‘No,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not that. I just need to ask you a few more questions. You and the rest of the family.’
She looked at the man and boy. Kevin Hudson was tall with thinning, mousy-brown hair. His son – step-son – sat beside him, holding his father’s hand. The boy looked like neither parent and Ellen assumed he took after his father. A good-looking kid, with long dark hair that flopped forward over his pale face. He had striking green eyes with long, thick black lashes. Like his father and mother, the boy’s face had that shell-shocked look to it that Ellen had seen so many times before. Had seen it in her own face, staring back at her from the bathroom mirror, the night Vinny had been killed.
‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ Ellen asked. ‘I’m sure Abby would be happy to make us all a pot of tea.’ She gave Abby her sweetest smile. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Ellen waited until Helen sat, then pulled out one of the red chairs and sat down herself. As well as being ugly, the chair was uncomfortable. Made her wonder what the Hudsons had been thinking when they chose them.
‘Are you any closer to finding her?’ Helen asked. ‘That’s what we need. Not more questions. We’ve already told you lot everything we know. And what about her?’ She nodded at Abby. ‘Why do we need two of you here? You should be out looking for Jodie, not sitting here drinking cups of fucking tea.’
‘DS Roberts is the family liaison officer,’ Ellen said. ‘Her role is to be the link between you and us. That’s what she does. My job is to find Jodie. That’s what I do and that’s why I’m here.’
‘I recognise the name,’ Kevin said. ‘Ellen Kelly. You found that woman who went missing a few months ago. Her and her kid. That was you.’
‘That’s right,’ Ellen said.
‘And now you’ll find Jodie,’ Kevin said, as if he had no doubt about this.
Abby came across with the tea, handed out mugs. When Kevin picked up his, Ellen noticed the way his hand shook.
‘You killed him,’ Kevin continued. ‘The guy who was after her. I remember. What was his name – Billy something?’
Dunston. Billy Dunston. Vinny’s killer.
The explosion. Warm blood splattered across her cheeks. Dunston’s face disappearing. His body falling on top of her. Holding the gun to his shattered head and pulling the trigger. Again. And again.
‘It was self-defence,’ Ellen said, recycling the same old lie she’d used ever since that day.
Kevin put down his mug and stared at her. ‘Isn’t that what we all say?’
Ellen wanted to drop eye contact, but she waited. Eventually, he turned away.
‘I can’t imagine what this must be like for you both,’ Ellen said. She looked at the boy, who’d so far remained silent. ‘Or you, Finlay. You must be so worried.’
He tried to say something, but his mother cut in first.
‘No one can,’ Helen said. ‘And you’re not helping. All this time spent asking questions, you could have found her by now.’
‘We’re doing everything possible,’ Ellen said. ‘I promise you.
‘No,’ Helen said. ‘That’s not true. You’re spending all your time focussing on Kevin. Don’t pretend you’re not. It’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? To see if you can dig up some more dirt on him. And while you’re doing that, some … some maniac has got my child and instead of looking for her, instead of tracking that animal down and castrating him, you’re here asking your stupid questions when you should be out there finding my little girl!’
‘Helen.’ Abby put her hands on the woman’s shoulders. ‘Don’t let yourself get stressed. You’re under enough pressure as it is. That’s it. Deep breaths, remember?’
If it had been Ellen, she would have thrown Abby across the room for laying a hand on her. Helen Hudson, on the other hand, seemed grateful for the FLO’s intervention.
‘Let’s get this over and done with, then.’ Kevin said. His eyes flicked to Helen. ‘My wife really can’t take much more.’
‘Tell me about this morning,’ Ellen said.
The white table had traces of past meals on it: a faint brown circle from a bottle of red wine; children’s fingerprints. Ellen pictured a happy family, sitting around it sharing a meal.
Helen moaned and the image faded.
Kevin reached out and squeezed his wife’s hand.
‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘Helen starts work early, so I get the kids ready and take Jodie to school. Finlay can make his own way. He gets the bus at the bottom of the road. There’s a gang of them who go together. I get him out the door and then walk Jodie down to St Anne’s. We leave at just after half-eight to get there for nine. She’s always asking to walk by herself, but I’ve never felt comfortable about that. She’s in Year Five now. Some of her friends already walk on their own, but we’ve told her not till Year Six.’
‘But you let her go part of the way on her own, right?’ Ellen asked.
Kevin nodded. ‘We compromise. St Anne’s is at the top of Lenham Road. I leave her one end and let her walk up to the school on her own. She likes that. Loves the independence, you see. It’s not much, I know. But that’s London for you, isn’t it?’
Helen snorted. ‘Independence? It had nothing to do with independence. It was all to do with you wanting to get her off your hands as quickly as possible so you could …’
‘Could what?’ Ellen asked as Helen stumbled to a halt.
‘Get to the park,’ she mumbled. ‘He likes to have a coffee in Manor Park after dropping Jodie at school. Can’t wait to get rid of her most mornings.’
Kevin buried his face in his hands, but his wife, on a roll now, wouldn’t let up. ‘If you’d stayed with her, this would never have happened.’
‘What I need are the facts,’ Ellen said. ‘There’s no point thinking about the what ifs. They’ll just tear you apart. Kevin, how far down Lenham Road did Jodie go before you left?’
He lifted his face. ‘I don’t know. I’ve gone over and over it in my head. I think she was nearly at the school.’
‘But you can’t be sure?’ Ellen asked.
He shook his head.
‘Nobody saw a thing,’ Helen said. ‘How is that possible? How can a little girl just disappear into thin air like that?’
She reached across and grabbed Ellen’s wrist. ‘Someone must have seen something. The police say they’ve already spoken to everyone living on Lenham Road, but I don’t believe them. You’ve got to help us. Someone, somewhere has my baby girl and I want her back. I need her back. And I keep thinking about poor Molly York. Every mother around here remembers her. What if the same person has taken Jodie? Oh God, I can’t bear it. Please, DI Kelly. You’ve got to find her. You’re our only hope.’
16:30
It was a typical girl’s bedroom. Bright yellow walls covered in posters and drawings. Most of the posters were of a teen boy band that Ellen recognised from videos her own kids watched on YouTube. The drawings, obviously drawn by a child, were good, nevertheless. She made a note to find out if there was an art club at school. If the art teacher had noticed Jodie’s talent and taken an interest, maybe he or she might have some insight into the child that they’d missed so far.
There was a cabin bed, like the one Pat had. Underneath the bed was a desk and chair. Ellen sat down on the too-small chair and looked at the work laid out precisely on the desk. A white sheet of A3 paper, three pens lined up neatly beside it. On the A3 paper, a new drawing. This one of an old man with a beard and a young boy. The man had a paper bag in his hand and from this he was pulling out a book with the word BIBLE written across it.
It was a key scene from the early part of Goodnight Mister Tom, when Mister Tom and Willie meet for the first time. Ellen’s own children often drew scenes from books they were reading. The only difference was that their d
rawings were nowhere near as accomplished as this one. Somehow, Jodie had managed to show the distress on Mister Tom’s face as he tries to understand the contents of the bag.
Ellen pushed back the chair and stood up. Frustration ate away at her as she paced the small room, looking inside the wardrobe, pulling open drawers, searching – in vain – for anything that would give an idea of where Jodie might be: a letter from a pen pal, a copy of an email from someone she’d met online, a photograph, a train timetable, something that would help. She found nothing.
Being in this room, feeling Jodie all around her, heightened her sense of urgency. Jodie was in her head now. Not the made-up image she’d had earlier. Now, she was a real person. A white Ikea shelving unit ran along one wall. Both Ellen’s children had the same shelves with similar collections of childhood junk on them. She moved across to this one, examining the photos, books, games and clutter.
More drawing and painting materials here: glue, scissors, pens, paintbrushes and an expensive-looking set of oil-based paints. Framed photos lined the top shelf. Different versions of Jodie at different stages in her life grinned out at Ellen. Jodie in a sheep’s costume aged about five or six, on a stage with a group of children the same age; Jodie with two other girls on a beach, all three wearing swimsuits and big, happy smiles; Jodie with her brother on a windy hill somewhere, dark hair blowing over her face, blocking out those blue eyes; Jodie on a donkey at the top of Blackheath, the same place Ellen used to take her own children when they were younger. Jodie, Jodie, Jodie, everywhere she looked.
Ellen stared at the photos until she was certain each and every image was burned onto her brain. Then she left.
In the landing, she nearly collided with Finlay, who was standing right outside the door. It was obvious the boy had been waiting for her.
‘Hey,’ Ellen said. ‘I was looking at some of your sister’s artwork. She’s very talented.’
Hunting Shadows Page 3