Hunting Shadows

by Bugler, Sheila

  Briony was asking Ellen about Jodie, probing into aspects of the case Ellen would rather not think about.

  ‘It must make you think about your sister,’ Briony suggested.

  ‘No,’ Ellen said too quickly. ‘Why would it?’

  Briony smiled. ‘You tell me.’

  She should have deflected it. Instead, in her efforts to prove her counsellor wrong, Ellen walked right into it.

  ‘Two girls?’ she said. ‘That’s a bit tenuous, surely? My sister was only a baby. Eighteen months old when she … when she died. Jodie’s ten. And she’s … it’s totally different. She’s older and she has two parents who love her and an older brother who’s devastated by what’s happened. And that poor boy. Every time I see him, I imagine what it’s like for him. Because it’s so difficult for the children. When something like this happens, the adults take over and they’re so caught up in their own pain and fear that they forget about the children. It’s not on purpose. Of course not. But think about it from a child’s perspective. This kid, Finlay, his whole world has just been turned upside down. One minute he’s part of a family, then this terrible, unthinkable thing happens and everything’s changed and yet no one is there to talk to him about it. No one has the time or the strength to sit him down and explain what the hell is really going on. What has really happened to his sister? Why has the world suddenly shifted? When will things go back to normal? Will they ever go back to normal?’

  ‘Is that what it was like?’ Briony asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  In her mind, the memories of it were so mixed up. She was only four when it happened. How can a four-year-old make sense of something like that? How can anyone?

  ‘The noise woke me.’ She was barely aware she was speaking. It was as if she had no control over her voice. No idea what words would come out of her. Because when you never, ever spoke about something and then you suddenly did, who knew what you’d say?

  ‘I thought it was … I didn’t know what it was. When I think about it now, I can say it sounded like a wild animal. But back then, all I knew was that it was terrible. A terrible howling sound.’

  Inhuman. When she thought about it now, that’s the word that best described the sound she’d heard that night. And yet, in a way, it was the most human of noises. The sound of pure grief. And yet …

  ‘It was my mother,’ she said. ‘Such pain.’

  And yet …

  In the bed beside hers, Sean was still asleep. He never woke, no matter what noises were going on in the other room. Never heard her father shouting at her mother when he was drunk. Or worse. Never heard their baby sister Eilish crying, night after night after night. And he never heard this.

  ‘I remember getting up. Standing in the bedroom shivering. It was so cold in the flat. Always cold. It must have been warm sometimes. In summer, but I don’t remember that. All I remember is the cold.’

  A banging sound had started up. In her mind, when she remembers that night, the sound is her own heart, thumping loudly inside her. Thinking about it now, she realises it was one of the neighbours knocking on the front door. She imagined that noise her mother was making, seeping its way through the narrow walls and flimsy floors of the flat into every corner of that Peckham high-rise.

  ‘I don’t remember leaving the bedroom. All I remember is what happened after that. The light was on in the bathroom. Everything else in darkness. I followed the light because that’s where the sound was coming from. I don’t know if I called out for anyone. I don’t think so. I think I already knew it was her.’

  She was back there now. More bits of it coming to her. The chill of the lino against her bare feet as she shuffled along the corridor, past the closed sitting room door towards the slice of yellow light cutting out from the bathroom. Getting closer and closer to that sound.

  And then her mother was there. Baby Eilish in her arms. And the look on her mother’s face was like nothing she’d ever seen before. And she wanted Mammy to take her in her arms and hold her tight and take her back to bed and cuddle her and tell her it was all right, everything was going to be all right. Except Mammy couldn’t do that because she was holding Baby Eilish and something was wrong. Something was so bad and wrong and Mammy was crying and her mouth was open with that bad, bad sound coming out of it and …

  Blue lights. A blanket wrapped around her and Sean. Both of them huddled in the back of a car. A man in blue uniform. Police. No sign of Mammy or Baby Eilish. Sean’s little face white, his big eyes staring at her, not understanding.

  ‘I want my mammy.’ Her voice was so little in the big car with the other noises all around them. Police radio and adults everywhere, whispering and talking, and no one telling them what was going on or where they were going or what had happened to Mammy and Baby Eilish.

  And because no one would listen, she opened the door and jumped out and started running back to the block of flats. They lived on the top floor. She could see the sitting-room window. It was easy to see their flat because, unlike most of the others, the lights were on.

  She ran as fast as she could, screaming out for her Mammy to come for her. Because she was scared now. So scared that they would take her away and she would never see Mammy or Baby Eilish again. Because something bad had happened. Something so bad to make Mammy make that sound and look like that. And she needed to know. She needed to know what had happened. She needed Mammy.

  She was nearly at the building when someone caught her. A large arm wrapped around her middle, lifted her right off the ground. A man’s voice, telling her it was okay. But he was a liar and she was kicking him and hitting him and screaming at him to let her go, but it was no good. He was big and strong, much stronger than her and no matter how hard she hit him it did no good. He held her tight, carrying her back to the car, further and further away from her mother and the only home she’d ever known.

  ‘Ellen?’

  Briony’s hand on hers, squeezing. A box of tissues placed on her lap. Ellen took one and used it to wipe her face.

  ‘Sorry,’ she managed.

  Another squeeze of her hand. ‘No reason to apologise.’

  ‘For the first few days,’ Ellen said, ‘no one would tell us anything. We were put with this foster family. They were okay, I think. I barely remember them, to be honest. Then one day this woman came and sat us both down and told us that Eilish had died and our mother was helping the police find out what had happened to her.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘After that, nothing. Eilish was gone and our mother was taken from us. We were adopted by the Flanagans and I never saw my mother again.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ Briony asked.

  ‘I’m fine about it,’ Ellen said. ‘And so is Sean. She killed our sister, Briony. We could never forgive her for that. And the parents we got instead, they’re wonderful. We’ve been so lucky. Why on earth would we want to change that?’

  Ellen told herself she was trying to convince Briony. That wasn’t true. The person she really needed to convince was herself. Because now she’d started talking about it, now the memory of that night was fresh in her head again, she’d realised something. She missed her real mother. She’d possibly never stopped missing her. And maybe it was about time she stopped missing her and did something about finding her.

  11:00

  Rob woke on the armchair in the sitting room. The curtains were still drawn and in the faded yellow light, it was impossible to know what time it was. Morning, he guessed. A brass band thumped and clashed inside his head; his neck was stiff from the way he’d slept. He felt like shit.

  On the floor beside him, an unopened can of lager. He bent down, groaning with the effort, picked up the can and opened it. He downed a big mouthful and wiped his mouth with his hand.

  He’d been a bit pissed when that journalist showed up, but he’d got his act together sharpish when she told him why she had come. A hard bitch with her fake tan and even faker smile. She said she wanted
to help him, but that was bullshit. She wanted a story. And that was fine by him, if she was willing to give him what he wanted.

  He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, going back over every detail of yesterday’s visit.

  Her name was Martine Reynolds. She sat opposite him on the sofa, skinny arse hanging off the edge of it like she was scared she’d catch something from it.

  ‘Another girl’s gone missing,’ the journalist said.

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Rob replied.

  She surprised him by doing just that. Told him all about Jodie Hudson’s step-dad and his conviction for hurting a kid. Told him there was every chance the police would mess up this case, just like Molly’s, and wouldn’t find Jodie until it was too late.

  As she carried on talking, Rob barely listened. His mind focussing on one thing and one thing only. The name. Kevin Hudson.

  ‘I want people to know the truth,’ the journalist said. ‘About Molly and Jodie and Kevin Hudson. I want them to know that this man is out there and, despite his background, the police are doing nothing about it. His own step-daughter’s disappeared and he’s still free to walk the streets. How does that make you feel, Mr York? As Molly’s father, how do you feel knowing the police have a suspect but they’ve done nothing about it?’

  ‘How do you think it makes me feel?’ he asked.

  ‘Angry?’ the journalist said.

  When Rob nodded, she scribbled something on the notepad resting on her scrawny thighs.

  ‘What do you think the police should do?’ the journalist said then.

  ‘They should arrest him,’ Rob said. ‘Of course they should. But they won’t do it. Mark my words. They’ll fuck up again. Just like they did with my Molly. Instead of going after the real bastard, they focussed all their efforts on some poor sap who had nothing to do with it. You telling me they’re doing the same thing again? They should be arrested themselves, the whole bloody lot of them. And I’ll tell you something else while I’m at it, that bastard Baxter is a useless tosser. He didn’t find my Molly in time, so why the hell they have put him in charge of finding this girl, I do not know.’

  The journalist left soon after that, promising to be back soon. Not that he gave a shit. He said Hudson’s name aloud now, letting the words echo around the silent room, drifting around the photos of his daughter. The name of the man who’d killed her.

  It was like a gift. This woman knocking on his door and offering up the name. She hadn’t even known what she was doing. Had wanted some soundbites from him for her stupid story. But he was wise to her. Had too much first-hand experience of the way the press operated to be fooled by that cow. Playing the innocent when all along she’d come because she knew, finally, who’d hurt his Molly. And maybe she was a bitch and a piece of shit like all journalists, but if she was serious about this Hudson fella, then who was Rob to argue with her?

  Kevin Hudson.

  Rob drank more beer and let his mind travel to the dark place. He already knew what Hudson looked like, had seen him on the TV. Now he pictured Hudson’s face, screaming and begging for mercy as Rob hurt him. There would be no mercy for Kevin Hudson.

  It was time to make a plan. Find out exactly where Hudson lived, and take it from there. For the first time in a very long time, Rob realised he had something to look forward to. It felt good.

  13:15

  Ellen was late getting back to work. After her session with Briony, she’d gone for a long walk. A futile attempt to clear her head. Back at the station, Ellen found Alastair Dillon and Malcolm McDonald in the incident room.

  ‘Where’s Raj?’ she asked.

  ‘Over at the Hudsons’,’ Malcolm said. ‘Abby called earlier. Said she needed some back-up. Place is crawling with journalists and the family are near breaking point.’

  ‘Why didn’t she call me?’ Ellen demanded.

  A blush crept up Malcolm’s pale face and he looked to Alastair for assistance.

  ‘Your phone was switched off,’ Alastair said. ‘At least, that’s what Abby told me. To be honest, Ma’am, she’s no reason to lie. I’m pretty sure she’d have preferred to speak to you instead of the boss.’

  Damn counselling session. She’d have to have a word with Briony. See if she could postpone the sessions until this case was over. She needed to be in contact with her team at all times. Not that it would have mattered in this instance. She was certain Abby never even tried to call. Probably went straight to Raj, who she seemed to have wrapped tightly around her middle finger. Like most of the other blokes in this place.

  Turning her back on Dillon and McDonald, Ellen sat at her desk and started trawling through emails. If she concentrated really hard, she might just be able to block out the confusion of emotions this morning’s session had stirred up. Damn counselling.

  The emails were the usual mix of junk mail and urgent requests. She ignored anything not directly relevant to the case. An email from Ger Cox caught her attention.

  Ellen

  Good to meet you yesterday. Something I forgot to say and you won’t find it in the files I’m sending across. Brian’s boss is a guy called Simon Wilson. It may not be anything, but he struck me as a nasty piece of work. Although, in fairness, he’s done a good job with Brian. Seems to have taken Brian under his wing when the guy’s parents disappeared. Despite that, there’s something off about him. Not sure if that helps or hinders your case, but if it was me investigating, I’d take another look at Wilson too.

  Files couriered across this morning. Happy reading.

  Ger.

  Ellen closed the email and swung her chair around.

  ‘Malcolm, I’m expecting a set of files. Coming across from Rochester. When they arrive can you contact me straight away?’

  ‘Sure,’ Malcolm said. ‘Anything I can do with them when they arrive?’

  ‘Just call me.’

  Ellen stood and went out of the incident room, down the corridor to Baxter’s office. She nearly went in without knocking, but the image of Baxter with Abby stopped her just in time. None of them wanted a repeat of that.

  Baxter didn’t answer when she knocked. Tentatively, she pushed the door open. He was sitting behind his desk, talking on the phone to someone.

  ‘He’s bound to be like that,’ she heard him say. ‘What did you expect?’ Then, a moment later. ‘I don’t care how you do it. Just keep me out of it.’

  He saw Ellen then and hung up.

  ‘Ellen,’ he said. ‘What is it?’ He sounded tired and looked even tireder.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Just sorting out a surprise for a mate of mine. His sixtieth coming up and a few of us are organising a few drinks at the golf club for him in a few weeks. Nothing fancy, of course. He wouldn’t like that. Just a few pints with some mates.’

  The lie was so obvious it startled her. It was none of her business, after all, who he’d been talking to. Unless it was Abby, of course. And even then, it really was something Ellen was better off not knowing about.

  ‘How’re things?’ Ed asked, obviously as keen as she was to change the subject.

  ‘We’re getting nowhere,’ she said. ‘It’s driving me nuts. We need to widen our focus, Ed.’

  ‘Take another look at the Molly York case, you mean?’

  She nodded, preparing herself for another argument.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Baxter said instead. ‘Christ, Ellen. I don’t want to lose the focus on Hudson because I still think he’s our main suspect. There is still no sign that he was where he said he was the morning Jodie disappeared. No CCTV, no witnesses, nothing. On the other hand, as you’ve rightly pointed out before, there’s nothing proving he took Jodie, either. Except the incontrovertible fact that, as far as we know, he’s the last person to have seen her. That, coupled with his history and the fact he’s her step-father and most children are hurt by people they know, that makes him a suspect. The only one we’ve got.’

&nb
sp; Ellen sighed. What had Ger Cox said? If Baxter believed Kevin was the suspect, the chances were he had good reason.

  ‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘And I’m not suggesting for a second we lose our focus. Just widen it, that’s all.’

  ‘Where to?’ Baxter asked. ‘Molly York? We’ve already done that, Ellen, and it’s given us nothing.’

  ‘That’s because we only looked at Fletcher,’ Ellen said. ‘What if we widen it a bit? Check out the other suspects? Maybe we’ll find something Rochester missed.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Baxter said. ‘But it’s worth a shot, I suppose. Only if you can do it alongside everything else. Can you do that?’

  She thought of the long list of things she had to wade through. The limited time she had to get it done. And then she thought of Jodie.

  ‘Of course,’ she said.

  Baxter nodded. ‘Then get on with it, Ellen. And don’t come back here again until you’ve got something for me. You don’t need me to tell you that time’s running out.’

  15:45

  Ellen took the children to the park after school. They had just reached the playground when she felt her mobile phone vibrating in her pocket. Dai. Checking the kids were okay – both of them were on a roundabout being pushed by an older child, their squeals of delight carrying across to where she stood – she took the call.

  ‘Checking I got home alright?’ she asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so patronising,’ Dai said. ‘Have you got a minute?’

  ‘Sure. What is it?’

  ‘I had a chat with Helen this morning. Told her I’d spoken with you. So it’s all above board, you see.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ellen said, thinking the news was hardly worth a phone call. It was exactly what she’d expected him to do.

  ‘Only that’s not why I’m phoning,’ Dai said. ‘Not really. It’s Kevin, see? Helen wants you to try and talk to him.’

  ‘About what?’