Hunting Shadows

by Bugler, Sheila

‘She thinks he’s hiding something from her.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ellen said. ‘If that’s the case, she needs to come in and make a statement. You know that, Dai. Besides, we interviewed him the other day. Couldn’t get anything from him. Tell her to come in.’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ Dai said. ‘Helen says whatever Kevin is up to, it’s got nothing to do with what’s happened to Jodie. He loves that little girl like she’s his own flesh and blood. That’s what Helen told me and I’ve got no reason not to believe her.’

  Ellen took the phone from her ear and looked at in exasperation.

  ‘Just hear me out,’ Dai was saying when she put the phone back where it was. ‘Kevin had a rough time in prison. Terrible, by all accounts. When he came out, he was a changed man. The experience nearly destroyed him. And because of that, he has a pathological fear of being arrested again. So he won’t open up with someone like Baxter who’s made it as plain as the nose on his face that he thinks Kevin is guilty. And he won’t speak to Helen. She’s already tried. You’re the only hope we have.’

  ‘Why me?’ Ellen asked. ‘Why don’t you give it a try if you’re such a close friend of them both.’

  ‘I never said Kevin and I were friends,’ Dai said. ‘Fact is, the bloke doesn’t like me very much.’

  And we all know why that is, Ellen thought.

  ‘Helen likes you,’ Dai continued. ‘She told me. I think she might trust you more than that Abby person.’

  ‘I got the impression Abby and Helen were getting on fine,’ Ellen said.

  ‘Yes,’ Dai replied. ‘But you’re the senior officer. You’ve got more clout with Baxter, and Helen knows that.’

  If only, Ellen thought.

  ‘Helen says Kevin was framed,’ Dai said. ‘That he should never have been charged for what happened. She thinks he’s obsessed with getting justice and she’s worried he’s about to do something stupid. Or that he already has.’

  Ellen sighed. All around her, children were playing. Running and climbing and swinging on swings and sliding down slides. All of them, so happy and carefree. She wondered when that carefree stage passed and life became a big pile of shit that never seemed to be sorted.

  ‘For all we know,’ she said. ‘Whatever Kevin has been up to may be connected to Jodie’s disappearance. Isn’t it possible there’s a link? What if he pissed someone off and to get him back, they took his child? That makes a sort of sense, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dai said. ‘And that’s why you need to speak to him, Ellen. You’re the only one with any chance of getting through to him.’

  16:15

  The day they left, he sat in the empty kitchen for hours, waiting for them to come home. When he got so tired he couldn’t stay awake, he lay down on the kitchen floor and slept there. He couldn’t face going upstairs. Without Marion and Daddy the house was too empty.

  Early the next morning, he heard a car pulling up outside. He jumped up, his heart racing, spirits lifting. Daddy’s van had an odd, creaking noise it made when he braked. As Brian raced outside, he could already hear the old van groaning, and he knew for sure it was them.

  He pulled open the back door just in time to see the back of the van disappearing into the garage behind the house. It didn’t matter where they’d gone or why they’d left. Didn’t even matter that it was so cruel of Daddy just to go off like that without telling him. The only thing he cared about right now was that they were back and he wouldn’t be left on his own.

  Inside the shed a door slammed and he heard footsteps – the slap-slap-slap of heavy soles against the stone floor. He strained his ears, listening for signs of another person – Marion – but didn’t hear anything.

  A man walked out of the shed and stopped, looking around him like he wasn’t quite sure which way to go. The morning sun was behind him, casting the man’s features in shadows, making it difficult to see who he was.

  For a moment, Brian let himself believe it was Daddy. Even though the man was too short, too broad to be Daddy. Even though, as the man recognised him and moved towards him and opened his mouth to speak, it was clear he wasn’t Daddy at all.

  ‘Hello Brian,’ the man said. ‘I’m glad you’re here. I came over yesterday afternoon but there was no sign of you. I was afraid you’d run off.’

  Brian opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Simon. What was Simon doing driving Daddy’s van? And where was Marion? What had he done to Marion?

  Without even realising he was doing it, he started backing away. He wanted to turn and run, get back into the house and lock the door and never let anyone inside it ever again, but there was something about the way Simon was looking at him that made it impossible for him to do that. It was like Simon could see inside his mind, reading his every thought.

  He managed to get his mouth working.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Simon smiled. ‘Your Daddy’s gone, Brian. But you’ve probably worked that out already, haven’t you? He’s taken Marion, of course. Said she deserves better than growing up in this stinking shithole in the middle of nowhere. Asked me if I’d look in on you from time to time, make sure you’re okay.’

  Brian had backed right up against the house now, there was nowhere left for him to go. He watched as Simon kept walking, getting closer and closer. Daddy wasn’t coming back. He knew that now. He’d taken Marion and left him here to rot. Marion! He couldn’t live without her. He’d promised Mam he’d look after her, no matter what.

  Simon was right up close now, so near that Brian could see the red, broken veins across his cheeks and smell his dirty stinking breath as he leaned even closer, pushing his face right into Brian’s.

  ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in, Brian?’

  He woke up, sweating, the sheets twisted around his body, trapping him. In a panic, he tried to free himself, flailing and thrashing in the bed, not knowing where he was or who he was fighting.

  Suddenly he was free. With a roar of triumph he thrust his body forward, out of the bed so he was standing on the cold lino. He looked around, his panic subsiding as he let his mind slowly adjust. He’d done it again. Fallen asleep in the afternoon. Tired all day because he couldn’t sleep at night.

  Reaching out, he picked up the photo he kept beside the bed. It was old and faded now. In the dim light, it was hard to make out her features, but he could imagine them. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across the outline of her face as if, by doing that, he could somehow reassure himself she was still there.

  Through the small curtainless window, the sky was grey tinged with pink and he could see pale sun in the distance, low in the sky, casting its dying glow over the gloomy, endless landscape.

  If he tilted his head in just the right way, he could see the roof of the shed through the branches of the trees. He loved that shed. He had started building it years ago. Daddy wanted somewhere he could park the van. Said he needed a proper space, somewhere solid.

  Then Daddy and Marion went and the shed remained forgotten for a long time. Until Molly. After that, Brian knew he needed somewhere else. A special place where he could keep Marion safe, if he ever found her.

  He’d spent so long decorating it. Saving up the money Simon gave him and buying all that pink wallpaper. Even putting it up by himself. It was difficult, but he’d managed fine after a few false starts. When the room was all ready, he’d been so proud of it. Could hardly wait to show it to her.

  Only she hadn’t been as excited about it as he’d hoped. Compared to what she’d had before, the room she was in now was like a palace. Okay, maybe Daddy had got her a better room after they’d left, but Brian didn’t think so. Daddy didn’t care about things like that. Once, he’d called Brian a fucking fairy for helping Marion put up a poster of a princess in her bedroom. Daddy had gone mad and ripped it from the wall. Poor Marion had cried for ages, even after Daddy gave her a belt and told her to shut up.

  A sudden image flashed in front of him, Marion sitting on the bed wit
h her legs pulled up so he could see her knickers. Almost like …

  He shook his head, angry with himself for even thinking it. Something wasn’t right, though. It was like she was someone else entirely, not his Marion.

  Of course she’s not your Marion, you gobshite.

  Daddy was off now. Roaring inside his head, confusing him.

  Shoot the bitch and be done with it. She’s nothing but trouble.

  Daddy’s gun was under the bed. Daddy left it behind when he went away. It had bullets in it. Brian knew how to load the gun and put in more bullets if he needed to. He’d watched Daddy do it enough times. Daddy used it to shoot rabbits and birds. Brian kept it in case someone broke in and tried to hurt him. If that happened, he’d shoot no problem. He’d probably shoot more than once. And he’d be good at it, too. Wouldn’t miss. Just like a real soldier. But to do that to Marion?

  Do it!

  ‘La-la-la-la-la-la-la! It’s the Rainbow Parade! The Ra-a-a-a-a-a-inbow Para-a-a-a-a-de!’

  Brian sang as loud as he could to block out Daddy’s angry roaring.

  He was still singing half an hour later when he went outside. He glanced down the yard, towards the shed. Shook his head. Didn’t think he could face her today. He hadn’t been to see her yesterday, either.

  He knew it was wrong to leave her for so long, but she had a real knack for making him feel bad. No matter what he did, no matter how many treats he brought her or nice things he did for her, he was always left with the impression that she wasn’t happy.

  It’s because she doesn’t want to be here. Any eejit can see that.

  ‘Somewhere OOOOVER the rainbow, way up high,’ Brian screamed, running for the van and jumping inside. As he fumbled with the ignition, he kept singing, shouting out the words of her favourite song at the top of his voice.

  Even after he’d got Daddy’s old van going, even after he’d driven away from the house and was nearly at Higham, Daddy was still at it, goading Brian and telling him that the girl in the shed wasn’t Marion.

  In his heart, Brian knew Daddy was wrong, knew he was only saying that stuff to confuse Brian, trip him up just so he could have a right laugh about it when Brian realised he’d made a mistake.

  The problem was, no matter how hard he tried not to think it, there was a tiny part of his brain that was already starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Daddy was right. And if he was, and the girl in the shed wasn’t Marion, if she turned out to be another mistake, just like Molly, then Brian wouldn’t have a choice. He’d have to get rid of her.

  18:30

  Ellen had a box she kept in the room off the loft that they’d converted into an office. She knew where it was, but never, ever went near it. Until now.

  The children had been fed and were playing cards in the sitting room. Grabbing the moment of peace, Ellen crept up there and pulled the box down from the high shelf over the desktop computer she rarely used.

  It was a small cardboard box that was once white but was now an indiscriminate shade of grey. Ellen opened the lid. A pale blue teddy bear was inside. Underneath this, a faded colour photo. She pulled the bear out first, held it to her face and inhaled the smell. Was it her imagination or could she still – even now – detect the faintest scent of perfume on it? A smell that seemed, somehow, familiar, even though she didn’t know how that could be possible.

  She closed her eyes and let the vague, faraway memories of her mother float to the surface. Apart from the night Eilish died, she couldn’t recall specific events. All she had was a stash of scattered images and disassociated flashes of memory.

  She remembered – vividly – the fear and the hunger, her mother crying as she held Baby Eilish, who seemed to scream all the time, except for that last day, when she did nothing at all. She remembered eating Rice Krispies from a packet, ripping the bag open and scraping the crumbs up with her fingers. Her tummy rumbled when she put her face against the plastic bag to lick it and got the sugary smell of what had once been in there.

  There were other, earlier memories, too. Fainter, yes, but definitely there. Her and Sean lying in bed with their mother as she cuddled them and sang a song. What was the song? It was there, she could almost hear it, she tried to focus on it but it was gone.

  She opened her eyes and took out the photo. Two young children, a boy and girl, standing either side of a woman with wild dark hair and blue, blue eyes. The woman wore a slash of red lipstick and was smiling. She looked happy.

  It couldn’t have been easy for Noreen. Abandoned by her husband, stuck in a Peckham high-rise with three young children. Maybe it all just got too much for her. Ellen didn’t know how well she would have coped in that situation.

  ‘Mummy!’ Pat’s voice dragged Ellen back to the present. Except she wasn’t ready. There was more to think about. More memories to sift through and try to make sense of.

  ‘Mummy!’ Louder and angrier this time.

  Ellen put the photo and the teddy back in the box and closed the lid. As she walked downstairs to see what her son wanted, her head filled with the sound of a song. A woman singing as she cuddled her two children close to her, keeping them warm under the duvet on a dark winter’s night. And then, as she got to the chorus, two little voices joining in, the three of them shouting the words out, voices rising tunelessly over each other in the warmth of the bed.

  Bring back, oh bring back, oh bring back my bonnie to me, to me.

  Bring back, bring back, oooooooh bring back my bonnie to meeeeeeee!

  According to Pat, Eilish had cheated. According to Eilish, Pat was a sore loser. Ellen didn’t care who was right and told them so. Then, watching Eilish’s lip start to wobble, she quickly suggested they make some cocoa in the kitchen together.

  ‘Cup cakes,’ Eilish said.

  Ellen checked the time. ‘It’s too late for cup cakes. It’s nearly bath time.’

  ‘Cup cakes only take twenty minutes,’ Pat said. ‘We can make them and then have our bath. Please, Mum?’

  Ellen groaned. After making the damn cakes then they’d want to eat some and it was too late for sugary treats and bath time would be pushed back and … God dammit, couldn’t she be more organised?

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Cup cakes and bath. But if either of you ask to watch TV before bedtime, we’ll never, ever make cup cakes this late in the evening again. Got that?’

  Eilish jumped at her, wrapping her little arms around Ellen’s middle.

  ‘Yaaay! Mummy’s the best mummy in the world.’

  Of course, the cup cakes took longer to prepare than she’d anticipated and, of course, both children insisted on sampling one before their bath. And after that it was teeth and storytime and, finally, bedtime.

  It was exhausting, but worth it. She knew her parents worried that she spoiled the kids, but what choice did she have? They had already lost so much. Any chance to make them happy and she jumped at it. And tonight, at least, they had gone to bed happy. No tears, no temper tantrums. Just kisses and cuddles and smiles. Surely, Ellen thought as she went downstairs, that was worth anything?

  In the hallway, the local free newspaper lay on the mat inside the front door. Ellen bent to pick it up and carried it, folded under her arm, into the kitchen. Pouring herself a hefty glass of Shiraz, she moved into the sitting room. Her plan was to have a glass or two of wine, a flick through the local rag and the TV channels, followed by an early night.

  This changed when she unfolded the paper and saw the front page. It took a moment to process what she read. She hadn’t been expecting it. Her mind raced as she read through it a second time, as she tried to work out how this could have happened. One name jumped out at her, making her stomach drop. Rob York. Another name, further down the same piece that made her want to throw up. DI Ellen Kelly. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  On the table beside her, the phone started ringing. She picked it up, thinking it was Ed. A woman’s voice at the other end, brittle, with a posh Cheshire accent.

  ‘DI Ellen Kelly? Ma
rtine Reynolds here. Crime editor for the Evening News. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Jodie Hudson.’

  Ellen recognised the name. She checked the newspaper just to make sure. Martine Reynolds. The piece of shit who’d written this piece of shit.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you,’ Ellen said.

  She hung up quickly. Almost immediately, the phone started ringing again. She lifted it, disconnected the call and left the phone off the hook. Then she finished her wine in one long mouthful, stood up and went for some more. It was going to be a long night.

  23:50

  It was late and Rob was drunk. Way too drunk. He didn’t care. This was a celebration of sorts and he deserved a good drink. His glass was empty. Looking around for the whiskey bottle, he was surprised to see that empty too. He’d thought there was more left.

  There was another bottle in the cupboard, but he didn’t know if he could be arsed to stand up and find it. He looked at the newspaper, spread out on the table before him. A news story all about Kevin Hudson. The man was a bloody animal.

  There was a photo of Hudson with the story and Rob examined it, looking for some external sign of what the bloke was capable of, but he couldn’t find anything. There was that case in Austria, the bloke who’d kept his daughter locked in a cellar for all those years, Rob couldn’t remember his name but it didn’t matter. The thing was, with that bloke you could see just by looking at him that he was a nasty piece of work. A monster they called him, and even if you didn’t know what he’d done, you’d look at the photo and think to yourself, there’s something not right there.

  Not with Hudson, though. Which made him all the more dangerous, if you thought about it. Rob had thought about it. A lot. Done nothing but think since that journalist had called around. Every time a kid went missing it brought it all back. Not that it ever went away, of course, but when you hear of another kid, well, it almost feels as if it’s happening to you all over again.