Mam was nothing like Daddy. She was kind and gentle and gave Brian kisses and told him he was her little man.
Marion’s leg felt nice as he rubbed it. A melting sensation started in his tummy. It was nice, but he knew the feeling was part of the Bad Thing. Marion didn’t try to stop him, though, so maybe it was okay, what he was doing.
‘She was a great mam, wasn’t she, Marion?’ he said, hand stroking – up and down, up and down – liking the way it felt, but being careful not to let it take over. That was the important bit. If you weren’t careful with the Bad Thing it took over and suddenly you’d find yourself doing all sorts. Keep in control, Brian, that’s the key.
Marion made a noise and he looked at her, feeling something like anger when he saw she was still crying.
‘Stop that now,’ he said, using his firm voice. ‘All those tears. There’s no need for that at all. You’re safe here. Daddy doesn’t know where you are. He’ll never find you down here. I promised Mam I’d take care of you and that’s just what I’m doing. You’d think you’d be glad of it instead of crying like a baby all the time.’
‘Have you got anything to drink?’ she whispered.
Brian sighed. ‘I brought you Coco Pops last night and all you did was knock it on the ground. I’m sorry, love, but you need to learn. If you’re a good girl today, I’ll bring you something again tomorrow. How about that?’
She started crying harder and the noise was really annoying. Could she not stop it? Just leave it out for once?
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Just a drop of water. Please?’
She looked up at him then, big blue eyes looking at him like he was a king or something. When she did that, his stomach went all funny. It was nearly like she knew what she was doing, knew when she looked at him like that, it made him want to do the Bad Thing.
He felt sorry for her then. It wasn’t her fault she was scared. God only knew what Daddy had put her through over the last few years. His hand was still on her leg, stroking her soft skin. She was so tense. He could feel her body trembling and it made him sad that she was like this, even with him. Without thinking, he moved his hand higher up her leg.
Her whole body jerked, like he’d hit her.
‘Jesus!’ He jumped up and stood over her. His breath was coming so hard he was almost snorting. Made him sound like a pig. Or a monster.
She’d pulled her legs up tight against her body. It made her skirt hitch up and from where he was standing he could see her knickers.
Pull your skirt down, little bitch.
Daddy!
Brian swung his head from side to side, eyes darting around the small room. He couldn’t see Daddy, but that didn’t mean anything. Daddy was clever. Brian should have thought of that. What if Daddy had come back here looking for Marion?
If Daddy knew what Brian had been up to, he’d hurt him. Like the time Daddy caught Brian in his bedroom, doing the Bad Thing. He’d beaten the living daylights out of him that night. Brian understood, though. Daddy said it was for his own good, and Brian believed him. Just like he believed him later, when Daddy came back into the bedroom and showed him just what happened if you listened to the monster inside your head and let it do whatever it wanted.
‘See what happens?’ Daddy said afterwards, standing over Brian and buttoning up his trousers with his face all red, and breathing through his nose, making a snorting sound, like a pig. Or a monster.
Now he’d started thinking of Daddy he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t get Daddy out of his head, remembering the way he’d hurt Brian, over and over, all the time telling him it was for his own good. He crouched down in front of Marion.
‘Where is he?’ he asked. ‘Where’s Daddy, Marion? Where did he take you?’
She didn’t answer him, just kept crying. Silvery slivers of snot were running from her nose down into her mouth. She wasn’t even bothering to wipe them away. It made him feel sick just to watch her. He couldn’t stand it anymore.
‘Shut up!’
He shouldn’t have said that. He tried to tell her he was sorry but she put her hand over her ears, blocking him out.
His tummy felt funny, like he might get sick. He turned away from her. He was tired. Exhausted. It wasn’t fair. Here he was, making all this effort to keep her safe and all she did was sit on the bed crying and not being any fun at all.
Without another word, he walked out of there, taking care to lock up properly after him. Behind him, as he walked down the garden to the house, he imagined he could still hear her crying.
MONDAY, 21 FEBRUARY
11:30
After the morning briefing, Ellen drove across to St Anne’s school in Lee. Celia Roth, the headmistress, was home from Australia and back at work and Ellen was keen to see her.
The school was a modern, sprawling, red-brick building at the end of a nondescript, suburban street. The gates were locked and Ellen had to ring a bell and explain who she was before being buzzed in.
As she crossed the large expanse of concrete playground a tall, slender woman strode out to meet her.
‘Celia Roth,’ the woman said, holding out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Ellen liked her instantly and readily returned the woman’s smile and handshake.
‘Ellen Kelly. Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Mrs Roth.’
The other woman smiled. ‘It’s Miss, not Mrs. But I’d much rather you called me Celia. Let’s go inside to my office. This way.’
Inside, Ellen was ushered into an immaculately tidy office where she was offered a seat while Celia made fresh coffee from a machine on the window-sill behind her desk.
‘Sorry if I sounded wary on the phone,’ Celia said, as she handed Ellen her coffee. ‘My first instinct, when you called, was that you might be a journalist. You wouldn’t believe how many of them have been trying to get in to see me. And I’ve only been back at work a few hours.’
‘Of course,’ Ellen said. ‘I was sorry to hear about your mother.’
‘Thank you,’ Celia said. ‘That’s kind of you. It hasn’t been easy. And then to come back to this. It’s inconceivable. Naturally we’re all praying that Jodie will be found but …’
Abruptly, she put her cup down on the low table between them and stood up, turning away from Ellen to look out the window.
‘Are you okay?’ Ellen asked.
Celia nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Kelly. Something like this, it has such a devastating effect on our little community here at St Anne’s. It’s knocked us all for six, I can tell you. Do you have children?’
‘Two,’ Ellen said. ‘A boy and a girl. Pat, my son, is nine. Eilish is seven. And please, call me Ellen.’
Celia smiled. ‘Pat and Eilish Kelly. Where do they go to school?’
‘St Joseph’s in Greenwich,’ Ellen said.
‘Ah, Simon Cahill’s school. He was deputy head here before he went to St Joseph’s. Did you know that?’
Ellen shook her head. ‘I didn’t, but it hardly surprises me. Everyone seems to know everyone else in this part of London. It’s scary.’
Celia smiled and sat back down. ‘It is strange, isn’t it? But lovely as well, I think. In a city the size of London, we’re lucky to feel part of any sort of community, don’t you think?
‘Take us two, for example. You probably don’t remember me, but I certainly remember you, Ellen Flanagan.’
Ellen looked closely at the woman sitting opposite her, trying to find something familiar in her face. Grey eyes, strong cheekbones, great skin, she figured Celia Roth was in her mid- to late-fifties. Anything up to fifteen years older than Ellen.
‘St Ursula’s,’ the other woman said. ‘Oh, I’d left by the time you started, but my best friend’s cousin used to have a thing for you, you know. We used to tease him terribly about you. Poor chap.’
‘The poor bloke,’ Ellen said. ‘Did I ever find out about this crush?’
Celia shook her head. ‘You started going out with someone else and I think that was the
end of it. Poor Jim decided you were a lost cause, I think.’
Ellen’s heart did a somersault. ‘Jim?’
‘O’Dwyer,’ Celia said. ‘His cousin, Kathy, was – still is – my closest friend. Of course, I don’t get to see her so much these days. Not since the family moved to Broadstairs.’
Ellen could have happily sat there all afternoon, hearing about the crush Jim O’Dwyer had once had on her and speculating – wildly and wrongly, no doubt – about whether he still held a torch for her. But that wasn’t why she was here.
‘I’m conscious of time,’ she said, making a show of glancing at her watch. ‘Is it okay if I ask you some questions about Jodie?’
‘Of course,’ Celia said. ‘I do apologise. A trip down memory lane is all well and good, but it’s not going to help us find Jodie. What do you need to know?’
‘Let’s start with her father, Kevin.’
‘What about him?’
Ellen leaned forward in her seat. ‘I’d like your honest opinion about him. What’s he like as a parent? Do the kids seem happy with him? Have you picked up any sense that his marriage is happy? Unhappy? Why do you think he stays at home while Helen goes out to work? What do the other parents say about him?’
‘If you’ve only come here to ask questions about Kevin, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you,’ Celia said.
‘I don’t think he’s guilty,’ Ellen said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking. I know my colleagues have already asked your staff about him. I’m sure lots of the parents are talking – believe me, I know only too well how parents like to bitch and gossip about other parents at the school gates. I think you might be better placed than some others to give me a balanced view.’
Celia sighed. ‘Kevin Hudson is a good man. I like him. And Helen. They’re devoted parents and have two lovely kids to show for it. Kevin’s had a hard time of it over the years and that shows. He’s not the easiest man in the world to get along with, but once you get past that awkward exterior there’s a really lovely person underneath.
‘Now, you haven’t asked me directly if I think he could have harmed Jodie but, for what it’s worth, I’ll tell you what I think. St Anne’s is quite a conservative community. Kevin and Helen are an exception – in more ways than one. Now, I know there’s a good reason why Kevin and Helen have chosen a different route. The problem is, that’s not something they want to share with the other parents.
‘Of course, there are other fathers who don’t work, and many families where both parents work part-time and share the childcare equally. But these families, they’re always ready to explain their reasons for doing things a certain way. Kevin and Helen, they’ve got a reputation for being secretive.’
‘Which is understandable, given the circumstances,’ Ellen said.
Celia nodded. ‘Exactly. You know Kevin’s background. It’s something we’ve kept from the other parents. Kevin and Helen didn’t want anyone knowing and I respect their decision. Just as I respect the fact they trusted me enough to tell me about it in the first place.’
‘Do you know what he went to prison for?’ Ellen asked.
Celia nodded. ‘Yes. I also know the alleged victim was a minor in the eyes of the court.’
‘What do you mean – alleged?’
‘I mean,’ Celia said, ‘that things aren’t always what they seem to be. You’re a detective, Ellen, you know that. I despise gossip of any sort. If you want the details of Kevin’s incarceration, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong person. It’s not my place to discuss that with you. I suggest it’s something you raise with Kevin himself.’
Sensing the subject was closed, Ellen moved the conversation on, asking everything she could about Jodie. She learned nothing she didn’t know already – Jodie was a bright, hard-working girl with a cheeky streak who loved a laugh. Popular with almost everyone, her two best friends were Grace Hooper and Holly Jones. If Ellen was lucky, she’d find both girls’ mothers waiting outside at pick-up time. As far as Celia knew, the only thing connecting Molly York and Jodie Hudson was that the two girls lived in the same part of London. Celia doubted Kevin had even heard of Molly York before she disappeared.
After she left Celia, Ellen got back into her car and called Alastair. Kevin Hudson’s disappearance had changed everything, but Ellen still wanted Alastair’s update on Simon Wilson.
‘Any sign of Hudson?’ she asked, once the greetings were out of the way.
‘Nothing yet,’ Alastair said. ‘But we’ve gone national on it. He won’t get far.’
The worst thing about it, Ellen thought, was that by running away, Kevin had made his situation far worse. Baxter’s fixation had moved from believing Kevin abducted Jodie to a conviction the man had killed Dan Harris.
‘What about Molly York?’ Ellen asked.
‘I’ve got that list you asked for,’ Alastair said. ‘Although to be honest, Fletcher was always their only real suspect. I did a bit of digging into Wilson, like you asked for, but he’s clean. Respectable businessman with his own landscaping firm. Owns a string of properties across North Kent. And several verbatims saying what a decent bloke he is and how well he’s looked after Fletcher.’
Another dead-end.
Ellen thanked Alastair and hung up. Her face throbbed from last night’s injury. And the inside of her skull. It was an effort to concentrate on anything apart from the constant pain. She pulled down the sun shield and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The side of her face was swollen, but make-up had covered the worst of the bruising. A pity it wasn’t so effective at covering the dark rings under her eyes. She looked like shit. And felt it too.
She closed her eyes, tried to remember every detail of the attack. It wasn’t easy. Her brain kept focussing in on one thing: poor Kevin with his trousers around his ankles and the look of terror on his face. That wasn’t what she wanted. There was something else.
Yes. There it was. She opened her eyes and got her phone back out. Pressed the re-dial button.
‘Alastair, it’s me. Can you get across to Hither Green in the next fifteen minutes? We’ve got a job to do.’
12:05
Kevin limped to the end of the platform, as far as possible from the huddle of passengers, all waiting for the Eastbourne train. It was a bright, cold day with a bracing wind and he had no coat. Right now, that was the least of his worries.
He’d spent the night in a cheap hotel near Victoria Station. Now, he was getting out of the city. Earlier, he’d walked across to Westminster and withdrawn as much as he could from an ATM. He knew the police would be able to trace him from the transaction and hoped the Westminster location might wrong-foot them for a while longer.
He wanted to call Helen, but was afraid if he heard her voice he’d crack and end up going home. And that would mean handing himself over to DCI Ed Baxter. He couldn’t do that.
Everything was such a mess. The six months he was locked up, all he could think of was getting out. Stupidly, he’d imagined everything would go back to the way it was before. Him, Helen and the kids making a life together. He’d thought that all the trauma, all the horror would, somehow, magically disappear.
He had been a fool. There was no going back in this life. You only got one chance. If you messed it up, you were done for. It was that simple. The whole idea of redemption, living through a trauma and emerging the other side, butterfly-like, was a load of bullshit.
Working that out was a revelation. He’d tried so hard, at first, to find the positives. Helen was still with him, things were strained, sure, but at least she hadn’t run off and left him. There were the kids, as well. Not his by birth but, in every way that mattered, they were his and he loved them more than he’d known it was possible to love anyone.
Even that, pure and uncomplicated love, had been destroyed. Jodie was gone. His life was in tatters. A jigsaw puzzle he’d spent his whole life endlessly, painfully piecing together. Then, just as he was putting in the last few pieces, along came Dan Harris and s
mashed it into a thousand tiny pieces.
The jigsaw could never be mended. Redemption wasn’t an option, but revenge was. A dish best served cold and all that. Although frankly, Kevin didn’t give a shit how it was served.
It had all seemed so simple, so blindingly obvious. Until now.
Now, Harris was gone, but that didn’t help because so was Jodie. The train pulled onto the platform. As he waited for the doors to slide open, Kevin made a promise to himself. He would get her back. One way or another. And after that, he would hand himself over to Baxter and let him do his worst. Because once Jodie was home again, safe, then Kevin didn’t care what happened. Jodie was all that mattered. She was all that had ever mattered, if he’d only realised it.
12:40
Ellen banged on the door again and waited. Still no answer. She stepped back and looked up at the house. With the curtains drawn tightly in each room, it was impossible to see if anyone was in there or not.
She bent down and tried to peer through the letterbox into the house.
‘Mr York!’ she yelled through the narrow slit. ‘Please answer the door. It’s DI Kelly. We need to talk.’
She thought she saw the glow of light underneath the closed door leading into the kitchen, but she couldn’t be sure if it was an electric light or just daylight that seemed brighter against the darkness of the rest of the house.
Her back started to ache and she stood up and looked at Alastair.
‘We could break it down,’ Alastair said. ‘Take ten minutes max to get some back-up.’
Ellen pictured Rob York sitting inside the house. Huddled in that dark, dank sitting room surrounded by images of his dead daughter. She shook her head.
‘I’d rather not. Let’s give it another try.’
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