by Sarah Ward
A quick look around the site revealed that, for a fee, Rachel could prepare a family tree for you. Unusually for an Internet site, the fee structure that she charged was on the website – starting with a basic family tree and then an hourly rate. Connie, who had no interest in her ancestors, wondered who would use a genealogist. People with unusual family histories, perhaps, or with an interesting surname.
Next to the ‘About’ tab was another named ‘My Ancestry’. Connie clicked on the button and was taken to an extensive family tree. She looked for the oldest name – someone born in 1780. Connie quickly scanned the chart and then, noticing something, looked again. There wasn’t a single man’s name on the tree. That was a strange omission. Even Connie’s limited knowledge recognised that men were the usual focus of family research. But the chart in front of her held not a single male ancestor. Connie flicked back to the photo and looked again at the photograph. An ordinary woman in her early forties with an extraordinary past and, looking at her family history chart, a skewed slant on the world. Well, that was all right by her. Not everybody was obsessed with the male line. She wasn’t, for a start. That was something in Rachel’s favour.
*
Four hours later, the three of them were in Sadler’s small office and Connie felt the familiar thrill of satisfaction. The case might be a dead duck as far as Sadler was concerned but at least they had an interesting investigation to work on together.
‘So, Connie,’ said Sadler. ‘Where did you start last night?’
‘This morning,’ muttered Palmer.
Connie flushed and she looked to see if he was smirking at her. He had his eyes down and looked subdued.
‘I did a search on the Internet to see if I could find anything beyond the press stories. And I came across Rachel Jones’s website. She apparently works as a family historian. You know – family trees and all that. She researches people’s history for them. A genealogist. Her website was very well done. Very professional.’
Sadler picked up his pen. ‘That’s what she’s doing now? She was quite professional looking when I saw her outside the hotel, despite the cold and obvious shock she’d had.’
‘What’s interesting is that she’s still recognisable as the schoolgirl who disappeared in 1978. She’s even got a similar hairstyle. And she’s made no effort to hide her identity, same name and everything.’
‘She didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, though, did she?’ pointed out Palmer, his hectoring tone out of place in the small office.
‘Any significance that she’s a family historian in your opinion?’ Sadler asked her.
‘Almost certainly not. And that was as far as I got. There’s probably plenty online rehashing the old news. Most of it a load of rubbish. I avoided those sites.’ She shot a sideways glance at Palmer, who, instead of meeting it with a conspiratorial gaze of his own, kept his eyes to the floor.
‘And you, Palmer?’ said Sadler.
Palmer rubbed his hand over his forehead. ‘Nothing, sir. You said not to look at anything in advance so I didn’t bother.’ He shot Connie a reproachful glance. She looked at him in surprise. Unlike him to miss a trick like that. Now she looked at him more closely she could see he looked a bit pale. It must be all the wedding plans. She’d seen him furtively looking at his mobile while he was sitting at his desk, tapping a text message, presumably to his fiancée, Joanne. It was unlike him not to be totally focused on an investigation. It was both an opportunity and an irritant for her. A chance to shine in Sadler’s eyes, maybe. But she could feel a niggle of abandonment in Palmer’s lack of focus. She would have to corner him later and have it out with him.
Sadler turned in his seat towards them both. ‘If two girls were abducted today and one later turned up alive and apparently unhurt, who would be the first suspect?’
‘The father,’ said Connie. ‘Or other close relative – uncle, cousin, friend.’
‘Of which girl?’ asked Palmer.
Sadler was looking at him with approval, noticed Connie. So he’s still with us despite his truculence, she thought quickly.
‘I would say possibly of the girl who was unharmed – Rachel Jones. It’s our first major stumbling block. Why did she survive? This suggests an element of malevolence towards Sophie Jenkins, or possibly protection of Rachel Jones.’
‘Exactly,’ said Sadler. ‘This is going to be our first line of enquiry. Why did one girl come back? Let’s leave that there for the moment, but I want you to keep it in mind all though this investigation.’
‘She escaped,’ pointed out Connie.
‘Agreed, she managed to get out of the car. But according to Rachel, Sophie was already missing from the vehicle.’
Palmer was frowning. ‘Going back to the male relatives, Rachel Jones’s father was dead. He died before she was born. Sophie’s father was estranged from the family.’
‘Yes, but as far as I can tell no one even looked at any other male relatives in Rachel’s life. There must have been uncles, grandfathers and so on.’
I wouldn’t count on it, thought Connie, thinking of the family tree. ‘I thought we weren’t going to reopen old lines of enquiry. We were going to assume that the initial investigation had proceeded correctly.’
Sadler was looking at her with his cold blue eyes but he smiled at her. ‘I may have made a mistake saying that up front. What I wanted to say was that the team in 1978 weren’t thick. But they may have been fallible. And they missed that. So that’s our first line of enquiry.’
The office fell silent. Connie could see that there was something on Sadler’s mind. She took a deep breath.
‘I’m wondering what all this has got to do with Yvonne Jenkins’s suicide.’ She had hit the spot, she could tell, and it wasn’t the first time she had instinctively known what was troubling Sadler. ‘I think we should also try and find out why Yvonne killed herself now. At this precise moment in time.’
Sadler looked irritated that she had articulated what he was thinking. He clearly had reservations about the investigation that, for the moment, he was keeping to himself. ‘You think there’s a specific reason why she chose to commit suicide in the Wilton Hotel this week? A trigger more than the events of more than thirty years ago?’
Connie nodded and looked at Palmer. He shrugged and looked at the floor. She looked back to Sadler for help. ‘When are we interviewing Rachel Jones? She might be able to give us some pointers.’
Palmer coughed. ‘According to Rachel’s statement, although she was confused at the time she was found, she was adamant that her abductor had been a woman. She also gave quite a good description of the woman. Female, mid-to-late twenties. Long dark hair and sunglasses.’
‘Sunglasses in January. In Derbyshire,’ said Connie. ‘That would have got my suspicions going straight away.’
Now Palmer smirked and Connie was surprised at how glad she was that he was back to his old self. She definitely needed to speak to him later.
‘That’s the other aspect of this case that is particularly puzzling. If Rachel is right, and the detectives working the original investigation believed her, then we need to start looking at motives as to why a woman would kidnap two young girls. I want your minds kept open on this one. No mindless assumptions about childless women and men dressed in drag. These aren’t usually the perpetrators of child abductions. There’s something else that went on here and we need to find it out.’
Sadler nodded at Connie. ‘I think this is one for you.’
She looked at her boss in surprise. ‘Why me in particular?’
‘Because I need your instinct on this. You’re a woman and in this instance it’s going to give you an advantage. Think of scenarios why a woman might abduct not one child but two, and start eliminating those that sound either ridiculous or unfeasible. But consider them anyway. Something must have been missed at the time and we may be able to find it now.’
Connie made a face. ‘Do you think we’re assuming too much by the fact that Rachel was
n’t sexually assaulted? We’ve extrapolated this to conclude that there was no sexual motive whatsoever. For all we know, there may have been a sexual intent directed at Sophie but not Rachel.’
Palmer wrinkled his nose. ‘That doesn’t sound right.’
There was a knock on the door and Connie swivelled round in her seat. Llewellyn was standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. ‘I had a call from Rachel Jones late last night. The press are pestering her already. She’s asked for some police presence, which I’m going to give her. Station a car outside her house for today, which should help for a start. And maybe tomorrow. After that, I’m not sure. I’m going have to juggle some resources to do that much.’
‘We were just discussing when to re-interview Rachel in relation to the 1978 case.’
‘Ahh’. Llewellyn looked at his feet. ‘She’s not happy about being spoken to again but I think I managed to persuade her of the necessity of doing so. But she specifically requested that it wasn’t a woman.’
Connie looked at him in surprise, swallowing her outrage. That was a new one on her. If they specified, it was usually that they wanted a woman. Llewellyn looked down at her.
‘She never came across as particularly traumatised as a child. She just seemed to pick up and carry on as though the incident never happened. Now I’m beginning to wonder if we didn’t underestimate the ordeal she went through.’
He looked at Sadler. ‘Anyway, she asked for a man and I’d prefer, Sadler, if it was you.’
Chapter 13
Rachel wondered if they had sent the best-looking detective in Bampton on purpose. He wasn’t young, maybe five years older than her, but he was still attractive, although there was a wariness in his face. Don’t come too close, his expression shouted, which was fine by her. He was also very tall, filling her small living room, and she was relieved when he sat down in her armchair. She felt less claustrophobic with him like that. At least Llewellyn hadn’t sent a woman. However surprised he’d been by her request, he had listened to her. She remembered the young PC called Wendy who had been assigned to her in 1978. She’d insisted on treating Rachel like a five-year-old. She was eight at the time of her kidnapping and already used to looking after herself. Not like Sophie, who wanted to be mummied all the time. Wendy had gone down on her knees and tried to interest her in dolls and teddies, which had heightened Rachel’s sense of the unreality of the situation.
The detective refused tea and sat watching her. Llewellyn had been kind on the phone. She could still recall his kindness from before and it hadn’t disappeared in the intervening years. He had sent this policeman to her.
‘We’re going to assign a patrol car outside your house for the time being. It won’t be there all the time; we can’t afford the resources, I’m afraid. But it’ll pass by your house on a regular basis and it’ll park itself for a while across the road from you. As your front door opens straight onto the street, there isn’t a huge amount we can do. They can even peer in through your windows if they’re standing on the pavement.’
‘Am I not entitled to any privacy at all?’
‘Inside your house, of course. And if the press start being a nuisance we can try and get an order, restraining them from coming closer than a specific distance from your property. But if all they’ve done is knock on your door so far, then there’s not much we can do.’
‘They’ve left me alone all these years and now – after Mrs Jenkins chooses to take her own life – I’m being pestered again.’
She saw a look of distaste cross his face. It had probably been the wrong choice of words. But the woman had had a choice. More than she and Sophie had back then.
‘In my experience, the press move quickly when it comes to news. When Yvonne Jenkins’s suicide is confirmed, you’ll most likely be left alone.’
‘You’re sure it’s suicide?’
She noticed the detective looking at her shelf of books. ‘We need to wait for toxicology tests to come back but, yes, we’re fairly certain it was suicide.’
‘But why now?’ Rachel’s voice had risen a fraction and again she saw that look of distaste.
‘There’s been a lot of research into suicides. The reasons are rarely cut and dried. It may be that Mrs Jenkins simply decided to end her own life one day.’
‘And the Wilton Hotel?’
He looked at her now. ‘Suicides often choose a neutral space to kill themselves. It distances them from their actions. That’s probably all there is to it.’
Rachel stood up and crossed to the window. Through the sheer curtains she could see the huddle of reporters. It looked like Sadler was right. There were fewer of them then there had been that morning. Or perhaps it was simply lunchtime.
‘She never got in touch with me, you know,’ said Rachel, still staring out of the window.
‘What, after the abduction?’
Rachel swung round to face him.
‘Never. The last time I saw her was the morning that I knocked on Sophie’s house to pick her up for the walk to school. She never bothered to come round after that.’
Sadler was staring at her. ‘Not even to get your version of events?’
‘Nothing. It really upset my mother. And after about eight months we moved out to Clowton.’
Still he stared. ‘Rachel, she’d lost her daughter. The most shocking and unthinkable act that any mother should have to face. No chance to say goodbye; no idea where Sophie had disappeared to. And there was never any resolution. Her mind must have been turning over possible scenarios.’
Rachel could feel her head begin to pound.
‘And however traumatic your experience, and that of your mother, she at least got you back. Did your mother visit Yvonne Jenkins?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘And don’t you think that’s strange. That the mother who’d had her child returned to her didn’t go and see the woman who’d lost hers.’
His eyes were still on her. Beyond the compassion she could read something else. He was assessing her. She’d read him wrong at first glance, she realised now.
‘I do need to ask you, Rachel, if anything has come back to you over the intervening years. About what happened in 1978.’
She was relieved to get off the subject of her mother. ‘Nothing. I remember nothing beyond getting into the car and the woman making the wrong turn at the top of the road. Sophie was crying and I was banging on the windows, but no one could see us. She was driving fast, the woman, and she said nothing to us. Just kept her eyes on the road and kept driving. I remember thinking, I’m going to climb over and turn the wheel so she crashes the car. But there was no time even to do that.’
‘You ended up in Truscott Woods.’
‘Exactly, but I don’t remember getting there. I remember banging on the windows and then the next thing someone looking after me after I had been found on the road. I don’t even remember the car stopping. It’s all a complete blank.’
‘You don’t remember seeing something, another car for example, waiting for you at the woods. Or perhaps another place.’
Rachel looked across at him. ‘I remember nothing. Sometimes I think I can remember figures standing together in a group, but I’m never sure if that is my imagination. What I definitely do remember is being in a person’s car, with a dog blanket around my shoulders, and someone was telling me that my mum was on my way. And feeling really, really sick. A sickness that I’ve never felt before. The doctors thought it might have been the chloroform.’ She looked down. ‘The rest you know.’
‘And nothing has ever come back?’
‘I told you no. Nothing. Can you imagine how that feels? I’ve lain awake night after night trying to remember, but nothing comes back.’
Chapter 14
Connie sidled up to Palmer and watched in amusement as he gave a small start when he noticed how close she was to him.
‘Jesus, Connie. You gave me a shock.’
‘You all right,
Palmer? You looked a bit ill in the meeting.’
Now she was close up, Connie could see Palmer’s skin was veiled in a thin sheen of sweat. Palmer looked away but stepped closer to her. ‘Between you and me, Joanne’s being a complete nightmare. I’m getting married next month and I’m not sure I can stand it any more.’
How Palmer and Joanne had ever got together was a complete mystery to Connie. The only thing they seemed to have in common were groomed good looks, but perhaps that was enough. Joanne worked as a physiotherapist in one of the doctor’s surgeries in Bampton and, on the rare social events that she had turned up to, had shown little interest in the workings of the detective team. However, when Joanne had spotted her and Palmer one evening huddled together discussing the possible suspects in a recent hit-and-run accident, things had nearly turned nasty. A headache had been invented and a reluctant Palmer had been dragged off home with a martyred air. And now they were getting married. Connie stepped back. ‘Is it because of the body in the Wilton Hotel? Look—’
‘It’s not just that. It’s everything. Nothing I do is right. I’m seriously thinking I made a mistake ever agreeing to get married. We were happy as we were.’
‘Seriously?’
He looked at her in agony. ‘Are all women like this before they get married?’
‘No idea. Don’t ask me. I’ve got nowhere near the altar. Have you tried to have it out with her?’
‘She spends all her time with her mother. I can’t get near enough to have a proper chat.’
Connie considered. ‘Maybe talk to Sadler,’ she suggested finally.
Palmer gave her an affronted look and walked off.
She walked over to her desk and waited for the computer to boot up. The room was empty and she frowned, looking around. There should be more people than this coming in and out of the large open-plan office. When the archaic computer finally cranked to life she opened the Internet browser. A quick trawl online revealed what she already had suspected. That women were rarely the perpetrators of child abductions. Myra Hindley was the famous one of course, but there were people who thought that she was just an accomplice of Ian Brady, and if their paths had never crossed in that Hattersley housing estate, Hindley might had led a different life. Connie wasn’t so sure about this, but the tragic events to the west of Derbyshire over forty years ago were a distraction she didn’t need at the moment.