The Chosen Ones

by Howard Linskey

  Rennie shrugged. ‘There are hippies even now,’ he said. ‘Not many of them, I’ll grant you but, whatever she was into, she’d seriously messed up her mind.’

  ‘You said she made some wild claims?’

  ‘She said she’d been abducted by a crazy man who’d kept her underground.’ He raised his eyebrows at that. ‘She claimed she was held captive for months and that she wasn’t the only one. There were others there with her but she couldn’t tell us where this was or how she happened to be wandering up and down the road, miles from anywhere.’

  ‘Did she mean she was held in a cellar or basement somewhere?’

  ‘She just kept saying “underground”.’

  ‘You never actually saw this young woman personally?’

  ‘Me? No. Like I said, someone else interviewed her.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to them,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Who was it? Can you remember?’

  Rennie shook his head slowly, ‘Sorry, mate, can’t help you there. It was all a very long while ago.’ He added cryptically: ‘It would have been a job for an ambitious DS, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He abruptly changed the subject. ‘Listen, you know I haven’t got long to go. You are planning on coming, aren’t you? To my leaving bash, I mean.’

  Bradshaw didn’t know Rennie all that well and hadn’t given it any thought, if he was honest. He didn’t even know when it was.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, mate.’

  Rennie seemed reassured by that, ‘Good. Make sure you don’t.’

  ‘This Sarah Barstow’ ‒ Bradshaw wasn’t finished yet and wanted to get more out of Rennie before they started planning his leaving bash ‒ ‘was she one of the good girls, you said?’

  ‘Yeah, one of those sweet, innocent, buttoned-down types; butter wouldn’t melt and all that. I think she even worked in a library.’

  ‘Yet a year later she turns up stoned and rambling?’

  ‘High as a kite and talking shite,’ he confirmed. ‘We reckoned the lass had spent twelve months drugged up to her eyeballs and drunk.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’ asked Bradshaw.

  ‘We, us, the team,’ said Rennie. ‘And we were right because the post-mortem confirmed she’d buggered up her internal organs with drink. She had kidney failure and all sorts wrong with her. The lass had gone from sweet little innocent to raging alcoholic inside a year.’

  ‘Didn’t that strike you as a bit odd?’

  ‘Yes, it did, but strange things happen every day in this job. Haven’t you noticed?’

  Bradshaw had to concede Rennie had a point. ‘The woman was lucid enough to say she had been abducted, though?’

  ‘The collective view was that she must have had a guilty conscience and wanted to blame it all on someone.’

  ‘What was your view?’

  Rennie just shrugged, as if he didn’t have one.

  ‘And you honestly can’t remember who told you what happened during her interview?’

  Rennie surveyed Bradshaw for a moment then said very quietly, ‘I can’t, sorry.’

  ‘Who was on the team, then? Let’s start with that.’

  ‘All sorts of people. They came and went, and the case never really closed.’

  ‘Give me some names?’

  And he did, eventually, but all of them had now left the force, most of them into retirement.

  ‘Is there anyone who is still in this building that might remember working that case?’

  ‘Now you’re asking.’

  ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘Not that I can think of,’ said Rennie. ‘Off the top of my head.’

  Again Bradshaw was convinced Rennie was lying, but he let it go, for now. He didn’t know the man well enough to call him out and, even if he did, Rennie was hardly going to admit it. ‘You said she was on the A1 when they picked her up.’

  ‘Yeah, can’t remember exactly where, though. It was such a long while back.’

  ‘Is there a case file, something I could take a look at?’

  ‘Of course. We weren’t quite as bureaucratic back then, but we did write things down.’

  ‘So the interview notes should still be there?’

  Rennie’s face was impassive. ‘Should be.’

  ‘Right then. I’ll take a look.’ Bradshaw got to his feet.

  ‘You going there now?’

  You bet I am.

  ‘Yes, Hugh, I think I am.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Eva told herself it was a good thing he had chosen to hide his face. He must be worried she might identify him later, which meant that, maybe, she would get out of here. If only she knew what he wanted from her.

  Was she dealing with a disturbed mind? Nobody normal would do this to another human being. But what did he want? To kill her? Then why was he feeding her? And why go to the trouble of creating this room? If he was a kidnapper who had mistaken her for someone else, what would happen when he found out? Would he just let her go, or …?

  It was an hour before she ventured from the bed and walked over to the food on the tray. It was some kind of stew, cold now, and congealed on the plate. Eva was incredibly hungry but didn’t dare to eat anything, in case the food was drugged or poisoned. There was a plastic glass full of water next to the paper plate. Again, she was too frightened to drink initially, even though she had never been thirstier. She peeled back the lid on the plastic tub. It contained toothpaste, a toothbrush, sanitary towels, a flannel and a cheap bar of soap.

  She picked up the water, raised it cautiously to her lips and took the tiniest of sips. The water felt so good in her parched mouth and, when she suffered no immediate ill effects, she took a grateful gulp. She made sure to keep a third of the liquid in the plastic glass for later. She didn’t know how long it would be before he came back – assuming he did come back.

  Whatever happened, she would have to eat in order to survive. Tentatively at first, she ate the food. It was cold and didn’t taste of much, but she was glad of it nonetheless. Afterwards she lay thinking about her best course of action.

  She had to get out of here, and quickly.

  Eva got up and walked around the metal box, searching for any weakness in the structure, a crack or a gap, some ragged edge of metal perhaps, but there was nothing. It was entirely sealed, except for an air vent with tiny gaps between the slats that had been welded into the structure, its central point held firmly in place by four large screws that had been painted over, and there was nothing she could do to make them budge.

  She went to the door then and banged on it hard with the palm of her hand. Perhaps someone would hear. Maybe he would hear and he’d come back and punish her, but that was a risk she had to take. She hammered on the metal door again and again. Then she let out a cry of frustration and shouted, ‘Let me out!’

  Eva carried on with the banging and the shouting until the palm of her hand was red raw and stinging and her throat hurt so much she had to drink the last of the water.

  No one came.

  It took Bradshaw an age to find the file he was looking for. He knew he’d be late for his appointment with Helen and Tom and nearly gave up several times, but he hadn’t liked the way Rennie asked him if he was going to view the files now, and he didn’t want to delay his search any longer. In short, he didn’t fully trust Hugh Rennie and he needed to see that file.

  When he did finally locate it, it was flimsy and only the bare facts were recorded in it. There was no record of any interview with or statement from Sarah Barstow.

  ‘This is bullshit,’ muttered Bradshaw to himself. He knew that record-keeping had not been as comprehensive back then but he had expected more than this. Specifically, he had hoped to see detailed notes on the victim’s own words, even if they were disbelieved at the time.

  Someone has been covering their tracks, he thought, but why?

  Jenna had tried to forget the note. Then, realizing she couldn’t, she had resolved to laugh it off.

  When that also failed, she simply hop
ed. Hoped that it was a sick joke of some kind. Hoped that the person who had written it didn’t really know anything at all and just wanted to scare her. Hoped there would never be another one.

  It was several days before all those hopes vanished.

  Jenna had thought about the note to the exclusion of almost everything else. She recalled reading something about a prank played once on an entire town. Was it a joke or an urban myth, or maybe a horror film she had half watched late one night? Hadn’t everyone in town received a note through their door on the same evening, with something like ‘I know what you did’ written on it? In the morning, half of them had packed up and left because they had a guilty conscience about something.

  That’s what this must be, right? Just a silly joke.

  It didn’t seem so silly when the second note arrived. It was waiting for her on the mat when she came downstairs in the morning, and this one had her name on it.

  DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD JUST WALK AWAY, JENNA?

  THAT’S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.

  Now she was truly terrified.

  Jenna didn’t trust men after everything she had been through, and she was pretty certain the person writing the notes was a man. There was something about the taunting tone of the note and the relish taken in the threatening words that screamed Male. A woman would be more than capable of writing something like that, as she well knew, but men had been the root cause of most of her problems. Jenna hadn’t trusted a man in a long while. There had only been one or two over the years who weren’t out to use, control or damage her.

  Her thoughts turned idly to one of them and it struck her that he might just be her only chance.

  As Ian Bradshaw left police HQ he was surprised to see a journalist running towards the car park with a microphone in his hand and a cameraman trailing behind him. He could hear voices coming from around the corner of the building but he couldn’t work out what was going on. Another car pulled up then and a journalist he recognized from the local paper got out and started to walk rapidly in the same direction, then two men he didn’t recognize emerged from another car and did the same.

  ‘It’s Tyler’s announcement,’ said the desk sergeant, who was standing next to him, having wandered outside to see what the fuss was about. ‘He’s making it in the car park. Man of the people, and all that. The PR manager thinks it makes him look more dynamic and accessible if he’s standing outside.’ He gave a little snort of derision.

  Deputy Chief Constable Edward Tyler had been on the TV quite a lot lately. ‘What announcement?’ asked Bradshaw, who didn’t understand the sudden press interest.

  ‘Summat about drugs.’ The desk sergeant shrugged. ‘They’re a bad thing, apparently, and you shouldn’t take them. All that bollocks.’ And with that underwhelming pronouncement he shuffled back inside.

  As he turned the corner of the building, Bradshaw could clearly make out the figure of Tyler, surrounded by a dozen reporters, poised to write down his words or thrust microphones into his face.

  ‘I am Deputy Chief Constable Edward Tyler of Durham Constabulary,’ he announced, ‘and as some of you already know, I have additional responsibilities for national policing on illegal drug use. I am here to talk to you about a major new campaign to be trialled across our region which is set to change the face of UK law-enforcement policy towards the scourge of drug-dealing in our communities.’

  Before the deputy chief could outline his important new policy, he was interrupted. Bradshaw didn’t hear the question but he could pick up the irritation in Tyler’s answer. ‘Well, that is not why I am speaking to you today … that is an ongoing investigation and it would be unwise of me to speculate –’ He was interrupted by another question and Bradshaw made out a mention of missing women and the word ‘body’.

  Bradshaw knew they had to be asking about the woman in the woods. That would explain the press interest. They weren’t here to listen to a speech on the perils of drug use. Bradshaw decided it would be a good idea to walk briskly to his car.

  The interruptions continued, Tyler floundered and Bradshaw kept his head down and his feet moving. He didn’t want to be recognized as the investigating officer on the case and targeted by a gaggle of reporters asking him to supply answers he did not yet have. He’d almost reached his car when a tabloid journalist with a London accent asked Tyler loudly if anyone still had faith in his force, bearing in mind it was ‘institutionally corrupt’ and ‘riddled with bent detectives’. Before Tyler could answer, he followed up with a demand to know why nothing was being done to prevent the disappearances of young women in the area. At that point Tyler swiftly called a halt to his announcement and marched off with an outraged look on his face, closely followed by a harassed-looking PR woman who would surely be made to take the blame for the media ambush.

  Bradshaw got in his car and drove off, being extra careful not to accidentally mow down any of the press pack on his way out.

  ‘Are you the detective?’ The woman on reception at the Furry Friends Centre was obviously expecting him. ‘They’re round the back,’ she said, and she made a whirling motion with a finger to indicate that he had to go out of the front door and around the side of the building.

  Bradshaw did as he was told and emerged into what looked like a school playground with a large pen in one corner that held a number of young Labrador puppies scampering about and playing happily. A slightly older dog on a lead was being trained in the middle of the concrete space, while the animal and its handler were watched by some of the centre’s organizers, all of whom wore dark green polo shirts with the centre’s logo on it; a black pawprint on a red heart. Bradshaw waved at Helen and Tom, who were standing at the opposite end of the training ground, then joined them so they could watch the spectacle together.

  ‘Blind dogs?’ he asked.

  ‘They wouldn’t be much use if they were, mate,’ Tom told him.

  ‘I’ll rephrase that. Are they dogs for the blind?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘The term is “guide dogs” but they’re hearing dogs. They’re being trained to help the deaf or hard of hearing.’

  ‘What?’

  Helen was just about to repeat what she had said when she realized he was joking. ‘We can’t take you anywhere, Ian.’

  ‘How can a dog help a deaf person anyway? I didn’t know they had hearing dogs.’

  ‘If your doorbell rings, the dog will alert you,’ Helen explained. ‘When the alarm clock goes off it will come and nudge you. More importantly, if it hears the smoke alarm, you can get the hell out of the building.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘And they give people more confidence to get out and about. These dogs can obey up to forty different commands once they’re fully trained.’

  ‘So you’re writing about them?’

  ‘We’re just helping out,’ said Tom, ‘with their newsletter and mail shots.’

  Bradshaw recalled Helen’s sideline in desktop publishing. She could create whole magazines using their advanced but very expensive personal computer. Sometimes that was for paying customers, but they often helped out charities like this one. Tom liked to tease Helen that she was too nice but he never seemed to mind really.

  The young girl training the Labrador finished the session, petted the dog, gave it a treat then came over to them. Helen introduced her as Marie, while the Labrador jumped enthusiastically up at Helen, who petted it and told the dog it was ‘a good girl!’

  ‘It likes you,’ said Bradshaw.

  ‘And so it should,’ said Tom, ‘Helen has been helping them down here a lot. Show him what they taught you.’

  When Helen seemed reluctant, Tom told Bradshaw, ‘She can do sign language.’

  ‘Only a bit,’ she protested.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Bradshaw urged her.

  Helen rolled her eyes at Marie, pointed at Tom then whirled her hands. The other girl grinned and signed something back to her.

  ‘What did you just say?’ asked Brads
haw.

  Helen did the actions again and told him the words they represented. ‘I said, “My friend here” ’ – and she pointed at Tom – “is an idiot,” and she replied, “Yes, but what can you do?” ’

  ‘Thanks, pet,’ said Tom, and he shot a fake frown at the other girl. ‘I used to like you, Marie.’

  She laughed and walked away with the dog.

  ‘Are you okay to talk now?’ asked Bradshaw once she had left them.

  ‘Yes, we’re good,’ said Tom, and they strolled back to their cars while Bradshaw briefed them about the five missing women and the discovery of the dead woman in the woods.

  ‘Which one was it?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s the really interesting part,’ said Bradshaw. ‘It’s none of them.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Helen. ‘You said they’d found a woman, but if she hasn’t got anything to do with the Disappeared …’

  ‘Oh, this woman disappeared all right,’ said Bradshaw. ‘A very long time ago …’

  By the time they had reached their cars they knew almost everything he did.

  ‘And none of these women had a reason to run, which leads you to the conclusion that they have been abducted?’ asked Helen.

  ‘It doesn’t lead me to any conclusion,’ said Bradshaw. ‘At least not yet. But we can’t rule it out.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ian,’ snorted Tom. ‘This isn’t a press conference. You can tell us what you think.’

  ‘I am telling you what I think. There might not be any evidence to back up the runaway theory but there isn’t much to support the idea they were snatched from the streets either and, being a detective, I’m not supposed to assume. I’m keeping an open mind and I think you should, too.’

  ‘So, keeping an open mind and working on the basis that they could have been abducted,’ said Helen, ‘do we collectively believe that the disappearance of some women eighteen years ago has any link with today’s cases?’

  ‘It seems unlikely,’ Bradshaw conceded, ‘yet I keep coming back to the similarity of the circumstances and then, there’s the number.’

  ‘Five,’ said Tom. ‘The same as now.’