April

by Paul

  By now, my already weak knees were in agony and I knew my feet couldn’t carry me much further, but the thought of giving up the search was unthinkable. I burst into the house, where Paul was waiting with some police officers. It was only then I realised I was limping badly.

  ‘I can’t take this anymore,’ I wept. ‘I’m going looking for her in the car.’

  Panic flashed across Paul’s face. ‘Coral, no,’ he said. ‘You can’t drive in the state you’re in.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ I sobbed. ‘Just stay here and do nothing? Paul, we have to find her.’

  ‘OK, but you can’t drive yourself,’ he replied. ‘I’ll get Tim to take you.’

  Tim lived a few doors down and was a close friend of Paul’s. He was already standing in our garden, eager to do anything he could to help. Like most of the street, he’d come to the door as soon as he heard the news.

  ‘Tim, Coral wants to go out looking in the car,’ Paul said. ‘Please take her. I can’t let her drive, she’s too upset.’

  ‘OK,’ Tim said.

  ‘I’m going to stay here and wait for news,’ Paul went on, handing him our car keys. ‘Take her anywhere she wants, just don’t let her drive.’

  Without hesitation, Tim jumped into the driver’s side of our family estate car. A wave of nausea washed over me as I caught sight of April’s booster seat and pushchair in the back. I was suddenly gripped by how small and fragile she was. Her little legs would be getting sore and her skin would be hurting without her eczema cream. Oh God, we needed her back.

  The countryside surrounding Machynlleth is vast and remote and it was hard to decide where to search first. It was gut-wrenching knowing that April could already be miles ahead of us, in any given direction. To be honest, I can’t remember exactly where we went, just that I kept telling Tim to keep driving. Adrenaline and terror coursing through my body, I was desperate for some small clue as to where my precious girl might be. Darkness was setting in and it broke my heart to think of her cold, scared or alone but I had to keep believing she was out there somewhere waiting to be found. I tried to tell myself that she’d soon be back in her room where she belonged, cuddling Dolphin and giggling as Paul made up another of his stories for her.

  Tim and I stopped almost everyone we passed. We flagged down other drivers and rolled down our windows to ask pedestrians if they’d seen April, or knew anything that might indicate where she was. Everyone was keen to help but no one had any information.

  At one point we were driving along a rural road towards the remote hamlet of Ceinws, when I spotted someone parked just off the main drag. It was little more than an hour since April had gone, but it felt like days had passed. I jumped out of the car and began thumping on the windows. It was only then I realised they had completely steamed up. It didn’t take a genius to work out what the people inside were up to. They evidently didn’t want to be disturbed but, of course, that was the least of my worries. I banged and banged on the door until the window rolled down and a sheepish-looking young man popped his head out.

  ‘My daughter’s missing!’ I told him, before quickly describing April and what she’d been wearing. He hadn’t seen her – and neither had his female companion – but I wasn’t in the mood to take any chances.

  At that point, we decided to change direction and head back towards Machynlleth. I can’t now remember why we did this, but we had no idea where April was and I was in such a blind panic that I wasn’t in a state to carefully plan where we were going.

  I had no idea that we’d been less than a mile from the house where my daughter was being held. In my more rational moments, I know that even if we’d reached Ceinws, the chances of us finding April in time to make any real difference were minimal. Ceinws lies less than five miles north of Machynlleth – about a ten-minute drive – and April had already been missing for over an hour. We also didn’t have an accurate description of the vehicle or the man who’d been driving it. I don’t want to dwell too much on what must have happened in that time, but it’s likely my daughter had already come to significant harm. Still, it doesn’t make it any less agonising knowing I’d got so close to her so early on in the search.

  Tim and I had been driving around for over an hour when I decided to return home to see if there was any news. We’d stopped scores of people and no one knew anything about where April was. I hoped against hope that I’d walk through the back door and she would be there to greet me.

  Of course, she wasn’t. I sank into Paul’s arms and dissolved into tears. I wanted to head straight back out, but a police officer gently suggested it was best if I stay at home and wait for news. I reluctantly accepted her advice. The police were doing everything they could to find April and I needed to preserve my energy, as no one knew what the next few hours had in store for us.

  Almost as soon as Coral had gone out looking, I made the decision to stay at home. My vision problems meant I wouldn’t be able to provide much help to the others, especially in the fading light. But, more than anything, I couldn’t bear the thought of her returning to find both Coral and I had gone. I had to believe she’d be home safe and sound soon, but it was already past her bedtime and she’d no doubt be exhausted and emotional when we got her back.

  It was more than I could bear to think of my beautiful girl being scared or in pain. She was such a sweet, funny, loveable child. I couldn’t grasp why anyone could ever want to hurt her. Surely, the person who had taken her would just look into those big brown eyes and decide there and then he could never harm her?

  Still, it didn’t make the waiting around any easier. For the next few hours I paced from the front door to the back door, hoping beyond hope that I’d soon see April walking up the path. Our house was packed with people and the situation began to get very stressful, especially when Coral arrived back home distraught and in need of some space to process what we were dealing with.

  Eventually my friend Rich took matters into his own hands and appointed himself as our doorman, only letting close family and friends into our house. We were hugely grateful to each and every person who had joined the search for April, but Rich recognised that having so many people in the house was becoming suffocating for Coral and me.

  The police didn’t have much information to give us, but at some point in the evening I recall being told that senior officers including Detective Superintendent Andy John, who was leading the case, had agreed Dyfed-Powys Police should issue the UK’s first ever nationwide Child Rescue Alert. The system had been used in the USA for many years and was adopted in the UK in 2010, although it hadn’t yet been put into practice. It meant that images of April would be circulated to the whole country by the police via the media, so anyone who saw her picture would be on high alert. We’d later discover it had not been an easy decision for the officers to make – as the description of the vehicle April was taken in was very vague. Issuing such a high-profile alert could have risked the investigation team being swamped with information, which could potentially have hindered rather than helped the search, but those involved quickly decided the threat to April was so great that they didn’t have much choice. Although the outcome was not as we’d hoped, we will always be grateful to them for making this difficult decision in such stressful circumstances.

  By now there were hundreds of people looking for April and I had to keep believing there was a chance we might find her. Jazmin had gathered a group of friends and they were knocking on doors all over the town, asking anyone they could find if they knew anything. We told ourselves that someone, somewhere, must know something.

  When your child goes missing, your concept of time is turned completely on its head. Every second without them seems like an eternity, yet you’re desperate to stop the clock because the chances of finding him or her safe and well diminish with each hour that passes. I didn’t know much about child abductions, because these things simply didn’t happen in Machynlleth, but I’d read in the papers that the first twenty-four hours
were crucial.

  By the time 10 p.m. came round, I was still frantically pacing from the front gate to the back. I felt so helpless, yet the idea of sitting down even for a second made me feel unbearably guilty. April had been gone for less than three hours and I was still telling myself she’d walk through the door at any moment.

  That’s when I experienced it – a horrible sensation like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I’ve never been much of a believer in anything mystical, and I’m deeply sceptical of anyone who claims to have a sixth sense, but as I stood at the front door a horrible chill came over me. It’s hard to explain, but I instantly felt sick to my stomach and I was suddenly aware that there was now a huge hole in my life that could never be filled. It was almost like I could feel all sense of hope leaving my body, no matter how hard I tried to cling on to it. Don’t ask me why, but in the space of a second I just knew April wouldn’t be coming home that night.

  I tried to fight the feeling but, deep down, I think I already knew the awful truth. My little girl was gone forever.

  4

  The Search

  By the early hours of Tuesday morning exhaustion was etched on Coral’s face, so I suggested she get some sleep. She was desperate to feel close to April, so she climbed into her bed and nodded off for an hour or so, cuddling some of her beloved teddies, which still had her scent on them.

  There wasn’t much we could do but sit and wait for news. The police had set up roadblocks and were stopping all motorists leaving Machynlleth, handing them leaflets with April’s picture on in case they’d seen anything. Specially trained dogs were also searching the town for clues.

  I was certain I’d never sleep, so I stayed in the living room while Coral went upstairs. A few friends volunteered to keep us company. Rich stayed by the door and Coral’s friends, Mel and Melere, said they would stay the night, too.

  We spent most of the night in silence, glued to the 24-hour news channels. The Child Rescue Alert had instantly seen the coverage of April’s disappearance evolve from speculation on social networking sites to headline news, and Dyfed-Powys Police released a statement saying officers were increasingly concerned for our daughter’s welfare. I tried hard to focus but one hour just merged into the next. I must have been getting tired, but I didn’t notice. I couldn’t sit still so I paced around the house. At one point I suddenly became aware of how hungry and thirsty I was and I went to the kitchen to grab a biscuit and make a quick coffee. It was only when I looked at the clock I realised it was 4 a.m.

  Coral had barely been asleep for an hour when she came back downstairs.

  ‘Any news?’ she asked, hopefully.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ I said, taking her hand in mine. ‘Nothing yet.’

  As night gradually turned into morning, we huddled together on the couch and watched the news reports, which were playing on a loop. We hardly noticed dawn breaking. Overnight hundreds of volunteers had congregated at the local leisure centre to help search for April. Some had travelled over 100 miles in the dead of night to be here, from all corners of Wales and parts of England. Pubs in the town had emptied as people took to the streets to look for our daughter, some staying out all night. The local petrol station had remained open through the early hours to deal with the huge influx of vehicles which needed to be fuelled, with workers graciously agreeing to do overtime. We were overwhelmed by their kindness.

  Around 11 a.m., the officers who had been with us through the small hours were relieved and two others arrived. They introduced themselves as Detective Constable Dave Roberts and Detective Sergeant Hayley Heard and told us they were our family liaison officers – or FLOs for short.

  Hayley spoke first – she was caring, yet a little more reserved than Dave, an affable extrovert with a strong Birmingham accent. He soon took over and, without invitation, pulled up a chair and planted himself in the middle of the living room floor. Coral and I were so fraught we didn’t grasp much of what he was saying and I remember him repeating himself a lot.

  ‘Hayley and I are now your first point of contact,’ he said. ‘We’ll be with you for the duration of the case.’

  Dave took control of the situation with such ease but Coral and I were so vulnerable that we didn’t realise how vital this was. It almost makes me laugh now to think I mistook his professionalism for cockiness. I’ve often wondered if Dave and Hayley knew how profound an effect this investigation would have on their own lives, as they sat in our living room for the first time on that Tuesday morning.

  Dave later told us he’d been getting ready for work as normal around 7 a.m. when his phone had begun vibrating with a call from the station in Aberystwyth. He now admits it was a conversation which changed his life forever.

  ‘You need to get into work now,’ a senior officer said as soon as he answered, wasting no time on pleasantries. ‘A five-year-old girl has gone missing in Machynlleth. It’s a suspected abduction.’

  Dave agreed to come in at once, but he was sceptical at first. It was early in the morning and he hadn’t turned his television on, so he hadn’t seen the headlines. Even in sleepy mid-Wales, the police dealt with countless missing children every week. Some had stayed too long at a friend’s house and some were even at the centre of bitter custody battles, a pawn in a battle between warring parents. They always turned up. Children weren’t abducted in Machynlleth, not in the true sense of the word.

  ‘Dave,’ the senior officer said, before she rang off. ‘This is real.’

  Those three, simple words sent a shiver down Dave’s spine. He threw on his coat and jumped in his car, driving as fast as he could from his home in the remote Ceredigion countryside to Aberystwyth. He had no idea what role he would be asked to play in the investigation. It was only when he got to the station that he was told he would be one of two family liaison officers.

  This was where he was introduced to Hayley for the first time. They’d served in the same force for many years, and it was incredible that their paths had never crossed, but they’d never been put on the same case and, as a result, had no preconceived ideas about each other. They were briefed as thoroughly as possible on the previous night’s events, but there was no time to waste and they had to get to Machynlleth as soon as they could. On the relatively short journey through the Dyfi Valley that morning, they had to get to know each other very quickly.

  We didn’t know what to expect when, startled and exhausted, we opened the door to Dave and Hayley, but over the next few months they would be towers of strength for our family. Looking back, it’s difficult to imagine how we would have coped without them. We didn’t know it then, but we’d just met two people who would prove to be loyal friends long after the investigation had finished. At some points they would almost become part of the family, putting their own lives on hold to be by our sides through the worst ordeal any parent can imagine.

  While our FLOs were introducing themselves to us, the police were holding a press conference. It was vital that as many people as possible were looking for April and, in that respect, we were thankful that news of her disappearance had fast become the leading story on every channel and was spreading like wildfire on social media. Several television presenters, including Davina McCall and Phillip Schofield, had also appealed for anyone with information to contact the police. We weren’t immediately aware that the media had begun congregating on Bryn-y-Gog, but more and more reporters and photographers would arrive over the course of the next few hours.

  It was around then that the name Mark Bridger first came up. Early that morning, Amy had been interviewed by a police officer specially trained in speaking to child witnesses, who established that the van she described may have been a 4×4-type vehicle. Amy also told the officer that April had got in the driver’s side. She had then been given pictures of various vehicles in a bid to get more information about the driver who had taken April. One of the cards showed a Land Rover Discovery identical to Mark Bridger’s and she’d picked it out straight away.

  We’
d been watching the news for so long and we’d seen all the reports so many times that they were barely registering with us. But, once the interview with Amy had been carried out, new footage of Detective Superintendent Reg Bevan briefing reporters in Aberystwyth was being shown.

  DS Bevan said that police had some new information on the vehicle. He had to choose his words carefully, as they were working on the observations of a vulnerable little girl, but he suggested April could have been taken in a Land Rover – though it was what he said next that caught our attention.

  ‘The witnesses have told us April got into the driver’s side,’ he said. ‘It may well be that she got in with the driver but, of course, that could mean it’s a left-hand-drive vehicle.’

  Coral and I looked at each other, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking. ‘Bridger,’ we both said, immediately.

  Although we later discovered that Bridger had already become a person of interest to the investigation, none of the police officers in the house had mentioned his name to us yet, as the information they had on him was still very sensitive. But Machynlleth is a small town and he was the only person we knew who owned a left-hand-drive car, which just happened to be a grey Land Rover Discovery. We weren’t yet aware that a witness had seen him in his car on the estate around the time April vanished. This wasn’t remarkable in itself, as several of his children lived there, but in light of the information from Amy it would prove to be a key sighting.

  ‘At least we’ve got something,’ I said to Coral, trying to convince myself as much as anyone that this was a positive development. ‘We know something. That’s good.’