‘Quite slutty I think, but Kate doesn’t care. She loves it, actually.’
Brian gives his daughter a stern look when he hears what she’s said.
McCarthy changes the subject.
‘I need to ask about the club Kate went to on Friday night.’
McCarthy looks at Brian first, then Lydia. He wants to make sure they’re paying attention before he continues.
‘Haven, as you may or may not know, is not a regular night club. It’s quite… specific... It’s a fetish club. And it’s not for the faint-hearted.’
Brian stares at McCarthy in disbelief and shakes his head as McCarthy continues.
‘Why would Kate have gone there? Lydia, you were the one who passed the club name on to the police when she first went missing, weren’t you? What can you tell us?’
Lydia takes a deep breath, and is about to say something, when her father’s booming voice fills the room.
‘A fetish club? Are you sure? Kate is eighteen-years-old, Detective McCarthy! There’s no way she even knows what the word ‘fetish’ means.’
Brian looks to his wife who has just re-entered the room. She is wide-eyed and disturbed-looking. Both of her parents look at Lydia as if she is somehow in on something and keeping a secret from them.
‘What? Why are you looking at me like I know anything about this? I just know the name of the club! It’s Kate for God’s sake! She doesn’t tell me anything. I don’t care how you want to portray things to the police, but she’s wild, and you both know it. She knew exactly what kind of club she was going to. Dungeons and whips and all kinds of weird shit.’
Lydia glares at her father, then turns and shrugs her shoulders at McCarthy, before leaving the room and slamming the door on the way out.
Barbara is quick to defend her daughter, telling them that she knows Lydia is acting like this beacause she’s worried people will think less of Kate if they find out she went to Haven. She tells them that Lydia feels it’s her duty to protect her sister, and they’ve always been unbelievably close. Barbara swears they can communicate without speaking, and when they were babies they seemed to have their own little language that no-one else understood. She excuses herself and goes to follow Lydia upstairs, but McCarthy stops her, motions to Davies that they need to go, and tells the Stones he will be in touch later on to discuss the next steps.
‘I know this is tough, but it’s important we gather as much information as we can, as quickly as possible.’
2
McCarthy and Davies drive in contemplative silence before pulling over for an early lunch at Eat Tokyo in Golders Green.
When they finish eating, McCarthy tells Davies to set up some interviews with Kate’s close friends and her agent, Hugh Thomas.
‘I want everyone on the list booked in for today or tomorrow, okay?’
Davies nods.
‘If they don’t come to the station, tell them we know where they live and we’ll be popping around for a visit.’
Davies knows he has to work hard to avoid McCarthy submitting another complaint about him. This case is way more interesting to him than the last one he worked on and he genuinely wants to get things right for Kate Stone and her family, but when McCarthy mentions visiting Haven, Davies imagines both of them in fetish clothing as they interview the club manager.
‘Do we need to get leather trousers and gimp masks for the club? Is that the kind of thing we can put on the expenses sheet, boss?’
McCarthy smiles weakly and shakes his head, before getting up from the table and walking outside, leaving Davies to pay the bill.
He needs to make a private call.
3
Lydia is in her bedroom with her boyfriend, Simon and they’re posting about Kate online.
Molly, Lydia’s spaniel sleeps at the bottom of the bed.
Lydia and Simon have been in one another’s lives since they were five years old. They were friends first, and on Lydia’s sixteenth birthday, Simon finally asked her out, never expecting her to actually say yes.
He is steady, consistent and happy to stay in the background, like Lydia, but she knows he’s as stunned as anyone about Kate’s disappearance. The Stone family are everything to Simon and he wants to show them just how dependable and strong he can be in a crisis, even taking it upon himself to set up the Facebook page for Kate, urging people to make contact if they have any information that might help.
Thousands of people have already shared the page, expressing shock and bewilderment at the story. There are also lots of private messages that the couple have to trawl through, in case anyone knows something that might be useful.
Lydia scrolls through the countless comments under photos of her missing sister.
‘There are way more perverts in the world than I thought possible. One guy has written “This girl is hot as shit. I would probably kidnap her myself if given half the chance” and it says thirty-two people liked that comment?! Why are people saying she was kidnapped, Simon?’
Simon shakes his head and shuffles his way along the bed towards Lydia, takes the laptop from her and gently closes it. Everything is so quiet, careful and precise with Simon. He puts an arm around her, pulls her close, suggests a break for an hour to get a little bit of sleep, and offers to wait next to her, so he can wake her if any calls or important messages come through. Lydia wipes the tears from her eyes, gets up, and walks across the room. For some reason, she can’t stand being close to anyone right now, especially Simon. Until Kate is found safe, Lydia needs as much space as possible. She puts on her coat and calls out for Molly.
‘I’ll call you tonight, Si. I just need to be on my own for a while.’
Although his face shows he’s hurt, Simon nods, and smiles gently in reponse, but Lydia is already gazing beyond him, out the window and into the woods across the road.
Hampstead Heath has always been the place Lydia feels most like herself, and she knows just how lucky she is to live so close to the centre of London, and also right in the middle of all this green, wildness, and fresh air. In Lydia’s opinion, Hampstead is the most beautiful part of London, and she never wants to live anywhere else. Even on grey, cold days, the heath is stunningly beautiful, and it changes so much with every season.
There’s a gentle buzz of growth about today, and she can smell spring in the air. The wild flowers are blooming too, and she likes to remind herself what each one is called as she sees it for the first time. She and Kate have done this since they were little, and their mum had taught them what everything was. Walking towards the duck pond, Lydia sees cornflowers, daisies, marigolds, and corn chamomile, and she names each aloud. Molly runs along beside her, occasionally stopping to sniff something or greet another dog. It’s a bright day and not even 2PM, but there’s a wind that occasionally blasts Lydia in the ears, and the sensation, mixed with the sound of swaying trees, makes her suddenly feel disoriented. Molly, sensing that Lydia isn’t well, barks at her from time to time and stays close, sometimes letting out a cry or whine until Lydia sits on a bench and comforts her.
Molly is a rescue dog that Kate and Mum got for Lydia when she was thirteen and just had her tonsils out. The day she got Molly was one of the happiest of Lydia’s whole life. It had been a bad few months with exams, illness and mean girls at school, and she was recovering from the operation at home when the family threw a surprise party for her. Her friends had arrived with ‘Get Well Soon’ cards, balloons and presents and her cousins in Florida even skyped in to join the party. Simon was there too with his little brother George and they played a special song on a tiny keyboard they’d written for Lydia. It was absolutely adorable and made her laugh so much. She remembers it all so clearly; sun-light flooded the room, her mum had made delicious snacks and drinks for everyone, and just when Lydia thought the day couldn’t be any more special, Kate came in with the little wicker laundry basket they used to share and a huge smile on her face. Lydia knew she was up to something.
Kate was so beautiful that day, wearing one of their mother’s vintage dresses and a purple feather boa. She loved dressing up almost as much as she loved to tease her sister.
‘Just coz you’ve had your tonsils out doesn’t mean you don’t have to do your laundry, sis!’
Kate had made this announcement and placed the basket on floor right next to Lydia’s bed.
‘Open it!’ Kate mouthed to her, her eyes glowing with love and excitement. Lydia remembers how everyone in the room went quiet, watching as she opened the basket to find a twelve-week-old Molly inside; a tiny ball of golden perfection, huddled in a pink blanket.
When Molly saw Lydia peering down at her, she jumped right out of the basket and into her arms, gave out a little yelp, and Lydia just melted. All she had ever wanted was a puppy, and it had finally happened. She was a sobbing mess and could barely speak with all of the emotion she was feeling, so she just held the little dog close and accepted all of the licks, kisses and tail wags Molly showered on her. Everyone was so happy in that magical moment.
Now, Molly is a constant reminder to Lydia of the happy times, how much Lydia’s family love her, and the special bond the twins have with one another. The beautiful happy memory is in such stark contrast to today’s reality and the fact that her sister is gone, that Lydia bursts into tears. Molly barks and yelps so Lydia leans down to cuddle her as tears stream from her eyes.
On the short journey home, Lydia is aware that she must look awful, and plans to get straight in the shower when she gets back and put some decent clothes on. She has got to pull herself together.
4
A few miles away, at the police station in Hendon Hugh Thomas answers question after question about Kate Stone.
McCarthy is highly suspicious of this man and doesn’t trust a word he says. In his opinion, Hugh looks like he has been dressed by Jean Paul Gaulltier with the assistance of a woodland nymph; his navy and white t-shirt is skin-tight, except for sleeves that seem to have some sort of ruffle on them, and McCarthy wonders if the item was even meant to be worn by a man. Hugh’s dark jeans have glitter on the buttons. These ‘fashion people’ baffled McCarthy.
Hugh tells them about the night he spotted Kate in Camden, and how he immediately wanted to sign her up to his agency. She was out partying with her sister and about five other teenagers, having a loud boisterous night at Proud Cabaret. Hugh recalls how he had approached the girls at the bar, handed them his card, and he hadn’t even noticed they were twins until he was standing right next to them. Then, he was interested in signing both of the girls. They were stunning; the kind of young ladies a model agent only dreams of discovering: five-foot-nine, about 120lbs, exquisite bone structure, immaculate skin, perfect, long dark hair, and obviously plenty of personality. Kate was the striking one of course; she knew what her looks could do, and she worked it. Lydia was much more self-conscious, and still very much an awkward teen hiding under layers of clothes.
Hugh asks McCarthy if he’s seen Kate’s modelling portfolio and McCarthy nods that he has.
‘Good. You know what I mean then. That girl is on her way to being the next big thing.’
Davies asks Hugh how much money he makes from Kate and he refuses to answer. Then, Davies asks if he’s ever had sex with her and Hugh stands up to leave. McCarthy shouts at him to sit back down, and answer the question or he’ll regret it.
The tone in the room has changed and McCarthy’s voice is deep and loud. Hugh is visibly shaken. He starts to stutter and he tells them he’s happily married to Sandra, a wonderful woman he met in Holland five years ago. They have two children together and live in Kent. Hugh tells them he loves the fashion business but does not disrespect, or abuse people like they are suggesting. He cares about Kate and her family, considers them friends, and is worried sick about what the hell is going on. He tells them that he’s deeply offended that anyone would suggest that he was even remotely interested in having sex with a young vulnerable girl like Kate Stone.
McCarthy is now sitting opposite Hugh, taking in every word and syllable, reading each blink, hand gesture and intonation. If he’s lying, he’s doing a bloody good job. McCarthy asks where he was on Friday night, and Hugh answers that he was at home with his family all evening. He adds that he had no idea that Kate was at Haven.
A few minutes later they say they’ll be in touch and Hugh is free to go, for now. As soon as he’s left the room, McCarthy grabs his coat and tells Davies to follow him.
‘We’re going to see what this club, Haven is all about.’
5
McCarthy has been with the police for sixteen years and seen a lot of London in that time; the seediest parts of Soho with its brothels, massage parlours, sex shops and twenty-four-hour gay saunas. He’s also seen a wealthy privileged side, that in his opinion is much more hidden and insidious. Just nine months ago, McCarthy set up the raid of a west London mansion block in a trafficking case, arresting several men who turned out to be essentially, middle-eastern royalty who were buying and selling underage girls and keeping them as drugged-up sex slaves.
Yet, to date, no-one had been formally charged for these crimes and none of the victims were willing to press charges or testify. You couldn’t make this stuff up; the city was full of sex and the business of sex was thriving.
McCarthy also knew the exploitation of immigrants was the worst. Often, these people had no family or friends in the UK and were desperate to make money and survive. Having fled war-torn countries and extreme poverty, they came to cities like London only to be abused and used. McCarthy has seen girls and boys as young as twelve living as slaves, with no way out, and even if they are discovered by authorities, nine times out of ten they will deny what’s going on, terrified of being punished and full of shame.
Victims, McCarthy had come to learn, stayed victims way too often in this life. Fear and shame breaks people down, and that’s what trauma and abuse instills in you; fear and shame.
And the inequality and corruption that exists in this world means that the poor, homeless, or those without a voice often stay hidden in the dark margins of society, remaining unprotected and powerless, unless they themselves become criminals or abusers. It was a cycle - a system - that meant he would never run short of cases to keep him busy.
McCarthy has two kids himself, a seven-year old boy called Felix, and a four-year-old girl, Elsa. When his children were born, he got a second wind for catching criminals; he had never loved properly until he held his babies in his arms, and with that love came the deepest, strongest urge to protect he could ever have imagined.
Having a family made him appreciate the fragility and preciousness of life so much more, and now when he saw or heard of a child in need of protection he was filled with determination to do whatever it took to help them. That’s what he would expect if Felix or Elsa were in danger; utter dedication and respect, and that’s what he brought to this job every single day.
Although he’s never been to Haven, McCarthy has certainly heard about it and can imagine the clientele it attracts. It was pretty much world famous at this stage, and even A-List celebrities were said to pay its VIP balcony a visit. Cameras are strictly prohibited inside, and lots of people wear masks so it’s the ideal place to party undercover if you want to disappear for a night. It was fetish and fantasy attire only, and the website read:
‘No fancy-dress. No regular clothing.’
As they pull up outside the club, McCarthy is struck with how large the building is. It looks like it was once a factory or warehouse of some kind, and it’s certainly not the type of place he had in mind for such a high-profile club event.
He finds his mind drifting to what goes on inside, how many entrances the club has. He wonders if it’s so far out of town to avoid attention, and allow for guests to arrive and leave discreetly. Haven is quite near the river Thames too, and there’s a definite smell of the river here, mixed with city pollution. Not exactly pleasant.
Davies asks McCarthy if they’re meeting the owner and is promptly ignored. McCarthy wonders how this guy can be so slow, he told him back at the office about an hour ago that they were meeting Tony Briggs today and he’s not going to repeat himself.
Instead, he sighs, pushes the heavy doors in front of him and enters the building. The lights are out in the long corridor leading from the front entrance to the main foyer, and as he and Davies walk down it, towards the second set of heavy double doors, McCarthy calls out to see if anyone is there. There’s just enough light coming from small windows in the doors at the end of the corridor to navigate by, but it makes for a pretty creepy atmosphere to say the least.
The distinct smell of dry ice and perfume lingers in the air; the stink of hundreds of party-goers that were here just days ago, at the same time as Kate Stone.
Kate will have walked this exact corridor, McCarthy thinks to himself, and somewhere, amongst the particles of stale perfume, her scent lingers too.
The club itself is nestled deep within the building’s walls and all of the rooms with windows are used for offices or storage, while inner spaces and staged areas lack natural light of any kind. Without music, people or proper lighting, the effect is tomb-like and as McCarthy walks around the place, he thinks to himself that this must be the most sound-proof space in London.
After a minute or so, they hear footsteps above their heads; the floorboards creak and the theatrical voice of Tony Briggs echoes dramatically from the gallery. He speaks carefully and loudly, annunciating every syllable much in the way a shakespearean actor would.
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