Taken to Die: A chilling crime thriller (DCI Danny Flint Book 4)

by Trevor Negus

  Rachel had been inches away from becoming the serial killer’s seventh victim. During her absence from work, the Home Secretary had confirmed that she was to be awarded the Queen’s Police Medal for Gallantry.

  She looked very different from the last time Danny had seen her. She had lost a little weight, but looked physically strong. She had obviously spent a lot of time working out in the gym in preparation to return to work. Her once-long chestnut brown hair had now been cut short in a neat pixie style. It was also dyed an ash blonde colour.

  As always, Rachel was impeccably smart, dressed in a navy-blue business suit and white blouse.

  Danny smiled and said, ‘Rachel, it’s great to have you back. I apologise for not seeing you first thing this morning, but I had an urgent meeting at headquarters. I’m afraid it’s been a bit manic ever since I got back. Anyway, never mind all that. It’s good to see you looking so well, and congratulations on your award. How are you feeling about being back at work?’

  Rachel smiled. Still the same Danny Flint, she thought. Concerned about everybody else.

  She said, ‘I’m good, sir, thank you. I’m feeling extremely fit and ready to get back to work.’

  ‘Are you still having counselling?’

  ‘I’m at the stage now where if I need to see Wendy, my counsellor, I can just phone for a chat. Really, I’m all good and raring to go.’

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear that, Rachel; we were all very worried about you.’

  ‘I just want to get stuck into some work, boss.’

  ‘That’s good, because I’ve got a very important job for you.’

  ‘That sounds intriguing.’

  ‘I want you to work alongside DI Hopkirk to trace a missing fourteen-year-old girl.’

  ‘Wow! I wasn’t expecting that. A detective inspector and staff from the MCIU to trace a misper? Who is this girl, royalty?’

  ‘Her name’s Emily Whitchurch. She’s the daughter of two high-powered barristers who work out of Mulberry Chambers in the city. If we can’t trace her quickly, the political fallout could be huge.’

  ‘Whitchurch? Is she the daughter of Rebecca Whitchurch, the snide barrister who specialises in defending the scum of the earth?’

  ‘The very same. Rachel, I can’t stress to you how important it is that we find this girl. There have been major changes while you’ve been off. We now have a new chief constable and a new detective chief superintendent in charge of the CID. They both need to see, for themselves, how effective the MCIU can be.’

  Always astute and lightning-fast on the uptake, Rachel said, ‘I think I’m seeing the bigger picture, sir. When do we start?’

  ‘I’ve already briefed DI Hopkirk. You’ve got a meeting scheduled with Detective Inspector Cooper at Canning this afternoon.’

  ‘If Gail Cooper’s had this enquiry, it will have been done properly. Are you sure we’re going to be able to find something she’s missed? Personally speaking, I very much doubt it.’

  ‘I need you to try, okay?’

  ‘No problem, sir.’

  Rachel stood to leave. Danny smiled and said, ‘Welcome back, Rachel. It really is great to have you back.’

  32

  3.30pm, 9 October 1986

  Canning Circus Police Station, Nottingham

  Detective Inspector Gail Cooper sighed and said, ‘Here’s the Emily Whitchurch file. It’s a real mystery; this young girl seems to have vanished in mid-air. She left the Nottingham High School for Girls on Forest Road East as usual, and within the space of three or four streets, she disappeared. The problem is, even though it was broad daylight, we haven’t found any CCTV that helps us, or witnesses who saw anything suspicious.’

  Brian took the folder and said, ‘Thanks, Gail. Tell me what you know about the girl.’

  ‘From the enquiries made at the school, it would appear she isn’t at all popular. She’s been described as precocious, nasty and bitchy. One girl described her as fourteen going on twenty-four. You get the picture?’

  Rachel said, ‘Does she have any friends?’

  ‘There are two girls in her class, Rosie Penwarden and Polly Garrett. I wouldn’t say they were close friends, but Emily usually walked with them along Forest Road East until she got to the street where her lift home would be waiting.’

  ‘Where were her friends on the afternoon she went missing?’

  ‘They were both rehearsing for the school play. Polly saw Emily walking through the school gates on her own about fifteen minutes after everyone else had left.’

  ‘Did Polly have any idea why Emily was so late leaving school that afternoon?’

  ‘She didn’t. I’ve checked with staff at the school, and she hadn’t been given a detention or anything. The only thing anyone could think of was that maybe she’d spent a little longer in the library than the other girls. Her last lesson that day was a free period. Like most girls at the school, Emily always used the free period to get her homework done in the library. This is all supposition, Brian. The only thing we know for certain is that Emily Whitchurch walked through the school gates, on her own, at approximately three forty-five that day. A full fifteen minutes after everyone else had left.’

  Brian said, ‘Has she been missing before?’

  ‘Yes, she has. She was found the same day, last time. Three hours after she’d been reported missing, a uniform patrol found her in a squat near the Arboretum. The kid was completely stoned. She was out of her face after smoking a joint.’

  ‘Any witnesses at the squat?’

  ‘None who would talk to the police. As you can imagine, we aren’t the most popular people down there. All the details from that previous missing-from-home report are in the file.’

  Rachel said, ‘You mentioned her getting a lift home every day. Who was that with?’

  ‘The Whitchurch family have an au pair, a Romanian girl called Alina Moraru. One of her duties was to meet Emily from school every afternoon, to drive her straight home. I think this was put in place by the parents in response to her going missing previously. Anyway, it turns out that Rebecca Whitchurch believed her daughter was getting picked up directly outside the school gates, but this wasn’t actually the case. Emily had made her own arrangement with the au pair. She had instructed her to pick her up away from the school gates. She was to wait a few streets away.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘This has come from Polly Garrett. It seems that Emily was embarrassed at being picked up in front of everyone, so she kicked up a fuss until the au pair agreed to pick her up somewhere else.’

  ‘And her mother had no idea?’

  ‘None.’

  Brian said, ‘I take it you’ve already spoken to both her parents?’

  ‘Of course I have. To say they aren’t very helpful is an understatement. I just don’t get it. Whatever your opinion of the police may be, if your daughter’s missing, you’d bend over backwards to help find her, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, I would. I think we need to speak to the parents first and take it from there.’

  ‘Anything else you think we should know, Gail?’

  ‘Everything’s in the file. My gut feeling is there’s more going off at home than we currently know. I don’t know if this girl’s been abducted or just doesn’t want to be found. I’ve got four other teenagers all reported missing from the same area. Do you think the MCIU could look for them as well, please?’

  ‘I think we both know the answer to that question.’

  ‘Oh well, it was worth a try. Good luck; I hope you find her.’

  Brian stood and nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  As they walked slowly back to their car, both Brian and Rachel were deep in thought.

  Brian broke the silence. ‘First impressions?’

  Rachel replied quickly, ‘First impressions? I think we need to find this girl and fast. People don’t just disappear; my instinct is that someone’s got her and is holding her somewhere. I don’t know why. That’s just what I feel.’<
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  ‘Me too. I’ve got a bad feeling about this; I don’t think it’s going to have a happy ending. Let’s get back to Mansfield and go through this file. You can fire a call in to Mrs Whitchurch and make arrangements for us to see her and her husband first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan, boss.’

  33

  9.00am, 10 October 1986

  Richmond Drive, Mapperley Park, Nottinghamshire

  Rebecca Whitchurch stepped out of the shower and reached for her robe. Slipping the cool, silken cloth around her hot, moist body felt good. She sat at the dressing table, picked up her hairdryer and began to blow-dry her hair. She didn’t bother to style it; she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She brushed on a light foundation powder and the barest hint of eye shadow before applying lipstick. She stared hard at her reflection and saw that tears weren’t far from her eyes.

  Where is my daughter?

  Rebecca felt nauseous. Her mind was in overdrive, thinking of terrible scenarios. Each new image that burst into her brain was more terrifying than the last.

  Trying to push the awful thoughts to the back of her mind, she grabbed a pair of comfortable jogging pants and a loose-fitting Reebok sweatshirt. She quickly got dressed.

  Would today be the day Emily came back to her?

  She walked downstairs, feeling lonely in the vast, empty house, and wandered aimlessly into the luxurious kitchen. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she filled the kettle with fresh water. She switched it on, then reached for an earthenware mug in the cupboard. She placed a heaped spoonful of instant coffee and a splash of milk in the mug, followed by hot water from the kettle.

  Just as she was about to take a first sip of the piping hot coffee, she heard the letterbox rattle in the front door.

  At first, the sound didn’t really register. Then, as she thought about it, she suddenly felt worried.

  She hadn’t opened the wrought-iron gates that morning. That meant the postman would have left any mail in the letterbox that formed part of the stone pillars supporting the electric gates.

  Had someone climbed the gates and walked up the driveway to the house?

  Splashing hot coffee all over the kitchen table as she slammed down her mug, she raced through the house to the front door.

  On the doormat, beneath the letterbox of the front door, there was a cream-coloured envelope.

  Quickly unlocking and unbolting the heavy oak door, she flung it wide open.

  There was nobody to be seen.

  Feeling suddenly scared, she slammed the door shut, quickly locking and bolting it again.

  With a growing sense of foreboding, she bent down and retrieved the unmarked envelope from the doormat.

  The first thing she noticed was that the envelope hadn’t been stuck down. The flap was just tucked inside.

  She held it on the very corner, between forefinger and thumb. She carried it into the lounge and placed it carefully on the coffee table. She stood staring down at it for at least five minutes before she plucked up the courage to open it.

  She bent down and snatched it up before quickly ripping it open.

  Placing the envelope back on the coffee table, she then unfolded the single sheet of paper that had been inside. As she started to read the note, her legs buckled. She allowed herself to flop down onto the settee, where she sat and stared at the note.

  She could feel tears starting to sting her eyes as she read the words that had been composed using letters individually cut from newspaper articles.

  The message in the note was as brief as it was graphic:

  If you want to see your brat bitch daughter alive again I want £250,000. No Police.

  Rebecca gasped and threw the note onto the floor as though continuing to hold it would scald her flesh.

  Her brain was now in near-meltdown as thoughts raced into her mind.

  What should I do?

  The note stated quite clearly she was not to contact the police, but the police were already coming this morning. The female detective had called her last night to arrange everything. They would be here in an hour’s time. She began to panic, and her breathing became hurried and shallow.

  Battling against the anxiety attack, she scolded herself to remain calm.

  The officer who had phoned the night before had introduced herself as Detective Constable Rachel Moore from the Major Crime Investigation Unit. She was a female detective. She wouldn’t be wearing a uniform. It would be okay. She could show her the note when she arrived.

  Still in a daze, Rebecca walked upstairs and into the ornate bathroom. She grabbed a packet of drugs from the medicine cabinet and popped two Valium tablets from the blister pack. She filled the tumbler at the side of the sink with cold water and quickly swallowed the tranquilisers.

  They would help her calm down. She needed to be calm and rational by the time the detective arrived.

  As soon as she felt steadier, Rebecca walked back down the stairs and into the lounge.

  She picked the note up off the floor and placed it carefully onto the coffee table next to the envelope.

  As she sat motionless, staring at the note, the same questions kept burning into her brain.

  Why isn’t Dominic here with me? Why am I having to deal with this alone? I cancelled my trial; why couldn’t my husband have done the same?

  In a trancelike state, she walked through to the hallway and picked up the fob that controlled the electronic gates. She opened the gates and went into the lounge, to wait for the detective to arrive.

  34

  10.10am, 10 October 1986

  Richmond Drive, Mapperley Park, Nottinghamshire

  Rachel and Brian rang the doorbell on the front door. They could immediately hear the scraping of bolts and the sound of a mortice key turning in the lock. The heavy wooden door was opened slowly and stopped after two inches. As it opened a fraction more, both detectives held their warrant cards out towards the frightened woman who peeked around it.

  Rachel recognised Rebecca Whitchurch, but only just. There was no sign of the confident, arrogant swagger that she usually displayed when dressed in her black robes and white wig at the Crown Court.

  The woman standing before them looked troubled and very frightened.

  Rachel said softly, ‘Mrs Whitchurch, I’m Detective Constable Rachel Moore. I spoke to you last night. This is my colleague Detective Inspector Hopkirk. May we come in?’

  With a faraway look in her eyes, Rebecca Whitchurch asked, ‘What type of car have you come in?’

  Brian replied, ‘We’ve come in my car. It’s a red Ford Sierra. Are you okay?’

  She replied, ‘Get inside quickly. They mustn’t see you.’

  Both detectives stepped inside the house, and Rebecca locked the door behind them.

  Brian said, ‘What’s going on, Mrs Whitchurch?’

  She walked off down the hallway and said, ‘This way, follow me. It’s in here.’

  They followed her into the lounge. She pointed towards the note on the coffee table, saying, ‘This came this morning. Someone climbed the gates, walked up the drive and posted it through the front door.’

  Rachel asked, ‘Did you see them?’

  Rebecca shook her head and slumped wearily into an armchair.

  ‘Do you have any CCTV?’

  ‘We’ve just had cameras installed, but they’re not connected yet. So no, we don’t have CCTV.’

  Brian took two evidence bags from his jacket pocket and placed them next to the ransom letter and the envelope. He put on a pair of blue plastic gloves, then carefully placed the note inside the bag.

  He repeated the process, placing the envelope in a separate evidence bag, noting that it hadn’t been stuck down.

  ‘Have you handled the note much?’

  ‘Only when I took it from the envelope.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Rachel asked, ‘Where’s Mr Whitchurch?’

  ‘Dominic’s defending a client at
Leicester Crown Court all this week. He’s staying at a hotel in Leicester rather than commuting every day.’

  ‘Have you told him about the note?’

  ‘No. He’ll be in court by now. I can’t disturb him. I won’t be able to contact him until this evening.’

  Rachel sat down opposite the frightened woman and said, ‘I think you need to call your husband and get him to come home as soon as you can. Don’t you?’

  Suddenly, there was a glimpse of the real Rebecca Whitchurch as she snapped, ‘I know what I need to do, Detective. I don’t need you to tell me.’

  Brian said, ‘Rachel, stay here with Mrs Whitchurch. I need to contact Danny and let him know what’s happening here.’

  Rachel nodded. Brian turned to Rebecca and said, ‘Do you have a telephone I can use?’

  She said, ‘There’s a telephone on the table in the hallway. You’re welcome to use that one.’

  Brian stepped out into the hallway, picked up the telephone and dialled the direct number for Danny’s office.

  The telephone was answered on the second ring. ‘MCIU, Danny Flint speaking.’

  Brian said, ‘Boss, it’s Brian. I’m with Rachel at Richmond Drive, talking to Rebecca Whitchurch. This missing person enquiry has just ramped up a few notches. A ransom note, demanding a quarter of a million pounds, has been hand-delivered at the Whitchurch home this morning.’

  Danny was stunned. He took a few seconds’ thinking time, then said, ‘Exactly what does the note say?’

  Brian read the note in the bag: ‘It says, “If you want to see your brat bitch daughter alive again, I want £250,000. No police”.’

  ‘Okay. I want you to stay at the house with Rachel. I need to get things organised here. We need to get recording devices attached to the telephones in case the kidnappers make contact that way. I also want to get covert surveillance organised on the house. As soon as I’ve done that, I’ll drive over with Helen Bailey. She can act as the liaison officer for Mr and Mrs Whitchurch. I’ll make sure the technical support guys are discreet when they arrive to install the recording devices. I’ll see you in about an hour.’