by Jaime Raven
We hurried down the stairs and out the front, where a police car was parked next to the entrance.
A small crowd of people had gathered and some of them I recognised as neighbours. The others were reporters and photographers and they fired questions at us as we stepped towards the car.
‘Have you heard from the kidnapper, Miss Mason?’
‘Where are you going? Has there been a development?’
‘Do you have a message for the man who’s taken your daughter?’
Cameras flashed as we threw ourselves into the back of the car. Seconds later we were pulling away from the estate and the plaintive wail of the siren drowned out all other sounds. But it offered no comfort. Granted, having left the flat I was infused with a sense of purpose, but that in itself wouldn’t change anything or bring to a halt the emotional roller coaster I was trapped on. Instinct told me that Adam and I were in for a long and tortuous ride.
He reached for my hand and I let him take it. We looked at each other for a moment, sharing the same horrible thoughts, our troubled past forgotten because we needed to work together for our daughter’s sake.
‘We’ll get through this, Sarah. Then we’ll …’
Adam stopped mid-sentence because the phone gripped tightly in my right hand pinged again with another incoming message.
‘Do you want me to check it?’ Adam said.
‘I’ve got it,’ I told him. This time I didn’t drop it and managed to swipe the screen even though my body froze.
A second later I was staring at the third text from the kidnapper and a new wave of fear and terror washed over me. There were no photographs attached and this made me fear that he had already harmed my little girl.
You were warned about the images. Now your darling little girl is going to suffer the consequences.
11
DCI Brennan
The incident room was alive with the discordant sounds of phones ringing and detectives chatting.
Brennan could tell that his team were working flat out and would continue to do so throughout the night. Even off-duty officers had decided to come in on hearing that the victim of this particular crime was one of their own.
To them, Sarah was more than just a colleague; she was a friend in need of help. And help they would, although they all felt guilty because she’d already been so terribly let down.
The photo of Molly on the sofa had been released to media outlets before the kidnapper’s second text message arrived on Sarah’s phone. At that stage Brennan had only wanted it to be circulated within the Met, but his instruction was misinterpreted by an over-zealous press officer who made it available to those news organisations, including the BBC, who had a jump on the story.
The Beeb had agreed to take it off the air as soon as they were told it was a mistake to run it, but by then it was already too late. The kidnapper had seen it and had sent yet another threatening text to Sarah.
You were warned about the images. Now your darling little girl is going to suffer the consequences.
Sergeant Palmer had got Sarah to forward the message to him and even now, five minutes later, it was still causing wild, disturbing thoughts to flash through his mind.
Brennan decided to have another briefing. He wanted to get it out of the way before Sarah and Adam arrived.
‘It’s time for a team talk, everyone,’ he said aloud, clapping his hands to get their attention as he walked to the front of the room.
He stood between a whiteboard and a television monitor on top of a stand. Pinned to the whiteboard were the two photos taken by the kidnapper. In themselves they weren’t unusual; seemingly innocent pictures of a child sitting on a sofa and lying asleep in a cot. But it was what they didn’t reveal that made them so sinister.
Where were they taken?
Who was behind the camera?
Was he doing this by himself or did he have an accomplice?
It was the job of Brennan and his team to seek out the answers, but they were making slow progress. And that worried him.
He said as much to the troops when he started to address them. He spoke slowly, his tone measured and calm.
‘In view of this latest text from the kidnapper we need to raise our game,’ he said. ‘DI Mason’s little girl has been taken by someone with an obvious grudge, and we have to assume that he’s not making empty threats when he says he’ll hurt her.’
He explained why the photo of Molly on the sofa had ended up on the BBC and several online news sites, and said he would make a point of speaking to the person or persons responsible.
‘But so far we’ve managed to keep a lid on the reason the kidnapper has given for abducting Molly,’ he went on. ‘For now that stays within these walls and I’ll come down hard on anyone who decides to leak it.’
He paused to let that sink in. He knew all twenty-five officers in the room, and on a run-of-the-mill case he’d have trusted them not to succumb to temptation. But this was no ordinary case, and the press were going to be offering big money for inside information.
Brennan waited about fifteen seconds before continuing. Then he pinned back his shoulders and said, ‘Now I want those of you who were assigned specific tasks to provide updates. But first let me reiterate what I told you earlier – that we need to handle this case just like any other. I know we all have a personal stake because of DI Mason, but we can’t allow that to cloud our judgement. We have to stay focused and we need to be objective. One serious mistake has already been made. We can’t afford for there to be any more.’
Harsh strip lights buzzed overhead as the briefing continued. But nothing Brennan heard encouraged him to believe that they were making significant headway.
DI Bill Conroy was heading up the group tasked with sifting through all the footage from the traffic and security cameras. They’d so far come up with only the one short clip that showed the kidnapper walking along Penfold Street towards Streatham High Road carrying Molly, who looked as though she was crying. But the sequence lasted just seven seconds. The kidnapper kept his head down and his face couldn’t be seen. But it was obvious to them all that they were looking at a man and not a woman. He was wearing a dark hoody and jeans and what looked like a pair of black trainers.
It seemed that Molly and the man hadn’t been picked up on any other cameras so it wasn’t known if they’d got into a vehicle or entered a house or flat.
‘We’re still trawling through the footage,’ DI Conroy said. ‘But it was a busy time of day. Plus, a couple of cameras in the area aren’t working. However, the clip tells us that the bloke didn’t have a car or van parked behind the house. Instead he chose to walk away from there carrying the baby. We know from the tape that he walked at least a few hundred yards along Oakdale Lane and Hopton Close. But beyond that he could have gone off in any number of directions.’
Another detective reported on the door-to-door inquiries.
‘Unfortunately most of the properties in the area were empty when officers called,’ he said. ‘We’re assuming the owners and tenants were at work, and most still are, so there’s a good chance they wouldn’t have seen anything. As yet, we have only one confirmed sighting of a man with a child. A woman named Tina Redgrave was returning from the school run when she spotted them in Penfold Street. But it was as she was pulling onto her driveway, so she didn’t see the guy’s face.’
Brennan wasn’t surprised. Londoners rarely noticed things that weren’t relevant to their own busy lives. This was especially true of people hurrying to and from work. They were usually listening to music, playing with their smartphones or fretting over what the day ahead held in store for them.
The team were then told that the techies hadn’t managed to trace the origin of the messages. The perp was probably switching between unregistered phones or using an anonymous text app.
‘So what do we know about the perps who DI Mason mentioned as having made threats against her?’ Brennan said.
DC Amanda Foster was across this
one and Brennan noticed she was standing at the back of the room with her mobile phone to her ear. As he caught her eye she raised a hand in acknowledgement and quickly hung up.
‘Sorry, guv,’ she said, flicking a tendril of dark hair away from her face. ‘I was just getting updated.’
‘So what have you got for us?’ he asked.
She read from her notes as she spoke. ‘DI Mason gave you two names,’ she said. ‘One was the drug trafficker Frank Neilson who told her he would make her pay if he was convicted and sent down. I’m glad to say he’s still behind bars.
‘The other man was Edwin Sharp who she collared for rape five years ago. He hit DI Mason with a hammer and threatened to see to her when he got out. Well, I’ve just this second learned that he was released from jail a month ago. We have an address in Lewisham, but officers who called round there say the flat is empty. Neighbours say he only stayed there a week before moving out. We’re now trying to find out where he’s gone.’
Brennan felt his stomach tense and his spirits lift slightly.
‘That sounds promising,’ he said. ‘I think it’s fair to say we have our first suspect.’
12
Sarah
I was in a dreadful state by the time we got to the station. It had only just turned five p.m. and already it was the longest day of my life.
The latest text from the kidnapper had hit me hard. I’d bellowed like a wounded animal and Adam had had to put an arm around me to calm me down. I dreaded to think how much more strung out I’d be if not for the sedative that was sloshing around inside me.
The fear was like razor wire inside my mind. I’d finally stopped sobbing, but now I had trouble thinking, trouble seeing.
Adam said he thought it might be best if Sergeant Palmer took me back home, but I insisted on going up with him. I needed to find out what was happening and if my colleagues were in a position to offer us any hope. If not then I was sure that the fear and uncertainty would soon engulf me.
It felt weird to be entering the building for the second time that day. This morning I’d been a very different person – upbeat and energised after a long, lazy weekend. Now I was little more than a zombie, struggling to hold on to reality as my world tilted on its axis.
Several of my colleagues approached me as we made our way up the stairs and they told me they were confident that Molly would soon be found safe and well. Others just gave me sympathetic looks, while some pointedly avoided making eye contact, presumably because they didn’t know how to react.
Brennan was waiting for us just inside the incident room. Beyond him I took in the familiar scene, detectives talking into phones and staring into computer screens. I also noticed the whiteboard with photos of Molly pinned to it. It turned my stomach to see my little girl’s face there. I’d seen scores of children’s faces over the years while working on cases they’d been involved in. Each one had been someone’s son or daughter. But it was only now that I truly realised how desperate and helpless those parents would have felt.
‘Let’s go straight to my office,’ Brennan said and steered us in that direction.
His office was small and cluttered and through the window rain clouds were now bruising the sky above South London.
Adam waited until we were all seated before he let rip. ‘How in Christ’s name did it happen?’ he yelled. ‘The kidnapper gave a clear warning. You were supposed to stop that photo being released.’
Brennan held up both hands, palms out, fingers splayed. ‘I know and I feel as gutted as you do,’ he said. ‘But it was due to a breakdown in communication. It wasn’t deliberate.’
He told us how a member of the media liaison team had released the picture of Molly and Adam responded by shaking his head and swearing.
‘Well someone’s head should bloody roll,’ he seethed. ‘God only knows what’s going to happen to our daughter because of the force’s rank incompetence. I don’t fucking believe—’
I reached across and grabbed his arm, causing him to snap his head towards me.
‘Stop it, Adam,’ I said. ‘Going on about it won’t solve anything. I for one came here to find out how close they are to finding Molly. I feel as angry as you do, but there’s no point ranting and raving over something that can’t be changed.’
He seemed so angry that I thought he’d ignore me. Instead he closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Then he opened them again and gave a slow nod.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need to be,’ Brennan said. ‘I completely understand why you’re pissed off. I would be, in your position.’
Having calmed down, Adam sat back and listened to what Brennan had to say. We both did. But what he said did nothing to raise our hopes or allay our fears.
So far only the one woman had come forward to say she had seen a man with a child near my mother’s home. The phone from which the messages had been sent had not been traced. And there was just one short clip of video footage from a street camera.
We viewed it on Brennan’s computer and the sight of my baby in the kidnapper’s arms sent my heart into freefall. The footage was in colour and slightly blurred, but I could tell straight away that it was Molly. She was looking back over the man’s shoulder towards the camera, wide awake and clearly upset. One arm was wrapped around the kidnapper’s neck and her head was raised and moving from side to side.
When Brennan paused and enhanced the image, I could see that her little face was scrunched up and her mouth was open.
I felt a cry in my throat but I refused to let it out. Instead I just gazed at the screen as the muscles around my eyes tightened.
‘Unfortunately we only have the rear view of the kidnapper,’ Brennan said. ‘As you can see he appears to be of average build and height, just as Molly’s grandmother described him. He could be aged anywhere between twenty and forty.’
It was hard to tell because he was wearing a dark hoody and jeans and there were no distinctive markings visible on his clothes.
We watched the video through twice and after the second time I sat back in the chair and had to will the tears not to come.
Brennan asked if I was OK to carry on and I just nodded and wiped my eyes with a tissue.
‘I’m still hopeful that by the end of this evening we’ll have more to go on,’ he said. ‘We’re still going door-to-door and people in the area are gradually returning home from work. It’s possible a neighbour we haven’t yet spoken to saw something. There’s also the outside chance that someone has seen the photograph on the telly and recognises the room that Molly’s in, which is obviously why the kidnapper didn’t want it released.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ Adam said. ‘There must be hundreds of thousands of white sofas in homes across London alone.’
Brennan then asked me a series of questions. Did I have any idea how the kidnapper got my number? No. Had I spotted anyone watching me or the flat in recent days or weeks? No. Did Molly have any medical conditions that required ongoing treatment? No.
He then asked Adam a bunch of similar questions. Did he know who the kidnapper might be? No. Did he know of anyone who had a grudge against Sarah? No. Did he himself have any enemies? Yes, lots.
Adam was in such a state that he was struggling to respond. I could tell that his mind was leaping in all directions and he was finding it hard to make sense of anything.
Finally, and almost reluctantly, Brennan told us about the two perps whose names I’d given him, the pair who had threatened retribution. He said Frank Neilson was still banged up, but the rapist Edwin Sharp had been released from prison a month ago and they were trying to trace him.
‘I didn’t mention him to begin with because I don’t want to overstate the significance,’ he said. ‘Just because he’s out, it doesn’t mean he’s been up to no good. It’s more than likely he doesn’t even remember making threats against you, Sarah.’
I thought about this for a moment and said, �
��On the other hand it might be all he’s been thinking about for the past five years.’
It didn’t seem like five years ago to me. The Edwin Sharp case was one of those that had stayed with me, and I could remember every detail. In fact, I still had some of the newspaper cuttings in a file at home. That was because it was one of my most high-profile cases and even earned me a commendation.
Sharp was an arrogant cocaine-obsessed stockbroker who raped a 23-year-old woman after a drug-fuelled office party. It happened shortly after I joined Lewisham CID and just before they teamed me up with Adam.
I arrived at Sharp’s terraced house with a WPC named Felicity Trant. When he answered the front door, it was clear he was high on drink and drugs. He was wearing a dressing gown with nothing underneath and his eyes were wide and glassy.
He became aggressive and abusive when I explained why we were there and he called us bitches and whores.
When I said I was going to arrest him and take him to the station, he lost it completely. He leapt to his feet and punched WPC Trant in the face, sending her flying across the room. Then he dashed into the kitchen before I could stop him.
I was only a couple of seconds behind him, but by the time I reached him he’d armed himself with a hammer from a drawer and lashed out at me with it.
I suffered a painful blow to the shoulder before I managed to force him to the floor and put cuffs on his wrists.
And that was when his dressing gown fell open to reveal a small flaccid penis, which made him blush and bare his teeth.
‘You fucking cunt,’ he screamed. ‘I won’t forget this.’
The next day, during the formal interview, Sharp gave me a look that could melt wax and said, ‘If I go down for this I’ll make sure I’ll see to you when I get out, Detective Mason.’
Sharp pleaded not guilty in court to rape and claimed the sex with the woman had been consensual. But the jury rejected his story and it took them just three hours to find him guilty of rape and assaulting police officers.