by Jaime Raven
The judge condemned him for not showing any remorse during the trial, and as he was led out of the dock he looked across the courtroom at me and stuck up two fingers.
‘I’m confident it won’t take long to track Sharp down,’ Brennan said, wrenching me back from the past. ‘We’re trying to reach his probation officer and the landlord of the flat he stayed in for just a week. We’re also contacting his family and friends.’
‘Sharp is a nasty piece of work,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to try to finish what he started with the hammer. But it’s hard to imagine that he would have it in him to kidnap my daughter.’
Brennan shrugged. ‘Our prisons are filled with people who hold grudges, Sarah. For some of them the thought of eventually getting sweet revenge is what keeps them going. And it’s often the case that the sweeter and more elaborate the revenge the better.’
13
Sarah
So was the man on the street camera footage Edwin Sharp? Was he the bastard who had abducted Molly after attacking my mother?
It was impossible to tell, of course, because his features weren’t visible on the tape. But Brennan went on to point out that the very latest description of Sharp had him at five feet nine tall, with a slim build and dark hair cropped close to his head. He was aged thirty-six, and when he walked out of Wandsworth prison four weeks ago he was apparently in good health.
Brennan brought a photo of him up on his computer and I took a quick intake of breath.
‘This was taken just before his release,’ Brennan said. ‘The prison sent it over a few minutes ago.’
It was amazing how little the man had changed. It seemed he had hardly aged. There were the strong cheekbones and dimpled chin, the mouth that was flat and narrow, the jaw that was dark with stubble. He still had the kind of face that gave him an air of unbridled arrogance.
‘According to the prison he served the full sentence imposed because he didn’t know how to behave himself,’ Brennan said. ‘He got into a few scuffles and was once caught in possession of drugs.’
‘I don’t understand how he can just disappear,’ Adam said. ‘Surely under the terms of his release he would have had to remain on the radar.’
Brennan agreed. ‘Rest assured that’s one of the questions I’ll be asking.’
The DCI then looked at his watch and said he needed to get back into the incident room.
‘I give you my word that I’ll call you straight away if there are any developments,’ he said. ‘There’s really nothing more I can tell you at this stage. But I do want you to know that more than fifty detectives are now working directly on this case. All leave has been cancelled and I’ve been given the go-ahead to bust the overtime budget.’
I exchanged an anxious glance with Adam. He shook his head and expelled a puff of air.
‘I suppose we have to resign ourselves to a long night then,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
‘The team will be working flat out until we get a result,’ Brennan said. ‘If we’re not able to return Molly to you by tomorrow morning I intend to arrange a press conference and I’d like one or both of you to attend.’
I sat there, nerves jangling, as the dread pooled in my stomach and my eyes started tearing up.
Brennan got to his feet and came around his desk. He stood next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
‘I have no idea what your religious beliefs are, Sarah,’ he said. ‘But if you do believe in God then it might help to pray like you’ve never prayed before.’
Like a lot of police officers who are frequently exposed to the ugly realities of life, I’d always had a hard time believing in God. But that had never stopped me asking for his help.
I’d been mouthing silent prayers ever since I’d discovered that Molly had been abducted. Such was my desperation that I refused to accept the possibility that it was a waste of time.
‘Please bring my baby back to me,’ I whispered to myself as we left the station. ‘And I beg you not to let that man hurt her.’
Sergeant Palmer was waiting outside for us next to her own car and she’d be driving us home.
Once we were settled in the back seat and she was behind the wheel, she said, ‘The DCI wants me to stay with you at the flat tonight. Would that be all right? I have an overnight bag and I’ll make myself comfortable in the living room.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ I said.
‘Thank you. What about you, Mr Boyd? Are you returning to the flat?’
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I don’t intend to go home just yet.’
I felt a surge of relief and reached out to touch his arm.
‘You don’t have to stay with me,’ I said.
‘I know, but I want to.’
There was a sudden clap of thunder and I realised that dark clouds were now clustered overhead. Within seconds big drops of rain were pounding the windscreen.
‘I’d like to go and see my parents before I go home,’ I said. ‘They’re staying with my aunt in Balham. I need to tell them about the latest message and I don’t want to do it over the phone.’
On the short journey to Balham my phone rang four times and each time my heart leapt into my throat. But the callers were just friends and former colleagues who had heard the news about Molly. I told them I couldn’t speak to them, and it got to the point where I wished I could switch my phone off. But of course I couldn’t because I had no idea if and when the kidnapper would make contact again.
My aunt Tessa lived with her husband Jeff in a terraced house off Balham High Road. She was four years older than my mother and had a son who lived in Australia.
It was a solemn-faced Jeff who answered the door. He was a thin, fragile man with hollow cheeks and wispy grey hair. He immediately pulled me into an embrace.
‘Oh you poor darling,’ he said. ‘This is so terrible.’
‘How’s Mum?’ I asked him.
‘Come in and see. Are you by yourself?’
‘I’m with Adam and a police officer. They’re going to wait outside in the car.’
It was Adam’s idea not to come in because he reckoned he would be a distraction. My parents hadn’t seen him since before the divorce and there was no telling how they’d react. My father William was a curmudgeonly 64-year-old and had vowed never to speak to Adam again.
In the event, I didn’t think it would have been a problem. My mum and dad were far too distressed to be concerned about anyone other than their granddaughter.
Naturally they were eager to know if there had been any news.
‘That’s why I came right over,’ I said. ‘The bastard has sent another message.’
I told them what was in it and they took it badly. My mother collapsed in tears and my father kept shaking his head and telling us that he feared we would never see Molly again. It was all very upsetting and I was actually glad to leave the house. It was just after eight p.m. by then and the evening was drawing in. The rain had eased off but the air was heavy and moist.
When we got to my flats we had to run the gauntlet of reporters and photographers again. Now there were even more of them outside the flats.
Upstairs, Sergeant Palmer offered to make us both something to eat, but neither Adam nor I had an appetite.
‘I’ll have a drink, though,’ I said. ‘Something stronger than tea.’
I told Palmer to help herself to whatever was in the fridge and went into the living room.
‘You sit down and I’ll pour you something,’ Adam said. ‘Is the booze still in the same place?’
I nodded and he went to the cupboard next to the dining table.
‘You’ve got a bottle of whisky and half a bottle of gin,’ he said.
‘I’ll have whisky and make it a double.’
I sat on the sofa feeling weak and empty. My mouth was dry and my chest was thudding. I had no intention of going to bed. What was the point when I knew I’d never be able to sleep? I had no option but to sit back and wait for news while destructive
thoughts ran riot inside my head.
As Adam handed me a glass half-filled with whisky, I asked him how long he planned to stay.
‘All night if that’s OK with you,’ he said.
I just nodded.
I fired down some whisky and felt it bite into the back of my throat. Adam poured himself a glass before switching on the TV.
A moment later we were looking at another photo of Molly, this time one that Adam had taken a few weeks ago on his phone. It showed her in the park throwing bread to the ducks.
‘It’s one of those I sent to Brennan,’ he said.
There was no telling how the kidnapper would react to seeing it and this worried me, despite what Brennan had said.
There was nothing new to report and it was clear the media were still in the dark about the kidnapper’s motive. But for how long? I wondered. Someone on the inside was bound to leak it sooner or later, perhaps even intentionally. It wasn’t unknown for officers I’d worked with to take back-handers.
Adam flipped between the news channels while I finished off my whisky. It warmed me up inside and made me feel a bit light-headed.
‘Why don’t you go up and have a bath or shower,’ he said. ‘It’ll help you relax. I’ll have another drink ready for you when you come down.’
I decided it was preferable to listening to news readers telling me what I already knew.
I went upstairs, but instead of going to the en suite shower I was drawn into Molly’s bedroom.
The emotional impact was immediate. My vision blurred and I had to blink away the tears. I stood in the middle of the room taking everything in: the cot with the SpongeBob duvet, the pink patterned wallpaper, the giant panda in the corner, the pile of her clothes on the chair that were waiting to be put away.
I pictured her standing up in the cot with her arms in the air, beseeching me to lift her out. It was always such a wonderful moment as I pulled her close to my chest and she’d put her arms around my neck. The feel of her warm body and her soft cheek against mine never failed to cheer me up.
Suddenly I felt completely overwhelmed, and I realised I was gulping at the air, forcing myself not to break down.
I turned and hurried across the hallway into my bedroom. I collapsed on the bed, my crying muffled by the pillow.
And there I lay, crushed by despair, until I heard Adam’s voice after a few minutes.
I lifted my head and saw him standing next to the bed looking down at me, his breathing loud and laboured. He was holding my mobile phone in his outstretched hand.
‘You just received another text message from the kidnapper,’ he said.
I shot up, so fast it made my head spin.
‘Have you opened it? What does it say?’
‘That you should check your emails because he’s sent you a video clip.’
14
DCI Brennan
Brennan could feel the pressure building as he cast his gaze around the incident room. His temples were pulsating and beads of sweat had popped up on his forehead.
He had a bad feeling about this case, and he could not ignore the chilling prospect that it might drag on for weeks or even months. If so, then it could well prove to be his last case before his retirement in September; his swansong in other words, the case that some would see as the defining aspect of his legacy.
If he couldn’t solve it, if he couldn’t return Molly Mason to Sarah, then he would have to live with the dark shadow of failure for years to come. And it wouldn’t be just a professional failure. It’d be personal too given that Sarah was one of his closest colleagues. It wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate, given that his future was already blighted by his wife’s condition.
He was giving up work sooner than he needed to so that he could spend as much quality time as possible with Grace before the dementia took her from him. He wanted to give her his full attention, devote himself entirely to the woman he had loved for over thirty years. He didn’t want to spend precious time consumed by thoughts of little Molly Mason and fretting over how he had let Sarah down.
The statistics he’d just been studying had only fuelled the pessimism. Child abductions were on the increase across the UK. According to one report, between 2013 and 2014 abductions and kidnappings of minors and teenagers under eighteen soared by 20 per cent. Another study showed that during 2014 alone around 900 child abductions were reported and almost half were taken by persons other than the child’s parents. Fortunately most of the victims were recovered safely, but with long-lasting physical and mental scars.
Brennan was aware that under Common Law there was a distinction between kidnapping and abduction. Kidnapping was defined as taking away a person by force, threat or deceit, with intent to cause him or her harm, and it usually involved a monetary or political objective. Abduction, on the other hand, was generally regarded as taking someone against their will without making known the intent.
In cases of child abduction, the terms were usually interchangeable, which was why the man who had taken Molly was being referred to as a kidnapper. At this stage they couldn’t be sure that his sole motivation was to ‘punish’ her mother. It was still conceivable, perhaps even likely, that he would eventually demand a ransom.
Brennan derived a small amount of comfort from knowing that during his career he had been involved in two major cases where children were abducted by strangers. And both had been resolved successfully.
In the first an eight-month-old baby girl was snatched from her bedroom by a woman who entered the house through an open back door while the mother was in the front garden. It turned out that the woman’s own baby boy had died of meningitis a year earlier and she couldn’t have any more children. So she had decided to steal one. They arrested her as she’d been stalking the mother for some days and was caught on CCTV.
The other case was even more disturbing – a 5-year-old boy lured into a car outside his home by a man who offered him sweets. Luckily the area was well served by number plate recognition cameras and the criminal’s car was quickly spotted. He was a known paedophile and thankfully they managed to get to him before he laid a hand on his helpless victim.
But it was already obvious to Brennan and everyone else on the team that Molly’s case was not going to be so easy to solve – not unless Edwin Sharp was indeed their man.
But Brennan didn’t want to build up his hopes only to have them dashed if the guy had a cast-iron alibi for this morning. After all, the link to him was pretty tenuous since his threat against Sarah Mason had been made over five years ago, and even then it might well have been a throwaway remark spat out in the heat of the moment. After all, threats were made against the police all the time. Brennan himself had been threatened more times than he could remember by people he’d arrested.
He sucked in a breath and released it in a sigh. Then he started walking slowly around the incident room to check on what progress was being made.
It immediately became apparent that it was still slow-going. Frantic calls were being made and Sarah’s case history was being delved into via computers. CCTV footage was still being trawled through and all known sex offenders tracked down.
There was still no word on Sharp, though. An officer had spoken to his former landlord who claimed he kicked Sharp out after a week because the ex-con tried it on with his 15-year-old daughter. The landlord didn’t know where he’d gone and he didn’t care.
They were still waiting to hear back from Sharp’s probation officer who’d been on an away-day with his colleagues.
Brennan felt his spirits sag as he headed back to his office where he was due to take part in a conference call with his superiors, including the Commissioner. He wasn’t looking forward to updating them with the news that they were no closer to finding Molly Mason.
His phone rang just as he was stepping through the door. He whipped it out of his pocket and saw that Sergeant Palmer was calling, presumably from Sarah’s flat in Dulwich.
‘What’s up, Sergea
nt?’ he asked. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I think so, guv,’ she said. ‘DI Mason just received another text from the kidnapper.’
Brennan felt his veins flood with ice.
‘What’s it say?’ he asked.
‘Well it’s just a one-sentence message telling her that he’s sent an email to her personal account. She and Mr Boyd are about to check it.’
Brennan’s heart slammed against his chest and his skin prickled. A video clip for pity’s sake. He didn’t want to imagine what might be on it.
When he next spoke the words felt like they were sticking to his mouth.
‘Send it over as soon as it’s been opened,’ he said. ‘And brace yourself, because I have an awful feeling that you’re going to be dealing with two severely traumatised parents.’
15
Sarah
I had two email accounts – one for work and one for personal use. The kidnapper had sent the video to my personal Hotmail account and that in itself was worrying because very few people knew the address.
It was at the top of the inbox, and when I opened it up there was a brief message which read:
THIS WAS YOUR FAULT, SARAH MASON. IF YOU RELEASE ANY MORE OF THE IMAGES I SEND YOU THEN IT’S MOLLY WHO WILL SUFFER.
The sender’s address was [email protected].
I felt my stomach clench as I clicked on the video attachment, but for some reason I couldn’t open it up on my phone. It was a problem I’d experienced before and I was in too much of a hurry to seek a solution.
‘It’ll work on my laptop,’ I said to Adam. ‘It’s on the dining table.’
My laptop was off so I had to fire it up, and while I waited I could feel the dread working its way through me, consuming every fibre of my being.
Adam stood behind me with a hand on my shoulder and Sergeant Palmer stood to my left, leaning forward, her breath smelling of mint.
None of us spoke and the only sound was the hum of the computer as it woke up from its slumber.
I stared intently at the screen as the acid churned in my stomach. A part of me wanted to turn away and leave Adam to see what the video clip contained. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. However distressing it was going to be, I had to see for myself what had happened to my baby.