by Jaime Raven
‘So why would Detective Boyd make it up?’ Brennan asked him.
Rosetti shrugged. ‘That’s a good question. I can only assume it was to give you people another excuse to raid my home.’
‘That makes no sense,’ Brennan said.
‘Really? The NCA are furious because I was cleared by the jury. They’ll do everything possible to make life difficult for me from now on.’
‘That’s nonsense.’
‘Not from where I’m sitting. I’ve been out for less than twenty-four hours and I’m already back in a police station being grilled about something I didn’t do.’
‘I insist you release my client right away,’ the lawyer said as he leaned forward across the table. ‘You have no grounds to hold him since it’s clear that Detective Boyd has misled you.’
Brennan curled his lips. ‘That’s highly unlikely, Mr Finn. The man’s daughter is missing and sending his colleagues on a wildgoose chase wouldn’t help us find her.’
‘Then perhaps his distress is causing him to act irrationally,’ Finn said. ‘He wants to blame someone and has decided to target my client.’
Brennan moved his neck from side to side to loosen it. He was exhausted, and his eyes were heavy and gritty. Having missed out on a night’s sleep he was feeling knackered.
He had earlier spent over an hour questioning their other suspect, Edwin Sharp, and that session had been just as frustrating and unproductive.
Now both men were flatly denying any involvement in the kidnapping and there was so far not a scrap of evidence to prove they were lying.
Yet Brennan’s gut told him that neither man could be trusted. Sharp was a convicted rapist after all and Rosetti a notorious drugs baron. And it could reasonably be argued that they each had a motive for wanting to abduct little Molly Mason.
‘I intend to lodge a complaint over the way that you and your officers have conducted themselves,’ Finn said. ‘You forcibly entered my client’s home without a warrant and caused unnecessary alarm among his guests. As you know, one of them suffered a physical injury in the process.’
‘Are you talking about the woman who fell and broke her nose?’
‘That’s right. It happened as she was trying to defend herself.’
‘Defend herself, my arse. She was off her head on drugs and booze and she tried to punch one of my officers.’
She was also one of several prostitutes who’d been paid to attend Rosetti’s coming out party, which had been in full swing when the tactical team turned up.
Brennan looked at his watch and decided it was time for a break. He wanted to find out if the search of Rosetti’s house had turned anything up. He also wanted to review the statements of Rosetti’s two minders who had apparently heard the conversation he’d had with Boyd.
But the decision to suspend the interview for half an hour prompted the Romanian to thump the table with the flat of his hand.
‘This is harassment on the part of the police,’ he barked, and his pupils became wildly dilated. ‘I have rights that are being violated and I don’t—’
Brennan cut him off as the anger rose in his blood. ‘Do you really think I give a shit about your rights when a small child has been abducted and we strongly suspect you of arranging it?’
The detective didn’t wait for Rosetti and his brief to respond. Instead he got to his feet abruptly and stormed out of the room, leaving DC Foster to turn off the recorder.
Brennan went straight to the incident room and convened a meeting to find out the latest state of play.
The first thing he learned was that Sarah had received another message from the kidnapper, who had informed her that he would soon be sending her a second video.
This time the tech team were monitoring her mobile phone, so they would see it at the same time she did.
It was a shock to Brennan because the message was unlikely to have come from either Sharp or Rosetti, who had both been in custody at the time. Sure, it was possible the text had been on a time delay but he couldn’t see why either man would have gone to the trouble since they wouldn’t have known that they’d be in no position to send it. So either it was sent by an accomplice or they genuinely hadn’t been involved.
Brennan then listened to the various reports with a growing sense that they were getting nowhere fast. There was discouraging news from the search teams who had found no evidence that Molly Mason had ever been inside Sharp’s flat or Rosetti’s house.
Examination of the suspects’ phones and computers had also drawn a blank, apart from the child porn on Sharp’s laptop. And they still hadn’t managed to trace the source of the text messages and email.
What’s more, the CCTV footage so far collected from around Sharp’s home in Lewisham did indeed show him wandering the streets during the late afternoon and evening. In one clip he was seen buying stamps and an envelope in a Tesco store and then sitting on a bench to write something on a sheet of paper that he produced from his pocket. He then posted the letter in a box outside the entrance.
Brennan wanted to know what Sharp had written on the paper. In fact he was so curious that he told two detectives to haul him back to the interview room from his holding cell so that they could ask him.
‘You’d better alert the duty solicitor,’ he told them. ‘He’s probably in the canteen.’
Brennan was then briefed about the response to Sarah Mason’s appeal and the CCTV clip of the man in the hood carrying Molly away from her grandparents’ home.
‘At the last count we’d received a hundred calls,’ he was told. ‘Most from people who say they think they’ve seen Molly. Some are even claiming they know where she is. Needless to say it’s taking time responding to each and every one.’
Brennan then called Sergeant Palmer and asked how Sarah and Adam were coping.
‘They’re still struggling,’ she said. ‘The latest text message has made things worse. Miss Mason is very upset.’
Brennan asked to speak to Sarah but it was her ex-husband who came on the line demanding to know what was happening with Victor Rosetti.
‘He’s claiming that he didn’t say that you were in for a nasty surprise,’ Brennan said. ‘And he’s denying all knowledge of Molly’s abduction.’
‘The bastard’s lying,’ Adam said, his voice tight with adrenaline. ‘I know what I bloody well heard. I’m only sorry I didn’t recall it sooner.’
‘Well proving it is not going to be easy.’
‘Then let me bloody well talk to him. I’ll get—’
‘You know that won’t be possible,’ Brennan cut in. ‘You can’t get involved. You have to trust me and the rest of the team to do our jobs.’
‘Then get him to tell you what he’s done with our daughter. He knows where she is. I’m sure of it.’
Adam was becoming hysterical so Sergeant Palmer took her phone off him.
‘The poor man’s very distraught,’ she said to Brennan. ‘He’s convinced himself that Victor Rosetti took Molly in order to punish him.’
‘Well that may well be the case,’ Brennan said. ‘But you need to calm him down before the press conference. I don’t want him to lose it in front of the cameras.’
Brennan then had a quick word with Sarah, assuring her that the team were still working as hard as they could to find Molly. He gave her a brief update on both suspects and said he would see her in a little while at New Scotland Yard.
‘I wish I could give you more positive news,’ he added. ‘But we are where we are. If there are any developments between now and the press conference I’ll get straight back to you.’
Brennan pocketed his phone and headed for the vending machine to help himself to a coffee. But before he got there he was approached by Jade Law, one of the admin staff. She gave him an urgent message from the detectives who were interviewing Sharp.
‘They want you to go to Interview Room Two right away, sir,’ she said.
‘Do you know why?’
‘Well apparently Edwin
Sharp is insisting on talking to you. He’s saying he’s ready to come clean about what he’s been up to.’
24
Sarah
It took Adam a while to calm down after he spoke to Brennan about Victor Rosetti. He stomped around the living room cursing, his face puce with rage.
I was reminded of when we were together and he would fly off on one when he didn’t get his own way. But this time I felt that his anger was fully justified.
He firmly believed that the Romanian gangster was somehow involved in Molly’s abduction.
‘Why else would he have insinuated after his acquittal that something bad was going to happen to me?’ he kept saying.
While he talked it over with Palmer, my thoughts returned to the latest text message which had made my blood run cold.
In a weird conversational tone the kidnapper had said that Molly had woken up at the crack of dawn and was upset because her mother wasn’t there for her.
But she’ll get used to that in time, he’d written.
And of course he was right. My daughter was at an age when memories don’t last, when children live in the present and instantly forget things. So how long, I wondered, before she forgot me, her mother? Would it be a matter of months or just weeks?
I suspected that the answer would be out there on the internet, posted by a bevy of child psychologists, behavioural therapists and people who’d been separated from their parents at an early age. But I resisted the temptation to do a Google search because I knew it would only add to the weight of my despair.
I was about to spark up a cigarette to ease the tension inside me when my attention was drawn to the TV screen.
Sky News were showing the front pages of the morning newspapers and they were dominated by our story. The headlines were big and bold and beneath them were photographs of Molly.
‘Daughter of London cops abducted,’ Sun.
‘Mum of kidnapped toddler makes dramatic appeal,’ Mail.
‘Kidnapper taunts mother of stolen child,’ Express.
‘Two men held over child abduction,’ Guardian.
‘Massive hunt for kidnapped baby,’ Metro.
The photos that had been published were those that Adam had provided and thankfully no publication carried the one the kidnapper had sent to me showing Molly on his sofa.
Sky News then ran their latest report on the story. It included shots of my parents’ house, the CCTV footage showing the kidnapper taking Molly, my appeal for him to hand her back, and a short clip of Brennan confirming that two men were being interviewed under caution. But their names were being withheld, although the reporter ended his piece-to-camera by saying, ‘We understand that the two suspects are known to Detective Mason and her ex-husband. Both are believed to have a criminal background.’
A breathless cry came from my mouth and I felt a weight crashing through my chest. I dropped onto the armchair and my eyes filmed over with tears.
‘What if the kidnapper gets upset because the CCTV footage of him with Molly is shown?’ I said.
Adam didn’t know what to say. He stood in front of me, ramrod stiff, his face a confusion of emotions.
Neither of us moved for perhaps a full minute. Then Adam announced that there was no time for him to go back to his flat to change and freshen up. I told him to go and shower upstairs.
When he’d left the room, Sergeant Palmer told me that she would be going home as soon as we were on our way to the Yard.
‘I’ll be back later,’ she said. ‘Meanwhile don’t hesitate to call me if you have a problem or just need to talk to someone. You have my mobile number.’
I was glad I didn’t have to face the prospect of being cooped up in the flat all day, wondering what the next video from the kidnapper would contain. Just thinking about it gave me palpitations. Would it show him beating Molly again or would I have to watch my baby enduring something far worse?
I needed to be involved in the effort to find her. If I couldn’t be a part of the investigation then I’d make another appeal to the kidnapper, even though the thought of it made me nervous. At least then I’d be doing something constructive instead of floundering hopelessly in my own personal hell.
There was another media scrum when the time came to leave. Television crews and photographers jostled each other for the best position, and we were showered with questions. But this time I kept my head down and refused to respond.
There were more uniforms on hand to control the pack and help us through to Adam’s car, a shiny black Audi. He was insisting on driving himself to the Yard, so I sat in the passenger seat and we set off with a police escort.
The sky had turned a harsh grey, the sun having fallen victim to a layer of thick clouds.
Every sinew in my body began to tighten as we drove. I wasn’t looking forward to what lay ahead. Police press conferences were invariably tense and unpredictable, and I had always felt sorry for the distraught relatives of victims when they were thrust into the harsh glare of publicity. I could never have imagined that one day I’d find myself in that same position, pleading for help from the British public. Everything that was happening still seemed so unreal and my head was filled with a thousand thoughts.
‘Have you got your phone?’ Adam said suddenly.
‘It’s in my bag.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be able to hear it if a text comes through?’
He had a point. It was noisy in the car, what with the sound of the engine and the hum of the traffic from outside.
I reached down into the footwell and delved into the shoulder bag which rested between my legs. I pulled out the phone and checked to make sure that I hadn’t missed any calls or messages. I hadn’t.
‘Let’s just suppose that Molly wasn’t taken by either Sharp or Rosetti,’ Adam said. ‘Have you given any more thought to who else it might be?’
‘Of course I bloody well have,’ I snapped.
‘OK, don’t bite my head off. I just thought I’d ask.’
‘Well it was a stupid question. In between crying all I’ve done is search my memory for an answer to what’s happening. But it’s not there, or if it is I’m not seeing it.’
‘Then you need to think harder, Sarah. Surely if you’ve given someone a reason to have such a massive grudge against you then you wouldn’t forget it.’
‘We’ve already been over this with Brennan and Sergeant Palmer,’ I said. ‘I really have no idea why anyone would feel the need to punish me like this. I honestly don’t, Adam. If I did I’d tell you.’
He opened his mouth to say something else but thought better of it and turned his attention back to the road. I watched him for a moment, noting that a vein in the side of his neck was pulsating. It always did that when he was stressed, and I remembered that when our marriage started to fall apart it never seemed to stop.
I turned away from him and looked out of the side window. I found myself wishing that things had worked out differently, that Adam and I had stayed happily married and that he hadn’t cheated on me. Perhaps then both our lives would have been less difficult and more fulfilling. And our only daughter would not have been taken from us.
The distant past loomed up out of nowhere and I recalled when Adam and I first met. The memory made my breath catch in the back of my throat.
He was the first detective to speak to me when I joined Lewisham CID, and I was immediately drawn to his warm smile and come-to-bed eyes.
There was something about him that set him apart from the others and drew me in almost from day one.
Before long we were seeing each other in secret and we were both delighted when the powers-that-be decided we’d make a good team.
For nine months we worked together and it proved to be a successful partnership. We made some high-profile collars and what I found so touching was that, wherever possible, he sought to give me the credit. It was his way of helping me to win the respect of a male-dominated team that was rife with prejudice and sexism.
; One particular case had always stuck in my mind. The perp was Bobby Knight, a leading figure in a South London gang involved in everything from drugs to people trafficking. He was engaged to the gang boss’s daughter and therefore thought he was untouchable.
But then one day my most reliable snout told me that Knight had a large stash of heroin in the house waiting to be shipped out across the country. I told Adam and he advised me to treat the intelligence with caution because he doubted that it was credible. He reckoned that Knight was too smart to keep anything incriminating in his own house. But I told him that I trusted my source and wanted to go for it. So he backed me when I took it upstairs and got them to approve a dawn raid on the property.
Luckily for me the information proved reliable. We found two small bags containing Class-A drugs including heroin, cocaine and methadone. The size of the haul was disappointing – it had a street value of only about £5,000 – but fortunately that wasn’t all we found. In one of his bedroom drawers I myself happened to find an automatic revolver.
It gave me great satisfaction to be the one to arrest Knight and put the cuffs on him. It was a tremendous result, and Adam made sure that everyone knew it was down to me.
Knight was convicted and jailed for eight years for illegal possession of drugs and a gun, though, throughout, maintained he was innocent and accused us of stitching him up. And it led to my promotion from detective constable to detective sergeant.
Shortly after that the professional partnership between Adam and me ended when he transferred to the National Crime Agency. But that made it easier for us to be open about our relationship and within months we were married.
Back then it was all so wonderful, and I felt like I’d been blessed. I had a great job and a terrific husband. I was looking forward to starting a family and to growing old with the man I loved.
But that wasn’t how it panned out because Adam decided that for him it wasn’t enough.
25
Sarah