Snatched

by Stephen Edger

  Sarah was still smiling to herself, when she spotted Erin approaching the classroom, through the same door from which the children had exited moments earlier. She didn't look happy; in fact the expression on her face was grim. There were two other people walking with her, the first being Mrs McGregor, the school’s Headteacher and a balding man whom Sarah knew only as Vin-sent.

  'Erin? Is everything okay?' Sarah blurted out, instinctively.

  'Sarah,' said Mrs McGregor, in her warm, soothing, Scottish brogue, 'the police need to talk to you.'

  'What about, what's going on?' she replied, her mind racing with thoughts about what might be so wrong.

  'It's about Natalie Barrett,' offered Vincent. 'She is missing and we believe she may have been abducted.'

  'Oh dear God,' whispered Sarah, as the realisation dawned on her that one of her children had been taken. It was like a cold, sharp knife piercing through her heart.

  4

  'She's been abducted?' gasped Sarah, trying to come to terms with what Vincent had told her.

  'We don't know what has happened yet,' countered Erin, frustrated with how Vincent had broken the news to her girlfriend, 'but, it is possible that somebody has taken her, yes.'

  'I can't believe it. She's such a nice girl,' stated Sarah, putting a hand out to steady herself.

  'I know this must have come as a big shock to you but we need to ask you some questions about Friday,' continued Erin.

  'Of course, of course,' replied Sarah, suddenly realising how her behaviour must have appeared.

  'Mrs McGregor, would you be able to fetch a cup of hot, sweet tea for Sarah? It's good for shock,' Erin suggested.

  'Yes, of course,' cooed Mrs McGregor before shuffling off out of the door, in search of a kettle.

  'Do you want to sit down?' asked Erin, waving her arm in the direction of Sarah's teacher's chair at the far side of the classroom.

  'Thanks,' she mumbled and the three moved towards the desk. Noticing that there was only one adult-sized chair, Vincent and Erin lifted down a couple of the children's chairs from a nearby desk and sat uncomfortably on them. Vincent looked like a large owl perched perilously on a small twig, about to crack. If the circumstances had not been so serious, Sarah probably would have laughed.

  'What can you tell us about Friday?' Vincent asked Sarah, keen to get straight to questioning.

  'Where do you want me to begin?'

  'Tell us how Natalie seemed. Was her behaviour different in any way?'

  Sarah thought for a moment. Had Natalie's behaviour been any different?

  'I don't remember anything strange,' said Sarah thinking through the events of the day.

  'There didn't appear to be anything troubling her? She wasn't withdrawn from the other children?' continued Vincent.

  'No, quite the opposite, to be honest. Natalie was, is, a very popular girl. She gets on really well with all her classmates and has a very pleasant way about her that rubs off on others.'

  'So she didn't seem scared or nervous about going home?' asked Vincent as he adjusted his uncomfortable sitting position.

  'No. As I said, she seemed her usual, bubbly self.'

  'Can you talk us through everything that happened on Friday, starting when she arrived in the morning?' asked Erin calmly, keen to progress the interview but in a softly-softly approach.

  Sarah glanced at her girlfriend and smiled to acknowledge that she knew she was there for support.

  'Well, the children all arrived, as usual at nine a.m. and went straight in for an assembly. Every Friday morning, Mrs McGregor leads an assembly, where she talks through some of the children's achievements of the week. You know the kind of thing, where a pupil has drawn a great picture or has gone out of their way to do something kind for another pupil? Mrs McGregor calls the pupil's name out and explains what they have done and then everybody claps, to congratulate them. The assembly lasted about fifteen minutes and then we all came into the classroom and I took the register.'

  'Was everybody in?' interjected Vincent.

  'Yes, we had a full class on Friday; no absentees.'

  'What happened next?' Erin asked soothingly.

  'The whole day was themed around the Olympics and the children had been encouraged to wear their own clothes, instead of their uniforms, so they were all a bit hyper.'

  'Hyper?' quizzed Vincent.

  'The children get used to wearing their uniform every day and it becomes something of a ritual,' explained Sarah. 'Every now and again, they are given the chance to wear their own, non-uniform, clothes to school and they find it quite thrilling, so they appear more excitable than usual.'

  'Continue,' beckoned Erin.

  'Anyway, there was lots of talking and giddiness, particularly from the boys, who seemed keen to show off their new trainers and the like. They had been told to wear something sports-related, so most were in football shirts and tracksuit bottoms.'

  'What was Sarah wearing?' asked Vincent, interrupting again, causing Erin to shoot him a look of disdain.

  'I think she had an England football shirt on and some stripy leggings.'

  'Did she have a coat when she left?' asked Vincent.

  'I assume so,' said Sarah trying to recall. 'It was a wet day from what I remember so she probably had her red coat with her. It's the same coat she wears every day to school.'

  'What happened next?' Erin asked.

  ‘Well, as I said, the day was Olympics-themed so there was a change to the usual teaching programme. Mrs McGregor had arranged for a local celebrity to visit the school, to help launch our Olympics project, and he came and met all of the children over the course of the day.'

  'Local celebrity?' asked Vincent, his intrigue spiked.

  'Johan Boller, from Southampton Football Club.'

  Vincent looked quizzically at Erin, to verify that this man was indeed a celebrity. Vincent didn't really follow football. Erin nodded quickly to confirm.

  'Mrs McGregor wants us to base our classes and assemblies on the Olympics in the run up to summer,’ continued Sarah. ‘To launch it properly, we decided that Friday would be a fun-filled day, allowing the children to get an understanding of what the Olympics means to them and to encourage further sports-participation. I think Mrs McGregor's husband has some contacts at the football club. The children were so excited and I think that's probably why we had a hundred percent attendance on the day.'

  Mrs McGregor returned to the classroom and placed a mug of steaming tea in front of Sarah.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mrs McGregor when she realised what she had done. ‘I didn’t think to ask if either of you wanted a cup of tea.’

  ‘We’re both fine,’ answered Erin before Vincent started pestering her for drinks.

  ‘I was just telling the detectives about the footballer who visited us on Friday,’ Sarah said to Mrs McGregor.

  ‘A lovely boy,’ replied Mrs McGregor, ‘quite handsome too. It was great to see the children so excited. It seems like a lifetime ago, given what we have learned today.’

  ‘How long was he here for?’ asked Erin to nobody in particular.

  ‘He was with my class between one and two, I think,’ recalled Sarah. ‘I’m not sure where he went after that.’

  ‘I think he may have gone to see the Year-5s after but I can’t really remember,’ stated Mrs McGregor, picking up where Sarah had left off. ‘You don’t think he had something to do with this?’

  ‘No, no,’ answered Erin quickly. ‘But if he was still around after three, it’s possible he might have seen something or someone hanging around.’

  ‘Well, Mr Stanley is the head of Year-5 so I can go and ask him now if he remembers what time Mr Boller left the school,’ said Mrs McGregor eagerly.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Vincent, before standing and following Mrs McGregor out of the classroom.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Erin when the other two were gone. She placed a reassuring hand on Sarah’s knee and caressed it tenderly.

  �
�It’s just such a shock. I mean, you see things like this on the news every year, but it’s always some other place in the country, so it doesn’t seem real.’

  ‘I know what you mean. There are hundreds of missing children cases across the UK every year, but we only really hear about them when they make the news. Most of the cases that don’t reach the media end with the child returning, having just run away for attention.’

  ‘Do you think Natalie has just run away from home?’ asked Sarah hopefully.

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Erin reluctantly, ‘but unlikely. Most of those cases, where the child returns home, are resolved within forty-eight hours. Natalie has been missing for seventy-two hours already, which might suggest there is something more sinister going on here.’

  The two ladies sat in silence, considering Erin’s last statement.

  ‘I suppose my only other question to you would be, did you see anyone suspicious lurking around outside of the school?’ asked Erin eventually.

  ‘Not that I remember,’ answered Sarah honestly. ‘I left here just before four on Friday. The street was pretty empty, from what I remember, but then it’s only ever busy when the children arrive and leave. It’s not a well-travelled thoroughfare, at other times of the day.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ said Erin standing, ‘let me know if you do remember anything else about the day. I better go track down Vincent and head back to the station.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Sarah, forcing a smile. ‘What time will you be home tonight?’

  ‘Not sure yet. By seven, hopefully.’

  ‘Okay. I love you,’ said Sarah as Erin moved towards the exit door of the classroom.

  ‘I love you, too,’ replied Erin before disappearing around the corner.

  5

  Neil and Melanie Barrett’s home looked like any normal, council-owned, house in Southampton: three bedrooms, a garden at the front, concrete yard space out the back and a satellite dish clinging to the now redundant chimney pot. As a suburb of Southampton, Sholing had become something of a melting pot for residents, who couldn’t afford the affluent housing on the west-side of the city. Largely detached from Southampton, and only joined by the famous Itchen toll-bridge, Sholing wasn’t much to write home about. Had Betjeman visited the area before he had seen Slough, maybe he would have invited the friendly bombs to fall here instead. Whilst some people in the area were prepared to stand on their own two feet, and privately acquire a property in one of the more pleasant, quieter closes, the majority of the housing available in Sholing, was still council-owned or worse, formerly-council-owned.

  As Erin pulled up the squad car on the grass verge outside of the Barrett’s semi-detached-hub, it amazed Vincent how many nearly-new cars were parked in driveways and along the street. If the people living here couldn’t afford to pay monthly mortgage arrangements, how the hell could they afford such expensive cars?

  ‘How do you want to play this then, Guv?’ asked Erin as she removed the keys from the ignition.

  Vincent remained staring out of the window, but said, ‘you do the softly-softly and I’ll interject with some observations.’

  Vincent really didn’t want to be here right now, but he knew that it wouldn’t have been fair to send Cookie by herself, particularly considering how emotional the Barretts were likely to be. Something didn’t sit right with Vincent, and it was a feeling he was finding hard to shake.

  The two officers walked up the short driveway to the shiny, maroon-coloured front door and pressed the doorbell. It didn’t make a sound. Erin pushed the button a second time, but still no sound was emitted. She was about to try for a final time when Vincent pounded his fist on the door.

  Melanie was the one to open the door, her face resembling that of a panda, clear that she had been crying not long ago.

  ‘Mrs Barrett,’ began Erin. ‘We spoke yesterday? I am D.C. Erin Cooke and this is my colleague, Detective Inspector Jack Vin-sent.’

  Vincent waved his warrant card photo I.D. in front of her.

  ‘Yes?’ came the response, clouded in confusion. ‘Have you found her?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ Mrs Barrett,’ replied Erin. ‘Would you mind if we came in? It’s just to confirm some further details about Friday afternoon.’

  Without a word, Melanie Barrett opened the door wider and beckoned for them to follow her. The doorway led into a short, narrow hallway with a small kitchen, off to the left, a staircase to the right, a dining room, at the end to the left and a living room, at the end to the right. Melanie Barrett walked zombie-like into the living room and took a seat on the long, dark brown leather settee. Neil Barrett was sitting on a second leather sofa, idly watching whatever happened to be on the television.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Barrett,’ offered Erin, making eye contact with him. He nodded acknowledgement, but didn’t speak.

  ‘How are you both?’ Erin asked, naively, and immediately regretted it. Neither Barrett responded, but they both glared up at her, silently cursing her presence there.

  ‘Sorry,’ Erin muttered, ‘Stupid question.’

  Vincent moved slowly into the room, across the floor and to the back wall, where he stared out into the stark yard space. There was a small pink tricycle tipped on its side, a barbeque going rusty from under-use and wet weather, and a small, blue, child’s trampoline that looked like it too had seen better days.

  ‘D.I. Vincent and I wanted to ask you both some further questions about Friday afternoon, if that’s okay?’ asked Erin, taking a seat on the sofa next to Melanie. ‘How did Natalie seem on Friday morning when you dropped her at school?’

  ‘She was fine,’ said Melanie, resolutely. ‘She was excited about being dressed in her own clothes for the Olympics day-thing that the school were doing.’

  ‘She didn’t appear nervous, or worried about anything?’ Erin persevered.

  ‘No, not that I noticed. Neil, did you notice anything?’ Melanie asked, glancing at her husband for support.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly, refusing to move his eyes from the screen.

  ‘Have either of you noticed anyone strange hanging around? Have there been any unusual phone calls? Anything like that?’ asked Natalie.

  ‘I told you yesterday, we haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary,’ replied Melanie, her voice starting to crack under the strain. ‘What does this have to do with Natalie? Do you know who has taken her?’

  ‘We have yet to establish if anyone has taken her, Mrs Barrett,’ said Vincent, matter-of-factly, but without turning around. His tone caught them all off-guard.

  ‘Where the hell is she then?’ demanded Neil Barrett, suddenly deciding to enter the conversation.

  ‘That’s a very good question, Mr Barrett,’ replied Vincent, slowly turning around to face the seated group. ‘You claim that your daughter wouldn’t be silly enough to climb into a stranger’s car, yet she is missing. You claim she was happy and playful, and not the kind of girl who would run away from home, yet where is she?’

  Neil Barrett was about to stand up and leap across the room at Vincent when he spoke again, ‘What was the argument about on Valentine’s Day of this year?’

  ‘Valentine’s Day? What?’ asked Melanie, confused by the new line of questions.

  ‘Two uniformed officers were called to this property at ten past nine on Valentine’s evening as a neighbour had reported the sound of violent banging and shouting. Can you explain what it was about?’

  Melanie glanced at her husband, who was quietly seething in the corner.

  ‘We had an argument, so what?’ replied Neil, eager not to say anything incriminating.

  ‘What was the argument about, Mr Barrett?’ asked Vincent, calmly, yet directly.

  ‘What does it matter what the argument was about? It has nothing to do with Natalie,’ he shouted in response.

  ‘Temper, temper,’ Vincent said, as condescendingly as he could. ‘I think we’ll be the judge of whether it has something to do with your daughter’s disappearance. Oka
y, if you don’t want to tell me about that one, how about the night of March first? Uniformed officers were called out again because of a neighbour reporting a disturbance. What was that about?’

  ‘It’s that bloody bitch at number fourteen,’ stated Melanie, between gritted teeth. ‘That cow is always sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong!’

  ‘Number fourteen?’ Erin gently pushed.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Melanie, practically spitting the words out. ‘Her, with her two BMWs and son at medical school. She is so up her own arse, it’s untrue.’

  ‘Do you not see eye to eye?’ asked Erin, acting the innocent.

  ‘We never have,’ replied Melanie, sensing an ally in Erin. ‘Ever since we moved to the street, she’s had it in for us: moaning that Natalie was pulling flowers out of her garden, or that Neil was washing the car without a top on. Any reason she can find and she is round here, putting us and the world to rights. She should mind her own bloody business!’

  ‘Number fourteen is across the street, isn’t it?’ enquired Vincent, knowing full well it was.

  ‘And?’ retorted Melanie.

  ‘I’m just thinking,’ mused Vincent, looking around the room, before making direct eye contact with the blonde, sitting on the couch. ‘It must have been a bloody loud argument for the woman across the street to have heard it!’ Vincent caught himself, as he sensed his voice had risen.

  ‘She’s got a dog,’ chipped in Neil. ‘She walks her dog around the street every night and pauses outside people’s houses while it pees or shits, just so she can listen to what is going on, or to peer through open curtains. I’ve even caught her in the act before, though of course she denied it.’

  ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ suggested Erin, sending a signal to Vincent with her eyes. ‘Melanie, would you be able to show me where I would find cups and tea bags?’

  Vincent forced himself not to smile. He really was pleased with the progress Cookie was making as an officer. He knew her tea-suggestion was a ploy to get Melanie away from Neil, for a quiet, informal chat about what had been going on. Oblivious to the ploy, Melanie stood up and led Erin to the kitchen.