Snatched

by Stephen Edger

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Vincent, intrigued.

  Erin had been reluctant to step forward with Sarah’s theory, particularly as it was her girlfriend’s theory and if she admitted as much she would be laughed out of the office.

  ‘Well,’ she began, ‘we’ve been advised that Natalie wasn’t the sort of girl who would get into a car with a stranger, right? Well, what if the driver of the red car wasn’t a stranger?’

  ‘I understand what you’re saying, Cookie, but what makes you think Jimmy Barrett is the driver?’ asked Vincent.

  ‘Natalie’s teacher told me that Natalie wrote a story and drew a picture of a monster on Friday and she believes it might have been a cry for help from Natalie.’

  The response was met with sniggers from her colleagues, particularly those that had figured out Erin was referring to her girlfriend, without directly naming her. Vincent didn’t look happy.

  ‘Look, I know it’s a stretch,’ continued Erin, eager to defend her theory. ‘We know that Neil and Melanie have been arguing recently from the reports filed by uniform, following neighbour complaints. The arguments only started up a few months ago, around the same time that Jimmy Barrett returned from active duty and moved in with the family. It’s a small house; it can’t be easy having three adults and a child under the same roof.’

  Vincent’s expression still hadn’t softened, so Erin continued, ‘What if Jimmy Barrett is suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress? He thinks he is doing his brother a favour by collecting Natalie from school. Maybe she has a go at him because he is causing her parents to argue. He shouts at her, maybe strikes her, goes too far and dumps the body. I know it’s thin, but we should at least check out what he was doing at the time.’

  ‘Jimmy Barrett didn’t do this,’ answered Marsden, laughing. ‘I can vouch for him. I regularly see him down The Swan. He hasn’t got PTSD.’

  ‘Why? Just because he can throw beer down his throat? Show some objectivity, Marsden,’ replied Erin defensively. She wouldn’t have minded if the challenge had come from any of her other colleagues, but she despised Marsden, whom she considered a dinosaur from a bygone era; more interested in working nine to five than doing real investigative police work. In fairness, he wasn’t her number one fan either.

  ‘I need to be objective? What about you, taking advice from your girlfriend on how to solve this case?’ he replied.

  ‘Sarah is the best witness we have to Natalie’s state of mind on the day of her disappearance, and has studied child behavioural psychology, so she’s certainly more qualified than you to comment on this case,’ replied Erin angrily.

  ‘That’s enough!’ shouted Vincent, interrupting the argument before it spiralled out of control.

  Marsden looked hurt and angry but knew not to go against Vincent’s wishes. He would get his revenge on her in the future, he vowed.

  ‘Okay,’ continued Vincent when silence had returned to the room. ‘Cookie, go and interview that nosy neighbour. Find out why she really called uniform in. Then go and speak with Jimmy Barrett. Find out what he was up to on Friday afternoon and do some digging into why he left the army when he did. The rest of you go start asking some questions. We meet back here at five tonight, and I want some progress!’

  Vincent then turned his back on the group to study the dry wipe boards once more. The group knew this was the indication that the briefing was over and that they had been dismissed.

  11

  Erin knocked on the door of number fourteen. She had been anxious not to let on to the Barretts that she was following up on the previous day’s interview, so she had parked her unmarked squad car, around the corner. There was no obvious doorbell to press, but there was a gold-coloured door knocker, so Erin used that instead. She didn’t even know the name of the nosy neighbour, as the Barretts had not offered it, and it would have given the game away to have phoned and asked. She had checked if the patrol officers had a name for the person who made the complaints that they had been called out on, but they had told her the calls had been anonymously made.

  After a sixty second delay, the door to number fourteen was opened and a very average-looking, grey-haired woman appeared in the door frame.

  ‘Yes?’ enquired a voice, oozing snootiness.

  ‘Hello, are you the owner of this property?’ asked Erin, not quite sure how to fish out the woman’s name.

  ‘I don’t buy things at the door, dear. Thank you anyway,’ replied the woman, starting to close the door.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Erin pushing the door to prevent it closing. ‘I’m not selling anything. I’m a police officer.’

  Erin produced her warrant card from her pocket and held it up for the woman to see.

  ‘Wait a second,’ said the woman, who then shuffled off back into the house. Erin was unsure whether she should follow or stay where she was. She was about to ask, when the woman returned clutching a pair of reading glasses. She slipped them onto her nose and grabbed at the warrant card, snatching it from Erin’s grasp.

  ‘Can’t see a thing without my glasses,’ she said, scanning the card, looking for signs of authenticity. Erin’s I.D. couldn’t have been more than three inches from the end of the woman’s nose, and she was tempted to suggest that the woman should increase the prescription of her glasses, when the warrant card was thrust back towards her.

  ‘Right, Detective Cooke,’ said the woman, matter-of-factly. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Would it be okay if I came in, please?’ asked Erin, keen to avoid the chance the Barretts might spot her.

  ‘Whatever for?’ asked the woman.

  ‘It’s about your neighbours, the Barretts? I’m investigating the disappearance of their daughter, Natalie. Do you know her?’

  ‘Horrible little brat,’ the woman said, looking down her nose at Erin. ‘I suppose you better come in,’ she added, pulling the door open for Erin to enter.

  Erin walked along the narrow corridor, to the room at the end, which she quickly identified as the living room. The layout was very similar to the Barretts’ house, although the kitchen and staircase were on opposite sides. Erin sat down on the edge of a sofa and, once the woman was sitting as well, said, ‘Can I take a note of your name, please?’

  ‘Mrs Norris. N, O, double R, I, S.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Norris,’ replied Erin. It was standard practice to take a first name as well, but Erin was pretty confident Mrs Norris wouldn’t be so willing to part with it. ‘Can you tell me what the Barretts are like?’

  ‘They’re not really my sort of people,’ replied Mrs Norris. ‘I can’t say we see eye-to-eye on most matters. To be perfectly honest, I try to avoid any contact with them if possible.’

  ‘I see,’ said Erin, pretending to write something in the notepad, she had just pulled from her pocket. ‘Were you aware that the police were called to their property a couple of times in the last few months?’

  ‘Yes, I saw them there.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to know who phoned the police on those occasions would you.’ Erin asked, drawing a small doodle of a flower on the notepad.

  ‘Well, yes,’ replied Mrs Norris. ‘Since you ask, it was I whom called the police.’

  ‘Can you tell me what led to you phoning them?’

  ‘I told the officer on the telephone why. Don’t you people keep records of your calls anymore?’ Mrs Norris replied.

  ‘Of course, we do, Mrs Norris, but the report is limited to only a brief description of the purpose of the call. You know, like, ‘domestic disturbance’, that kind of thing. I was hoping you could confirm what you saw or heard, in your own words.’

  Mrs Norris paused for a moment, clearly trying to decide how much to share. Eventually, she said, ‘They argue, a lot. There are always loud voices and loud, crashing noises, when I am out walking little Petra.’

  ‘Petra?’ asked Erin, already aware of the answer.

  ‘Petra. My Chihuahua. They really do make the most horrendous soun
ds when they are fighting. Anyway, I was concerned that the arguments were becoming more heated and more frequent, so I called you people, to report it. It was only the right thing to do, in my opinion. For the good of the street.’

  Erin jotted down ‘snooty cow’ but quickly scribbled over the top of it, in case Vincent asked to see her notes at any point. Mrs Norris reminded Erin of Hyacinth Bouquet.

  ‘Was there anything specific that happened that caused you concern, Mrs Norris?’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘You mentioned at the door, that you knew of young Natalie. Was there anything about the Barretts that made you worry about her safety?’ asked Erin.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Mrs Norris with a knowing look in her eyes. ‘You’re here to talk about that brother of his.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Erin, playing along, not quite sure where Mrs Norris was now leading the conversation.

  ‘Grubby lay-about, that one,’ said Mrs Norris. ‘They never should have taken him back in. Just looking at him, you can tell he’s trouble.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ asked Erin.

  ‘This should all have been in the report, as well,’ replied Mrs Norris, sighing.

  ‘In your own words, remember, Mrs Norris,’ coaxed Erin.

  ‘Well, it must have been about six weeks ago, I suppose,’ said Mrs Norris, raising her eyes, as she tried to recall the memory. ‘I was out the front, tending to the garden. I looked up and saw the brother on the driveway, drinking from a can of something or other; beer, lager, cider, who knows? Anyway, he seemed to be draining the can so he could dispose of it in the brown recycle bin. I mean, this was at ten o’clock in the morning. What kind of man is drinking alcohol that early? Disgraceful!’

  Mrs Norris waited for Erin to nod agreement at the statement before proceeding, ‘The little girl came out of the house and walked over to him to say something I couldn’t hear, and he bent over, grabbed her wrist and started shouting something at her.’

  ‘What was he shouting?’ asked Erin, now eagerly writing down notes, pertaining to Jimmy Barrett.

  ‘I couldn’t really make it out, but the girl’s reaction said it all: she ran from him into the house in tears. When he stood back up, he saw that I was observing what had happened and he shouted a rude obscenity in my direction, before marching off down the road, probably in search of the nearest pub or off licence.’

  ‘What did he shout at you, Mrs Norris?’

  ‘I would prefer not to repeat it, if it’s all the same to you. It was very rude!’

  ‘So you don’t know what his rant at Natalie was about?’ Erin persisted.

  ‘No. As I said, I couldn’t really hear the words, just the intonation of what was said. He was definitely shouting, and he definitely grabbed her wrist.’

  ‘And did you report that incident to the police as well?’

  ‘I tried, but this time the young man on the line told me I would have to give my name if I suspected any kind of child abuse, but I did not wish to, so I disconnected the call.’

  ‘Right,’ said Erin, standing suddenly, eager to share this new item with Vincent. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Norris. I’ll leave you a card with my telephone number on. If you remember anything else, please give me a call?’

  Erin fished her business card out of her purse and handed it over. Mrs Norris took the card and placed it on a coffee table to her left.

  ‘I’ll show myself out, Mrs Norris,’ said Erin, turning on her heel. ‘Thanks again, for your help.’

  12

  Sarah waited until the last of her class had disappeared out of the door, before she sat down and let out a satisfied sigh. She had made it through the morning intact and the lingering headache that had been with her since she had woken up, hung-over that morning was finally dissipating. She reached out and picked up the plastic bottle of water that she had been taking regular sips from all morning, flipped the lid and poured the remaining contents into her mouth. She knew that the pain killers she had taken were controlling the ache in her head, but she was also convinced that her attempts to rehydrate were probably playing their part too. She made a mental note to ensure she topped up the bottle before the children returned from their lunch break.

  In preparation for the evening’s planned big meal, Sarah had brought a small cheese sandwich with her, as a snack for the lunch period, and was just about to pull it out of her bag and head to the staff room when she heard a familiar voice at the door.

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you?’

  Sarah was startled by the sudden noise and looked up to see the smiling face of Johan Boller standing in her doorway.

  ‘That’s fine, Johan, come in,’ she beckoned, smiling back. ‘What can I do for you?’

  The handsome, Swiss footballer walked into the room and perched himself on the edge of a table, opposite Sarah. He must have been in his mid-twenties, by Sarah’s estimation.

  ‘I came in to speak with Mrs McGregor about a further appearance she wants me to make, before the school breaks up for the summer,’ he explained. ‘She’s asked me to hand out medals at the school sports day, which I think you are having, at the end of the Olympics initiative?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she affirmed. ‘The last day of term is scheduled to be an all-day sports event for the children, competing in a range of Olympic-type events. She mentioned to me that she was hoping you might come back to close the project as you opened it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I told her it should be okay but it depends whether I get called up to play in the European championships, if I do I won’t be able to be here.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t really follow football, is that likely?’

  ‘I hope so,’ he replied honestly, ‘but it would also be great to see the children again. I enjoyed myself last Friday.’

  ‘Good,’ said Sarah. ‘The children loved having you here. They talked about nothing else yesterday.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said smiling again. Sarah had to admit, he did look cute, even if he wasn’t her usual type. ‘I thought I should come and see how you are.’

  ‘How I am?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes. The police told me that one of the children went missing on Friday afternoon?’

  Sarah couldn’t believe she had allowed Natalie’s disappearance to slip from her mind.

  ‘That’s right. She is such a sweet girl. God knows what kind of sick bastard is capable of that kind of thing.’

  Johan didn’t reply and Sarah suddenly became conscious that her language may have offended the footballer.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It just gets to me.’

  ‘That’s okay. I can understand how you feel. The police told me that I may have been the last person to see her, before it happened.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ he continued. ‘I saw her standing by the gates as I left at about three fifteen.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else around?’ asked Sarah, keen to know as much as she could about who might have abducted her little star.

  ‘As I told the police, I wasn’t really concentrating as I left. I remember seeing a girl in a red coat but that is all. I was setting up my navigation system, as I still don’t know the roads around Southampton. I was more concerned with not getting lost, than I was on who might be around.’ He hung his head in shame, ‘I know how bad that sounds.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Johan,’ she said, keen to make him feel better. ‘You weren’t to know that she was in any danger.’

  ‘That’s kind of you to say,’ he responded, ‘but if I had been more alert, I might have noticed something.’

  An awkward silence followed, before Johan spoke again, ‘How are the other children? Do they know what has happened?’

  ‘They seem okay. After last night’s press conference, we had to make an announcement this morning. Those that didn’t see it on the news would have eventually heard about it through playground gossip. We tried to keep the l
evel of detail as vague as possible; we didn’t want to cause further worry.’

  ‘I suppose they should be warned, in case the person strikes again.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Sarah agreed, ‘but I don’t believe it will happen again.’

  ‘You don’t? Why not? Do you know who took her?’

  Sarah looked around to check that nobody had popped into the room to overhear them. When she was satisfied that nobody was listening, she said, ‘I have my suspicions about who has her and have told the police. I reckon he’ll be caught soon enough and hopefully she’ll be returned.’

  ‘Oh, so you think she is still alive?’ Johan asked.

  ‘Yes, maybe, I don’t know. Do you not?’ replied Sarah, thrown by the question.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Johan throwing his hands up in mock defence. ‘These things don’t always end well, do they?’

  ‘I hope this one does,’ Sarah said.

  ‘So do I,’ he echoed, hoping that he had not inadvertently upset her.

  She looked up at him and he smiled weakly to test the waters and was relieved when she smiled back.

  ‘I should go,’ he offered, standing up.

  ‘Thanks, yeah. I need to prepare everything for this afternoon.’

  ‘Are you busy later?’ he asked.

  ‘What? Sorry?’ said Sarah, again surprised by the directness of the question.

  ‘Are you busy later?’ Johan repeated. ‘I thought maybe we could go for a drink?’

  ‘Go for a drink?’

  ‘Yes. A drink, in a bar, talking? It’s what people do?’ he replied sarcastically.

  ‘You want to go for a drink? With me?’

  ‘Yes I do,’ he said, smiling again. ‘I like you, Sarah. I’d like to get to know you better. Do you not want to?’

  Sarah was flattered by the request but uncertain how to respond. She knew she had to let him down, but wanted to do it as gently as possible.

  ‘It’s a very kind offer, Johan, but I already have a partner.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he responded cautiously. ‘There is no ring; I thought you might be single.’