Snatched

by Stephen Edger

  Sarah waited for more and when he noticed her glaring at him, the penny dropped and he realised what she was implying.

  ‘Oh God, you think I had something to do with that?’

  ‘Well, didn’t you?’ she challenged.

  ‘Good God, no,’ he countered disgustedly.

  ‘She goes missing on Friday afternoon, and you just happen to turn up at the school to see me a week later? Come on, Ryan, I’m not a fool!’

  ‘Sarah, do you really think I’m still that kind of person?’

  ‘Why not? Once a killer, always a killer,’ she shouted, spit flying from her lips as she did.

  ‘I have nothing to do with that little girl’s disappearance,’ he protested.

  ‘How do you know about her then?’ Sarah countered, thinking she had trapped him in a lie.

  ‘I watch the news, Sarah. I saw yesterday that she had been abducted from a school in Southampton. I had no idea she was from your school.’

  Sensing, he was trying to use delaying tactics, she decided to push him again.

  ‘I suppose you have an alibi for your whereabouts on Friday afternoon, as well?’ she said flippantly.

  Moss paused for a moment, while he thought about the question. After a moment he smiled a broad grin. ‘I have the perfect alibi,’ he said. ‘I can tell you exactly where I was on Friday afternoon: I was with Chloe Green.’

  Sarah blinked several times while the name danced around in her mind’s eye.

  ‘Chloe Green?’ Sarah repeated.

  ‘That’s right. I was with her for the same reason I am here with you now, Sarah: to make amends.’

  ‘You expect me to believe you were visiting your old friend Chloe Green?’ Sarah asked sarcastically.

  ‘Well I wouldn’t describe her as my ‘old friend’, but, yes, I was with her. If you calm down and let me explain why I am here, I will tell you why.’

  Sarah was still wary of the man sitting uncomfortably on a plastic chair. She was no closer to her mobile phone, and there was every chance that Mrs McGregor had packed up for the day and gone home herself.

  Seeing Sarah’s eyes darting around the room, Moss offered, ‘Do you have a mobile phone, Sarah?’

  ‘What?’ she questioned, thrown by the question.

  ‘I can see you are worried by my presence here, and whilst I can guarantee I mean you no harm, you may feel more at ease with your phone in your hand.’

  It was an interesting offer, Sarah had to admit. Moss put his own hand in his trouser pocket and fished a small item out.

  ‘Here,’ he said holding up the small mobile phone he had just removed from his pocket. ‘Take mine, if you wish. If you genuinely fear me, after I have explained myself, then you can phone the police or a friend or the talking clock, for all I care. Please Sarah? There is something I need to say to you and I have travelled a long way to be with you today. The least you can do is hear me out.’

  ‘My phone is in my handbag,’ Sarah eventually responded. ‘I would feel better if I had it near me.’

  ‘Okay,’ he responded warmly. ‘I’ll go and fetch your handbag. I mean you no harm, Sarah.’

  ‘And I want us to sit nearer the door,’ she added as he rose from the small seat.

  ‘If it will make you feel better, we can sit wherever you like. Just please, hear me out.’

  ‘Okay, Ryan,’ she said, the confidence returning to her voice. ‘My handbag is over by the door. You can sit on the chair behind the teacher’s desk, over there,’ she pointed at the large desk towards the front of the classroom. ‘I’ll perch on that desk nearest the door,’ she added.

  ‘Very well,’ Moss replied, pleased that she was finally being reasonable but still surprised at how scared she seemed to be. He couldn’t believe that she thought he had anything to do with the disappearance of Natalie Barrett.

  Once they were both seated in their new places, Moss removed his anorak and placed it over the back of the chair. Sarah had her mobile phone gripped tightly in her hand, so Moss began his explanation.

  ‘I’ve rehearsed this speech a dozen times, hoping that I would have a chance to speak to you, one day and make peace with you,’ he began.

  ‘I heard you told a former cellmate that you had a message to deliver to me. What is it?’ Sarah challenged.

  ‘That’s true, Sarah. If you let me continue, I will tell you what I have come to say,’ Moss responded, angry that she continued to interrupt his trail of thought.

  ‘What happened all those years ago was very strange. When I try and recall that period when I did…what I did to Chloe…it is like a bad dream…or a bad movie, watched late one night. It’s as if it wasn’t me. I decided, when inside that I would tell you everything, so here goes: I’m gay, Sarah.’

  He waited for some kind of reaction: shock, surprise or recognition, but Sarah’s face remained impassive.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I knew back then that I was different. In fact, I suspected I was gay, back when I was fifteen, but I was in denial. I used to watch some of the other boys when I was in the showers at school and then I would go home and beat myself up about it. I told myself that all normal boys went through the same thing, and that it didn’t mean anything. That’s probably why I was so intent on dating as many girls as I could, to prove to everyone, myself included, that I was straight. Sorry, Sarah, that included you.’

  He paused again, hoping for some kind of acceptance, or absolution, from Sarah but she remained silent.

  ‘I had a fight with my dad on…that day…he accused me of being soft, because I had gotten upset over something or other. I think I left the house, hoping to prove to him that he was wrong and that I was all man. I must have met Chloe at some point along the road…and…well…you know the rest.’ He paused to wipe a small tear from his eye. ‘I didn’t accept what I had done, for a long time. Even when I arrived at the Verne, I just thought it was God’s way of punishing me for being gay. I didn’t want to think it was because I had done something…something so bad. Thankfully, there was a chaplain in the prison who persisted with me, until eventually, he got me talking. He told me that what I had done was wrong, but that God would forgive me, if I was truly repentant. I was worried that I would be capable of doing the same thing all over again. The chaplain explained that I was ill and that, with treatment, I would be better.’

  ‘So what, he prescribed you with some antibiotics and then released you?’ Sarah said with an unbelieving frown.

  Moss smiled at the jibe; at least she wasn’t accusing him anymore.

  ‘There isn’t any medication that can control the urges I was experiencing. It helped when I eventually accepted my homosexuality but that wasn’t the answer. I began to do research on the internet while inside, and came across a procedure that would help curb those urges.’

  ‘What kind of procedure?’

  ‘Two years ago, I underwent voluntary castration,’ he fired back.

  Sarah couldn’t help it, but her eyes darted down to Moss’ crotch. What she had expected to see, she didn’t know; perhaps a gravestone? Moss smiled at her reaction, it was one he experienced every time he told somebody what he had done. Chloe had reacted the same way last week.

  ‘A little extreme,’ he laughed, ‘but it has definitely made things easier.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’ Sarah asked, unsure what else she could say.

  ‘I have them pickled in a jar if you’d like to see them,’ he said.

  ‘Oh God! That’s disgusting,’ Sarah replied, fighting down the urge to retch.

  ‘That was a joke, Sarah,’ Moss replied, laughing at his own twisted sense of humour. ‘I’m not sure what the hospital does with them, to be honest. Anyway, I continued to see the chaplain, and he showed me that the only way I would be able to move on with my life, would be to seek out those that I had hurt, and offer my sincerest regret. That is what I meant when I said I would deliver a message. My message is my heartfelt apology to you. I treated you poorly and I want you to f
orgive my indecent behaviour.’

  Sarah was stunned by the frankness of what Moss had told her. She was torn in how to respond. Part of her wanted to tell him of her own denial when they had been dating, and she wondered if that was what had drawn them together to begin with. Part of her wanted to shout at him and say he was a liar, that he had killed Natalie and Erin and that she was going to phone the police, but in truth, she didn’t really believe that anymore. Instead, she said, ‘I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologising to, Ryan.’

  ‘I have made my peace with Chloe,’ he replied. ‘It took me a while to find her, after I was released, but the internet is an amazing tool and I tracked her down in Darlington, up North. She is working as a nail technician in a local salon, there. She is very happy and making a decent living.’

  Sarah didn’t know whether to believe him or whether to dial Jack Vincent for help.

  ‘She didn’t recognise me at first, and when I told her who I was, she was angry and refused to speak to me. It took me several weeks to convince her to meet with me, so that I could say sorry, but she eventually relented and agreed to see me on Friday afternoon. We met in a quiet bar in Spennymoor and she brought a friend with her. It was all very awkward,’ he admitted, ‘but she listened to what I had to say and said she accepted my apology. She told me she could never forgive me for what I had done to her but she accepted that I was sorry, and was satisfied with the actions I had taken to prevent any kind of repetition. I left her at the bar just after five, and returned to my hotel room on the edge of the town, and caught a train early Saturday morning down to Southampton to look you up.’

  ‘It’s Thursday, Ryan, what have you been doing since Saturday?’ Sarah challenged, but almost immediately felt guilty, after she had said it.

  ‘You weren’t so easy to find,’ he said, smiling, trying to crack her frosty exterior. ‘I found out you were a teacher and managed to narrow down which school you worked in, but you’ve not been here for a couple of days. Today was the first day I saw your car in the car park, so I decided to come in and see you.’

  Sarah looked him straight in the eye. Was he telling the truth? She felt so confused. After all that had happened in the last week, she didn’t know what to believe. Moss fished in his trouser pocket again and pulled out a small piece of paper. He moved to where Sarah was perched, and handed the note over.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked, seeing numbers scrawled on it.

  ‘That’s Chloe’s telephone number. You can call her if you want. She will verify what I have said.’

  He seemed so sure of himself that she found it hard not to believe him.

  ‘Phone her, Sarah. It’s okay,’ he said.

  ‘I may do,’ she replied, folding up the piece of paper and placing it in her pocket. ‘I have listened to what you have said, is there anymore?’

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That was it. I want you to know that I am sorry about what happened, and I am sorry with how I treated you. Maybe, if I had admitted what I knew to be true, none of this would have happened.’

  He returned to where he had been seated, and removed his anorak from the back of the chair.

  ‘Thank you for listening to me, Sarah,’ Moss said, zipping up the anorak.

  ‘What happens next?’ she asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.

  ‘Hopefully you will find it in your heart to forgive me. You won’t see me again, Sarah. I have made my peace with you and my future looks brighter.’

  ‘What are your plans?’ she asked, jealous that his future seemed so certain when hers was in such disarray.

  ‘I have a long journey ahead of me, this weekend,’ he said. ‘I have a train to catch.’

  As quietly as he had walked in; he left, leaving Sarah stunned and more confused about who had taken Natalie as ever. Her gut was telling her that Ryan Moss was truthful, and if that was the case then he had nothing to do with Natalie’s disappearance, or Erin’s murder. If that was true, then that left only Jimmy Barrett as the likely suspect, but the police didn’t seem to think he was guilty. There was only one other possibility: the killer was someone she had yet to encounter and the thought that some stranger was responsible frightened her more than anything.

  FRIDAY

  28

  ‘What the bloody hell am I doing here?’ asked an angry Jimmy Barrett. It was early morning, by his standards, although to the rest of the world it was nearly ten. Usually at this time of the day he would be about to get up, throw on some clothes and head to The Swan.

  ‘There are just a few questions I have for you,’ replied Jack Vincent.

  ‘Questions about what exactly?’ demanded Barrett.

  ‘About the disappearance and murder of your niece, Mr Barrett,’ replied Vincent, in an even tone.

  ‘I’ve already spoken to your lot about where I was on Friday afternoon,’ he shouted back. ‘In the pub!’

  ‘I’m aware of your conversation with Detective Constable Cooke,’ Vincent began, ‘however I have some further questions for you.’

  Barrett paused for a moment and sat back in the hard, plastic chair they had provided him with. He folded his arms and chewed on his lip, thinking.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, after a while. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘How are things at home, Jimmy?’

  ‘Fine,’ replied Barrett, adopting the approach of giving as little information as he could.

  ‘No disagreements with Neil? Or Melanie?’

  ‘Nothing more than usual,’ he replied.

  ‘Officers have been called to the house by worried neighbours a couple of times in the last few months. Any idea why?’ asked Vincent, trying to keep his tone relaxed.

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ replied Barrett, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘So, your brother and his wife haven’t been having heated arguments about your moving in with them?’ Vincent was hoping to provoke a reaction from Barrett, something that would give him a clue about whether he could have had something to do with what had happened to Cookie. That was the real reason he had dragged Jimmy Barrett in this morning, and why he had kept him waiting for over an hour before commencing the informal interview. He wanted to see Barrett angry, to see if the wrong question would provoke a violent reaction. Vincent had already received verification that Barrett had been in the bookies before he had headed to The Swan on Friday afternoon, so couldn’t have taken Natalie. However, that didn’t mean he had nothing to do with her disappearance and it didn’t mean that he couldn’t have been involved in the death of D.C. Cooke.

  ‘You’d have to ask them about that,’ Barrett replied nonchalantly.

  ‘We have,’ Vincent mused. ‘Melanie told us she can’t stand having you around in the house. She says there isn’t enough room for all of you under the same roof, and that you’re not paying your way. What do you have to say to that?’

  ‘Everyone’s entitled to their opinion,’ he replied, and then grinned at Vincent, as he sensed what the policeman was trying to do.

  ‘She doesn’t like you much, your sister-in-law, does she, Jimmy?’

  ‘As I said, detective, she’s entitled to her opinion.’

  ‘Must be difficult though,’ replied Vincent sucking air in through his teeth, ‘your brother having to choose sides. I mean, who would he side with, you, his brother, or the woman he chose to marry? It can’t be easy.’

  ‘I don’t see what this has to do with what happened to Natalie,’ Barrett fired back.

  ‘I just want to understand the background, Jimmy. I want to know what kind of atmosphere little Natalie would have been living with. You know? Was there anything to make her feel like she would want to run away from home?’

  ‘You’re unbelievable! Do you know that?’ shouted Barrett, angry at the suggestion that his arrival could have caused Natalie to disappear. ‘Neil and Melanie are good parents. Do you hear me? She was well-loved and had a happy upbringing. She wouldn’t have run away!’

  ‘W
ouldn’t she? When the going gets tough, that’s what you Barretts do, isn’t it, Jimmy?’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ shouted Barrett again.

  ‘Well that’s what you did in the army isn’t it? Ran away when the going got tough?’

  Barrett launched across the table towards Vincent, sending the plastic chair crashing to the floor.

  ‘You son of a bitch!’ he shouted, unable to control his temper. Luckily for Vincent, his chair was far enough away that Barrett’s grasp missed him. P.C. Capshaw, who was also in the room, leapt from his chair and restrained Barrett.

  ‘Temper, temper, Jimmy,’ Vincent goaded. ‘Is this how you always are when you’re angry? Violent? Is that the real reason the police have been called several times this year? Ever been violent with your brother? Or your sister-in-law? Or your niece?’

  Vincent knew he shouldn’t be pressing Barrett like this, but he was sure there was something Barrett was holding back. Capshaw struggled to keep Barrett in place when Vincent suggested he might have hit Natalie.

  ‘You son of a bitch!’ Barrett yelled again with a snarl.

  ‘Easy, easy!’ said Vincent, raising his voice in an effort to regain control of the exchange. ‘Sit down and calm down, Jimmy or I’ll have you locked up for assault on an officer. You want to spend the night banged up?’

  Jimmy snarled again in a final effort to get at Vincent and when he couldn’t break Capshaw’s hold, he relaxed his muscles and said he would retake his seat. Capshaw looked at Vincent for confirmation that he could release Barrett, and when Vincent nodded, Capshaw allowed him to pick up the chair.

  ‘You really do have a temper on you, don’t you, Jimmy?’ said Vincent when they were all seated again.

  ‘You were pushing me,’ Barrett retorted.

  ‘True,’ said Vincent, ‘but it didn’t take much, did it?’

  Vincent paused to allow this to sink in before he said, ‘We know you weren’t the one to take Natalie, Jimmy. We’ve had your whereabouts verified by CCTV and witness accounts. But what puzzles me is Natalie’s teacher’s statement that Natalie was scared of a monster of some sort. Who do you think she could have meant?’