Snatched

by Stephen Edger

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ whispered Boller, ‘you won’t be able to do anything about it, because you’re nearly dead. That poison I put in your glass of water when I first entered your room seems to be working perfectly. The label on the bottle said I only needed a small drop, but I poured half the contents in to make sure they did the trick.’

  Rêmet remembered the sour taste of the water when he had woken earlier and the feeling of nausea, as Boller said, had probably been caused by the toxin and not the description of what he had been told. The last thing Claude Rêmet thought about before his brain shut down was a feeling of anger that the truth about Johan Boller would die with him and that he had failed to deliver justice for Nichole and Natalie.

  36

  Sarah had been pacing the living room floor for an hour, waiting to hear back from Rêmet. She had been chewing at her nails, as well, an old habit from when she was a child. She hadn’t slept particularly well during the night. She had been trying to picture Johan Boller taking Natalie from outside of the school, but the image just didn’t seem to stick. She barely knew Johan but, on the occasions when they had met, he had seemed nice, certainly not the sort of person she would imagine capable of raping and murdering a small child. Eventually she had given up on trying to sleep and had headed for the kitchen to make a strong coffee. She had drunk a further four cups since that initial one and the amount of caffeine in her blood was not helping the nervousness she was feeling.

  Rêmet had claimed he had photographic proof of Johan with the girl from Switzerland and she wondered whether that would be the final piece of the puzzle that would allow her to picture him as the perpetrator. What she had found even more difficult to believe was that he could have had anything to do with Erin’s death. There seemed to be nothing to connect the two of them.

  Unless…

  The telephone’s ring cut her growing thought in two and she had already forgotten what was building by the time she had lifted the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’ she breathed into the phone, expecting to hear Claude Rêmet’s unmistakeable drawl on the other end.

  ‘Sarah? It’s Detective Inspector Jack Vincent. How are you?’ came the reply.

  ‘Oh,’ said Sarah, surprised and disappointed that it wasn’t Rêmet. ‘I am okay, I suppose.’

  ‘Good, good,’ said Vincent before pausing. ‘There’s something I feel I should share with you, even though you may not be pleased to hear it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Sarah cautiously.

  ‘We’ve interviewed Natalie’s uncle, Jimmy Barrett, and we are ruling him out of our enquiries, as a possible suspect in her disappearance. After extensive questioning and verifying his story through several witnesses, we have released him without charge.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Sarah, matter-of-factly.

  ‘Is that it? Okay? I thought you would be angry, Sarah,’ replied Vincent, unable to disguise the anger in his own voice. ‘After all it was you who seemed so convinced that he was guilty.’

  Sarah’s mind was elsewhere, she was wondering why Rêmet had still not called her. Maybe he had been lying about the photograph and had been mistaken about Johan’s involvement. However, if Rêmet were right, then it would only have been a matter of time before the police did release Jimmy Barrett. On the other hand, if Rêmet were wrong about Johan, and Jimmy was also innocent, she would be back to square one.

  ‘I am sure you’ve done your job fine, Detective Inspector,’ replied Sarah, trying to sound re-assuring but coming across as condescending.

  ‘Well, we do have a further potential lead,’ Vincent continued, ignoring Sarah’s remark. ‘Jimmy took a phone call from a foreign-sounding man, claiming to be a journalist and asking all sorts of strange questions about Natalie’s disappearance. We’ve managed to trace the call to Brussels, and have been liaising with our colleagues there, to try and identify who placed the call…’

  ‘Claude Rêmet?’ Sarah interrupted.

  ‘Umm…yes…how did…how did you know that?’ stammered Vincent, thrown by Sarah’s foresight.

  ‘I met the man yesterday,’ Sarah continued. ‘He thinks he knows who may have taken Natalie. He claims he has proof.’

  While Sarah spoke, Vincent was eagerly hunting for a pen and paper to write on.

  ‘You met him yesterday? Where? In Belgium?’

  ‘No, don’t be ridiculous,’ admonished Sarah, the school teacher in her, coming to the fore. ‘I met him in Southampton. He is here, now.’

  ‘He’s with you now? In your flat?’ Vincent’s excited voice shouted back.

  ‘No. Not with me here, I meant, here in Southampton. He’s staying in a hotel in the city somewhere.’

  ‘Really? That’s fantastic news. I don’t suppose you happen to know which hotel?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ replied Sarah grimly. ‘He was headed towards the retail park, when I last saw him. You could phone and check in those hotels first.’

  ‘We will, we will,’ replied Vincent eagerly. ‘Did he tell you whom he suspects?’

  ‘No,’ lied Sarah. ‘He was supposed to be meeting me today to reveal all, but I’ve yet to hear from him.’

  Vincent thanked Sarah for her time and promised he would be in touch when he knew more. Sarah replaced the handset on the receiver and returned to the living room. She took a large gulp of coffee from her mug and tried to remember what she had been thinking about, before the interruption.

  Sarah had been replaying the week’s events over and over in her mind, since meeting with Rêmet; every conversation with Erin that she could remember. Johan’s name had never come up in conversation as a possible suspect, largely in part, because Sarah had not even considered him, until she had met Rêmet the evening before.

  There was only one instance where his name had come up.

  It was on the night of Erin’s accident.

  It was right before she went to file her report with Vincent, which was the last account of anybody seeing her.

  Surely not…

  Sarah stopped still, as a connection gradually formed in her mind’s eye. It was circumstantial at best. But…

  Sarah fished the mobile phone out of her pocket. Erin’s passing was still so raw that she had not yet deleted any of the messages they had sent one another, over the last few weeks. The last message she had sent to Erin was at a quarter to six on Tuesday evening. She re-read the message now and a small tingle of nervous excitement rattled down her spine; she had told Erin that Johan had come into the school, out of the blue and made a pass at her.

  She had meant the message as a light-hearted moment, shared between lovers, but what if this had triggered something in Erin’s mind? It had always amazed Sarah, how Erin’s brain could piece clues together, to reach accurate conclusions. It was the reason why Sarah refused to watch crime-dramas on the television with her; she always guessed the villain halfway into the story.

  Sarah sat down on the sofa, and grabbed a nearby scrap of paper and a pen. She started scrawling down a brief timeline for Erin on one side and then on the back, the known whereabouts of Johan during the same period. She read what she had written on both sides and then grabbed a second scrap of paper and jotted the points together.

  Erin knew that Johan was at the school on Friday afternoon. She knew that he had claimed to leave at about quarter past three, when Natalie would have been near the school gates. But what if he were lying? Nobody had come forward to verify the exact time he had left, other than after three. If he had actually left later, he would be a definite suspect.

  She continued to jot her notes.

  The lady across the street had claimed to see a red car pulled up outside of the school, but couldn’t identify the make. Rêmet had shown Sarah a newspaper cutting of Johan taking ownership of a red Ferrari.

  Another memory chilled Sarah’s nervous system.

  On the day of the reconstruction, Johan had watched the filming of the scene. Why hadn’t he offered to be part of the reconstruction? What i
f he had been worried that somebody would recognise his red Ferrari?

  Sarah re-read her notes. She knew she was forcing the facts to fit Rêmet’s theory, but it was all plausible. Johan’s sudden, unscheduled appearance at the school on Tuesday had seemed a bit off, but she had dismissed the thought when he had made a pass at her. What if he had been checking that he was in the clear? Playing the part of concerned citizen?

  She knew it was weak, but it was just the sort of trail that Erin would follow. Vincent had told Sarah that Erin said she was going to check one more thing before returning home. What if she had made the connection and had gone to pay Johan a visit? Maybe she had spotted his car and asked some difficult questions he couldn’t answer? What if the only way out of it had been for him to kill her, and make it look like an accident?

  Sarah nearly laughed out loud. She was being ridiculous. Johan Boller was a nice man. He wasn’t a serial killer. He was a Premiership footballer, for God’s sake!

  She picked up her empty mug of coffee, and headed to the kitchen to rinse it out. As she stood at the kitchen sink, she laughed to herself again. Rêmet had been so sincere the night before that he had almost convinced her. She felt embarrassed that she had got so carried away. Part of her felt guilty, about letting Vincent know where Rêmet could be found. He had said yesterday that he didn’t want to go to the police, until he had her on-side, but if there were any truth in what he was saying, it was better to leave it to the professionals to resolve.

  As she wiped the wet sponge around the rim of the mug, one question continued to bother her; why hadn’t he called?

  37

  An hour later, Sarah was pacing around the living room again. There had still been no word from Rêmet and it was nearly lunchtime. There was every chance that he was a late-sleeper, but he had given the impression that he would call in the morning. She had certainly expected an update by now. There had been no further word from Vincent either, but then she didn’t really expect him to call every hour with updates. In fairness, she was surprised that he had been in touch as much as he had. Maybe he was just feeling guilty about Erin.

  It was highly possible that Vincent had tracked down Rêmet at the hotel and had hauled him in for questioning. Sarah thought it a bit unpleasant that Rêmet had phoned Natalie’s home, fishing for details about her. Ultimately, Sarah understood why he had done it, but couldn’t imagine doing a job like that where the moral compass is so skewed. If Vincent had collared Rêmet then he would probably be quite angry with her for disrupting his plan, but then ultimately the police would have been involved at some point so why not sooner?

  The reason Sarah was pacing was the uncertainty of the situation. She had convinced herself that suspecting Johan Boller of being the killer and rapist was ludicrous; he was a celebrity for God’s sake! Yet, she couldn’t shake the tangible facts that suggested it could be him. She needed to know; she needed closure and justice. She couldn’t help feeling anger and hatred towards the man who may have been responsible for killing Erin. There was only one way she was going to get it and that was to confront Johan herself.

  She barely knew him so walking up and accusing him of abducting, raping and killing Natalie was not an option. He would be just as likely to have her committed as he was to tell her anything. She needed to be smarter; to think like Erin would; she wished Erin was with her now.

  Sarah forced herself to sit down on the sofa, if, for no other reason than to save the carpet from wearing away. She looked back at the scraps of paper she had jotted notes on. There was every chance that Johan could explain the links she had found and at least that would give her peace of mind. She just needed to find a way to raise the subject with him. There was no chance she would casually bump into him in the street as he lived out in Hythe Marina, and it might look suspicious if she were to just turn up on his doorstep out of the blue.

  After much soul-searching she eventually opted to phone him on the ruse that she needed to discuss some school-based sports activity. He had been quite pleased to be approached to come to the school originally, and she still had the copy of his telephone number that Mrs McGregor had given to her on Friday morning. Sarah picked up the phone and input his number.

  She could feel butterflies floating around in her stomach and it reminded her of being a teenager again, phoning a boy to ask him out on a date: nervous excitement.

  He answered after three rings.

  ‘Hello, Johan?’ she began nervously. ‘It’s Sarah Jenson from St Monica’s…’

  ‘Hello, Sarah,’ he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. ‘How are you?’

  He sounded relaxed and jovial and Sarah assumed he was smiling as he spoke. She knew a little harmless flirting would go a long way to securing the meeting.

  ‘I am well, Johan, thank you. Is it a good time for you to speak? You’re not in the middle of anything important?’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I was just watching some TV. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Peggy McGregor asked me to give you a call,’ Sarah lied. ‘She wanted you and I to work together on organising the children’s Olympics-themed sports day at the end of term. I believe she’s spoken to you about this before?’

  ‘Yes. Sure.’

  ‘Great. Would you be able to come and meet me so we can sort out the various bits and pieces? It shouldn’t take too long. About an hour or so?’

  ‘Oh,’ he replied reluctantly. ‘I’m due at the training ground for a physiotherapy session in an hour.’

  ‘That’s okay; it doesn’t have to be right now. Are you free later on?’

  ‘I can have a look at tomorrow or next week?’ he offered.

  ‘No!’ said Sarah defiantly. ‘Sorry. What I mean is, would it be possible to meet today? I appreciate it’s short notice, but Peggy is keen that we sort this out sooner rather than later.’

  Boller paused as if considering what she was asking and then said, ‘How about dinner tonight?’

  Sarah didn’t answer at first. She wondered whether he still fancied his chances with her even though she had rebuffed his last advance. On the one hand she didn’t want to encourage him, but on the other hand it would give her the time to gently ease out the information she needed.

  ‘Okay,’ she eventually replied. ‘Where were you thinking?’

  ‘I was thinking my place. We could order some takeaway.’

  Sarah was about to accept when she remembered the potential repercussions of the meeting.

  ‘No,’ she said quickly, and then tried to reassure him that it wasn’t that she didn’t want to see his house, but actually him coming to her house would be better, as she could then cook him a meal. She added that all the school paperwork for the Sports Day event was at her place, so it would be easier than her transporting it to him. He seemed to accept this story and agreed to meet her. She gave him the address and said she would see him at half past seven.

  That gave her enough time to head into town and pick up some recording equipment. She didn’t want to rely on a small Dictaphone in her handbag to pick up the conversation. There would be a danger that the handbag wouldn’t be nearby at the appropriate time. No. What she had in mind for tonight would require the ultimate in spyware.

  Sarah strapped on a pair of sandals and headed to town. Covert technology was more Erin’s interest but Sarah had heard her talk often enough about various different listening devices and what they could be used for. Sarah also knew the best place to go for guidance. A former colleague of Erin’s worked in a specialist shop in the city centre. Sarah was sure she could rely on him to hook her up with what she needed. It would be expensive, Sarah accepted that, but at worst it would only serve to prove Johan’s innocence and get Rêmet off his case. At best, it might record the confession of the man who abducted and killed Natalie Barrett; the same man who was responsible for the death of Erin.

  *

  Johan Boller had been at home playing computer games with a couple of reserve team players, who were the closest thing
he had to friends in Southampton. They had been playing the recently released FIFA football game and Boller had not been winning. When the phone had rung he had been pleased with the distraction, and had allowed one of the others to take his place in the mini tournament.

  He had been both surprised and pleased to discover it was that primary school teacher phoning him. When he had asked her out on Tuesday, and she had turned him down, he had been sure that he had seen a glint of excitement in her eye but he couldn’t be sure. Her phoning him now to ask if he would come over and help with a school project was clearly a ruse to see him again and so he was now sure that actually she might be interested in him. She had claimed to be a lesbian but for all he knew she might also be attracted to men and the thinly-veiled story about the Sports Day was obviously her attempt to show she was keen.

  He had lied about the fact he had a physiotherapy session later on, the truth was he didn’t need to go to the training ground at Staplewood today and was planning to just relax with his friends. He didn’t want to see her yet, though. A meeting over dinner would suit him better. He had told the other two players about the primary school teacher so they had been egging him on in the background, telling him to get her round for dinner. As far as they were concerned, once she saw Boller’s house, she would be his for the taking. It was a sentiment he shared.

  Unfortunately she had declined the chance to come to him but had instead insisted he come to her flat. Maybe she was a bit shy, he thought. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t still be his tonight though. Boller was used to getting his own way; when there was something he wanted, he generally got it.