by M. A. Hunter
Freddie lowers his gaze to meet mine. ‘Then we’re agreed? We do something about this.’
My thoughts have been so muddled since I woke this morning, and for the first time I feel I have a purpose and reason to keep going. ‘Yes, Freddie, we’ll do whatever it takes to find Jo-Jo and the monsters haunting all our dreams.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Now
Portland, Dorset
It feels strange walking the streets I did as a child. A simple internet search confirmed the address of the Nevilles, and we’re now rapidly approaching our destination on foot.
I smile as I spot a large oak tree at the edge of the modernised playground we’re nearing. ‘I used to climb that tree with my sister,’ I muse.
It looks smaller than I remember, but then I suppose I’ve grown since I last saw it. A much simpler time then.
Freddie looks up from the pavement for the first time. ‘Which one?’
‘The big oak one there with the shaded bark that resembles the face of a growling bear. I was always jealous of how high Anna would climb; she was always so fearless. I’d just about make it onto the first branch that still hangs out today, but then I’d feel queasy and need to clamber down. Not Anna though; she’d climb maybe ten feet up before wrapping her legs around the branch and hanging upside down like a bat. I always used to panic she’d slip and fall and that I’d be the one to get it in the ear from Mum and Dad, but she never fell.’
My tears begin to well and I can almost picture her hanging bat-like from that branch now, but it’s momentary, and then I see it is just an old tree standing guard at the playground’s edge. Given the bitter chill of the wind and the rapid ascendency of the moon, I’m not surprised there are no children inside the playground railings now. Back when Anna and I were kids, there was no fence, and where there is now a climbing frame in the shape of a pirate ship was a see-saw and set of swings. The children these days don’t know how lucky they are!
We turn left onto the Nevilles’s road once we’re past the playground, and it isn’t difficult to see which their house is as there are two police patrol cars parked across the drive, keeping the handful of journalists back. When Freddie had suggested we go to their house, I hadn’t even considered the prospect of reporters being camped outside trying to hook an exclusive interview for whichever journal they represent.
I cringe when I hear my name being shouted by an eagle-eyed reporter who is dressed in faded jeans and a jumper, though his overhanging gut has slipped through the gap between the two. ‘Emma, Emma, are you here to help find little Jo-Jo?’
I ignore the question, doing my best to pretend I haven’t heard, and approach one of the two uniformed officers standing guard at the perimeter. I introduce myself and ask whether DS Robyn Meyers is inside with the family. He sends his colleague to check my credentials at the house, meanwhile the remaining journalists and two photographers are pushing in behind Freddie and me. Given we’re here to offer our support, it feels more like I’m a student again and trapped in a mosh pit with no obvious means of escape.
The second officer returns and whispers something into his colleague’s ear, and the perimeter tape is raised for Freddie and me to duck beneath. We follow the second officer past the parked cars and up the patio drive to the front door where Robyn is waiting, arms folded, and looking less than impressed by my arrival.
‘I want to do whatever I can to help Mr and Mrs Neville to find Jo-Jo,’ I say with steely determination.
She has every right to refuse me entrance to the property and to slam the door in my face, something I’m sure the photographers are poised to capture, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a step back and opens the doorway wider, allowing me to enter, but pausing when her eyes fall on Freddie.
‘He’s a colleague,’ I lie quickly. ‘He’s here to help too.’
She considers Freddie for a moment, as if she recognises him, but can’t quite place why or from where. She finally relents and allows him to hustle in behind me before explaining that the family are gathered in the back room, away from flashing cameras and shouted questions. What she doesn’t explain is just how many people are gathered there; it’s standing room only, and it takes a moment for my eyes to locate them.
Tina is the first on her feet, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan as she takes my hands in hers. ‘Emma, I can’t believe you’ve come here in our hour of need,’ she says, as if formally introducing me as part of a ceremony.
She proceeds to drag me across the room, urging her relatives to shuffle up and allow me to squash onto the sofa beside her. Once we’re seated, she pulls me into a cringeworthy embrace – I’m not a hugger – and I find myself awkwardly patting her on the back, as if we’ve been best friends for years.
‘Did you see the press conference earlier?’ she asks eagerly – I sense she’s craving my approval – and I have to shrug guiltily.
‘I was out when it was on,’ I admit, ‘but Freddie here saw it, and was so moved that he insisted we come and lend any support we can.’
Tina looks at the stranger in her house, and in fairness he does stand out with his heavy metal T-shirt and sleeveless jacket, amid the cast of tracksuit bottoms and sports tops currently lining the room.
Freddie drops to his knees at her feet and takes one of her hands from mine. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ve been in Jo-Jo’s situation and I feel it is my duty to try and help get her back by any means, Mrs Neville.’
This seems to ease her concern. ‘Please, you should both call me Tina. When I hear someone say Mrs Neville, it has me looking over my shoulder for my mother-in-law. God rest her soul.’
I see Trey Neville nodding in my periphery. ‘I just pray she’s looking down and keeping an eye on our Jo-Jo for us.’
Murmurs of agreement echo around the room.
Trey then stands and forcefully claps his hands together. ‘Right, let’s set about our manhunt,’ he declares and the rest of the room – all but Tina, Freddie, and me – are on their feet, ploughing towards the door through which we entered only moments earlier.
‘They’re going to walk all the nearby streets calling out Jo-Jo’s name,’ Tina explains, ‘and showing her picture to whoever they find. Someone must have seen what happened to her.’
Robin appears at the door and offers to make tea, which we all agree to, and then there are only the three of us left in the room.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Tina says, squeezing my hand. ‘It means a lot that you’ve taken time out of your own busy life to be here and support us at such a difficult time.’
I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know that there is a lot I can do to help, other than offer words of encouragement. I’m reluctant to tell her about the people Jack and I have been hunting, as I don’t want to worry her any further. If she’s lucky, then whoever snatched Jo-Jo has nothing to do with the sorts of men who still haunt my and Freddie’s dreams. For now, we just need to keep her spirits up.
Robyn returns to the room with the tea and a plate of Jaffa Cakes, taking a seat across the room, her eyes never leaving me, nor Freddie; I imagine she’s already reported our arrival to Cavendish and has been told to keep a close watch on us.
‘You certainly have a lot of friends and family here offering support,’ I say, as I sip the tea.
‘They have been a godsend too,’ Tina tells me, reaching for a Jaffa Cake and placing the whole thing in her mouth. ‘We’re a pretty large but close family; the lot who’ve just gone out with Trey are all this side of Dorchester, but we have other family in Wiltshire, Hampshire, and Sussex too. Everyone’s ready to drop everything to get our Jo-Jo back.’ She stops and looks skyward, blinking back the urge to cry.
‘She’s lucky to have so many people who care for her,’ I reply, thinking back to how isolated my parents felt when Anna went missing. We didn’t have a large support network to rely on, and maybe if we had, the cracks in my parents’ marriage wouldn’t have become unrepairable. ‘Trey i
s Jo-Jo’s step-father, right?’ I ask, keen to better understand the family dynamics. ‘Is Jo-Jo’s birth father still in the picture?’
Tina fires a troubled look towards Robyn before meeting my gaze. ‘He’s not on the scene anymore. Trey’s her dad now, and that’s all I have to say on that.’
Heat rises to my cheeks as I realise I’ve overstepped the mark, and quickly try to change the subject. ‘Has Detective Cavendish said how many potential leads the press conference generated?’
‘I have cautioned Mrs Neville from discussing any operational matters of the investigation with the press,’ Robyn warns from her perch.
I resist the temptation to challenge that I’m not here in a media capacity, but I don’t see the point.
‘What can I do to help?’ I ask Tina instead. ‘I’m happy to retweet and share any posts on social media that you think will help.’
She squeezes my hand again. ‘Just having you here and knowing that you’re on our side is enough.’
Freddie moves to the cushion beside her and I can see he’s keen to speak but is reluctant to do so without invitation.
‘Freddie here knows the streets of Weymouth better than anyone, and he has contacts with our homeless community. I’m sure he’d be happy to hang some pictures of Jo-Jo at the shelter where he works and get more eyes out there looking for her.’
She looks at Freddie and he nods eagerly. ‘I’ve already put the word out, and will report back anything and everything I hear.’
She smiles thankfully. ‘You’re both being so kind. I just wish…’ She can’t finish the sentence, as her eyes shine with tears.
Robyn’s phone beeps loudly and she quickly reads the screen before standing and moving over to the three of us. ‘Freddie Mitchell, right?’
Freddie stands, concern gripping every feature. ‘Yes, why?’
‘You’re out on early release; you shouldn’t be anywhere near here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.’
He doesn’t argue, just lowers his cup to the coffee table beside the plate of Jaffa Cakes. I stand too, not willing to see him evicted alone. Passing Tina my business card, I tell her to contact me if there’s anything specific she needs, and then I follow Robyn and Freddie to the door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Then
Hayling Island, Hampshire
She had to hurry, but it was so difficult to do so when every attempt at finding a path resulted in stumps and bark sticking out at acute angles. She was sure Chez had said something about a path leading to the stream, but if such a path existed she’d yet to find it. Of course that could be because she’d become disorientated and could no longer be certain she was walking in a straight line. She’d had to take so many sidesteps that for all she knew she was completing circular laps of the inside of the woods. It felt like she’d been walking for at least ten minutes by now, which would mean Chez would have sent the alarm out to Grey and Mr Brown, and they would soon be on her trail. If they had a better idea of the layout of the wood then it wouldn’t be long until they were close behind her.
They’d probably be armed with torches and equipment for chopping down some of the lower-hanging branches that clawed at her face as she failed to push them aside. The cheese knife she was still gripping tightly in her right hand would offer little resistance if the two of them jumped her.
A twig snapping somewhere to her left instantly froze her movement while she tried to determine where it had come from and what could have caused it. She tried to hold her breath, but she could barely manage it for more than a few seconds, and then her lungs would burn and she’d have to inhale again. Surely they’d be able to hear the sound of her hot breath, or even see the plumes of it as the condensation rose in the rapidly cooling air. She closed her eyes, straining to hear any sound that wasn’t the thunder of her heart against her ribcage or her breathlessness.
Silence returned to the forest and she pictured her pursuers paused in their pursuit, listening for the sound of her movement. If neither of them moved, would they remain frozen like statues all night? Deciding that every second counted, Joanna took flight once more, charging into the darkness, her arms crossed in front of her face to offer what little protection they could.
Nettles and thorns scratched at her bare legs, and in hindsight making a break for it in the sequined party dress hadn’t been a good idea either. Why had she been so impatient? She had convinced Chez to take her outside for a walk, and had she not made her move and simply returned to the caravan, maybe a better chance would have presented itself tomorrow when she was better prepared.
Her right trainer struck a stump protruding from the black floor, and she lurched forwards, stretching out her arms and somehow managing to break her fall with only grazed hands. She could hardly breathe, the air unable to enter her lungs quickly enough to dilute the lactic acid building in her calves and thighs. She curled into a ball on the floor, hoping anyone passing would mistake her for a frightened animal or bush. She could barely see her hand in front of her face down here, so what chance would Grey and Mr Brown have?
She remained tucked up on the rough ground, composing herself, and all the time listening out for the sound of snapping twigs and voices. It had to have been ten minutes by now, hadn’t it?
Get up, she willed. Staying still wouldn’t help her get home. Chez had offered a head start, and resting here was throwing away that chance a second at a time. Grey and Mr Brown were much taller and would probably swallow the distance between them in half the time it had taken her, so there was no more time she could waste. If she could just make it to the stream, she felt confident she’d be closer and able to up her speed.
Driving her palms into the rough terrain, she took five deep breaths, and then forced herself up, careful not to grunt with the exertion. But the ground before her was already darker and it wouldn’t be long before the still blue sky over her head darkened, and then it would be impossible to see anything.
Suddenly she spotted a gap in the trees ahead, and was that…? Yes, the ground seemed to shimmer and flow through the clearing. Upping her speed and diving through the space, she found herself on a stony path, a fast-flowing stream beside it. With no time to lose, she immediately turned right and tried to find an even pace without breaking into a noisy run.
It was slightly lighter here where the trees on either side of the water separated at the top, rather than entwining, and the sky reflected off the murky water. The pathway was barely half a metre wide, and large bushes of nettles formed a barrier to the trees to her right, but there was no safety barrier stopping her from falling into the stream to her left either. Twisted tree roots protruded from the ground in web-like fashion; chipped stones in charcoal, silver, orange, and brown crunched beneath her trainers as she moved as swiftly as her dwindling energy would allow; bare branches, like skeleton fingers, hung down, waiting to snatch her up. Thick green reeds danced in the flow of the stream, and the occasional fish plopped and splashed as it battled against the current; the stream stank of damp and decaying matter. As she looked ahead of her for any sign of a bridge, it became clear just how precarious a situation she now found herself in.
She’d turned right onto the path, but was that what Chez had said? Or had he said to head left? She genuinely couldn’t remember, which meant there was every chance she wasn’t heading towards the town like he’d said – assuming he’d told her the truth in the first place. Maybe the directions he’d actually given would lead her straight back to the camp. And if that was the case, then he definitely wouldn’t have waited for ten minutes before informing his companions that she’d bolted for it, which meant they were probably circling nearby somewhere, waiting to strike. Maybe that had been their plan all along: lead her to the stream, where they’d throw her in, never to be found again.
Then suddenly, from out of nowhere, she spotted a wooden bridge up ahead. No longer caring about the sound of footfalls, she broke into a jog, willing her legs to move quicker, allo
wing her brain to finally believe that things would be okay. If she could get over the bridge and find the road into the town, she would simply stop the first person she spotted and explain who she was; she didn’t know her home phone number, but she could tell the person her name and address, and he or she could then phone the police and have her taken home. If she told her parents how sorry she was about going to the newsagent’s shop alone, and that she really did want to stay at home, then maybe they wouldn’t return her to Grey and Mr Brown.
The curved bridge had metal netting across its base, giving her added grip as she tore up and over it, only stopping momentarily once she was on the opposite bank to look for any sign of Grey or Mr Brown. She could no longer see the break in the trees she’d come through, and the light was rapidly fading, but their absence gave her renewed belief. She didn’t like to think what kind of punishment Chez would receive for aiding her escape; she wished he’d come with her, but he’d made his choice for whatever reason, and now it was up to her to make the most of the opportunity. If she could show the police where she’d been held, then maybe they could rescue Chez and he’d be safe too.
Continuing along the narrow pathway, which was so overgrown she couldn’t be sure anyone had stepped foot on it in the last ten years, she eventually spotted a tall, thin post, with an arrow sign indicating the town centre was 500 metres further along. Checking back the way she’d come, she could no longer see the footbridge in the darkness slowly enveloping the entire landscape and she certainly couldn’t hear the sound of anyone giving chase.
The pathway beside the stream ended at a rusted wire fence, beyond which the pathway quickly disappeared into the stream. Bending to the left, she followed the even narrower cutaway out to a quiet road. More dark forest stretched out across the road, suggesting the strip of concrete had been built to bisect the trees. The road sign here indicated parking and the town centre to the right, and although her legs didn’t want to move any further, she swallowed the pain and placed one foot in front of another. Chez hadn’t mentioned a police station in the town centre, and since she had no idea what time it was, she couldn’t be certain she’d find any open shops along the way.