by M. A. Hunter
The road lit up as a car approached from behind, and in sudden panic that Grey and Mr Brown would know where the stream pathway came out and might have pursued her in Grey’s car rather than on foot, she looked for anywhere she could hide out of sight until the vehicle had passed. Darting back into the trees that lined the pavement closest to her, she ducked her head and squashed her body into the ground, desperately hoping they hadn’t seen her last-minute decision, and breathed out a huge sigh of relief when the car continued without stopping.
That was close, she told herself. She couldn’t risk being seen again, and so would have to find a way off the road. Waiting for a second car to pass in the opposite direction, she once more forced herself to her feet, now limping, such was the fatigue in her legs. It felt as though her prayers had been answered when she spotted a small chapel a few hundred yards ahead. She hurried towards it, ducking in through the arched entrance and hammering her fists against the small door of the property at the rear of the building. She was now out of sight of the road so she didn’t care how much noise she made, but at first it didn’t appear anybody was home. She hammered the door again, this time daring to call out.
A light flashed on inside, and a moment later she heard the door being unbolted. She practically fell into the arms of a kindly, old man with hair as white and fluffy as clouds. The dog collar around his neck was a sign of salvation, and she hurried to get the words out of her throat: who she was, where she’d come from, the fact that men were chasing her.
The kindly old man, Reverend Peter Saltzing, listened attentively, even jotting notes on a piece of paper so that he’d be able to accurately relay the message to the police.
‘You look exhausted,’ he told her. ‘And I bet you’re hungry too.’ He smiled. ‘I was just heating up a can of tomato soup, but I’m afraid it’s too big for me to eat alone. Would you like some?’
She didn’t need asking twice, following him through to a small kitchen at the rear of the property where she saw steam rising from a pan on the stove and a place setting for one at the rickety old table in the corner. He encouraged her to sit at the only chair, pouring a generous quantity of soup into the bowl before her, and inviting her to tear off a chunk of bread from the freshly baked loaf in the centre of the table. The bread was still warm to the touch and the butter instantly melted when spread.
‘Why don’t you eat while I phone the police and let them know you’re safe?’
She nodded, dunking the chunk of bread into the red soup and savouring the mouthful as she placed it onto her tongue. Bread and soup had never tasted so good, and she vowed she would never again complain when her mum insisted on making it for lunch. She was halfway through the bowl, and feeling so much more relaxed, when the kindly old man returned to the room and topped up her bowl.
‘Good to see some colour back in your cheeks,’ he said, leaning against the counter and urging her to keep eating. ‘They’re on their way, and shouldn’t be too much longer. They sounded very worried on the phone, but they’ve said they’ll get a message to your family and let them know you’re safe.’
She looked at him and wanted to say thank you, but her eyes quickly filled and the sob trapped the words in her throat. Reverend Peter put a gentle arm around her shoulders and held her while she gave in to the relief.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
The wind has whipped up since we’ve been inside and the sun is now nowhere in sight; what little glow emanates from the lampposts is barely enough to light the path back to the main road towards Weymouth town centre.
‘It’s so dark around here,’ I comment, as we once more pass the playground, but it is impossible to even see the play equipment unless an occasional car’s headlights catch the railings as it passes.
It’s almost Gothic, and certainly reminds me of horror stories Anna would tell me about the monsters lurking beneath my bed when she wanted to give me a fright; if only she knew they were more than just stories. There’s no sign of the group that went out from the Nevilles’s house to search for Joanna; I suppose maybe they’ve already been along this way, or are headed further into Portland. I can’t imagine that Jo-Jo is hiding out here in the dark on her own. It’s interesting that Cavendish was adamant in her thinking that Jo-Jo had been abducted, and yet the family seem to think a search of the neighbourhood will prove more successful. Something doesn’t add up, but I can’t quite put my finger on what.
‘You look troubled,’ Freddie comments beside me. ‘You’re pulling that face that makes you look like a squirrel sucking on a lemon. What’s wrong?’
I don’t know whether I should be a tad offended at the squirrel comparison, but I let it slide as Freddie isn’t the sort to take such a cheap shot.
‘I don’t know,’ I admit with a deep sigh. ‘I guess I was just wondering what could lead a normal person to do something so cruel as to abduct a child from her family.’
‘You’ve answered your own question there, Em,’ he replies. ‘Those people aren’t normal. I read once that the majority of physical and mental abusers were once abused themselves, and so it becomes this never-ending cycle of depravity. I think the world’s been broken for a long time, it’s just many years ago it was all taboo. Kids were warned not to talk to strangers but they weren’t told why. Then you have operations like Yewtree, and my own story becoming an international bestseller, and suddenly the world is enlightened about just how evil some bastards are. Throw social media into the mix and there aren’t many places left to hide.’
‘And yet they somehow manage to,’ I say grimly. ‘With surveillance as advanced as it is, how can a person seemingly abduct a child and nobody see it?’
Freddie can only shrug. ‘The world sees what it wants to see. How many homeless people do you think really get seen by those walking past? If you’re lucky, and you get just the right pitch near a shop or the train station, then you might get a couple of dozen noticing you over the course of the day, but most choose not to see what’s right in front of them.’
I link my arm through his. ‘Well, I see you, Freddie Mitchell, and I am so proud of the man you’ve become today. Weaker men would have given up, but you’re resilient, and there’s a lot to be said for that.’
‘Does that mean I can convince you to come and help me with my shift at the shelter tonight? I imagine we’ll be pretty busy with how cold it is right now. We’ve got an enormous batch of vegan chicken soup on the go.’
I cock my eyebrow. ‘Vegan chicken soup? How does that even work?’
He snorts with laughter. ‘Don’t ask me; I’m not in charge. If they can make sausage rolls that look and taste like meat but aren’t, who’s to say what they can do with chicken? I mean, it has such a nondescript taste anyway, so it’s probably pretty easy. Is that a yes then?’
I fold my face into an apologetic grimace. ‘Sorry, but I can’t. I have a date. Well, no, not a date as such, but I’m meeting someone for a drink in town.’
Freddie’s eyes widen in gleeful surprise. ‘A date?’ He adopts a sarcastic flourish. ‘The Emma Hunter – Weymouth’s answer to Bridget Jones – is going on an actual date? Someone pinch me; I must be dreaming.’
My cheeks shade with embarrassment. ‘Just a drink.’
‘Who with? Don’t tell me Jack has finally stepped up to the plate and offered to make an honest woman of you. God knows I was starting to wonder whether I should buy you your first cat.’
‘No, not Jack,’ I say with more than an edge of remorse. ‘I’m meeting Rick for a drink.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Boy, can you pick them! When things don’t work out with Jack and Rick, who’s next? Dick? Vic? Mac?’
I playfully slap Freddie’s arm but I know he’s only teasing me. The name similarity is unfortunate, but given this will probably be our first and only non-date, it shouldn’t matter anyway.
We arrive at the pub and, although I’m ten minutes early, I can see Rick is alread
y inside, sitting at a table with a single-stemmed rose in a small vase. He appears to be talking to himself, occasionally pausing and laughing at whatever imagined conversation he’s heard. It’s sweet, and I feel bad for watching, but I can’t help it. He’s wearing navy jeans and a formal shirt with the top two buttons unfastened. He suddenly looks up to the window and smiles broadly when he sees me there.
‘You’d better go in,’ Freddie says, flouncing my hair before giving me the thumbs-up.
I take a deep breath and am about to follow Freddie’s instruction when Rick appears at the door, pulling on his jacket.
‘Emma, I’m so sorry, but do you think we can take a raincheck?’
I won’t deny that the possibility of a postponement is a relief.
‘Of course,’ I tell him quickly. ‘Is everything okay?’
He looks at the phone in his hand before shaking his head.
‘Yes and no. Detective Cavendish has called everyone back to the station. Rumour is there’s been a reported sighting of Jo-Jo.’ He turns to leave before pausing. ‘I don’t suppose you want to tag along, do you?’
Freddie nudges me towards him.
I can already picture Cavendish’s face, but it’s time to put the animosity between us to one side. A girl’s life is in danger.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
The air at the police station is electric with anticipation. It only took Rick and me ten minutes to get here, but in that time it looks like half the South Coast’s officers have been called in. I know Cavendish is a fan of the dramatic, but I don’t think she’d have called on this effort if she didn’t truly believe in the intelligence she’d received.
Rick approaches one of the uniformed officers who is smoking just outside the station.
‘I’m hearing there’s been a sighting of Jo-Jo,’ Rick starts, pushing his hands together and blowing warm air into them.
The guy nods as he inhales, watching me, but not questioning who I am or what I’m doing here. ‘There was a call about twenty minutes ago. The DI is getting everyone together to scour the area.’
I don’t know the child, and I’ve only met her parents twice, but I feel ready to punch the air with delight and relief. Having been in their shoes – on tenterhooks for information – I know better than anyone how relieved they must be. A sighting means that Jo-Jo is still alive and that the net on her whereabouts has narrowed significantly. All things being equal, it should only be a matter of time until she’s safe and home.
Reported missing just before three on Saturday, and relocated less than thirty hours later – maybe I really did do Cavendish a disservice when I questioned why she’d been drafted in from Poole to run the investigation. I may not agree with her approach to an investigation – nor her personal morals – but credit where it’s due: she’s found Jo-Jo.
The officer drops his cigarette to the ground and squashes it underfoot before picking up the stub and depositing it in the small metal bin attached to the wall of the police station.
‘You coming in?’ he asks Rick, who looks at me as if trying to decide whether to head in through the staff-only entrance or wait with me.
I make the decision for him.
‘I’ll wait around the front,’ I tell him. ‘You’d better get in and find out what your orders are.’
He leans across and kisses me on the cheek in gratitude, before following his colleague through, while I make my way around to the front.
Some of the family members I observed at the Nevilles’s house are camped outside – some smoking, others puffing warm air into brittle hands. But the group seems to have swollen in size, with more than thirty people awaiting the news that will bring a happy end to a terrifying weekend. I’ve no idea how they all could have heard about the possible sighting so quickly, especially as there are still officers arriving and heading in through the back.
There’s no obvious sign of Trey or Tina or the FLO, so I squeeze my way through the crowd and wait just outside the front door. The station has been officially closed to the public since 5pm, but I don’t imagine anyone anticipated such a turnout for this evening’s news. I promised Freddie I would give him an update as soon as I know more, but I could see the joy in his eyes as Rick and I left. For all the victims of such evil and abuse, Jo-Jo being found really will be welcome news.
I turn to look at the front desk and am not surprised to find it unmanned. Something just doesn’t add up in my head. I still don’t understand what the gathered group are expecting to be told by waiting here. From what I’ve learned from Rick and the other officer, Jo-Jo hasn’t actually been found yet, only sighted. It could be many more hours before something concrete is confirmed, unless the truth is actually being withheld from the public at the moment. Cavendish was already under enough pressure to locate Jo-Jo without having her every move under scrutiny. Wouldn’t it be just like her to hold back, only to suddenly present Jo-Jo for the UK media to observe and celebrate the fine job she’s undertaken? Maybe I’m being cynical, but I can’t help thinking that Jo-Jo might already be inside with Tina and Trey for some carefully orchestrated presentation.
That is, until I spot DS Robin Myers escorting Tina across the road and round to the rear of the station. Forcing my way back through the crowd, I hurry after the pair of them.
‘Tina, I heard the news, is there anything I can do?’ I ask as Robin presses her pass up to the sensor securing the door.
Myers looks at me and frowns, gently shaking her head, but it’s already too late.
‘News? What is the news, Emma?’ Tina says hurriedly, quickly embracing me. ‘All I’ve been told is to come to the station. Have they… have they found Jo-Jo?’
I look to Robin again but she is still shaking her head. Something feels very wrong about this.
I’ve never been good at thinking on my feet and as my brain tries to think of a way out of this Freudian slip, I flounder.
‘Um… I don’t know,’ I say shrugging. ‘I only heard that there was a gathering here. I assumed it meant good news. No?’
It’s lame, but Tina doesn’t seem to notice. ‘You think? Do you think they’ve found her?’
I’m looking for Robin to step in here and either tell me to pipe down or offer some better explanation, but she remains tight-lipped, eventually settling for ‘We should head in.’
The door buzzes, but as Robin pulls on the handle someone is pushing it from the other side, and suddenly Detective Cavendish is in the doorway, staring daggers at me. She doesn’t speak, instead pushing past me, as she leads out her team of officers in high-visibility vests, who quickly gather in a circle around her.
‘What is all this?’ Tina asks quietly, her eyes widening at the sheer volume of officers who’ve been tasked with an appearance tonight.
‘Mrs Neville,’ Cavendish says, taking her arm and deliberately leading her away from me, ‘we believe we know where Jo-Jo is, and I’ve tasked my team with securing the area so we can catch the people responsible for her abduction and false imprisonment. Now, she is some way away, and so I’d ask that you wait with Robin here until we’ve got her in our safe custody, and then we’ll be able to provide you with more of—’
‘No,’ Tina interrupts. ‘I want to know where she is. Who has her? I want my daughter back. Emma?’
She thrusts out a hand and her fingers twitch, beckoning me over. I rush across and take her hand, ready to do whatever I can to keep her calm whilst Cavendish and her team complete their work.
‘Why am I not surprised to see you here?’ Cavendish snaps. ‘I suppose I have you to thank for the camera crews setting up at the front of the police station too?’
I frown. ‘What cameras? No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Of course not. Why would a publicity-hungry writer want a media circus gathered as she attempts to promote yet more of her drivel?’
My mouth drops at the barb, but she speak
s again before I have chance to think of something to defend myself.
‘And how exactly did you catch wind of what was going on this evening?’
She must catch me glance in Rick’s direction.
‘Ah, I see,’ she says. ‘Seems you’ll do anyone as well as anything for a story then.’
Rick takes an unnecessary step forward, but I stop him with my raised hand.
‘I asked her to meet me here,’ Tina says loudly. ‘She’s become a real friend these last couple of days, and if anyone can help me understand all this madness, it’s her.’
It feels like such a false statement to make, but I’m relieved when Cavendish finally takes her glare from me.
‘Whatever,’ Cavendish says. ‘Your friend can wait here with you then. As soon as we have news, we’ll phone—’
‘No,’ Tina interjects. ‘Jo-Jo is my little girl, and I want to be there the second you find her. She needs her mum, so like it or not, I’m coming with you.’
I can feel the heat of Cavendish’s fury emanating from her, but Tina isn’t done yet.
‘And Emma is coming with me to make sure that you lot don’t miss any obvious clues. She’s good at stuff like that.’
She squeezes my hand and nods at me, as if expecting me to echo her thoughts when nothing is further from my mind.
Cavendish opens her mouth to argue but then surveys the perimeter and can see her team in their cars itching to get going.
She sighs audibly. ‘Do what you like. Robin will make sure the two of you aren’t in the way.’ She turns to Myers. ‘Hitch a ride with Rick Underwood, seeing as he and Emma seem to be such a close couple.’