Mummy's Favourite (25 page)

A telegraph wire ran along the length of the roadway, with the poles set at uniform distances. There were no other pathways or kerbs on which to walk.

As they approached the inner cordon, the floodlights appeared even brighter against the darkness of their surroundings. More cordon tape marked out the immediate area of the car.

‘It looks kind of spooky, doesn't it?' she whispered. ‘Freaks me out a bit, to be honest.'

Hunter nodded.

It looked to be quite a straightforward crime scene. Dana's car was silhouetted against the roadway, the backlighting making the outline of the vehicle cast long shadows that reached out towards where Charlie walked. She stepped back involuntarily away from the shadow, as if somehow the shape might suck her into its darkness. Looking down at it, she wondered whether it might hide the identity of the killer; if she would be privy to the truth should she step back into it.

The vehicle would remain in situ until daylight when the specialist search teams would arrive. Only when the area inside the cordon had been examined would the car be taken away to be forensically scrutinised; every panel and every surface dusted for fingerprints, DNA, hair or fibres; any tiny scrap of evidence that might help connect a suspect with a scene, or a scene with a suspect. It would remain to be seen whether, this time, the abductor had left any clues.

Hunter spoke first.

‘What on earth would make Dana stop on a road like this? It's so quiet and remote. You'd have thought she would have kept going to somewhere a bit livelier, with people around?'

She nodded. ‘Who knows, but she must have stopped voluntarily by the look of it. The car's well parked and there are no skid marks. It doesn't look as if she's been forced off the road.'

The Mercedes had been found by Justin Latchmere himself. When Dana and Gemma had failed to arrive home or answer his calls, he'd retraced the special route he'd shown Dana and found the car abandoned, unlit, unlocked, with the key still in the ignition. When the engine had purred straight into life, he'd known something was badly wrong. The police were contacted, but not before his solicitor, a fact that had not been lost on Hunter and the team. All the facts had then been duly reported, under the strict control of his adviser who had not allowed him to elaborate on any details other than the bare minimum.

Details of the shopping trip were not forthcoming, nor too was any information on the current state of the Latchmere's marriage since Justin's release on bail. He was remaining tight-lipped, despite the best efforts of the first uniform police and detectives alike to obtain the fullest account of what might have happened and why. Justin and his solicitor knew that he would again be a suspect, as would Keith Hubbard, who would no doubt rue his decision not to take part in
Crimewatch
and therefore have the perfect alibi.

They wandered round the edge of the inner cordon looking at the car. There was no damage to the vehicle; it didn't appear to have been involved in any sort of accident or to have been attacked in any way. The bonnet was down, the tyres were intact and it appeared to be in full working order.

‘What the hell has happened?' Hunter was shaking his head again.

‘Who knows? Who knows anything, actually? There's no CCTV. There's nothing here. It's sterile. I don't know how the fuck we're going to get any further forward, unless someone just happens to have driven past this god-forsaken place at the precise moment that Dana pulled over and has seen the suspect.'

‘And recognizes him.'

‘It's not going to happen is it? We've lost them too. That's three pairs now and we haven't a clue where any of them are.'

*

Dana Latchmere lay under the wooden trapdoor. She was alive. Gemma was alive. But she knew it was only a matter of time.

Beside her, her daughter slept. She could hear her breathing slow and shallow through her nose, her mouth being covered with wadding. She'd only just fallen asleep and Dana was glad she had.

She couldn't bear the knowledge that she had allowed this to happen.

The man had seemed so frantic when he'd waved and hooted initially but, looking back, her response was hasty and ill-considered. Just a kneejerk reaction to what appeared to be an emergency. Why hadn't she thought it through? Why pull over in such a quiet place? Why listen to the man's lies and then, worst of all, wait while he walked towards them, even though she'd had reservations. Why hadn't she locked the doors and escaped? Momentary indecision had stopped her bolting and it was, crucially, this hesitancy that meant her beautiful daughter was lying next to her, so frozen with fear that she had barely been able to speak.

She tried to move again, but the cord was bound tight around her feet and hands. There was no way, at least for the time being, she would be able to escape. She was impotent and it was not a feeling she had ever been accustomed to. Even when Justin had become too involved with his affairs, she'd always maintained a degree of control and been able to find out who they were and warn them off. Now though there was nothing she could do but lie and wait for whatever it was the man wanted from them. And that was the worst thing! She had no idea what he wanted. He had barely uttered a word, other than warnings to follow his instructions and get into the car, keep quiet and pass over their phones. She had watched as he had switched them off and thrown them on to the seat next to him, their only real means of escape lying out of arm's reach.

He had driven along side roads, around estates, always seeking to avoid the main roads where the cameras might be. He wasn't stupid; he was smart, very smart, and she had recognized that in him straight away. It was a well-practised drill and one that she had imagined in her head night after night as she had worried about Justin's involvement in Julie's disappearance. At least she now knew that it wasn't him. What had happened to her and Gemma was likely to be a carbon copy of what had happened to Julie and her son, and the other mother and daughter, whose names she couldn't remember. She was now under the control of this same man, with no idea what he had prepared for them or what their fate would be. If only she could remember why he seemed familiar, where she had seen him before. Perhaps then she could determine what was driving him and what might persuade him to change his plan. It was driving her mad that she couldn't recall.

She knew it was still night outside. The blackness was near total. Darkness had always scared her; it was the loneliness of it, the knowledge she could be surrounded by all or nothing and she would never know. She could at least hear Gemma and sense her body close. She wasn't alone, although she wished that she was, and that Gemma was safe and secure back at their house. How she wished that was the case.

He had brought them to this hidden place. They had walked through woods and undergrowth. Twice he had made them stop and look at small areas of woodland; one piled high with twigs and leaves and the other trodden down around a small area, with a couple of larger logs. In between the logs she had seen the slightest glint of metal, but she couldn't tell what it had been until later, when she'd realized it was a padlock, just like the one she'd heard being fixed to the doors above where they lay. The man had laughed and muttered to himself as they stopped, but it had only been later when the awful realization hit her that this was where the other victims lay. The knowledge caused an icy chill to run down her spine. The area piled with leaves looked undisturbed, unattended, forgotten; the other looked to still be in use. Maybe the others were still alive? How long would it be though before that area too was forgotten?

She shivered at the thought.

How long too, before her own area was forgotten?

*

Helena McPherson lay under the wooden trap-door and wished she was dead. Her body was weak with hunger and her mind had long since gone. She was insane with the smell of decomposition and the movement of the insects. Still he came, night after night, to check she had water and lie next to her and abuse her. What made him tick? What the hell did he get out of this? What did she care now anyway? She knew she was going to die; she'd long since given up any hope, and now she just wanted to get it over with.

Tonight she'd heard him, but he hadn't come straight away. Tonight there had been more footsteps, and for a few minutes she'd allowed herself to dream of seeing John and holding Abigail one last time and tasting freedom instead of the rancid coffin she was in. Just for a few seconds she'd thought she might be able to bury Daisy in a clean comfortable place where she could rest in peace, be remembered as she'd been and not how she was now.

She'd heard him laugh though and then the footsteps had moved away and she'd recognized immediately what was happening. His next victims had been shown where she was buried, just as she'd been shown the graves of her predecessors.

Salty tears started to run down her cheeks as she remembered the way the knife had sliced through Daisy's neck. Now it was happening again to another innocent child, and she was powerless to stop it happening. It made her feel physically sick to think about what these latest victims had yet to go through. A vision of Daisy's head dropping backwards came rushing into her psyche and the bile rose up her throat. She tried to swallow it back but it kept coming, acidic and burning, filling her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but the wadding prevented her and she was too weak to care any longer. She started to choke and her head swam as her brain tried to force her malnourished body to find the oxygen that it craved, but it wasn't happening; she was losing consciousness.

Thankfully, at last, the torture was at an end.

Charlie was exhausted by the time she eventually left Lambeth HQ early Friday evening: mentally and physically shattered, having barely slept the night before and continued without a break throughout the day. It looked like another long weekend stretched out before them all. Her head was pounding.

Now, as she walked away from the building, she inwardly groaned as she saw Ben's figure propped up on his crutches, tucked under the railway bridge in Lambeth Road. Although pleased to see him, she could really do without this now. She desperately needed sleep. She walked under the lamp post on the corner of the junction just as it flickered into life, spotlighting her. He smiled as he spotted her and she couldn't help noticing how smart he looked, with a fresh haircut and clean new clothes. The bruises on his face had faded, the swelling had almost disappeared, and she had to admit he looked pretty handsome in the glow of the lamp.

‘Hello stranger.' He leant towards her, kissing her on the cheek and she noticed at once the waft of after-shave. He'd obviously really made an effort and she was immediately guilty for having been ambivalent about seeing him.

‘Hmm you smell nice. What have I done to deserve this?'

‘Are you saying I don't normally?' His smile widened into a grin. ‘Actually, don't answer that. You haven't seen me at my best the last few times. See I can scrub up well if I get the chance. I thought I'd treat you to a cup of coffee? Unless you fancy something a little stronger?'

‘Let's start with a coffee,' she yawned. ‘Sorry. Hopefully a strong dose of caffeine will perk me up. I'm knackered.' She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle another yawn.

‘I must be losing my touch. I don't normally have this effect on women.'

‘Sorry. Just lack of sleep and needing my bed.'

‘Well maybe I can help with the second one?' Ben's expression was mischievous.

She shook her head at him. ‘Cheeky! Right come on then, Mr Jacobs. I can see that you have some excess energy to burn off.' She set off at a fast pace, heading towards Lambeth Bridge, with Ben swinging along on his crutches behind. The air was cool.

‘This should clear away the cobwebs.'

He was next to her now, keeping pace. ‘So… why haven't you been round to see me again?'

‘I honestly haven't had time. This investigation is driving us all crazy. We're all working every hour, and so far – nothing except frustration. We really need a break.'

‘So I've gathered.'

‘Oh, are the papers that negative?' She sighed heavily. ‘Well, they're right really. To be honest, we don't have much at all, considering we now have six missing persons.'

‘Six?'

‘Yes, as of last night. I'm surprised you hadn't heard. It's all over the papers today and on TV.'

‘Talking about TV. Was that you in the background of
Crimewatch
last night?'

‘Yes, it was me. Did you see Hunter too?'

He nodded. ‘He was good.'

‘We're getting desperate; especially with this latest two having gone missing. And the only real evidence we have is a DNA profile from a hair off the seat of a rental car that could be our suspect's… but might not be. And we don't have a match with it anyway. Our main two suspects' DNA is different from the sample, but we haven't got enough on them to be able to discount it. It's so frustrating. We have lots of circumstantial evidence but nothing direct and our kidnapper doesn't leave any clues. He's too good.'

‘But he's got to slip up soon? And when he does, Charlie, you'll be there.'

Ben looked so serious. He had total faith in her, even if she didn't have the same confidence in herself.

‘Well, I would absolutely love it if that were the case, to nail my first really major enquiry, but at the moment I can't even put a name to the face of the person who attacked you. Sorry Ben, I did mean to update you. I've looked through a few profiles, but as yet haven't found your man. At least we still have the spit sample, but I was hoping to name your attacker myself first before that came back. Professional pride and all that!'

She slowed down, staring up at the sight that was opening up in front of them. It always took her breath away. The London Eye shone brightly, in the afterglow of the day's end, each pod lit up against the grey of the sky. Small wisps of white cloud, edged with light reflected from the street-lamps, floated across the upper echelons of the atmosphere, the wind carrying them slowly on a light breeze. She loved to walk along the South Bank and people-watch. It was quietening down as the day drew to a close but a few children ran along backwards and forwards, their parents looking stressed as they tried to keep watch over them. Tourists still lined up to take selfies standing in front of the huge wheel.