The Taken Girls

4

When he returned to Wincheap, he parked with a view of Debbie Shaxted’s house and waited for Lucy to leave. It wasn’t long before he heard voices through the open window of the van. It was Lucy saying goodnight to Debbie’s parents. He watched her walk straight down Victoria Road. In three minutes she would be at the narrow path which led into Hollowmede.

He drove the alternative route to the triangle of grass, parked in the last empty space and switched off the engine. It had taken 40 seconds for him to be in position. The pad and bottle were already in his coat pockets and the balaclava was on his head ready to pull down over his face. He was about to leave the van when a car appeared and tried to park. Ducking out of sight, he heard the car brake and drive away with a squeal of tyres. It parked at a distance and the driver hurried into a house on Hollowmede. Once out of the van, he half opened the side door, quickly crossed the grass to press his back into the tall hedge and waited for Lucy to arrive.

He reminded himself of the care he should take. Keeping Lucy in good health was crucial to his mission. Everything had gone according to plan with Teresa and Kimberley. There was no reason why things shouldn’t go just as well with Lucy. It was unfortunate his actions would cause distress but there was no other way. Eventually, she would be returned to her friends and family, returned to the life she knew. As yet he didn’t know when because he didn’t know how long he would have to hold her. In time that would become clear. Lucy would tell him.

Hidden by the hedge from the approaching Lucy, he steeled himself against an anxiety-provoking image of his mother. Lucy was a schoolgirl, not a woman. Hearing footsteps, he soaked the pad, barely noticing the sweet heavy smell. Lucy appeared two feet to his left. Stepping behind her, he pressed the pad over her nose and mouth while his free arm encircled her waist. She had no time to react before she was overwhelmed and easily pulled back into the shadow of the bushes. Her struggles weakened and he soon felt the dead weight of her unconscious body. Holding her upright he walked her to the van, slid open the door with his elbow and laid her between the seats on her side in case she vomited during the journey. A quick search revealed nothing but a handkerchief, a purse and a mobile telephone, which he immediately switched off. It took him less than 12 minutes to reach the lane through the woods.

His destination was at the end of a track, deep in the wood some 250 yards from the lane. He drove into the shed and sat in the van until his breathing returned to normal. Grabbing the girl from the street was the most dangerous phase of his mission. It was the only act which was out of his control. Place and time were dependent on her actions. He could reduce the risk but he couldn’t eliminate the possibility of discovery. Others may seek adrenalin highs but this wasn’t a game; he wasn’t in it for thrills. Now that he was safely hidden, the adrenalin was leaving his bloodstream. He could relax. Lucy was the third. This time he would be successful.

The main building had three rooms. The smallest, on the left, remained intact as his private room. The central space into which the outer door opened contained cooking equipment, a table with a lantern, two plastic chairs, and an old armchair turned to face the room on the right. He’d first prepared that room for Teresa, stripping the lath and plaster from the stud timbers of the dividing wall and putting chain-link fencing in its place. He’d replaced the door with a stout wooden frame covered with chain link and secured with a padlock. Parallel to the left-hand wall stood a cot-like bed and beside it he’d set a metal rail into the stone wall. After Teresa, the room had held Kimberley and now it was ready for Lucy.

He went to the table, switched on the lamp and changed his balaclava for the black lightweight hood which hung behind the entrance door. Before going out to the van he released the padlock and opened the door to Lucy’s room.

Returning with her inert body in his arms, he placed her on the bed and fastened her left arm to the rail using padded handcuffs and a length of chain. This time he searched her carefully but still found only the handkerchief, purse and mobile telephone. Satisfied that she was still breathing freely he took the purse and mobile to his private room. He removed the SIM and placed the phone, battery and card at the back of separate drawers. After glancing through her purse, he placed it in the drawer with her disabled mobile.

Back in the central room he settled in the armchair, silently watching through the chain link, waiting for Lucy to regain consciousness. He wanted to upset her as little as possible so he’d prepared a reassuring recorded message using a sampled voice. There was also a choice of cold food and a drink. During these first hours she was bound to be upset so the drink contained a dissolved sleeping pill to ensure she got a good night’s rest.

5

The weekend lay ahead of them. He hoped it would go as it had with Teresa and Kimberley. At first the girls had been disorientated and fearful. Then, when they became aware of what was happening, those feelings were replaced by terror. They screamed and cried, pleading to be released. With Teresa he was calm and unmoved, hoping she would follow his example – but he was wrong. Only exhaustion stopped her outbursts. Only then could he establish his authority, show he was in total control. Finally, when she’d accepted the situation, Teresa appeared to believe his assurances that he would set her free.

Kimberley was less grounded than Teresa. It had taken longer but, eventually, she accepted her fate. And why not? What else could they do? Was it really so bad? Boring maybe, waiting until their time came, but the girls were well looked after.

He practically knew the speech by heart. ‘Nobody saw me snatch you from the street. Nobody knows where you are. There’s no way you can escape.’ Here he’d pause, let the message sink in. Then he would explain what the girls had to look forward to. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Do what I ask and I shall look after you. When the time comes I shall release you to your friends and family.’ Faced by his implacable but benign control, Teresa and Kimberley had reacted in the same way. Eventually their alarm and distrust had subsided to resentful resignation. It would be the same with Lucy. Then, as soon as she’d grown quiet, he would demonstrate his good will by drawing up a shopping list for the clothes and other items she might need.

He had intended to watch Lucy through the chain-link partition, waiting for her to recover. After all, her welfare should be his priority but ever since the previous night he’d been worried about a recent addition to his collection. Fresh blood was seeping into the preservative making the jar and its contents unsightly. The fluid must be changed. He unlocked his private room and left the door ajar so that he would hear Lucy regain consciousness.

After stepping over the uneven flagstone, he went to his bench. All he needed was here. At eye level, the jars housing his new collection were already filling half their allotted space. Above and below were bottles of formalin and ether. The drugs, instruments and more glassware, which he would need when Lucy’s time came, were in cupboards and drawers beneath the bench.

More blood had leached into the preservative. He pulled on latex gloves, poured the discoloured fluid into a bucket and carefully slid the contents of the jar into a shallow dish. He worked efficiently and soon rehoused the specimen in a clean jar, which he topped up with fresh formalin. At that moment there was a sound from Lucy’s room. The new label would have to wait. He discarded his gloves and returned to the central room. When Lucy regained consciousness he’d need Mr Punch. The reed was in his pocket and there were five spares at the back of a drawer. He didn’t want to be forced to buy new ones.

‘That’s the way to do it!’

 Over time he’d mastered a voice less strident than the seaside original.

As he slipped the reed into his mouth there was movement beyond the partition. The effects of the ether were wearing off and Lucy was coming round. At first she was disorientated and woozy, but soon she was aware of the chain and began screaming for help. He did nothing to stop her. They were deep in woodland, far from the nearest farms and houses. At this time of night there would be nobody remotely within earshot. Still shouting for help, Lucy began to pull at the chain. He had to act. With the reed in his mouth he spoke with authority, firmly but calmly.

‘Don’t do that, don’t hurt yourself. You can’t escape. You’re in an isolated building miles from anywhere. No one saw me take you from the street and nobody knows where you are. I’m in complete control. You’re totally dependent on me.’

The shouting stopped and she turned her head to his voice. It must sound strange and totally unexpected. She looked at him in horror, struggling to speak.

‘What … who are you? Let me go!’ The attempt at defiance failed to mask her fear.

‘Be quiet and listen.’

She began to scream, shouting for help and pulling frantically at the chain. He knew the handcuff was padded and secure so he ignored her. At her first pause for breath, he switched on his pre-recorded message. Lucy listened for a moment but soon returned to screaming and shouting for help. The message finished. He observed her in silence. Her screams continued. Now she was shaking with fear as she grasped the full horror of what was happening.

He’d often tried to imagine it from the girls’ perspective. Chained and helpless, held captive by an unknown man, his voice distorted and his face covered by a black hood. They must be petrified. The hood and voice were necessary precautions but he realized they turned him into a nightmare figure. Then there was the unknown. Lucy would have no idea what he planned to do with her. In such a situation, instinct would take over. She would struggle and scream because she could do nothing else. It was too early for acceptance and submission.

He waited, silent and unmoved. Eventually she would exhaust herself but it was some time before she stopped screaming for help and began begging to be released. Later her pleading was replaced by sobbing and cries of despair. When she lapsed into moments of exhausted silence he used Mr Punch to take control.

‘Listen to me.’

Lucy continued to sob. Without raising his voice he repeated the command, firmly but calmly.

‘I said …

listen

 … to me.’ Her sobbing was reduced to sniffles. ‘That’s better. Now, I know it’s hard but you must listen to what I’m saying. You must be desperate to know what’s going to happen to you. I’ll tell you. Nothing’s going to happen. If you do as I say you’ll be well looked after.’ He paused. ‘Earlier, you didn’t listen to my message. I’ll repeat what it said.’

She looked directly at him. He imagined his image as it appeared in the mirror. Through the slits in the black hood she would see the light glinting from his eyes. He tried to look kindly at her but even without the hood he knew she would be seeing him as an unknown horror. He had to convince her of his good intentions and that would take time.

‘I intend to treat you well. I’ll make your stay here as comfortable as possible and, when the time comes, I shall release you. You’ll be free to go about your normal life.’

She appeared to be listening but she had closed her eyes. He wanted her full attention.

‘Look at me!’

He waited for Lucy to obey but, instead, she turned her back to him and faced the wall, sobbing quietly. For the first time he raised his voice, struggling to keep the tone reassuring despite the distortion of the reed.

‘I said …

look

 …

 at

 …

 me!

’

In the silence that followed he heard the echo of his voice, not as his voice but as Mr Punch. It struck him that the interior of the building was a stark contrast to the normal world of sunlit sand where children sat enthralled at the sound of Punch and Judy.

‘That’s the way to do it!’

 He waited. Slowly Lucy turned her head to look directly at him.

‘Good, that’s much better. Now, listen carefully. In 15 minutes, I’m going to put out the lights and leave. If you don’t have something to eat and drink now, you’ll be searching for it in the dark.’

He left her and went to sit in the van. Ten minutes later he returned to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, eating and drinking. Stressed and disorientated as she was, it appeared not to have occurred to her that the food and drink might be drugged or, even worse, poisoned. It wasn’t. Well, it wasn’t except for the crushed sleeping pill. As he’d done with Teresa and Kimberley, he intended to look after Lucy and treat her well.

He asked her to put the empty plate and glass on a shelf by a slot cut in the chain-link partition. She seemed afraid to approach him even from the other side of the barrier but, after a moment, she did as he’d requested. He took this as a good sign.

‘I’ll put another drink here in case you’re thirsty during the night. There’s a bucket at the other end of the bed, rather primitive but we’re far from any modern sanitation. Don’t be shy. I’ll respect your privacy. I’ll shout to warn you before I come in.’

Without another word, he extinguished the lights and left.

The building was pitch black; no light penetrated from outside. Lucy heard an engine start and a vehicle drive away. The sound faded to silence. Left alone, chained in the darkness, she found her arms and the duvet inadequate comfort. Crushed by a sense of absolute helplessness, she whimpered and shook with fear until tiredness overcame her and she slept.

6

In her hotel room, Ed Ogborne slipped naked into bed. Reaching for the light, she caught a glimpse of an arm in the dressing-table mirror and was reminded of her last day before the furore broke in London.

At that time the November weather had been miserable, wet and cold. She was alone at the house in Brixton. It had been a tough week but she was comfortable and relaxed, admiring her body in the mirror at the end of her bed. She felt like a woman in one of her grandfather’s art books, a woman positioned by Schiele, ready to be captured in effortless black chalk and startling touches of red gouache. If pushed to pick one, she’d say Egon’s

Crouching Woman with Green Headscarf

 – there was something about the face.

At precisely nine-thirty in the evening, the mobile beneath her pillow had started vibrating. Still admiring her body in the mirror, she reached for the phone with her left hand.

‘Hi …’

It was Don, always on time for these calls. Ed knew all his lines and could anticipate what he’d say without him having to speak, but knowing what was to come only heightened her arousal at the sound of his voice in her ear.

‘Where do you think I am?’

She moved a leg to exaggerate her pose.

‘Not on it. I’m in bed but with the duvet pushed aside so I can see myself in the mirror. Where are you?’

There was a pause.

‘Naughty.’

Ed sank back into the pillows, still looking at her image in the mirror.

‘What I always wear for us. You’d love the colour.’

There was another pause.

‘Red wine. A burgundy to match my underwear.’

There was a further pause and Ed took a sip of wine.

‘Mmmm … that sounds nice.’

At that point, a second mobile on the table beside her bed had started to ring.

‘Fuck!’

She grabbed it with her right hand.

‘DS Ogborne.’

Ed spoke sharply, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice.

‘Right, I’m on my way.’

To her left hand she said, ‘That was the Station, serious assault in Victoria Park. I have to go.’

Then, in response to sounds of displeasure: ‘How do you think I feel? Text me to set another time.’

Ed had swung her legs off the bed, reached for her glass of wine but thought better of it. Within five minutes, dressed for work, she’d been walking to catch the tube at Stockwell. Her frustration gradually dissipated as she travelled towards Moorgate. Getting on the CID team at Bishopsgate had been her dream move. She was on track to make DI at 27 and her career plan didn’t stop there. Detective Inspector would be one of several steps towards a top job at the Met. Ed loved working as a detective but, ultimately, she wanted a position from which she could influence policy, institute change and improve prospects for female officers.

Arriving at Bishopsgate Police Station, Ed had paused at the desk, ‘Assault in Vicky Park, what’s the score?’

‘You’ve had a wasted journey. The victim’s now claiming she was raped. It’s already with Sapphire.’

‘Typical, you get a girl out of bed and then disappoint her. Still, better that than the other way round.’

Before leaving, Ed checked her email. Chief Superintendent Shawcross wanted to see her at 08.30 tomorrow. A thought crossed her mind but she dismissed it. Surely it was too soon for a promotion?

The next morning, Ed had been up early, in by eight, and outside Shawcross’s door at eight-thirty.

‘Come!’ Ed had opened the door and closed it carefully behind her. ‘Ah, DS Ogborne.’ The Chief Super indicated a chair and frowned at her for some moments before saying, ‘You must know why I’ve sent for you.’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Manchester!’

Ed’s stomach dropped. ‘Manchester, Sir?’ She’d known what he meant but needed to play for time.

‘Yes, Manchester, but it didn’t stop at Manchester, did it, Ogborne?’

She looked down at her hands and immediately wished she hadn’t.

‘Do I have to spell it out for you, Ogborne? Manchester. You were at the conference attended by DCI Johns.’

Ed felt herself blushing. Of course it would get out. Apart from Manchester she hadn’t put a foot wrong. As soon as she’d discovered who Don was, she knew it had been a mistake, but by then they were in too deep. Still playing for time, Ed looked across the desk and held Shawcross’s eye while continuing to feign puzzlement. ‘Sir …?’

‘Starting a relationship with a senior officer in the Met would be bad enough but this man’s married, in the same Division, here in this building. This is serious, Ogborne, a disciplinary matter, potentially demotion, even dismissal, although I’m hoping it won’t come to that.’ Shawcross looked sternly at her, his eyes fixed on her face, allowing his words to sink in, letting her stew as he waited for a response.

When it finally came, Ed’s response had been pragmatic.

‘I’m sorry, Sir. You gave me a chance and I’ve let you down.’

‘I’m sorry too. I’ve had you in mind for promotion but I can’t let this situation continue. I can’t have you and DCI Johns together in the same building. You’ll have to transfer.’

Ed had struggled to control her outrage. Why me? Why not him? However, despite her sense of injustice, she didn’t argue. She knew her perception of fairness would have no match among the senior hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police. Coppers protect coppers and Chief Superintendent David Shawcross, with the backing of those above him, had chosen to protect Detective Chief Inspector Donald ‘The Don’ Johns.

Without appearing to breathe deeply, Ed controlled her anger and replied meekly, ‘Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.’

From station gossip she knew that other female officers had made the same mistake, several with the same man. The Don’s attitude to women was shit but he was a good DCI, the best in the Division, and his family was established in London. Ed felt her considered reaction had been the right one. She knew Shawcross valued her work and would protect her as far as he could. She watched her Super’s features soften into something short of a smile and was sure senior management had been of the same mind. Outraged but controlled, Ed waited for Shawcross to announce their decision.

‘You’ll have to transfer but I’m doing all I can to link the move with a promotion.’

‘I appreciate your efforts, Sir, but I was born in London. I grew up in Brixton. I did my police training at Hendon and I’ve worked in London ever since. More than anything, I want to stay in London and have a career with the Met.’

‘Trust me, Ogborne, a spell outside London won’t prevent you having the career you want. A stint in the provinces will broaden your experience and prepare you for a return to the Met.’

Despite these assurances, Ed hadn’t believed the top brass would put her career in London on hold. However, she’d realized that resistance would not alter the decision and that a fight would harm the career she wanted. She was a realist. This was how the world turned. She would scratch their backs now in the expectation that sometime in the future they would scratch hers. The image had made her shudder.

‘Are you all right, DS Ogborne?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, Sir. It will take a while for me to get used to the idea that I’m leaving the Met.’

‘It won’t be for ever. Give it a few years – we know your worth.’

Ed hadn’t been so sure, but Shawcross had left her in no doubt that a transfer out of the Met would happen.

Even with the Commissioner’s help, negotiating a promotion to DI in the provinces had taken longer than anticipated. Ed and Don were careful to avoid seeing each other at work but the frequent late-night telephone calls continued. Eventually, Ed was offered the post of Detective Inspector in Kent at Canterbury. She accepted immediately. Her transfer from the Met was set for the early summer.

Having decided to make career progression her number one priority, Ed intended the new post to be a short-term move, a brief interruption to her long-term career with the Met. With this in mind, she was determined not to sever her ties with London. She put the Brixton house in the hands of rental agents and most of her personal effects into storage. As a reward to herself she traded her parents’ Honda Civic, and the bulk of the money she’d inherited, for an MX-5 Roadster. The day before the tenants were due to arrive, Ed had squeezed her grandfather’s art books and her CDs, together with two suitcases, into her new car and headed east on the South Circular.

Transferred to Canterbury, many of