The Taken Girls

12

The circular route via Ashford, Maidstone, Chatham, Gillingham, Sittingbourne and Faversham took him more than five hours. He didn’t shop in Canterbury but at each of the other towns he visited supermarkets, buying a few items at each, always using the self-checkout and paying with cash.

At the building in the woods he slipped the reed into his mouth, knocked on the door and called out, ‘I’m back and coming in.’

There was no reply. He opened the door and reached to put two bags in the entrance. ‘I’ll get the other shopping and then I’m coming right inside.’

There was still no reply. Feeling a twinge of anxiety, he grabbed the hood from its peg behind the door, pulled it over his head and went to look through the chain-link partition. Lucy was lying on the bed, headphones on her ears, listening to the iPod he’d left in her room. Relieved, he went back to the car and returned with the other shopping bags. This time he shut the door firmly behind him and she looked up as he came into the room. She was making an effort to compose herself in his presence but it was clear she’d been crying. He got the impression she was struggling to look defiant but lacked both energy and determination. The face she presented was one of resigned submission. When she spoke her voice carried little conviction. He took these as very good signs.

‘You said you’d warn me before coming in.’

‘I said I would and I did. You didn’t hear me because of the music.’

She was silent and then, with an obvious effort, retorted, ‘More likely your funny voice. Why don’t you speak normally?’

‘I intend to release you. Your parents and the police will ask what happened and where you’ve been. They’ll ask about me. I’m breaking the law but I don’t intend to get caught. The less you can say the better. I have a distinctive voice so I use this device to disguise it.’

‘If you don’t want to be caught, why kidnap me in the first place? Why keep me here?’

‘That’s my concern.’

Turning his key in the padlock, he opened the chain-link door and placed three plastic bags within her reach. Before she could move he left and locked the door behind him.

‘Check those bags and make sure I’ve got what you need.’

While she looked through the shopping he unpacked the food, selected a large pizza and put it in the Calor gas oven. He was dividing a pre-packed salad between two bowls when she called out.

‘Where’re the jeans?’

‘I got skirts. They’re easier for me to wash and iron. Have you’ve got everything else you asked for?’

‘Yes.’ There was a pause and then, in a soft voice, she added, ‘Thank you.’

He felt good. This time he’d chosen well. She really was a very sensible girl. After they’d eaten he asked her to change into a set of new clothes and give him the ones she was wearing to be washed.

‘Where will you be while I change?’

‘I’ve things to do in the other room. It’ll take me 10 to 15 minutes so you’ve got plenty of time to change. I’ll warn you when I’m coming out.’

‘I can’t change my clothes with this handcuff and chain on my wrist.’

‘Come to the slot and I’ll unlock it. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll be here early to give you breakfast. If you’re sensible we’ll do without the handcuff for longer.’

‘What d’you mean, sensible?’

‘When you’ve changed your clothes, I want you to put the handcuff back on and let me lock it.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘I’ll leave you without food or water and I won’t return until tomorrow evening. Believe me, by then you’ll be hungry and very, very thirsty.’

She came to the slot and held her arm up so that he could unlock the handcuff. He left her to change and went to his private room. With the door closed he pulled on latex gloves and began decanting the cloudy preservative from Nos. 4, 5 and 6. With each jar he slid the contents into a shallow dish and refilled it with fresh formalin before returning the specimen and screwing the lid into place.

He imagined Lucy behind the chain-link partition. There was no image of the young woman in his head, just a logical analysis of what she must be doing and thinking. She’d be hurrying to change her clothes before he re-emerged. His irregular comings and goings must unsettle her. He wished he could avoid that but he had to fit caring for Lucy around the face he presented to the world. If she was beginning to think beyond her immediate predicament she must be wondering what he was doing in his private room. Wondering what it had to do with her. Wondering what was going to happen to her. Hoping but still unsure she’d be released.

Lucy was changed and sitting on the bed reading well before there was a loud knocking and his strange Mr Punch voice called, ‘I’m about to come out. Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

He came to the slot in the partition. She passed him her clothes, folded so that her underwear was hidden between her top and her jeans. Without being asked, she held her wrist and the handcuff near the slot. He locked the handcuff in place, put her clothes into a plastic bag and left.

Alone in the dark, listening to music, Lucy was overcome by a sense of despondency. At first she couldn’t understand why. Nothing had changed. She was totally dependent on him for food and drink and had little option but to do as he said. He was in control but she was coming to terms with that. She had a plan and she drew strength from that. Trying to read him, searching for the best thing to do, for a way out, would occupy her thoughts and prevent the horror of the situation taking over her mind. But, if nothing had changed, why was she feeling sad?

Turning on the bed to get comfortable, Lucy sensed her bare legs and was reminded of the new clothes. Something had changed; he’d taken her own clothes, her last contact with the real world. Now she had nothing of her own, nothing but things he had given her. Everything, even the most intimate things, had come from him.

It was long before Lucy tried to sleep, and longer still before she succeeded.

13

Ed registered names and places as Mike Potts drove her around the streets of Canterbury cataloguing the local crime scene. When they arrived at the Brewers Tap, DI Saunders was talking to a man behind the bar. Borrowdale and Eastham were sitting at a table with near-empty glasses. Ed took the opportunity to build bridges.

‘What can I get you?’

‘We’re still on duty,’ said Nat.

Perhaps the edge was harder than he’d intended. Either way the message was clear. We may be with you in a pub but that doesn’t make it a social occasion.

‘Mine’s a Diet Coke, Nat’s on orange juice.’ Jenny spoke with a softer tone, attempting to pour oil.

‘Alcohol-free beer for me,’ said Potts as he pulled out a chair beside Nat.

With no ‘please’ or ‘thanks’ ringing in her ears Ed walked to the bar alone and asked Brian Saunders what he was drinking. Before he could reply there was a shout from the far end of the room.

‘Well, if it ain’t Potty Potts! Who’s a brave boy then, coming in my boozer?’

A thickset man stepped out from a group of companions at the far end of the bar. His neck was as wide as his head with hair razored to a grey stubble. If his nose hadn’t been broken and poorly re-set then he’d been an unfortunate child.

‘Ah … but y’re not s’brave are ya? Y’got yer slag of a daughta f’protection.’

Ed saw Potts stiffen and turn.

‘Nah … can’t be yer bleedin’ daughta cos yer bleedin’ daughta’s bleedin’ dead. Ain’t she?’

The speaker looked at his target with malevolent contempt.

Potts’s ruddy face turned white and he struggled for control.

The thickset man continued to goad him. ‘Cummon then, Potty, y’wanna tek me on?’

‘Fynn McNally, you bastard!’ Potts got to his feet and stepped forward raising his arms.

At this, McNally moved towards the DS. Closing in, he pulled a knife and lunged at the detective’s stomach. Potts was inclined to be slow but this time he was on the front foot and even slower checking his forward momentum. With his failure to pull back and his assailant’s inability to check his own lunge, the knife seemed destined to bury itself in Potts’s body.

After the event nobody could agree quite what happened next. There was a flash of legs as Ed launched herself like a fullback, making a flying tackle on the edge of the area. There was the slap of a break-fall as her right hand and forearm made contact with the floor while her right foot hooked behind McNally’s right ankle and the sole of her left foot struck his knee.

With his forward movement abruptly checked, the look on McNally’s face changed from a snarl of rage, through a flash of surprise, to a yell of agony as his knee dislocated and he collapsed in a heap at Potts’s feet. Ed flipped McNally over and pinned his arm high behind his back, forcing his face into the floor and the knife from his hand.

‘Cuff him!’

Nat was first to reach her. He grabbed the free arm and snapped handcuffs in place. McNally’s companions turned back to their drinks at the bar. They made no move to intervene as Saunders called for back-up.

Uniform arrived quickly. Fynn McNally was arrested and taken into custody. The landlord offered drinks on the house but Potts was clearly upset and Saunders said they’d call it a night.

‘That was unorthodox, Ed, but very effective.’ Saunders paused to let his praise hang in the air. ‘I’ll drive Mike home. Nat, you and Jenny drop Ed back at her hotel.’

Ed was silent in the car. Saunders was right: her actions had been unorthodox. Much of what happened in Brixton when she was younger was unorthodox. Ed recalled the incident which had led to the move she’d used to take out McNally. Those distant events were behind her decision to join the police. She might have been on the other side of the law but she’d separated herself from that scene.

Whenever she heard female voices raised in threat, Ed knew she would see a circle of girls around their victim. Ten years ago she’d been that victim, cornered after closing time in the entrance to Morley’s. They’d wanted her cash and cards. Her mother’s repeated advice came instantly to mind. If ever you’re mugged, God forbid, just give them what they want. Your health and your life are worth more than they will ever take from you. Ed had been about to hand over what her attackers wanted when there was a shout from across the street. It came from the corner of Electric Avenue.

‘Oi! That’s my girl Eddie.’ Like Superman without a phone box, Craig, all supple swagger and a voice that carried distance and authority, was by her side. The young muggers slipped rapidly away.

‘You al’right, Eddie?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘Ya goin back to y’yard? Want me to come with?’

‘I’ll be all right, thanks.’

‘I’ll put the word out. Pum pums will get rushed next time. Nobody’s gonna get facety.’

‘Thanks, Craig, see you Monday.’

Walking home she’d wondered if Craig already had that power. Whatever, she was never bothered again. At home she mentioned the incident to her mother. By the following week her father had arranged self-defence classes. The emphasis was on surprise and effectiveness rather than orthodoxy. Ed was a natural. She never missed a meeting and soon few students fancied pairing up with her for a contact session.

At school, Craig often sought Ed’s advice about assignments but the incident at Morley’s was never mentioned. She knew he worked hard but he seldom performed as well as she thought he could. It was as if Craig was content to know his own strengths but unwilling to reveal them to others. Perhaps he felt this gave him an edge. The teachers regarded him as no more than average but among the students he had a position of authority which was never challenged. Ed wondered if his status had been won on the streets of Brixton because at school she’d never heard him threaten anyone, never seen an act of aggression.

Craig left school at the end of Year 11 and Ed returned to the Lower Sixth, assuming she’d never see him again – but she was wrong. Leaving the school gates a couple of weeks or so into the new term, she saw a group of students standing round a parked car. As she turned to walk home, a voice she knew well called her name.

‘Eddie! Why you in such a hurry? I’ve got my car. Come, I’ll give you a lift.’

Craig had left the group and was walking towards her. When he caught her eye, he half spun, making a show of pointing to his car.

‘It’s dope, ain’t it? Wanna come for a drive?’

It was all so unexpected, so unlikely, Ed was intrigued. Without a moment’s thought she said, ‘Okay.’ For weeks he was always there. Their roles reversed, he became the tutor and she surrendered enthusiastically to new experiences and new sensations. Ed was determined not to let her schoolwork suffer but she spent all her free time with Craig. He was happy to drive her around Brixton but when intent on parking somewhere discreet, he would drive further afield to quiet spots near the south London commons. If they wanted to see a film, Craig took her to the West End. They never went to clubs and never joined groups of friends.

All this changed when Ed discovered she was pregnant. Craig disappeared. Sometimes when they were together he’d get a message and, apologizing, say he had to go. Until the last time when she never saw him again. At home, her parents struggled to hide their disappointment and Ed felt she’d been left to face the future alone.

From the outside, the Ogbornes appeared to be the close-knit family they’d always been but, for Ed, the warmth she’d felt all her life had diminished. With her grandfather, things were different. They never spoke of Ed’s condition, or the decision she faced, and it was clear his love for ‘little Edina’ had never faltered. At first, she was uncertain what to do, then, in an instant, her mind was made up: she would not have a termination. The decision had arrived fully formed for reasons which were unarticulated and which Ed didn’t explore.

As her pregnancy progressed, Ed had worried about the consequences of raising the child as a single mother. Despite her anger at Craig’s abandonment, she’d wanted the best for their baby, her baby. After her son arrived she’d decided early to offer him for adoption and signed the papers six weeks after he was born.

Now, ten years later, Ed had long since ceased to contemplate the ways her life would have been different had she not opted for adoption. However, she’d never broken free from a nagging guilt: had she acted in her son’s best interests or her own?

14

Nat dropped Ed outside her hotel. During the short ride she formed the impression that her companions were silent because they had no wish to prolong the evening, at least not with her. Before Nat drove away Jenny moved to the front and Ed assumed her hunch was correct. She went straight to her room, checked her email and found the estate agent had confirmed all three of her viewings for Sunday. As she closed her laptop, one of the mobiles beside her bed began to vibrate. It could only be Don.

‘Hi, Eddie. Where are you?’

‘The County.’

‘Kent?’

‘A hotel in Canterbury.’

There was a pause. When he next spoke the note of irritation in his voice was more pronounced.

‘I called three times this evening. Why didn’t you pick up?’

‘I was out, didn’t have the mobile.’

‘Out …?’

‘With the team. Checking out lowlife.’

‘I thought you didn’t start ’til Monday.’

‘Suspected abduction last night. The Super introduced me to the CID team at 08.15 this morning. Everybody behaved as if I’d already started. No open arms so I didn’t rock the boat.’

‘Yeah … best to play it by the book.’

‘I thought so …’

‘Where are you now? In your room?’

‘Yes.’

‘In bed?’

‘No.’

At this moment, with Don on the other end of the line, bed was the last place she wanted to be. For Don it was different. When he called he only wanted one thing: telephone sex. That had been his aim from the very beginning, with the added frisson that they’d actually slept together. Impetuously, Ed had gone along with his suggestion, equally excited by their hands-off/hand-on encounters, but, on arriving in Canterbury, she’d drawn the line. Ed stayed where she was, at the desk with her laptop.

‘Eddie … it’s Don.’

The irritation had returned, tinged with surprise.

‘Yes …’

Of course it was Don. She was holding the cheap pay-as-you-go phone he’d given her in Manchester. Nobody else had the number.

‘Weren’t you expecting my call?’

‘Yes … No … I don’t know.’

‘What d’you mean, you don’t know?’

Ed thought for a moment. Last night in the hotel bar she’d finally made her decision. She should have done it months ago as soon as the furore broke in London, but back then she was in limbo waiting for her transfer to come through. After her meeting with CS Shawcross she’d needed comfort and sympathy. Instead, she’d settled for telephone sex. It was a brief release but, sod it, she enjoyed it while it lasted. Dumping Don wasn’t an act of revenge, simply ending that period in her life. Now was the time to go for it.

‘I hear you’ve got a new phone,’ she said.

‘Well … you’re in the sticks.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Why …? Manchester.’

‘And why was I in Manchester?’

‘You were ideal.’

‘For Manchester?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ideal for you in Manchester?’

‘For the conference.’

‘And for you?’

‘Come on, Eddie.’

It was still the same old Don. Had she really expected him to be different? The Don might grace you with his favours but only for as long as it gave him what he wanted. What had he ever given her? Good sex, well, that worked both ways. The mobile phone, yes, but from the sounds she heard he got as much from it as she did. What had he given her that wasn’t also a gift to himself? There’d been no consideration for her position following the furore. This wasn’t revenge, but she was going to enjoy goading him a while longer.

‘Don, it was you, wasn’t it? You fixed my trip to Manchester.’

‘Eddie, you know the score.’

‘Do I, Don?’

‘Sure you knew.’

‘And Canterbury?’

‘Canterbury?’

‘What’s the score there?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Old Boys 1; Naive Bitches 0?’

‘For Christ’s sake!’

‘Oh, it was for him too, was it?’

Ed smiled to herself in the mirror, enjoying Don’s discomfort. She savoured a sense of power that was different from her manipulation of their telephone conversations, holding back from the brink, tension gone, relaxed because the end is inevitable, poised waiting for the moment of release and surrender to the uncontrollable rush when every aspect of existence is reduced to a single point of concentrated feeling, waiting, knowing it will burst, radiating to every extremity, muscles tensing to prolong the sensation.

‘Be reasonable, Eddie.’

Reason was the last thing on her mind when she felt her toes curl involuntarily and she knew … but no. She dragged her thoughts back to the present. Decision made, it was time to deliver the message.

‘What was reasonable about the way I was treated?’

‘One of us had to go?’

‘The junior officer?’

‘My hands were tied.’

‘Band of gold?’

‘Come on, Ed. You knew—’

‘—the score?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s not go there again.’

Don was silent. She waited. This wasn’t a last chance; she’d stopped thinking about immediate gratification and she would have liked him to do the same. Just one time, if he could stop thinking only of himself she’d be able to feel better about their relationship. If only he would ask her how things were in Canterbury. It was a forlorn expectation. He hadn’t done so earlier when she’d prompted him so there was little chance he’d do it now. Nonetheless, Ed let him stew. Finally he broke the silence.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Don’t bother. I’m upgrading.’

‘Upgrading what?’

‘The phone.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s an old model, about to be superseded.’

‘It does the job.’

Her mind flashed back to previous times she’d held the mobile with Don’s voice in her ear. She looked at the bed but remained resolute.

‘It did the job.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I want a new model too.’

‘You’ll transfer the number?’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean, No?’

‘New job, new phone, new number.’

Ed wasn’t sure where the new model would come from but she was determined that her relationship with Don was at an end.

‘Eddie!’ Irritation had turned to exasperation.

Ed had no second thoughts.

‘Goodbye, Don.’

There was a pause. The tone of his voice changed. ‘I’m sorry.’

Ed knew this was not contrition for the way he had behaved but perhaps it was genuine sorrow that he was losing her. Maybe his new model was falling short of the old. She smiled at the unvoiced compliment but he was too late. Her mind was made up.

‘I’m sorry too.’ Ed was sorry for many things. It had been a mistake to start the affair in the first place but she needed a man in her life and in that sense it had been good while it lasted. Would smart hotels always remind her of that? Something cool … She closed her eyes to block her view of the room.

‘Can’t we …?’

‘No.’

‘Eddie …?’

‘You’ve got to go.’

‘You’ve got to go? What’s the rush?’

‘No, Don, you’ve got to go. It’s over.’

‘No chance …?’

With her decision made and the message delivered, Ed was rapidly losing interest in the conversation.

‘None.’

‘So that’s it?’

‘That’s it, Don.’

She was about to end the call but before she could speak he became decisive.

‘Okay, but don’t forget—’

‘Forget what?’

‘The phone’s mine.’

‘What do you want to do – recycle it?’

As if on cue Ed’s work mobile rang.

‘Work calls. Goodbye, Don.’

She thumbed off the personal phone, tossed it across the room and reached for her work mobile. It could only be someone from the Canterbury force. Stay cool, play it by the book.

‘DS Ogborne.’

‘Hi, Ed. It’s Brian … DI Saunders. I’m in the hotel bar and thought you might like to join me for a nightcap.’

Something cool … not again. She hadn’t come to Canterbury to jump straight into bed with another colleague. Ed hadn’t given much thought to DI Saunders but her first impression had been of a good cop and a family man. There was every sign that they would have been able to work well together. It was unfortunate that her arrival had resulted in him being pushed out to Maidstone. Surely he wasn’t hitting on her already? If so, she’d have to let him down gently. He wasn’t her type. Even if she’d been up for it there was no way she’d have been tempted.

‘Give me five minutes.’