Czytaj książkę: «The Missing Children Case Files»
Isolated
The Missing Children Case Files
M. A. Hunter
One More Chapter
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © M. A. Hunter 2020
Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover photographs © Oote Boe Photography/Alamy Stock Photo (background), Shutterstock.com (doll)
M. A. Hunter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008443306
Ebook Edition © November 2020 ISBN: 9780008443290
Version: 2020-12-15
Content notices: suicide, domestic violence, paedophilia, sexual assault.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading…
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About the Author
Also by M. A. Hunter
One More Chapter...
About the Publisher
Dedicated to all who work in the
UK Criminal Justice System.
Thank you for keeping us safe.
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
— Incantation, Elinor Wylie
Chapter One
Then
Bovington Garrison, Dorset
The spiky twigs scratched at Natalie’s face as she raced further into the pitch-black forest, trying to claw her back to where she daren’t return. Her chest burned with fatigue, but the burst of adrenalin brought on by the sheer terror of what she’d just witnessed prevented her aching legs from stopping. Pumping her arms, she willed the never-ending darkness to evaporate, but as she tried to focus on any sign of the path she’d come in on, the darkness swallowed up the ground ahead.
She’d known it had been a bad idea to venture out here at the bewitching hour; she’d wanted to tell the others that she wouldn’t be a part of it, but they’d insisted and had muttered amongst themselves when they’d sensed her reticence. Whilst Natalie didn’t necessarily know what those mutterings were, she knew the other three well enough to understand the grumbling to be about her perceived weakness. And Natalie accepted that as the youngest in the group, she would forever be the weakest link, and in order to gain their acceptance, she would occasionally have to ignore her own feelings.
As another branch scratched at her cheek, catching her just below the eye, she wished she’d never agreed to sneak out in the middle of the night and join them. If her parents ever learned of her deceit, she would be grounded for the rest of her life – and her dad’s belt would seek out its own punishment.
‘Your parents will never know,’ Sally Curtis had said at lunchtime on Friday as they’d stood behind the sports hall, pretending to smoke.
Natalie hated the taste of the cigarettes that Sally pinched from her mum when her back was turned. Every morning, Natalie would promise herself that today would be the day when she told them that she didn’t want to smoke, but her willpower would wane when she’d see them exchanging glances, certain that if she didn’t go with them she’d inevitably end up as the chosen subject of conversation. At least they weren’t brave enough to gossip about her when she was in their presence.
Natalie’s foot caught on a thick root, and then she was flailing… falling through the air, with nothing to stop her. Her palms bore the brunt of the tumble, but her chin and chest took up the slack. Every part of her stung, but she was too tired to get up and keep moving. If it was fate’s choice that it all end here and now, then so be it; she wouldn’t fight it.
Lying still, her breath catching, she rolled onto her back, hoping to reclaim the wind that had been knocked from her. Through the towering bare branches, the large saucer of moon stared down at her, but for all its brightness, it offered little guidance to where the main path was. She was certain they hadn’t come this far into the woods. The walk to the clearing had only taken a few minutes so she should have found the entrance by now. Was she running around in circles? With the ground covered in dried branches and decaying leaves, it was impossible to know exactly how straight and level her running had been. What if she never found her way out?
No, that was a silly thought. Daylight would eventually come and at that point she’d be able to figure a way out. The forest couldn’t have been much wider than a mile in any direction, so with daylight she’d find a way to the edge, whether it was the side she wanted to be on or not.
Her palms were still stinging, the icy air swirling around her only heightening the warmth of the grazes. She was certain her hands must be bleeding, but even when holding them up to the moonlight it was impossible to distinguish blood from mud.
She should never have let Louise take the torch. Three fourteen-year-old girls, and she – at thirteen, the youngest by four months – was the only one to think a torch would be a good idea.
Bloody Louise! She hadn’t always been such a cow to Natalie. Back before Sally Curtis’s family had moved onto the base, Louise and Natalie had been best friends. But then Sally, with her blonde mop of curls and rapidly sprouting chest had turned up in September, and suddenly everything had changed.
Not afraid to challenge the rules and push boundaries, Sally soon latched on to Louise, who was only too happy to be led. Jane also welcomed an extra member to the group, especially as Sally had that je ne sais quoi that had all the boys tripping over themselves to please her. Jane welcomed Sally Curtis, because Sally’s lack of need of padding somehow elevated the rest of them. Not Natalie, of course, whose chest, she felt, would remain flat as a pancake for all time.
Branches snapping somewhere off to her left had Natalie’s head snapping round, her own breathing instantly silenced. Was it possible they weren’t the only ones who’d come into the woods on this dark night? Natalie focused on the black hole where she was sure she’d heard the movement, but couldn’t make out a thing.
Maybe it was just a wild animal – a squirrel or rabbit of some sort. Yes, that had to be it. Certainly not the ferocious wolf-like creature with blood dripping from its fangs that she was desperately trying not to picture. No, wild beasts like that were things of lame horror movies and books.
Right?
More snapping – this time only yards from Natalie’s feet – had her breath puffing out like a steam engine, and she clamped her eyes shut, covering her face with her hands, hoping that whatever bloodthirsty beast it was would simply pass her by.
‘I’ve found her.’ Louise’s voice carried on the wind, and a moment later, woollen gloves were tearing at Natalie’s hands as she screamed and kicked out in desperate survival. ‘Natalie, stop, it’s us.’
Natalie didn’t dare to believe it, and squinting up at the torchlight, she’d never felt so relieved to see Louise and a panting Jane crouching beside her.
‘What happened to you?’ Louise asked, deliberately shining the torchlight into Natalie’s eyes, until she batted it away. ‘One minute you were there and the next you were gone.’
Natalie really couldn’t explain exactly why she’d started to run, at least not in any coherent manner, so she bit her tongue instead, recognising the warm feeling between her legs and hoping the darkness would hide the patch that had to be forming in the crotch of her black jeans.
‘I fell,’ Natalie said, pointing her palms towards the torchlight and seeing the grazes, which were far milder than she first feared. They certainly stung more than the dull redness would suggest.
‘Yes, well, what did you expect when you raced off without the torch? God knows how far into the forest we are now. Your inner compass was way off, mate. Come on, let’s get you up, and then the three of us can go home.’
Louise nodded at Jane, who promptly grabbed one of Natalie’s hands, ignoring the grimace as she squashed Natalie’s palm and tugged her to her feet. It was only now she was up that Natalie noticed the pain in her right leg, and as her two friends tried to pull her back into the thorn-like branches, she screeched with the pain.
‘What is it now?’ Louise huffed, stopping and pointing the light into Natalie’s eyes; a single tear rolled the length of Natalie’s cheek, before dropping from her chin.
Natalie snatched the torch and pointed it down towards her foot. Jane gasped as the beam highlighted the thin stake protruding from Natalie’s calf, the tip of it red as blood.
‘Oh, Jesus!’ the normally silent Jane exclaimed.
‘Oh, bloody brilliant!’ Louise echoed. ‘Look what you’ve gone and done to yourself now, Natalie. Well done!’
Natalie didn’t take well to the sarcastic tone, but was in too much pain and panic to retort. ‘I think I should go to the doctor.’
‘No,’ Louise snapped. ‘If you do that, you’ll have to explain how it happened, and then they’ll want to know exactly what we were all doing here in the woods when everybody else is in bed. No, Natalie. Just pull it out, and clean it up when you get home.’
‘I can barely walk, Louise.’
‘That’s because it’s still in there so your leg can’t begin to heal. Pull it out and everything will be better.’
‘But there might be splinters left inside. It could get infected.’
‘Don’t be such a wet blouse, Natalie. It’ll be fine. Come on, we don’t have long. You don’t want your parents to find out you snuck out after they’d gone to bed, do you?’
Natalie could easily imagine how angry her dad would get if he even suspected she’d snuck out. ‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘Well then, what are you going to do?’ Louise sighed, and her tone was more empathetic when she spoke next. ‘Listen, I’m sure it does hurt, but we can’t stay here and wait until it gets light. Why don’t you pull it out now, then me and Jane can help you get back to the fence, and we can all sneak back through and into our homes. Then, in the morning when we’re walking to school, we can pretend like you’ve done it then and get the nurse at school to look at it.’ She paused and checked her watch. ‘It’s nearly 2am, which means we’ll be at school in less than seven hours. Right? Surely it won’t get infected in seven hours?’
Natalie had to admit there was some logic in Louise’s argument, and she knew that if she didn’t agree there was a chance Louise and Jane would just leave her here in the woods to hobble home alone.
‘Okay, okay,’ she puffed, the winding she’d sustained finally easing. ‘Shine the torch at it, will you?’
Louise obliged, and as Natalie reached down to the jagged shard, the second she touched it a burning sensation shot up the length of her leg.
‘I can’t do it,’ Natalie admitted in defeat. ‘One of you is going to have to pull it out. Please?’
Louise leaned down and studied the bloody branch before declaring, ‘Jane, you pull it out.’
‘What?’ Jane pleaded. ‘Why me?’
‘Because I’m holding the torch, obviously,’ Louise argued, though it was clear to both of her friends that Louise was as freaked out about the blood as the rest of them.
Not one to cause a fuss, Jane crouched down, coiled her hand around the shard and yanked it out without even warning Natalie.
Natalie yelped in agony, unable to hold back her tears any longer as Jane lifted up the shard of wood, no longer than a cigarette. Up close it didn’t look like it could have caused so much pain.
Looping Natalie’s arms over their shoulders, the two girls supported their friend back to the main path and ten minutes later they emerged from the all-enveloping forest, back at the perimeter fence through which they’d crawled an hour earlier.
‘We’ll have to be quick,’ Louise warned. ‘The security guards will be due to complete their hourly perimeter check soon. Jane, you go through first. Then it’s back to our homes, into bed, and then we never speak of this night again.’
‘Wait,’ Natalie challenged, propping herself against the fence to take the weight off her bloody limb. ‘What about Sally?’
Louise’s eyes grew dark as she lashed out and slapped Natalie hard across the face, almost sending her tumbling back to the ground. ‘Sally was never here. Is that clear? We must all swear a pact – here and now – that we were never in these woods tonight. So long as we sneak back into our homes, nobody will be any the wiser.’
‘But Sal—’ Natalie began to say, before Louise’s raised hand cut her off.
‘She was never here.’
Chapter Two
Now
Chalfont St Giles, Buckinghamshire
Jack races around to his side of the car and jumps in, with me following suit. ‘If we’re lucky we can be in Staffordshire before visiting hours finish at half four. I’ve got your name down on the list and Turgood knows you’re coming… Are you sure you want to meet him?’
Ordinarily, nothing would appal me more than coming face to face with the monster who oversaw a ring of abuse that lasted years in the former St Francis Home for Wayward Boys, but after Jack’s revelation minutes earlier, nobody is going to stop me from confronting him today.
‘I’m sure,’ I tell him, offering what I hope is a reassuring nod.
He stares at my trembling hands as I struggle to engage the seatbelt in its buckle and eventually I feel his warm hands on mine as he helps. I look into his face and see nothing but concern etched across those dark eyes. I nod again, more firmly this time, and he starts the engine.
‘You were looking for me,’ Jack says. ‘Earlier, I mean. When I arrived at the house, you said you needed to speak to me.’
I stare at him blankly, racking my brain for whatever that could have been about. The revelation that Jack has found my sister’s face in pornographic material discovered on Arthur Turgood’s hard drive has rather ripped the rug from beneath my feet. I try to recall what I was doing in the immediate past before Jack showed up at Fitzhume’s country manor.
As Jack races down the long gravel driveway, I catch a glimpse of a man in a dishevelled tuxedo stumbling along the road just beyond the gates and immediately recognise Richard Hilliard, the father of young Cassie, whose return was the reason for today’s gathering. I recall the slanging match between Richard and Fitzhume that I observed from the upstairs window of the manor and my subsequent encounter with Fitzhume slaps me between the eyes.
So you admit you were the one who set all this up? You put your granddaughter’s life at risk in order to force Richard out of your family?
‘Fitzhume is responsible for Cassie Hilliard’s abduction,’ I blurt out like some paranoid Twitter user.
Jack glances through the windscreen at Richard as we move past him. ‘I’m listening.’
I take a deep breath to try and steady my rapidly rising pulse. ‘It all makes sense, don’t you see? Leroy Denton told us that the group had some rich backer who was calling the shots but he didn’t know who that was. I bet if you ask Hank Amos whether he reached out to Lord Fitzhume and demanded more money, I bet he’ll admit he did. That’s what set these wheels in motion. That’s why Fitzhume came to me now, not because it happened to be the anniversary of Cassie’s abduction, but because he didn’t want to pay a second ransom.’
Jack doesn’t look convinced by my argument but switches off the car stereo so he can give me what’s left of his attention. ‘Amos said he didn’t know who the rich backer was either. Do you have anything evidential to support your theory? What makes you so certain?’
Her life should never have been in any danger. They were paid enough to take good care of her.
‘Fitzhume admitted as much to me,’ I say resolutely.
‘He did? You got him on the record?’
I again silently curse myself for not having the recorder on my phone running when I confronted him – not that it would necessarily have been strong enough evidence to go to trial.
‘Not exactly, but he did admit his involvement to me, and I’m prepared to make an official statement to that effect if that’s what it takes.’
I don’t know whether Jack realises his entire face has taken a sceptical downward turn, or whether he’s just doing a lousy job of covering his doubt.
‘Okay, I’ll put a call in to DCS Rawani and we’ll see if it’s enough to make him bite.’
‘Make him bite?’ I scoff. ‘You need to get someone over there right away and haul him out of his fake celebration in cuffs. Wipe that permanent smirk from his face.’
Jack catches my eye apologetically. ‘You know it isn’t that easy. I wish it were. I wish you making a statement about what he told you would be enough to prosecute but it’ll be his word against yours, and whilst your name is one of good standing, his background, links to the Royal Family and unlimited connections trump you.’
This isn’t the reaction I expected to hear from Jack. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I thought I understood him.
‘Fitzhume is guilty as hell and someone needs to bring about his downfall,’ I spit. ‘If you won’t take action then I’ll just bloody well have to do something about it myself.’
I’m already asking myself exactly how I could complete such a course of action when Jack’s scepticism returns. But rather than berate me, he reaches for my hand and holds it for a moment.
‘I don’t doubt what you’re telling me, Emma, but I’m just trying to be realistic. We both reviewed the case file and there was nothing to link Fitzhume to the three kidnappers, one of whom is dead, and the other two now behind bars. Even if Amos came clean and pointed the finger at Fitzhume, the CPS would need something physical before even considering charges.’
‘So, what? He goes free?’
Jack opens his mouth to speak before thinking better of it.
‘Are you seriously telling me that because Fitzhume has money and power he’s allowed to get away with his crimes?’
Again, Jack opens his mouth to challenge, but raises his eyebrows in defeat instead. ‘As I said, I promise I will discuss it with the DCS once I’m back and if we’re lucky he’ll allow me to do some discreet digging, but something tells me that Fitzhume won’t have left any trail leading back to him – particularly if his military history is anything to go by.’
I pull my hand away and stare out of the window like a petulant teenager. I’m so fed up with people getting away with their crimes because of their so-called power and connections. I know my outlook is naïve, but shouldn’t the guilty be punished?
Fitzhume’s final words to me rattle in my head. You dare print a word of this and I will have you brought up on charges of libellous defamation.
Of course! As far as my publisher and agent Maddie are aware, I will be writing all about Cassie’s disappearance and subsequent return for my second book. The idea has been signed off by the publisher and they’ll be expecting me to deliver at least a first draft in the coming months. If the police won’t take any formal action against Fitzhume then the only recourse is to tell the truth in my manuscript and see where that leads. Right now, I don’t care if he does decide to take me to court over it; at least the truth will be in the public domain and people will realise what a snake he is.
I know there’s no point continuing the argument with Jack. We have two hours of driving ahead that I don’t want to spend in silence and my thoughts now turn back to the reason for our journey.
‘You said you’ve spoken to Turgood already today?’
Jack sighs, and nods. ‘As soon as the facial recognition software found a positive match to your sister. I wanted to find out what he knew and hopefully be the one to help your private investigation along. To be clear, the software didn’t flag a hundred per cent match. What you need to appreciate is that the footage used to run the check was old and grainy – probably recorded on a handheld camcorder rather than more advanced equipment. The angle of her face in the clips we used wasn’t straight-on either, so it’s only as good as it can be.’
‘Yeah, but you said it was a ninety-two per cent match though, right? That’s as good as a hundred in my book.’
He shrugs. ‘It’s a strong match, which would lead me to conclude it probably is your sister.’
My heart strains at the news. For the last twenty years, I’ve hoped my sister didn’t die the day she stomped away from home in the direction of our grandma’s before vanishing. A part of me – the part I desperately try to silence and ignore – accepted that she could have died, but from what Jack has said, the footage he’s found all but confirms she was alive some four years after she disappeared. That has to give hope that she could still be alive today.
‘What did Turgood say when you spoke to him?’ I ask now, pins and needles prickling at my thighs and forearms.
‘He said he didn’t recognise her name and that he hadn’t watched all of the videos on his hard drive. He claims not to recall the particular video in question, but admits to sharing such videos with others and said that it could have been inadvertently included in his stock. He was being very vague, and without a solicitor present he was cagey.’
I remember the first time I met Turgood and presented him with Freddie’s allegations. He laughed me out of his home, ridiculing the claims as nothing more than spiteful lies. But I’d known he was lying. When I’d first arrived, under the pretence that I was undertaking an investigation into why government cuts were closing valued social care facilities like St Francis, he’d welcomed me with open arms. But the moment I’d mentioned Freddie’s name, the atmosphere turned decidedly cold, as if someone had opened a window. He’d crossed his legs, folded his arms, and avoided answering my questions. His reaction had given me all the confirmation I needed to keep digging. That’s why I need to look into his eyes today and see what happens when I mention my sister. His body language will tell me whether or not he’s lying.
The car grinds to a halt as we join the end of a tailback on the M40. Jack curses quietly as his eyes fall on the long line of brake lights stretching as far as the eye can see.
‘What else did he say?’ I ask.
Jack sighs. ‘He said he wouldn’t be surprised to see the faces of a host of missing children appear in those videos. He said there’s an entire network operating along the south coast. Your sister might be just the tip of an iceberg that stretches back decades.’
I turn so I can study Jack’s face. ‘Did you believe him?’
The grimace confirms that he did, even if he didn’t want to.
He meets my gaze. ‘He didn’t offer any specifics, but my next job will be to request the same facial recognition software is run against any other open missing-children cases to see if further matches can be established.’
I catch sight of the ETA on the sat nav display and my heart sinks. It now says we’re unlikely to arrive before half past four, and if we don’t, my chance to get an answer will certainly end for today.
‘Isn’t there an alternative route we can take?’ I snap.
Jack begins to fiddle with the sat nav. ‘Maybe… Once we get to the next junction, we can try to get off the M40 and find a detour, but we’re on the slip road, so like it or not, we’re trapped on this course for now.’
I sit on my hands as my blood boils with frustration. I don’t tell him, but I sense his words may be more prophetic than he realises.
Chapter Three
Now
HMP Stafford, Staffordshire
We finally make it in through the gates of the prison and into the visitor car park just after four. I’m conscious about how long it may take to get through the sign-in process in the visitors’ centre, so as Jack is applying the handbrake, my hand is already on the door handle.
‘Hold on a sec, will you?’ he cautions, killing the engine. ‘Before you go in there, are you sure you want to?’
I frown at the unnecessary delay. ‘I wouldn’t have come with you if I wasn’t.’
‘I know, I know, but I kind of put you on the spot when I turned up this afternoon. I didn’t give you the opportunity to say no. This will be the first time you’ve seen Turgood since his trial. Are you sure you’re ready? Mentally prepared, I mean.’
My chest tightens as I picture his face in the dock. Even when his whole world was about to come tumbling down, there wasn’t an ounce of remorse in his eyes. I wanted to laugh at him, and tell him how good it felt to see justice finally being delivered for Freddie, Mike and Steve. Yet, when the verdict was delivered, I didn’t feel any pleasure whatsoever. I have no doubt he finally got what he deserved, but at what cost to Freddie and the others? How many other children suffered at the hands of Turgood and his cohorts but didn’t feel brave enough to come forward and have their lives put under the microscope?
I exhale deeply. ‘The video on his hard drive is the biggest breakthrough I’ve had in years. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t see it through.’
Jack nods in reluctant acceptance. ‘Very well. The governor is arranging a private room for you to meet him in and I’ll be there with you, but as a friend rather than in any formal capacity. I’ll hang back so the two of you can speak freely, but I want to warn you to be careful.’
The words catch in my throat. ‘Careful?’
Jack momentarily looks out of his window as if summoning the strength to speak again. ‘It’s going to be weird enough for you coming face to face with him again, but remember it’s his first time seeing you since the trial too. Since he last saw you, he’s been sentenced to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Okay, in a facility specifically used to house sexual offenders, he won’t be subjected to the level of violence and recrimination he might have experienced at another Cat-C facility, but it will still be a sharp change to the lifestyle he was used to.’ He sighs. ‘What I’m trying to say is that he will hold you accountable for this change to his circumstances, and he’s had weeks to think about what he might say to you in the event your paths ever crossed again.’
‘Sticks and stones may break my bones,’ I mutter, prising the door open, until he reaches for my arm.
‘I’m saying, don’t let him get a rise out of you. Right now, you’re in shock with what I’ve told you and you need to keep a clear head in there. Ask him what you want to ask him but don’t take whatever he says to heart.’
I fix him with a firm stare and nod. ‘I’ll be fine. Now, can we get a move on before they say we’re too late?’
Exiting the car, we hurry through the car park and into the visitor centre. Jack explains who we are to the guard at the desk, who then asks us both to provide identification. Once he’s found us on the computer screen, he makes us sign the register and invites us to deposit any personal items in one of the lockers that line the wall at the side of the building. Once they’re satisfied we’re not carrying any weapons or contraband, one of the guards escorts us through the gates, along a narrow windowless corridor, and into the beating heart of the facility.
We arrive at a steel door, reminiscent of a cell door in a police station. Outside the room there is a monitor receiving a signal from a camera within the room. It currently displays a table and three chairs but it doesn’t appear that Turgood has been brought down yet. The prison guard who escorted us advises that he will wait outside the room and will observe us from the monitor, though won’t be able to hear anything said. He tells us he is there for the prisoner’s protection as much as our own.
Unlocking the door, he ushers us inside before closing and locking the door behind us. The room itself is brighter than it appeared on the screen. There are high windows, all barred, which let in a surprising volume of light given how narrow they are. Jack selects one of the chairs and carries it towards the back of the room before sitting.
My breathing is shallow and as I drop onto the remaining chair this side of the table, I feel lightheaded. I’ve been forcing images of Turgood watching Anna out of my mind but now it’s all I can imagine, and I want to be sick. Overhead, a fan whirs somewhere out of sight, pumping artificially cooled air into the room, but it is doing little to quell the heat in my face and neck.
There is a crunch and a grinding noise as the door on the opposite side of the room is unlocked, and when it opens a moment later, another uniformed guard steps through and checks Jack and I are both seated before nodding for Turgood to step forward. The prisoner waits for his cuffs to be removed before sauntering into the room, his eyes practically on stalks as he sees me sitting and waiting like an obedient dog.
He doesn’t utter a word, merely sliding onto the seat across the table from me and crossing one leg over the other. His almost white hair has grown out more since I last saw him and it looks as though he’s made no effort to brush it ahead of this meeting. The pale-blue prison shirt and denim trousers make his face look washed out, and yet he still carries himself with an air of superiority, to the point where it almost feels like he is the one who has come to visit me.
I look to Jack for guidance but see that his head is bent and he is staring at his shoes. Turning back to face Turgood, I’m not sure whether I should speak first or wait for him to engage me. I don’t even know how to start, short of demanding answers about my sister.
He doesn’t speak either, his tongue poking out to wet his lips but then receding. It’s like he’s daring me to crack first and break the awkward silence. Unlike him, I don’t have time to waste.
‘You know why I’m here,’ I croak, before clearing my throat. ‘I want to know what you can tell me about the video discovered on your hard drive.’
He stretches out one of his hands and considers each nail, as if he’s awaiting a manicure, before wetting his lips again and finally meeting my stare. ‘What video would that be then?’
He’s baiting me, waiting to see my reaction when I mention Anna’s name, and I know instantly this is going to be every bit as difficult as Jack has forewarned.
It takes all my strength to summon the words. ‘The video featuring my sister, Anna.’
His lips momentarily curl up slightly before he remembers where he is. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know to what you’re referring. Are you sure it was a video on my hard drive?’
I glance back to Jack but he is lost in his own world.
‘We both know which video I’m referring to,’ I say, biting my tongue.
‘I can’t say I do. Maybe if you could describe it that would—’
‘Cut the crap, Turgood. The only reason I’m here is to appeal to that tiny part of your soul that cannot forgive you for the atrocities you inflicted on others.’
I had hoped it would feel better to blow off steam, but his reaction is one of mirth rather than fear or annoyance.
He leans forwards, crossing one hand over the other, resting them on his pointed knee, as if he’s posing for a photograph. ‘Have you seen the video?’
I hear Jack’s warning echo in my mind: don’t let him get a rise out of you.
‘Where did it come from?’ I ask, ignoring his jibe.
He sits back. ‘Alas, several years ago, my computer became infected with a malicious virus online, and the result was the downloading of a variety of disturbing videos and images that I tried to delete but which were so embedded that I didn’t manage to. That’s why the hard drives were in my loft when the authorities discovered them, you see? I’m no technical expert, but I assumed I’d one day find someone who could remove the virus and recover the original content of the drives, but time slips away so easily. I’d forgotten I still had the drives, to be honest, until they were found during the search of my property.’
He’s lying, I have no doubt. The way he’s framed his posture and the confidence with which he is delivering his lines, there has clearly been some rehearsal involved.
‘I wish there was more I could tell you, Miss Hunter, but I’m afraid I can’t say what I don’t know.’
I’ve never hated the sound of my own name so much as the way he delivers it with such bitter scorn. I need to find a way to get through to him but short of shaking him by the shoulders, I’m at a loss as to how. It feels like the journey here has been a waste of time. I have no doubt that the only reason he agreed to meet with me was to see how desperate I am, and to lord it over me.
I check my watch. ‘Our time is nearly up, so Jack and I had better be going,’ I say, loudly enough for Jack to hear.
I’m about to stand when Turgood utters three words that chill me to the bone.
‘How is Freddie?’
Our eyes meet and it’s all I can do to restrain myself.
‘He always did enjoy being the centre of attention,’ Turgood continues, so casually that my skin crawls. ‘Such a pity he felt the need to concoct such vicious lies about life at the home. Has he ever admitted to you that he once thanked me for looking out for him? Some of the other boys could be quite rough and ready at times but once I took Freddie under my wing, they left him alone. His life at that home would have been far worse had I not looked out for him.’
Bile builds in the back of my throat. Even now, after the truth has come out and he’s been punished for his crimes, he has the nerve to maintain an air of injustice about what has happened.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of my outrage. ‘Freddie is doing really well, as it goes,’ I say proudly. ‘He’s settled and is using his newfound fame to help others. I’ve never seen him looking so well, and now he has a rich life to look forward to while you’re slowly dying in here.’
I turn to leave, but it appears he isn’t done with me yet.
‘Do you really want to know the truth about your sister?’
I freeze, but do not dare look into his eyes.
‘Because if you’re serious about finding out how she ended up on that video, I might be able to tell you something that would help.’
Jack is standing and watching us now and I can see the concern overshadowing his face. I slowly turn back to look at Turgood. He hasn’t shifted his position, but he looks poised to deliver the ace he’s kept up his sleeve this whole time.
‘If you really want to know,’ he torments, ‘then I need to hear you ask for my help.’
I know he’s baiting me again, and that I should just leave the room and never look back, but I can see in his eyes that he has been holding back and I would never forgive myself if I turned away from the search for Anna over something as petty as this.
‘I see the way you look at me,’ Turgood continues, ‘with that look of disdain that all younger people seem to carry these days. You hear Freddie’s version of events and hold me accountable but you have no clue what it was like being responsible for so many broken lives, dealing with violent outbursts and emotional breakdowns. I did what I believed was in the best interests of those thrust into my care, and whether you believe me or not, I took care of Freddie and the others. They’d be dead if it wasn’t for me, so stop hoisting me up as the villain of your piece. There are far worse players out there that you’ve yet to encounter and trust me, by comparison I’m a saint.’
‘I want to know about my sister.’
‘Then ask me.’
I grind my teeth, knowing I will regret sinking to his level, but I don’t see any way around it. ‘Very well. Please help me to understand how my sister ended up on that video.’
His lips curl up fully this time as he claims his simple victory. ‘See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
I can’t bring my eyes to meet Jack’s but I can feel them burning a hole into my face.
Turgood rubs his hands together and savours his moment, committing every second of my submission to memory, to play out over and over when he’s alone.
‘I don’t recall ever meeting your sister,’ he begins like some great orator, ‘but I met many runaways like her – children who couldn’t cope with home, or were escaping some revolting upbringing. Being society’s most vulnerable, they soon fall in with the wrong crowds and in their moments of desperation they’ll take any help offered, even if it comes at a dangerously high cost. At first they’ll be reluctant to do what is asked of them, but when the rewards appear and they realise what little is required to bring that element of security, they soon see that there is no way back. If your sister is in one of the videos your police friend over there referred to, then it’s safe to assume that she was there by choice. If you want my advice, stop looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found.’
I can’t contain my rage and I lunge forward, slamming my hands down on the table, growling at the now cowering Turgood. ‘You have no idea who my sister is or how far I’m prepared to go to find her.’
I feel Jack’s hands on my arms within seconds, and he yanks me away from the table as the bolts on both doors are rapidly undone.
‘You’ll rot in hell, you son of a bitch!’ I manage to shout as Jack drags me from the room, my eyes warm with tears.
Chapter Four
Then
Bovington Garrison, Dorset
No, that can’t be the alarm already, thought Natalie, rolling over to hit the snooze button, but grimacing as the agony of the night’s escapades tore up her leg. Although Jane had yanked out the thin branch, Natalie was certain she could feel tiny splinters still firmly embedded beneath her skin, each one waiting to push through into her bloodstream and float around her body for the rest of the day.
‘Time to get up, sleepyhead,’ her mum called through the closed bedroom door, but thankfully she didn’t come in.
Gripping her thigh, Natalie manually lifted and shifted her right leg, holding her breath to fight against the urge to yell out in pain. Her mum would know what to do, how to make it better, but she’d also want to know how Natalie came to have a gaping bloody hole in her calf.
When she’d snuck back in last night, it had taken all her willpower not to knock on her parents’ door and tell them exactly what had happened: the woods, the game, Sally… everything. But as she’d hovered by the door, willing her hand to reach up for the handle, she’d remembered the sting of Louise’s slap and the warning that they weren’t to tell anyone. They’d made a pact, and breaking a pact was a dangerous thing, Natalie knew.
Hitting the snooze button, Natalie propped herself up on her pillows. She leaned back into them and wiped the thin sheen that had pooled on her forehead. The room wasn’t overly warm but the effort of moving her leg had taken a lot out of her. Louise had said she was being a wet blouse worrying about the leg, and as an older girl she was surely more knowledgeable about such matters, right? If she said the leg wouldn’t get infected, then there really wasn’t anything Natalie should be worried about.
Taking a deep breath to settle the bubble of anxiety building in the pit of her stomach, she whipped back the duvet and stared down at the strapping she’d managed to pinch from the bathroom cabinet and wrap around her leg in the pitch black. It was a bulbous and bloody mess, but at least the staining hadn’t spread to her bed covers; thank heaven for small mercies. She’d have to dispose of the strapping on the way to school. There was no way it could be reused, and she doubted her mum would be able to get it clean. If anyone asked what had happened to the roll of bandage, she’d just have to plead ignorance.
‘I’m going downstairs now,’ her mum called through the door again, this time adding a knock to ensure that her daughter was awake. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
The last thing Natalie needed was for her mum to barge in right now and see the state of her leg. ‘Yes, please. I’m going to shower and then I’ll be down.’
There was no response but the tell-tale sound of footfalls on the stairs confirmed her mum was on her way to the kitchen. That just left her dad to sneak past. His routine was like clockwork and, all things being equal, he’d now be sitting in the small toilet reading one of his angling magazines. But he wouldn’t remain in there for ever, which only offered Natalie a finite amount of time to get out of bed and into the bathroom without anyone catching her. The trouble was, she didn’t think her injured limb would be up to bearing her weight this morning.
What was the alternative?
Delicately swinging her left leg over the edge of the mattress, she lifted and shifted her right leg with her hands again, wincing as the bandage brushed against the bed frame. Then, with another deep breath, she pushed herself off the mattress and planted both feet on the thick pile rug where her slippers, trainers, and pile of school uniform sat. She couldn’t help the gasp escaping her mouth, but with her door shut and her parents otherwise engaged, she could only hope neither had heard.
Her grandmother used to say that pain in an injury was the body’s way of saying it was healing; Natalie was certain that was a crock, but if there was some truth in the old lady’s words, then her body had to be working overtime to heal. Bearing most of her weight on her left leg, Natalie reached out for her chair and rested her right hand on its back, pushing it along as a makeshift Zimmer frame as she made it towards her bedroom door; she wouldn’t be able to use it beyond her bedroom without drawing unnecessary attention, but it would do the job for now. Finally, making it to the door, she slowly lowered the handle and peered out, her eyes searching for the figure of her father whilst her ears strained for any hint of where he might be.
Neither sense alerted her to his presence and, venturing forward, she used the wallpapered wall to support her journey forward, only pausing momentarily when the sound of pages being turned confirmed her dad’s presence in the toilet. Continuing to the bathroom, she closed and locked the door. relief sweeping through her. Perching on the edge of the bathtub, she raised her nightdress and began very slowly and delicately to unwind the strapping. The bandage crackled and pulled as the congealed bloodstains cracked and tore until she was down to the final wraparound, but she had to stop as the tugging brought tears to her eyes.
The healing process had resulted in the clot binding with the bandage and there was no way to remove it without restarting the bleeding, but Natalie didn’t think she had the strength to complete the deed without screaming and wailing.
Her grandmother would have told her just to yank it off like any other Band-Aid, but even the gentlest of pulls was too much to bear. And then she remembered another trick the old lady had taught her when she was younger: it was far easier to remove plasters when they were covered by water, on account of the glue becoming less adhesive. There was no guarantee the same logic applied to a bloodied bandage, but what did she have to lose?
Manoeuvring her injured leg over the side of the bath, she used the large handle her dad had installed for Grandma to pull herself into a standing position, and brought her left leg in to join her right. Then, switching on the shower, she shrieked as a hard spray of cold water hit her upper body like winter’s rain. It soon warmed up and, lifting down the shower hose, she targeted the spray onto the stubborn strapping, giving it another gentle tug every few seconds, until the whole thing dropped into the tub with a splosh. The sight of the bloodied hole was still a shock, but as the shower spray continued to work its miraculous magic, the wound began to look less threatening. Her calf muscle was definitely swollen to almost twice the size of its rival but she’d managed to avoid fresh bleeding, and as she switched off the shower and climbed back out of the tub, she would have argued that the leg was slightly less painful than when she’d woken too.
Raiding the medicine cabinet, she located the box of plasters and, selecting the largest square one, she pressed it firmly over the wound and limped back to her bedroom, just as the sound of a flushing toilet signalled her dad’s imminent exit.
He didn’t speak as he emerged, just closed the door behind him, folding and tucking the magazine beneath his arm and waddling slightly as he returned to his own room, oblivious of the towel-wrapped and dripping girl edging slowly across the landing. Her mum always said he couldn’t be relied on for anything until he’d had his first coffee of the day.
Back in her room, Natalie dressed, opting for a thick pair of black tights to cover evidence of the plaster, and, having wrung out the bandage in the bathroom basin, she stuffed it into her school bag, before zipping it up, and hoping that a) her mum wouldn’t look inside the bag, and b) the moist bandage wouldn’t dampen her books too much.
Arriving in the kitchen, Natalie could hear her mum talking on the phone in the other room, but her dad was already at the breakfast table munching burnt toast with a snarl across his lips. Just a typical breakfast in the Sullivan household. The radio in the background was playing some hit from the 80s – a decade of music Natalie didn’t personally care for but which her mum adored. Natalie couldn’t understand how grown-ups couldn’t appreciate modern music; even the older songs both her parents frequently crooned along to must have been new at one point in time, so they couldn’t always have been so stuck in the past. Why couldn’t they listen to normal music?
Reaching for the Shreddies, Natalie filled her bowl, before asking her dad to pass the milk. He sighed as he did, as if her request was the most challenging task in the world. He’d obviously got up on the wrong side of bed again this morning, but it seemed like he didn’t know any other way these days. She knew it was safer just to keep her head down and avoid drawing his attention.
Her mum’s voice in the other room grew louder, but Natalie couldn’t work out what she was saying, or to whom. Either way, it didn’t sound like it was good news she was receiving. A moment later, her mum came into the kitchen, clutching the phone in her hand but pointing it at Natalie.
‘I’ve just got off the phone with Diane Curtis, Sally’s mum,’ she said, her tone somewhere between anger and concern. ‘Seems Sally wasn’t in her bed this morning when Diane went to wake her. She’s phoning around everyone to see if anyone knows where Sally might be.’
There wasn’t an obvious question, but Natalie knew to infer that an answer was expected. Slowly swallowing her mouthful of cereal to buy some time, Natalie opted for ignorance. ‘I don’t know where Sally is.’
She hated lying to her parents, particularly her mum, but it wasn’t exactly a lie; she genuinely didn’t know where Sally was. Not now.
Here mum’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know she’s your friend, and the last thing you’d want to do is get your friend into trouble, but her mum is going spare with worry. If you have any idea where she might be, or what might have happened, you need to tell me, Natalie.’
‘I told you I don’t know, Mum.’ The lie felt like a mound of earth she’d just brought up and out of her throat.
‘Well, Diane said Sally was tucked up in bed when she checked on her at eleven, and then again at five this morning, but now she’s gone.’
Natalie couldn’t keep the confused frown from developing, but tried not to give anything away. If her mum had seen her in bed at five this morning, did that mean…?
‘What?’ her mum asked. ‘Do you know where she is? Or where she was planning to go?’
‘No, Mum.’
‘Swear to me.’
This was the last thing Natalie wanted to do. It would be so much easier just to admit the truth: they’d snuck out, left the safe confines of the garrison, and headed into the woods. She could tell her mum how it had all been Sally’s idea, and that Louise and Jane had pressured her into joining them; she could tell her mum how she’d fallen and hurt her leg and then her mum would make everything better. But then Natalie remembered Louise’s slap and pact warning, and instead shovelled another mouthful of cereal into her mouth.
‘I swear I don’t know where Sally Curtis is.’
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