The Missing Children Case Files
Ransomed
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 images © Shutterstock.com
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: 9780008443283
Ebook Edition © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008418519
Version: 2020-08-07
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
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
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 the key workers who kept
the world ticking during Lockdown 2020
There I walked, and there I raged;
The spiritual savage caged
Within my skeleton, raged afresh
To feel, behind a carnal mesh,
The clean bones crying in the flesh.
– Full Moon, Elinor Wylie
Chapter One
Then
Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire
‘I can’t find Cassie Hilliard,’ Gerry Connors declared, his Belfast accent betraying the rising panic in his voice as he stepped through the patio door.
Penny finished counting the party bags on the kitchen counter, trying to prove to herself that she hadn’t underestimated how many were needed. ‘What do you mean you can’t find her? She must be outside somewhere.’
Gerry turned and stared back out across the vast expanse of lawn, where the fully inflated castle wobbled as a dozen or so princesses and pirates threw themselves about inside. From here it was difficult to see the wild and overgrown end of the garden where Sean loved to while away the summer holidays building dens out of fallen branches and plant pots he had managed to scavenge from his mother’s greenhouse.
‘She’s not with the other children,’ Gerry repeated, his eyes dancing over the faces of those inside the castle, searching for six-year-old Cassie.
Frustrated with the interruption, Penny Connors joined her husband at the patio door, staring out into the garden. ‘Have you asked Sean where she is? Or any of the others? Maybe she’s talking to a friend behind the castle.’
Gerry stepped out into the garden, the late September sun warm enough that coats weren’t required, but not warm enough to worry about sun lotion. He’d opted for tailored shorts and the Avengers T-shirt Sean had given him for his birthday the month before. ‘I’ll go and have another look,’ he said, moving forward into the garden, his mind already wandering to the potential repercussions of explaining to Richard Hilliard that he’d lost his daughter.
‘Okay, well I’ll double-check she hasn’t come inside,’ Penny said affirmatively, less troubled than her husband. ‘She’s probably just in the toilet or something.’
Penny took a final glance at the party bags before moving through into the dining room where the spread of sausage rolls, finger sandwiches, crisps, pizzas, and chocolates looked good enough for a king to consume. Sean’s seventh birthday party had been months in the planning, and after much debate with Gerry, they’d finally settled on hosting a gathering for all of Sean’s class at their house. Certainly cheaper than hiring a venue or taking them all bowling as Sean had requested.
‘Money is tight,’ Gerry had reminded her every day since he had been made redundant from the factory, and she couldn’t help but feel proud of what she’d achieved on such a tight budget. She hadn’t told Gerry that she’d borrowed an extra hundred pounds from her sister to buy Sean the handheld console he’d desperately been craving.
No sign of Cassie in this room, and although they’d told their guests that they weren’t to come into the dining room until feeding time, she could see a hand-shaped gap in one of the crisp bowls; she ducked to look beneath the table. Penny closed the door as she left, and stepped into the living room. The mountain of brightly wrapped gifts the party guests had brought stood beneath the bay window, and to the right of that was the large black rubbish sack they’d started filling as Sean had torn into his gifts from them first thing this morning. With the sofas flush against the walls, there really wasn’t any place to hide, so Penny left the room, closing the door behind her again, and proceeded up the stairs of their three-bed semi-detached house.
Spotting the door to the bathroom closed, Penny moved across to it, and gently knocked. ‘Cassie? Is that you in there?’
There was no answer, but Penny could hear the tearing of toilet paper, and waited patiently. This was followed by the flushing of water, taps turned on, taps turned off, and fumbling with the towel at the radiator. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and a startled boy emerged.
‘Oh, Jason, it’s you,’ Penny said, disappointment dripping from every word. ‘You haven’t seen Cassie Hilliard recently, have you?’
The boy stared back at her wide-eyed, slowly shaking his head, before hurrying past her and back down the stairs.
Such an odd boy, Penny thought to herself. Had she been able to, she wouldn’t have sent an invitation to Jason Knightwood, but Sean had wanted practically everyone else to come over so it had felt harsh to single out those he didn’t interact with as much. Of course, none of the children really interacted with Jason. Penny didn’t know for sure whether there was a reason why he rarely spoke but there was more to it than that. Although she’d just heard him washing his hands, the pong emanating from his body hadn’t escaped her. Jason’s mother was just as difficult to engage with, arriving at the school in a ratty headscarf and moth-bitten cardigan every day, always staring at her feet, and making no effort at small talk with the other parents.
Penny continued her search of the upstairs, but with their own bedroom locked, it didn’t take long to complete a circuit of Sean’s messy room – resembling the aftermath of a burglary as it always did – and the spare room which was still filled with boxes they’d yet to go through following their move nearly two years ago. Heading back down the stairs, Penny made her way back through the kitchen and out into the garden. Gerry was nowhere in sight, and she could only assume he’d found Cassie.
Excited squeals echoed off the bouncy castle, almost drowning out the incessant hum of the machine keeping it inflated. It was nearly four o’clock, and the afternoon sun was already hanging low in the sky beyond the wild trees and fence at the foot of the garden. Gerry’s head appeared from behind a tree, and she waved, but he didn’t seem to notice her as he bent and stooped, and Penny’s heart skipped a beat as she realised he was still searching for Cassie.
Upping her pace, Penny darted to the bouncy castle, her eyes scanning the faces and costumes inside as she tried to recall exactly what Cassie had been wearing. Picturing the moment when Elizabeth Hilliard had arrived, carrying a parasol for the short trip from the chauffeur-driven Range Rover to the front door, Penny couldn’t forget the involuntary urge she’d felt to curtsy. It was silly really; it wasn’t like Elizabeth Hilliard was actual royalty, although rumour had it she was some distant cousin of the Earl of Wessex. Wearing an expensive-looking cerise-coloured coat, she’d pulled a face when she’d offered to stay and help supervise the crowd of children. Penny hadn’t wanted to disappoint, and had waved away the offer, telling her that some of the other parents were already inside helping, even though the two mums who had offered to help had cried off at the last minute.
Cassie had been hiding bashfully behind her mum’s perfectly tanned legs until Penny had crouched and told her how pretty she looked in her luminescent green dress and cherry-red wig.
Penny snapped her fingers together: Cassie had come dressed as Ariel, the little mermaid from the film of the same name, not the eccentric Shakespearean spirit. Of course she had!
Staring back towards the pirates and princesses dashing from one side of the castle to the other, some tumbling as they howled with laughter, there was no sign of a red wig.
‘Has anyone seen Cassie?’ Penny called into the group.
Either nobody heard her, or they chose not to listen.
‘Sean?’ she tried again. ‘Sean, have you seen Cassie?’
Her son stopped and stared at her with the one eye not covered by a black eye patch, the bandana soaked through with sweat, before shrugging and running again.
‘Sophia?’ Penny called next, catching sight of the Moana-inspired outfit. ‘Do you know where Cassie Hilliard is?’
Sophia bounced to the edge of the castle, before dismounting and landing on the soft mat where the shoes were scattered. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m looking for Cassie Hilliard,’ Penny said, her voice tightening as the first pangs of paranoia took hold. ‘Do you know where she is?’
Sophia wiped the wet fringe clinging to her forehead. ‘She was here. I don’t know. She said she wanted to go to the toilet.’
Penny’s brow furrowed as she looked back at the house, certain she hadn’t missed any obvious hiding places. She couldn’t remember anyone passing through the kitchen, but then, she’d been focused on setting up the party bags, placing an equal number of sweets, stickers, toys, and party poppers in each. In fact, she hadn’t noticed Jason Knightwood move past her and upstairs, so would she really have noticed Cassie Hilliard?
‘Is everything okay?’ Sophia asked, snapping Penny’s attention back to the garden.
Penny forced a reassuring smile. ‘Everything will be okay, sweetheart. Can you let Sean know we’ll be going in for food in the next ten minutes or so?’
Sophia nodded, all concern wiped from her face, leaping back onto the castle, and re-joining the madness.
The wild side of their garden loomed beyond the castle and its pump. They’d planned to clear out the section and build a small summer house where they could unwind on a long summer’s day. But problems with planning permission and then Gerry’s redundancy meant the plans had been shelved, and so the throng of weeds and wild grasses towered above the freshly mown green lawn it bordered. Gerry was still moving about, lifting fallen branches, and rising and stooping as he went.
‘She’s not in the house,’ Penny said nervously, as she joined him in the tall grass.
Gerry paused momentarily, out of breath, a fresh sheen clinging to his cheeks. ‘I’ve checked the fence and there are no holes she could have squeezed through to get out, and it’s too high for a six-year-old to scale. I’ve been calling her name, but there’s no response. Most of the ground here is uneven, and there are so many branches that it’s impossible to see whether she might have fallen and bashed her head.’
Penny hadn’t even considered that Cassie could be lying hurt somewhere. ‘I think we need to get all the children together and ask them whether they know where she went.’
Gerry surveyed the rest of the wilderness, and slowly nodded. ‘I’ll keep checking out here just in case. It’s not like anyone has come in and snatched her from under our noses!’
Penny reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed tightly; he reflected her concern with an assured nod. ‘She’ll turn up. She has to.’
Returning to the castle, Penny hollered at the group of children and told them it was time to eat. One by one, they stopped rushing about, slowly disembarked and began the hunt for their shoes. After nineteen pairs had been located and pulled on, the panting group remained on the mat waiting for their next instruction.
‘Cassie’s wearing her shoes,’ Penny whispered to Gerry as he joined her, pointing down at the mat. ‘Whenever she left the castle, she put on her shoes.’
‘Can anyone tell me where Cassie Hilliard is?’ Gerry said, staring at each of the faces, looking for any sign of recognition. ‘We can’t go in for food until we’ve got everyone together. Has anyone seen Cassie?’
The faces remained blank, with the odd shrug of shoulders.
‘Everyone just wait here a minute,’ Penny said, putting on a brave face, before leading Gerry away from the group. ‘What are we going to do? Should we phone the police?’
‘It’s a bit premature for that,’ he replied. ‘She must be here somewhere; if not in the garden then in the house—’
‘I checked the house, Gerry,’ Penny interrupted with a low growl. ‘She is not in the house, and she is not in the garden. What if…’ But she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
‘What if what?’ Gerry began, before connecting the dots. ‘You think someone’s come in and taken her? Don’t be ridiculous! We’ve both been here all day, and there hasn’t been a spot of trouble. Besides, we would have seen someone.’
Penny eventually let out a frustrated sigh, knowing Gerry was trying to remain pragmatic. ‘Well, if she is here, where the hell is she hiding?’
Wrapping a large arm around her shoulders, he pulled her closer to him, and kissed the top of her head. ‘I don’t know, but someone must. Get the other children inside and I’ll check the security camera footage for the last hour and see if it caught her.’ He paused. ‘We’ll find her. We have to find her. There’s more than just her future at stake here.’
Chapter Two
Now
Blackfriars, London
A champagne cork fires somewhere behind me and I start at the sudden eruption of cheering that accompanies the fizz as it explodes from the bottle.
‘Can you pass me a glass, Emma?’ my agent Maddie asks, stretching out her hand as if it’s one of those claw-grabbing devices that children use to try and win impossibly angled stuffed toys at amusement arcades.
There’s a pyramid of plastic flutes stacked on the cloth-covered shelving unit. It is a lame attempt to add a touch of class to the occasion and to make it appear that the room, surrounded by books, looks less like Maddie’s cramped office and more like a privately hired venue fit for a celebration. There are three times more glasses than people gathered in the room, and I can’t be certain if that’s because Maddie overcompensated or because she was expecting more guests at the impromptu gathering. I reach for the flute atop the pyramid and hand it to her crab-like claw; she immediately places it beneath the rim of the bottle to intercept the out-of-control liquid.
‘Here you go,’ Maddie says, handing the half-full flute back to me. ‘You should have the first taste, as you’re the reason we’re all gathered here today.’
I understand why she’s so excited, but I’d rather be anywhere else than at a small party thrown in my honour. Being the centre of attention has always made my skin crawl. Even as a child, I would dread that moment every birthday when family and friends would gather to watch and sing as I attempted to blow out the candles on my birthday cake. At least that level of celebration stopped after my seventh birthday – every cloud and all that.
I understand that book launches and parties are a necessary evil of what we do as writers, but that doesn’t make me any more comfortable with the practice. Maybe I wouldn’t be as on edge if all we were here to do was sign some books.
Maddie moves to where I’m standing and ushers me over towards the television she’s set up in the tight corner of the office, just in front of the landscape window with a view of the Shard, Tower Bridge, and the London Eye in the distance. She proceeds to take and fill one flute at a time, before distributing them to the handful of people crammed into the small office space.
‘Be a love and switch it on,’ Maddie encourages. ‘It’ll be live in a minute.’
Maddie is one of my favourite people in the entire world. As my agent and closest confidante, I speak to her more than my own mother, but I wouldn’t call Maddie a friend. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to bits, and I wouldn’t be where I am now without her passion, patience, and editorial eye but ultimately, she is by my side because the royalties I earn pay her wages. I don’t see how an employee of sorts can be counted as a friend. If my next book sucks, I can’t be certain she’ll still be there shouting my name at anyone who will listen. It’s an odd dynamic that we have. But I wouldn’t change her for the world.
Reaching for the remote control on her jumbled desk, I am amazed at how she doesn’t get her clients’ manuscripts confused. As well as her laptop, there is a printer and at least four bound manuscripts on the desk. I struggle to read more than a few thousand words in a day, let alone ninety thousand words per manuscript. I guess that’s just one of the differences between us.
Although Maddie is only twenty years older than me, you’d have guessed the gap was larger. While I’m still struggling to make ends meet, and wearing the same cardigans and jeans I did at university, Maddie’s professional approach to life is more than just a leap away. Even now, as she fills glasses and chats enthusiastically with each of the invited guests, her business suit is perfectly pressed, her mop of chestnut curls carefully sculpted into an off-the-shoulder number. She looks pristine, her skin fresher even than mine. I know she hits the gym five nights a week, and swears by her vegan diet, but I’m certain it takes more than that to look so alert all day.
Flattening the khaki cardigan that I managed to rescue from the laundry basket this morning, I wish I’d made more of an effort with my own appearance, but then again, donning a cocktail dress and perfectly straightened hair doesn’t feel right for this occasion either. Fumbling with the remote, I succeed in switching on the set, and flick to BBC One where the news is just starting. The bald newscaster reads out the headlines: more bad news about climate change; yet another established high-street name going into administration; and finally that a verdict has been reached in the High Court case against three men standing trial for historic abuses at a former children’s home.
My heart aches as I see the faces of the victims’ families, people I have met and spoken to on too many occasions to recall, people I’ve cried with, people I’ve hugged, people whose lives were tortured by those who should have been protecting them.
I lower the volume of the television before sipping from my flute, the champagne suddenly tasting bitter.
‘Has everyone got a drink now?’ Maddie calls out. ‘Good. Emma, can I have a quick word outside please?’
She’s already heading for the open door before I’ve had a chance to respond. I follow her into the corridor, and when she closes the door behind us I already know what she’s going to say.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asks quietly, leading me further along the corridor so that nobody inside the room will hear us.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, delivering my usual response. But I’m chewing the sleeve of my cardigan, an involuntary habit I’ve had since school.
‘You should be buzzing,’ she chirps cheerfully. ‘Today’s verdict is bound to see a spike in sales over the coming days and weeks. That Sunday Times number-one bestseller slot will likely be yours again this weekend.’
I turn away from her, not because I’m annoyed, but because I don’t want to see her disappointed face when I speak. ‘It just feels… wrong… profiting from such evil inflicted on helpless children.’
She spins me back around, waving a finger of warning in my face. ‘How many times do we have to go through this, Emma? You weren’t the one who abused those children. You weren’t the one who left those children in the care of that home, nor were you the one who ignored the mountain of complaints made against that disgusting ring of paedophiles. You weren’t even alive when the first abuses started! It is because of you that those victims are receiving the justice they deserve today. If it weren’t for your investigation, and subsequent publication of one of the most powerful books ever to come across my desk, they would still be burying those nightmares beneath years of torment.’
It’s easy for her to say; she didn’t have to hear them recount their anguished stories. When I was first approached by Freddie Mitchell, and he told me about what had happened to him at the St Francis Home for Wayward Boys, I knew it was my duty to help him fight for justice, to pursue the men who still walked the streets, free from punishment. I never expected to uncover so many other victims, nor that they’d all be so willing to go on the record. What started as an honest piece of journalism, something to finally get the police authorities to pay attention, had snowballed into something far bigger. There were moments when I had considered giving up the story, such was the emotional toll it took, but I couldn’t turn my back on Freddie and the others.
‘It was your exposé that led to the police investigation,’ Maddie continues. ‘It was your candid interviews with the victims and staff linked to the home that uncovered the ringleaders, and brought the law to their doors. Don’t feel bad that all those long days and nights are now being rewarded.’