The Missing Children Case Files
Isolated
The Missing Children Case Files
M. A. Hunter
One More Chapter
a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
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…
You will also love…
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.’