The Missing Children Case Files

Chapter Seven

Then

Bovington Garrison, Dorset

Natalie had waited for her mum to depart – off to have her hair cut and blow-dried – before venturing from the house, her limp far more pronounced than she would have cared for. Her dad hadn’t stuck around after breakfast, and even when her mum was asking questions about Sally, it was as if he was in a world of his own, kissing them both on the head before hurrying away, citing some exercise he had to prepare for. It was the life they lived: army business before all else. Not that Natalie minded living in the confines of the base; there was something reassuring about having a large fence around them.

She winced as she stepped over the threshold and onto the narrow path outside the house. So far the plaster was keeping the blood at bay, but she couldn’t be certain it would remain that way for the rest of the day. She’d wanted to bring a spare in her bag in case it started to leak, but there hadn’t been any large ones left in the box. No need for anyone to see how much discomfort it was causing her. Later tonight, when she was undertaking homework in her room, she would leave the plaster off and allow air to get to the wound. She felt confident that once it scabbed over, walking would be less painful.

Waiting for her mum to leave the house meant she wouldn’t be able to catch the early bus now, but if she could get to the bus stop just after it had left, she’d be first in the queue for the second bus; she definitely didn’t think she’d be able to cope with walking the whole way to school. Not today.

Jane emerged from her house, further up the road, but if she’d spotted Natalie then she didn’t stop to wave, jumping into the front of her mum’s car before they disappeared from sight. It was unusual for Jane to be getting a lift into school, and Natalie was a little put out that they hadn’t offered to give her a lift too. It had to be that Jane simply hadn’t spotted her, and that Jane’s mum had taken pity on her daughter having to carry her violin to school.

That had to be it.

It couldn’t be anything else.

Natalie kept her eyes low as the Curtis house came in to view, terrified that Sally’s mum Diane might spot her and ask the same painful questions Natalie’s mum had asked. Natalie was used to keeping the truth from her own mother, but didn’t feel confident she’d survive an interrogation from Diane.

When she dared to glance over at the property, it looked surprisingly quiet. She’d half expected to find some kind of search party on the garden waiting to scour the area, but there wasn’t even a car on the driveway.

Did that mean…?

Could Sally have returned?

She was tempted to cross the road and knock on the door to find out, but the prospect that her hope was misplaced was enough to keep her moving forwards, albeit slowly because of the sharp pain in her leg.

Nearing the security hut from where she would exit out to the bus stop, she gasped when she spotted her dad there amongst a small troop of five other men, receiving orders from Lieutenant-Colonel Havvard, the head of base security. Creeping slowly forward, keeping her head bent, Natalie strained to hear what was being said, but the wind was too strong, and the lieutenant-colonel had his back to her. She caught her dad looking over and made to wave but he didn’t return the gesture, his eyes turning back on Havvard once more.

The briefing ended just as Natalie reached the security barrier and she waited in line with two boys in the same year group as the guard at the barrier signed them off the base. The troop disbanded, jogging back towards the residences. Her dad remained behind, walking over to Natalie and taking her out of the line.

‘What’s going on, Dad?’ she asked. ‘Is Sally back?’

He shook his head solemnly and stooped so his face was at eye level. ‘No, and her parents are really worried. Do you know where she’s hiding?’

Natalie’s cheeks burned. ‘No. I told Mum, I have no idea where she is.’

He seemed to accept her response but remained bent over. ‘Okay, but do you think one of your other friends might know where she is? Diane and Owen said she was in bed when they locked up last night but wasn’t there this morning. Did she mention that she was planning to run away?’

Natalie gulped. ‘No, I swear.’

‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘Listen, do you think you could do me a favour today? Keep your ears open at school, especially with your other friends. If any of them mentions Sally, or they seem to know more than they’re letting on, will you tell me? It’s very serious and we want to make sure she’s back safe and sound. Will you do that for me?’

Natalie forced herself to nod, inwardly cringing for not coming clean to him now.

‘That’s my good girl. You’d better hurry along now or you’ll be late for school.’

He straightened and she moved back to the line at the security barrier, which was now longer.

‘Well?’ she overheard Lieutenant-Colonel Havvard say.

‘No, she doesn’t know where Sally is,’ Natalie’s father replied quietly.

‘And you believe her?’

‘Of course I do! She wouldn’t lie to me.’

‘Well, someone knows where she is and we’re not going to stop until she’s found. Is that clear?’

Her dad grunted. ‘The last thing we need is another Denmark debacle.’

‘And what the hell is that supposed to mean?’ Havvard growled under his breath.

Natalie looked over her shoulder and saw her dad now squirming beneath Havvard’s glare.

‘Nothing. Forget I said anything. I’d better join the others.’

With that, he saluted and marched back in the direction of the residences.

Chapter Eight

Now

Blackfriars, London

I don’t think I will ever forget that blood-curdling scream for as long as I live.

Even now, an hour later and seated in the warmth and comfort of Maddie’s office, I can hear it every time my eyes close: a death’s cry as that desperate woman realised that everything she knew of life was about to disappear in the blink of an eye.

Neither Maddie nor I have spoken a word since we were ushered back down here and told to wait for a police officer to come and take our witness statements. I’m about to finish my second cup of hot, sweet tea, feeling no calmer than the moment it occurred. It didn’t feel real – like the craziness of a dream that you don’t want to quite believe despite what your subconscious is forcing you to accept as reality. One minute she was there, and the next just… thin air.

Inspector Marcziesk and the security guard had rushed to the edge, as if they’d somehow be able to reverse time and bring her back up, but her blood was apparently already spreading out across the pavement when they looked over. Maddie and I had remained where we were, neither of us willing or able to see what had become of the woman we’d known for less than five minutes. If the scream will haunt me for ever, I dread to think what impact the image of her prone body would have had on the rest of my life.

Watching someone die certainly puts life into perspective; I can’t even begin to imagine what must have driven Natalie to plunge ten storeys to the ground, knowing death was the only inevitability. There could be any number of reasons, and she offered little by explanation. I had thought that once the police negotiator arrived the situation would have ended with a positive conclusion – naïve maybe, on my part. Looking around Maddie’s office – the stack of unread manuscripts; shelves strewn with her clients’ published works; a paltry sum of festive decorations – all of it feels so unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Death can come for any of us just as quickly, and for most we won’t even be a footnote in history.

We both start at a knock at Maddie’s door. Turning to see who has caused the intrusion, I see a pair of grey eyes, a close-cropped greying beard and a dark uniform. The man removes his hat as he enters, closing the door behind him without a word.

‘I’m Sergeant Daggard. Jim. You two are’ – he pauses, pushes a pair of half-rimmed spectacles onto his nose and reads from his notebook – ‘Emma Hunter and Maddie Travers?’

I nod, standing and offering my hand. ‘I’m Emma and this is my agent, Maddie.’

The colour has yet to return to Maddie’s cheeks and I’ve never seen her looking as old as she does right now. Usually, with her makeup applied and her outfit carefully selected, you’d never know there was a twenty-year age gap between us. Right now she looks almost as aged and withering as my own mother.

‘I understand the two of you were up on the roof when…’– he takes a moment to choose his words carefully – ‘when the incident occurred.’

‘That’s right,’ I confirm. ‘Have you come to take our witness statements?’

He offers an empathetic smile. ‘That’s correct, Miss Hunter, but before I do, how are you both coping? It’s vital that we capture an accurate account of what you saw, but it’s also important that you both take whatever time and counselling you need to come to terms with what happened. There is a telephone number for confidential counselling that I’ll pass to you as soon as we’re done, but in the meantime, are you both up to telling me what you saw? If it’s easier, I’m happy for you to stay together while I ask you questions.’

There is something about Sergeant Daggard that I instantly warm to. He has one of those voices you hear on late-night radio: relaxed, sincere and capable of putting you instantly at ease. It can’t be easy to remain so calm and compassionate in such a situation, and yet there is no trace of impatience or frustration in either his manner or his behaviour. He’s placed his hat on the stack of manuscripts and because there isn’t a vacant chair, he’s instead taken up a position resting on the edge of the filing cabinet.

‘I have a detailed statement from Inspector Marcziesk, who informed me that the two of you, and one’ – another pause to consult his notebook – ‘Sydney Bartholomew were already on the roof when she arrived. Is that correct?’

I wait a moment to see if Maddie wants to engage with him, but she’s now rested her head in her hands and is avoiding eye contact with both of us. Knowing Maddie, she’s already started the mental inquest into whether she could have handled anything differently. There really was nothing more she could have done though. In fact, thinking back to what I saw, prior to the inspector’s arrival, Natalie sitting down on the ledge felt like progress was being made.

‘That’s right. I mean, if Sydney is the name of the guard,’ I answer for the two of us.

‘Can I ask what you were both doing on the roof?’

‘We wanted to help. Maddie received a call telling her that someone was threatening to jump, and as a trained suicide prevention counsellor, she wanted—’

‘A what, sorry?’ Daggard interrupted with an apologetic wince.

‘Maddie’s had training to help talk to people who are contemplating suicide, as part of her work with The Samaritans,’ I reply. At least that’s what I think she said to Clyde the security guard to convince him to let us up. Oh God, what if that was just bull on Maddie’s part? I didn’t question it at the time, but is that why she’s so quiet now? Surely not.

‘Is that right, Miss Travers?’

Maddie doesn’t look up, nor respond.

‘Miss Travers?’

‘Maddie!’ I say louder, to snap her out of the trance. ‘Sergeant Daggard asked you a question.’

Maddie looks up at both of us; her eyes are red and puffy, and shining with the light from overhead. I reach into my satchel, remove a packet of tissues I always keep in there and pass her one.

‘It’s all right,’ Daggard says to her calmly. ‘I’ll continue talking with Miss Hunter, and then speak to you afterwards.’ He looks back to me. ‘You were saying, Miss Hunter…?’

‘Um, yeah,’ I begin, trying to straighten the memories in my head. ‘We climbed up onto the roof and saw the security guard there, maybe five or so metres from the woman, who was standing close to the ledge.’

‘Were the two of them in discussion?’

‘I–I–I don’t really remember… She pointed at Maddie and me, and wanted to know who we were, so Maddie explained.’

‘How did the woman – Natalie – how did she seem to you? Was she upset? Angry? Worried?’

‘Anxious, I’d say, but yes, there was definitely fear there too. She seemed troubled.’

‘And how did she react once you’d identified yourselves?’

I think about the penetrating stare she held on me for what felt like an age, but probably wasn’t more than a few seconds. ‘Maddie was the one talking to her; I was just observing the scene unfolding. I’m sorry, I really don’t remember. I never expected her to actually go through with it.’

‘I understand from Inspector Marcziesk that Natalie spoke to you. Can you tell me what she said?’

‘She told me she recognised me from the TV.’

‘Had you ever met Natalie before today?’

I’m trying to place her face, but I genuinely have no recollection of ever seeing her before being on that roof. She was wearing a cleaner’s tabard, and God only knows how many times I must have passed her in this building without noticing her. If only I’d been less wrapped up in my own world, maybe I could have done more.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I reply. ‘Did she work here?’

He shrugs. ‘I believe she was working for a cleaning company who recently took over the contract for this building, but I couldn’t tell you if she’d ever stepped foot inside the place before today. One of my colleagues is checking that at the moment. Do you recall whether Natalie said anything else to you?’

You need to find her. Find Sally. Tell her I’m sorry.

‘She mentioned someone called Sally Curtis, but I don’t know who that is. The inspector seemed to know though. When she first arrived, she asked Natalie if her being on the roof had anything to do with Sally.’

Daggard is nodding, scribbling something into his notepad. ‘I don’t know all the background, but from what I understand, Natalie’s friend Sally Curtis disappeared when the two of them were adolescents, some fifteen years ago. Natalie was one of the last people to see Sally alive and blamed herself for Sally disappearing. Been in and out of psychiatric institutions for a number of years, and this isn’t the first time Inspector Marcziesk has been called to talk Natalie down from a building.’

I can imagine some of the pain and guilt that must have been coursing through Natalie’s mind earlier today. I’ve felt the exact same thing.

Through it all, there’s still a tiny bell ringing at the back of my mind; the name Sally Curtis is definitely gnawing at my subconscious, beckoning me to recall why it seems so familiar.

‘Anything else you can remember about what Natalie said before…?’ He is desperately trying not to reference the suicide, but I sense it’s more for our benefit rather than because he’s uncomfortable.

‘Nothing at the moment,’ I admit reluctantly. ‘It all happened so quickly.’

He smiles warmly again before taking my contact details and passing me a business card with his. ‘If you do recall anything else, please don’t hesitate to call. If I’m unavailable, you can leave a message with a colleague who will ensure it is passed on.’

‘What will happen next?’

He narrows his eyes as he looks at me. ‘An autopsy will have to be performed to check that she hadn’t ingested something that spurred on her decision, but after that the case will be closed. There’s no reason to think there was anything untoward, given her history and previous attempts at suicide.’

‘How’s the inspector coping?’

‘She’s obviously disappointed that she wasn’t able to keep Natalie alive, but she’ll receive specialist counselling… which reminds me—’ He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a laminated flyer and hands it over. ‘I highly recommend the two of you seek some counselling too. PTSD can be a silent killer in its own way.’

I take the flyer, recalling the counselling I was forced to attend after Anna’s disappearance, and then my eyes widen in panic. ‘Oh God, I just remembered I’m supposed to be meeting Jack.’ I look down at Maddie, not wanting to leave her alone.

‘Go,’ she urges. ‘I’ll be fine, I promise.’

Chapter Nine

Now

Hyde Park, London

Hurrying through the bitter drizzle, I’m annoyed at myself for running late. I know how keen Jack Serrovitz has been for today to happen, and I promised I wouldn’t allow Maddie’s ability to drone on to get in the way of making a good first impression. I’m sure there’s probably a more direct route from London Bridge to Marble Arch, but I’m not a Londoner and I’m not yet au fait with how the underground network operates. I know there are different lines and a bazillion stations, but how they all interconnect is still beyond me. In fact, there probably was a quicker pedestrian route I could have taken, rather than relying on a black cab, but given everything that’s happened so far this morning, it was the simplest choice – and God knows I could do with some simplicity in my life right now.

I asked the driver to drop me at Marble Arch station, as Rachel had told me that was a short stroll from the entrance of Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park. Of all the places Jack could have picked for us to meet, this one is certainly picturesque… if not ridiculously overcrowded. Reaching the main entrance, I can see nothing but tourists, wrapped up against the cold, hustling and bustling past me. Checking my phone, I can see Jack has messaged to say they’ll wait for me by the ticket booth but I’ve no clue where that is, and I find myself being swept along and in through the entrance by the crowd. It’s only when I feel a firm hand on my shoulder that I realise Jack has located me, and he steers me out of the tide of tourists.

‘You made it then,’ he declares, though there really isn’t any need for the conversation to be awkward.

‘Yep,’ I reply, equally uncomfortable.

I’ve known Jack for a little over three months, since he helped me in the hunt for missing seven-year-old Cassie Hilliard. Jack was the police liaison that was organised for me to review the historic casefile, and despite a bumpy start, something like friendship has started to blossom since. He’s a nice guy – handsome, funny at times, and I know we wouldn’t have successfully located Cassie without his help and support.

But this is the first time Jack and I have seen each other since we visited Turgood at HMP Stafford. I wince as I recall the moment Jack informed me that pictures of my sister had been discovered on the hard drive, and then Turgood’s sneer appears behind my eyes again.

‘He wanted to rile you,’ Jack said afterwards, ‘but you shouldn’t let him get the better of you.’

Easy for him to say!

All I have left are three facts: my sister went missing twenty years ago, she was still alive when the video was made four years later, and Turgood knows more than he’s sharing.

Jack shuffles from one foot to the next as a cold breeze blows between us. He promised he would do whatever he could to make Turgood talk and wouldn’t stop until he’d helped me find Anna, but he’s not been able to offer anything more than words of encouragement. Turgood’s major heart attack eight weeks ago hasn’t helped matters. He’s currently considered ‘too ill to be interviewed’, from what Jack has told me. Too convenient if you ask me. At least karma appears to be in play for that belligerent monster.

The reason for today’s meeting is because Jack has been begging me to come and meet his daughter Mila. She’ll turn seven on Christmas Eve, which is less than a week away now, and I think it’s why he’s chosen Winter Wonderland as the venue for our introduction.

As we make it through the crowd and to a small clearing just beyond the ticket booths, it’s only now that I see Mila is holding his hand. Dressed in a faux-fur coat, leggings and ankle boots, she looks much older than her six years, but when she turns to face me, she is one of the prettiest girls I think I’ve ever seen. Her long dark hair hangs straight and loose down her back and when she smiles, I can see she has inherited her father’s goofy grin.

‘This is Mila,’ Jack gestures. ‘Mila, this is Daddy’s friend Emma.’

Mila extends her small hand, and does a half-curtsey as we shake.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mila,’ I say, with my most welcoming smile.

‘Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?’ she asks, without a trace of malice.

‘Um, well… no,’ I reply, thrown by the directness of the question, and glancing at Jack for help.

His cheeks have taken on a beetroot hue too, as he quickly stammers, ‘No, we talked about this, Mila. Emma is just a friend. Remember?’

‘We’re just friends,’ I concur.

‘Emma is that famous writer I was telling you about,’ Jack adds. ‘Remember? You said you wanted to meet her because you want to be a writer one day too.’

‘Oh yeah, I’ve decided I don’t want to be a writer any more,’ she corrects. ‘Seems like too much hard work.’

‘And what do you want to do instead, when you’re older?’ I ask inquisitively.

‘I’m going to ride horses at the Olympics, and then I’m going to be an actress.’ She says it so matter-of-factly that you’d think it had been pre-ordained from upon high and etched into a stone tablet.

In fairness, I never thought I’d end up writing professionally. I was a major bookworm when I was younger, but in hindsight I think it was just easier getting lost in a book than having to deal with the fallout of Anna’s disappearance. Reading made me want to write stories of my own, where I could control the narrative and the course of the characters; some would say that means I’m a bit of a control freak, but I would counter that I’m just a sucker for a happy ending.