Stolen Children

‘It must be difficult for you all.’

‘Not really. Mum and Dad told us to think of it like we have a baby who won’t grow up. He’ll get bigger, obviously – he’s quite heavy now – but we have to feed him, change him, clothe him, bathe him, and we’ll keep doing that for the rest of his life.’ She turned to look at her for the first time. ‘Our lives, too.’

Once she’d changed the nappy, Jodie dressed him in pyjamas. She struggled with the trousers as Riley kicked his legs, but she took control and he was soon ready for bed. She placed him in the specially equipped bed, put mittens on both hands so he wouldn’t hurt himself during the night, and lifted the bars so he wouldn’t roll out. She flicked a switch on the wall which turned on the soothing colour-changing light and left the room. Ellen followed.

‘Does he sleep through the night?’

‘No. He’ll wake up three or four times, sometimes more. He’ll scream and wail for hours. I sometimes think he’s trying to talk to us, to tell us something but we’re not able to understand him.’ She headed for the living room and slumped down on the sofa. When she looked up, she had tears in her eyes. ‘What are you doing to find Keeley?’ She asked.

Ellen sat on the armchair opposite. ‘At the moment, our primary concern is waiting for the kidnappers to make another call and give your parents more information.’

‘What if they don’t?’

‘They will. They’ve asked for money. They’ve given your parents twenty-four hours to get it. They’ll call back and arrange the exchange.’

‘We don’t have fifty thousand pounds,’ she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. ‘Every extra pound we get is spent on Riley. Dad has two jobs just to keep our heads above water.’

Ellen noticed how mature Jodie seemed for her age. She was fourteen years old, but acted and spoke like a woman double her age. She had a great deal to contend with at home; when did she had time to act like a normal teenager?

‘Leave that to us to sort out. DCI Darke and her team know exactly what they’re doing.’

‘I just keep thinking that we’re never going to see her again. That she’s going to disappear like Carl Meagan did.’

‘What happened to Carl was an extremely rare occurrence, Jodie.’ Ellen leaned forward on her chair. ‘There are still people looking for him. I’m very confident we’ll bring Keeley home.’ She smiled, hoping one would be returned. It wasn’t.

Jodie was about to say something when a scream was heard from Riley’s bedroom. She rolled her eyes, got up off the sofa, and dragged herself to his bedroom.

Ellen didn’t follow this time. She sat back and looked around the living room. Framed photographs on the wall showed the family in happier times at the beach, in parks, on rides. They were all smiles for the camera, but the smiles didn’t reach the eyes on any of them. The eyes told a different story. They’d gone to the beach for a fun day out as a whole family, but there was an underlying sense of something darker. Linda’s smile looked painted on; Craig’s looked painful. Jodie’s was the usual glare of a sullen teenager while Keeley’s was one of rote. Riley’s stare was emotionless and distant. Even when they were all together, enjoying the sun, they were not a happy family. Why was that?

Chapter 6

Sally Meagan couldn’t sleep. In the years since her only child had been missing, she had reached the very pits of despair, drowned herself in alcohol, contemplated ending her own life, anything to end the pain she was feeling that she’d failed her son in the one task a mother has – to protect her child at all costs.

She’d written a book about her experience of a missing persons investigation and the anxiety of not knowing where her child was or what had happened to him. She’d hoped it would be cathartic, to release all the pent-up emotions she was going through. It hadn’t worked. The book had sold well in England, and around the world. Carl’s picture was everywhere; surely someone knew where he was. All the book seemed to do was bring out the attention seekers, the so-called psychics, and the weirdos. Once again, Sally had hit rock bottom.

Earlier this year, she had received a series of phone calls from a child saying he was Carl and wanted to come home. They had, briefly, given her a glimmer of hope, but they stopped as soon as they had started. Were they really from Carl? At the time she’d thought so, but, looking back, the voice hadn’t been at all like Carl’s. Once again, it was some sicko looking for a laugh. As much as she relied on the public to help her find her son, with each passing day she loathed them more and more.

Help had come from an unlikely source. Matilda Darke. The very woman who had screwed up the ransom drop and allowed her son to disappear from the face of the earth had offered words of comfort, and an ally in the form of retired detective Pat Campbell. Between the three of them, they spent their spare time formulating ideas, plans, features, anything to keep Carl in people’s minds in the hope of finding him and bringing him home.

There had been many reported sightings of him in Sweden. Sally wanted to fly out there, scour the country for him, but Pat and Matilda, and her husband Philip, were against the idea. Carl was a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. He fitted the Swedish make-up. It would be a futile journey and would do nothing for Sally’s already fragile mental health.

Philip was the stronger of the two. He always had been. He coped with the loss of his son by diving into work. Philip was always behind the scenes, creating menus with the chefs, keeping the books in order and making sure they had the best suppliers, while Sally was front of house. She kept the staff in line, ensured the restaurants were clean and tidy and the customers happy. After Carl’s disappearance, she lost interest and stayed at home, waiting for the phone call that would tell her Carl had been found, or an email with a clear image of her son, a few years older, but perfectly healthy and in the hands of officials who were bringing him home. Days went by, then months, then years, and the call didn’t come. Sally realised she would have to move on. She could not spend the rest of her life looking for one child in a world of seven billion.

She flung back the duvet and swung her legs out of bed. It was a little after two o’clock and she hadn’t been to sleep yet. She’d finished reading the David Nicholls book she’d enjoyed but wasn’t in the mood to start another. She put on her dressing gown in the dark and headed out of the room. There was no need to tip-toe; after a long day at work Philip could be in the paddock of a Formula One track and he’d still nod off.

The bedroom door was always ajar. Woody, their golden Labrador, bought for Carl as a birthday present, slept on the floor in their bedroom. However, the next morning, they’d find him outside Carl’s room, curled up. He missed him immensely and hadn’t barked once since his best friend had gone.

As Sally left her room and headed for the stairs, there he was on the floor, keeping guard.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head at the sound of movement.

‘Hello Woody, can’t you sleep either?’ Sally said in a loud whisper. She bent down and scratched behind his ear. ‘I’m going for a cup of tea. Would you like a Bonio?’

He seemed to understand the B-word as he jumped up and trotted downstairs, tail wagging.

In the kitchen, Sally turned the light on above the oven to give the room a warm glow and flicked on the kettle. From the small cupboard next to the fridge, she took out a Bonio. Woody sat, gave her a paw without having to be asked, took it gently from her, and ran to his bed in the corner of the room. The sound of his teeth demolishing the biscuit filled the silence.

Sally had left her phone plugged in to charge in the kitchen. She unplugged it and began to scroll through the news stories on the BBC News app. There was nothing of great interest. She logged on to Facebook. Her heart sank at the lack of notifications. This was the third day in a row without some form of communication about a sighting of Carl, or even a well-wisher saying she was in their prayers. People were forgetting all about him. She opened the Twitter app and saw that Sheffield was trending. That rarely happened.

@JoArm: My 9yo sister was kidnapped this afternoon around 4pm. We’ve had a ransom demand. If anyone knows anything, tell us. We love her. We miss her. #FindKeeley #Sheffield

@SusieQT: Girl missing in #Sheffield is Keeley Armitage. My kid is in her class at Mary Croft. Parents in pieces. #FindKeeley

@JillRice: Girl in #Sheffield missing since yesterday. Really eerie out there right now. #FindKeeley #Sheffield #Stannington

@Blades379: Keeley is a lovely girl. Always happy and smiling. Why can’t people let kids be kids? #FindKeeley #Sheffield

@SheffGirl21: I saw Keeleys mum. She was screaming for her in street. Heartbreaking. #FindKeeley #Sheffield

The kettle boiled. Sally ignored it. It was happening again. Another child had been kidnapped in Sheffield. She had no idea what this meant, but suddenly, the hope of finding Carl grew a little stronger.

‘Philip,’ she said. She looked up, remembered it was dark and the middle of the night. ‘Philip!’ she shouted and ran out of the room. She took the stairs two at a time, almost falling over Woody who was following, and ploughed into the bedroom.

She turned on the main light and jumped on the bed.

‘Philip. Philip.’ She shook him hard. ‘Wake up.’

He mumbled under the duvet and eventually scrambled his way out of his comfortable cocoon. He opened his eyes and squinted at the brightness.

‘What’s up? What time is it?’

‘It doesn’t matter what time is it. Look at this,’ she showed him the phone.

‘Hang on. I can’t see a thing.’ He took his time sitting up and picked up his glasses from the bedside table. He noticed the time on the alarm clock. ‘Sally, it’s not even half two yet.’

‘I know.’

‘Have you even been to sleep?’

‘No. Look, Philip, please, just look at this,’ she said, annoyed.

He scrolled through the phone, reading the postings on Twitter while Sally provided him with a running commentary.

‘A nine-year-old girl has been kidnapped in Stannington. Her sister has been posting on Twitter asking if anyone’s seen her. She’s put up pictures of her too. The family have been asked for a ransom. She hasn’t said how much, though.’

‘So?’ Philip said, looking up at his wife.

‘Don’t you see what this means?’

‘No.’

‘Philip, how many people get kidnapped for ransom in this country?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Not very many. Yet here we are, in Sheffield, and we have the second kidnap for ransom in four years. That’s not a coincidence.’

‘You don’t seriously think that the same people who took Carl have taken this … what’s she called …?’

‘Keeley. Keeley Armitage, and yes, I do.’ Her face had lit up.

‘But … why?’

‘I don’t know. But don’t you see, this is fresh evidence. If the police find Keeley, they’ll find Carl.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I do.’

‘Sally, please, don’t get your hopes up.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ she said, jumping down off the bed.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To phone Matilda. She’s bound to be working on this.’

‘You’re not phoning her at this time of night.’

‘Oh. No, you’re right. She’ll need her sleep so she’s fully alert. I’ll wait until morning.’

‘No,’ he said firmly.

‘What?’

‘Matilda is going to have her hands full. If you have to call anyone, ring Pat. Let her deal with this.’

Sally thought about this for a moment. ‘Fine. You’re right. Pat will be able to get to Matilda much sooner than I can.’

‘Good. Now, come on, get back to bed.’

Reluctantly, Sally placed her phone on the bedside table and got into bed.

‘Philip, just think, we could have Carl home in a few days.’

Chapter 7

Ellen Devonport was struggling to get comfortable on the sofa bed in the living room. She was used to a king-size bed, a memory-foam mattress and a hunky paramedic to snuggle up to. A rickety aluminium frame that squeaked every time she turned over and a mattress the thickness of a cream cracker was not ideal for a good night’s sleep. It didn’t help that she could hear Riley wailing in the next room.

She wondered why nobody got up to tend to him, or were they supposed to leave him in the hope he’d tire himself out and fall asleep? She turned over, put the thin pillow over her head and closed her eyes. It was going to be a long night.

A noise woke her up. She wasn’t fully asleep, but the sound of a door opening and closing made her sit up. She looked at the time on her phone: it was a little after three o’clock. She sat in silence and listened intently. Riley had fallen asleep. But there was something else, too. Somebody was moving around downstairs.

It was only natural that the family wouldn’t be able to sleep. They’d be worried sick about where Keeley was, what had happened to her, and who had taken her. Maybe Linda or Craig had got up to make a drink. They might appreciate a stranger to talk to, a friendly shoulder to cry on.

Ellen pushed back the duvet. She felt the cool night on her bare legs. She pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and slipped her feet into the slippers she’d brought with her. She put a sweater on over her T-shirt and crept out of the room.

The kitchen was in darkness. She didn’t turn on the light and tried not to make a sound. She hoped Riley was a heavy sleeper and didn’t want to wake him up in case he didn’t go back to sleep and spent the next few hours crying out.

The dining room and kitchen had once been two separate rooms but had clearly been remodelled to accommodate Riley and his wheelchair. The sound of whoever was up was coming from around the dining area. Ellen carefully walked through the kitchen and flicked on the light.

Linda jumped. ‘Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,’ she said in a loud whisper. She was bent over the dresser, rummaging through the drawers.

‘I’m sorry. I heard movement. I thought someone might be up and want to talk.’

‘No. I’m fine,’ she said, turning back to the open drawers.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just looking for something.’

‘Can I help?’

‘No.’

‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’

‘No. Ah, here it is.’ She pulled a folder out of the drawer and sat down at the dining table. ‘Can you pass me a pad and pen from the top drawer in the kitchen? It’s the drawer under the kettle.’

Ellen obliged. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m wondering how we can raise the fifty thousand pounds for the kidnappers. We’ve got three thousand in the holiday account and just under four thousand in a savings account. Craig did a sponsored run a few weeks ago. He raised over a grand. That’s about eight thousand.’ Linda’s eyes were wide and staring. She wrote quickly on the pad with a shaking hand. She was frantically flicking through the folder of bank statements. ‘There’s two grand in the current account, that’s ten. See, it is doable.’

Ellen pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Linda, stop. You need to go to bed and get some sleep.’

‘I can’t sleep. I need to be doing something,’ she tucked her greasy hair behind her ears. ‘We could sell something.’ She looked at her hand. ‘Craig’s grandmother gave him this wedding ring to give me. It’s an antique. What do you think it’s worth?’ She held out her hand to Ellen. ‘Do you know much about jewellery?’

‘Erm, no. Perhaps I should go and get Craig.’

‘It’s got to be worth a couple of thousand, at least,’ she said, ignoring Ellen. ‘I’ll put down fifteen hundred to be on the safe side and anything extra is a bonus.’

Ellen got up from the table and edged out of the dining room.

‘Now, what else have I got? My mum gave me a necklace for my twenty-first. It’s not old but it’s real gold. We might get a couple of hundred for it. Where are those premium bond certificates?’ She said, pulling sheets of paper out of the folder and scattering them around the table.

‘Linda, what are you doing?’ Craig asked. He stood in the entrance to the dining room wearing a black T-shirt with a tatty dressing gown hanging off his shoulders.

‘Craig, how new is your van? What do you think you’d get for it in a quick sale?’

‘Linda, I need that van for work.’

‘We need the money to get Keeley back.’

He pulled out a chair and sat down next to Linda. He took her hand. ‘Linda, listen to me, we don’t have that amount of money.’

‘We have things to sell?’

‘Not fifty grand’s worth of stuff.’

‘We can empty the bank accounts, cash in the premium bonds and the life insurance policies. I’ll phone our Adam in Dublin; he’ll lend us some money. We can easily raise fifteen, maybe even twenty grand that way.’

‘And where are we going to get the other thirty?’

Her eyes darted rapidly from side to side as she thought. ‘I don’t know. Maybe we can get a loan from the bank, or a second mortgage on this place. Maybe we can release some equity.’ She reached out and grabbed for Craig, pulling on his sleeves.

‘There’s no equity left in this place. We released all we could when we did the alterations.’

‘Aren’t there some companies who buy your house and rent it back to you? I know we won’t get anywhere near the market value, but it’ll be more than fifty thousand.’

‘Linda don’t do this,’ Craig said softly.

‘We need her back, Craig,’ she said urgently. ‘I don’t care how we do it, but we’re getting her back.’

‘We advise people not to pay ransom demands,’ Ellen said, stepping forward. ‘If you pay and they disappear with the money, they’ll do it again, and who knows how much further they’ll take it next time. Kidnapping is a form of terrorism and we don’t negotiate or give in to terrorist’s demands.’

‘So why are you even here then?’ Linda shouted, jumping up from her seat. ‘What’s the fucking point of you if when the kidnappers call we tell them to stuff their money and hang up? You’re supposed to be on our side and if we can get the fifty grand we’ll pay it.’

‘Linda, calm down,’ Ellen said quietly.

‘Calm? Calm? How the fuck do you expect me to be calm?’ she exploded. ‘My daughter is missing. She’s out there, somewhere, terrified to death because some pervert’s got his hands on her. She’s never spent a night away from us before. She’ll be scared, frightened, and all you’re doing is telling me to calm down and have a fucking cup of tea.’

Ellen opened her mouth to say something, but Linda cut her off.

‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ she screamed. ‘Don’t tell me how to behave and how to feel. I want my little girl back. I don’t care what the police say.’ Tears began to stream down her face. She choked on her words.

Craig held his arms out and Linda fell into them.

‘I want her back, Craig. We need to do whatever we can to get her back home.’

‘I know, sweetheart. We will.’

‘Mum?’

Ellen turned around to see Jodie standing in the doorway. Her face was a map of worry. Her eyes full of tears. In a nightie and dressing gown, with her hair a tangled mess, she looked younger than her fourteen years and vulnerable.

‘I can’t stand not knowing where she is,’ Linda cried. ‘I can’t …’ Her words were lost to her tears as she fell out of her husband’s arms and onto the floor. She opened her mouth and let out a scream so loud and painful the whole neighbourhood must have heard it.

‘What do I do?’ Craig asked, looking, helplessly to Ellen.

‘I think we should call a doctor. She may need sedating.’

‘I don’t need sedating,’ she screamed. ‘I just—’ She stopped dead.

‘What is it?’

Her eyes were darting left and right. It was as if a switch had been flicked inside her brain. ‘Nothing,’ she said before standing up and heading out of the room. ‘I just … you’re right. Ellen. I’m sorry for snapping. I need to get some sleep. We all do.’

All three watched, open-mouthed, as Linda went from hysterical to calm in record time.

‘What just happened?’ Craig asked, mystified.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Ellen frowned.

‘There is a way,’ Linda said to herself as she padded back up the stairs. ‘They’ll let me have the money. They won’t want to see someone go through what they went through. They’ll be only too happy to help.’

Chapter 8

Tuesday 11th September 2018

Linda tried to stay awake. Ideally, she wanted her husband to fall asleep so she could get up and sneak out of the house. They lay in bed next to each other, not touching, and she listened intently to his breathing, waiting for it to slow and deepen. It didn’t, and she fell asleep before Craig did.

When she eventually woke, daylight was creeping behind the curtains and Craig’s side of the bed had already been made. She looked at the time on her phone. It was a little after six o’clock.

She threw back the duvet and swung her legs out of bed. The clothes she had been wearing yesterday were littering the floor where she had dropped them after undressing. As silently as possible, she pulled on the jeans and the wrinkled sweater, slipped into a pair of Converse and padded carefully down the stairs.

In the hallway, she could hear Craig and Ellen chatting quietly in the kitchen. How long was she going to be here for? She checked her pocket for keys, mobile phone and her purse, then headed for the front door. Once she was at the end of the road and out of sight of the house, she’d call for a taxi.

***

Sally Meagan ate her muesli and drank her black coffee under the watchful eye of her golden Labrador. He knew that as soon as she was finished, she’d fetch his lead, put on her walking shoes, and they’d head out for half an hour or so. He patiently sat by her side, ears alert, eyes wide, waiting. Waiting.

The moment Sally stepped down from the stool at the breakfast table, Woody jumped up and followed her out of the room, tail wagging, tongue lolling and as excited as a child in a chocolate factory.

As usual when Sally left the house, she locked the door, looked up to the concealed camera above the entrance, and headed for the gates at the bottom of the drive. The Meagans were very security conscious and following Carl’s kidnapping they’d surrounded the property with a high wall and cameras. She entered the code on the keypad that only she and Philip knew and waited until the gates were closed behind her before setting off on her walk.

Woody was a well-behaved dog. He missed Carl so much, but he had adapted to Sally being his primary carer, his replacement owner, and he listened to her commands as she kept him on a short lead, and they walked down the quiet, narrow pavement.

It had been a long, hot summer, but as soon as August dissolved into September, it seemed that nature had decided to be begin autumn straight away. It was noticeably cooler in the area and the leaves had lost their shine. They were already beginning to die. It wouldn’t be long before they turned brown and dropped off. Sally loved the autumn; the colours, the crisp, cool smell in the air, the nights drawing in, fewer people out and about smiling and enjoying themselves. People tended to stay indoors as the weather turned. There was a sense that life was on pause until next spring.

‘Mrs Meagan?’