Полная версия
‘They were staying in a seafront hotel, and had taken Aurélie down to the beach on what was a particularly hot day. She was paddling at the water’s edge when her mother returned to their room to collect a new book to read, leaving her husband watching Aurélie. However, he received an urgent phone call, and looked away for what he claimed couldn’t have been more than two minutes, and she vanished. At first they panicked that she’d wandered further into the water and had been swept up in it. A frantic search was engaged, but she couldn’t be found. Given his prominence, an investigation was commenced immediately with detectives from the Met sent down to support local investigators.
‘A day later, checking of local security camera feeds captured the moment a kicking and screaming Aurélie was placed in the back of a Transit van and driven away. The time on the camera matched the moment Remy Lebrun was heading into the water to look for her.
‘It was assumed the abduction was targeted, because of the family’s notoriety. The beach that day was packed with holidaymakers making the most of the August sunshine, but despite the hundreds of beach-dwellers interviewed by police in the immediate aftermath, nobody could recall the moment Aurélie was taken, nor did anyone recall a ten-year-old girl being dragged from the beach.’
The table falls silent as we all reflect that there is more to this than just a thrilling story. As someone who has experienced the sudden disappearance of a loved one, I know full well that it is the quiet nights of contemplation that are the most painful to deal with; there is a natural human need to ask what we could and should have done differently, and I have no doubt that both Remy Lebrun and his wife Solange will have criticised their every move that day and in the days before.
If only Remy hadn’t taken that call; if only Solange hadn’t returned to their room to collect her book; if only they hadn’t gone to the beach that day; if only they’d stayed at a different hotel, or in a different town; if only Solange and Aurélie had remained in Paris.
I know because I’ve asked similar questions of myself every day since I saw Anna wander from our driveway twenty years ago.
‘We’ll have to move quickly,’ I say now. ‘If Aurélie is well enough to speak to me, then let’s get an interview arranged before anyone else gets wind of the story.’
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Becky look as excited as she does right now. ‘I’m so thrilled that you’re as enthusiastic about this as us. Can you imagine getting to hear first-hand what it was like being taken against her will, and held for so long? There is such a human interest story here that it’s giving me tingles. I’ll phone my contact now, and get the wheels in motion.’
I nod my agreement, and watch as Becky excuses herself from the table with her phone to her ear. What I haven’t told her is that my interest in speaking with Aurélie is less about where she’s been held, or how she escaped; I want to know if she ever saw Anna.
Catching the tube back to Rachel’s flat in Ealing, I am focused on packing my bag and catching a train back to Weymouth from where I can base operations. I don’t see the point in commuting from London to Poole every day. Becky has managed to get me in to see Aurélie first thing in the morning, so there is no point in me sticking around in London when I could be back home listening to the crash of the waves and the seagulls gossiping while refreshing my memory of the events surrounding Aurélie’s abduction.
The last thing I’m expecting to find waiting on Rachel’s doorstep is Jack Serrovitz. I start when I see the forlorn look he’s wearing, and that he’s clutching a bunch of flowers surreptitiously behind his back.
‘Sorry to just turn up like this,’ he says, his usual goofy grin replaced by thin lips drawn into a tight grimace. ‘I wanted to apologise for last night.’
I don’t need a mirror to see that the heat has rushed to my cheeks. I hadn’t even thought about our awkward encounter since Aurélie’s name tumbled from Becky’s mouth. I just want to go inside, pack my things and catch the next train out of London, but I’m not cruel enough to ignore Jack’s effort.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, non-committally. ‘Forget it happened.’
He takes a step forward, the plastic veil around the flowers rustling. ‘No, it wasn’t acceptable. I misread the situation, and I want to apologise for my behaviour. I like you, Emma. You make me laugh, and you challenge me to be a better detective than I think I ever was. But the last thing I want is to mess up our friendship and put you off helping me with our investigation.’
I suppose it had been too much to hope he’d buy the excuse of the brunch meeting as a reason for me not to go to the police station today.
‘You’ve not put me off helping,’ I reassure him, ‘I had a business meeting with my publisher that I couldn’t blow off; that’s all.’
He studies my face, looking for those tell-tale signs of deceit that I know my body is showing despite my best efforts to hide them. ‘These are for you,’ he says, thrusting the bunch of flowers towards me. ‘I feel awful about what happened, and I want you to know that it won’t happen again.’
It’s at times like this I wish I lived in Jane Austen’s era, where such communication and discussion about feelings were reserved for written correspondence. I’m no good at speaking from the heart when talking about myself. I momentarily picture Jack as Mr Darcy emerging dripping wet from the lake, and it causes me to snicker, but that only deepens his frown.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say, quickly shaking the image from my mind. ‘Listen, Jack, you caught me off-guard last night, and had I known—’
‘I was out of order,’ he quickly interrupts, ‘and I promise it won’t happen again. You’ve made your feelings on the matter clear, and I just hope I haven’t screwed things up between us. Jemima Hooper and the others need you on this investigation.’
If he’d allowed me to finish, I would have told him that we should postpone discussions about romantic entanglements until after we’ve identified each of the children on those videos, but I don’t have the courage to come out with it now.
‘You’ve not messed anything up,’ I say, offering my most encouraging smile. ‘Okay? I do need to go back home for a few days though, as something has come up that I need to deal with. I promise it has nothing to do with last night, so don’t go reading anything into it. Okay?’
He doesn’t look convinced.
‘I have a potential lead on Anna that I need to plough my efforts into,’ I clarify.
‘Really? That’s incredible! What’s the lead? A location?’
‘Not exactly. It’s a long shot, but something I need to pursue.’
‘Do you need any help? I’m happy to chase anything down that might help; after all, Anna is one of the victims on the video, so it is technically related to our investigation anyway.’
Actually, a few days apart will probably be a good thing for us, I don’t tell him.
‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘but I need to check the source first. As soon as I have something more concrete I’ll let you know, okay?’
He is still dangling the bunch of white lilies at me, and I sense he won’t leave until I take them and formally accept his apology.
‘Thank you for the flowers,’ I say, accepting the bunch and breathing in the sweet perfume, ‘but they really weren’t necessary. Everything is fine between us, I promise.’
Jack returns to his car at the side of the road, and I wave as he pulls away, before heading into Rachel’s flat to gather my things. Seeing Jack has pushed another question to the forefront of my mind: is it possible that Aurélie Lebrun is another of the children in the videos recovered from Arthur Turgood’s hard drive?
Chapter Ten
Then
Poole, Dorset
She had a name. When Mr Truffaut had first said her real name was Aurélie, the name had sounded wrong, out of place somehow, yet there had been something familiar about the sound of the vowels that had triggered distant memories, memories locked so deep in her consciousness that she hardly dared to believe they were there. But the more he – and the petite firecracker DS Cavendish – said it, the more familiar it became. The sound reminded her of a time when fear wasn’t her preliminary response to every occasion; a time when she could play, and explore, and hope.
DS Cavendish had told her she was Aurélie Lebrun, and had been missing for some thirteen years, making her twenty-three now; an entire youth spent in trepidation and darkness, and for what? Now she was out, and lost in a world her fragile mind could hardly contemplate. For the first time, she allowed her mind to wonder what she would be doing now had she not escaped.
Aurélie shook the thought from her mind; it didn’t serve any purpose to allow such daydreaming. She had to believe that sometime the grass really could be greener on the other side. And as terrified as she was to be learning so much about a life that was long since forgotten, it didn’t compare to the terror she’d lived through. If there really was a Hell, then she’d survived it somehow, and at some point her mind would have to allow her to see that she really had escaped; there was no way he would be able to get her, now she was safe with the police.
‘I’ve just spoken to your parents,’ DS Cavendish exclaimed, bounding into the room, swallowing the distance between the door and the bed in a few elongated strides. ‘They couldn’t quite believe we’d found you, but they’ll be on the next flight out of Lille, and will probably be here first thing in the morning. Your mother was in tears.’
Aurélie looked down at the photograph of herself in the red and white ruffled dress that Cavendish had now printed out for her. Behind her stood a handsome man she recognised as her father, and a woman whose once youthful features weren’t dissimilar to the reflection Aurélie had caught in the bathroom mirror. Memories of these two figures had yet to filter through the fog in her mind, but she had no doubt that she was staring at the faces of her parents. How much they must have changed in the last thirteen years too; would she even recognise them when they arrived? Would they recognise her?
‘Listen, it’s getting late,’ Cavendish now said, nodding towards the dimming sunlight at the window closest to the door, ‘and my shift ended an hour ago. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to go now, unless there’s anything I can get for you in the meantime?’
Aurélie couldn’t understand every word, but managed to get the gist of the question, shaking her head at the offer of further support. She suddenly felt very tired, even though the furthest she’d ventured all day was the bathroom for toilet breaks. Truffaut had said something about shower facilities in another room, but she didn’t dare venture out alone. Stifling a yawn, Aurélie fixed her pillow and turned onto her side as Cavendish bowed out, closing the door behind her.
Aurélie closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, yet she also worried that this glorious dream was nearing its end, and that she would soon be woken by him, and the dream would be smashed.
She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when a knock at the door disturbed her. In walked a woman with an unfamiliar face. She had to be at least six foot tall, but with a wiry frame that for a moment had Aurélie picturing an icicle. The woman closed the door behind her. Dressed in a khaki-coloured long coat, she didn’t look like a nurse or doctor.
Aurélie remained still in bed, squinting as the stranger picked up the medical file clipped to the foot of the bed and examined the contents. Aurélie was already fed up with being prodded and fussed over as various tests had been carried out on her over the course of the day. She hoped that if she remained still, this woman, whoever she was, would leave her be and go on her way. But then the woman in green pulled out what looked like a small camera or phone, and a flash of bright light suggested she’d taken a picture of the medical notes.
Aurélie sat up at this point, startling the woman in green.
‘Oh, you’re awake,’ the wiry woman gasped. ‘How are you, Aurélie?’
Aurélie remained silent, an alarm bell ringing somewhere in the back of her mind, instantly sensing danger. Was it possible this woman worked for him in some capacity?
‘I bet all of this,’ the woman continued, rolling her gaze around the room, ‘seems a bit mental, right? There’s no need to be scared; I’m a friend, and I mean you no harm.’
Aurélie tried to recall what the nurse had said about pressing a button to call for a nurse if she needed to, but she couldn’t recall which button to use. She was just reaching for the paddle hanging from the bed frame when the wiry woman moved to that side of the bed.
‘My name is Tessa Imbrock; I know your mother.’
Aurélie froze, studying the woman’s face, looking for any clue to another long lost memory, but drawing a blank.
‘Do you mind if I take a seat?’ Tessa Imbrock said, not waiting for an answer before pulling over the chair that Cavendish had left beside the wall, and promptly sitting in it. ‘How are you feeling, Aurélie?’
She adjusted her pillows, to allow her to sit up, and continued to look at the woman’s face. The skin beneath her eyes was dark and hung lifelessly, almost as if she’d just stepped out of a boxing ring, yet there was no pain or swelling; this was the face of someone who’d burned the candle at both ends for too long. Yet there was nothing threatening about the gentle smile or pixie-cut fair hair.
‘Heavens!’ Tessa exclaimed. ‘Can you even understand what I’m saying to you?’
Aurélie offered a small nod, even though she was barely following the questions.
‘Oh, what a relief! As I’m sure it is for your mum and dad. Have you spoken to them yet? Your parents?’
Aurélie shook her head, not trusting her own voice.
Tessa glanced at the watch hanging from her bony wrist. ‘Probably too late. Allowing for the time difference, it’s well after ten in Lille. I’m sure you’ll get to speak to them in the morning. I can just imagine how overwhelmed your mum will be at the news. Poor Solange; she took it the hardest, you know.’
Cavendish had confirmed her parents as Remy and Solange Lebrun, and although she couldn’t say how, Aurélie had felt those names were right. So this woman had to be a friend of her mum’s; at least that ruled out the possibility she was in cahoots with him.
‘Do you remember the day you were taken?’ Tessa asked next. ‘Do you remember being on the beach with your mum and dad?’
In truth, Aurélie couldn’t recall a beach, but she’d never forgotten the feeling of terror as her body had been flung into the back of the van, and how she’d rolled and bounced as the vehicle had picked up speed. She’d thought of herself as a sock in a washing machine, until eventually it had stopped, but from that moment, the memory faded until the relentless daily waking in the dark. Whatever had happened in the days and weeks that followed her abduction, those memories had been buried deep enough that they weren’t readily available.
‘Can you tell me anything about the man who took you? His name? What he looked like?’
Aurélie thought about the crude sketch of the monster she’d scribbled for Truffaut and Cavendish. It hadn’t been accurate. Her captor hadn’t been barrel-chested or covered in hair. Latterly, he’d been bereft of any kind of hair, as the scent of death had hovered nearby. At times he could be tender, almost allowing her to believe he cared, but those few occasions could never make up for the brutality of the rest. Whatever he’d felt for her, she didn’t want to believe it was anything resembling love.
‘Aurélie? Did you understand my question? Can you tell me anything about the man who took you?’
She shook her head again, knowing that Cavendish would want answers to similar questions, and feeling as though her unwillingness to provide answers was letting everyone down. She’d learned not to look, not to listen to anything not directed at her; it had taken time and pain, but she’d learned to be obedient.
‘What about where you’ve been for the last thirteen years? Can you tell me if you’ve been in a house, or a flat, or a basement? Where have you been, Aurélie? Were you in the UK?’
The directness of the questions was starting to grow tiresome, but these were just the tip of the iceberg, Aurélie knew; she would be questioned over and over until she could shed light on the truth of what had happened, of what had happened to her.
‘Je ne sais pas,’ she offered with a slight shrug. ‘Pardon, I not know the words.’
Tessa paused, and considered her. ‘Would you mind if I took your photograph? I’m sure your mum and dad would want to see that you’re safe and well.’
It seemed such an odd request, but Aurélie didn’t know how to let her down, and reluctantly nodded.
Tessa raised the small camera that she’d been clutching the entire time, and snapped two pictures of Aurélie in the bed, before joining her and taking an image of the two of them together. The flashing of the light hurt Aurélie’s eyes, and must have been visible through the closed door, as a moment later one of the nurses opened the door and peered in, instantly losing her temper.
‘You shouldn’t be in here,’ she challenged Tessa, marching into the room, and placing her hands on her hips.
Tessa didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned, pocketing the camera and walking nonchalantly towards the door. ‘I’ve got what I came for.’ She stopped, reaching into her pocket again, this time extracting something that she swiftly handed to Aurélie. ‘If you want to talk, or you want to sell your story, call me first. My editor will pay handsomely for an exclusive.’
Tessa didn’t wait for an answer, hurrying from the room under the watchful glare of the nurse.
Aurélie examined the business card, trying to decipher the language, but recognising the red lettering of the logo in the top corner. It seemed Tessa wasn’t a friend of her mother’s, but a journalist looking for a scoop. Aurélie sank back into her pillows as her eyes watered; maybe life had been easier underground.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
