The Present: The must-read Christmas Crime of the year!

It was dark by the time Anna got home to her East London flat. Dark and cold and grim. The festive lights flashing and sparkling around the city did their best to alleviate the gloom, but they didn’t manage to lift Anna’s spirits. The image of Sharon Steiner’s innocently smiling face was etched into her mind. What nightmare was that poor young woman enduring at this very moment, alone and terrified and held captive by the psychopathic Santa? What state was she in? And what hope of salvation did she have when CID seemed so wilfully incompetent? The shoddiness of the investigation being headed by DI Townsend had left Anna feeing angry and depressed. Sharon Steiner’s life depended on those clowns doing their job right. How could they be so shoddy in their search for her? They were police officers, for God’s sake – did they not have consciences?

Back at her flat, Anna kicked off her shoes, poured herself a stiff drink, and slumped down in the sofa. Her head was buzzing. She was restless and agitated. Living alone was wretched at times like this, times when you felt the profound need to give voice to your feelings, to communicate, to discuss. She fiddled with her phone, scrolling through names, looking for somebody she knew would be around and willing to talk to her. Family, old friends from university, fellow hacks in the After-Dark offices … one after the other she flicked through their names and numbers, but somehow, for all the affection she felt for these people, it was always Miles Carter she wanted to speak to most when she had something serious on her mind.

She had stayed in contact with Miles, right through the years of his mental breakdown and slow, ongoing recovery. She liked him. He always seemed genuinely delighted if she rang or dropped by, he continued to take a keen interest in her work at After-Dark, and even now, despite the fragile state he was in and the lingering effects of the mysterious trauma he had suffered, he still possessed a silly, schoolboyish sense of humour and an honest warmth that always made her feel safe with him.

She scrolled through to his number and dialled it. And as ever, he was in. He never seemed to go out much these days.

She came straight out with, ‘Miles, I’m angry.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I apologise unreservedly.’

‘Not with you, you great dope, it’s CID!’

‘And what have they done?’

‘Nothing! That’s why I’m so mad at them! If you’d seen the press conference today you’d understand. Jesus Christ, don’t they understand they’ve got a serial killer on their hands? A young woman’s life is hanging by a thread and all they can do is dick about and screw up their investigation and give stupid press conferences to try and cover their useless arses! It’s obscene! It sickens me, Miles. I’m not standing for it. I’ll find that poor girl myself if that’s what it takes. I’ll find and save her because somebody has to! And then I’ll publicly roast hell out of CID with a whole series of articles! No, better than that, I’ll write a book! I’ll write a bloody great book that’ll sink so-called DI Townsend’s career once and for all! The bastard! The arrogant, useless, amoral bastard!’

There was a pause.

And then Miles said mildly: ‘Well, I’ve got a bit of sticky toffee pudding left over from yesterday so I’m happy as a sand boy.’

Despite herself, Anna grinned. This, of course, was why she had rung him up. She didn’t want to rail against the injustices of the world, not after having been railing against them all day already. She just wanted a friendly voice, a little dose of normality. And Miles could always be relied upon for that.

‘I’m sorry, Miles,’ she said, snuggling down with the phone and her drink. ‘It’s been a hellish day. I just needed to speak to somebody.’

‘I’ve been out of the game for a while, Anna, but I’m still a journalist at heart,’ Miles said. ‘I know exactly how you feel. No need to explain. Rant all you like, get it out of your system, I promise I won’t hang up. I would never hang up. I might sit here watching Come Dine With Me with the sound down while you drone on and on, but rest assured I would never actually hang up. Come to think of it, I might hang up if Come Dine With Me looked like it was getting really good. I mean to say, how could I not?’

‘Miles – thank you for talking your usual crap to me. I needed it. Big time. I feel grounded again. How are you doing over there in Hampstead?’

‘I’m getting through the days, Anna. I’m surviving.’

‘Any chance you’ll be feeling well enough to get back in the saddle some time soon?’

Anna was always asking him this. He was too good a journalist to waste his talents moping about the house all day. After-Dark needed him. It was his home-from-home. He belonged there.

‘I’m … not ready,’ Miles said hesitantly. ‘I’m still … jumpy, you know, after my bad patch.’

His bad patch. That’s what he had come to call it, the awful, unspeakable thing that had happened to him and driven him to total breakdown. His bad patch. It was such a classic bit of Miles understatement, a mask to cover something terrible.

‘I’m just not ready to come back yet,’ he said.

‘But one day, yes?’

‘Maybe. I … Maybe.’

‘Would it help if you opened up to me about what happened to you, Miles?’

‘No,’ Miles said flatly. There was a pause, and then he said: ‘Please don’t push me on this, Anna.’

He sounded so fragile and damaged that Anna just wanted to smother him in a hug. Whatever it was that had happened to him had broken his spirit and traumatised him; the shadow of it still fell across some part of him. But Anna was resolved to be patient with him, to continue encouraging him to move out of that shadow and get back to his old self again. But all in his own time.

The two of them chatted for a while, Anna letting the conversation ramble away into trivia and silliness. Just for that brief time, her mind was relieved of the burden of thinking about Santa and Sharon Steiner and the horrors of Elm Crescent. She focused on nothing but her dear, damaged friend. She wanted to be there in Hampstead with him. She wanted to snuggle down on the sofa with him instead of being here in East London with just her mobile and a stiff drink. She’d even watch Come Dine With Me with him, if that’s what he wanted (and dear God, he watched some crap, that boy).

After twenty minutes of talking rubbish and laughing over stupid things, Miles said: ‘It’s getting late, you’ve clearly had a long day, and I don’t want to keep you up all night talking when you should be getting some rest.’

‘And you get some rest too, Miles. Proper rest. Get yourself well.’

‘I’m … working on it. Do swing by here any time you’re in Hampstead, Anna. I’m usually in and it’s always a joy to see you. I’ll even make sure there’s a whole new sticky toffee pudding here waiting for you. A really big one. From Waitrose and everything.’

‘How could a girl refuse?’ Anna laughed. ‘I’ll definitely see you as soon as I can, Miles. I don’t think I can face this horrible world without regular doses of you. And I’m so excited that you’re starting to feel ready to get back to work. But for the time being, I’ve got a lot on. This investigation I’m working on is important, it needs my full attention.’

‘Of course it does,’ Miles said, speaking with complete empathy. ‘Just be careful, yes?’

‘I’m always careful.’

‘I mean it, Anna.’

‘So do I. Good night, Miles.’

‘Nighty night.’

Anna hesitated before hanging up. She didn’t really want to say goodbye. Miles hesitated too; after a few seconds she heard him say: ‘Sleep tight.’

Another pause, then he said: ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

A few more seconds passed – and then he put down the phone at his end.

Alone again, Anna tried to hang on to the warm memory of Miles’s voice for as long as possible. But by the time she got into bed, her mood was darkening again. Some part of her felt guilty to have been joking around, talking silly stuff with Miles, while somewhere out there Sharon Steiner was cowering in terror at the hands of her murderous captor, alone and brutalised.

I’ll find her, Anna vowed to herself as she hit the light and settled down. Even if CID can’t get their act together, I can. I’ll find her, wherever she is. I swear it.

Stretched out on the sofa, Anna let the booze work its way into her system and carry her away into a fitful sleep. Nasty, disordered dreams crowded in on her. Ben and Sharon Steiner were there, drenched in blood, being dragged into deep shadow. And Miles drifted in and out too, looking worn down and dishevelled, the blood of the Steiners splashing across him and staining his clothes deep scarlet.

And there, brooding over this whole jumble of horrible images, was a big, dark shape which, despite being faceless and silent, Anna somehow knew represented Detective Inspector Jim Townsend, glaring at her, pouring his silent hatred over her like poisonous fumes, cooking up plans and plots and acts of vengeance against her to teach her – once and for all – the price she could expect to pay for making powerful enemies in high places …

Anna woke suddenly, more anxious and fretful than before. The room was dark and still. It was just gone 1.00 a.m.

Why was her heart beating so rapidly? Why were nerves jangling throughout her body? Had there been a noise? Had something jolted her awake?

Slowly, stiffly, she sat up on the sofa where she had fallen asleep, peering about the room. All was as it should be. There was nothing to be frightened of. The flat was secure, there was nobody else here, she was perfectly safe. There was nothing left for her to do except pad across to the bedroom, throw off her clothes, get under the big, warm duvet and …

Bang!

It was a dull, fist-like noise slamming hard against the front door.

Anna jumped, her heart leaping into her throat.

So that’s what had woken her up! Somebody had banged at the door while she was sleeping. And now they had banged again.

Her fists clenched and drawn tightly against her chest, Anna edged her way into the living room towards the front door, all the while bracing herself for another thud. But there was nothing. Just silence.

Two or three feet from the door, she stopped and stood there, waiting.

More silence.

‘Who is it?’ she called out at last.

No answer.

Shaking, she plucked up the courage to bring her eye closer and closer to the little spy hole. The fish-eye lens showed the street outside. Nobody about.

Still jittery and jumpy, her heart thudding against her ribs, Anna fumbled clumsily with the latch, got the door open, and thrust her head out. There was no sign of anyone. Not a soul.

Except …

There at her feet was a box, about the size of a hat box. A present. A Christmas present, neatly wrapped in shiny paper depicting the repeated image of a partridge in a pear tree. There was even a red ribbon tied into a decorous bow, and a nametag attached, also bearing the image of partridge in a pear tree.

Once again, she looked up and down the street, as if the mystery caller would suddenly be revealed. But there was no sign of him now.

Anna picked up the present. Something moved about inside, not heavy but certainly solid. Tipping it this way and that, she got the impression that there was liquid inside.

She turned the gift tag so that she could read what was written inside it. In red ink, and in bold capitals, she saw the words:

ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS

MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME …

Instinctively, she guessed it was from Miles. Before his ‘bad patch’, it had been a habit of his to leave little gifts on her desk to find when she came into the After-Dark offices.

As she carried his mystery present into the flat, she wished he’d hadn’t just left it and buggered off without a word. She wanted him here, even though he had always hated her flat and was forever nagging her to move out and find somewhere better.

Maybe he couldn’t say what he wanted to say in words, face to face. Maybe this present contained something that would make Anna understand what it was that was eating him up inside, what it was that was driving him to drink.

Sitting on the sofa, resting the present on her knees, she began tearing away the partridge-in-a-pear-tree wrapping paper. Beneath, she found a sturdy plastic box, airtight, water-tight, opaque. There were little hinged clasps holding the lid firmly in place. Anna unlatched them, one after the other, then prised away the lid and looked inside.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t hurl the box away. She certainly didn’t faint.

She merely placed the present slowly on the floor, controlled her breathing, willed herself not to vomit, forced herself not to panic, walked calmly – if shakily – to the telephone, and dialled 999.

Chapter 2

The police officers who arrived at her flat took both Anna, and her ‘present’, back with them to the station. By 2 a.m. she was sitting in an interview room, drinking coffee, waiting to be interviewed. The image of what had been in that ‘present’ was still fresh in her mind. The image, and the smell. With the utmost clarity, she could recall lifting the lid from the container and at once being assailed by the sickeningly sweet stench of stale meat. Then she saw blood, thick and congealed to the consistency of custard, and a glistening red mush of raw flesh all heaped and slopped in the middle of it.

That awful memory was replaying itself inside her mind, over and over, when the door opened and the detective who was to take her statement strode in. At sight of him, Anna felt her blood run cold.

Detective Inspector Jim Townsend did not make eye contact with her as he settled himself behind the desk in front of her. Nor did he say a word. He glanced through a slim sheaf of papers, checked that the microphone on the table was working, looked at his watch, poured himself a cup of water, took his time sipping it, adjusted his chair – and then, and only then, did he look across at Anna.

There was a tense moment of silence between them.

Then Townsend spoke: ‘The standard procedure for commencing an interview such as this is for me to introduce myself. And I know that you’re a stickler for standard procedure, Ms Vaughan. So we’ll play this strictly by the book. With that firmly in my mind, let me introduce myself. My name …’ and he paused here, just for a moment, still fixing her with his icy stare ‘… is Detective Inspector James Robert Townsend of Middlesex Constabulary, CID.’ Another pause. ‘I’m here to take a statement from you, Ms Vaughan, about what happened to you approximately one hour ago. Please, start from the beginning, tell me in your own words what occurred, take your time, and …’ yet another cold pause ‘… do try and relax.’

‘I would like to give my statement to another officer, please,’ Anna said.

‘I’m afraid no other officers are available, Ms Vaughan.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘It’s a fact. Now – please – tell me what happened to you.’

Anna sighed and ran her hand over her face. She felt tempted just to get up and walk out. It wasn’t like she was under arrest. She was the victim here, for God’s sake. She was the victim of … of something … something horrible.

‘In your own time,’ Townsend prompted her, his voice emotionless, his eyes unblinking.

Anna took a slow breath, tried to forget the bad blood between her and Townsend, and said: ‘There’s not much to say. I was asleep in my flat when something woke me up suddenly at about one o’clock. For a moment I didn’t know what it was, but then I heard a sound, like a fist thumping against my front door.’

‘How many times?’

‘I think there were just two thumps – the one that woke me up, and then the second one I heard when I was awake.’

‘And then?’

‘I went to the door but there was nobody there … nothing … except for that gift-wrapped present.’

‘Were you expecting a present at all?’

‘No. Certainly not at one in the morning.’

‘And what about the handwriting on the tag, did you recognise it?’

‘No.’

‘But you went ahead and opened it.’

‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘I had no reason not to.’

‘Do you consider yourself to have enemies, Ms Vaughan?’

‘I’m a journalist. Naturally I’m going to upset people in the line of my work. Certain sorts of people.’

‘And this didn’t concern you enough to stop you from opening this anonymous present?’

‘No. No, it didn’t. Like I said, I’m a journalist. I upset certain sorts of people … and I don’t give in to fear.’

‘The very same thing could be said about the police,’ Townsend observed, and then he went on: ‘So – bravely, fearlessly – you opened the present. And what happened?’

‘I took the wrapping off, and the ribbon, and inside was this water-tight plastic container. So, I unclipped the lid … and opened it … and there inside was … Well, I’m sure you know already.’

‘Yes indeed,’ Townsend said coldly. ‘And what did you do after you looked inside? Did you scream?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure!’ Anna snapped. ‘I’ll tell you what I did. I put the box carefully on the floor and called the police. And then I sat and waited with the front door locked until they arrived.’

‘I see,’ Townsend muttered, leafing idly through his papers again. ‘Well, Ms Vaughan, it only remains for me to ask you if you have any further information you wish to add.’

‘I … I can’t think of anything.’

‘You have no suspicions about who may have sent this box to you?’

‘No names spring to mind.’

Jim narrowed his eyes, thought for a moment, then said: ‘Very well. Do you think any more relevant names might “spring to mind” at a later date?’

‘I doubt it, Detective Inspector.’

‘But you yourself told me you’ve made enemies in the past. That suggests to me that you might at the very least have some idea who could possibly have sent you this box.’

‘I’ve upset certain MPs and local councillors,’ Anna said. ‘I upset the Home Office once, and I wrote something that nearly got us sued by a pharmaceutical manufacturer. And, of course, I’ve ruffled a few feathers in your line of work, Detective Inspector. But I don’t see any of these people leaving me a box of blood and God knows what on my doorstep at one in the morning.’

‘I’m not in a position to say one way or the other, Ms Vaughan. This job has taught me that anything’s possible, that the most unlikely people are capable of the most uncivilised acts. Nothing’s off-limits, not when it comes to human behaviour.’

‘Well, that’s one thing we can both agree on,’ Anna conceded. ‘So – what happens now?’

‘You’re free to go,’ Townsend said, gathering up his things and no longer making eye contact with her.

‘I know I’m free to go, Detective Inspector, I was always free to go. I was asking about what you are going to do about what happened to me?’

‘We shall pursue an investigation as per standard procedures – by the book – just the way you like it, Ms Vaughan. By the book. That’s all I can say. Please go through to the waiting area – a police constable will see about getting you home to your flat.’

‘Excuse me, I feel like you’re giving me the brush-off,’ Anna said.

‘I can’t help how you feel,’ said Townsend, getting to his feet and heading for the door without so much as a glance in her direction. ‘We’ll be in touch if we have anything to report. Good night, Ms Vaughan.’

But as he opened the door to leave, Anna jumped up and strode over to him, blocking his way. Now, at last, he was forced to make eye contact with her. The two of them stared at each other, very close, almost nose to nose.

‘I don’t want you dealing with my case,’ Anna said flatly.

‘It’s not your decision,’ Townsend replied.

‘I’m making it my decision. I don’t have faith in your competency, Detective Inspector.’

‘You’ll have to take the issue up with my Chief Inspector.’

‘I don’t think you’re good at your job. You’ve certainly screwed things up with your investigation into the Steiners.’

‘Get out of my way, Ms Vaughan.’

‘Not until you tell me the name of the officer you’re passing my case on to.’

‘I said, get out of my way, Ms Vaughan. I don’t have time for this nonsense, I’m a very busy man.’

‘I’ll tell you again, you’re incompetent. And worse than that, you’re prejudiced. Against me.’

‘I’m becoming increasingly tired of dealing with you, Ms Vaughan.’

‘You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care if you handle my case or not, it doesn’t matter a damn, not compared to what’s happened to Ben and Sharon Steiner. Forget me, go out there and find her, Detective Inspector Townsend, find Sharon Steiner. Do your bloody job. More than that – show some humanity. Get your damned investigation sorted out, get your team into shape, and find Sharon Steiner while there’s still anything left of her to find!’

Townsend stared at her, his face expressionless except for the flexing of his jaw muscles. Then, in a very low voice, he said: ‘Accompany me to my office, Ms Vaughan.’

‘Accompany you to your office!’ Anna snorted. ‘What the hell are you, the head-bloody-master?!’

He pushed past her and stormed along a corridor, reaching the door to his office and flinging it open with a resounding bang.

‘In!’ he ordered.

‘This isn’t a police state yet, you know.’

‘In!’

‘Another time, Detective Inspector. I’m busy too. I have to get home and write an article … about you, and how you’ve behaved here tonight. Who knows, it might just finish your career. It certainly won’t do your promotion prospects any favours.’

‘In!’

‘I’ll make my own way home,’ Anna said, and with that she turned on her heel to walk away.

‘Ms Vaughan,’ Townsend called after her. ‘One last thing before you go.’

Anna stopped, sighed heavily, and waited.

‘Well?’

‘I just wanted to say … well done.’

Nonplussed, Anna turned round and looked back along the corridor at Detective Inspector Townsend. But now she saw that Townsend’s whole demeanour had changed. He was smiling. His eyes were smiling, all the iciness and aggression melted away from them.

‘I mean it, Ms Vaughan,’ he said, and there was warmth in his voice, there was humanity. ‘It’s one thing to stand up to the police at a press conference surrounded by fellow reporters – but it takes real guts to do it alone, without backup, in the depths of a police station at two in the morning. So – well done. And please accept my apologies. I would rather not have had to put you through such rough treatment just now. Rest assured that I would never have subjected you to any of it without good reason. A damn good reason.’

‘Good reason? I … I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’

‘The Steiner case. You have no idea what’s really happening with it, Ms Vaughan. No idea at all. And given what’s happened to you tonight, with that so-called present turning up on your doorstep, it looks like you’re far, far more involved with that case than you can imagine.’

‘I … I …’

Townsend held out his hand to her, a genuine gesture.

‘Please, come through to my office and I’ll explain everything,’ he said. ‘It’s important, Ms Vaughan – not just to the Steiner case, but to you, personally. I need to speak to you. Your life might very well depend on it.’

Anna stepped warily into Townsend’s office. She still didn’t trust him. Even less did she understand what the hell was going on with him.