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This isn’t the first time she’s delivered this impassioned speech, and I doubt it will be the last time I hear it. I fix her with a strained smile. ‘I know you’re just looking out for me, but I feel like I’m taking advantage. Every time my name is used in conjunction with their story, it’s as if I’ve put myself forward as their spokesperson when that was the last thing on my agenda. I wanted to give them a voice, rather than speak for them.’
‘And your words have done exactly that. You’re thinking about this far too much. Look at how you live; it’s not like you’re high-rolling at their expense. You’re still holed up in the same one-bedroom apartment in Weymouth; still using the same tatty Oyster card to travel up here when required, rather than investing in a car of your own; and still wearing moth-eaten clothes. In fact, on that note, you and I seriously need to go and expand your wardrobe! I can’t have my number-one bestselling author turning up for interviews and events looking like an impostor.’
What an appropriate word; an impostor is exactly what I am.
‘You’re appearing at the Harrogate Literary Festival and Crimefest in Bristol next year, and we definitely need you looking your best at those.’
‘Those are festivals for fiction writers, Maddie. I’m just a journalist who wrote a piece of non-fiction. Nobody in their right mind wants to hear from me.’
‘That’s what you think. What if I told you tickets for your panels are already fully subscribed? Face it, lady, your star is on the rise and it’s about time you got used to it.’
Oh great, I don’t add, rooms full of people hanging on my every word is just what I need.
The door to Maddie’s office opens and one of the in-house editorial assistants at my publisher pokes her head out. ‘I think it’s about to come on.’
There’s a twinkle in Maddie’s eyes as she beams and claps her hands together. Grabbing my hand, she practically yanks me back into the room, just as the picture on the screen cuts to a grey-haired reporter standing outside the High Court only a few miles from where we’re standing now.
‘It took just three hours for today’s verdict to be reached. Lord Eagleton chose to speak directly to the victims and their families, telling them how sorry he was that this miscarriage of justice was allowed to continue for as long as it did. He thanked them for their bravery, and advised that the verdicts and sentences would reflect the severity of the offences under review. He then turned and addressed the three defendants directly, speaking of his utter disdain for their nefarious activities. Arthur Turgood, who had overall oversight of the home, was not present at court today, owing to a deterioration in his health overnight, but the sentence was passed in his absence. Turgood will serve three fifteen-year custodial sentences concurrently and, owing to his recent medical diagnosis, is unlikely to live past that term. His two co-defendants – Geoffrey Arnsgill and Timothy MacDonald – will each serve concurrent six-year sentences for their part in a scandal which has shocked the nation. Today’s verdict follows a rigorous investigation by officers in the Metropolitan Police’s specialist Yewtree team, and as a result of Monsters Under the Bed, the bestselling exposé written by investigative journalist Emma Hunter.’
Maddie whoops at the mention of my name and book, while I simply cringe and hunch my shoulders. The phone ringing on Maddie’s desk couldn’t have come at a better time.
Maddie grabs it while downing the rest of her champagne, but her neck muscles tighten and her eyes widen in shock as she stares directly at me. ‘There are police in reception, Emma, and they want to speak to you.’
Chapter Three
Now
Blackfriars, London
There are butterflies in my stomach as the lift doors close and the carriage begins its descent to the ground floor. I rack my brains for what might have happened to warrant the police turning up at my agent’s office demanding to speak to me. Is it as a result of today’s verdict? Are they angry that my book exposed their lack of investigation years earlier? Has a relative been fatally injured, and they’re here to break the news? I’m a law-abiding citizen so there is no reason for me to feel this tense at the prospect of meeting with the police. I left that past behind me a long time ago. But the look of shock in Maddie’s eyes has me on edge now.
I’ve never so much as pinched a bag of sweets, let alone anything to cause the police to come looking for me. Not for me. It has to be related to today’s verdict. It has to be.
Another woman gets in on the floor below wearing a blue tabard and wielding a trolley filled with two mops, a vacuum cleaner, and a variety of disinfectant sprays dangling from the rim. Her hair is the bright black of the sea at night, a frown creasing her brow in seemingly deep thought as she fiddles with the impression of a thin band on the ring finger of her left hand.
I shift to the right to further accommodate the trolley and her eyes flicker up, before narrowing in suspicion. I try to look away but I can feel the burn of her stare as it burrows into the back of my head. I can see her reflection in the shiny brass plate on the wall in front of me, and for the briefest of moments our eyes meet, until I bend my gaze away.
Then her hand is on my arm and the tension in my shoulders cranks up another notch. ‘Excuse me,’ she says, her accent unfamiliar. ‘You’re her, aren’t you?’
The knot in my stomach tightens as I turn and try to offer a smile to placate her. I’m not yet used to strangers recognising me when I’m out and about, let alone being so willing to strike up conversation. That’s one of the bugbears of having your book selling so many copies. Suddenly you become a commodity for anyone to use however they see fit. I was against putting my picture on the website Maddie insisted I create to advertise the book. That same picture has now been replicated countless times in the press as word of my book and investigation spread like wildfire. Not that I’m ungrateful that the book – the victims’ stories – are now common knowledge; a wrong was done that required fixing, and thankfully today’s verdict is a giant stride towards that. The punishments handed out by the judge will do little to redress the years of torment and nightmares suffered by Freddie Mitchell and the others, but hopefully when they seek civil remuneration, their pain will be somewhat alleviated.
I extend my hand to the woman. ‘I’m Emma Hunter.’
She wipes both sides of her hand on the already stained tabard, before shaking mine. ‘You wrote that book. Um… what’s it called… um…?’
‘Monsters Under the Bed,’ I confirm for her.
‘Yes, that’s it. I can’t believe what those poor boys went through. It is criminal to forget there are people out there capable of such… perversion.’
Her grasp of English belies her thick accent, and I can feel my cheeks starting to warm. ‘If you’d like me to sign your copy of the book, I’d be happy to. My agent, Maddie Travers, has an office on the sixth floor. If you drop your copy by, she can get me to sign it next time I’m here.’
I feel quite pleased with myself that I haven’t hidden my light behind my usual bushel, and have made an extroverted gesture – though why anyone would want my autograph is beyond me. Still, Maddie tells me it’s all part of the marketing game these days.
‘Oh, I haven’t read your book,’ she says matter-of-factly, as if my mere suggestion that she has is offensive. ‘My daughter has, and told me all about it.’
An awkward silence descends, as I’ve no idea how to rescue us both from the faux pas.
‘Oh well,’ I eventually say, conscious that the lift is slowing as it reaches the ground floor, ‘if you want me to sign your daughter’s copy, just drop it off with Maddie.’ The lift doors open with a ping, and I’m relieved. ‘It was nice to have met you,’ I offer as I dart out as quickly as I can without running.
At least the exchange distracted me from the purpose of my lift journey. Maddie’s agency occupies half of floor six in this ten-storey building; the other floors are occupied by a variety of other small businesses – including two other literary agencies – who can’t afford to let an entire building in London without support. I’ve been here enough times now but the lobby always takes my breath away, the overhead lights reflecting off the shiny marble walls, the floor buffed to within an inch of its life. Strangers hustle about either side of me, all here for one purpose or another, their faces gone in the blink of an eye. I’ve often thought that working in the heart of London must be quite isolating. Millions of people commute through this city every day; how many ever actually stop to acknowledge their shared experience? It makes me glad I get to work out of my tiny flat in Weymouth, although I do occasionally pack up my laptop and head to the local café or library when I’m bored of staring at the same four walls.
As I approach the front desk, there is no obvious sign of a police officer. I’m about to interrogate the handsome hulk of a receptionist when I spot my best friend, Rachel Leeming, chuckling mischievously and waving at me just beyond the security barrier.
‘I should have known it would be you.’ I smile as I swipe through the barrier and hug her. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, pleased by the surprise visit.
‘I was at the High Court when the verdict was read out and wanted to congratulate you. I remembered you saying you’d be watching from your agent’s office, so here I am.’
This is so typical of Rachel; anyone else would have phoned or sent a message, but despite her reliance on technology for her job, she prefers the personal touch in her private life. It’s why I love her to bits, and am thankful we got lumped together in halls of residence at university.
‘You could have come up, you know,’ I say, nodding back towards the bank of elevators.
Rachel pulls a face. ‘Thanks, but I know what Maddie really thinks of me, and I’m not her biggest fan either. That’s why I couldn’t tell that gorgeous receptionist who I really was, or Maddie wouldn’t have let you come down.’
‘You make her sound like a monster! She’s really sweet.’
‘You only think that because she mothers you. I know people who knew her before she became a literary agent, and some of their stories would put your hair on end.’
She must see I’m hurt that the two most important women in my life are in adversity.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rachel offers, ‘I know people can change, and I’m glad she’s clearly taking such good care of you. If that ever changes though, you can tell her from me that I’ll be coming for her. Nobody takes advantage of my best friend. Not on my watch.’
I’ve never been able to stay angry with Rachel; she’s always had my back, and I don’t doubt that she’d make a beeline for Maddie if she ever crossed a line.
‘Here, you should have seen how those rotters squirmed when the judge read out their sentences; pity the worst one wasn’t there too, but they’ve put an armed guard outside Turgood’s room, ready to escort him to a Cat-B facility as soon as he’s fit enough. You must be thrilled!’
‘I’m pleased those men have finally got the justice they deserve,’ I say, choosing my words carefully.
‘Well that probably wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for you. You should be proud of yourself! I’m proud of you. It’s okay to be happy with the verdict.’
I close my eyes and nod my head, allowing a short sigh to escape. I know she’s right; I know Maddie is right too. I need to get this chip off my shoulder and accept the repercussions of my investigation. I wrote that book because I felt compelled to tell their story in the most factually accurate way possible. Better that than allowing some tabloid to sensationalise a tragedy.
‘My editor was asking me about you again today,’ Rachel says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. ‘Wants to know how much it would cost to convince you to join our paper. I told him he’d have to pay top dollar, but he said he didn’t care and asked me to bring you in for a chat.’
I back away slightly, no longer enjoying this surprise visit.
‘We’ve talked about this before, Rachel,’ I begin, as calmly as I can. I don’t want to upset her. ‘You know it just isn’t practical.’
She closes the gap. ‘Why not? Think about it: you could dust the sand from your shoes once and for all and move to London. You could move in with me if you wanted and it would be just like the good old days of university: Rach and Em putting the world to rights and breaking the biggest news stories.’
The thought of moving to London fills me with dread; I’m not ready to turn my back on the only town where I’ve ever felt comfortable in my own skin. Too many memories – good and bad – to simply move away. She doesn’t understand what really keeps me in Weymouth, and how I don’t ever see myself leaving.
‘Your flat is tiny,’ I say, opting for logic over honesty.
Rachel reluctantly nods. ‘Fine, we’d get a new place for the two of us to share. You must be making a fortune in royalties anyway, which would supplement any money the newspaper would pay. We’d make a formidable team.’
Of that I have no doubt, and if the job was in Weymouth or any of the neighbouring towns within Dorset, I’d genuinely consider it, but London is too noisy, too polluted, and too crowded for my liking.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I lie, but she looks crestfallen.
‘Of course you will,’ she says despondently, before brightening. ‘What are you doing to celebrate tonight? How about I see if that gorgeous receptionist fancies taking out two of the UK’s deadliest bachelorettes?’
I glance back over my shoulder at the blonde man, but I can’t see why he’d have any interest in someone like me, and the last thing I want is to be at the mercy of Rachel’s matchmaking.
‘I have plans already,’ I lie. ‘Sorry.’
Rachel raises her eyebrow questioningly. ‘Just tell me you’re not planning to spend all night sitting at your laptop on that missing people site again? I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I’m your best friend, and I can see how much it takes out of you.’
If she knew the real reason I hunch over the screen at night, she wouldn’t think to question it. But I can’t tell her; not now, after all these years. I don’t want it to muddy her view of me.
‘Actually, I’m giving a talk at the library tonight for the WI,’ I say, as assertively as the deceit will allow. ‘It’s been planned for months.’
Her eyes don’t leave mine as she attempts to smoke out the lie, but eventually she gives up, her gaze dropping. ‘Okay, well if you do find yourself at a loose end in the next few weeks, you really ought to come and stay with me. It would do you some good to get away from the coast, and they do say that change is as good as a rest. Why don’t you come for a long weekend? Then I can show you what it’s really like to live in our nation’s capital, and you’ll see it’s not as scary as you think.’
I’m about to argue that it isn’t fear keeping me from moving when a gravelly voice calls out over my shoulder. ‘Excuse me, excuse me!’
We both turn to look, coming face to face with an older gentleman I feel like I vaguely recognise.
‘Ah, good, it is you,’ he says, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘I thought it was. May I have a moment of your time, Miss Hunter?’
He has the whitest head of hair I think I’ve ever seen and beneath the thick beard is a weathered face, yet there’s a glint in his bespectacled eyes. The cane hanging from his arm is gilded and well-cared for, and the tweed suit has been tailored to fit his ample body shape. Later in the year and dressed in red, I’d almost think I was speaking to a Lapland local. Something tells me he hasn’t interrupted us for an autograph.
Rachel opens her mouth to speak but the older man bangs the end of his cane on the hard floor. ‘It’s about my granddaughter, you see,’ he says firmly, evidently not a man used to being ignored. ‘One year ago today, she was abducted, and I want you to find out what happened to her.’
Chapter Four
Then
Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire
Penny Connors stepped back from the table and watched as small hands on spindly arms shot out and quickly emptied the bowls of crisps, pizzas, and sausage rolls. The plate of crustless sandwiches remained untouched, but she wasn’t surprised Sean’s class had all opted for the less healthy snacks first. That was precisely why she had yet to bring the large platter of cakes to the free-for-all, and why it was hidden in a draw of pans in the kitchen.
‘If anyone needs anything, Mr Connors and I will be just outside in the garden. Sean, can I borrow you for a minute?’
Sean pulled a face as he met his mother’s gaze, but didn’t challenge her request, sliding off his chair, and sullenly following her out of the room and into the kitchen.
‘Cheer up, sweetheart,’ Penny said warmly, keen not to spoil his day, but desperate to know the answer to her next question. ‘I just need to ask you something, and I wanted to do it away from all the others. When is the last time you remember seeing Cassie Hilliard? Only, your dad and I have checked the house and the garden, and we can’t seem to find her.’
Sean didn’t seem concerned by her absence. ‘I don’t know. Are you sure she’s even here?’
The image of Elizabeth Hilliard with that parasol filled Penny’s vision again. ‘Yes, she was definitely here. Do you remember? She was dressed as Ariel from The Little Mermaid, and gave you a present wrapped in silver and gold glitter paper.’
She knew this last detail would refresh his memory as he’d told her it looked really girly, whereas all the gifts from the rest of his class had come in wrapping paper adorned with superheroes and footballers.
‘Oh yeah,’ he said, twisting his mouth awkwardly, as he tried to recall any other details about the missing girl. ‘She was on the bouncy castle with the others. I remember that because she bashed into Jason, and they both fell over. They banged their heads I think.’
Penny widened her eyes. ‘Was she hurt?’
‘She didn’t cry,’ Sean confirmed, ‘but I don’t know where she went after that. Sorry, Mum. Can I go back to the food now?’ He began to move away.
‘Just a second,’ she said, reaching for his arm and gently pulling him back. ‘Did she say anything after she bumped her head? Was there any blood? Did she seem in pain?’
Sean shrugged, as he always did when he didn’t know how to answer a question. ‘No idea. We were all bouncing and laughing, and I don’t know what happened after. I don’t think she was bleeding.’
Penny nodded, knowing there was little further detail she’d be able to extract from her son’s fragile memory. ‘Okay, thank you. Listen, I’m going to go and join your dad searching in the garden. If anything happens in there,’ she indicated towards the dining room, ‘I want you to come and get one of us. Okay? If anything gets spilled, anyone needs anything else to eat or drink, or there are any arguments, come and get one of us.’
‘Sure,’ Sean replied, his mind already back on the plate of food waiting for him.
He hurried away and Penny took one final look in the dining room. She spotted Jason Knightwood at the end of the table, head low, nibbling on a sausage roll much like a squirrel might. Despite the raucous chatter from everyone else, he was sitting in silence. Odd boy, Penny thought again. Satisfied that all nineteen children seemed happy enough, and not in need of her attention, she made her way back through the kitchen and out onto the patio. Gerry was halfway up the garden, raising each side of the castle systematically, before stooping and looking beneath it.
‘Find anything?’ Penny asked as she joined him.
‘No,’ he sighed gruffly. ‘I just wondered whether she might have wandered behind the castle, and somehow got sucked under it.’ He shrugged his shoulders in the same way his son did. ‘Silly, but I just can’t work out where else she could be. I’ve tried looking at the rough end of the garden again, but there’s no obvious sign that any of them have been up there. You did tell them they weren’t to go beyond the castle or they’d get no cake, so I’d be surprised if any of them had.’
‘Was there anything on the security camera?’
‘No,’ he bristled. ‘She definitely didn’t leave via the front door.’
‘Sean said she bumped heads with one of the other children. What if she’s got a concussion, or is unconscious somewhere?’
‘I’d have found her by now if she was passed out somewhere in the garden. I’m telling you, Pen, she’s not out here. She must be inside.’
Penny could see the concern growing in her husband’s mocha-coloured eyes, and his thick, dark, bushy beard glistened with sweat. ‘I think we need to phone the police,’ Penny repeated. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but we don’t know where she is. There’s no way she could have got out, but what if someone did come in when we weren’t looking and took her? Can you, hand on heart, say you were watching all of the children the entire time? I can’t. I was so busy preparing the food and answering the door as new children arrived that I couldn’t tell you when she was even last seen by any of the children. For all we know, she could have been missing for nearly an hour.’
‘But who would want to abduct a six-year-old child from a classmate’s birthday party?’
‘You know as well as I do that the Hilliards are from good money. Her dad made the Forbes rich list two years ago. People with that kind of wealth attract enemies.’
‘But who even knew she was here apart from her parents? And who would have the audacity to snatch her from a stranger’s house? It’s too risky if you ask me. They’d have to know the whole layout of the building, all the entry and exit points, and that there wouldn’t be a houseful of parents watching. Even we thought there’d be at least another two adults here until this morning.’
Penny couldn’t answer. She felt sick to her stomach that they now found themselves in a situation where they might have to phone the authorities.
Gerry pivoted to scan the top end of the garden again before sighing heavily. ‘Okay, okay. Listen, we’ll do another check of the house, and if we still can’t find her, then we’ll phone the police.’
Penny followed him back to the house and they were about to head upstairs when Sean called out to them. ‘I’ll go,’ Penny said, as Gerry’s foot landed on the first step. ‘What is it?’ she asked Sean as he emerged from the dining room.
He was grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘Look who I found.’ He turned back towards the dining room and as he did, Penny’s gaze immediately focused on a girl in a luminescent green dress with a wave of flowing cherry-red hair.
‘Cassie!’ Penny gasped.
Cassie Hilliard looked up at the call of her name and smiled as she pushed a Pringle into her mouth.
‘Gerry,’ Penny shouted over her shoulder as relief flooded her body. ‘It’s okay, she’s here. You can come back down.’
‘Do I get a reward for finding her?’ Sean asked, a cheeky glint in his eye.
Penny found herself chuckling and pulled her son into her arms, smothering the top of his head in kisses until he squirmed away, embarrassed in front of his friends, none of whom seemed to have noticed the onslaught of affection.
‘Cassie, can you come and speak to me in the kitchen please? It won’t take a minute,’ Penny asked.
Cassie lowered the next Pringle to her plate and made her way around the table, following Penny into the kitchen and waiting patiently until she was spoken to.
‘You gave us quite a scare there, young lady,’ Penny said, not wanting to chastise someone else’s child, but also keen to stress the worry that had built up almost to breaking point in the last fifteen minutes. ‘We thought you’d gone missing. Where have you been?’
Cassie lowered her eyes but didn’t respond.
