The Mother: A shocking thriller about every mother’s worst fear…

Tears began to form in my eyes again and I struggled to hold them back. Who was this person and what terrible crime was he accusing me of committing against him? Sure, I had arrested lots of men during my police career, but I couldn’t imagine that any of them would have cause to seek such a brutal revenge. Not even those whose names I’d given to Brennan.

So had the kidnapper picked me at random so that he could fulfil some psychopathic fantasy? These thoughts and a million others crowded my mind.

‘Why don’t you go and lie down,’ Adam said. ‘Your boss told us he’ll call as soon as he’s seen the footage from the street camera.’

‘Lying down won’t make me feel any better,’ I said. ‘I need to be ready to go to the station if it turns out that Molly has been sighted.’

It was a glimmer of hope that I wanted to cling to, despite the voice inside my head cautioning me against it. In all likelihood it was a different child who’d been spotted, a toddler being carried somewhere by his or her father. And even if it was Molly with the man who’d snatched her, it wouldn’t necessarily be of much help – not unless he could be identified or they were seen getting into a car or entering a house.

Adam heaved himself up off the sofa and took off his jacket. The back of his shirt was soaked with sweat. He looked down at me, his face furrowed with worry, his jaw locked as he spoke.

‘I need to make some calls,’ he said. ‘Let some people know what’s going on.’

He told Sergeant Palmer that he was going into the kitchen and asked her to stay with me.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And if there’s anything either of you need then please just ask.’

As I watched Adam walk out of the room I drew in a sharp breath and felt my ribs smart.

I dreaded the thought that he would soon leave me and go back to his own flat. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope on my own. The despair was growing inside me like a malignant tumour and the simple act of breathing had itself become a challenge.

Everywhere I looked there was something to remind me of Molly. Her box of toys, her pink cardigan, the bag packed with her nappies, her favourite Shrek DVD, a tiny white sock poking out from beneath the cabinet where she had probably stuffed it.

A sob welled up inside me and I swallowed it down. I couldn’t allow myself to lose control. Molly needed me and I’d be next to useless if I became an emotional wreck.

‘I’ll find you, sweetheart,’ I said under my breath. ‘I promise I will find you.’

I closed my eyes and pictured her beautiful little face. I could almost feel her bouncing on my knee and it made me smile. And then I heard her infectious laughter and for a blessed moment my mind carried me back in time – away from the unbearable agony of the present.

‘She’s absolutely gorgeous,’ the midwife said as she delivered my baby into the world. ‘Have you got a name for her yet?’

‘Molly,’ I said. ‘After my late grandmother.’

‘It suits her,’ she said, wrapping the tearful little bundle of joy in a soft blanket. ‘Here you are, my dear. Meet your new daughter.’

She gently placed Molly in my arms and the love poured straight out of me. It was without doubt the most precious moment of my life, marred only by the fact that I wasn’t sharing it with her father.

Oh, the cheeky sod had asked if he could be present at the birth, but I’d said no, just as I’d said no when he’d suggested we get back together on learning that I was pregnant. I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t love me, and even though he said he did I didn’t believe him. Things became strained between us just two years into the marriage, partly because he didn’t want children immediately and I did. But finding out about his affair with a colleague in the NCA broke my heart and made me lose all respect for him.

It had been tempting to succumb to getting back together, of course. He told me that he wanted to, and even my parents had urged me to give him another chance. And perhaps I would have if I’d believed it could work out between us. But the damage had been done and I wasn’t convinced I could ever trust him again.

Despite all that, I’d be forever grateful to him for giving me Molly, who was conceived the very last time we had sex. It was during our make-or-break holiday in Spain, just before the drink-fuelled bust-up that led to his confession of adultery.

It wasn’t a mind-blowing experience for either of us, but especially not for me because I was trying to suppress all the anger and suspicions that had been building up for weeks.

He came inside me while I was lying face down on the bed and I didn’t even bother to fake an orgasm. It was so very different from the lovemaking during those early months of the marriage when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other and I never imagined that he would ever cheat on me.

It was hard at first, coming to terms with the end of the relationship, especially after I learned that Adam continued to date the woman he’d had the affair with. Her name was Gemma and she was fifteen years younger than him. But Molly helped me through it. From the moment I discovered that she was inside my belly I knew that I didn’t need anyone else. She was all that mattered. She was my future, my life – my saviour.

My eyes snapped open and I was back in the present. My throat quivered and I had to force myself to breathe.

It felt like everything around me had been leached of colour. My body shivered and my heart beat like a jack hammer.

Sergeant Palmer stood on the other side of the room looking through the front window. I wondered fleetingly what was going on outside. Had the press turned up or were curious neighbours gathering to try to find out what was going on?

My watch told me it was three p.m. So surely the news had broken by now.

It was a wretched thought that seven hours had passed since Molly was abducted. I had no idea what was happening to her and it was killing me. Was she being fed? Given drinks? Was her nappy being changed? Was she being spoken to or ignored? Was she upset and confused?

I grabbed my phone and brought up the latest picture of Molly asleep in the cot. The thumb in her mouth. The pink pyjamas. The off-white sheet she was lying on. I wondered if she was awake now and if so whether she was calling for her mummy.

Mummy!

It was one of the few words she knew, along with cat, cuddle, bird, wow and no.

I loved it when she tried to speak. It was so cute and funny, especially when she struggled to explain what it was she wanted.

These past few months she had got so much better at communicating. At the same time, she’d become more of a handful. Throwing tantrums, refusing to sit quietly in her buggy, fussing over her food, waking up most mornings around five a.m. But it was all part of growing up and I’d embraced it, as mothers do. Not because I had no choice, but because it made me happy and proud and …

You’ll never touch or speak to her again. But you will see her grow up.

Oh God …

My blood turned cold at the prospect of never holding Molly in my arms again. Of never tucking her into her bed, of never wiping away her tears. And I couldn’t even imagine how painful it would be to be forced to watch from a distance as she grew from a toddler into a little girl. It would destroy me knowing that someone else was bringing her up.

I’d already had a taste of what it was going to be like if he carried out his threat to keep her while sending me photos and video clips. The two pictures I’d already received – of Molly sitting on the sofa and sleeping in the cot – had opened up wounds in my heart that would never be healed.

Jesus, it was all too much. I hunched forward, dropping my face into my cupped hands.

Suddenly Sergeant Palmer was leaning over me, a hand on my shoulder, telling me that she wished there was more she could do. But there wasn’t, not unless she could bring my daughter back to me.

I felt a sharp stab of fear and dread work its way under my ribs, and this was followed by a bolt of nausea that hit me hard.

And then the sound of my own voice, oddly unfamiliar.

‘I think I’m going to be sick again.’

9

Adam

Adam stood in the kitchen, his back to the sink, his stomach in knots. The blood was pounding behind his eyes and his emotions were swimming.

He had already spoken to his boss. DCI Dunlop had offered up a bunch of well-meaning platitudes and had promised that the NCA would assist in the hunt for Molly.

‘I’ve reassigned all of your casework,’ he’d said. ‘You just need to concentrate on getting your little girl back.’

Now Adam paused before making another call, distracted by the sound of Sarah crying in the living room. He shared her pain and was on the brink of breaking down himself. But he fought against it because he knew that tears would blur his thoughts and make him even more helpless than he was.

His beloved daughter had been viciously kidnapped and all he could do was wait and worry as the panic closed in around him.

Molly, tiny and helpless, was at the mercy of a ruthless predator who was on some monstrous mission. What the bastard was intending to do was beyond belief and unless he was caught there was no telling how long it would carry on. Days? Weeks? Months? There’d be no escape from the anguish, the sheer torture of seeing images of Molly and yet not knowing where she was or who she was with.

Adam felt a tightening in his chest, a sudden breathlessness, as his mind spiralled back to Saturday when he’d last been with his daughter.

Sarah had been expecting him to have her all day and into Sunday morning. But he’d told her he had to work in the afternoon and could only take her to the park for a few hours. It was a shameful lie because he had simply chosen not to reveal the truth.

Now he was consumed by a wretched guilt that was tearing him apart. How could he have been so selfish? So stupid? Molly loved being with him and he should have put her first, instead of going to that hotel in Windsor. He feared now that he would regret that decision for the rest of his life.

He wished now that he had taken some pictures of Molly in the park, but he hadn’t bothered to. He’d been too preoccupied, thinking about what was going to happen in Windsor. Another ghastly mistake. Another thing to feel guilty about.

He should have made the most of the weekend with his daughter. She’d been full of life, laughing hysterically as she ran across the grass, her eyes filled with wonder as she fed the ducks and chased the pigeons. Now he had to accept that he might never get to take her to the park again, or give her piggy-backs, or rock her to sleep before putting her to bed.

He released a long breath and mashed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Every muscle in his body was taut, and his heart was pumping blood so fast it was making him dizzy.

He thought about what Sarah’s mother had said, how the kidnapper had suddenly turned up at the house and attacked her. He tried to picture the scene as the man snatched Molly from her high chair and carried her out of the house. She must have been terrified, and he couldn’t believe that she didn’t scream and cry.

But where did he go from there and how did he manage to calm Molly down enough so that he could take the photo of her on the white sofa?

This and other questions were piling up in Adam’s head.

Why was his daughter targeted?

What was the kidnapper’s beef with Sarah that he felt justified in meting out such a cruel punishment?

Would he actually carry out the threat he had outlined in his text messages?

And what were the odds on the police finding him?

This last question reminded Adam that they still hadn’t heard from Brennan. The DCI had left the flat over an hour ago, so surely he would know by now whether Molly and the kidnapper had been caught on a street camera.

Adam was about to call Brennan when his phone started to ring, making him jump. He looked at the caller ID and felt a shiver run through him. No way could he answer it, not with Sarah in the other room. She might suddenly burst into the kitchen to find out who was ringing, and overhear something he didn’t want her to. So he pressed his thumb against the call-end button and released a thin whistle from between his teeth.

Then he quickly found Brennan’s number and called him. The detective answered just as the kitchen door was pushed open and Sarah walked in, her eyes wide in anticipation.

Adam held up a hand to indicate that he was about to say something and spoke into the phone. ‘This is Adam Boyd,’ he said. ‘We want to know if you’ve checked the CCTV footage yet.’

‘Only just,’ Brennan replied. ‘As a matter of fact I was about to call you.’

‘Is Molly on it?’

‘She is, but sadly it’s not that helpful.’

‘Why not?’

‘We see the kidnapper holding Molly, but his face isn’t visible, and the sequence only lasts a few seconds. We’re now pulling in footage from various other cameras in that area.’

‘Shit.’

Sarah stepped towards him, anxious to know what he was being told. Behind her, Sergeant Palmer stood in the doorway, her lips pressed into a thin line.

‘There’s something else you need to know,’ Brennan said. ‘It’s about the photo Sarah received of Molly sitting on a sofa.’

‘What about it?’ Adam said.

Brennan cleared his throat. ‘As you know, the kidnapper threatened to make Molly suffer if any of the images he sends to Sarah are made public.’

‘Yeah, so?’

‘Well it pains me to have to tell you that there’s been a cock-up.’

‘What do you mean?’ Adam said, a note of alarm in his voice.

‘That first photo was released to the media before everyone got my message about holding it back. I’m so, so sorry, Adam.’

10

Sarah

Adam’s face was ashen as he hung up his call.

‘You won’t believe this,’ he said. ‘They’ve given that photo of Molly on the sofa to the media.’

At first, the significance of this didn’t register. But then I remembered the kidnapper’s warning and gave a frightened gasp.

‘He’s not sure how it happened,’ Adam said through clenched teeth. ‘But it’s a cock-up, and they’re now having to contact news outlets to tell them not to run it.’

His words hit me like ice water and it was all I could do not to scream.

‘Has he checked the street camera footage?’ I said. ‘What does it show?’

‘Not much apparently. The guy is holding Molly but you can’t see his face.’

‘Shit.’

‘Look, I’m going to the nick,’ Adam said. ‘I want to know how the fuck this happened and I want to see the camera footage for myself.’

‘Then I’m coming with you,’ I said.

Sergeant Palmer stepped further into the kitchen, shaking her head. ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘You should both stay here. I’ll talk to the gaffer about having the camera sequence sent over.’

But Adam wasn’t going to be talked out of it. He nudged past her and into the hall and I followed him. I thought he would march straight up to the front door, but instead he went into the living room and switched on the television.

I stood just inside the room and watched the screen come to life. A drum was beating in my head and it felt like a large stone was crushing my chest. This latest development terrified me. The kidnapper had issued a specific threat.

She will also suffer if you or the police make any of the images public through newspapers or on the television.

I was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter to him that it was a mistake by the police. But how would he react? Would he really take it out on Molly to show us that he meant what he said and that his threats shouldn’t be ignored?

I started to think about all the ways he might hurt her, but then stopped myself because I suddenly felt as if my head would explode.

As Adam used the remote to switch between channels, I tried to concentrate on my breathing because I feared I might faint. But my lungs felt like they were squeezing shut and every breath made me shudder. I was also having to fight the effects of the sedative, which was starting to cloud my thoughts and slow me down.

Sergeant Palmer was behind me in the hallway, speaking into her phone. I assumed she was talking to Brennan, telling him that we were coming to the station. There was no way they could stop us, of course, and I didn’t think they’d dare try. It was our daughter who’d been taken. Our daughter who now faced the wrath of the kidnapper because of their bloody mistake. I swore to myself that if and when I found out who was responsible they would feel the full force of my anger.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Adam exploded. ‘They’re running it.’

By it he meant the photograph of Molly on the white sofa, which suddenly filled the TV screen.

A choking sound rushed out of me and I felt the air lock in my chest. But I stifled a scream because I wanted to hear what the news reporter was saying.

‘Fifteen-month-old Molly Mason was abducted this morning from her grandparents’ home in Streatham. Her grandmother was attacked in the process by a masked man. Molly is the daughter of two Metropolitan police officers and a huge hunt is under way to find her. The BBC understands that this photograph was sent to her mother, but it’s not yet been confirmed if a ransom is being demanded for her safe return. A Scotland Yard spokesman said further details would be released as and when they have them …’

The reporter’s words chilled me to the bone. It didn’t seem possible that he was talking about Adam and me, about Molly. It was always other people who featured in the news. Other people whose lives were shattered by terrible events. Never us.

Until now.

Molly’s picture disappeared from the screen and the news reader started talking about a couple who had become Britain’s biggest lottery winners. The abrupt change of subject prompted Adam to throw his hands up in the air.

‘Talk about fucking insensitive,’ he yelled. ‘How can they go from bad to good news just like that? It’s not right.’

I knew what he meant, but it was something we would have to face up to. Other people’s lives would go on as before, despite what was happening to us. It seemed so unfair, but that was the harsh reality.

Adam spun round and looked at me, his face grave, his eyes hard.

‘Are you all right, Sarah?’

I nodded, but I wasn’t all right. Not by a long shot. My stomach was now twisting and turning and I thought I might be sick again. I wondered if the kidnapper was watching the same news bulletin and if so whether he was taking out his anger over the airing of the photograph on Molly. It was a sickening thought.

‘Why don’t I go and see Brennan by myself,’ he said. ‘You stay here. Try to eat something. And maybe get your parents to come over.’

Food was the last thing on my mind even though I hadn’t eaten since this morning when I’d had a bacon sandwich in the staff canteen.

‘I want to find out what’s going on as much as you do,’ I said. ‘If Mum and Dad are at Aunt Tessa’s then they’ll be OK. I can drop in on them later.’

‘Well if you’re sure, then let’s go.’

Sergeant Palmer told us that if we were adamant about going to the station then she would take us.

‘But be aware that there are some reporters downstairs and a TV camera crew,’ she said.

I grabbed my bag and Adam picked up his jacket. Before leaving the flat I rushed into the bathroom and dry-retched into the sink, the bile burning my throat. Then I splashed water on my face and took a moment to stare at the stranger in the mirror. She wasn’t a pretty sight. Her eyes were bloodshot and the skin beneath them was bruised and puffy. I wondered if she would ever again look like she did before today.

Adam was waiting for me at the open front door and I followed him out, dragging in ragged gulps of air as I did so. The sun had disappeared but the late afternoon was still bright, with ominous clouds gathering at the edges of the grey sky.

We hurried down the stairs and out the front, where a police car was parked next to the entrance.

A small crowd of people had gathered and some of them I recognised as neighbours. The others were reporters and photographers and they fired questions at us as we stepped towards the car.

‘Have you heard from the kidnapper, Miss Mason?’

‘Where are you going? Has there been a development?’

‘Do you have a message for the man who’s taken your daughter?’

Cameras flashed as we threw ourselves into the back of the car. Seconds later we were pulling away from the estate and the plaintive wail of the siren drowned out all other sounds. But it offered no comfort. Granted, having left the flat I was infused with a sense of purpose, but that in itself wouldn’t change anything or bring to a halt the emotional roller coaster I was trapped on. Instinct told me that Adam and I were in for a long and tortuous ride.

He reached for my hand and I let him take it. We looked at each other for a moment, sharing the same horrible thoughts, our troubled past forgotten because we needed to work together for our daughter’s sake.

‘We’ll get through this, Sarah. Then we’ll …’

Adam stopped mid-sentence because the phone gripped tightly in my right hand pinged again with another incoming message.

‘Do you want me to check it?’ Adam said.

‘I’ve got it,’ I told him. This time I didn’t drop it and managed to swipe the screen even though my body froze.

A second later I was staring at the third text from the kidnapper and a new wave of fear and terror washed over me. There were no photographs attached and this made me fear that he had already harmed my little girl.

You were warned about the images. Now your darling little girl is going to suffer the consequences.

11

DCI Brennan

The incident room was alive with the discordant sounds of phones ringing and detectives chatting.

Brennan could tell that his team were working flat out and would continue to do so throughout the night. Even off-duty officers had decided to come in on hearing that the victim of this particular crime was one of their own.

To them, Sarah was more than just a colleague; she was a friend in need of help. And help they would, although they all felt guilty because she’d already been so terribly let down.

The photo of Molly on the sofa had been released to media outlets before the kidnapper’s second text message arrived on Sarah’s phone. At that stage Brennan had only wanted it to be circulated within the Met, but his instruction was misinterpreted by an over-zealous press officer who made it available to those news organisations, including the BBC, who had a jump on the story.

The Beeb had agreed to take it off the air as soon as they were told it was a mistake to run it, but by then it was already too late. The kidnapper had seen it and had sent yet another threatening text to Sarah.

You were warned about the images. Now your darling little girl is going to suffer the consequences.

Sergeant Palmer had got Sarah to forward the message to him and even now, five minutes later, it was still causing wild, disturbing thoughts to flash through his mind.

Brennan decided to have another briefing. He wanted to get it out of the way before Sarah and Adam arrived.

‘It’s time for a team talk, everyone,’ he said aloud, clapping his hands to get their attention as he walked to the front of the room.