Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by AVON 2017

Copyright © Jaime Raven 2017

Cover layout design © debbieclementdesign.com 2017

Cover photographs © Getty

Jaime Raven asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008253462

Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008253479

Version: 2017-07-31

Dedication

This one is dedicated to my agent Leslie Gardner, whose help and guidance is very much appreciated

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Also by Jaime Raven

About the Publisher

1
Sarah

I was attending the morning briefing when I received the text message that was going to bring my world crashing down.

I heard the ping as it arrived on my phone, but I decided it would be impolite to check it straight away because DCI Dave Brennan was in full flight. He wanted us to know that there was a lot going on and that we should prepare ourselves for a busy week ahead.

‘As you all know there was a near-fatal stabbing last night in Peckham,’ he said. ‘And in the early hours of this morning a warehouse was turned over in Camberwell. A security guard was badly beaten and goods worth a hundred grand were stolen. All this on top of a caseload that already has us stretched to the limit.’

It wasn’t such an unusual start to a Monday morning, certainly not in this part of South London, which had been a crime hotspot long before I joined the CID team. That was four years ago, and in that time I’d come to realise that the job was never going to get any easier.

London’s population was growing at an alarming rate and so were the number of criminal gangs. Yet at the same time cutbacks in manpower and resources were continuing to put pressure on the force. We were trying to control things from a position of weakness, and reckless politicians were content to let it happen.

‘I’ve managed to beef up the overtime budget,’ Brennan said. ‘That means you should all expect to work longer hours, at least until we get a handle on things. And it goes without saying that I’ll be turning down any requests for time off. So don’t even think about booking any last-minute holidays.’

Chance would be a fine thing, I thought. I hadn’t had a holiday since before Molly was born, when Adam and I spent a week in Spain. The aim of that sojourn had been to try to get our marriage back on track. But it had been a total disaster. We ended up screaming at each other during a drinking session on our hotel balcony and that was when he confessed to an affair and I told him that I wanted a divorce. A month later I discovered I was pregnant with his child and six months later we were both single again.

‘I want you to assist on the stabbing, DI Mason,’ Brennan said, looking at me with those bulbous eyes of his. ‘The victim’s undergone surgery on a punctured lung at King’s College Hospital. He should be about ready to make a statement, so let’s find out what he remembers.’

‘I’ll get right on it, guv,’ I said.

Brennan was a tall, gruff Irishman who commanded the loyalty and respect of his team. He was in his mid-fifties, and I was one of his biggest fans, partly because he’d seen fit to promote me to detective inspector on my return from maternity leave. It was something I’d welcomed at the time, but the extra work and responsibility often conflicted with my role as a single mother.

More than once I’d considered switching to a desk job with regular hours and less stress. But I hadn’t, mainly because I loved being a front-line copper despite the drawbacks.

‘There’s something else you all need to be aware of,’ Brennan was saying. ‘It’s about my forthcoming retirement. For reasons I won’t go into, I’ve had to bring it forward. So now I’ll be bowing out at the end of September. That’s four months from now.’

This didn’t come as a great surprise to anyone. We all knew that Brennan’s wife was suffering from early onset dementia and that she needed him to look after her. Nevertheless, it prompted a strong reaction.

‘We’ll miss you, boss,’ one detective said.

‘Hope we’ll all get invites to the leaving bash,’ said another.

Everyone else either rushed towards the front of the room to shake Brennan’s hand or made a sound to express their disappointment.

I decided to hold back so that I could take the opportunity to see who had sent me a text message, just in case it was important. There were two messages in the inbox. The first had come in half an hour ago and I hadn’t noticed. It was nothing important, just notification of my latest electricity bill.

But the second message made me frown. It was from a private number and there was a photograph attached. The photograph showed my Molly sitting on a sofa with a cuddly toy on her lap that I hadn’t seen before.

The text below it was short and sweet and it caused my stomach to twist in an anxious knot.

Thought you might like to see your daughter settling into her new home.

The message totally threw me.

As usual, my fifteen-month-old daughter was supposed to be spending the day with her grandparents. But the picture had not been taken at their house in Streatham.

The white leather sofa that Molly was sitting on was unfamiliar to me. And so too was the room she was in. I was absolutely certain that I’d never set foot in it before. I didn’t recognise the red cushions either side of Molly, or the framed print on the wall behind her. It looked like a sailboat on water.

I used my finger and thumb to expand the image and saw what appeared to be a startled look on Molly’s face. She was staring directly into the camera, her large brown eyes wide as saucers.

I didn’t doubt that the picture had been taken this morning. She was wearing the same pale green dress she’d had on when I’d dropped her off at my parents’ house before coming to the office. And her shiny fair hair was just as it had been then, swept away from her face and held in place at the back with a grip, the fringe hanging down across her forehead.

Was this someone’s idea of a joke? I wondered. And if so who? It certainly wouldn’t be my parents, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d think it was funny.

Panic churned in my belly as I looked again at the photograph and thought back to what Mum had said about her plans for the day. She was going to take Molly to the park this morning because the weather was set to be warm and sunny. My father was spending a few hours at his allotment and they were going to meet up later and have lunch together in a pub garden.

I looked at my watch. It was just after ten-fifteen, about the time I would have expected Molly to be enjoying herself on the park swings and slide and roundabout. But the photo suggested she was somewhere else.

Thought you might like to see your daughter settling into her new home.

What the hell did that mean? Molly’s home was in Dulwich where she lived with me. So why had she been photographed sitting in what appeared to be a stranger’s house?

I tapped out a short reply to the message – Who are you? – but three seconds after I sent it I got a message back: The recipient you’re sending to has chosen not to receive messages.

I needed to halt the rising sense of alarm so I speed-dialled my mother’s mobile number. But after a couple of rings it went to voicemail. I then rang my parents’ landline. My heart leapt when no one answered.

I would have called my father next but he didn’t have a phone of his own. He’d always insisted that he didn’t need one.

The ball of anxiety grew in my chest as my eyes were drawn back to the photograph. I wanted desperately to believe that it was nothing more than a misguided prank and that Molly was perfectly safe. But surely if there was an innocent explanation then my mother would have answered the phone. Did that mean she was in trouble? Was Molly still with her?

‘Oh, Jesus.’

The words tumbled out of my mouth and fear flooded through me like acid. I had to find out what was going on and I needed to be reassured that Molly was OK.

I took a moment to get my thoughts together, then dashed towards the front of the room to where my boss stood surrounded by a small bunch of detectives. I forced my way between them and seized Brennan’s attention by addressing him in a voice that was charged with emotion.

‘You’ll have to get someone else to visit the hospital,’ I said. ‘I need to leave right away.’

He arched his brow at me. ‘Bloody hell, Sarah. Whatever’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

I took a deep, faltering breath. ‘It’s my daughter. I have to find out if she’s all right.’

‘Well I’m sure she’s fine,’ he said with a hesitant smile. ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’

I held my phone up in front of his face.

‘Because someone just sent this photo to me,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a really bad feeling about it.’

2
Sarah

Brennan took the phone from me and squinted at the photo. Then as my fellow detectives fell silent he read the text message out loud.

‘I have no idea who sent it,’ I said. ‘It’s from a blocked number. And I don’t recognise the room Molly’s in.’

Brennan lifted his eyes and pursed his lips. ‘You usually leave her with your parents, don’t you?’

I nodded. ‘That’s why this is so weird. I dropped her off earlier and Mum was going to take her to the park.’

‘And have you tried calling your mother?’

‘Of course, but there’s no answer on her mobile or on my parents’ home phone.’

I explained that my father didn’t have a mobile and that nothing like this had ever happened before.

‘Well you shouldn’t jump to conclusions,’ Brennan said. ‘We’ll help you get to the bottom of it. First thing to do is run a check on your phone to see if we can unblock the number of the caller.’

‘That’ll take time,’ I said shakily. ‘I can’t hang around. I have to go to the park and then to Mum and Dad’s.’

‘I quite understand, Sarah. In fact, I’ll come with you while your colleagues make inquiries.’

Brennan assigned two of the other detectives to the task and told another to go to the hospital to interview the stab victim in my place. Then he got me to forward the message and the photo to the office manager’s phone so that he could arrange for it to be checked out.

‘Try not to worry,’ he said, turning back to me. ‘I’m guessing this is some unfortunate misunderstanding or someone’s pathetic attempt at humour.’

The trouble was he didn’t sound convinced of that, and the knowing looks he gave the others sent a wave of adrenaline crashing through my bloodstream.

Brennan drove and I sat in the passenger seat of the pool car. The park was only a few miles from the police station in Wandsworth, and that was going to be our first stop.

It was within walking distance of my parents’ house and where my mother usually took Molly. If they weren’t there, then we’d go straight to the house.

I prayed silently to myself that I was overreacting, but it was impossible not to dwell on the worst-case scenario – that my daughter had been abducted.

It was every parent’s nightmare, and I’d had first-hand experience of the devastating consequences of such an event. During my time on the force I’d investigated seven cases where children had been kidnapped by strangers. Only four of them had been found safe and well. Two were still missing, and one six-year-old girl had been brutally raped and murdered.

But in none of those cases had the abductor sent a photograph of the child to the mother. And I hadn’t heard of it happening before. That at least gave me reason to believe that this might not be a straightforward snatch; that perhaps it was indeed some pathetic prank.

‘Try calling your mother again,’ Brennan said, as he steered the car along side streets in order to avoid the worst of the South London traffic.

I tried but it rang out and went to voicemail. I’d already left a message for her to call me and it wasn’t like my mother not to respond asap. I left another just the same and this time I told her I was desperately worried.

‘Please get back to me straight away, Mum. It’s urgent. I need to know that Molly is OK.’

I rang my parents’ landline again but still there was no answer.

My heart was in my throat as I hung up. I gulped down a breath and squeezed my eyes shut.

Oh God, please don’t let my worst fear be realised.

I opened my eyes and looked again at the photograph of Molly on the sofa. My beautiful little girl clutching a beige teddy bear that I didn’t recognise. I wanted to believe that my parents had bought it for her, but I doubted it. Molly had plenty of cuddly animals both at home and at her grandparents’, and I had always discouraged them from spoiling her with too many toys.

So who had got it for her? And who had sent me a picture of my daughter claiming she was settling into her new home? What the fuck did it mean?

‘Are you sure you have no idea where the photo was taken?’ Brennan asked me.

‘I’m positive,’ I said.

‘Then it could be the home of someone your mother knows. Maybe she went there instead of to the park.’

‘I’ve thought about that,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t explain the creepy message or why the photo was sent.’

‘What about your ex-husband? Could he have taken Molly?’

My body stiffened. I hadn’t given any thought to Adam, but that was partly because I knew he wouldn’t dream of scaring me like this. Sure, we were divorced, but we made every effort to get along for Molly’s sake. He saw her every week as part of the custody arrangement, and as a copper himself he would know better than to do something that would cause such alarm.

I said as much to Brennan and added that I’d been to Adam’s flat in Mitcham and he did not have a white leather sofa like the one in the photo.

‘Perhaps you should call him anyway,’ Brennan said. ‘I’m sure he’d want to know what’s happening.’

‘I will, but not yet,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily if Molly’s at the park or at home with Mum.’

It was a big if and with every passing second I was becoming more worried.

Why hadn’t my mother called me back? Why hadn’t I received another message from whoever had sent the first one?

What was I going to do if we couldn’t find Molly?

We reached the park fifteen minutes after leaving the station. It wasn’t much more than a small patch of greenery surrounded by flats and houses.

There was a children’s playground in the centre and as we pulled into the kerb I could see that it was busy. But then it usually was on a day like today with the sun beating down and not a cloud in the sky.

I jumped out of the car even before Brennan had switched off the engine. As I ran across the grass I stared intently at the playground in the hope of spotting my grey-haired mother.

But as I drew close it became evident that she wasn’t there, and I felt the panic swell up inside me.

I counted eight mums, two dads and about fifteen pre-school kids. But my own mother and daughter were not among them.

I walked around the playground and looked beyond it towards the surrounding roads, but there was no sign of them.

When Brennan caught up with me he was out of breath and struggled to speak.

‘Don’t assume the worst,’ he told me. ‘Maybe they’ve been here but are now on their way back to your parents’ place.’

‘We’ve got to go there,’ I said.

‘Is it far from here?’

I pointed. ‘About half a mile in that direction.’

‘Come on then.’

As we hurried back across the field towards the car, Brennan took out his phone and made a call that I assumed was to the station. But I couldn’t hear what he was saying because my head was filled with the sound of my own heart banging against my chest.

I couldn’t believe that this was happening. The day had started off so well. Molly, bless her, had been on her best behaviour this morning, as excited as ever at the prospect of spending time with her grandparents.

I felt tears well up in my eyes as I thought back to when I’d dropped her off. My dad had picked her up in his arms and got her to wave goodbye and blow me a kiss.

She was so sweet, the sweetest little girl. The centre of my world. I couldn’t bear the thought that she might be in danger. Or that I might never see her again. The prospect filled me with a cold, hard dread that settled in my stomach like a heavy rock.

‘You need to stay calm, Sarah,’ Brennan said, when we were back in the car.

‘That’s easy for you to say, guv,’ I replied. ‘I just don’t understand what’s going on. The photo, the message, the fact that my mother won’t answer her phone.’

He left it a beat and said, ‘I’ve just called the office and told them to circulate the photo and alert uniform. Just to be on the safe side.’

It should have reassured me but it didn’t. Instead his words brought a sob to the surface and I had to force myself not to burst out crying.

‘Take this,’ Brennan said, handing me a handkerchief he produced from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

I lowered the visor and looked at myself in the mirror. The face that stared back at me was pale and gaunt. I suddenly looked much older than my 32 years.

Tears sparkled in my eyes and my short brown hair was dishevelled from where I’d been raking my hands through it.

I dabbed at my eyes with the hanky and then used it to blow my nose.

‘You need to tell me where to go,’ Brennan said.

I cleared my throat and told him to take a left at the next junction and then the first right after that. He didn’t respond, just concentrated on the road ahead.

‘Thank you for coming here with me,’ I said. ‘I’m grateful.’

‘You don’t need to be,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t let you do this by yourself. I can imagine what you must be going through.’

Brennan, who had a grandson a similar age, had met Molly a couple of times when I’d taken her into the station. He had always been understanding of the problems faced by single mothers in the department and I’d come to view him almost as a father figure as well as my boss.

Right now I was so glad he was with me. I knew he would do whatever he could to help me find my daughter.

‘It’s the house up there on the left behind the privet hedge,’ I said.

My childhood home was a semi-detached pre-war property in a quiet, tree-lined street. My father’s ageing Mondeo wasn’t parked out front so I took that to mean that he was still at his allotment.

‘Have you got a key?’ Brennan asked.

I nodded and extracted my keys from my shoulder bag.

A short paved pathway led up to the front door and as I approached it my emotions were spinning. I didn’t bother to ring the bell, and my hand shook as I fumbled to insert the key in the lock.

As soon as the door was open I called out and stepped inside. But my heart sank when there was no response.

‘They might be in the back garden,’ Brennan said as he followed me in.

I hurried along the hallway and threw open the door to the kitchen, hoping to see or hear Molly.

Instead I was confronted by a sight that caused my stomach to give a sickening lurch.

3
Sarah

My mother was tied to one of the kitchen chairs and a red silk scarf had been wrapped around her face to gag her.

Her chin was resting on her chest and she appeared to be unconscious. But when I let out a muffled scream her head jolted up and she looked at me through eyes that struggled to focus.

For a moment I just stood there in shock, unable to move, unable to take in what I was seeing. All my police instincts, training and experience deserted me. It was left to Brennan to rush forward and remove the scarf from around my mother’s head.

‘I recognise that smell,’ he said as he put the scarf against his nose and sniffed it. ‘It’s chloroform.’

My mother gasped and spluttered and then went into a coughing fit.

‘You’re going to be OK, Mrs Mason,’ Brennan said as he started to untie her hands that were secured behind her back with a length of plastic cable. ‘We’ve got you now. You’re safe.’

I came out of my trance-like state and ran forward to my mother. She was shaking and dribbling and having great difficulty breathing properly. But at least she was alive and looked as though she hadn’t been physically harmed.

‘Where’s Molly, Mum?’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘Where is my baby?’

She tried to speak but the words got stuck in her throat.

I rested a hand on her shoulder, crouched down so that we were face to face.

‘Mum, please. Where’s Molly?’

Her eyes grew wide and confusion pulled at her features. Then she shook her head and her lips trembled.

‘I … d-don’t know,’ she managed. ‘She was in the high chair when the doorbell rang.’

That was when I noticed the high chair for the first time, on the other side of the room next to the back door that stood open. There was a plastic bowl on the tray, along with Molly’s familiar spill-proof beaker.

‘Did you go and answer the door, Mrs Mason?’ Brennan asked her. ‘Is that what you did?’

I turned back to my mother. She nodded and closed her eyes, and I could tell she was trying to cast her mind back to what had happened.

‘A man,’ she said, her tone frantic. ‘He was wearing a hood, like a balaclava. He forced himself in and grabbed me. Then he put something over my face.’

My mother lost it then and started to cry, great heaving sobs that racked her frail body.

She was almost seventy, and seeing her like this, I felt the urge to comfort her, but a more powerful impulse seized me and I jumped up suddenly and went in search of Molly, praying that she was still here and hadn’t been taken away.

I ran out into the garden first, but it was empty except for the cat from next door that was lying on the lawn like it didn’t have a care in the world.

Then I dashed back into the house and through the kitchen, passing Brennan who was standing next to my mother while talking anxiously into his phone.

I checked the living room and ground floor toilet, then hurried upstairs in the hope of finding my daughter in one of the three bedrooms. I called out her name, told her that Mummy had come to get her. But there was a resounding silence. She wasn’t there. She was gone.

A new wave of terror roared through my body as I ran back downstairs. Now it was confirmed. My daughter had been abducted and I had no idea by whom. The nightmare that had loomed over me since I opened up the photograph on my phone had turned into a horrific reality.

The temptation to collapse in a tearful heap was almost overwhelming, but I told myself that I had to hold it together. For my sake and for Molly’s.

My mother was still on the chair in the kitchen and Brennan was trying to coax more information out of her. When she saw me she reached for my hand and said, ‘There was nothing I could do. It happened so – so quickly.’

‘Who could it have been, Mum?’ I said. ‘Do you have any idea?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t see his face. He knocked me out and when I woke up I was tied to this chair.’

I reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.

‘I’m so sorry, Sarah,’ she sobbed. ‘I really couldn’t …’

‘It’s not your fault, Mum,’ I said, choking back tears. ‘We’ll get her back. I promise.’

I heard a siren and the sound of it caused my heart to flip.

‘Your father needs to be told, Sarah,’ my mother said. ‘He’s still at the allotment. He thinks we’ll be meeting him at the pub.’

‘I’ll see to it, Mum,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’

I straightened up and looked at Brennan who told me that he had raised the alarm and that teams of officers were about to descend on the area.

‘I’ve also summoned an ambulance,’ he said. ‘The paramedics will take care of your mother.’

His words registered, but only just, and they failed to provide any comfort. How could they? My precious daughter had been kidnapped. My mind was still reeling and I felt weighted down by a crushing despair.

I was on the verge of losing control so I lowered myself onto one of chairs around the kitchen table. There I sat, my head spinning, my stomach churning, as Brennan gently prised more information out of my mother.

She revealed that the man had rung the bell at just before nine – an hour or so after I had dropped Molly off. My father had just left the house to go to his allotment and she was giving Molly her breakfast before taking her to the park.

She remembered very little about her attacker. His face had been covered and he’d been wearing what she thought was a dark T-shirt and jeans.

‘He was average height but strong,’ she said. ‘I tried to struggle free when he attacked me but I couldn’t.’

She started crying again and this time it set me off. I broke down in a flood of tears and heard myself calling Molly’s name.

I was only vaguely aware of the commotion that suddenly ensued, and of being led out of the kitchen and along the hallway.

Raised voices, more people entering the house, some of them in uniform. Molly’s face loomed large in my mind’s eye, obscuring much of what was going on around me. I wondered if I would ever hold her in my arms again. It was a sickening, painful thought and one that I never thought I would have to experience.

I’d witnessed the suffering of parents who had lost children, seen the agony in their eyes. But as a copper I had always been one step removed, professionally detached and oblivious to the real extent of their plight.

Now I had a different perspective. I was in that horrendous position myself. The grieving, desperate mother wondering why fate had delivered such a crushing blow.

‘We’re taking you next door,’ Brennan was saying as we stepped outside, to be greeted by the flashing blue light on top of a police patrol car. ‘This house is now a crime scene and the forensics team needs to get to work. Mrs Lloyd, the neighbour to the right, has kindly agreed to make some tea for you and your mother.’

‘I don’t want tea,’ I wailed. ‘I want Molly.’

‘I’ll do whatever it takes to find her, Sarah,’ Brennan said. ‘We all will. But look, I really think it’s time that Molly’s father was informed about what’s happened. Do you want to call him or shall I?’

The prospect of breaking the news to Adam that his daughter had been abducted filled me with dread. I knew I couldn’t do it, that as soon as I heard his voice I would fall apart.

‘You ring him,’ I said. ‘Tell him to get here as soon as he can.’

4
Adam

The man in the dock at the Old Bailey looked as though he hadn’t got a care in the world. Even when the judge instructed him to stand up and turn to the jury he didn’t appear to be in the least bit anxious. He was facing the prospect of a long stretch behind bars, but from his expression you would never have guessed it.

‘The bastard is cocksure that he’s about to be acquitted,’ Detective Inspector Adam Boyd whispered to his colleague who was sitting beside him in the courtroom. ‘And I have a horrible feeling he could be right.’

The case against Victor Rosetti – a Romanian national – had been undermined during the past couple of days. One of the prosecution witnesses had disappeared before taking the stand, and the defence had managed to refute some of the forensic evidence, claiming it had been contaminated.

For the National Crime Agency, which was set up to fight organised crime in the UK, it would be a bitter blow if Rosetti did walk. As one of London’s nastiest villains and drugs traffickers, the man deserved to be locked behind bars. But securing a conviction was always going to be a challenge for Adam and his team.

Rosetti had an army of foot soldiers working for him, along with some powerful contacts. Several senior police officers were also believed to be on his payroll.

Adam had managed to build a strong case against him before bringing a charge that related to the importation and distribution of cocaine. But Rosetti’s defence had dismissed much of the evidence as circumstantial and had accused the police of ‘fitting up’ their client.

Things had gone from bad to worse two days ago when the prosecution’s key witness – one of Rosetti’s own drug couriers – slipped out of the safe house he was staying in. All attempts to trace him had failed, and Adam thought it likely that Rosetti’s people had ‘encouraged’ him to vanish by threatening his family.

The jury foreman was now being asked if a verdict had been reached. The foreman said it had and passed a slip of paper to the clerk.

Adam stared with ill-disguised contempt at the man who was known as ‘Rosetti the Cutter’ because of his fondness for slicing up his enemies with a knife.

He was a short, heavyset man with a round face and shaved head. He’d been on the NCA’s radar for a couple of years, but this was the closest they’d come to bringing him down and Adam wasn’t sure they would get an opportunity like this again.

As the judge prepared to ask the jury foreman to announce the verdict, Adam felt his mobile phone vibrate with an incoming message. He ignored it, deciding that whatever it was it could wait. Right at this moment the only thing that mattered was seeing if this Romanian scumbag got what he deserved.

Adam felt his insides contract as he switched his gaze from Rosetti to the jury foreman, a thin-faced man with a scruffy beard.

‘So do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’ the judge asked him.

Adam bit his bottom lip and held his breath. The courtroom fell silent. The jury foreman spoke without hesitation.

‘Not guilty, your honour,’ he said.

Rosetti’s reaction to the verdict was to grin broadly and punch the air with his fist.

It made Adam want to throw up. Although he’d seen this coming it was still a sickening blow.

He had to resist the urge to leap to his feet and berate the jury for being so stupid and to ask who among them had been nobbled. Instead he just sat there, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

Shouts of support came from the public gallery as Rosetti was led out of the dock.

‘What a bloody disaster,’ Adam said to himself, loud enough for those around him to hear.

He didn’t move for several minutes, waiting for the courtroom to empty. He felt wrung out, the emotions thick in his throat.

At length, he threw out a long sigh and got to his feet. He needed some fresh air and a cigarette. And after that a stiff drink, or two, at the nearest boozer.

Outside, a few newspaper reporters and a TV camera crew had gathered on the street. But it could hardly have been described as a media frenzy. The case hadn’t been as high-profile as some of the others that had been taking place at the same time. Victor Rosetti wasn’t exactly a household name, and drugs trials had become so commonplace that they failed to attract much attention these days.

The Romanian stood on the pavement, flanked by two burly minders, as he answered the reporters’ questions.

Adam’s boss, DCI Mike Dunlop, stood to one side preparing to make a statement on behalf of the NCA, in which he would no doubt express profound disappointment.

Adam slipped away from Dunlop and the rest of the police team and crossed the road where he sparked up a fag and tried to suppress the rage that was bubbling up inside him.

He regarded what had just happened as a travesty of justice, and it was going to take him a while to get over it. The thought that Rosetti would now go away and continue to ply his illicit trade made his blood boil.

He watched as the bastard finished answering questions. Then a black Mercedes pulled up to the kerb and he climbed in with his minders. The reporters immediately turned their attention to Dunlop. The Mercedes then pulled away, but instead of driving straight off, it shot across the road and parked next to where Adam was standing.

The rear window was lowered and Rosetti’s face appeared.

‘Cheer up, Boyd,’ he said. ‘You win some, you lose some.’

Adam felt the bile rise in his throat. ‘We may have lost the battle, scumbag,’ he said. ‘But not the war. It won’t be long before I collar you for something you won’t be able to wriggle out of.’

‘Don’t waste taxpayers’ money,’ Rosetti said. ‘It will never happen. Besides, I should be the least of your worries.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Rosetti grinned, showing a set of yellow teeth. ‘You’ll find out soon enough – word is, you’re in for a nasty surprise.’

Adam took a step forward, but Rosetti tapped the driver’s shoulder and the Mercedes drove off, tyres squealing.

Adam stared after it, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t the veiled threat that infuriated him – he’d received so many over the years that he no longer took them seriously. No, it was the fact that he knew that getting Rosetti into the dock again was going to be hellishly difficult, if not impossible.

He dropped what remained of his cigarette and ground it into the pavement with the heel of his shoe. Then just as he was about to cross back over the road he felt his phone vibrate again with another message.

This time he whipped it out of his pocket and saw that both messages had come from DCI Dave Brennan, who was asking him to call as a matter of urgency. Brennan was his ex-wife’s boss and it was a long time since he’d heard from the guy.

Adam arched his brow and called the number. He had no idea, of course, that the bad day he was having was about to turn into his worst nightmare.

5
Sarah

I was in Mrs Loyd’s back garden puffing on a cigarette while praying that my daughter hadn’t been lost to me forever. But it was impossible to keep the negative thoughts at bay. They taunted me, each one a loud, desperate scream inside my head.

Two hours had passed since Brennan and I had arrived at my parents’ house and a lot had happened in that time. My mother had been taken to hospital to be checked over, a police car had been dispatched to pick my father up from his allotment and take him there too, and I’d been sick twice – once on the kitchen floor and once in her downstairs toilet. Luckily I’d known my mother’s neighbour Mrs Loyd for years and she told me not to worry, that she would clean it up.

I was still in a state of raw shock, only half aware of what was going on around me.

A PC was with me in the garden. Her name was Penny and we knew each other fairly well. She kept telling me that everything would be all right and I would soon be reunited with Molly. But, of course, she couldn’t possibly know that and was just saying it to make me feel better.

But words alone were not going to relieve the emotional turmoil that was raging inside me. I needed to find my baby, to see her smile, hear her laugh, hold her in my arms.

I was clutching my mobile phone in my free hand, willing it to ring, for the kidnapper to make contact. If he called to demand a ransom then I’d willingly pay it, no matter how much it was. I’d move heaven and earth to get Molly back, sell my flat if need be, borrow the rest. That wouldn’t be a problem. And I was sure to get all the help I needed from Adam and my parents.

The sun was beating down as I paced up and down the garden, Penny watching from the patio with her arms folded across her chest.

For some reason that made me angry. Why didn’t she appear upset? Why was her face so expressionless? Didn’t she realise how bad this was and how hard it was for me to keep from screaming?

But then it hit me. She was just being professional, doing her job. In the same way I’d done mine for years. Only this time the tables had turned on me and I was the victim, along with Molly and my mother. It was a new and terrifying experience.

Next door in my parents’ garden several uniformed officers were carrying out a search. They were checking to see if there was any evidence to suggest that the kidnapper had taken Molly out the back way.

There was a small patch of woodland on the other side of the fence at the bottom of the garden. Beyond that was a road that wasn’t overlooked by houses or flats. Brennan had already raised the possibility that the kidnapper had parked a car or van out there. He’d also told me in the last half hour that none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything.

Mrs Lloyd had been in her bathroom when the kidnapping took place and hadn’t become aware of what had happened until the police called on her.

I wanted to do something, to join the search, put my police skills to good use, but right now I was in no fit state to be of any use. My body was numb, my mind in utter disarray, and I felt smothered by a dark blanket of despair.

When Brennan suddenly stepped out onto the patio, my stomach leapt. I assumed straight away that it was bad news.

‘Don’t panic,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s been no change. I’ve come to tell you that Molly’s father has arrived. If you pop back in I can update you both at the same time.’

My legs threatened to collapse under me as I walked towards the house, and I could feel a fresh batch of tears building behind my eyes.

When I entered the kitchen and saw Adam standing there next to Brennan, I totally lost control and broke down. Adam rushed over and put an arm around me, and I sobbed into his shoulder. We were used to seeing each other during his frequent visits to the flat to pick Molly up, but this was the first time we’d had physical contact since the divorce.

He spoke in a soothing voice, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I was just glad he was there and the scent of him filled every intake of breath.

When I eventually stopped crying, Brennan handed me a tissue and I used it to dry my eyes. Then I stepped back out of Adam’s embrace and looked up at him.

At six feet he was a good four inches taller than me and was wearing a dark suit and white open-neck shirt. His familiar face was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a thin nose. But his expression was totally unfamiliar, a mixture of fear and incredulity. Sweat had gathered in the creases of his brow and his lips were drawn into a tight line.

‘I’ve been told what’s happened, Sarah,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I can’t believe it. Why would anyone take Molly, for God’s sake?’

I had a sudden, violent urge to vomit again. Brennan must have sensed it because he quickly pulled over a chair and told me to sit down.

Adam came and stood in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the tension in his fingers.

He held out his other hand and said, ‘Can I see the photo?’

Before I gave the phone to him I opened up the message.

‘You should check that first,’ I said.

He clamped his top lip between his teeth as he read the text.

‘This is fucking insane,’ he said. ‘What kind of lunatic would pull a stunt like this?’

He took a shivering breath and exhaled, then tapped on the photo.

I watched the muscles in his neck tighten as he stared at it, his eyes narrowing to slits.

‘Do you by any chance recognise that room?’ Brennan asked him.

Adam’s eyebrows knitted together, and for just a moment hope surged within me.

Please say yes, I wanted to cry out. Please tell us you know who lives there and where it is.

But after an agonising wait he shook his head and my insides shrivelled up.

‘I’ve never seen it before,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely sure of it.’

He continued to stare at the photo and I saw his eyes start to glisten with tears.

‘The bloke who did this obviously knew that Molly would be with her grandmother,’ Brennan said. ‘It’s likely he was watching the house and waiting for your father to leave before striking. That suggests he knew that you were all locked into a routine. And it also suggests that you might know him – or them – since it’s quite possible he wasn’t acting alone.’

It was something that hadn’t occurred to me because my head was all over the place. But now the thought that Molly had fallen prey to more than one man sent my pulse racing.

‘Can you think of anyone you know who’d be capable of this, Sarah?’ Brennan said. ‘Or someone you’ve seen around who was perhaps acting suspiciously?’

I narrowed my eyes, tried to focus, but it was hopeless.

‘I can’t,’ I said.

‘Well keep thinking,’ Brennan said. ‘Something might come to you.’

No one spoke for at least twenty seconds, and the silence threatened to become deafening. Finally Brennan said, ‘You both need to know that we’ve had no success tracing the message. It must have come from an unregistered phone that’s now switched off.’

Adam turned to face him. ‘What time was Molly taken?’

‘Well according to Mrs Mason the guy arrived here at just before nine.’

‘And this message was received about an hour later?’

‘Just over. We’re checking all CCTV and road cameras within a half-mile radius. Unfortunately there aren’t any in this street or in any of those around it.’

‘What about the neighbours? Someone must have seen something.’

Brennan shrugged. ‘We’re still going door-to-door, but none of those we’ve spoken to so far saw a man with a child around the time it happened.’

Adam twisted his lower jaw, considering. Unlike me he was still able to think like a police officer, despite the shock to his system. That was impressive. My brain was far too splintered, and I was struggling to focus on anything other than Molly’s startled expression in the photograph.

‘What about Sarah’s mum?’ Adam said. ‘Has she been able to give you anything useful?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Brennan said. ‘I’ve sent officers to the hospital to get a formal statement from her, but the kidnapper was wearing a balaclava of some sort when she answered the door. The one thing she is certain of is that it was a man and not a woman. He grabbed her and put a scarf doused in chloroform against her face. She was unconscious in seconds then woke up tied to the chair and saw that Molly was gone.’

Brennan went on to say that a full-blown search of the immediate area was under way and that the photo of Molly on the sofa would shortly be sent to media outlets.

‘Reporters and television crews will soon start to descend,’ he said. ‘It’ll turn into a media circus outside for sure. So I suggest that you go home.’

‘I don’t want to go home,’ I said. ‘I have to be involved in this. I have to help find my daughter.’

‘You know that’s not going to be possible,’ Brennan said. ‘You’ve both got to step back and let us get on with it.’

This was something I was going to find hard to accept, but I knew we’d have no choice. We were the parents of the child who had been abducted. It meant we could not be involved in the investigation. We’d just have to sit it out and pray that our colleagues got a quick result. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

‘Come on, Sarah,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll take you home. There’s nothing we can do here anyway.’

Every nerve in my body was vibrating as I stood up. Despite my best efforts, my eyes began to fill with tears, but something in me resolved not to break down again.

‘If there’s a development, I’ll be sure to let you know straight away,’ Brennan told me.

He walked with us to the door and said that a number of officers, including someone from family liaison, would be sent to my place to be with us.

I knew the drill, of course. And I knew that the Met would commit a huge amount of resources to finding Molly, and to providing us with support. They would look after their own.

But what I didn’t know was that the person who had taken my daughter would soon be making contact again.

And sending me another photograph.

6
Sarah

The drive to my duplex flat in Dulwich was akin to an out-of-body experience. It felt like I was looking down on someone who wasn’t me.

Surely the real Sarah Mason was at work, investigating crimes, while her daughter was playing safely with her grandmother. It was inconceivable that she was actually in her ex-husband’s car fearing that she would never see their daughter again.

The reality of the situation was almost too painful to face up to. But I knew I had to, and it was making me feel light-headed and dizzy.

I drew some comfort at least from Adam’s presence. It meant the burden of despair could be shared between us.

My ex had many faults, but among his strong points was an ability to hold his nerve, even in the most perilous of situations. It was something I’d discovered when we’d worked together in Lewisham CID. He was always so sure of himself, always in control. It was what made him a better than average detective.

I turned to look at him and saw a face that was pinched and solemn, and his hands were gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were white.

‘I never thought I could be this scared,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘I can’t stop wondering what’s happened to our baby.’

‘We have to stay positive,’ Adam said. ‘We’ve both dealt with other parents in this position and that’s what we told them they should do.’

‘But that was our job. This is our life. It’s so different.’

‘I know. But all the more reason to be strong and to keep telling ourselves that we’ll get Molly back.’

‘But I can’t help thinking …’

My breath got caught in my throat, cutting off the words. I closed my eyes and tears pressed against the lids, burning as they fought to escape.

It was at this point that guilt reared its ugly head for the first time. I suddenly felt that I was to blame for what had happened because I hadn’t been there for my daughter. Instead, I’d been content to palm her off on my mother so that I could continue pursuing a career as a police officer.

Now she was gone I had no choice but to accept some of the responsibility. I’d been selfish by opting to be a cop rather than a full-time mum.

And whatever happened in the coming hours and days, it was something for which I’d never be able to forgive myself.

My split-level flat was on the top floor of a four-storey, modern block off Lordship Lane, just a few hundred yards from Dulwich Park. It had two bedrooms, a balcony, and plenty of living space. The estate agent had described it as a ‘luxury duplex penthouse’, which made it sound posher and grander than it actually was.

Adam and I had lived there during our three years of marriage, and it came to me as part of the divorce settlement. He kept the buy-to-let flat we owned in Mitcham, so in our case the division of assets had been fairly straightforward and uncontroversial.

Adam had been here numerous times during the last six months, after Molly had reached an age when he could take her on days out and for overnight stays at his place.

Despite the fact that he had fucked up our marriage I’d never made it difficult for him to have access to his daughter. He may have been a shit husband but he was a pretty good father. And that was why I knew that the pain he was feeling was just as acute as mine.

There were two police patrol cars already parked in front of my block when we arrived. That wasn’t unexpected, but it did cause my stomach to fold in on itself. It was another unwelcome image, another gut-wrenching reminder that I wasn’t about to wake up from a terrible nightmare.

Adam parked in one of the bays and we both climbed out. A woman in a grey trouser suit approached and I recognised her as Sergeant Rachel Palmer, from the family liaison team. She was tall, with dark, shoulder-length hair and a face that was conventionally pretty. She asked if it would be all right to come up to the flat and that other officers would stay downstairs to fend off the reporters and photographers when they started to turn up, as was inevitable.

I said it was fine and she introduced herself to Adam, who led the way into the block and up the stairs to the apartment.

Once inside, Palmer offered to make some tea while Adam and I went into the living room.

The first thing to seize my attention was the box of Molly’s toys next to the sofa. The sight of it hit me for six and violent shudders racked my body.

‘This should never have happened,’ I said. ‘It’s my fault, all my fault.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Adam said. ‘Of course it’s not.’

‘But if she had been with me she wouldn’t have been taken.’

Adam guided me to the sofa. I was shaking convulsively and my heart felt like it was on fire.

‘You need something to help you cope with the shock,’ Adam said. ‘Maybe I should call a doctor.’

I shook my head. ‘It won’t do any good. I just have to get a grip.’ But I knew that was going to be a lot easier said than done.

He sat opposite me in the armchair, threw himself back against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling. His face was a portrait of anguish and disbelief, his mouth drawn in tight. The light had gone from his eyes and I could tell that he was also struggling to control his emotions.

‘Thanks for bringing me home,’ I said. ‘Are you going to stay?’

He wiped his hands across his face and then looked at me.

‘Of course I am,’ he said. ‘We might not be together anymore but that doesn’t mean I’d let you go through this by yourself. Molly’s our baby. We have to face this together.’

For a few minutes we sat in silence, tormented by our own dark thoughts. Then Palmer appeared and put a tray of teas on the coffee table.

She was about to speak when my phone pinged to indicate an incoming text message. It came as such a shock that I leapt to my feet and the phone fell from my lap onto the floor.

I felt a shiver of apprehension as I reached down for it. My hand shook as I opened up the message. I could feel Adam’s and Palmer’s eyes on me and the tension in the room was almost palpable.

The message appeared and I read it out loud.

It’s me again. There are two attachments. The first is a photograph of your daughter having an afternoon nap in her new cot. The second is a document that you need to read.

Adam was suddenly at my side, holding my hand and turning the phone towards him so that he too could read the text.

‘Check the photo first,’ he said.

I opened it up and stared with a heavy heart at my baby lying fast asleep in a cot. She was on her back and wearing plain pink pyjamas that I hadn’t seen before. Her eyes were closed and she was sucking on her thumb, just as she always did in her sleep.

I felt a wash of cold sweat and a sharp pain speared through my chest.

‘At least she looks OK,’ Adam said over my shoulder. ‘She hasn’t been harmed.’

That wasn’t the point. She still wasn’t safe. She was with a stranger and we had no idea what he planned to do with her. She would certainly be scared, and maybe he’d already hurt her in some way since the photo was taken.

‘Check the document,’ Adam said. ‘Let’s see what it says.’

But by now my hands were shaking so much I couldn’t operate the phone, so Adam took it from me and opened up the document.

‘Read it out,’ Palmer told him. ‘I need to hear this too.’

But Adam ignored her and read it to himself, and from the look on his face I knew it was bad.

I wasn’t sure how long it took him to get through the message, or if he read it twice, but it felt like a lifetime. When he’d finished, the blood had retreated from his face and there was a look of feral rage in his eyes.

‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What does it say?’

But he couldn’t speak. He was shell-shocked. I went to grab the phone from him but Palmer beat me to it.

‘Give it to me,’ I demanded, my voice shrill, high-pitched. ‘I want to see it.’

I moved towards her but Adam got between us.

‘You need to prepare yourself, Sarah,’ he said, holding my arms. ‘This isn’t good.’

I froze and felt a cold panic tighten in my chest.

We stared at each other and the haunted expression on his face was truly terrifying.

‘However bad it is, I need to see it,’ I said.

A moment later Palmer handed me the phone, and her face was stiff with shock. As soon as I started to read what the kidnapper had written I felt the darkness rise up inside me.

Sarah Mason … FYI I’ve taken your daughter as punishment for what you did to me. You’ll never touch or speak to her again. But you will see her grow up. That will be my way of making sure that your suffering does not diminish over time. I’ll send you photos and video clips on a regular basis. If I find out at any point that you’ve stopped looking at them, I’ll take it out on Molly. She will also suffer if you or the police make any of the images public through newspapers or on the television. Remember – I don’t love your child and I won’t hesitate to hurt her – or even kill her – if you give me cause.

Yours … Molly’s adoptive parent.

7
DCI Brennan

Detective Brennan arrived at Sarah’s flat thirty minutes after she received the second text from the kidnapper. The message with the attached document was forwarded to him by her ex-husband, and having read it through twice he’d concluded that it was one of the most disturbing things he’d seen during three decades on the force, and that was going some.

Whoever was behind it had to be some kind of monster; a monster with a serious grudge against Sarah Mason.

Brennan wondered what she could possibly have done to make the perp want to inflict such a painful and bizarre form of ‘punishment’. Did the perceived wrongdoing relate to an issue in her private life, or did it have something to do with her work as a police officer?

These were questions that would be central to the investigation, and it was crucial that they be answered quickly, so as not to waste time storming off in the wrong direction.

The life of an innocent child was at stake, and so too was the sanity of the child’s mother.

As soon as Brennan saw Sarah sitting on her sofa he realised that the shock had numbed her senses. She was staring at the wall opposite, her eyes wide and unblinking, her body rigid as a fence post. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara and her hands were clasped together in an anxious knot in her lap. She didn’t even turn towards him as he entered the living room, and he didn’t want to imagine what terrible thoughts were rushing through her mind.

His heart went out to her, and for a few moments he was lost for words. Sarah Mason wasn’t just another victim of crime. She was a valued member of his close-knit team and as such he felt protective towards her.

She was one of his brightest detectives, and she had never let him down, not even during those dark days after she split from her husband and discovered she was pregnant. She’d coped then with a quiet dignity, revealing an inner strength that had so impressed him he’d decided to promote her to detective inspector.

But getting divorced and giving birth were nothing compared with the terrifying ordeal that now confronted her.

Brennan had a flashback to the first time he saw her with Molly. She’d brought her into the office two months after she was born. Sarah had been so happy and proud and had clearly been ecstatic about being a mother.

The last time he saw Molly was at the staff children’s party at Christmas. He’d gone along with his own grandson who was just a few months older than Molly. Seeing the children now in his mind’s eye gave rise to a deep sense of foreboding that he tried desperately to keep out of his voice when he finally spoke.

‘I want you to know that the whole of the Met is on high alert, Sarah,’ he said. ‘I spoke to the Commissioner himself on the way here. He wants us to throw everything we’ve got into finding your daughter.’

She turned her head then and looked up at him. Her face was drawn and pallid and her eyes brimmed with bright, shiny tears. The fear and despair was coming off her in waves.

Brennan was about to reach forward and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but her ex-husband beat him to it. Adam Boyd moved swiftly from where he’d been perched on the arm of the sofa and sat beside her. He put an arm around her and pulled her close to him.

Brennan knew from what Sarah had told him that Adam was close to his daughter and saw her regularly. So he’d be in just as much pain as she was, even though he was doing a better job of not showing it. He’d met his fellow police officer a couple of times and he seemed nice enough, but his concern right now was for Sarah.

‘We’re working closely with the phone company,’ Brennan said. ‘With any luck we’ll soon have a fix on who’s behind this.’

But even as he said it he knew it was wishful thinking. The person who had taken Molly would make sure to cover his tracks. He’d know how to send a text message and an email that couldn’t be traced. It wasn’t rocket science, after all. The information on how to do it was freely available on the internet.

‘Is my mum OK?’ Sarah asked.

Brennan lowered himself onto the chair opposite her and nodded.

‘Your father’s with her at the hospital,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing physically wrong with her but she’s understandably shaken up and feeling guilty. She’ll soon be discharged. I gather her sister lives in Balham and that’s apparently where they’ll be spending the night because their house is now an active crime scene.’

‘Does she know about this latest message?’

‘Not yet.’

Sarah closed her eyes and pulled a face as though reacting to a sharp pain. Then she started rocking herself back and forth, her breathing hard and rapid.

At this point the family liaison officer, Sergeant Rachel Palmer, explained to Brennan that she had spoken to a police doctor who had agreed to come to the flat and prescribe medication for Sarah.

‘No one is putting me to sleep,’ Sarah snapped. ‘I have to stay awake in case there’s another message or even a phone call.’

‘But you need something to help with the shock,’ Adam said. ‘And it doesn’t mean you can’t stay awake.’

Brennan watched Adam rub his fingers across his scalp. The man’s lean, sharp-edged features were tight with tension, the cheeks marked with a hint of stubble.

Brennan had already spoken to Adam’s boss at the National Crime Agency to apprise him of the situation. DCI Mike Dunlop had described him as a solid detective and had offered to help with the investigation. Brennan was hoping he wouldn’t have to take him up on the offer, but if the last message was anything to go by they might need all the help they could get.

‘Sounds to me like their poor little mite has been snatched by some sick, twisted perv,’ Dunlop had said. ‘The fact that she’s the daughter of two coppers will make it big bloody news.’

Brennan knew that only too well. A media firestorm was brewing for sure. And dealing with it was going to be far from straightforward, given what the kidnapper had threatened.

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

That was going to complicate matters no end. But from the kidnapper’s standpoint it was a clever move as it would limit the impact of any public appeal.

‘The note makes it clear that we can’t air those photographs of Molly that he’s sent you,’ Brennan said now. ‘You’ll therefore need to provide me with a couple of recent pictures of her that we can give to the media.’

‘But how do we know he won’t mind those being aired?’ Sarah asked.

‘Because I’m certain he would have told us if he did. He knows we’ll have to put out pictures of Molly, but if we air the ones he’s taken himself then there’s a risk that something in them will be recognised – such as the room she’s in or the sofa she’s on. He’s being cautious.’

‘It makes sense, I suppose,’ Adam said. ‘Well I’ve got plenty of pictures on my phone.’

Brennan pulled at the knot of his tie and swallowed the saliva that had gathered in his throat. Then he said, ‘Have you given any thought to who could be responsible for this?’

The question was directed at Adam, but it was Sarah who answered it.

‘To do that I’d have to think beyond what’s happened,’ she said. ‘And right now, I can’t. All I can think about is Molly and what might be happening to her.’

‘I appreciate that,’ Brennan said. ‘I really do. But you’ve got to try to focus, Sarah. Can you think of anyone who has a grudge against you? Anyone who believes you should be punished?’

She passed a hand over her face and shook her head.

‘I really c-can’t,’ she sobbed. ‘I wish I could.’

‘So you haven’t fallen out with anyone recently?’

‘No I haven’t.’

‘Then that leads me to believe that this is to do with the job. Perhaps someone you put away is out to get revenge.’

Sarah grimaced. ‘But it means there’ll be scores of suspects going back years.’

Brennan nodded. ‘We’re going to have to trawl through all the cases you’ve been involved with.’

‘Jesus, guv. That’ll take forever and most of those guys are probably still banged up.’

‘Well we shouldn’t assume that the kidnapper is working alone,’ Brennan said. ‘He could have an accomplice.’

Adam leant forward, a frown cutting into his forehead. ‘I just can’t believe that this is the work of a pissed-off perp,’ he said. ‘You know yourself that it’s very rare for the people who are put away to seek to get their own back against an arresting officer. They know they’ll be a prime suspect if they do. And what this bastard is threatening to do with Molly is off the chart when it comes to risk. The longer he drags it out, the more chance of getting caught.’

It had already occurred to Brennan that the kidnapper might be bluffing about holding Molly in order to torment Sarah and prolong her agony. More likely he was planning to let her go or, God forbid, kill her after a few days. But Brennan was reluctant to explore this theory with Sarah and Adam because he didn’t want to give oxygen to the thought that they would never see their daughter again.

At least if they believed that Molly’s abductor was going to keep her alive they could cling to the hope that one day she’d be returned to them.

Brennan persevered with the questions for almost an hour, delicately probing Sarah in the hope of extracting some useful information from her. But she was too distressed to concentrate and broke down twice in a paroxysm of tears.

She struggled to hold her thoughts together and found it harder still to summon up names and faces from the past.

‘There are so many,’ she kept saying. ‘For Christ’s sake, I’ve been a copper for over ten years, so I’m bound to have lots of enemies, including all those buggers who claimed they were innocent. Maybe one of their friends or relatives is convinced they were and has decided to get back at me for it.’

‘What about the perps?’ Brennan asked, as he stood up and rolled his shoulders to take out some of the stiffness. ‘Do you recall the names of any that threatened actual retribution against you?’

After thinking about it for a minute or so she remembered two offenders who had threatened her. One she collared seven years ago for smuggling hard drugs into the country from Turkey. His name was Frank Neilson, and after he was charged he told her that he would make her pay if he was eventually convicted. He was, and as far as Sarah knew he was still locked up in Belmarsh Prison.

The second man was a rapist named Edwin Sharp who attacked her with a hammer when she went to his home in Lewisham to arrest him. He said he would ‘see to her’ after he had served his sentence. That was five years ago and she had no idea if he’d been released.

‘This is a good start,’ Brennan said. ‘I’m sure that other names will come to you and we can throw them into the mix as well.’

She was a strong woman, Brennan told himself. He just hoped she’d be able to get over the initial shock quickly. He needed her to focus her mind and help them identify the kidnapper.

The words of the kidnapper convinced Brennan that Sarah probably knew who the man was and that his name was buried deep in her subconscious. If so, then surely it was only a matter of time before she managed to dredge it up.

Brennan decided to leave just as the police doctor arrived at the flat. He got to his feet and told Sarah and Adam that he wouldn’t rest until Molly had been found.

‘I know it won’t be easy, but you both need to stay strong,’ he said.

At that moment his phone rang. All eyes turned towards him expectantly and Sarah said, ‘Answer it, guv. Please. It could be news.’

He slipped the phone from his pocket and took the call. It was indeed someone from the office with an update on the case and it made him catch his breath.

A man carrying a young child had been spotted just minutes after Molly was taken. The sighting took place close to the home of Sarah’s parents in Streatham.

Even more significant was the fact that it was believed the pair had been captured on a street camera.

8
Sarah

Brennan had left the flat and so had the police doctor, who had stayed for barely fifteen minutes. He’d convinced me to take a sedative even though I wasn’t keen, but it hadn’t yet kicked in, so it still felt as though I was trapped in a silent scream.

My thoughts raced, my mind was in turmoil, and the fear was twisting in my gut like some caged animal.

I so wanted to believe that the nightmare would end soon and I’d be reunited with my baby. But although the sighting and potential CCTV footage was positive news, the note from the kidnapper stifled any sense of optimism. Every word burned into my soul with a fierce intensity.

It was hard to believe that someone could be so cruel. This wasn’t an opportunistic abduction by a crazy woman who longed for a child of her own. Or an act perpetrated by a couple who didn’t want to go through the rigmarole of an adoption. No, this was pre-meditated and well-planned by someone whose objective was to cause me unbearable pain.

I’ve taken your daughter as punishment for what you did to me. You’ll never touch her or speak to her again. But you will see her grow up. That will be my way of making sure that your suffering does not diminish over time.

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.

He stood between a whiteboard and a television monitor on top of a stand. Pinned to the whiteboard were the two photos taken by the kidnapper. In themselves they weren’t unusual; seemingly innocent pictures of a child sitting on a sofa and lying asleep in a cot. But it was what they didn’t reveal that made them so sinister.

Where were they taken?

Who was behind the camera?

Was he doing this by himself or did he have an accomplice?

It was the job of Brennan and his team to seek out the answers, but they were making slow progress. And that worried him.

He said as much to the troops when he started to address them. He spoke slowly, his tone measured and calm.

‘In view of this latest text from the kidnapper we need to raise our game,’ he said. ‘DI Mason’s little girl has been taken by someone with an obvious grudge, and we have to assume that he’s not making empty threats when he says he’ll hurt her.’

He explained why the photo of Molly on the sofa had ended up on the BBC and several online news sites, and said he would make a point of speaking to the person or persons responsible.

‘But so far we’ve managed to keep a lid on the reason the kidnapper has given for abducting Molly,’ he went on. ‘For now that stays within these walls and I’ll come down hard on anyone who decides to leak it.’

He paused to let that sink in. He knew all twenty-five officers in the room, and on a run-of-the-mill case he’d have trusted them not to succumb to temptation. But this was no ordinary case, and the press were going to be offering big money for inside information.

Brennan waited about fifteen seconds before continuing. Then he pinned back his shoulders and said, ‘Now I want those of you who were assigned specific tasks to provide updates. But first let me reiterate what I told you earlier – that we need to handle this case just like any other. I know we all have a personal stake because of DI Mason, but we can’t allow that to cloud our judgement. We have to stay focused and we need to be objective. One serious mistake has already been made. We can’t afford for there to be any more.’

Harsh strip lights buzzed overhead as the briefing continued. But nothing Brennan heard encouraged him to believe that they were making significant headway.

DI Bill Conroy was heading up the group tasked with sifting through all the footage from the traffic and security cameras. They’d so far come up with only the one short clip that showed the kidnapper walking along Penfold Street towards Streatham High Road carrying Molly, who looked as though she was crying. But the sequence lasted just seven seconds. The kidnapper kept his head down and his face couldn’t be seen. But it was obvious to them all that they were looking at a man and not a woman. He was wearing a dark hoody and jeans and what looked like a pair of black trainers.

It seemed that Molly and the man hadn’t been picked up on any other cameras so it wasn’t known if they’d got into a vehicle or entered a house or flat.

‘We’re still trawling through the footage,’ DI Conroy said. ‘But it was a busy time of day. Plus, a couple of cameras in the area aren’t working. However, the clip tells us that the bloke didn’t have a car or van parked behind the house. Instead he chose to walk away from there carrying the baby. We know from the tape that he walked at least a few hundred yards along Oakdale Lane and Hopton Close. But beyond that he could have gone off in any number of directions.’

Another detective reported on the door-to-door inquiries.

‘Unfortunately most of the properties in the area were empty when officers called,’ he said. ‘We’re assuming the owners and tenants were at work, and most still are, so there’s a good chance they wouldn’t have seen anything. As yet, we have only one confirmed sighting of a man with a child. A woman named Tina Redgrave was returning from the school run when she spotted them in Penfold Street. But it was as she was pulling onto her driveway, so she didn’t see the guy’s face.’

Brennan wasn’t surprised. Londoners rarely noticed things that weren’t relevant to their own busy lives. This was especially true of people hurrying to and from work. They were usually listening to music, playing with their smartphones or fretting over what the day ahead held in store for them.

The team were then told that the techies hadn’t managed to trace the origin of the messages. The perp was probably switching between unregistered phones or using an anonymous text app.

‘So what do we know about the perps who DI Mason mentioned as having made threats against her?’ Brennan said.

DC Amanda Foster was across this one and Brennan noticed she was standing at the back of the room with her mobile phone to her ear. As he caught her eye she raised a hand in acknowledgement and quickly hung up.

‘Sorry, guv,’ she said, flicking a tendril of dark hair away from her face. ‘I was just getting updated.’

‘So what have you got for us?’ he asked.

She read from her notes as she spoke. ‘DI Mason gave you two names,’ she said. ‘One was the drug trafficker Frank Neilson who told her he would make her pay if he was convicted and sent down. I’m glad to say he’s still behind bars.

‘The other man was Edwin Sharp who she collared for rape five years ago. He hit DI Mason with a hammer and threatened to see to her when he got out. Well, I’ve just this second learned that he was released from jail a month ago. We have an address in Lewisham, but officers who called round there say the flat is empty. Neighbours say he only stayed there a week before moving out. We’re now trying to find out where he’s gone.’

Brennan felt his stomach tense and his spirits lift slightly.

‘That sounds promising,’ he said. ‘I think it’s fair to say we have our first suspect.’

12
Sarah

I was in a dreadful state by the time we got to the station. It had only just turned five p.m. and already it was the longest day of my life.

The latest text from the kidnapper had hit me hard. I’d bellowed like a wounded animal and Adam had had to put an arm around me to calm me down. I dreaded to think how much more strung out I’d be if not for the sedative that was sloshing around inside me.

The fear was like razor wire inside my mind. I’d finally stopped sobbing, but now I had trouble thinking, trouble seeing.

Adam said he thought it might be best if Sergeant Palmer took me back home, but I insisted on going up with him. I needed to find out what was happening and if my colleagues were in a position to offer us any hope. If not then I was sure that the fear and uncertainty would soon engulf me.

It felt weird to be entering the building for the second time that day. This morning I’d been a very different person – upbeat and energised after a long, lazy weekend. Now I was little more than a zombie, struggling to hold on to reality as my world tilted on its axis.

Several of my colleagues approached me as we made our way up the stairs and they told me they were confident that Molly would soon be found safe and well. Others just gave me sympathetic looks, while some pointedly avoided making eye contact, presumably because they didn’t know how to react.

Brennan was waiting for us just inside the incident room. Beyond him I took in the familiar scene, detectives talking into phones and staring into computer screens. I also noticed the whiteboard with photos of Molly pinned to it. It turned my stomach to see my little girl’s face there. I’d seen scores of children’s faces over the years while working on cases they’d been involved in. Each one had been someone’s son or daughter. But it was only now that I truly realised how desperate and helpless those parents would have felt.

‘Let’s go straight to my office,’ Brennan said and steered us in that direction.

His office was small and cluttered and through the window rain clouds were now bruising the sky above South London.

Adam waited until we were all seated before he let rip. ‘How in Christ’s name did it happen?’ he yelled. ‘The kidnapper gave a clear warning. You were supposed to stop that photo being released.’

Brennan held up both hands, palms out, fingers splayed. ‘I know and I feel as gutted as you do,’ he said. ‘But it was due to a breakdown in communication. It wasn’t deliberate.’

He told us how a member of the media liaison team had released the picture of Molly and Adam responded by shaking his head and swearing.

‘Well someone’s head should bloody roll,’ he seethed. ‘God only knows what’s going to happen to our daughter because of the force’s rank incompetence. I don’t fucking believe—’

I reached across and grabbed his arm, causing him to snap his head towards me.

‘Stop it, Adam,’ I said. ‘Going on about it won’t solve anything. I for one came here to find out how close they are to finding Molly. I feel as angry as you do, but there’s no point ranting and raving over something that can’t be changed.’

He seemed so angry that I thought he’d ignore me. Instead he closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Then he opened them again and gave a slow nod.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to be,’ Brennan said. ‘I completely understand why you’re pissed off. I would be, in your position.’

Having calmed down, Adam sat back and listened to what Brennan had to say. We both did. But what he said did nothing to raise our hopes or allay our fears.

So far only the one woman had come forward to say she had seen a man with a child near my mother’s home. The phone from which the messages had been sent had not been traced. And there was just one short clip of video footage from a street camera.

We viewed it on Brennan’s computer and the sight of my baby in the kidnapper’s arms sent my heart into freefall. The footage was in colour and slightly blurred, but I could tell straight away that it was Molly. She was looking back over the man’s shoulder towards the camera, wide awake and clearly upset. One arm was wrapped around the kidnapper’s neck and her head was raised and moving from side to side.

When Brennan paused and enhanced the image, I could see that her little face was scrunched up and her mouth was open.

I felt a cry in my throat but I refused to let it out. Instead I just gazed at the screen as the muscles around my eyes tightened.

‘Unfortunately we only have the rear view of the kidnapper,’ Brennan said. ‘As you can see he appears to be of average build and height, just as Molly’s grandmother described him. He could be aged anywhere between twenty and forty.’

It was hard to tell because he was wearing a dark hoody and jeans and there were no distinctive markings visible on his clothes.

We watched the video through twice and after the second time I sat back in the chair and had to will the tears not to come.

Brennan asked if I was OK to carry on and I just nodded and wiped my eyes with a tissue.

‘I’m still hopeful that by the end of this evening we’ll have more to go on,’ he said. ‘We’re still going door-to-door and people in the area are gradually returning home from work. It’s possible a neighbour we haven’t yet spoken to saw something. There’s also the outside chance that someone has seen the photograph on the telly and recognises the room that Molly’s in, which is obviously why the kidnapper didn’t want it released.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ Adam said. ‘There must be hundreds of thousands of white sofas in homes across London alone.’

Brennan then asked me a series of questions. Did I have any idea how the kidnapper got my number? No. Had I spotted anyone watching me or the flat in recent days or weeks? No. Did Molly have any medical conditions that required ongoing treatment? No.

He then asked Adam a bunch of similar questions. Did he know who the kidnapper might be? No. Did he know of anyone who had a grudge against Sarah? No. Did he himself have any enemies? Yes, lots.

Adam was in such a state that he was struggling to respond. I could tell that his mind was leaping in all directions and he was finding it hard to make sense of anything.

Finally, and almost reluctantly, Brennan told us about the two perps whose names I’d given him, the pair who had threatened retribution. He said Frank Neilson was still banged up, but the rapist Edwin Sharp had been released from prison a month ago and they were trying to trace him.

‘I didn’t mention him to begin with because I don’t want to overstate the significance,’ he said. ‘Just because he’s out, it doesn’t mean he’s been up to no good. It’s more than likely he doesn’t even remember making threats against you, Sarah.’

I thought about this for a moment and said, ‘On the other hand it might be all he’s been thinking about for the past five years.’

It didn’t seem like five years ago to me. The Edwin Sharp case was one of those that had stayed with me, and I could remember every detail. In fact, I still had some of the newspaper cuttings in a file at home. That was because it was one of my most high-profile cases and even earned me a commendation.

Sharp was an arrogant cocaine-obsessed stockbroker who raped a 23-year-old woman after a drug-fuelled office party. It happened shortly after I joined Lewisham CID and just before they teamed me up with Adam.

I arrived at Sharp’s terraced house with a WPC named Felicity Trant. When he answered the front door, it was clear he was high on drink and drugs. He was wearing a dressing gown with nothing underneath and his eyes were wide and glassy.

He became aggressive and abusive when I explained why we were there and he called us bitches and whores.

When I said I was going to arrest him and take him to the station, he lost it completely. He leapt to his feet and punched WPC Trant in the face, sending her flying across the room. Then he dashed into the kitchen before I could stop him.

I was only a couple of seconds behind him, but by the time I reached him he’d armed himself with a hammer from a drawer and lashed out at me with it.

I suffered a painful blow to the shoulder before I managed to force him to the floor and put cuffs on his wrists.

And that was when his dressing gown fell open to reveal a small flaccid penis, which made him blush and bare his teeth.

‘You fucking cunt,’ he screamed. ‘I won’t forget this.’

The next day, during the formal interview, Sharp gave me a look that could melt wax and said, ‘If I go down for this I’ll make sure I’ll see to you when I get out, Detective Mason.’

Sharp pleaded not guilty in court to rape and claimed the sex with the woman had been consensual. But the jury rejected his story and it took them just three hours to find him guilty of rape and assaulting police officers.

The judge condemned him for not showing any remorse during the trial, and as he was led out of the dock he looked across the courtroom at me and stuck up two fingers.

‘I’m confident it won’t take long to track Sharp down,’ Brennan said, wrenching me back from the past. ‘We’re trying to reach his probation officer and the landlord of the flat he stayed in for just a week. We’re also contacting his family and friends.’

‘Sharp is a nasty piece of work,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to try to finish what he started with the hammer. But it’s hard to imagine that he would have it in him to kidnap my daughter.’

Brennan shrugged. ‘Our prisons are filled with people who hold grudges, Sarah. For some of them the thought of eventually getting sweet revenge is what keeps them going. And it’s often the case that the sweeter and more elaborate the revenge the better.’

13
Sarah

So was the man on the street camera footage Edwin Sharp? Was he the bastard who had abducted Molly after attacking my mother?

It was impossible to tell, of course, because his features weren’t visible on the tape. But Brennan went on to point out that the very latest description of Sharp had him at five feet nine tall, with a slim build and dark hair cropped close to his head. He was aged thirty-six, and when he walked out of Wandsworth prison four weeks ago he was apparently in good health.

Brennan brought a photo of him up on his computer and I took a quick intake of breath.

‘This was taken just before his release,’ Brennan said. ‘The prison sent it over a few minutes ago.’

It was amazing how little the man had changed. It seemed he had hardly aged. There were the strong cheekbones and dimpled chin, the mouth that was flat and narrow, the jaw that was dark with stubble. He still had the kind of face that gave him an air of unbridled arrogance.

‘According to the prison he served the full sentence imposed because he didn’t know how to behave himself,’ Brennan said. ‘He got into a few scuffles and was once caught in possession of drugs.’

‘I don’t understand how he can just disappear,’ Adam said. ‘Surely under the terms of his release he would have had to remain on the radar.’

Brennan agreed. ‘Rest assured that’s one of the questions I’ll be asking.’

The DCI then looked at his watch and said he needed to get back into the incident room.

‘I give you my word that I’ll call you straight away if there are any developments,’ he said. ‘There’s really nothing more I can tell you at this stage. But I do want you to know that more than fifty detectives are now working directly on this case. All leave has been cancelled and I’ve been given the go-ahead to bust the overtime budget.’

I exchanged an anxious glance with Adam. He shook his head and expelled a puff of air.

‘I suppose we have to resign ourselves to a long night then,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

‘The team will be working flat out until we get a result,’ Brennan said. ‘If we’re not able to return Molly to you by tomorrow morning I intend to arrange a press conference and I’d like one or both of you to attend.’

I sat there, nerves jangling, as the dread pooled in my stomach and my eyes started tearing up.

Brennan got to his feet and came around his desk. He stood next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

‘I have no idea what your religious beliefs are, Sarah,’ he said. ‘But if you do believe in God then it might help to pray like you’ve never prayed before.’

Like a lot of police officers who are frequently exposed to the ugly realities of life, I’d always had a hard time believing in God. But that had never stopped me asking for his help.

I’d been mouthing silent prayers ever since I’d discovered that Molly had been abducted. Such was my desperation that I refused to accept the possibility that it was a waste of time.

‘Please bring my baby back to me,’ I whispered to myself as we left the station. ‘And I beg you not to let that man hurt her.’

Sergeant Palmer was waiting outside for us next to her own car and she’d be driving us home.

Once we were settled in the back seat and she was behind the wheel, she said, ‘The DCI wants me to stay with you at the flat tonight. Would that be all right? I have an overnight bag and I’ll make myself comfortable in the living room.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ I said.

‘Thank you. What about you, Mr Boyd? Are you returning to the flat?’

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I don’t intend to go home just yet.’

I felt a surge of relief and reached out to touch his arm.

‘You don’t have to stay with me,’ I said.

‘I know, but I want to.’

There was a sudden clap of thunder and I realised that dark clouds were now clustered overhead. Within seconds big drops of rain were pounding the windscreen.

‘I’d like to go and see my parents before I go home,’ I said. ‘They’re staying with my aunt in Balham. I need to tell them about the latest message and I don’t want to do it over the phone.’

On the short journey to Balham my phone rang four times and each time my heart leapt into my throat. But the callers were just friends and former colleagues who had heard the news about Molly. I told them I couldn’t speak to them, and it got to the point where I wished I could switch my phone off. But of course I couldn’t because I had no idea if and when the kidnapper would make contact again.

My aunt Tessa lived with her husband Jeff in a terraced house off Balham High Road. She was four years older than my mother and had a son who lived in Australia.

It was a solemn-faced Jeff who answered the door. He was a thin, fragile man with hollow cheeks and wispy grey hair. He immediately pulled me into an embrace.

‘Oh you poor darling,’ he said. ‘This is so terrible.’

‘How’s Mum?’ I asked him.

‘Come in and see. Are you by yourself?’

‘I’m with Adam and a police officer. They’re going to wait outside in the car.’

It was Adam’s idea not to come in because he reckoned he would be a distraction. My parents hadn’t seen him since before the divorce and there was no telling how they’d react. My father William was a curmudgeonly 64-year-old and had vowed never to speak to Adam again.

In the event, I didn’t think it would have been a problem. My mum and dad were far too distressed to be concerned about anyone other than their granddaughter.

Naturally they were eager to know if there had been any news.

‘That’s why I came right over,’ I said. ‘The bastard has sent another message.’

I told them what was in it and they took it badly. My mother collapsed in tears and my father kept shaking his head and telling us that he feared we would never see Molly again. It was all very upsetting and I was actually glad to leave the house. It was just after eight p.m. by then and the evening was drawing in. The rain had eased off but the air was heavy and moist.

When we got to my flats we had to run the gauntlet of reporters and photographers again. Now there were even more of them outside the flats.

Upstairs, Sergeant Palmer offered to make us both something to eat, but neither Adam nor I had an appetite.

‘I’ll have a drink, though,’ I said. ‘Something stronger than tea.’

I told Palmer to help herself to whatever was in the fridge and went into the living room.

‘You sit down and I’ll pour you something,’ Adam said. ‘Is the booze still in the same place?’

I nodded and he went to the cupboard next to the dining table.

‘You’ve got a bottle of whisky and half a bottle of gin,’ he said.

‘I’ll have whisky and make it a double.’

I sat on the sofa feeling weak and empty. My mouth was dry and my chest was thudding. I had no intention of going to bed. What was the point when I knew I’d never be able to sleep? I had no option but to sit back and wait for news while destructive thoughts ran riot inside my head.

As Adam handed me a glass half-filled with whisky, I asked him how long he planned to stay.

‘All night if that’s OK with you,’ he said.

I just nodded.

I fired down some whisky and felt it bite into the back of my throat. Adam poured himself a glass before switching on the TV.

A moment later we were looking at another photo of Molly, this time one that Adam had taken a few weeks ago on his phone. It showed her in the park throwing bread to the ducks.

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