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- Herausgeber: Brandon
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Ellen Kelly
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013
'a tour de force... Imagine a collaboration between Ann Tyler and AM Homes' Ken Bruen Lee, southeast London. A young girl has disappeared. There are no witnesses, no leads, no clues. The police are tracking a shadow, and time is running out … DI Ellen Kelly is at the top of her game – at least she was, until she took the law into her own hands and confronted her husband's killer. Now she's back at work, leading the investigation into the missing child. Her superiors are watching her; the distraught family is depending on her. Ellen has a lot to prove. And she knows it. A tense thriller that stalks the urban streets of southeast London and the bleak wilderness of the North Kent coast, Hunting Shadows introduces the forceful, compromised police detective, DI Ellen Kelly.
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Reviews
‘Marks the entrance of a major new talent. Sheila Bugler delivers a chilling psychological twister of a novel, laced with homespun horrors, a compelling central character in DI Ellen Kelly and a strong contemporary resonance. Fans of Nicci French and Sophie Hannah, prick up your ears.’Cathi Unsworth
‘Truly a tour de force. Imagine a collaboration between Ann Tyler and AM Homes. Yes, the novel is that good. Sheila Bugler might well have altered the way we view families and the very essence of mandatory Happiness. This is great writing.’Ken Bruen
Hunting Shadows, by Sheila Bugler, is the first book in a series featuring Detective Ellen Kelly, and continues a strong tradition of acclaimed crime fiction published by BRANDON.
To my parents, Harry and Adrienne, for everything
Acknowledgements
Svetlana Pironko, Michael O’Brien, Rachel Pierce and everyone at O’Brien Press.
Fellow writers: JJ Marsh, Gillian Hamer, Catriona Troth, Pete Moran, Justine Windsor, Amanda Hodgkinson, Chris Curran, Marlene Brown, Lorraine Mace, Marion Urch, Martyn Waites, Cathi Unsworth, Ken Bruen and everyone I’ve met at the Writing Asylum.
My ‘perfect reader’, Michelle Romaine. I’m hoping a baby isn’t going to get in the way of the serious business of reading early drafts of my books …
Chioma Dijeh of the Metropolitan Police, who advised on police procedural issues; any mistakes are mine.
Luke and Ruby: Chessington is booked – you deserve it for putting up with a mother who writes.
Finally, Sean: love you.
Contents
From:[email protected]
Subject:DI Ellen Kelly
Ed,
As promised, please find attached my report on Ellen Kelly. In it, you’ll find my professional assessment of Ellen’s mental health, along with my recommendation that she continues her counselling sessions for a further six months. I’ve also stated that I believe Ellen is ready to return to work, but in a reduced capacity.
Off the record, though, there’s something you need to be aware of.
As you know, Ellen only agreed to counselling because it was one of the recommendations of the IPCC investigation following the fatal shooting incident last year. Despite the compulsory nature of the sessions, I think Ellen has enjoyed them more than she expected and I hope she has found them useful.
She is a compassionate, intelligent woman who clearly loves her two children and is still mourning the tragic death of her husband three years ago. Dealing with any death is difficult, but coping in the aftermath of a murder can be an unmanageable burden. In general, I would say Ellen is dealing with her loss as well as can be expected.
As you’ve already said, she is remarkably modest. I read the official report on the Hope investigation. It’s clear that Ellen was solely responsible for saving the lives of Katie Hope and her son, Jake. Ellen’s bravery in confronting the man who abducted them is the single reason they are still here today. And yet she refuses to acknowledge that.
At first, I put this down to guilt. The only way she was able to save Katie and Jake was by killing William Dunston, the man who abducted them. However, at the end of ten counselling sessions with Ellen, I am doubtful now that this is the case.
And here’s the thing you need to be aware of, Ed. I can see no sign that Ellen feels any guilt at all about what she did. As you know, I’ve worked with several men and women who have killed in the line of duty. In every case, the officer in question struggles to come to terms with what they’ve done. Taking another person’s life leaves its mark. And there seems to be little correlation between the ‘sort’ of victim and the level of guilt. Drug-dealers, child abusers, murderers – many of your colleagues would say they got what they deserved. And yet … One officer, for example, shot dead a serial killer in self-defence. His guilt was such that he couldn’t face returning to work and, eventually, packed it in altogether. Every time he thought about it, he saw the face of the man he’d killed and he just couldn’t do it.
So what makes Ellen different? Normally, I’d say this lack of remorse might indicate a psychopathic personality, but with Ellen that’s categorically not the case. (And yes, I did run some standard tests – it’s all in the report.)
There is another explanation but it’s not one you’ll want to hear. You see, far from showing signs of guilt, Ellen seems glad about what happened. And knowing what we do about who she blames for her husband’s death, I am left with a question: did Ellen kill William Dunston in self-defence or did she kill him deliberately?
I know the IPCC cleared Ellen of any wrong-doing and there is no reason to dispute that ruling. And what I’m telling you now is just a hunch and – very occasionally (!) – my hunches are wrong. I like Ellen. I can see why you rate her so highly. But there’s something not quite right about her reaction to Dunston’s death. You and I go way back, Ed, otherwise I wouldn’t even mention this. But I owe it to you to be as honest as I can. Plus I trust you to treat what I’ve told you in confidence.
I’ve done my best, but I’d really like to get to the bottom of this. Until I do, I would strongly recommend Ellen continues her counselling sessions and you keep her off frontline work until further notice.
All the very best
Briony
MONDAY, 14 FEBRUARY
09:45
They were coming. Brian couldn’t see them. Not yet. No problem hearing them, though. Their voices drifted towards him, breaking the silence of the empty street. Daddy shouting and Marion’s little voice answering back.
Brian tensed. He wanted to warn her, tell her not to talk back. Daddy didn’t like it. It wound him up something terrible. And you didn’t want that.
They turned into Lenham Road and now he could see them. He stepped back into the garden behind him, breath held, waiting. Daddy would leave Marion, like he did every morning, and let her run on her own to the school at the other end of the street.
They were late. The other kids had already gone in. If you looked up and down Lenham Road, there wasn’t a soul about. Apart from Daddy and Marion. And Brian himself, of course. Except hidden in the garden like this, you’d have a problem noticing him there at all. Which was the idea.
He’d chosen this place on purpose. Behind him, the big house was derelict – windows smashed or boarded-up, no sign of anyone having lived here for a long time. No fear of anyone lurking inside, watching what he was up to.
Daddy looked different, but Brian had expected that. He’d probably changed his appearance on purpose. Trying to disguise himself. Doing all he could to confuse Brian. Daddy was clever that way. Not like Brian, who took after his Mam and was a brainless twat. Or so Daddy said.
In fact, Brian was cleverer than Daddy gave him credit for. Fair enough, he’d made some mistakes, messed things up from time to time. Especially with Molly. It would be different this time, though. He could feel it. This time, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Daddy leant down, like he was trying to give Marion a kiss. It was all Brian could do to stop himself jumping out from his hiding place and screaming at Daddy to take his hands off her. But he didn’t have to worry. Marion had already turned away and was running down the street towards the school.
Daddy called after her but she didn’t stop, didn’t even slow her stride or look back. Couldn’t wait to get away from the mean old bastard.
‘Just go!’ Brian whispered, willing Daddy to walk away.
Marion was getting closer.
‘Go!’
His hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. Marion slowed down. Not running anymore. Daddy turned and started walking, disappeared around the corner. Gone. Only Marion left. Nearly here now.
His heart was thumping so loudly it was a wonder she couldn’t hear it. But she showed no sign of hearing anything except the song she was singing. It was that stupid song she sang every morning. Something about a man and a mirror. And when she got to the middle bit she’d squeal – dead loud – like someone was hurting her. He hated that song. Especially the squealing. It drilled into his head until he thought he’d do anything to get it to stop. She wouldn’t sing that when they were together. He’d get her to sing other songs for him instead. Songs like Over the Rainbow or Endless Love. Proper songs without all that bloody squealing.
His heart was really going for it now, banging away like a drum. The palms of his hands were damp. He kept wiping them on his jeans, but it made no difference. Moments later they’d be all wet again. Nerves, that’s what it was.
What if she didn’t recognise him?
He shook his head, smiling at himself for being so daft. Hadn’t he gone over this again and again?
She’d be a bit shocked to start with, of course. He’d prepared himself for that. It had been a while, after all. That’s why he’d decided to do it this way. Once they got home, he could explain things properly to her. Plenty of time for chatting then.
Now, he had to concentrate on Marion.
He glanced behind him – at the house with the boarded up windows; at the white van parked on the gravelled driveway, its doors open, ready and waiting.
Marion’s voice. The words growing clearer as she drew close.
‘I’m starting with the ma-an in the mirror …’
One.
‘… I’m asking him to cha-ange his ways …’
Two.
‘… No message could have been any clearer …’
Three!
He jumped from his hiding place, reached out and grabbed her, all in one smooth action. He swung her in the air and lowered her gently into the back of the van, hand covering her mouth the whole time so she couldn’t scream out. Holding her down while he wrapped the thick tape around her was a bit tricky, but nothing he couldn’t handle. She kept wriggling and trying to hit him, but he got there in the end. As he closed the doors, he couldn’t stop smiling.
Humming quietly to himself, Brian climbed into the van and reversed out of the driveway. Lenham Road was still deserted. Even if someone did happen to pass by, he doubted they would be able to hear the feeble thumps coming from the back of the van.
Let’s see who’s the brainless twat now, Daddy.
13:30
He called her Blue. Because of her eyes, he said. Told her they were the bluest things he’d ever seen. Later, when he knew her real name, he still called her Blue. She liked it. Blue. Vinny’s name for her.
He was gone now. Only his voice came back to her. During the long nights of jumbled sleep and tumbled dreams, she’d hear his voice whispering in her ear: ‘What you up to, Blue?’
She’d lie there, eyes closed, still asleep, head twisting from side toside on the pillow, trying to follow the sound, trying to see him. But she never did. There was only the voice. So close she’d imagine she could feel his warm breath on her cheek as he whispered to her.
‘What you up to, Blue?’
And even though she couldn’t see him, she’d try to answer. Try to tell him what she’d been up to. Struggling out of sleep as she used every bit of strength to get her mouth working, get the words out.
Except every time, every single sodding time, she was too late. By the time she managed to say something her eyes were open and she was awake and he was gone. Always gone.
Vinny. Ellen thought of him the moment she got out of her car and looked up the length of Lenham Road, to the school at the other end. Maybe it was the black and yellow lines of police tape blocking access, or maybe the alien army of white-suited, silent SOCOs inching their way along Lenham Road, examining the scene meticulously for traces of forensic evidence. Most likely, though, it was the unmistakable sense that something terrible had happened here, and that the lives of those directly affected had changed forever in ways they could never have foreseen.
An icy February wind cut across South-East London, rustling the protective plastic boots Ellen had put on and causing the ends of her blue Reiss winter coat to flap against her legs. When she shivered, though, it wasn’t because of the wind. It was the sight of a child’s black shoulder bag lying on the pavement, like it had been thrown there.
It was similar to the bags her own children had, with a round school logo on the front. This bag had opened and some of its contents had fallen out, including a slim paperback book. It was too far away for Ellen to read the title, but she recognised the image. The shadowy outline of a man and a young boy, with aeroplanes flying overhead. Goodnight Mister Tom. Waterstones in Bromley had it on special offer before Christmas. She’d bought a copy for Pat, her eldest child.
It seemed wrong, somehow, for the bag and its contents to be left on the ground like that. The mother in Ellen wanted to run down the road and pick up the bag, carefully put everything back inside and hand it back to the little girl who’d dropped it.
Except there was no little girl.
‘Boss!’ A familiar voice rose above the low moan of the wind. Ellen turned around, saw a short man with cropped ginger hair and a large stomach charging towards her like a bull. She held up her hands, protecting herself, as he slid to a halt in front of her, his white face shiny with pleasure. Malcolm McDonald.
‘Baxter said he’d called you,’ Malcolm said. ‘He wasn’t sure how soon you’d be able to get sorted, though. It’s true then, is it? You’re coming back? About bloody time. Hasn’t been the same without you, Ellen.’
Ellen cocked an eyebrow.
‘Sorry,’ Malcolm said. ‘It hasn’t been the same without you, Ma’am. Pretty bad business to come back to, though. You sure you’re up to this? I mean, can’t be easy. Another missing kid on your first day back. I mean, it’s bound to bring back some memories, right?’
‘You been on training to become more tactful?’ Ellen asked.
‘Huh?’
Ellen smiled. ‘Didn’t think so. Right, let’s get to it. What’s happened here? I got the basics from Baxter, but go through it again for me. From the beginning.’
‘Jodie Hudson,’ Malcolm began. ‘Ten years old. Father took her to school this morning, like he does every morning. Left her at the top of the road – here – for her to walk the last bit by herself. School’s down there. Look, you can see for yourself. Three hundred metres max. You can’t see the road from the classrooms, but anyone standing at the school gates would have been able to see Jodie walking the whole way along the road. Except she never got there.
‘When she didn’t turn up for school, they phoned the mother, who called the father, only she couldn’t get through to him. She wasn’t too worried at first. Assumed the girl was sick and Dad had forgotten to call the school to let them know. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. Father wasn’t tracked down till two minutes past eleven.’
Ellen interrupted him. ‘Okay. Questions. One, why didn’t anyone notice her? When I drop my kids to school the road is packed with parents and children rushing to get there before the bell rings. Two, if the girl was sick, why wouldn’t the mother know that already? Are the parents separated? Three, where the hell was the father between dropping the daughter off and eleven o’clock?’
‘The street was empty,’ Malcolm said. ‘They were running late. A regular occurrence, according to the school. Girl’s parents aren’t separated, but the mother works in the City and leaves early every morning. She’s the breadwinner. Dad stays at home and looks after the kids. Two kids. Jodie and her older brother, Finlay – fourteen years old, goes to Thomas Moore in Eltham. Catholic family, as you’ve probably gathered.’
Ellen nodded. St Anne’s, the school Jodie was trying to get to, was a Catholic school, like the one her own children attended in Greenwich. Plenty of Catholic schools in this part of London to meet the large population of first- and second-generation Irish and Poles.
‘And the father?’ she asked.
Malcolm shrugged. ‘Not sure yet. Claims he was shopping in Lewisham and had his phone switched off. We’ve no idea yet if that’s true or not. He’s at the station now being questioned. Mother’s there too. Baxter’s with them.’
Malcolm said something else, but Ellen had stopped listening. She turned away from him, looking down Lenham Road as she tried to picture the scene. The little girl skipping down the road, father standing where Ellen stood now. She imagined him watching his daughter for a moment and then – reluctantly, maybe – turning and walking away. And after he was gone, the girl keeps going, her bag over her shoulders, slapping gently against her back in time with her footsteps. And then … What?
Or maybe it didn’t happen like that at all. Maybe the daughter had said something to upset or anger her father. As she walks away from him, he can’t stop thinking about what she’s said. He’s angry. Really angry.
Jodie’s bag lay beside the entrance to one of the houses on Lenham Road. The house was boarded-up. Looked as if it hadn’t been lived in for years. What if the father ran after her? Grabbed hold of her and dragged her into the garden? She fights back and in the scuffle, her bag falls to the ground. Neither of them notices. She’s too scared, he’s too angry. And then the red mist descends and something terrible happens and afterwards, he doesn’t have a daughter anymore.
Ellen looked at Malcolm. ‘What do you think happened?’
‘Thought we was meant to keep an open mind,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you’re always telling us?’
‘True,’ Ellen said. ‘But a good detective also follows their gut instinct. What’s your gut telling you, Malcolm?’
Malcolm ran a hand over his tight haircut and sighed. ‘There’s a part of me, right, that keeps thinking it must be the father. I mean, that’s the most likely explanation, right? Except there’s something else I keep thinking about as well.’
‘Go on,’ Ellen said.
‘Something about it reminds me of Molly York,’ Malcolm said. ‘Remember that case? I know this is different because Molly was over three years ago and there’s been nothing like it since. But in here,’ Malcolm thumped his chest. Hard. ‘In here, I can’t help thinking the two things might be related. And that makes me feel sick, El– I mean, Ma’am. Sick as a dog. Because if the same person who took Molly has taken Jodie, then, well, you know what that means.’
Ellen knew exactly what it meant. She remembered the photos of Molly’s dead, mutilated body. The thought of the same thing happening again. She hadn’t seen a photo of Jodie yet, hadn’t spoken to her family or friends or formed any clear picture in her head of what the child was like. But that paperback lying on the ground was all Ellen needed. In her mind, Jodie was already there. Her head buried in Michelle Magorian’s classic story of war and friendship.
Other images were there, too. Images Ellen tried to push aside. Jodie without her book, her face unrecognisable from fear and terror and pain. The sound of her voice, screaming inside Ellen’s head, begging Ellen to find her, to save her from the unimaginable hell.
Ellen blinked twice. The images faded until the only thing she could see was Malcolm, a frown creasing his shiny forehead as he stared at her.
‘We’ll find her,’ she said. ‘Even if it is the same sick bastard. We’ll find Jodie and we’ll make sure, whoever he is, he’ll never harm another child for the rest of his miserable life. Okay?’
The frown disappeared.
‘It’s good to have you back,’ Malcolm said.
14:30
Ellen got out of the car, locked it and hurried towards the white building at the end of the car park. At the entrance, she held her security pass against the door, waited for the red light to flash green, pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Keeping her head down, she strode quickly to the lift. When she pressed the button, the doors slid open and she crossed over into the narrow space, only allowing herself to breathe once she’d pushed the button for the third floor and the lift started to ascend.
Her hands had a slight shake, as if she’d been drinking the night before. Being back here, in this building, it affected her more than she’d expected. She thought she’d prepared herself. Had run through any variety of situations and anticipated emotions. The one thing she hadn’t expected was that she’d feel so damn scared. Nerves she’d expected. Excitement, too. Apprehension, of course. And even a bit of uncertainty. But this? Fear was something new. She didn’t like it one bit.
Pushing it aside, she tried to focus on the positives. Over the past two months, she’d built up this moment, going over it again and again. Her return to the job. A sure sign that she was starting to put the past behind her and move on with her life. It was good to be back. It had to be. Because the alternative – that she wouldn’t be up to the job, anymore – was unthinkable.
Malcolm had wanted to come back with her, but she’d made him stay at the scene to co-ordinate things at that end. A team of uniforms had already arrived and were conducting the door-to-doors. Ellen had told Malcolm to set up the school interviews, questioning staff and pupils, looking for any clue as to where Jodie might be or who had taken her.
The lift stopped, doors opened and Ellen stepped out. The corridor stretched out in front of her, limitless in length. Or so it seemed at that moment. Behind her, the lift doors closed with a whish. Part of Ellen wished she could turn and go back, pretend she’d never been here. The other part of her said she needed to get a grip. Quickly.
She took a deep breath and started walking.
Her footsteps were loud against the tiled floor. The sound echoed around the corridor, competing for Ellen’s attention with the flood of memories. People, cases, sounds, emotions – a rush of everything, making her light-headed, almost giddy.
Suddenly, she had reached Room 3.03. The door was closed, but she could hear the buzz of voices inside the room. Alastair Dillon’s low, Scottish growl; Raj Patel’s rich, resonant rhetoric; and Abby Roberts’ high-pitched, girly voice, as grating as fingernails on glass.
Ellen pressed down on the handle and pushed open the door.
A burst of noise hit her, short and sharp, like a slap. Then silence followed, just as startling, as all the faces in the room turned and stared at her. She stared back, unable to speak. She wanted to move forward, make the moment pass, but she was incapable of doing anything.
There were just the three of them. DC Raj Patel, DC Alastair Dillon who, by some odd coincidence, came from the place as Malcolm McDonald – a small town on the Scottish island of Orkney. And, at the front of the room, separate from the others, Abby Roberts, the family liaison officer.
Ellen’s eyes locked briefly with Abby’s before the other woman turned back to her computer. Her fingers tapping on the keyboard sounded overly loud in the surrounding silence.
There was a scraping sound as Raj pushed his chair back and got to his feet, face breaking into a smile, transforming it. Before Ellen could react, he started clapping. Suddenly, Alastair was on his feet, clapping as well, the sound drowning out the tap-tapping of the keyboard as Abby continued typing, ignoring what was going on behind her.
The noise and the subsequent embarrassment was enough of a trigger to get Ellen moving again. She stepped forward, face burning, and told them to behave. As the clapping stopped, Raj moved towards her, hand outstretched.
‘Good to have you back,’ he said. ‘Pleased as anything when I come in this morning and the boss says you’ll be part of this. Between you and me, he looks like he’s feeling the pressure.’
Ellen managed something approaching a smile, although she felt closer to crying. The reaction from her team was so unexpected. During the dark days she’d been away, she’d thought about them a lot. Missed them and wondered how they were. It had never occurred to her they might be thinking of her too.
She glanced through the glass panel that split the room in two. On the other side of the glass, a row of uniformed officers were on the phones. Following up statements taken on the door-to-door enquiries, taking calls from the usual selection of well-meaning members of the public and a significant number of nutters who seemed to have nothing better to do with their time. Ellen knew if she went through the list of callers, she’d see a smattering of names she recognised from earlier investigations.
On this side of the glass a massive whiteboard took up one side of the room. At the centre, a blown-up photo of a young girl with dark hair, blue eyes and a cute, crooked smile. The name Jodie Hudson written underneath in blue pen, alongside the date and time of her disappearance.
Ellen turned back to Raj, avoiding eye contact. He had this way of looking at people, like he understood what they were thinking. It never failed to unsettle her.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m anxious to get stuck in, but I need to talk to Baxter first, then we can go over what we have. Where is he?’
‘In his office,’ Raj said, nodding towards the door.
She thanked Raj and scowled at Abby’s back, still tensed over the keyboard, still typing furiously. Then she got the hell out of there as quickly as she could.
Ed’s office was two doors down from the incident room. Unusually, his door was closed so Ellen knocked and waited for him to answer. She was about to knock a second time when she heard his voice, telling her to come in.
He was sitting at his desk, head in his hands. At first, he seemed barely aware she’d entered the room but when she said his name, he looked up.
‘Ah, Ellen,’ he said. ‘Good. Take a seat.’
She sat down, grateful for the support for her shaking legs. Despite the chill of the day, she was hot. Her hands were clammy and she wiped them several times on her trousers in a futile attempt to dry them off.
‘Black no sugar, right?’ Ed said. He stood and moved across to the coffee machine on the shelf beside his desk.
Ellen nodded, thinking a hot drink and a rush of caffeine to her system was probably the last thing she needed right now.
‘Here you go.’
He placed a mug on the table in front of her and, despite her reservations, she breathed in the rich smell of fresh coffee with relish. She didn’t reach out for the drink, though. She had to wait until her hands stopped shaking.
‘You okay?’ Ed settled back in his seat the other side of his desk.
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I was fine until I got up here. It feels,’ she searched for the right word before shaking her head. ‘I don’t know how it feels, to be honest. It’s good to be back, though. I know that.’
‘It’s good to have you back,’ he said. ‘Even if it is part-time for now. Thirty hours, right?’
Ellen nodded.
They both knew the reality would be more than that. She didn’t care. It was thirty hours better than nothing.
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Good. Of course, if we find her within the next day or so, we can review the arrangements. Oh, and you need to continue with the counsellor as well. Another six months.’
‘Why?’
Ed wouldn’t look at her when he answered. ‘That’s between you and her, Ellen. If she says you need some more sessions, then who am I to argue with her?’
‘What did she say about me?’ Ellen asked.
‘She said you’re good to return to work,’ Ed said. ‘Or else you wouldn’t be here. Okay?’
Ellen shrugged. ‘Guess it’ll have to be.’
In truth, the counselling sessions weren’t as bad as she’d expected. It was possible they were even helping. A little. Would probably help more if she applied herself to doing the small tasks Briony, the counsellor, set after each session. Except somehow, Ellen always found excuses not to find the twenty minutes it took to sit down each week and write about her feelings. She just wasn’t that type of person and being asked to do something she found so difficult, well, it was easier simply to resent being asked in the first place and ignore the request. Over and over.
‘Kids okay?’ Ed asked.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘Hard work as well. But lovely. Perfect, in fact.’
Ed nodded. ‘You know Ellen, you should only be here if you’re sure it’s what you want. I used to think work was what gave meaning to my life. It’s only recently I’ve realised it’s a distraction. Nothing more than that. Family’s what matters. If you want to be with your kids, then don’t let me or anyone else stop you. Okay?’
‘Hey.’ She held up a hand. ‘Shouldn’t you be giving me a pep-talk instead of encouraging me to go home again? Seriously, it’s great to be back. I’ve found it really tough these last few months. I don’t know how other women do it.’
‘Everyone’s different,’ Ed said. ‘My Andrea never worked a day in her life once Melissa came along. And I don’t think she regrets a moment of it.’
His voice trailed off and he gazed off to the side. Ellen waited, hoping he’d change the subject. The last thing she wanted was a cosy chat about his home life. Things might be better between them, but she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
She waited for him to say something else. But he stayed quiet, lost in his own thoughts.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Got distracted there for a minute. Right. Where were we?’
He looked exhausted. Ellen thought she knew why. The case felt like Molly York all over again – girl disappeared, no clues or leads, dead-ends everywhere they looked. Only this time, they had a chance to get it right. To find the missing girl before it was too late.
‘Jodie Hudson,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ve been to down to Lenham Road. So far, no witnesses, no leads. Nothing.’
The tremor in her hands was gone and she felt safe enough trying the coffee. It was good. Just the right side of bitter, with a kick to it.
‘It’s as high-risk case,’ Ed said. ‘Obviously. That’s why we’re leading on it.’
Missing children cases were routinely handled by CAT, the child abuse investigation team. If SCD1 Homicide command were leading, it meant this was being treated as a stranger abduction. Or possible murder. Given the girl’s age, the chain of command made sense.
Ellen pictured the smiling ten-year-old she’d seen in the incident room. She thought of her own children, the visceral love she felt for them, and shivered. The thought of anything happening to them was beyond anything she could comprehend.
‘What about the parents?’ she asked.
‘They’ve gone home,’ Ed said. ‘For now. Roberts will go and stay with them. She’ll be the FLO on this.’
Ellen drained the rest of her coffee. Felt her face flush.
‘Is that a problem?’ Ed asked. ‘If it is, I need to know now.’
He’d promised her, hadn’t he?
‘It’s fine,’ she said.
Ed nodded. ‘Good. You’ll need to speak to her as soon as we’re done. In fact, you’ll probably be working closely with Roberts the whole way through this. Who knows? Might turn out to be a good thing. Give you girls a chance to get over your differences.’
Ellen stared at him, not trusting herself to speak. Her face was still hot. This time, she knew the cause. Anger. He had a bare-faced cheek trying to turn this into some spat between ‘the girls’.
She recalled the scene earlier in the room down the corridor. Two of her colleagues standing up to welcome her back. The other one sitting stubbornly at her desk, the angry clatter of her keyboard telling Ellen everything she needed to know about what Abby Roberts thought of her.
The image faded, replaced by another one. Abby Roberts and Ed Baxter. Abby on her knees, face flushed red as she turned to look at Ellen. Baxter, eyes wide with shock, realising he had – quite literally – been caught with his trousers down. The incident happened two days before Abby’s application for transferral to CID had been approved. By none other than DCI Ed Baxter.
He had the grace to drop eye contact. Clearing his throat, he shuffled the papers on her desk, refusing to look at her.
‘That sounded wrong,’ he said. ‘And patronising. Sorry. I’m trying here, Ellen, but it’s not easy. I made a mistake. I told you that already. Can’t we at least try to move on?’
What about your wife? Ellen wanted to ask him. Did you ever tell her what you did? Except she knew it was none of her business. Not really. So she kept her mouth shut and waited for him to continue.
He sighed. ‘Right then. I’m the SIO and I’ll be as hands-on as I can, but I’ve a lot on my plate at the moment. I need you. I know you’re only part-time for now. Even part-time, you could run rings around anyone else in the place.’
The praise worked. Her anger faded. Damn him. He always knew which buttons to push.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘Don’t thank me,’ Ed replied. ‘I mean it. It’s bloody good to have you back. Here, do you fancy a top-up?’
He lifted the cafetiere and Ellen shook her head. The surge of caffeine, combined with the familiar rush of adrenalin as she focussed on the challenge ahead, was more than enough.
‘How did the parents seem?’ she asked.
‘Kevin and Helen Hudson,’ Ed said. ‘Good question. There’s something off there. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.’
‘Can you be a bit more specific?’
Ed’s forehead wrinkled, the way it always did when he concentrated.
‘I don’t like the father,’ he said after a moment. ‘But it’s more than that. I don’t like lots of people, but it doesn’t make them criminals. He’s got form, though. Previous. Maybe that’s what my problem is.’
‘Doesn’t mean he’d harm his own kid,’ Ellen said.
‘Maybe,’ Ed said. ‘Maybe not. He did time for GBH. So we know he’s got a history of violence. Couple that with the fact he’s not the kid’s real father and I’d say we’ve got a pretty good case for keeping a close eye on him. They’re hiding something. Him and his missus. That’s the impression I got when we interviewed them.’
‘Not the real father?’ Ellen asked.
‘Kevin’s the second husband,’ Ed said. ‘First husband ran off to Dubai when the marriage broke down a few years back. When Kevin and Helen got married, he adopted the kids and, seemingly, has raised them as his own. Husband number one is still in Dubai. We’ve already checked that. No record of him being back in Blighty over the last few years. No contact with his kids at all, apparently. Helen Hudson’s taste in men obviously leaves a lot to be desired.
‘Kevin doesn’t work. Helen’s the breadwinner. Happy to earn the money while her husband lays about the place doing nothing.’
‘Hardly laying about if he looks after the kids,’ Ellen said. ‘Why doesn’t he work? Do we know?’
‘He’s an ex-con,’ Ed said, as if that was all the explanation that was necessary. ‘Right. I’ve got a lot to get through. I need you to get over to the Hudsons’ as soon as possible. Question both of them and see what you come up with. Speak to Roberts first. Get her view on things.’
Ellen knew she was being dismissed. Before she left, she had one last question.
‘Ed, you haven’t mentioned Molly York yet. Why is that?’
‘I’m not convinced,’ Ed said. ‘It was flagged up on HOLMES. But that’s hardly a surprise. Two girls go missing from the same borough. Both the same age; both pretty middle-class girls. That’s what HOLMES does, Ellen. It connects those dotted lines. But it’s not that simple.
‘It’s three years since Molly was taken. Nothing between then and now. To focus all our resources on finding a nonexistent link between the two disappearances would be foolish. I won’t ignore it, of course. But I’m going to make sure we explore every other angle, too. No path unfollowed, no stone unturned. You know the score.
‘And that starts with the family. Let’s focus on them, Ellen. Kevin Hudson’s hiding something. I want to know what that is. And soon. Time’s already slipping past us. I want Kevin investigated and either discounted or arrested. If he’s done something to Jodie, let’s find that out as quickly as we can. If he’s innocent – which I very much doubt – then let’s clear him from the investigation so we can focus our efforts elsewhere. Got that?’
15:15
Back in the incident room, Raj and Alastair were still at their desks. Malcolm was here as well, shouting something about Rangers’ performance the night before. He stopped talking abruptly when he saw Ellen.
Ignoring him, she walked to the top of the room.
‘Where’s Roberts?’ she asked.
‘Gone across to the Hudsons’ place,’ Raj said.
A surge of anger rose inside Ellen. She’d come back here, bracing herself for a confrontation. And now the stupid cow wasn’t here. Even though she knew – she knew – that Ellen would expect to speak to her first.
‘Why the hell did she do that?’ Ellen asked.
Raj shrugged and looked embarrassed. She scanned the rest of the faces in the room. No one would look at her. Ellen didn’t push it. Abby’s attitude wasn’t their problem; it was hers. A frank conversation was on the cards the moment she got her hands on Abby bloody Roberts.
‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘We’ve got more important things to focus on. Malcolm, how did you get on at the school?’
‘Nothing very helpful,’ Malcolm said. ‘Jodie’s a bright, popular kid. Lots of friends, no issues as far as anyone’s aware. Two close friends …’ he consulted his notebook, ‘… Grace Reed and Holly Osbourne. Both claim to have no idea where Jodie could be. I don’t think they were hiding anything. A few of the teachers mentioned that Jodie’s father, Kevin, is a bit odd. Parents at the school gate shared the same view, by and large. Couldn’t get anything definite, though. Just the sense that not many people liked him. Oh, and several of the parents said they’d seen him shouting at Jodie more than once.
‘The head mistress, Celia Roth, wasn’t around. She’s on compassionate leave. Mother died last week. She’ll be back at work on Monday.’
‘What about door-to-doors?’ Ellen asked.
Malcolm shook his head. ‘One old bird thought she saw a white van around the time Jodie was meant to have disappeared. Couldn’t be specific on model or anything else. Apart from that, nothing, I’m afraid.’
Nothing.
Ellen bit back her frustration, forced herself to concentrate. Focus on the family. That was Ed’s instruction. And yet how could she do that and ignore what was staring them in the face?
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Here’s what happens next. Malcolm, get the contact details for all the families in Jodie’s class. Speak to the school admin and get them to give you whatever you need. Then I want you to visit every single family and see what you can find out about Jodie and her family. Parents will have a totally different perspective from the kids and teachers.
‘Alastair and Raj, I need you to start going through CCTV. See what we’ve got. There’s a garage on Lee High Road, several small businesses. We’re looking for anything out of the ordinary. Especially any sightings of a white van. You’ll need to co-ordinate the door-to-doors. Have we got anyone doing Dallinger Road yet?’
Raj nodded. ‘Team went out half-an-hour ago.’
‘Good.’ Ellen turned to the other detective in the room. ‘Alastair, do you remember Molly York? Good. When you’re done with the CCTV, I want you to dig up everything you can find on that case. Make a list of all the similarities between this case and that one. Note down anything and everything. Got that?’
Alastair’s eyes widened. ‘You think there’s a connection?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ellen said. ‘All I know is it’s something we should consider. Just in case. Remember Katie Hope? We only found Katie and her boy because we dug deep into her past and followed leads that, at the time, seemed pointless. We found Katie and we’ll find Jodie, too. We just need to work at it.’
‘What about you?’ Alastair asked. ‘Where will you be if we need to speak to you?’
‘I’m going across to see the Hudsons,’ she said. ‘I need to speak to them as soon as I can. And I’m keen to have a word with Roberts, too. I’m on the mobile. See you later.’
She said goodbye to the team and left them to it. Fear clung to her, wound its way inside her, sat in the pit of her stomach; a dead weight. Fear that she couldn’t do it. That she would mess up and a little girl’s life would be lost. It was good to be scared. Ellen knew that. The fear would push her forward and keep her focussed. Help her find Jodie. Before it was too late.
16:00
Lee, South-East London. A sprawling suburb on the edges of Lewisham and Blackheath. Ellen’s old stomping ground from way back. Not the most exciting place in the world, but it had plenty of green space, good schools and a strong sense of local community. There were worse places to bring up children. Unless you happened to be Kevin and Helen Hudson.
The Hudsons lived on Dallinger Road, a quiet street of detached and semi-detached 1930s houses in the heart of peaceful, prosperous SE12. Their house was at the top of the road. As Ellen stepped from the car, she was hit with a blast of icy wind, full of the promise of snow.
So far, there was no sign of any press. Ellen knew that would soon change. Right now, Ed was sitting down with Jamala Nnamani, Lewisham’s Media and Communications Officer, to finalise the media strategy. This time tomorrow, the road would be crawling with reporters.
Ellen ran through the biting cold to the house and rang the doorbell. As she waited, she looked along the road for Abby’s car, before remembering she had no idea what it looked like.
The anger she’d felt back at the station resurfaced. Abby was good at what she did. Even though it killed Ellen to admit that. It was why she’d wanted the FLO’s insights into the Hudsons before meeting them. Not after. Still, nothing Ellen could do about that now.
Inside the house, she heard footsteps. The door swung open and Ellen was face to face with Abby.
‘Oh,’ Abby said. ‘You. No one told me you’d be here. I could have warned Helen and Kevin.’
The expression on her perfect face was utterly guileless and Ellen wondered if the FLO almost believed the lie herself. Then she got a grip. Abby manipulated everyone to her own means. Everyone except Ellen, who knew only too well how far Abby would go to get what she wanted.
‘Warn them?’ Ellen asked pointedly.
Abby blushed. Some people didn’t suit blushing. Abby Roberts wasn’t one of those people.
‘You know what I mean,’ Abby said.
Ellen pushed past her into the house without bothering to reply. There was an unnatural stillness in the house, something Ellen recognised. During times of great trauma, people’s behaviour became muted, speaking to each other in low voices, moving slowly, as if they’d been drugged.
The hallway was bright and airy, decorated in a pared-back, Scandi style: stripped floorboards, white walls and minimal clutter.
‘This way.’ Abby led Ellen through the hallway, into the kitchen. Like the hall, the kitchen was modern and minimalist. The wall between the kitchen and sitting room had been knocked down, creating a large, open-plan living area.
A man, woman and young boy all sat on red chairs at the white dining table. The woman was short and slim with thick dark hair and huge brown eyes. When she saw Ellen, she jumped up.
‘Helen.’ Abby went over and put her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘This is DI Kelly, Lewisham CID.’
Briefly, Helen’s face lit up. Just as quickly, it crumbled again. She grabbed the back of the chair, as if she might fall otherwise.
‘Is it …?’ her voice trailed off and she seemed to be struggling to breathe.
‘No,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not that. I just need to ask you a few more questions. You and the rest of the family.’
She looked at the man and boy. Kevin Hudson was tall with thinning, mousy-brown hair. His son – step-son – sat beside him, holding his father’s hand. The boy looked like neither parent and Ellen assumed he took after his father. A good-looking kid, with long dark hair that flopped forward over his pale face. He had striking green eyes with long, thick black lashes. Like his father and mother, the boy’s face had that shell-shocked look to it that Ellen had seen so many times before. Had seen it in her own face, staring back at her from the bathroom mirror, the night Vinny had been killed.
‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ Ellen asked. ‘I’m sure Abby would be happy to make us all a pot of tea.’ She gave Abby her sweetest smile. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Ellen waited until Helen sat, then pulled out one of the red chairs and sat down herself. As well as being ugly, the chair was uncomfortable. Made her wonder what the Hudsons had been thinking when they chose them.
‘Are you any closer to finding her?’ Helen asked. ‘That’s what we need. Not more questions. We’ve already told you lot everything we know. And what about her?’ She nodded at Abby. ‘Why do we need two of you here? You should be out looking for Jodie, not sitting here drinking cups of fucking tea.’
‘DS Roberts is the family liaison officer,’ Ellen said. ‘Her role is to be the link between you and us. That’s what she does. My job is to find Jodie. That’s what I do and that’s why I’m here.’
‘I recognise the name,’ Kevin said. ‘Ellen Kelly. You found that woman who went missing a few months ago. Her and her kid. That was you.’
‘That’s right,’ Ellen said.
‘And now you’ll find Jodie,’ Kevin said, as if he had no doubt about this.
Abby came across with the tea, handed out mugs. When Kevin picked up his, Ellen noticed the way his hand shook.
‘You killed him,’ Kevin continued. ‘The guy who was after her. I remember. What was his name – Billy something?’
Dunston. Billy Dunston. Vinny’s killer.
The explosion. Warm blood splattered across her cheeks. Dunston’s face disappearing. His body falling on top of her. Holding the gun to his shattered head and pulling the trigger. Again. And again.
‘It was self-defence,’ Ellen said, recycling the same old lie she’d used ever since that day.
Kevin put down his mug and stared at her. ‘Isn’t that what we all say?’
Ellen wanted to drop eye contact, but she waited. Eventually, he turned away.
‘I can’t imagine what this must be like for you both,’ Ellen said. She looked at the boy, who’d so far remained silent. ‘Or you, Finlay. You must be so worried.’
He tried to say something, but his mother cut in first.
‘No one can,’ Helen said. ‘And you’re not helping. All this time spent asking questions, you could have found her by now.’
‘We’re doing everything possible,’ Ellen said. ‘I promise you.
‘No,’ Helen said. ‘That’s not true. You’re spending all your time focussing on Kevin. Don’t pretend you’re not. It’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? To see if you can dig up some more dirt on him. And while you’re doing that, some … some maniac has got my child and instead of looking for her, instead of tracking that animal down and castrating him, you’re here asking your stupid questions when you should be out there finding my little girl!’
‘Helen.’ Abby put her hands on the woman’s shoulders. ‘Don’t let yourself get stressed. You’re under enough pressure as it is. That’s it. Deep breaths, remember?’
If it had been Ellen, she would have thrown Abby across the room for laying a hand on her. Helen Hudson, on the other hand, seemed grateful for the FLO’s intervention.
‘Let’s get this over and done with, then.’ Kevin said. His eyes flicked to Helen. ‘My wife really can’t take much more.’
‘Tell me about this morning,’ Ellen said.
The white table had traces of past meals on it: a faint brown circle from a bottle of red wine; children’s fingerprints. Ellen pictured a happy family, sitting around it sharing a meal.
Helen moaned and the image faded.
Kevin reached out and squeezed his wife’s hand.
‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘Helen starts work early, so I get the kids ready and take Jodie to school. Finlay can make his own way. He gets the bus at the bottom of the road. There’s a gang of them who go together. I get him out the door and then walk Jodie down to St Anne’s. We leave at just after half-eight to get there for nine. She’s always asking to walk by herself, but I’ve never felt comfortable about that. She’s in Year Five now. Some of her friends already walk on their own, but we’ve told her not till Year Six.’
‘But you let her go part of the way on her own, right?’ Ellen asked.
Kevin nodded. ‘We compromise. St Anne’s is at the top of Lenham Road. I leave her one end and let her walk up to the school on her own. She likes that. Loves the independence, you see. It’s not much, I know. But that’s London for you, isn’t it?’
Helen snorted. ‘Independence? It had nothing to do with independence. It was all to do with you wanting to get her off your hands as quickly as possible so you could …’
‘Could what?’ Ellen asked as Helen stumbled to a halt.
‘Get to the park,’ she mumbled. ‘He likes to have a coffee in Manor Park after dropping Jodie at school. Can’t wait to get rid of her most mornings.’
Kevin buried his face in his hands, but his wife, on a roll now, wouldn’t let up. ‘If you’d stayed with her, this would never have happened.’
‘What I need are the facts,’ Ellen said. ‘There’s no point thinking about the what ifs. They’ll just tear you apart. Kevin, how far down Lenham Road did Jodie go before you left?’
He lifted his face. ‘I don’t know. I’ve gone over and over it in my head. I think she was nearly at the school.’
‘But you can’t be sure?’ Ellen asked.
He shook his head.
‘Nobody saw a thing,’ Helen said. ‘How is that possible? How can a little girl just disappear into thin air like that?’
She reached across and grabbed Ellen’s wrist. ‘Someone must have seen something. The police say they’ve already spoken to everyone living on Lenham Road, but I don’t believe them. You’ve got to help us. Someone, somewhere has my baby girl and I want her back. I need her back. And I keep thinking about poor Molly York. Every mother around here remembers her. What if the same person has taken Jodie? Oh God, I can’t bear it. Please, DI Kelly. You’ve got to find her. You’re our only hope.’
16:30
It was a typical girl’s bedroom. Bright yellow walls covered in posters and drawings. Most of the posters were of a teen boy band that Ellen recognised from videos her own kids watched on YouTube. The drawings, obviously drawn by a child, were good, nevertheless. She made a note to find out if there was an art club at school. If the art teacher had noticed Jodie’s talent and taken an interest, maybe he or she might have some insight into the child that they’d missed so far.
There was a cabin bed, like the one Pat had. Underneath the bed was a desk and chair. Ellen sat down on the too-small chair and looked at the work laid out precisely on the desk. A white sheet of A3 paper, three pens lined up neatly beside it. On the A3 paper, a new drawing. This one of an old man with a beard and a young boy. The man had a paper bag in his hand and from this he was pulling out a book with the word BIBLE written across it.
It was a key scene from the early part of Goodnight Mister Tom, when Mister Tom and Willie meet for the first time. Ellen’s own children often drew scenes from books they were reading. The only difference was that their drawings were nowhere near as accomplished as this one. Somehow, Jodie had managed to show the distress on Mister Tom’s face as he tries to understand the contents of the bag.
Ellen pushed back the chair and stood up. Frustration ate away at her as she paced the small room, looking inside the wardrobe, pulling open drawers, searching – in vain – for anything that would give an idea of where Jodie might be: a letter from a pen pal, a copy of an email from someone she’d met online, a photograph, a train timetable, something that would help. She found nothing.
Being in this room, feeling Jodie all around her, heightened her sense of urgency. Jodie was in her head now. Not the made-up image she’d had earlier. Now, she was a real person. A white Ikea shelving unit ran along one wall. Both Ellen’s children had the same shelves with similar collections of childhood junk on them. She moved across to this one, examining the photos, books, games and clutter.
More drawing and painting materials here: glue, scissors, pens, paintbrushes and an expensive-looking set of oil-based paints. Framed photos lined the top shelf. Different versions of Jodie at different stages in her life grinned out at Ellen. Jodie in a sheep’s costume aged about five or six, on a stage with a group of children the same age; Jodie with two other girls on a beach, all three wearing swimsuits and big, happy smiles; Jodie with her brother on a windy hill somewhere, dark hair blowing over her face, blocking out those blue eyes; Jodie on a donkey at the top of Blackheath, the same place Ellen used to take her own children when they were younger. Jodie, Jodie, Jodie, everywhere she looked.
Ellen stared at the photos until she was certain each and every image was burned onto her brain. Then she left.
In the landing, she nearly collided with Finlay, who was standing right outside the door. It was obvious the boy had been waiting for her.
‘Hey,’ Ellen said. ‘I was looking at some of your sister’s artwork. She’s very talented.’
He nodded. ‘She loves drawing. There was this competition last year in Lewisham Library. You had to draw a picture that represented what it was like living in Lewisham and the winner had their drawing in the newspaper. Jodie won it.’
‘What did she draw?’ Ellen asked.
His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head. ‘I heard what Mum said,’ he whispered. ‘In the kitchen. You think my dad has something to do with this. Just because he was in prison before. But he’s not like that. He’s not some perv or, like, someone bad. He only went to prison ’cause he was trying to protect this girl. You’re not going to arrest him, are you?’
Ellen wished he was younger so she could give him a hug. But his body language, so tense and confrontational, told her this would be utterly the wrong thing to do.
‘Finlay,’ she said. ‘I promise you I’m not going to arrest anyone for something they didn’t do. I want to find Jodie and I want to find the person who’s taken her. If she’s been taken. You know, it’s possible she’s just run away or there’s some perfectly normal explanation for where she is. It’s far too early to start worrying about things that may never happen.’
For the first time since she’d been here, the boy’s face showed some sign of life.
‘Do you really think that?’ he asked. ‘That she might have run away? She could have, you know. She had this big fight with Dad this morning. I heard them at it before I left.’
Easy, Ellen thought. Don’t rush it, don’t let him know this is important or he’ll clam up.
‘I row with my kids all the time,’ she said. ‘Especially my son. It’s part of family life, I guess. So what was this row about then?’
‘She has these new trainers,’ Finlay said. ‘She wanted to wear them to school, but Dad wouldn’t let her. And sometimes when she goes on and on about something he gives in and lets her do what she wants. It drives Mum mad when he does that.’
Ellen smiled. ‘I do the same. Sometimes it’s easier than listening to the constant moaning. I take it your Dad wasn’t so easy-going this morning?’
Finlay shook his head, but before he could say anything else, his father appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Everything okay up there?’ he shouted up.
‘Fine,’ Ellen replied. ‘We were just chatting, that’s all.’
But the moment was gone. The boy had already turned and was running down the stairs, two at a time, to where his father waited. Almost, Ellen thought, like he was scared of what his father would do if he realised Finlay had been talking to her.
17:15
Downstairs, Ellen found both parents in the kitchen with Abby. There was no sign of Finlay.
‘What happens now?’ Kevin asked.
‘Jodie’s photo has been sent out to police stations across the country,’ Abby said. ‘Police officers will be working through the night, doing everything they can to find her.’
‘There’ll be press coverage, too,’ Ellen said. ‘DCI Baxter’s been working with our press team this afternoon, devising a media strategy.’
‘So there’ll be journalists poking their noses into our business?’ Kevin asked.
‘It’s unavoidable, I’m afraid,’ Ellen said, thinking if it was her child, the last thing she’d care about would be intrusive journalists. Not if it helped find her daughter. She nodded at Abby. ‘DI Roberts will be with you the whole time. She’ll handle any press enquiries.’
‘Absolutely.’ Abby cut in, not seeming to care that Ellen hadn’t finished. ‘Listen, Helen and Kevin. It’s very possible we’ll find Jodie sooner rather than later. In that case, you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
