The Taken Girls Read online

  He’d watched Lucy and Debbie for weeks. Neither had a boyfriend and they spent their free time together. Friday nights they went to the cinema in Canterbury or spent the evening at Debbie’s. When Lucy left to walk the quarter mile home she typically took the narrow path which linked their two roads. At the end of the path there was a triangle of grass across from the primary school. Tonight he expected Lucy to leave about ten. The area by the school should be deserted and he would be waiting.

  3

  Armed with a novel, Ed decided to have a cocktail before dinner. The hotel bar was a small room with some half-a-dozen barstools and as many tables. All of the tables were occupied. Ed sat at the bar and signalled to the barman. In keeping with the name on his badge, Gino was short and dark with a perceptible Italian accent and a friendly warmth conveyed by his relaxed smile.

  Ed knew exactly what she wanted: something cool. ‘A gin martini with three olives.’

  ‘Perfetto!’

  Gino placed a bowl of matchstick-thin cheese straws beside her novel and busied himself with the drink.

  ‘Something cool …’

  The phrase sparked a vivid memory of her first meeting with Don. The meeting had been her undoing. Before she could switch thoughts, the scene was replaying in her head.

  Manchester, a smart conference hotel, mid-evening; she’d chosen the smaller of the two bars. Ed was about to signal to the barman when Don appeared at her side.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  As an opening gambit this was banal in the extreme, but Don was physically imposing. Faced with three nights away from London, Ed decided to play along.

  ‘I don’t normally drink with strangers …’

  Immediately things improved. He’d known the words.

  ‘Something cool?’

  It was a track on one of her father’s CDs. Who was singing … Julia … Julie …

  ‘Julie …’ she said.

  ‘… London,’ he said.

  ‘Julie London!’ they said together and laughed.

  Two drinks, the pretence of a nightcap in his room and, before she’d paused to think, things had gone too far. They were both in over their heads.

  The following night he confessed. He was a DCI at the Met, not just the Met but three floors above her at Bishopsgate. It was then he produced the two mobile phones. It didn’t take an ambitious DS to realize that DCI Donald ‘The Don’ Johns had done this before.

  Manchester, Don and the mobiles had precipitated her downfall from the Met. Had she declined the mobile, perhaps she would have got away with a warning. Despite the ensuing catastrophe, she wasn’t bitter. Subliminally, her shoulders shrugged. She made decisions, often precipitously, and lived with the consequences. Bitterness wasn’t part of her nature.

  Ed’s thoughts were interrupted by Gino moving her novel slightly to make space for her gin martini beside the cheese straws. She studied the oil droplets on the surface of the cocktail. Biting into the first of the olives, Ed relished the savoury taste with its kick of alcohol. The mobile Don had given her was still in her room. It had taken her some weeks to come to a decision, but now she was sure. She took a mouthful of martini to celebrate and began to feel good. After a second congratulatory mouthful she felt even better.

  ‘Do you mind if I take one of your cheese straws? Gino seems to have forgotten mine.’

  Lost in her thoughts Ed had barely noticed someone take the seat next to her at the bar. She swivelled towards the voice.

  ‘No. Please. Help yourself.’

  Ed moved the bowl closer and took in her new companion at a glance. She was some ten to twelve years older than herself with short, impeccably cut steel-grey hair, little or no make-up and a well-tailored suit: no doubt a businesswoman in town for a few days and on her own for the evening.

  The woman sipped her white wine before taking a cheese straw. She looked at Ed with a faint smile but didn’t speak. Ed broke the silence.

  ‘Are you staying at the hotel?’

  ‘No. What makes you say that?’

  ‘You mentioned the barman’s name …’

  ‘Ah … I frequently drop by after work.’

  ‘So you work in town?’ Stupid question, thought Ed.

  ‘I’m at The Chronicle.’

  ‘You’re a journalist?’ Alarm bells rang in Ed’s head. Journalists were not considered good companions for a police officer unless they were open to a little corruption, a career path which Ed despised.

  On the barstool beside her, the woman inclined her head fractionally before replying. ‘The local paper, I’m the editor.’

  Another silence accompanied by the same faint smile. This time Ed waited for her new companion to continue.

  ‘And you?’ She paused, assessing the situation. ‘An academic, visiting the University?’

  Another pause. Ed remained silent.

  ‘No, if you were, your colleagues would have organized an evening out. You’re here for a day or two on a business trip … alone.’

  ‘Alone …?’

  The woman nodded towards the novel on the bar beside Ed’s martini.

  Observant. Ed smiled. ‘Half right, I’m treating myself this evening. I arrived this afternoon. I’m starting a new job on Monday.’

  ‘Congratulations.’ The woman extended her hand. ‘Verity Shaw.’

  Ed held the proffered hand briefly while saying, ‘Ed Ogborne, I’m the new DI with Canterbury CID.’

  There was a flash of surprised admiration on Verity’s face. The widening of her eyes and movement of her eyebrows were involuntary, rapid and brief, but Ed had been trained to detect such signs.

  ‘That must be worth a celebratory drink. Unfortunately this evening I’m meeting people for supper.’

  Ed’s mobile vibrated but she ignored it. She remained silent, her quizzical expression inviting Verity to expand.

  ‘They’re not big drinkers. I dropped in here for a glass before joining them.’

  Ed smiled. Here was a woman after her own heart.

  ‘Don’t tell me. I know the feeling.’

  Verity glanced at her watch and made a sad face. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to go. Perhaps we could have that drink another time?’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Canterbury’s a small world. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.’

  Ed watched as Verity Shaw, editor of The Canterbury Chronicle, left the bar. It had been a chance meeting but, after her reception at the police station, she was pleased to have made a sympathetic contact outside the Force. She reminded herself that Verity was a journalist. She’d need to tread carefully but Ed was used to operating on her toes. It would add a little piquancy, keep her mind sharp.

  In no hurry to finish her gin martini, Ed reached for another cheese straw. When she checked her phone there was an email from Chief Superintendent Addler, with no apology for missing their afternoon appointment, just a curt reminder they were to meet at 08.00 the following morning.

  4

  When he returned to Wincheap, he parked with a view of Debbie Shaxted’s house and waited for Lucy to leave. It wasn’t long before he heard voices through the open window of the van. It was Lucy saying goodnight to Debbie’s parents. He watched her walk straight down Victoria Road. In three minutes she would be at the narrow path which led into Hollowmede.

  He drove the alternative route to the triangle of grass, parked in the last empty space and switched off the engine. It had taken 40 seconds for him to be in position. The pad and bottle were already in his coat pockets and the balaclava was on his head ready to pull down over his face. He was about to leave the van when a car appeared and tried to park. Ducking out of sight, he heard the car brake and drive away with a squeal of tyres. It parked at a distance and the driver hurried into a house on Hollowmede. Once out of the van, he half opened the side door, quickly crossed the grass to press his back into the tall hedge and waited for Lucy to arrive.

  He reminded himself of the care he should take.
Keeping Lucy in good health was crucial to his mission. Everything had gone according to plan with Teresa and Kimberley. There was no reason why things shouldn’t go just as well with Lucy. It was unfortunate his actions would cause distress but there was no other way. Eventually, she would be returned to her friends and family, returned to the life she knew. As yet he didn’t know when because he didn’t know how long he would have to hold her. In time that would become clear. Lucy would tell him.

  Hidden by the hedge from the approaching Lucy, he steeled himself against an anxiety-provoking image of his mother. Lucy was a schoolgirl, not a woman. Hearing footsteps, he soaked the pad, barely noticing the sweet heavy smell. Lucy appeared two feet to his left. Stepping behind her, he pressed the pad over her nose and mouth while his free arm encircled her waist. She had no time to react before she was overwhelmed and easily pulled back into the shadow of the bushes. Her struggles weakened and he soon felt the dead weight of her unconscious body. Holding her upright he walked her to the van, slid open the door with his elbow and laid her between the seats on her side in case she vomited during the journey. A quick search revealed nothing but a handkerchief, a purse and a mobile telephone, which he immediately switched off. It took him less than 12 minutes to reach the lane through the woods.

  His destination was at the end of a track, deep in the wood some 250 yards from the lane. He drove into the shed and sat in the van until his breathing returned to normal. Grabbing the girl from the street was the most dangerous phase of his mission. It was the only act which was out of his control. Place and time were dependent on her actions. He could reduce the risk but he couldn’t eliminate the possibility of discovery. Others may seek adrenalin highs but this wasn’t a game; he wasn’t in it for thrills. Now that he was safely hidden, the adrenalin was leaving his bloodstream. He could relax. Lucy was the third. This time he would be successful.

  The main building had three rooms. The smallest, on the left, remained intact as his private room. The central space into which the outer door opened contained cooking equipment, a table with a lantern, two plastic chairs, and an old armchair turned to face the room on the right. He’d first prepared that room for Teresa, stripping the lath and plaster from the stud timbers of the dividing wall and putting chain-link fencing in its place. He’d replaced the door with a stout wooden frame covered with chain link and secured with a padlock. Parallel to the left-hand wall stood a cot-like bed and beside it he’d set a metal rail into the stone wall. After Teresa, the room had held Kimberley and now it was ready for Lucy.

  He went to the table, switched on the lamp and changed his balaclava for the black lightweight hood which hung behind the entrance door. Before going out to the van he released the padlock and opened the door to Lucy’s room.

  Returning with her inert body in his arms, he placed her on the bed and fastened her left arm to the rail using padded handcuffs and a length of chain. This time he searched her carefully but still found only the handkerchief, purse and mobile telephone. Satisfied that she was still breathing freely he took the purse and mobile to his private room. He removed the SIM and placed the phone, battery and card at the back of separate drawers. After glancing through her purse, he placed it in the drawer with her disabled mobile.

  Back in the central room he settled in the armchair, silently watching through the chain link, waiting for Lucy to regain consciousness. He wanted to upset her as little as possible so he’d prepared a reassuring recorded message using a sampled voice. There was also a choice of cold food and a drink. During these first hours she was bound to be upset so the drink contained a dissolved sleeping pill to ensure she got a good night’s rest.

  5

  The weekend lay ahead of them. He hoped it would go as it had with Teresa and Kimberley. At first the girls had been disorientated and fearful. Then, when they became aware of what was happening, those feelings were replaced by terror. They screamed and cried, pleading to be released. With Teresa he was calm and unmoved, hoping she would follow his example – but he was wrong. Only exhaustion stopped her outbursts. Only then could he establish his authority, show he was in total control. Finally, when she’d accepted the situation, Teresa appeared to believe his assurances that he would set her free.

  Kimberley was less grounded than Teresa. It had taken longer but, eventually, she accepted her fate. And why not? What else could they do? Was it really so bad? Boring maybe, waiting until their time came, but the girls were well looked after.

  He practically knew the speech by heart. ‘Nobody saw me snatch you from the street. Nobody knows where you are. There’s no way you can escape.’ Here he’d pause, let the message sink in. Then he would explain what the girls had to look forward to. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Do what I ask and I shall look after you. When the time comes I shall release you to your friends and family.’ Faced by his implacable but benign control, Teresa and Kimberley had reacted in the same way. Eventually their alarm and distrust had subsided to resentful resignation. It would be the same with Lucy. Then, as soon as she’d grown quiet, he would demonstrate his good will by drawing up a shopping list for the clothes and other items she might need.

  He had intended to watch Lucy through the chain-link partition, waiting for her to recover. After all, her welfare should be his priority but ever since the previous night he’d been worried about a recent addition to his collection. Fresh blood was seeping into the preservative making the jar and its contents unsightly. The fluid must be changed. He unlocked his private room and left the door ajar so that he would hear Lucy regain consciousness.

  After stepping over the uneven flagstone, he went to his bench. All he needed was here. At eye level, the jars housing his new collection were already filling half their allotted space. Above and below were bottles of formalin and ether. The drugs, instruments and more glassware, which he would need when Lucy’s time came, were in cupboards and drawers beneath the bench.

  More blood had leached into the preservative. He pulled on latex gloves, poured the discoloured fluid into a bucket and carefully slid the contents of the jar into a shallow dish. He worked efficiently and soon rehoused the specimen in a clean jar, which he topped up with fresh formalin. At that moment there was a sound from Lucy’s room. The new label would have to wait. He discarded his gloves and returned to the central room. When Lucy regained consciousness he’d need Mr Punch. The reed was in his pocket and there were five spares at the back of a drawer. He didn’t want to be forced to buy new ones. ‘That’s the way to do it!’ Over time he’d mastered a voice less strident than the seaside original.

  As he slipped the reed into his mouth there was movement beyond the partition. The effects of the ether were wearing off and Lucy was coming round. At first she was disorientated and woozy, but soon she was aware of the chain and began screaming for help. He did nothing to stop her. They were deep in woodland, far from the nearest farms and houses. At this time of night there would be nobody remotely within earshot. Still shouting for help, Lucy began to pull at the chain. He had to act. With the reed in his mouth he spoke with authority, firmly but calmly.

  ‘Don’t do that, don’t hurt yourself. You can’t escape. You’re in an isolated building miles from anywhere. No one saw me take you from the street and nobody knows where you are. I’m in complete control. You’re totally dependent on me.’

  The shouting stopped and she turned her head to his voice. It must sound strange and totally unexpected. She looked at him in horror, struggling to speak.

  ‘What … who are you? Let me go!’ The attempt at defiance failed to mask her fear.

  ‘Be quiet and listen.’

  She began to scream, shouting for help and pulling frantically at the chain. He knew the handcuff was padded and secure so he ignored her. At her first pause for breath, he switched on his pre-recorded message. Lucy listened for a moment but soon returned to screaming and shouting for help. The message finished. He observed her in silence. Her screams continued. Now she was shaking with fear
as she grasped the full horror of what was happening.

  He’d often tried to imagine it from the girls’ perspective. Chained and helpless, held captive by an unknown man, his voice distorted and his face covered by a black hood. They must be petrified. The hood and voice were necessary precautions but he realized they turned him into a nightmare figure. Then there was the unknown. Lucy would have no idea what he planned to do with her. In such a situation, instinct would take over. She would struggle and scream because she could do nothing else. It was too early for acceptance and submission.

  He waited, silent and unmoved. Eventually she would exhaust herself but it was some time before she stopped screaming for help and began begging to be released. Later her pleading was replaced by sobbing and cries of despair. When she lapsed into moments of exhausted silence he used Mr Punch to take control.

  ‘Listen to me.’

  Lucy continued to sob. Without raising his voice he repeated the command, firmly but calmly.

  ‘I said … listen … to me.’ Her sobbing was reduced to sniffles. ‘That’s better. Now, I know it’s hard but you must listen to what I’m saying. You must be desperate to know what’s going to happen to you. I’ll tell you. Nothing’s going to happen. If you do as I say you’ll be well looked after.’ He paused. ‘Earlier, you didn’t listen to my message. I’ll repeat what it said.’

  She looked directly at him. He imagined his image as it appeared in the mirror. Through the slits in the black hood she would see the light glinting from his eyes. He tried to look kindly at her but even without the hood he knew she would be seeing him as an unknown horror. He had to convince her of his good intentions and that would take time.