The Taken Girls Read online

  ‘I intend to treat you well. I’ll make your stay here as comfortable as possible and, when the time comes, I shall release you. You’ll be free to go about your normal life.’

  She appeared to be listening but she had closed her eyes. He wanted her full attention.

  ‘Look at me!’

  He waited for Lucy to obey but, instead, she turned her back to him and faced the wall, sobbing quietly. For the first time he raised his voice, struggling to keep the tone reassuring despite the distortion of the reed.

  ‘I said … look … at … me!’

  In the silence that followed he heard the echo of his voice, not as his voice but as Mr Punch. It struck him that the interior of the building was a stark contrast to the normal world of sunlit sand where children sat enthralled at the sound of Punch and Judy. ‘That’s the way to do it!’ He waited. Slowly Lucy turned her head to look directly at him.

  ‘Good, that’s much better. Now, listen carefully. In 15 minutes, I’m going to put out the lights and leave. If you don’t have something to eat and drink now, you’ll be searching for it in the dark.’

  He left her and went to sit in the van. Ten minutes later he returned to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, eating and drinking. Stressed and disorientated as she was, it appeared not to have occurred to her that the food and drink might be drugged or, even worse, poisoned. It wasn’t. Well, it wasn’t except for the crushed sleeping pill. As he’d done with Teresa and Kimberley, he intended to look after Lucy and treat her well.

  He asked her to put the empty plate and glass on a shelf by a slot cut in the chain-link partition. She seemed afraid to approach him even from the other side of the barrier but, after a moment, she did as he’d requested. He took this as a good sign.

  ‘I’ll put another drink here in case you’re thirsty during the night. There’s a bucket at the other end of the bed, rather primitive but we’re far from any modern sanitation. Don’t be shy. I’ll respect your privacy. I’ll shout to warn you before I come in.’

  Without another word, he extinguished the lights and left.

  The building was pitch black; no light penetrated from outside. Lucy heard an engine start and a vehicle drive away. The sound faded to silence. Left alone, chained in the darkness, she found her arms and the duvet inadequate comfort. Crushed by a sense of absolute helplessness, she whimpered and shook with fear until tiredness overcame her and she slept.

  6

  In her hotel room, Ed Ogborne slipped naked into bed. Reaching for the light, she caught a glimpse of an arm in the dressing-table mirror and was reminded of her last day before the furore broke in London.

  At that time the November weather had been miserable, wet and cold. She was alone at the house in Brixton. It had been a tough week but she was comfortable and relaxed, admiring her body in the mirror at the end of her bed. She felt like a woman in one of her grandfather’s art books, a woman positioned by Schiele, ready to be captured in effortless black chalk and startling touches of red gouache. If pushed to pick one, she’d say Egon’s Crouching Woman with Green Headscarf – there was something about the face.

  At precisely nine-thirty in the evening, the mobile beneath her pillow had started vibrating. Still admiring her body in the mirror, she reached for the phone with her left hand.

  ‘Hi …’

  It was Don, always on time for these calls. Ed knew all his lines and could anticipate what he’d say without him having to speak, but knowing what was to come only heightened her arousal at the sound of his voice in her ear.

  ‘Where do you think I am?’

  She moved a leg to exaggerate her pose.

  ‘Not on it. I’m in bed but with the duvet pushed aside so I can see myself in the mirror. Where are you?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Naughty.’

  Ed sank back into the pillows, still looking at her image in the mirror.

  ‘What I always wear for us. You’d love the colour.’

  There was another pause.

  ‘Red wine. A burgundy to match my underwear.’

  There was a further pause and Ed took a sip of wine.

  ‘Mmmm … that sounds nice.’

  At that point, a second mobile on the table beside her bed had started to ring.

  ‘Fuck!’

  She grabbed it with her right hand.

  ‘DS Ogborne.’

  Ed spoke sharply, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice.

  ‘Right, I’m on my way.’

  To her left hand she said, ‘That was the Station, serious assault in Victoria Park. I have to go.’

  Then, in response to sounds of displeasure: ‘How do you think I feel? Text me to set another time.’

  Ed had swung her legs off the bed, reached for her glass of wine but thought better of it. Within five minutes, dressed for work, she’d been walking to catch the tube at Stockwell. Her frustration gradually dissipated as she travelled towards Moorgate. Getting on the CID team at Bishopsgate had been her dream move. She was on track to make DI at 27 and her career plan didn’t stop there. Detective Inspector would be one of several steps towards a top job at the Met. Ed loved working as a detective but, ultimately, she wanted a position from which she could influence policy, institute change and improve prospects for female officers.

  Arriving at Bishopsgate Police Station, Ed had paused at the desk, ‘Assault in Vicky Park, what’s the score?’

  ‘You’ve had a wasted journey. The victim’s now claiming she was raped. It’s already with Sapphire.’

  ‘Typical, you get a girl out of bed and then disappoint her. Still, better that than the other way round.’

  Before leaving, Ed checked her email. Chief Superintendent Shawcross wanted to see her at 08.30 tomorrow. A thought crossed her mind but she dismissed it. Surely it was too soon for a promotion?

  The next morning, Ed had been up early, in by eight, and outside Shawcross’s door at eight-thirty.

  ‘Come!’ Ed had opened the door and closed it carefully behind her. ‘Ah, DS Ogborne.’ The Chief Super indicated a chair and frowned at her for some moments before saying, ‘You must know why I’ve sent for you.’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Manchester!’

  Ed’s stomach dropped. ‘Manchester, Sir?’ She’d known what he meant but needed to play for time.

  ‘Yes, Manchester, but it didn’t stop at Manchester, did it, Ogborne?’

  She looked down at her hands and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  ‘Do I have to spell it out for you, Ogborne? Manchester. You were at the conference attended by DCI Johns.’

  Ed felt herself blushing. Of course it would get out. Apart from Manchester she hadn’t put a foot wrong. As soon as she’d discovered who Don was, she knew it had been a mistake, but by then they were in too deep. Still playing for time, Ed looked across the desk and held Shawcross’s eye while continuing to feign puzzlement. ‘Sir …?’

  ‘Starting a relationship with a senior officer in the Met would be bad enough but this man’s married, in the same Division, here in this building. This is serious, Ogborne, a disciplinary matter, potentially demotion, even dismissal, although I’m hoping it won’t come to that.’ Shawcross looked sternly at her, his eyes fixed on her face, allowing his words to sink in, letting her stew as he waited for a response.

  When it finally came, Ed’s response had been pragmatic.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir. You gave me a chance and I’ve let you down.’

  ‘I’m sorry too. I’ve had you in mind for promotion but I can’t let this situation continue. I can’t have you and DCI Johns together in the same building. You’ll have to transfer.’

  Ed had struggled to control her outrage. Why me? Why not him? However, despite her sense of injustice, she didn’t argue. She knew her perception of fairness would have no match among the senior hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police. Coppers protect coppers and Chief Superintendent David Shawcross, with the backing of those above him, had
chosen to protect Detective Chief Inspector Donald ‘The Don’ Johns.

  Without appearing to breathe deeply, Ed controlled her anger and replied meekly, ‘Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.’

  From station gossip she knew that other female officers had made the same mistake, several with the same man. The Don’s attitude to women was shit but he was a good DCI, the best in the Division, and his family was established in London. Ed felt her considered reaction had been the right one. She knew Shawcross valued her work and would protect her as far as he could. She watched her Super’s features soften into something short of a smile and was sure senior management had been of the same mind. Outraged but controlled, Ed waited for Shawcross to announce their decision.

  ‘You’ll have to transfer but I’m doing all I can to link the move with a promotion.’

  ‘I appreciate your efforts, Sir, but I was born in London. I grew up in Brixton. I did my police training at Hendon and I’ve worked in London ever since. More than anything, I want to stay in London and have a career with the Met.’

  ‘Trust me, Ogborne, a spell outside London won’t prevent you having the career you want. A stint in the provinces will broaden your experience and prepare you for a return to the Met.’

  Despite these assurances, Ed hadn’t believed the top brass would put her career in London on hold. However, she’d realized that resistance would not alter the decision and that a fight would harm the career she wanted. She was a realist. This was how the world turned. She would scratch their backs now in the expectation that sometime in the future they would scratch hers. The image had made her shudder.

  ‘Are you all right, DS Ogborne?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Sir. It will take a while for me to get used to the idea that I’m leaving the Met.’

  ‘It won’t be for ever. Give it a few years – we know your worth.’

  Ed hadn’t been so sure, but Shawcross had left her in no doubt that a transfer out of the Met would happen.

  Even with the Commissioner’s help, negotiating a promotion to DI in the provinces had taken longer than anticipated. Ed and Don were careful to avoid seeing each other at work but the frequent late-night telephone calls continued. Eventually, Ed was offered the post of Detective Inspector in Kent at Canterbury. She accepted immediately. Her transfer from the Met was set for the early summer.

  Having decided to make career progression her number one priority, Ed intended the new post to be a short-term move, a brief interruption to her long-term career with the Met. With this in mind, she was determined not to sever her ties with London. She put the Brixton house in the hands of rental agents and most of her personal effects into storage. As a reward to herself she traded her parents’ Honda Civic, and the bulk of the money she’d inherited, for an MX-5 Roadster. The day before the tenants were due to arrive, Ed had squeezed her grandfather’s art books and her CDs, together with two suitcases, into her new car and headed east on the South Circular.

  Transferred to Canterbury, many of the books, and all of her CDs, were still in the hotel car park, locked in the boot of her car, but Ed was determined to waste no time finding herself somewhere to live and the books a new home.

  In the soft darkness of her hotel room she closed her eyes and was overwhelmed by a vivid memory of the back seat of Craig’s Mercedes the first time they’d parked in a deserted cul-de-sac near one of the south London commons. Craig was long gone, a previous life never to be repeated, but she wanted him with her in the hotel bed. Forcing the desire from her mind, Ed turned on her side and settled to sleep. Tomorrow she would have to negotiate her first meeting with her new line manager, Chief Superintendent Karen Addler.

  7

  Lucy was awake. It was pitch black. She’d woken in an instant. One moment nothing existed, not even a dream. The next she was suffocating.

  The darkness pressed on her body from all sides. There was no sound. Silence enveloped her like a coffin. Without light there was nothing beyond her skin. She felt trapped, suspended in heavy oil. There was no air and she knew she was close to death. She wanted to scream but fought against the impulse which would expel life’s last breath from her body.

  Tightly wrapped by the duvet, she threw it from her with a sweep of her right arm. Now it was her clothes that held her prisoner, preventing her from living. She was contained by an oppressive presence composed of all that surrounded her. She wanted to tear the clothes from her body, desperate to step into the night and feel cold air against her skin, to open her mouth and draw fresh life-giving air into her lungs, but she was held fast by the handcuff and chain. Unable to move, feeling that she would die if she remained within her body, she lay rigid on the bed and struggled to escape her physical being, to retreat within herself, to live within her mind, to create space and light. Only in her imagination could she wander in cool shade, turning her nose and mouth to the salvation of a sea breeze.

  She held that thought, held her body in conjured liberty until she could briefly observe her plight. Slowly her rational mind reasserted itself. She was breathing freely but the air felt no cooler than her body. She was contained in an unyielding presence but her ribs were expanding and contracting with each breath. She held fast to the space and freedom she’d created within her head. Imperceptibly the panic subsided and she slipped back to the non-existence of a dreamless sleep. As she slept the panic dissipated, disappearing as night terrors disappear with the rising sun.

  It was Saturday morning when he returned to the building and found Lucy still asleep. He checked her breathing and her pulse; both were fine. The effects of the drug should have worn off by now. Typical teenager; no wonder so many could be seen rushing to school at the last minute. With the paraffin heater, it wasn’t cold in the room but he covered her with the duvet, which must have slipped off during the night, and checked the handcuffs and chain. Satisfied all was as it should be, he left the room, methodically locking the door behind him.

  Today he hoped she’d be ready to talk and they could at least draw up a shopping list. He was content to let her sleep while he ran over his plan. He knew that if he were to buy too many things for a teenage girl in one shop it could raise suspicion. To avoid that he’d plotted a long drive with stops at several towns. He was determined to escape detection.

  There was still no sign of Lucy waking so he unlocked his private room and left the door ajar while he inspected his collection. First things first, he completed the label for last night’s rehousing and replaced the jar. Running his eye along the shelf he noticed the preservative in Nos. 4 to 6 was looking cloudy. Just then, there were sounds from the other side of the chain-link partition. He made a mental note to change the cloudy formalin at his next opportunity.

  Before going to the waking Lucy, he slipped the Mr Punch reed into his mouth and pulled the hood down over his face.

  8

  Ed entered the Station at 07.55. At first Sergeant Williams treated her to the same nonsense as the previous day, addressing her as DS Ogborne and asking her to wait in Interview Room 2, but three minutes later she was knocking at Superintendent Addler’s door.

  It was a spacious corner office with a conference table to Ed’s right and Addler to her left behind a large desk at an angle across the corner windows. The Super looked up and indicated a visitor’s chair three feet from her desk.

  ‘DS Ogborne, Chief Superintendent Karen Addler as I’m sure you’re aware. In better circumstances I would have said welcome to Canterbury CID but your arrival has not been received as good news. Frankly it’s created problems for me and resentment among the staff.’

  ‘I’m sorry my arrival has led to difficulties but the transfer was totally out of my control.’

  ‘That’s as may be, Ogborne, but I, and you, must face the facts of the situation.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘My duty is to run a smooth, efficient ship. At the moment the waters are extremely choppy. I can manage the problem but only you can cure it.’

  ‘Y
es, Ma’am.’

  ‘I’ll give you six months to get your team behind you and to be accepted by the staff as a whole. If that hasn’t happened by December I’ll push strongly for you to be moved on. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘Good. This is the position. DS Saunders leads our CID team. He was about to be promoted to DI when I heard from the Chief Constable that Saunders would have to move to Maidstone because a young DS from the Met was being transferred to the DI post in my Division. I think Saunders has been badly treated and so do my staff.’

  Addler reached for a fat fountain pen, checked the cap was in place and returned it to the pen tray on her desk before redirecting her gaze to Ed’s face.

  ‘It would be surprising if you didn’t meet some hostility. It will be your task to overcome it. I hear you impressed people at the Met. I hope you can do the same here.’

  ‘I appreciate your frankness, Ma’am, and assure you that I shall do all I can to resolve the situation you say my arrival has caused,’ Ed said.

  ‘I don’t just say it, Ogborne, the situation I’ve described is exactly what your transfer has caused.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘So be it. Come, I’ll introduce you to the CID team.’

  ‘Just before we do that, Ma’am, may I ask a question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘My understanding is that my transfer here was linked with promotion from Detective Sergeant to Detective Inspector.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘But you and Sergeant Williams have consistently addressed me as DS Ogborne.’

  ‘Correct. Until I receive official notification of your new rank, your status here is that of Detective Sergeant. You’ll work under DI Saunders’s direction until he moves to Maidstone.’

  ‘DI Saunders?’

  ‘His promotion came through a few days ago.’

  With that, Addler swept Ed out of her office and down the corridor. As they passed the desk, Ed thought she caught sight of a smirk on Williams’s face. Clearly everybody in the Station was aware how the Super had decided to play this one. Stay cool, Ed, she reminded herself.