LITMIR.BIZ

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

       Until now.

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

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

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

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

      ‘Are you all right, Sarah?’

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

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

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

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

      ‘Well if you’re sure, then let’s go.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       11

      DCI Brennan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       Where were they taken?

       Who was behind the camera?

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

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

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

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

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

      ‘But so far we’ve managed to keep a lid on the reason the kidnapper has given for

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