Stolen (19 page)

‘You weren’t sure the last time? Or the time before that?’

Gradually the smile faded. ‘I thought I was at the time. But this is different. I know I made mistakes before but this time I just know. I know.’

‘There was that girl two years ago. You swore she was Beth. You thought she looked like her.’

‘I was wrong then. But I’m sure now.’

‘Or the one before that. That girl in Scotland. What about her?’

‘So I made mistakes.’

‘There’ve been others. How many times?’

‘Alright,’ Abby said. ‘Stop. Please.’ She wiped her nose and took a few breaths. ‘I know it’s hard to believe and I know you have no reason to trust me this time but... I know it was her. This time, I really know. I can feel it. Why would she give me that if it wasn’t Beth? Please, believe me. Please.’

Gardner looked away. He couldn’t take the pleading look in her eyes. Despite knowing this was another false alarm, he couldn’t bear to tell Abby to stop. The note was odd, and if you took it as Abby had it could mean something, but it didn’t prove anything.

‘Did you recognise the girl who gave it to you?’ he asked, pointing at the flyer.

Abby shook her head. ‘No. I tried to find her again but she’d gone.’ She looked at Gardner, a light behind her eyes. ‘But that doesn’t matter now, does it? We’ve found Beth, we don’t need her.’

Gardner blew out a breath. Though he’d been involved in dozens of cases since Abby’s, many as traumatic, Abby’s had never left him. Maybe that was his own fault, for indulging her, for giving her so much time, for listening every time she thought she’d found her daughter. He wanted Abby to get her daughter back, he really did, but it’d been five years and any hope he’d ever had had dwindled down to almost nothing now. He knew Abby would never stop, he knew this was her life, and as sad as that was, he knew it was all she could do. But how much encouragement could he give her? How much false hope was it fair to give? Maybe he’d been hurting her more than helping.

He looked back to Abby. Her head rested on her hands, elbows on the table. She almost looked as though she was praying. If only that would help.

‘The nanny said you were harassing them,’ Gardner said, breaking the silence.

‘No, I wasn’t. I swear. I just wanted to know her name.’

‘The little girl?’

‘No. The woman who has her,’ she said. ‘The one pretending to be her mother.’

‘And what were you planning to do if you found out?’

Abby shrugged. ‘She called her Casey.’ She looked Gardner in the eye. ‘She’s not Casey. She doesn’t even look like a Casey.’

Gardner stroked his chin with his fingers. He had no doubt in his mind that Abby truly believed that the little girl she’d seen was her daughter. Just as he knew that she’d truly believed it in the past. The flyer and the note only added to her conviction. He knew she would never do anything stupid, would never hurt the children she became attached to. He was more concerned with Abby herself, her mental wellbeing.

‘She looked happy,’ Abby said. ‘Beth. She looked happy. So that’s good, isn’t it?’

Gardner forced a smile. ‘Yes. It’s good.’ He waited for Abby to meet his eye again. Under the table his foot tapped and he made a conscious effort to stop it. ‘This little girl. You don’t want to upset her do you, Abby?’

Abby looked confused. ‘No. Of course I don’t. Why would I?’

‘If she’s happy. If you cause problems, follow them–’

‘I wouldn’t hurt her!’ Abby said and pushed back in her chair. ‘I just want her back. I just want my daughter back.’

‘I know.’ Gardner reached out for Abby’s hand. ‘I know you do. And I want that too. But we don’t know that Casey is your daughter. You have no proof, no reason to think it’s her.’

‘I know she is though. The note proves it. It said she’d be there.’

‘Abby, listen to me.’

‘If you just go there and see her. You can do tests can’t you? You can get proof.’

‘Abby.’

‘Please. Please. I need her back. I need...’ Abby’s voice dissolved into tears.

‘I know. I know,’ Gardner said and stroked the back of Abby’s hand. After a few minutes Abby was silent again, her hair covering her face, but Gardner still saw the tears drip onto the tabletop. He heard the door open behind him and then close after a muttered apology. Gardner let go of Abby’s hand. He wished there was something he could do or say to help her. ‘Can I call Simon for you?’ he asked. It was the best he could do.

Abby wiped her eyes and seemed to be considering her options. Finally she nodded.

He left the room and took out his phone and after several rings Simon picked up. Gardner told him what had happened and waited while Simon took it in, all the while listening to his calm, deep breaths. He sensed that Simon had been expecting this call for a long time.

‘Is she alright?’ he asked eventually.

Gardner wondered how best to put it. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘She’s shaken up. She looks exhausted.’

Simon sighed at the other end of the phone. ‘I’m in Leeds, working. It’ll be an hour or so before I can get there.’

‘I can take her home.’

Simon sighed again. ‘Thanks, I’m on my way.’

Gardner hung up and went back in to Abby, taking his seat again. ‘He’s on his way back,’ he said and Abby nodded. ‘I can drive you home.’

‘What’s going to happen?’ Abby asked.

Gardner took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think the woman is pressing any charges,’ he said, avoiding what Abby really wanted to know.

‘So you’re not going to look into it?’

Gardner cleared his throat and looked at everything but Abby. ‘To be honest, there’s not much I can do. Can I keep this?’ he said holding up the flyer. ‘I can check for prints.’ He shrugged. ‘Even if we find this girl, I doubt it’d help.’

‘What about the woman who has her? That’s who you need to talk to.’

Gardner rubbed his eyes, knowing he’d be crossing a line. ‘I can find out who she is. I can talk to her, maybe, but that’s it. We need evidence.’

‘But she’s not going to admit it is she? How can I get evidence if you don’t do something?’

Gardner felt his foot beginning to tap and leant back in his chair. ‘I’m sorry, Abby, but I can’t just go accusing people of things. I can’t just walk in there and demand a DNA test,’ he said and sighed. ‘I’ll try to talk to her. That’s all I can do.’

When she could no longer avoid it, she carried the mugs into the living room and handed one to Gardner. He nodded his thanks and they sat in silence. From time to time he pulled his mobile out and checked it.

Forty minutes later they heard the door and Gardner stood, mug still in hand. Simon walked in and looked at them both.

‘You alright?’ he asked Abby and she nodded. He walked over and pulled her towards him, embracing her briefly, until he pulled back and looked at her, his hands either side of her face. He said nothing but looked over his shoulder at Gardner.

‘Thanks,’ Simon said. Gardner nodded in acknowledgement and put his mug down on the table.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said.

Abby squeezed Simon’s hand and then followed Gardner to the front door. She wanted to say something but didn’t know what.

‘I’ll do what I can, Abby,’ he said and then turned to leave. Abby watched him get into his car and drive away and then closed the door.

Abby came back into the living room and dropped into the chair, staring vacantly at her feet. Simon sat opposite her. ‘You want to tell me what happened?’ he asked.

‘He didn’t tell you?’

Simon let out a breath. ‘He said you were harassing someone. A woman and her kid.’

Abby looked up at him. ‘It was the nanny. Beth’s nanny.’ Simon let out a humourless laugh. ‘It was her, Simon. It was Beth.’

‘Okay.’

‘It was Beth!’

‘Okay.’

‘It was our daughter!’

Simon looked at Abby, eyes narrowing. The words
our daughter
made him stop cold. Sometimes he felt like Abby thought he didn’t care as much as she did. That he was over it and was happy to live his life without Beth. It was true that he managed to function day to day better than she did. He hadn’t allowed Beth’s disappearance to take over his whole life, like she had. He still worked. He still slept most nights. He still ate at least two meals a day. But it wasn’t because he didn’t care. He would’ve given anything to have his daughter back.

There were days when work was too much. Sometimes he’d photograph kids and his heart would break. At night he’d lie awake wondering where Beth was and why he wasn’t out on the streets knocking on every door to find her. She’d come into his mind mid-meal and his throat would close and he’d have to walk away from the table. Sometimes he’d wonder what would happen if Abby were to fall pregnant again. Would she be happy? Would another baby ever replace Beth? Would it give her purpose? Or would she just fall apart even further?

He never told Abby any of this. He kept the illusion that he was strong and in control because one of them needed to be. It broke his heart to see Abby this way.

‘It was our daughter,’ Abby said again.

‘How do you know?’

‘Someone gave me a flyer yesterday,’ she said, reaching into her pocket before remembering Gardner took it. ‘This girl gave it to me, told me to be there, at the play, and then written on the back it said, “She’ll be there”. You don’t think that means something?’

‘It does if you want it to,’ he said.

Abby screamed in frustration. ‘I’m not making this up. Why would I?’

‘I didn’t say you made it up. But being told to go to a play doesn’t mean anything. She probably told loads of people they should be there. It’s her job.’

‘She didn’t give one to anyone else,’ Abby said.

‘How do you know that? You could’ve been the last person she gave one to.’

Abby stood and dragged her fingers through her hair. ‘God, you sound like Gardner.’

‘Because it’s probably true,’ Simon said. ‘You’re giving it meaning because you want it to mean something.’

‘No,’ Abby said. ‘I’m not. What about the note. It said she’d be there. And then she was. That’s not a coincidence.’

‘It is if the girl isn’t Beth.’

‘But it is her.’

‘You don’t know its Beth. You want to believe it because you were told to go there. You want it to mean something so all this fucking about isn’t for nothing.’

Abby slapped him. ‘Fuck you,’ she said before walking out.

Simon rubbed his face where it stung and turned to follow her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and he heard the back door slam. Simon went through to the kitchen and looked out of the window. Abby stood at the end of the garden, her hands braced against the fence. He reached out for the door handle but let his hand drop back to his side. Leaning back against the worktop, Simon closed his eyes. Feeling in control again he lit a cigarette and levered himself up onto the worktop to watch over her until she was ready to come back.

Leaving Peter in charge, Jill went out to look for her daughter. She called at as many of her friends as possible and asked some of the other parents to ring around. The corner shop was now closed so she was unable to find out if Chelsea had ever got there. At eleven p.m. Jill got home, hoping her daughter might be there when she arrived. When she discovered she wasn’t, she called the police. A search began that night. Not one witness had come forward saying they had seen Chelsea leave the house that afternoon, nor had she been seen in the shop. No one had seen anything suspicious. No one had seen anything at all.

An appeal was made and Jill begged for her daughter to be brought back. She offered everything she had if only her daughter was returned to her. The local community started a collection to help bring Chelsea home.

The papers were loving it. It hadn’t taken them long to dredge up Abby’s case and compare it to the new one; suggesting Chelsea might never come home. She’d been gone five days. Beth had been gone five years. But it sold papers, something he knew all too well. Something his boss knew all too well. He’d been told in no uncertain terms to find Chelsea. They couldn’t deal with the embarrassment of another high-profile unsolved case. Especially one with a missing kid. He was glad Atherton cared so much about the girls.

Gardner read through all the statements again. None of them were useful. He took another swig of beer and closed the folder. The investigation was at a dead end, he could feel it. It had barely begun but he just knew it. Though everyone reacts differently to stress and trauma, there was something about Jill Hoffman that bothered him. He couldn’t say what. Or maybe he could, but his middle-class guilt stopped him. So what if the woman had five kids under the age of ten and all by different fathers? Middle-class families were rarely better in his experience. True, he’d bristled at the way she swore at her kids, and the state of the house made his skin crawl. But that’s what poverty does. He couldn’t blame Jill Hoffman for not being as well off as he was; it didn’t make her a bad person. So what was it? Why did she bother him? Why couldn’t he shake this feeling that something wasn’t right?