The Mother: A shocking thriller about every mother’s worst fear…. Jaime Raven

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      Sarah

      My mother was tied to one of the kitchen chairs and a red silk scarf had been wrapped around her face to gag her.

      Her chin was resting on her chest and she appeared to be unconscious. But when I let out a muffled scream her head jolted up and she looked at me through eyes that struggled to focus.

      For a moment I just stood there in shock, unable to move, unable to take in what I was seeing. All my police instincts, training and experience deserted me. It was left to Brennan to rush forward and remove the scarf from around my mother’s head.

      ‘I recognise that smell,’ he said as he put the scarf against his nose and sniffed it. ‘It’s chloroform.’

      My mother gasped and spluttered and then went into a coughing fit.

      ‘You’re going to be OK, Mrs Mason,’ Brennan said as he started to untie her hands that were secured behind her back with a length of plastic cable. ‘We’ve got you now. You’re safe.’

      I came out of my trance-like state and ran forward to my mother. She was shaking and dribbling and having great difficulty breathing properly. But at least she was alive and looked as though she hadn’t been physically harmed.

      ‘Where’s Molly, Mum?’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘Where is my baby?’

      She tried to speak but the words got stuck in her throat.

      I rested a hand on her shoulder, crouched down so that we were face to face.

      ‘Mum, please. Where’s Molly?’

      Her eyes grew wide and confusion pulled at her features. Then she shook her head and her lips trembled.

      ‘I … d-don’t know,’ she managed. ‘She was in the high chair when the doorbell rang.’

      That was when I noticed the high chair for the first time, on the other side of the room next to the back door that stood open. There was a plastic bowl on the tray, along with Molly’s familiar spill-proof beaker.

      ‘Did you go and answer the door, Mrs Mason?’ Brennan asked her. ‘Is that what you did?’

      I turned back to my mother. She nodded and closed her eyes, and I could tell she was trying to cast her mind back to what had happened.

      ‘A man,’ she said, her tone frantic. ‘He was wearing a hood, like a balaclava. He forced himself in and grabbed me. Then he put something over my face.’

      My mother lost it then and started to cry, great heaving sobs that racked her frail body.

      She was almost seventy, and seeing her like this, I felt the urge to comfort her, but a more powerful impulse seized me and I jumped up suddenly and went in search of Molly, praying that she was still here and hadn’t been taken away.

      I ran out into the garden first, but it was empty except for the cat from next door that was lying on the lawn like it didn’t have a care in the world.

      Then I dashed back into the house and through the kitchen, passing Brennan who was standing next to my mother while talking anxiously into his phone.

      I checked the living room and ground floor toilet, then hurried upstairs in the hope of finding my daughter in one of the three bedrooms. I called out her name, told her that Mummy had come to get her. But there was a resounding silence. She wasn’t there. She was gone.

      A new wave of terror roared through my body as I ran back downstairs. Now it was confirmed. My daughter had been abducted and I had no idea by whom. The nightmare that had loomed over me since I opened up the photograph on my phone had turned into a horrific reality.

      The temptation to collapse in a tearful heap was almost overwhelming, but I told myself that I had to hold it together. For my sake and for Molly’s.

      My mother was still on the chair in the kitchen and Brennan was trying to coax more information out of her. When she saw me she reached for my hand and said, ‘There was nothing I could do. It happened so – so quickly.’

      ‘Who could it have been, Mum?’ I said. ‘Do you have any idea?’

      She shook her head. ‘I didn’t see his face. He knocked me out and when I woke up I was tied to this chair.’

      I reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah,’ she sobbed. ‘I really couldn’t …’

      ‘It’s not your fault, Mum,’ I said, choking back tears. ‘We’ll get her back. I promise.’

      I heard a siren and the sound of it caused my heart to flip.

      ‘Your father needs to be told, Sarah,’ my mother said. ‘He’s still at the allotment. He thinks we’ll be meeting him at the pub.’

      ‘I’ll see to it, Mum,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’

      I straightened up and looked at Brennan who told me that he had raised the alarm and that teams of officers were about to descend on the area.

      ‘I’ve also summoned an ambulance,’ he said. ‘The paramedics will take care of your mother.’

      His words registered, but only just, and they failed to provide any comfort. How could they? My precious daughter had been kidnapped. My mind was still reeling and I felt weighted down by a crushing despair.

      I was on the verge of losing control so I lowered myself onto one of chairs around the kitchen table. There I sat, my head spinning, my stomach churning, as Brennan gently prised more information out of my mother.

      She revealed that the man had rung the bell at just before nine – an hour or so after I had dropped Molly off. My father had just left the house to go to his allotment and she was giving Molly her breakfast before taking her to the park.

      She remembered very little about her attacker. His face had been covered and he’d been wearing what she thought was a dark T-shirt and jeans.

      ‘He was average height but strong,’ she said. ‘I tried to struggle free when he attacked me but I couldn’t.’

      She started crying again and this time it set me off. I broke down in a flood of tears and heard myself calling Molly’s name.

      I was only vaguely aware of the commotion that suddenly ensued, and of being led out of the kitchen and along the hallway.

      Raised voices, more people entering the house, some of them in uniform. Molly’s face loomed large in my mind’s eye, obscuring much of what was going on around me. I wondered if I would ever hold her in my arms again. It was a sickening, painful thought and one that I never thought I would have to experience.

      I’d witnessed the suffering of parents who had lost children, seen the agony in their eyes. But as a copper I had always been one step removed, professionally detached and oblivious to the real extent of their plight.

      Now I had a different perspective. I was in that horrendous position myself. The grieving, desperate СКАЧАТЬ