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

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       12

      Sarah

      I was in a dreadful state by the time we got to the station. It had only just turned five p.m. and already it was the longest day of my life.

      The latest text from the kidnapper had hit me hard. I’d bellowed like a wounded animal and Adam had had to put an arm around me to calm me down. I dreaded to think how much more strung out I’d be if not for the sedative that was sloshing around inside me.

      The fear was like razor wire inside my mind. I’d finally stopped sobbing, but now I had trouble thinking, trouble seeing.

      Adam said he thought it might be best if Sergeant Palmer took me back home, but I insisted on going up with him. I needed to find out what was happening and if my colleagues were in a position to offer us any hope. If not then I was sure that the fear and uncertainty would soon engulf me.

      It felt weird to be entering the building for the second time that day. This morning I’d been a very different person – upbeat and energised after a long, lazy weekend. Now I was little more than a zombie, struggling to hold on to reality as my world tilted on its axis.

      Several of my colleagues approached me as we made our way up the stairs and they told me they were confident that Molly would soon be found safe and well. Others just gave me sympathetic looks, while some pointedly avoided making eye contact, presumably because they didn’t know how to react.

      Brennan was waiting for us just inside the incident room. Beyond him I took in the familiar scene, detectives talking into phones and staring into computer screens. I also noticed the whiteboard with photos of Molly pinned to it. It turned my stomach to see my little girl’s face there. I’d seen scores of children’s faces over the years while working on cases they’d been involved in. Each one had been someone’s son or daughter. But it was only now that I truly realised how desperate and helpless those parents would have felt.

      ‘Let’s go straight to my office,’ Brennan said and steered us in that direction.

      His office was small and cluttered and through the window rain clouds were now bruising the sky above South London.

      Adam waited until we were all seated before he let rip. ‘How in Christ’s name did it happen?’ he yelled. ‘The kidnapper gave a clear warning. You were supposed to stop that photo being released.’

      Brennan held up both hands, palms out, fingers splayed. ‘I know and I feel as gutted as you do,’ he said. ‘But it was due to a breakdown in communication. It wasn’t deliberate.’

      He told us how a member of the media liaison team had released the picture of Molly and Adam responded by shaking his head and swearing.

      ‘Well someone’s head should bloody roll,’ he seethed. ‘God only knows what’s going to happen to our daughter because of the force’s rank incompetence. I don’t fucking believe—’

      I reached across and grabbed his arm, causing him to snap his head towards me.

      ‘Stop it, Adam,’ I said. ‘Going on about it won’t solve anything. I for one came here to find out how close they are to finding Molly. I feel as angry as you do, but there’s no point ranting and raving over something that can’t be changed.’

      He seemed so angry that I thought he’d ignore me. Instead he closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Then he opened them again and gave a slow nod.

      ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

      ‘There’s no need to be,’ Brennan said. ‘I completely understand why you’re pissed off. I would be, in your position.’

      Having calmed down, Adam sat back and listened to what Brennan had to say. We both did. But what he said did nothing to raise our hopes or allay our fears.

      So far only the one woman had come forward to say she had seen a man with a child near my mother’s home. The phone from which the messages had been sent had not been traced. And there was just one short clip of video footage from a street camera.

      We viewed it on Brennan’s computer and the sight of my baby in the kidnapper’s arms sent my heart into freefall. The footage was in colour and slightly blurred, but I could tell straight away that it was Molly. She was looking back over the man’s shoulder towards the camera, wide awake and clearly upset. One arm was wrapped around the kidnapper’s neck and her head was raised and moving from side to side.

      When Brennan paused and enhanced the image, I could see that her little face was scrunched up and her mouth was open.

      I felt a cry in my throat but I refused to let it out. Instead I just gazed at the screen as the muscles around my eyes tightened.

      ‘Unfortunately we only have the rear view of the kidnapper,’ Brennan said. ‘As you can see he appears to be of average build and height, just as Molly’s grandmother described him. He could be aged anywhere between twenty and forty.’

      It was hard to tell because he was wearing a dark hoody and jeans and there were no distinctive markings visible on his clothes.

      We watched the video through twice and after the second time I sat back in the chair and had to will the tears not to come.

      Brennan asked if I was OK to carry on and I just nodded and wiped my eyes with a tissue.

      ‘I’m СКАЧАТЬ