The house soon warmed up once the wood burner was lit, and while the microwave was heating up a bowl of soup she changed into comfortable pyjama bottoms and an old sweater. She could smell the chicken and vegetable soup as she came down the stairs and her grumbling stomach told her just how hungry she was.
With her bowl of steaming soup, a couple of crusty breadcakes and the emailed transcript of the interview, she settled on the sofa and began reading.
Transcription of the interview between Detective Patrick Platini (PP) and Detective Eric Desailly (ED) with “Carl Meagan” (CM). From child protection, Detective Suzanne Beltrame (SB), acted as appropriate adult.
Detective Patrick Platini: Can you tell us what you’re doing here in France?
Carl Meagan: I’m on holiday.
PP: Alone?
CM: No.
PP: Who are you with?’
CM: I’m supposed to call them my mum and dad.
PP: What are their names?
CM: I don’t know. They only speak English when they talk to me. When they talk to each other they speak in a different language.
PP: What language do they speak in?
CM: I don’t know.
PP: Is it French?
CM: I’m not sure. I don’t think so.
Detective Eric Desailly: Where are you living? Here in France?
CM: No.
ED: Can you tell us anything about where you’re living?
CM: No. I don’t understand the words they use or anything of the language.
(Detective Suzanne Beltrame suggests a five-minute break be taken here as “Carl” starts to cry.)
PP: Can you tell us about the night you were taken, March 25th, 2015?
CM: My parents had gone out for the night. My nan was looking after me. We played games and watched films before I went to bed. I was asleep and was woken up by my bedroom door opening. A man came in …
PP: Did you know this man?
CM: No. I’d never seen him before.
ED: What did he look like?
CM: I don’t know. It was dark and he had a mask on.
ED: What kind of mask?
CM: It was black and it had holes for his eyes and mouth.
PP: Ok. What did he say to you?
CM: Nothing. He just grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of bed.
PP: What happened next?
CM: I was carried downstairs and out of the house.
SB: Where was your nan while all this was happening, Carl?
CM: I don’t know. I could only hear Woody barking.
ED: Who is Woody?
CM: My dog. He’s a golden Labrador. He’s only a puppy.
PP: What happened when you were carried downstairs?
CM: I was put in the back of a van.
PP: Can you describe the van?
CM: It was white. It was dirty and smelly inside.
PP: What did it smell of?
CM: I don’t know. It smelled like a garage, I think.
PP: Was there anyone or anything in the van with you?
CM: There was a mattress. It was dirty and cold.
PP: How long were you in the van for?
CM: I don’t know.
ED: Where were you taken?
CM: I don’t know. I don’t remember getting out of the van. The next thing I remember is opening my eyes and being in a strange room with just a single bed in it. Can I see my mum and dad now?
(SB recommends another five-minute break. CM is becoming agitated and upset.)
PP: What can you tell us about the people you’re living with?
CM: They’re friendly. They’re looking after me, but they’re quiet. I’m not allowed to talk much.
PP: Do you go to school?
CM: Sometimes. The woman I’m supposed to call mum teaches me at home. When I do go to school, she is with me all the time.
ED: Do you have any friends your own age?
CM: No. I’m not allowed out without Mu— The people looking after me.
ED: Are they the ones who took you from your home?
CM: No.
ED: Then how did you come to live with them?
CM: I was driven to them. We were driving for a very long time. More than a day as it went dark and then light again. I was taken out of the back and the woman came to hug me and put me in the back of her car. We drove again for a very long time to the house they said was going to be my home from now on. Can I see my mum now? I want to speak to my mum.
End.
Matilda threw the printed email onto the coffee table and leaned back on the sofa. She hadn’t touched her soup. She wasn’t happy with what she read. She would have liked to have heard a recording of the interview, to listen to the words of the boy calling himself Carl Meagan. She wanted to hear his voice, his accent. The questioning didn’t go deep enough for Matilda’s liking either. They didn’t challenge his version of what had occurred on the night he disappeared. Which way did he turn when he left his bedroom to go down the stairs? Was the living room on the left or right as he made his way out of the house? What was he wearing when he was put to bed by his nan? They were all questions Matilda knew the answer to that had not been made public. She would know if he was really Carl or not by his level of detail.
What had happened to the couple he was living with? Had they been traced and interviewed? Where was he staying while in France?
Matilda was not happy at all, and she wasn’t convinced the boy in Marseille was really Carl Meagan. If not, there were two questions she wanted answering: who was he, and why was he doing this? There was also something else to consider: who put him up to this in the first place, and what dark motive could they possibly have?
It wasn’t long before Matilda’s mind began to wander. The cases of Carl Meagan and Keeley Armitage weren’t dissimilar – a child taken, seemingly for ransom, which is then botched, for some reason. But while Carl is spirited away, never to be seen again, Keeley turns up dead. Were the crimes similar because they were perpetrated by the same people? If so, was Carl dead too, lying buried in woodland in an unmarked grave? Was Carl lying less than a mile away from home and he just hadn’t been discovered yet? She hoped to God he wasn’t.
There was no doubt in Matilda’s mind that she would catch Keeley’s killer. If she did, would she be catching Carl’s too?
Chapter 37
Friday 14th September 2018
Matilda slept through the night without waking once. That hadn’t happened for a long time. Usually her sleep was interrupted by random thoughts and echoes of conversations she’d had years ago that returned to plague her: old cases, cold cases, relationships with former colleagues that had ended on a sour note, the sight of DC Faith Easter falling to her death and Matilda being unable to do anything about it. Last night, however, she’d fallen asleep within moments of her head touching the pillow and hadn’t woken up until the alarm sounded at six o’clock the following morning.
She woke to find two text messages from Daniel Harbison. The first was from just before midnight wishing her a good night. The second had arrived a few minutes ago, asking if she wanted to make any plans for the weekend. She did want to make plans; she wanted to tell him how she felt and where she wanted this relationship to go. Hopefully, he wouldn’t run a mile.
After a quick shower, a light breakfast of a black coffee and two pieces of fruit, she left the house. The long, deep sleep had been exactly what she needed. She felt buoyed and determined. Today would be a good day. She could feel it from within.