Now that I have nothing to do but think, I feel my hands start to shake. I clasp them tightly together. Then my phone rings in my bag.
Rob casts an anxious glance at me.
‘Do you recognise the number?’ he asks as I pull the phone out of my bag.
I glance at the screen. ‘It’s my friend, Tessa.’
‘Don’t answer it,’ he says. ‘You might be able to call her back later – we’ll have to see what the boss says.’
I wasn’t going to answer anyway, because Tessa will know something is wrong and will be full of questions – questions I don’t want to answer.
We drive on in silence, through a part of Manchester that I don’t know.
It seems like a long fifteen minutes, but finally we pull up in front of some high wrought-iron gates and my driver leaps out to talk into the intercom. He jumps back into the car as the gates open and we head towards a big red-brick building. He steers the car round the side to a small door and turns to me.
‘I’ll take you in.’
For a moment I don’t want to get out of the car. It means I’m going to have to face what’s happened – what’s happening – but Rob has run round to my side and is opening the door, apparently oblivious to the rain.
I follow him into the building, struggling to keep up with his fast stride, along a brightly lit passage with closed doors on either side, our footsteps echoing on the dark linoleum floor. We reach the final door and he knocks once and pushes it open.
Inside are two people – a pretty young woman with dark shoulder-length auburn hair and a tall broad-shouldered man in jeans and a black leather jacket. The woman steps forward.
‘Hi, Jo. I’m Detective Inspector Becky Robinson. We spoke on the phone. This is my boss, Detective Chief Inspector Tom Douglas.’
12
The two detectives – Tom and Becky, as they have told me to call them – have solemn expressions, their concern for me and for all that is happening clear in their faces. I get the feeling that although they must deal with all kinds of crimes, day after day, their sympathy is genuine.
‘Can we get you a drink?’ Tom asks. He has kind eyes, and they are almost my undoing. I hear my mother’s voice in my head. ‘Crying won’t get you anywhere,’ she used to say.
‘Just water, please.’ My voice is croaky with suppressed tears.
They’ve brought me to a room that’s a weird cross between an office and a living room. I guess it must be some sort of common room, but without anything to make it feel homely.
Now that I’m here my knees have started to go soft, and I need to sit down. They guide me to a bright blue sofa and Tom turns to speak quietly to Rob, who nods, spins on his heel and hurries out, I presume to get the water.
‘I’m sorry we had to bring you here,’ Becky says. ‘I explained why on the phone, but if you have any questions, just ask.’
I sit, head bowed, trying to focus beyond the terrible thought that something awful might be happening to my child. ‘Why would someone kidnap Ash and Millie?’
‘We don’t know, and we’ll get on to that in a minute, but for now could we have your phone? We need to monitor any calls, but we’ll get it straight back to you so you can answer if it rings.’
She must mean a ransom call or some other demand. But why have they been taken? I don’t have anything to give.
‘Do you have your partner’s phone too? Are either of them locked?’
I fish around in the bag of random items that I brought with me and pull out Ash’s phone too.
‘Yes, but we use the same passcode – 7654. Ash’s phone needs five digits, so there’s an extra 3 on the end of his.’
‘Do you have any pictures of Ash and Millie?’ Tom asks.
I scroll through my photos to find the best examples – Ash looking serious, but that’s his default expression, and Millie smiling happily. I touch my finger to the screen for a moment, wishing it was her soft skin that I was stroking.
‘That’s great,’ Tom says, trying to sound reassuring. ‘We’ll download and circulate these to the team – only to those who need to know. In a case like this, we keep as few people in the loop as possible.’
He means in case someone’s in the pay of the kidnappers. The thought sends a shudder through my body.
I hand over the phones, and Tom passes them to Rob, who has returned with my water.
Becky leans towards me. ‘I know you told me what happened when we spoke earlier, but in case we missed something, can you take me through it again? Tom hasn’t heard it directly from you, and it might help.’
Once more I explain about the banging on the door, putting Ash into handcuffs; how they said that I might be complicit; how they’d insisted that Millie go with Janet and Bob. The words come out in gulps, incomplete sentences.
‘I should have stopped them – refused to let them take her – but they said they were the police! And I was so worried about making a fuss and scaring Millie half to death. I never doubted they were real policemen, real social workers. Why would I? And they said if I was difficult I would be charged with obstruction. All I was worried about was making it as easy as possible for my child. I let her go.’
‘Did they show any identification?’ Tom asked.
‘Yes, but I didn’t study it. I just accepted it.’ I am quiet for a moment. ‘To my shame, after they took Ash I found myself wondering if it was true – if he could have been hurting Millie.’ I look up, meeting Becky’s eyes. ‘You hear of so many women who have been fooled, don’t you? I actually wondered if I might be one of them.’
My hands start to shake again, and Becky takes my glass while I try to get back some degree of control.
‘We’re going to have to ask you for a full description of the people who came to your house, perhaps show you some photos to see if you recognise anyone. The important thing now, though, is for you to tell us anything you can about the cars. Do you remember their colour, make?’
I close my eyes and try to think. I was completely focused on Millie’s little white face pressed up against the window. I didn’t take in any details, but now I have to force myself to remember.
‘I think the one Millie was in might have been silver. I didn’t see Ash go.’ And I didn’t even say goodbye to him.
‘The silver car, was it a saloon, a hatchback?’
I try my best to concentrate, but each time all I see is her face. Why can’t I remember? I’m screaming inside, but somehow I manage to choke out some words.
‘I’m sorry – I wish I could do better. I think it was a hatchback – not a big one – but I might be wrong.’
‘Don’t worry. Do you know what time it was?’ Becky asks.
I don’t answer, my head somewhere else – with Millie, feeling her arms around my neck as she pulls me down for a goodnight kiss.
‘Jo,’ Becky says softly, ‘we know how incredibly difficult this must be, but if we’re going to find them, for now you’re the only one who can help us. I’m sorry, but we do need to keep pushing.’
They’re right, and I need to hold myself together.