‘Satnav says we’re 1.2 miles away, Guv,’ Bryant said, beside her.
She took a sharp left through a residential estate. This was a shortcut that knocked off almost half the distance.
Bryant held the satnav up to his face and spoke to it. ‘Don’t be offended, she doesn’t listen to anyone.’
Kim ignored him.
‘So, was that your proof of life, Guv?’ Bryant said as she approached a tiny traffic island. There was no way around it.
‘No, that was planned all along and it doesn’t prove they’re alive,’ she said, driving straight over the top of it. ‘This was a prompt to the parents. He wanted them to go looking. He wanted them to find the clothes. He wanted them to imagine them naked.’
‘Well, that backfired slightly. And why only send it to one parent?’
‘Games, Bryant. Our Subject One enjoys the psychological element of it all. He wants to wring every last ounce of misery out of this sick game.’
‘Aah, well, he didn’t quite bargain on you, did he?’
She hoped not. The clothes had been bundled into a bag and spirited away by Dawson to forensics. There was a slim chance that something would be found but for use in court they were hopeless. They had been rolled around in the dirt, grass and goodness knows what else.
‘Do you think you should have told them the truth?’ Bryant, her external conscience, asked.
It was the first time she’d lied to the parents and she hoped it would be the last, but she wouldn’t bet Barney’s next meal on it.
She had told them they had found only the jackets and that had been traumatic enough. They did not need to know the rest. Stephen had tried to insist on identifying Amy’s coat, just to be sure. But Dawson had already left. Kim had explained to Stephen that she’d been able to confirm from the CCTV.
‘What’s to gain?’ she asked. ‘The pictures in their minds are horrific enough as it is.’
Kim was saved any further explanation as she spotted the door number she sought. She parked the car quickly and knocked.
Time had not been kind to the woman that answered.
Kim knew Jenny Cotton was thirty-six years old and the first thirty-five years of her life had undoubtedly been kinder than the last one.
The light brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, exposing premature greying at the temples. Faint lines were visible around a downturned mouth.
‘Detectives Stone and Bryant, Mrs Cotton. Could we have a word?’
The tired eyes registered a stab of hope.
Kim shook her head. ‘There's no news on Suzie,’ she said, quickly, to dispel any false hopes immediately.
The case of Suzie Cotton would remain open until they brought her home.
Mrs Cotton stepped aside, allowing them to enter.
Kim moved through the house to a small kitchen-diner that spanned the width of the property. Immediately Kim saw the absence of life. The room was devoid of character or personality. It was clean and functional and looked out on to a small garden covered in grey slabs. There was no tree, flower or plant pot.
They had stumbled into a life on pause.
Jenny Cotton stood in the doorway. The light jeans she wore were loose on a size-eight frame. The grey sweatshirt was baggy at the neck and the shoulder seams rested halfway down her upper arms. Flip-flops graced her feet.
Kim sensed that it was a triumph that Jenny managed to dress at all.
Kim suddenly hated the coldness of the visit. She had nothing to offer the woman in relation to the absence of her own daughter, yet Kim wished to glean information, even if it meant forcing the woman to remember the most horrific time of her life.
But right now she had two missing girls and that was Kim’s priority. Every day she loved the job she did, but some days she didn't like it all that much.
‘Mrs Cotton, I understand this might be difficult but we need to ask you some questions about what happened last year …’
Intelligent eyes speared her. ‘Why?’
‘Mrs Cotton, I can't—’
‘Of course you can't tell me anything,’ she spat bitterly. ‘It's not like I have any right to know, is it?’
Kim remained silent for a moment. This woman was entitled to her anger. Her child had not come home. She couldn’t share any details of the current investigation but when Kim's gaze met the sad, desolate eyes facing her she hoped that Jenny Cotton would understand.
There was a sharp intake of breath before the woman closed her eyes and pursed her lips.
She understood.
‘Ask me anything you like but please don't pretend to understand. Because you can't.’
‘You're right, I can't,’ Kim agreed, softly. ‘But if you could talk us through your own experience from that first day I'd be grateful.’
Jenny Cotton nodded as she sat at a round wooden dining table, indicating that they do the same.
‘Don't expect me to remember what happened on what day because I can't. It's all now a blur of activity, inactivity and tears. All I know for certain is that they both disappeared on Monday morning and Emily was found on Wednesday afternoon. God, it seems so much longer than two days.’
Kim hated every moment of what she was having to put this woman through but if she was dealing with the same crew this time the information was invaluable. Investigating the first attempt could offer crucial clues. An MO became refined over time. Elements were perfected, lessons learned. Identifying possible mistakes the first time around could offer insight.
‘Suzie was taken from the shop halfway between our home and the school. Emily was grabbed fifty metres from her home. I received a text message at eleven and so did Julia.’
‘Do you have any idea how the girls were identified?’
She nodded. ‘They did a radio appeal together for Children in Need. They'd raised over five hundred pounds by washing cars. My husband was quoted in the article. He owned a limousine hire service, well, he still does as far as I'm aware.’
She smiled sadly. ‘It's another life. It feels like a past life. Julia's husband, Alan, owned a string of estate agencies. It was not a fair fight.
‘I called the police immediately and they interviewed us both at my house. We were all such good friends, so close. Spent almost every weekend together; took holidays together.
‘Julia and I held on to each other for dear life. Until the third text message.’
‘Were you advised not to make contact with the kidnappers?’ Kim asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And did you?’
‘Detective, if you had children you wouldn't even ask that question. Of course we did.
‘Suddenly, everywhere you looked people were trying to hide the private conversations that were going on. Even the police stood in corners whispering.’
‘When was the deadline?’ Kim asked.
‘Wednesday afternoon.’
Barely more than forty-eight hours after the abduction, Kim noted. They were an hour away from that exact same marker.
‘What did you do?’
‘We sent an offer. It was everything we could get together: savings, second mortgages, help from family. We received an immediate response that the others had offered more.
‘Offers went back and forth until Wednesday morning. We were offering amounts we had no chance of getting but when you're in an auction for the life of your child there is no other choice.’
Kim sat forward. There was a cruelty to this situation that repelled her. In a normal ransom situation there were all kinds of emotions but this trade-off strategy offered the parents an element of control: that they could influence the outcome if they could just get enough money together. And if they couldn't …
‘When Suzie didn't come home it destroyed me. I lost everything. I couldn't look at my husband because all I could think was that if he'd had a better job we would have got our daughter back.’
Kim allowed the woman to talk. It was the least she could do.
‘And people grieve at different rates. The first time I heard Pete laugh afterwards the last few feelings I had for him died. I understand that the body reacts and that defence mechanisms kick in, but mine hadn't.’
And Kim suspected she was still waiting. This woman was a shadow, existing through time. She had not found a way forward but those around her had.
Kim had a sudden thought. ‘Mrs Cotton, do you still have the mobile phone?’
Jenny Cotton moved back her chair and walked to the kettle. ‘No, Inspector, your lot took it as evidence.’
Kim looked at Bryant. He made a note. If the phones were still in evidence there may be something they could use.
Mrs Cotton stared out of the window; the water overflowing out of the spout of the kettle.
‘I used to dream of holidays and perhaps another child.’ She paused, her hand hovering above the running faucet. ‘And now all I dream of is being able to bury my daughter.’
She turned and fixed Kim with a hard stare. ‘Can you help me with that, Detective Inspector?’
Kim held the gaze but said nothing. She would not make promises she didn't think she could keep.
‘Mrs Cotton, what do you think prompted the early release of Emily?’
‘I'd have thought that was perfectly clear. Julia and Alan paid the ransom.’