The playground that morning was filled with the sounds of children: laughing, shouting, occasionally screaming with delight – all the sounds youngsters make when they’re enjoying themselves. It was a lovely sunny day, perfect for spending a morning in the park; where the children, under supervision, could freely go wild, and the mothers could find a little peace, sitting on the various benches, chatting to each other and exchanging the daily gossip, knowing their children were safe and protected.
The playground was in an enclosed part of the park, surrounded by a wire mesh fence that was childproof, in case any of them were tempted to wander. The floor area was filled with loose sand – another safety precaution in the event of spills from the various slides and swings.
At the perimeter of the playground a vigilant park attendant, suitably attired in council uniform and wearing sporty custom-made sunglasses, wandered slowly around the circumference, keeping a lookout for mishaps of any kind. It was a day for relaxing, for unwinding in the sunshine and allowing the children to expend their abundant energy.
The recent media publicity concerning the abduction and probable murder of the child from Solihull, and – more particularly – the link with the other murders of four years earlier, had made the mothers extra cautious, although the message had waned somewhat. The posters, warning parents to be on the lookout, were displayed prominently. The extra security, a surprising and welcome innovation from the local council, gave added comfort, however; it was largely because of this development the children could be left unattended.
“Well, it’s been very nice, but I suppose I should be getting back,” Marion, an attractive brunette in her late twenties, said to her friend sitting next to her on the bench. “Geoff’ll be home from the pub shortly, and you know what they’re like if there’s no Sunday lunch on the table!”
“Tell me about it!” Audrey, her friend, replied. “If you don’t mind, Marion, I won’t come with you. My old man’s away for the weekend, so I’ve got the day to myself.” She stretched her arms and yawned with pleasure. “I’m going to make the most of it. You can leave Lisa here, if you like. Give you a bit of peace; I can drop her off later.”
Marion gave her an envious grin. “No. Thanks, anyway – her dad’ll be asking after her if she’s not home. Enjoy your day, Audrey. Some people have all the luck! Where’s Lisa? She was with your Josie a minute ago!”
“She can’t be far away. There’s nowhere for her to go. LISA!” she shouted; then again: “LISA!”
“Josie’s over there, playing on the swings. I’ll go and ask her where Lisa’s got to.”
By now Marion was beginning to panic a little. As Audrey had said, there was nowhere for the little girl to go; the playground was completely enclosed, and if she had tried to wander away the security guard would have stopped her. But where was he? He seemed to have disappeared now as well. Both she and Audrey ran across to the swings to ask Josie where her friend had gone. She looked at them bemused. “The man said she had to go with him.”
“What man?” Marion almost screamed. “Go where? Where did he take her, Josie? Do you know?”
The little girl shook her head. “No. But he said it was okay ‘cos her dad was waiting outside.”
Audrey gasped in horror. “The security guard, Marion! He’s not here! Dear God – you don’t think he could have taken her, do you?”
Marion burst into tears, and then, panicking, she ran towards the gate of the playground in a state of near-hysteria. “Audrey,” she shouted behind her, “call the police; there’s something not right here. LISA!” she screamed. LISA! Where are you?”
* * * * * * * * * *
The man dragged the child roughly, her feet scuffling along the ground, towards the door of the Land Rover, one hand clamped tightly across her mouth to prevent her from screaming. He cursed loudly when she bit into his hand, causing some drops of blood to appear and fall onto the grass by the side of his vehicle, and he had to restrain himself from punching her. So far it had gone well; his surveillance of the playground before the start of the school holidays had paid dividends, and his plan to masquerade as a security guard had worked perfectly. Now all he had to do was to bundle this obstinate little brat into the car and they’d be off, free and clear.
He did exactly that, after first punching her in the mouth, then virtually throwing her into the front passenger seat, whilst with his free hand he grabbed the piece of material from the dashboard that would serve as a gag. At the same time he quickly tied her hands to the restraining strap on the car seat to prevent her jumping out of the vehicle. Then he was set. He started the engine and was about to pull away when suddenly he felt a cold mist descending on him. He shuddered, recalling that he had experienced something similar all those years ago in the woods. The mist seemed to cloak him, interfering with his breathing and starting a panic attack. Someone, or something, was definitely watching him, observing him with a kind of detached interest, as though the incident was being recorded for some future reprisal. As he had done the last time, he peered through the icy cold of the mist, trying to make out a face; but not only was it was too obscure, he distinctly felt a pressure on his face pushing him away, as if the apparition was determined to remain undetected.
He let out a shriek at the realisation that whatever it was was alive and aware. In a panic he punched the gears into drive and hit the accelerator as hard as he could, causing the tyres to skid as he pulled away from the park. Beside him, the little girl was still struggling against her bonds, tears, mingling with blood, pouring down her cheeks; he had almost forgotten about her in his anxiety, and he was somewhat relieved to find she was still there. He reached across to the passenger seat and gently stroked the inside of her thigh.
“Oh, we’re going to have such a lovely time together,” he said, smiling now. The mist was gone, almost as quickly as it had appeared, but he was left with the resolve that he had to do everything in his power to discover who it was who was haunting him…
* * * * * * * * * *
I was on the point of making coffee at Jim’s when the mobile went off. I groaned in exasperation; we had enjoyed a long lie-in this Sunday morning, and I was quite looking forward to a pub lunch. I quickly changed my mind when the station informed me of that morning’s incident in the park.
“Oh, dear God, no!” I said aloud, just as Jim came out of the bathroom. I held up a hand to stop him interrupting the rest of the message. I repeated it for clarification, making a note of the address, then put him in the picture as I grabbed my jacket. It wasn’t until we had gone some distance in the car, heading towards the scene at Castle Bromwich, that I remembered Connie’s vision of some weeks ago. I also remembered I had said nothing to Paul, at the time, partly because I had not been convinced by his assertion then that the episode was nothing more than an adolescent peculiarity that some youngsters experienced, but mainly because I was becoming tired of his inherent cynicism. I was only glad I had mentioned it to Jim.
The details the station had given me over the phone matched virtually word for word what Connie had described to me at the time, even down to the designer sunglasses the attendant was wearing.
“This sounds like Connie’s nightmare come true,” Jim commented. “And before you say anything, Angie, let me remind you what I said when you told me about it: even Connie can’t change fate, and there isn’t a thing youcould have done about it. You do realise where we’re headed, don’t you?” he asked, by way of changing the subject.
“Castle Bromwich,” I grunted, distracted by my conscience. At the same time, I was thinking: “Damn that doctor. He told me I’d learn how to deal with guilt; well, he was wrong.”
“I know the way, Jim,” I added as an afterthought.
“I wasn’t talking about the directions, Angie. I was trying to point out that we pass Ward End on the way; you know – the place where Josephine Marsden’s clothes were found.”
“I hadn’t realised,” I admitted. “It all seems so long ago.”
“You mean you were hoping he’d silently slipped away. It doesn’t work like that, and, anyway, nine weeks is not a long time for these psychopaths. All I know about them is what Paul told us: they satisfy their bloodlust for a while, but there’s no predetermined timetable they stick to. Apparently, the inactivity only lasts as long as their feeling sated.”
“Jesus. I feel sick,” I admitted. “You make him sound like some jungle predator that kills whenever it’s hungry.”
“Isn’t that more or less what he is? An animal, constantly on the prowl – only worse? The only real difference is that he prefers young children – little girls.” He sighed. “I share your nausea, Angie, but I can only remind you what I warned you a while back: you’ve got to stay focused.”
Out of the corner of a tear-stained eye I caught his finger, pointing a warning at me. It didn’t help very much; I wasn’t kidding when I said I was feeling sickly. I also had a feeling of terrible sadness creeping over me. All I could think of was that poor child and how completely helpless we were to protect her.
We were eating up the miles on the Sunday lunchtime roads, but I lengthened the journey by deliberately bypassing Ward End; the current situation was hard enough to cope with without the additional burden of painful memories. I went onto the ring road around Castle Bromwich and followed the directions I had been given to the park and the children’s playground.
Two squad cars were already on the scene when we arrived, and I noticed a WPC comforting a young woman who was sobbing hysterically. My heart went out to her – she was obviously the mother of the abducted child – and I knew there was no way we could offer her any reassurance. Jim went to speak with a uniformed inspector, whilst I joined one of the constables, who were interviewing a second mother.
“Morning, Sarge,” he greeted me. “This is Mrs Thornton; Audrey Thornton. She’s a friend of the missing girl’s mother.” He was a tall, bespectacled young man with dark, thinning hair and pale blue eyes. I already knew of him, as our PC Connelly was beginning to make quite a name for himself at the station – evidently for his astute deductions and quick grasp of detail.
“Marion,” she said. “Her name’s Marion; Marion Carter. Her daughter’s Lisa.”
She was visibly upset, and her hands, I noticed, were shaking. Probably from shock, I thought.
“Can you tell us what happened, Audrey?” I asked.
“There’s nothing to tell, really,” she said, wiping away a tear. One minute Marion and I were chatting - we felt safe because there was an attendant there - and the next Lisa was missing, and so was the park keeper. It was Josie, my little girl, who told us the man had taken her outside to meet her daddy. Dear God,” she choked; “we only took our eyes off her for a moment.”
I made a note of her full name and address, and then asked her if I could speak with Josie.
“You can, of course, but she’s only six. I’m not sure she can tell you any more than I have.”
“Let me speak with her anyway, can I?”
As she went to collect her daughter from inside the playground I asked Bob Connelly what he thought had happened. “It’s pretty much like she said,” he said. “Except I’ve looked around the perimeter and you can see the indents where the ‘park keeper’ had left a vehicle.
“I didn’t go too close in case I disturbed the scene. The SOCOS are on the way with Forensics so they may be able to tell us more in a while. The only other comment I’d make, Sarge, is that this character obviously had the abduction carefully planned; it took a hell of a nerve to masquerade as an attendant. He’d have had to reconnoitre the site at least a couple of times to be sure no one would be here to expose him. And he’d have had to either buy or hire the uniform. I’m not sure you can do either with council uniforms.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Which mean he must have stolen it. Let’s check with the local council, shall we, Bob. See if they’ve reported anything. He’s also one clever bastard to carry off something like this. He encouraged the parents to feel secure in his presence and then pounced.” I let out a heavy breath; I was feeling far less confident today about catching him than I did when we first started on this case.
“Sergeant, this is Josie,” Marion said, holding her daughter by the hand.
“Hello, Josie.” I smiled, hoping to make her feel at ease, but she returned the smile with a serious facial expression. “Has your mummy told you I’d like to talk to you.”
“Yes. You want to know what happened to Lisa. The man took her away. He said her daddy wanted to meet her outside.”
“Did you see which way they went?” I asked.
She pointed with her finger in the direction where PC Connelly had found the tyre tracks. “That way. But I didn’t look real careful ‘cos it was my turn on the see-saw.”
I thought for a moment how to ask a child a question about accents, and then said, “Did his voice sound like anyone you know?”
“Yes. Like daddy.”
“Is your husband from around these parts?”
“Yes. He’s from Walsall originally.”
“And does he have a West Midland accent?”
“Very much so, although it’s softened a bit in the past few years.”
“But it’s still distinctly West Midland?”
She nodded.
“Thank you,” I said. “And thank you, Josie, for helping us.”
“Will you find her?” the little girl asked.
“I hope so, Josie. I really hope so.”
Well, at least we had now confirmed what we previously suspected: our offender was definitely from this area. I thought again of Arnold Brownlaw. “There must be some way of tracing him,” I told myself. I wandered over to speak with Jim, who by now was engrossed with the forensic team.
“He was using a four-wheel drive vehicle,” he confirmed. “And his front offside tyre is almost bald.” He shook his head. “It’s not much to go on, but it’s something, I suppose.”
“He’s definitely from this part of the world,” I informed him, then went on to describe what Josie had said.
“Are you thinking the same as me?”
I nodded. “Arnold Brownlaw. Yes. He fits the bill almost perfectly. The question still is, though: how the hell do we find him?”
“We apply more resources,” he said vehemently. Then he shook his fist angrily. “If we have to we’ll commandeer every fucking detective in the West Midlands to help us! Whatever it takes, Angie, we have to catch this monster.”
“Focused,” I said teasingly.
“Yeah, I know I said that, but even I’m finding it hard to stay objective now.” He shrugged. “Is young Connelly taking statements from the mother and her friend?”
I nodded. “Do you think I should give Paul a ring? He may have some insights on today’s abduction.”
“Why not. We need all the help we can get. Just don’t mention anything about Connie’s vision. Oh, and while you’re at it why not give Connie a call; ask her if she can tell us anything more.”
I took my mobile from my bag, promising myself that I would speak to her to see if she could throw any further light on the matter. I managed to get hold of Paul at Forest Hills and arranged to meet him at the station later in the day. As I was leaving the scene a bevy of media were beginning to arrive. I squeezed Jim’s arm supportively. “Do you want me to stay?”
“No. You get off, Ange. I can deal with this lot. I’ll see you back at the station.”