After Anna Page 9

  Did she really think that she could sway you – you – with her wet-eyed entreaties? Did she think that you would see her on television and think to yourself oh, the mother wants her daughter back, I never thought of that, better pop out and drop her off back home, then? Did she think that you had done all this, just to hand the girl back? What kind of fool was she?

  The kind that lost a daughter in the first place.

  The daughter. Still there, drugged, silent. Beautiful.

  Her time was coming. It would be a little while yet, but not too much longer, at least, you hoped not. It was a shame to see her like this, locked up like some kind of trophy animal, although she would know nothing of it, have no memories of it. There was not much you could give her, but that, at least, was in your gift.

  As for you? You keep on waiting, waiting for the right moment to come.

  And when it does, you will act. You will end this.

  ii.

  In an emotional press conference yesterday, the parents of missing five-year-old Anna Crowne appealed to any members of the public who might have information about the disappearance of their daughter to come forward. Mrs Julia Crowne also made a direct plea to any potential kidnappers, saying ‘And if you have her, if you’re watching this, then please bring her back. Bring her back to her home. Just bring her back and this will all be over. I won’t do anything to you. You can go free. I don’t care. I just want my daughter back.’

  Speaking after the press conference, a spokesperson for the police said that there were few leads at present but that the investigation would continue to examine the evidence.

  When questioned as to how a young girl could go missing in broad daylight without anyone noticing, the spokesperson said that the police had no comment to make at this stage. The spokesperson also declined to comment on speculation that the police were treating this as an abduction case, rather than a simple disappearance.

  Henry Collins, a former major in the Army who now specializes in abductions, claimed that it was often the case that abductions took place in the most routine of circumstances.

  ‘People will notice something out of the ordinary,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a child alone at night or leaving a school outside of normal hours. But there is nothing exceptional about a child and an adult leaving a school together at the end of the day. Provided that the child was not being taken against its will then many people would simply not notice this.’ He added that this was especially true in today’s world. ‘A generation ago people would have known all the other mothers at the school gates and a strange face would have stuck out. Nowadays there are all sorts of people picking up children – nannies, babysitters, friends, grandparents – and people have become accustomed to new faces at the school gates.’

  When asked about Anna’s possible whereabouts, Collins was pessimistic.

  ‘She could be anywhere by now,’ he said. ‘Eastern Europe is the likeliest destination, but there is no way of knowing for sure. The police will have descriptions of Anna out at every major port and airport, but European borders are porous and she could be easily—’

  Julia closed the browser. The story was all over the internet. And it wasn’t just in the UK. It was all over the world. It seemed that humanity shared a common interest in missing children.

  The efforts of the police were also international. DI Wynne informed her that across Europe police forces were actively engaged in searching for Anna, which, the detective explained, meant that they were monitoring borders more closely, checking the internet for any relevant information and extending feelers into their intelligence networks – informers, grasses, whoever they knew – for signs of any unusual activity. There was every chance that they would find Anna, she said. Every chance.

  Julia suspected the detective had thought that knowledge of the scale of the effort would bring comfort. It didn’t. It brought terror. It highlighted how serious this was, how many countries Anna could be in by now. It brought home just exactly what kind of people were involved in kidnapping children, and reminded Julia of the fates that could have befallen her daughter: slavery, sexual abuse, murder.

  When she had followed similar news stories in the past she had thought mainly of the parents’ grief at their loss, assumed it was like the death of a child. Now she was in that position she saw that it was much worse. Not only did she have to face the sense of loss, she also had to come to terms with what Anna might be suffering, and that was worse, infinitely worse. To think of her daughter, so young, so perfect, so innocent, in the hands of a paedophile gang was a torture worse than any grief; it made her wish that Anna had been sold to a rich, childless couple who would at least love her. There was no respite. If she wasn’t grieving for herself, she was torn apart with worry for Anna. Each was like an open sore, the other the salt that was rubbed in. It was pulling her apart.

  Julia also understood that she was powerless. There was nothing she could do. It was not a question of knocking on doors or searching house by house in the neighbourhood. The idea that Anna’s destiny was in her hands was a romantic fiction.

  All she could do was wait and try not to read the news. It just made it worse.

  Which didn’t stop Brian. He barely looked up from his laptop, other than to replenish his whisky glass. She’d asked him about it; he said he was looking for Anna. At first Julia had not understood, so she’d pressed for details.

  Chat rooms, he said. Places in the dark recesses of the internet, places where some men go to find what they want. I might find her there.

  Julia had a feeling that he might. But that if he did, he might wish he hadn’t.

  iii.

  Julia closed the front door behind her. She couldn’t stay in the house any longer, couldn’t abide the silence, broken only by the tapping of Brian’s fingers on the keyboard of his laptop as he performed his pointless cyber-search.

  Listening to it infuriated her. Was that all he could think of to do? But then what was she doing? What could anyone do?

  She decided to go to the park. Perhaps there was a corner that had not been searched, a bush under which Anna was now sleeping, still in her school uniform, the uniform that Edna had suggested they buy a few sizes too big for her so that she would grow into it.

  Julia had hated the uniform, hated the specialist private school outfitters where they bought it, hated that they were doing what Edna suggested and that her daughter would look ridiculous in an outsized blazer and skirt. Now though, all she wanted was for Anna to grow into her uniform. She would have given anything to see that happen.

  The first day at Westwood School she and Brian had dropped Anna off together. They’d walked her to her classroom, admired her desk, kissed her goodbye. She was fine, confident and outgoing, secure in their love. She waved them a breezy farewell; they were not handling it so well. Julia had cried as she left, cried to see her little girl growing up, tears both of sadness and pride.

  This time, Brian did not hug her.

  She’ll be fine, he said. See you after work. You’re picking her up?

  Julia nodded, and off he went. That might have been the first time she realized it was over between them, that whatever separated them was unbridgeable, that, most damning of all, she simply didn’t love him.

  She walked to the end of her street, and, as she turned into the main road, she passed a man, his springer spaniel wet with sweat yet still straining at the lead. He nodded and smiled, then his face froze as he realized who she was. She saw him hesitate, almost miss a step, then carry on, looking ahead. She saw the pity in his eyes.

  It was no surprise that he recognized her; after all her face was all over the news. She was famous, but it was a strange kind of fame. It was not the kind that drew people to you, that caused them to approach with a pen and paper and tell you they loved your show, or well-played at the weekend, and then ask for your autograph; it was a rare kind that drew people’s stares but not their company. She knew that no one would approach her. They would just w
atch her and pity her.

  There she is, searching for her daughter, they’d be thinking. But it’s pointless. That little girl is long gone.

  Julia didn’t care if people thought her search was pointless. She agreed. She didn’t think she would come across Anna huddled in a bush, but that wasn’t the point. She just didn’t want to be at home, didn’t want to be still. Motion, however pointless, was still motion.

  The park sloped down to a shallow river. Some civic-minded person at one point had created a pebble beach by the bank, and she headed for it.

  The river water was clear and moved quickly, swirling and eddying in random-seeming patterns. For a second she was lost in them, but then that momentary peace was shattered by a memory of Anna playing by the water when she was first walking. She had wanted to go in and had kept on waddling towards the river bank. Julia and Brian had stopped her, until Brian shrugged and took off his and her shoes.

  Go on then, he said. If you insist.

  Then he and Anna had walked into the river. Julia smiled at the memory of Anna’s expression when she stepped into the cold water – shock, delight, fear and, most of all, wonder at this new sensation, at this new vista the world had to offer.

  She had stripped off her shoes and socks and joined them, the three of them kicking the river water into the air.

  I’ll read her Tarka the Otter, Brian said. When she’s old enough. She can imagine it taking place here, he said. We’ll come down and look for Tarka. I’ll buy her some binoculars and we can identify the birds and plants and animals. We can have a family picnic. It’ll be fantastic.

  She had loved him at that moment. She could recall the feeling. At that moment she had thought he was the best dad in the world, the only man she ever could have imagined being her husband and the father of her children. She’d pictured Anna and her dad, searching for Tarka.

  It wasn’t going to happen now. There’d be no more family picnics. And there’d be no Tarka the Otter for Anna.

  Julia felt the tears on her cheeks. She wanted, suddenly, to be in the water, to connect with the memory of her daughter in some physical way. She bent down and unlaced her trainers, then pulled off her socks. She didn’t bother to roll up her jeans. They could dry later. Then she stepped into the river.

  The water was colder than she remembered; the sensation less pleasant. The rocks were slippery and menacing beneath her feet. She waded out to the middle of the river, the water level rising to her knees. She shifted her feet, and as she did so she felt a sharp pain.

  She looked down. She was standing on a broken beer bottle. Blood ballooned darkly around her foot. She watched it swirl away in the river current.

  I wonder if fish will eat it, she thought.

  She left her foot there, intrigued by the patterns the blood made, enjoying the sharp pain. It felt real, immediate. She was interrupted by her phone ringing. She pulled it from her back pocket.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  It was DI Wynne. ‘Mrs Crowne,’ she said. ‘Do you have a moment?’

  I have the rest of my life, Julia thought.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. She stared at her foot. More blood was leaking from it. She hoped she wouldn’t need stitches.

  ‘We might have a lead,’ the detective said. ‘It seems that a former janitor at the school has gone missing.’

  Julia looked up. The world sharpened into focus. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘He retired last year,’ Wynne said. ‘He’d only been at the school for the two years before that. He moved to the area from Dundee. And now he’s gone.’

  ‘And you think he took Anna?’

  ‘We don’t know for sure. But he’s not been seen in his flat for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘So he left before Anna was taken?’

  ‘That’s right. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. We’re treating it as suspicious, at least until we locate him.’

  ‘Why did he leave Dundee?’

  ‘We don’t know. We’re looking into it.’

  ‘Have you been in his flat?’ Julia asked.

  ‘We have. There’s no trace of Anna, or of where he went.’

  ‘It’s him,’ Julia said. ‘I know it.’

  ‘It’s too early to say that. ‘And I don’t want to get your hopes up. But—’

  ‘It has to be him,’ Julia said. ‘It can’t just be a coincidence. It can’t.’

  ‘I’ve seen stranger coincidences, Mrs Crowne.’

  Julia barely heard her. This was the man who had taken Anna. This was the moment when all this changed, when they started to get somewhere. She imagined him, an old man in a dark flat, scheming, waiting for his chance. Had he selected Anna specifically? Had he been watching her?

  Whatever. They were on his trail now.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Call me if there is any news. Any at all.’

  ‘I will,’ Wynne agreed.

  Julia clicked off her phone and lifted up her foot. A thin red line ran from the base of her little toe to the arch of her foot. Blood beaded along it. She was going to have to get home and put something on it.

  iv.

  As she turned into her street someone stepped in front of her. It took her a few seconds to realize who it was.

  It was Miss Gregory, Anna’s teacher. Anna’s favourite teacher.

  ‘Mrs Crowne,’ she said. Her eyes were glazed with tiredness and she looked like she’d lost weight. ‘I came … ’ she paused, her mouth open, as though she wanted to speak but could not find the right words. ‘I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. About Anna. I didn’t want to call; I didn’t think it was right. I thought I should come in person.’

  Julia remembered the last time she’d seen the teacher. It was on the CCTV footage of the day Anna disappeared. Miss Gregory had been escorting the children out, laughing and chatting with the parents.

  Laughing and chatting when she should have been looking after Anna.

  Julia stared at her. Was this woman to blame for her daughter’s disappearance? Maybe, but she couldn’t summon the energy to be angry at her. She just stared.

  The teacher filled the silence. ‘Mrs Crowne,’ Miss Gregory said. ‘You have to know how sorry I am. I can’t think of anything other than Anna. I’d give anything to be able to go back. Anything. The school told me not to say anything, but I have to. I have to tell you how sorry I am.’

  So the school did not want her to talk to Julia. The lawyer in her recognized that they were probably scared of admitting liability; probably getting ready for a court case. The mother in her didn’t care, not yet. There would be time for that later. Time for Westwood School and Miss Gregory to come face to face with what they had done.

  ‘I’m not ready for this,’ Julia said. She was suddenly exhausted. ‘I know how you must feel, but please just leave me alone.’

  ‘Mrs Crowne, please,’ the teacher said. ‘This is tearing me apart.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Julia asked her. ‘What do you want me to do? Say I forgive you? Fine, I forgive you. It doesn’t change anything. Anna’s still gone. If you were to blame before, you’re to blame now. As am I.’

  ‘I don’t want you to forgive me,’ Miss Gregory said, her voice quavering. ‘I don’t know what I want. I … ’ she was crying now, on the verge of breaking down, ‘I just want to see Anna again.’

  The last few words were lost in sobs. Julia looked at Miss Gregory, saw how much this was affecting her, saw how it would scar her for life; maybe drive her out of the profession she loved.

  But she did not feel sorry for the teacher. She could not. There was only one emotion, one thought that had any purchase on her at all. And that was grief at the loss of her daughter.

  She walked past Miss Gregory and headed for her house.

  When she got home Edna and Brian were sitting at the kitchen table. Edna had made dinner. She was a good cook; she didn’t do it often, but when she did she brought to it the same standards that she applied elsewhere in her
life. She wasn’t creative in the kitchen, but she also had no fear. She would take on complicated recipes and follow them to the letter, marinating meats overnight, clarifying consommés, baking soufflés. She also used only the best ingredients, which gave her a good start, but nonetheless there was always something a bit joyless about her meals. They were born of grim intensity, not passion, and Julia thought it came across in the final product. Her mother-in-law’s food was delicious, yes, but it was also soulless, unsatisfying. There was none of the warmth and comfort of food prepared with slapdash love, just the clinical perfection of the surgeon’s knife.

  Julia had read once that you could tell how someone would be in the bedroom by the way they danced and the way they cooked. She’d never seen Edna on the dance floor, but her kitchen style made sense: not too often, but do a good job of it when you did.

  She’d made a veal stroganoff, soft and easy to eat, and Julia put some on a plate and sat down. She couldn’t eat more than a few mouthfuls. She pushed her plate away and laid her knife and fork on it.

  ‘Try and eat,’ Edna said. ‘You need it to keep your strength up.’

  It was the professional advice of a doctor, not the urging of a mother. Julia shook her head.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Some wine?’ There was a bottle on the table, a strong, blood-red Italian. It was half-empty already, most of it drunk by Brian. Julia shook her head again. Her head felt clouded enough already through lack of sleep, without adding alcohol to the mix. Enough of it might help her fall asleep, but it wouldn’t keep her asleep; wouldn’t chase away the dreams of Anna, and when she woke up in the middle of the night, dry-mouthed and needing a piss, she’d feel even worse.

  ‘I spoke to DI Wynne just now,’ she said, as much to break the silence as to share information. ‘They have a lead.’

  Brian leaned forward, the glass halfway to his mouth. ‘Really?’

  ‘There was a janitor at the school. He retired last year – he’d only been there a short while – and he disappeared a couple of weeks ago. No one knows where he is.’