Abduction, p.4
Abduction, page 4
Stephen Bryson supplied us with photographs of Grace: a pretty child with fair hair and blue eyes, a sprinkling of freckles over her nose but no distinguishing marks – a description which could fit several thousand children throughout the country. By now, copies of the photographs had been widely circulated and appeared on the television at the lunchtime appeal. All the national and local newspapers would run with them the following day and with luck someone somewhere would recognise her.
The appeal was broadcast again later in the evening, prompting a fresh surge of telephone calls to the incident room, and officers would work well into the night following up any new leads. There were no complaints at working overtime; the unity and dedication of officers in such cases was incredible.
Elise returned to her aunt’s house, bravely saying goodnight to her parents and blinking back the tears.
‘Jasper will be missing you,’ Mrs Cartwright coaxed, and the child nodded solemnly and turned away from her parents.
Margaret was persuaded to eat a little pasta; it was packet stuff as I’d been in charge of food again. I know that at home Sarah was spending her Sunday baking and cooking for the Brysons – everyone wanted to help in whatever way they could.
I left at around 8pm to go home and rest. Stephen had my phone number as well as the incident room, which would be manned around the clock, and had been persuaded to call me if there was anything at all I could do. By 9.30pm I was climbing the stairs to bed, exhausted and wanting to be fresh for the following day. Hopefully Monday morning would bring the breakthrough we so desperately wanted.
There were signs of activity on the phones as I stopped by the incident room on my way to Lilac House the following morning. Nearly all the national newspapers carried photographs of Grace Bryson on their front pages, and even though it was only 7.30am the phones were ringing.
A chat with Tom Duncan gave me nothing of significance to take to the Brysons. There’d been the expected timewasters, one or two sightings of Grace before she was actually taken and a woman claiming Grace had come to her in a vision and told her she had been killed by her mother. These callers were anything but helpful, yet had to be logged – activity which ate into manpower hours, time which could be better spent on more solid leads.
Today was to be devoted to further interviews and to widening the door-to-door inquiries. Stephen, Margaret, Bea and Peter would be interviewed again and also the neighbour, Christine Robinson, together with her husband, Harry, who had been out of town for a conference and was driving home at the time of the party.
Never one to prevaricate, Tom asked. ‘What do you make of Stephen Bryson?’
‘He’s shocked, numb almost. I think he’s genuine.’
‘Don’t you feel he’s rather cold? Most fathers would be insisting on joining the search, wanting to see exactly what we are doing.’
I could see where Tom was coming from, but I’d read Stephen differently. ‘Being quiet and withdrawn could be his way of coping, and there’s a miscarriage in the mix now to compound the situation. Surely the logistics of it all rule him out, don’t they?’
‘Not necessarily; it only takes a minute or two to grab a child, and he’s in a good position to have planned every detail.’
‘But what would be his motive? And wouldn’t he have needed an accomplice? He didn’t have time to get her any distance from the house. When parents are involved it’s usually a spontaneous episode, discipline gone too far, temper lost and so on. I don’t see any of the family involved, but it is still early yet.’
‘There’s the aunt and uncle – what’s your take on them, Jack?’
‘Again, it’s very early and I haven’t seen much of them. They brought the elder girl round to see her parents yesterday then took her back to stay with them. Poor little mite, she’ll not know what’s hit her. I would wonder at a motive if it was either of the Cartwrights, and they seem pretty genuine – almost as upset as the parents.’
‘We’ll widen the search and repeat the door-to-door to try to find out the neighbours’ views of the family, which goes for the Cartwrights too. Surely we’ll find some nosey neighbour who’s dying to share all the gossip. Anyway, before you go come and have a look at this diagram of the house and gardens. I presume you’ve had a good look round?’
A detailed plan of the Brysons’ home was pinned onto a board, a picture of Grace above it, smiling, carefree and happy – the right of every child. It was a pretty good plan of the property.
‘I took the opportunity to nose around on Saturday before going into the house. What are your theories so far?’
Tom pointed out the exits which were as I remembered them: an old but solid gate on the southern boundary wall, a door from the rear of the garage leading onto the west side of the property and the front double gate for vehicle access with a single gate for pedestrians a few yards away, both leading to River View, a quiet leafy street in the suburbs of Leeds.
‘They were both locked from the inside.’ Tom tapped the south gate and the door at the rear of the garage with his finger. ‘So either it was someone inside the house who locked up again after getting her out, or she was taken by persons unknown through one of the gates at the front of the property.’
I nodded, taking in his meaning but not fully understanding why a family member would do this. ‘If it had been one of the family, and I assume we’re thinking primarily the parents or the aunt and uncle, why would they lock the exits afterwards? Surely they’d have left them open to make it appear someone had sneaked into the garden, taken Grace and left through the south gate or the garage. Locking them would throw suspicion in their direction, don’t you think?’
Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘So, if it was an outsider they would certainly have had to use one of the gates at the front which gives us a good chance of someone seeing something. I don’t consider scaling the southern wall a viable possibility. How would the abductor know he wouldn’t be seen and that the girl would be there anyway?’
Tom’s fingers travelled to the area of lawn at the back of the house. ‘This is where they were playing and where Grace was last seen. The children ran into the shrubs to hide, but Grace could quite easily have gone into the orchard. Was someone already there perhaps, watching the party and waiting for his chance? I don’t see it myself. Anyway, an open mind is the way to go. She can’t have vanished, and hopefully today will be the day we’ll get a vital lead. There’s also the neighbour, Harry Robinson; his house is next door and the properties share a boundary wall, but it’s too high to scale, unless it was meticulously planned. We’ll need to check his alibi too.’
We walked back through the incident room, which was even busier with almost every phone in use. As we passed, a DC leaned back to catch Tom’s eye, his hand over the receiver of his telephone.
‘Sir! I think you might want to talk to this lady.’ He then thanked his caller and asked if she would repeat her story to the SIO. Tom took the phone, glancing at the DC’s notes which gave the caller’s name.
‘Hello, Mrs Graham, I’m DI Duncan. I believe you have some information which might be helpful?’
I waited, listening to one side of the conversation, which was nothing more informative than a few positive-sounding noises. Tom’s eyes widened as he swung the notepad round and started to scribble. He thanked the caller profusely, taking her address and number to contact her later then replaced the receiver.
‘This sounds interesting; we’ll make it a priority.’ He glanced at the notes. ‘Mrs Graham, who lives in the next road to River View, has been worried about a man she’s seen several times in the local park. She’s pretty certain he’s just moved into the area, the big house at the end of Burton Road which is now flats, you know? She’s seen him going in there, but the interesting thing is that he’s been regularly watching the local children playing in the park at Smithfield Lane. Mrs Graham walks her dog there at least twice a day and thought it strange he should be there so often and alone. The park is less than a hundred yards from River View.
‘Jack, off you go to the Brysons and without giving too much away find out if Mrs Bryson takes the children there. I’m going to visit these flats and find our park watcher. Good work, Sam.’
DI Duncan patted the young DC’s shoulder before purposefully striding out, barking instructions to officers as he went. Two constables were ordered to the park to talk to parents, joggers, dog walkers, anyone who frequented the park, and DC Bennet was tasked with accompanying DI Duncan. The wheels were in motion once again as I headed to Lilac House to be of whatever help I could, and to find out more about the family in general.
Chapter Seven
Jack Priestly
* * *
An almost tangible sadness lingered over Lilac House as I arrived. Although only 8.30am, both Stephen and Margaret looked as if they’d been awake for a considerable time, if indeed they’d slept at all.
It seems almost incongruous to enter someone’s home with a smile when you have no good news to impart, so I adopted a neutral expression as I followed Stephen into the kitchen. His raised eyebrows asked the question and my slight shake of the head answered it. Margaret also appeared hopeful but looked downcast when all I could say was, ‘Good morning.’
The kettle was still warm and Stephen automatically made coffee for me, adding one spoonful of sugar without the need to ask. I suspected we were going to learn several minor details about each other; being thrown together by such a tragic event was not the ideal way to form relationships.
‘There’ve been several calls.’ I tried to sound optimistic. ‘Even throughout the night, and a team is taking note of each one. They’ll all be carefully looked into.’
‘But did anyone see Grace or someone taking her?’ Margaret asked.
‘Nothing as direct, I’m afraid, but one or two names have cropped up which are of interest, and DI Duncan is hoping to see one of them this morning.’
Perhaps I’d said too much, but I longed to give them something to hope for, to let them know we were doing everything possible to find their daughter.
‘Who is it – someone we know?’ Stephen frowned.
‘I don’t think so, and I can’t give you a name but we are following every lead.’
‘Is he a known paedophile?’ Stephen’s voice was low, but Margaret heard and let out a groan before dropping her head into her hands and sobbing once again.
‘Just someone of interest, that’s all I can say for now.’
Stephen held his wife while I moved into the lounge to afford them some privacy. After a few minutes he came to find me, appearing more hurt than angry. ‘Why can’t you say?’
‘Look, I’m sorry, it’s just the way things work. We can’t go around naming people in an investigation without a solid reason to do so – I only told you so you’d know all leads are being followed up. As soon as we have anything significant I’ll tell you.’
He nodded, grudgingly understanding.
‘Perhaps if I could build up a picture of Margaret and the children’s day-to-day activities it might help. Is she up to it?’
‘Yes, doing something positive is better than simply waiting. I’ll fetch her.’
In less than a minute they returned, Margaret red-eyed but eager to help.
‘I know Elise is usually at school and Grace attends pre-school for how many days?’ I asked.
‘Three – Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I take Elise to school at Burton Road then on to pre-school at Marlow Terrace.’
‘And which route do you take?’
‘If it’s fine we like to walk, so it’s straight down the road to school, just a couple of blocks over. Then Grace and I cut through the park to get to pre-school.’
My heart leapt; could this be the link we were looking for?
‘What about the holidays, Margaret – they broke up for summer a couple of weeks ago, didn’t they?’
‘Yes. We haven’t been away so far; we were waiting until after Grace’s birthday … then we intended to go to Devon for a couple of weeks.’ She stopped to blow her nose and dab at her eyes.
‘So what have you been doing? Going to the park, into town?’
‘The park a few times, yes, but not usually to town. Elise enjoys shopping but Grace gets bored; she’s more the outdoors type. We often take a picnic and feed the ducks in the river, and there’s a good playground with swings and climbing frames. Grace would spend all day there if she could.’
I felt a rush of excitement and needed to ring Tom Duncan without the Brysons hearing me. ‘Will you excuse me for a moment? I need to make a quick call.’ I went out through the kitchen into the garden and dialled the number of the SIO. ‘Tom, I think the park could be relevant. Mrs Bryson walks Grace through there to get to pre-school and during the holidays they’re regular visitors.’
‘Great! I’ve just seen Mrs Graham and we’re heading on over to Burton Road now.’ He sounded positive, upbeat.
‘Burton Road is where Elise Bryson goes to school!’ I almost shouted.
‘Interesting.’ Tom was as calm as ever. ‘We’re not sure which flat this chap lives in, but we have a description and if he’s a new tenant someone will know. I’ll ring to update you when we’ve seen him, Jack. Bye for now.’
A sudden rush of adrenaline infused me with a need to do something physical, but I tempered my enthusiasm and went back inside. I didn’t want to build Stephen and Margaret’s hopes up until there was something more concrete to tell them.
I continued asking about the family’s everyday routines, plucking questions out of my mind in an effort to keep Margaret occupied, hoping some vital piece of information would be unearthed. If I’d done this little exercise sooner, perhaps the park might have appeared significant. I knew uniformed officers would be there talking to anyone who so much as walked past with any degree of regularity. This was the most positive breakthrough so far, and I waited anxiously for word from the DI.
The wait was an hour and a half. When my phone did ring, I excused myself to go outside again – the caller ID showed it was Tom Duncan.
‘Yes, I’m alone.’ I was longing for good news.
Tom spoke quickly as if on the move. ‘The man we’re looking at is Will Hogarth, thirty-six, moved into Leeds a couple of months ago. We’re running his details through the system now.’
‘Are you taking him in?’
‘No, but he’s agreed to come in voluntarily so at least we’ll keep tabs on him until we see if he’s known to us. Took umbrage, though, when I asked if we could have a look round the flat, so I’m applying for a warrant. I think there are sufficient grounds for concern.’
‘Can I tell the parents?’
There was a pause.
‘Tell them we have someone whom we’re questioning. It’ll be all over the media soon, especially with the activity in the park, so it’s best if they hear it from us, but don’t build their hopes up too much.’
‘What’s your instinct, Tom?’
‘He fits the profile. Loner, out of work, spends time in the park to watch the world go by. It’s possible, but I’ll reserve judgement until we see if he’s got a record. Dave’s onto that now.’
‘Right, I’ll tell them the bones of it. I think any news will be welcomed today – it’s been a long hard weekend.’
I’d actually already told them most of this, but at least now I could let them know he was at the station, co-operating, even if I couldn’t divulge a name.
Again, two pairs of anxious eyes met mine with their silent enquiry.
‘That was DI Duncan. There’s a man at the station about to be interviewed. At present, he’s only a person of interest and is there voluntarily to help with the inquiry. There’s not much more to tell you for the moment, but the DI will keep us informed.’
Margaret looked so pale and fragile, almost near to collapse. ‘Do they think he took Grace?’
‘We don’t know; that’s what they’ll be trying to establish.’
I could tell there were other questions whirling around in their minds, unspoken so as not to make them real. What we were all really wondering was whether or not Grace was still alive.
Chapter Eight
Margaret Bryson
* * *
It was no surprise that sleep didn’t come naturally and out of sheer desperation I again relied on a sleeping tablet. It was a temptation to take another one when I woke after six hours of fitful sleep. The oblivion would be so welcome, respite from the agony of not knowing where my baby was or what horrors she might be going through. But I couldn’t give in to such actions; there was still Elise and Stephen to think about – I needed to be brave for them and besides, today might be the day we heard good news. So, at 5am I started to scrub the kitchen floor.
Stephen heard my movement in the silence of the empty house and appeared in the doorway. ‘What are you doing, Margaret? It’s far too early to be up.’
‘Sorry if I disturbed you. I can’t sleep and needed to do something practical.’
‘The floor doesn’t need cleaning, especially on your hands and knees. You’ve just come out of hospital for goodness’ sake.’
He was right but I was desperate, what could I do to escape the agony? I would happily walk the streets day and night if I thought I might find Grace, but common sense told me she was hidden away somewhere – or dead. Tears pricked my eyes; I would have thought there would be no more tears having shed so many.
Stephen was at my side, lifting me from my knees. ‘Come back to bed.’
Following meekly, I climbed into bed beside my husband, his arms circling my trembling body as I clung to him for comfort and he kissed my hair, my cheek and my lips. We made love … gently at first, then with an urgent passion, our bodies entwined as one. The comfort of his nearness brought a brief surge of strength throughout my being, while at the same time I was consumed with guilt at the very act of desire which I’d needed so badly.
