Child's Play (3 page)

The tune ran in her head now; she doubted she'd ever get it out. ‘Please, look, my mum …'
Will be going out of her mind.

‘Don't you worry about a thing, babe. Momma knows you've been – how shall I put it – detained?'
He'd contacted her? Had she called the police?
‘I let her know you're … tied up, as it were.' His snigger in her face released a wave of toxic breath that made her gag. ‘What's up, missie? Feeling a bit queasy, are we?'

She nodded, retched violently, this time for effect. Hopes rising, she made to straighten in the chair. The restraints cut deeper but the pain would be a small price if he untied her, removed the blindfold. At the very least she'd be able to scope out the place, work on a way of getting out.

‘Please. I need the bathroom fast.'

‘I think not.'

‘But—'

‘But nothing. If you barf, you can sit in it and stink. I don't give a monkey's. Momma won't be too happy though. She'll think we're not looking after her pretty little girl, won't she?'

Caitlin frowned, myriad thoughts racing. Why was he doing this? Did she know him? Did he know her? Or had she just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? For once, she was glad of the blindfold; it concealed her confusion and concern. More than that, her increasing terror.

‘Lost your tongue, missie?' She recoiled when his fingers chucked her chin. ‘Hope not. You're gonna need it in a minute.'

Her tongue? Why? His voice was still muffled, but sounded further away. She heard a zip? Opening? Then clicks, metallic clicks. What the hell was he doing? ‘Please, please, I need the loo.' This was no act.

‘De-dum-de-dum-de …'

‘For God's sake, tell me what you're doing.'

‘… de-de-de-dum-de-dum-de …'

‘Please!' she screamed. No way could she hide the panic now. ‘Let me go, I won't tell—'

‘Ready? Steady?' Trembling, she braced herself, eyes squeezed tight. ‘Go!' Her head snapped back when he snatched the blindfold. She stayed completely still, whimpering. ‘Open your eyes.'

If she saw his face …

‘Open your fucking eyes.' Saliva hit her cheek. She gasped when he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked it back.

‘Please, no.' The intended scream lodged in her throat, she stared wide-eyed, open-mouthed. The mask hid all but dark pupils glinting through holes in thick black fur. Had she not been scared beyond belief, the gorilla mask might almost have been funny.

‘What do you want from me?'

‘Watch the birdie, little girlie and say … cheese. A snap for the family album, eh? Another little surprise for momma.'

‘A
nd you're absolutely certain it wasn't here when you got home, Mrs Reynolds?' ‘It' was a black and white print now inside a clear plastic envelope that lay on the tacky Formica kitchen table. Detective Inspector Sarah Quinn's cool grey eyes focused on the woman slouched in the chair opposite, hoping the body language might give away more than she'd so far said. Since the detectives' arrival, Nicola Reynolds had barely torn her gaze from her daughter's image.

‘What part of the word “no” don't you understand? I've told you and the other lot three times now.' She tossed a head in the direction of the door. Two uniformed officers were currently ensconced in a patrol car waiting on the DI's orders. As a matter of course, the attending officers had checked the premises before asking for plain clothes' back-up.

‘Is it remotely possible you just didn't notice it?' Sarah tapped her lip. Risking the woman's wrath was worth it: establishing a time-line could be important.

‘Christ Almighty.' Nicola's voice dripped contempt. ‘Do I look stupid?'

Sarah glanced up at DC Dave Harries who leaned against the sink thankfully out of the woman's eye-line. She doubted his nod would have gone down well. As to ‘stupid', the DI's jury was out. On the other hand she had no doubt that Reynolds looked like a woman on the edge, teetering on a greased cheese-wire over hot coals. Grey-faced and gaunt-featured, she compulsively raked trembling fingers through a bad dye job. The other hand clutched a mobile phone as if it had life-saving properties. She seemed to be ageing before Sarah's eyes.

‘I didn't say that, Mrs Reynolds.' Still watching closely, she waited for the woman – as far as she could – to collect herself. ‘Tell me about the photograph. What disturbs you so much?' Sarah regarded the shot as fairly innocuous. It showed Caitlin Reynolds in school uniform mid-stride walking along a street. It looked like a snatched shot, the girl probably unaware of the camera. The typed message attached was less clear:
Hey momma, you're in for a big surprise
. More surprising to Sarah? DCS Baker asking her to turn out on what could be some sort of routine domestic. She might be wrong but the chief's calls seemed increasingly erratic these days.

Mrs Reynolds raised her head, finally met Sarah's gaze. ‘You've not said much at all, have you? Coming here, making judgements, disapproving. I can see it in your eyes.'

Unlikely. Sarah's face rarely showed emotion. It was one reason the station clowns called her the Ice Queen – among other things – always behind her back. She suspected the woman's hostility stemmed from several sources: fear, for sure; concern, of course. Guilt certainly couldn't be ruled out. And not just at the disaster area surrounding them. The small tatty kitchen was a tip, ashtrays overflowed on several surfaces and the empties stacked by the bin could've been props for a rendition of ‘Ten Green Bottles'. Though going on Reynolds' breath, she'd been hitting the mother's ruin tonight. The woman's alcohol consumption wasn't high on Sarah's priorities.

‘It's not my job to judge you.' Unless the woman knew more about her daughter's apparent disappearance than she'd let on. Sarah waited as Nicola checked the damn phone yet again. Either she was distracted or it was a distraction technique. ‘OK. You were telling me about the photograph.'

‘What is your job then?' Nicola grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro, twisted her mouth when she realised the contents had already gone up in smoke. ‘Shouldn't you be organizing a search, calling the papers and the telly? Caitlin's out there somewhere and you're just sitting on your backside asking me stupid questions.'

Media friendly already? Sarah gave a thin smile. ‘It's my job to ask questions, Mrs Reynolds. We need to know what we're dealing with, how best to go about sorting it.' So far, they'd learned that Caitlin went to Queen's Ridge comprehensive, that she was an A* pupil who worked hard and had lots of friends. At this stage it might be nothing more sinister than a headstrong girl and a family row. And the mother still hadn't answered the last question. Sarah's cocked head acted as a cue to Harries to record the omission.

‘What we're
dealing
with? You make it sound like a game of cards. My daughter's life could be at stake here.'

‘Could' being the operative word. Surely giving parents grief was part of a teenager's job description? The girl was sixteen going on seventeen and had only been absent a few hours. ‘Why are you so convinced she's at risk, Mrs Reynolds?'

‘For God's sake, I don't know where she is. She never stays out, not without calling me.' Her fingers tightened round the phone.

‘So she has stayed out before?' The woman's flapped hand was no answer, but sent a signal to Sarah. The silence, bar dripping water and ticking clock, lasted ten seconds. Nicola jumped a mile when Harries shifted to tighten the tap. ‘Well, has she?' Sarah persisted.

‘Trust me. She wouldn't do this to me.'
Wouldn't she?
Besides, it was only half-nine, at Caitlin's age it was hardly ‘staying out'. Sarah shuffled slightly in her seat. Nicola was swift to interpret the movement. ‘You don't believe me, do you?'

Realistically, she'd no way of knowing. At the moment Nicola Reynolds, like her daughter, was little more than a blank sheet to the DI. And like most cops, Sarah's experience taught her to suspect her own granny. ‘Is Caitlin's father around, Mrs Reynolds?'

‘Only if you've got a Ouija board.' Unnecessary and over-the-top antagonism. And Harries was getting more cocked-head prompts from Sarah than an amnesiac actor. This time she threw in a barely perceptible tightening of the lips as well. ‘OK, do you have a current partner?'

‘What's it to you? I'm her mother. Are you saying I'm not good enough?'

‘Stop putting words in my mouth, Mrs Reynolds. We'll get nowhere if you don't cooperate. You called us in, right?' She paused, let the point hit home. ‘Have you a recent picture of Caitlin?' Something they could use, just in case.

She nodded, hauled herself up, ambled out of the kitchen. Sarah rolled her eyes at Harries. As it happened, she thought it too early for alarm bells. What teenager hanging out with mates religiously remembered to call home? Caitlin's phone could have been nicked; it could be out of credit. The girl may have just lost track of time. Or for once might not want her mother to know where she was or who she was with.

‘This is a good one.' With the ghost of a smile on her lips, Mrs Reynolds handed the pic to Sarah. Dark, glossy hair framed an oval-shaped face, flawless complexion. It was the sort of image that sold toothpaste, or skincare products.

Harries strolled across to take a look over Sarah's shoulder. ‘Has Caitlin got a boyfriend, Mrs Reynolds?' His smile and chatty delivery were deceptively casual.

‘What sort of question's that?' she snapped.

Sarah glanced up, now knew what was meant by a steely glare. As for the question, it was perfectly reasonable, patently obvious. And if Reynolds couldn't see that she was either dense, in denial, or both.

‘It's fair enough, Mrs Reynolds.' DC Chatty Man again, ostensibly oblivious to the impact of his remarks. ‘She's a pretty girl. She'll break a few hearts in her time, I bet.'

Going by the glower and clenched teeth, it looked as if breaking kneecaps was more Nicola's baby: Harries' kneecaps.

‘What the hell are you implying? That she's out with some lad? Clubbing it?'

‘Could she be?' Harries raised an eyebrow.

‘I'm not lowering myself to answer that.' She checked the phone again before hauling herself up to reach a new pack of baccy from a shelf. Deliberate or not, she'd skirted virtually every question. Harries had quite a list going. Sarah waited until the cigarette had been lit and the woman re-installed in her seat.

‘Is there a reason she may have decided not to come home?' Sarah asked. Reynolds' concrete-curdling glance spoke volumes. But she said nothing. ‘Mrs Reynolds. Was everything OK between you and Caitlin this morning?'

Staring at Sarah, she picked a fleck of tobacco from her tongue. ‘Fine. Absolutely … dandy.'

‘Sure about that?' Because sure as hell, Sarah wasn't.

‘Look, I don't know if you have kids, but my instinct tells me my girl's in no position to make decisions.' She jabbed the cigarette at the plastic envelope. ‘This isn't her doing. And if anything happens to her, I swear I'll swing for you.'

So help me out here.
‘I can't do it alone, Mrs Reynolds.' At a signal from Sarah, Harries tore a page from his notebook and placed it on the table next to the woman's ashtray. Sarah rose, pointed at the list. ‘If Caitlin's not been in touch, I'll need answers to those first thing plus names, numbers, addresses of her friends, male and female.' Placing a card on top of the list, Sarah told her to ring the minute she heard anything.

‘What? That's it?'

‘For the time being. Think on what I've said.' She glanced at Harries. The woman didn't look up from her phone. ‘Stay where you are, Mrs Reynolds. We'll see ourselves out.'

The only response was wavering smoke from the cigarette dangling in her fingers.

Nicola waited until she heard the detectives leave the house, waited until she heard car doors closing then with a trembling finger reopened the email on her phone. Through scalding tears she could barely make it out. Seeing wasn't necessary: every word was burned into her brain.

Naughty, naughty girl. You called the cops, didn't you? If you want to see your precious daughter alive again, I wouldn't advise you to share all my little surprises. The pictures are our secret. Savvy? Play ball with me, and I might play ball … or something … with Caitlin. Mum's the word, eh, Nicola?

‘It's not some fucking game, asshole.' Face screwed in contempt, Nicola ground out the butt in the ashtray. But what was it? Five minutes after dialling nine-nine-nine, an even starker warning than the one she'd found in the kitchen had arrived on her phone. And a gut-wrenching photograph. Knowing Caitlin's life was at risk upped the ante, she'd been at a loss how to deal with the police. Scared to show them the abductor's latest offerings, desperate to galvanize them into action. Lying and dissembling, Nicola had been treading the finest of lines to buy time. Sobbing now, she stared at the image again; her daughter's terrified face virtually filled the screen. As if she could wipe away the glistening tears, she traced a finger under Caitlin's eyes, and prayed to God time hadn't run out.

Harries hunched over to fasten his seat belt as Sarah fired the engine. She'd told the attending officers to keep an eye on the place, and the girl's description had been circulated to patrol cars. There wasn't a bunch more they could do until morning. Shivering, Sarah pulled up her coat collar. The March wind had dropped by now but so had the mercury; it was brass-monkey grade.

‘Reckon it's too late, boss?' Harries must be feeling the chill too, given the way he rubbed his hands.

‘For what?' she asked, slowing down to let a mangy black cat slink across the road. Meant to be lucky, wasn't it? Good or bad? She couldn't remember.