Don't Let Me Go (24 page)

On the other hand, Karen Potter’s reasons for seeming hostile could simply be that a life in law enforcement had taken its toll on her in ways that brought out the worst in her. It happened to social workers too, making them hard and cold and judgemental of the people they were supposed to be helping. She’d known a few like that, but with a couple of exceptions, her colleagues at the North Kesterly hub hadn’t been amongst them.

What were they making of all this now?

As she thought of Tommy and his unquestioning friendship she felt more guilt and shame tearing at her. She’d love to be able to turn to him now, to seek his advice, but he didn’t deserve to be embroiled in a scandal that was entirely hers. As her team leader, though, he could hardly avoid it. She wondered if he’d already left to start his new life up north.
Please, please, please let him still be there.
Not for her sake, for Chloe’s, because Charlotte trusted him more than anyone to make sure Chloe was placed with the right people. He might even be able to swing it for her to go to Maggie Fenn. Thinking of Maggie caused another catch in Charlotte’s heart, not only because of Maggie being Anthony’s sister, though probably that most of all, but because of how Maggie must be viewing her now.

Maggie was so decent and kind, so ready to see the best in people, that finding out how gravely Charlotte had deceived her would have come as a horrible blow. How was she going to explain it to Sophie, the feisty teenager who’d come into her care through Charlotte, or Alex as they’d known her then? If Sophie was still with her, which she might not be. How were any of Charlotte’s charges going to respond to what she’d done? She wasn’t afraid of their scorn so much as of them feeling angry and rejected that she hadn’t chosen to take one of them.

There were so many people to consider, people she’d hardly allowed herself to think about after she’d gone. It was as though she’d simply shut them out of her life, pretended they no longer existed, but they were all still there, and seemed to be crowding in on her now, wanting her to know how she’d hurt or offended them, disappointed or betrayed them. There would be those like her old boss, Wendy, or the reporter, Heather Hancock, who’d feel nothing but pleasure at her disgrace, and would probably want to make sure it was utterly complete.

Where, she wondered, did her sister, Gabby, fit into it all? How was she feeling now? What was she telling her five-year-old twins, Phoebe and Jackson, about their favourite aunt and what she’d done? Charlotte could hardly bear to think of her niece and nephew’s confusion. She’d adored them since their birth and yet she’d ended all contact with them in order to protect Chloe. What would that mean to them? What did it say about her? How could she not have considered them before this? Two more innocent victims of a crime she had committed and Gabby had known about, though please God Gabby had never told anyone that.

‘Go safely,’ Gabby had said on that last day, outside the vicarage, ‘. . . and don’t forget to send Phoebe’s passport back when you’re ready,’ she’d added in a whisper.

So she’d known that Charlotte had taken Phoebe’s passport and had obviously guessed why. She hadn’t condemned Charlotte, or tried to stop her. She’d simply blown a kiss, got back into her car and driven away.

How was that going to reflect on her now?

Not at all if Charlotte could help it, though of course she’d be asked how she’d managed to get Chloe out of the country. She’d have to say she’d ‘acquired’ a passport and refuse to give details of how or where. With the kinds of families she’d been involved with as a social worker, it wouldn’t be hard for anyone to imagine her knowing the ‘right’ people. Anyway, the issue wasn’t
how
she’d got Chloe out of Britain, but the fact that she’d taken her at all.

It was gone four thirty by the time DC Darren Wild drove them into Kesterly-on-Sea, and as they turned along the seafront where the amusement arcades and fish and chip shops, surfers’ sheds, beach huts and tired old stucco hotels were glittering in the late afternoon sunlight, Charlotte found herself overwhelmed by nostalgia. It was as though no more than a day had gone by since she was last here. It hadn’t changed a bit; the Punch and Judy tent was in its usual place on the beach, presumably brought out early to take advantage of the lovely weather; same with the donkeys lined up ready to trot their young riders along the sand; the hands on the clock tower were still stuck at a quarter past eight; and banners announcing a half-marathon were strung along the railings of the promenade.

And there was the sweet old-fashioned carousel that she and Chloe had ridden so many times together. She felt a surge of emotion, remembering how Chloe had loved that carousel. It was such a simple treat that had made her eyes glow with awe.

Just along from the carousel, next to the station, was the Pumpkin playgroup, where she’d taken Chloe to nursery when Chloe’s real mother had failed to do so. She’d made a friend there, the first she’d ever had, and she’d learned how to play the kind of games that had never happened at home.

Memories were waiting on every corner, tucked inside the narrow streets and all along the beach. It was true Charlotte’s actual home had been in Mulgrove, a village about half an hour inland, but this was where she’d gone to school, taken part in sports, done her shopping, spread her young wings. She’d only left to go to uni, and for a crazy two weeks with fellow graduates in Ibiza. Her first and only job had been here – and her real family, her mother’s family, had owned a home over on the upper reaches of Temple Fields. That house had long since gone, but the tragedy that had played out there, that had become known as the Temple Fields Massacre, lived on in the local psyche.

‘Thought you might enjoy a little sightseeing,’ Potter declared with a sneer in her voice.

Realising they were turning on to North Hill, Charlotte found herself fighting to resist it. This was where Chloe had lived with her schizophrenic mother and abusive father, in a forlorn Victorian house on the wrong side of the hill where there were no views of the sea, or neighbours to speak of. Every other old property or purpose-built block had been turned into a hotel or bed and breakfast, so the family at number forty-two had gone all but unnoticed. Obviously, the house and its position had been carefully chosen by Chloe’s father, Brian Wade, possibly with some help from his paedophile chum and Chloe’s GP, Timothy Aiden.

Both men were in prison now and in Wade’s case, since he’d also pleaded guilty to murdering his wife, it was unlikely he’d ever come out.

How bitterly, tragically ironic that Charlotte was going to end up in prison too.

Though she said nothing as Wild pulled into the Wades’ old driveway, inside she was struggling to block out images of the horrors that had happened here. The garden was covered in weeds now and ivy had laid claim to the house, even smothering the boarded-up windows and stringing across the entrance to the porch. Someone had visited with a paintbrush to scrawl words including ‘pervert’ and ‘nonce’ over the garage doors.

‘See that there?’ Potter said, pointing. ‘The one that says “child killer”? That’s what everyone thought, that he’d done away with her. You wouldn’t know this, but we were getting ready to charge him, because we thought he’d killed her too. What would you have done if we had? Would you have let him take the rap for a murder he didn’t commit, that hadn’t actually taken place? Or would you have come forward?’

It was a question Charlotte couldn’t answer, though it had been one of her biggest fears. Would she really have allowed Brian Wade to be convicted of a crime she knew he hadn’t committed?

It didn’t matter now because they knew Chloe was safe and alive, and the only one being charged for her disappearance was already under arrest.

‘OK, time to face the music,’ Potter announced chirpily as Wild turned the car around. ‘I’m afraid we’re too late to put you in front of a magistrate today, but we’re happy to have you as our guest for the night.’

Charlotte’s stomach churned. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected to find herself in a cell, but the prospect was about to become a reality and today was Friday, so maybe it would be more than just a night. Already it was starting to feel as though the walls were pressing in on her. ‘What about my lawyer?’ she asked in a parched voice.

‘We’ll get on to it as soon as we’re at the station,’ Potter informed her, taking a call on her mobile. After listening for a few moments, she rang off. ‘We’ll go in the front way,’ she told Wild.

Wild glanced at her in apparent surprise.

Even Charlotte knew that offenders were usually escorted in through the back.

It didn’t take her long to realise the reason for the change in procedure. She was going to be paraded in front of the press.

As the car entered the Quadrant, where the town’s police headquarters occupied two old mansions and a sixties block on the north side, she saw with a wrenching dismay that the green at the centre of the square had been taken over by TV crews, reporters, photographers and their endless paraphernalia. She’d never seen such a large gathering of reporters, and as they began closing in around the car, banging on the windows and grabbing whatever shots they could snatch, she felt herself drowning in helpless humiliation.

‘Seems you’re quite popular,’ Potter commented drily. ‘Look at that, they’re here from America, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, well of course New Zealand. I expect they’ll be asking for your autograph in a minute.’

Charlotte kept her head down, knowing how unethical this was, yet unable to do anything about it. The disgrace, the sense of persecution, the fear was exactly what the police meant her to feel, and why Wild was driving so slowly.

Had DCI Terence Gould instructed this to happen? She felt sure the call Potter had taken as they were leaving North Hill had been from him.

The car was rocking from side to side, photographers were throwing themselves on to the bonnet, microphones were crashing against the windows, faces were yelling words she could barely hear. Then the cacophony swamped her as Wild brought them to a stop and came round to open her door. As she got out her ankle suddenly twisted and she winced with pain.

She didn’t know it then but it was the shot that would make the next day’s front pages: her face in close-up, her eyes tightly closed and her lips pressed harshly together.

‘Alex, where’s Ottilie?’

‘Is she coming back?’

‘Where were you hiding her?’

‘Are you in touch with her father?’

‘Did he know where you were keeping her?’

Charlotte felt sick. How could anyone think she’d stayed in touch with that monster?

‘Come on, move aside,’ Wild urged dispassionately as he led the way through to the station doors.

‘Has she been charged yet?’

‘Is it kidnap or abduction?’

‘Will you plead guilty, Alex?’

There were so many voices shouting the same questions, it was as though she was trapped in a monstrous echo. She couldn’t walk upright, or straight, or without a limp as she struggled to get through the teeming mass of humanity. More police were surrounding her now, and as someone threw a blanket over her head she felt smothered in fear. They’d done this to humiliate her further, she knew that, but the shame was compounded by the terror of being shrouded in sudden darkness with so much swirling around her. Her arms scrabbled forward to find the way; as she stumbled and grasped the crowd surged all around her.

‘It’s all right, you’re OK,’ she heard someone say, and as a strong arm took hold of her she was all but carried forward into the station.

She had no idea who her rescuer was, she only knew that once inside she still seemed surrounded by people. The blanket was stripped away, catching in her hair and making her stagger.

‘Was that absolutely necessary?’ an angry female voice demanded.

Charlotte swept the hair from her face. A striking young woman with a neat blonde bob and hazel eyes was standing in front of her, glaring at the officer who’d removed the blanket.

‘Get over yourself,’ he sneered, and shuffled off to where his fellow officers were beginning to file through a side door.

‘Are you OK?’ the blonde woman asked Charlotte.

‘Yes, I think so,’ Charlotte answered, actually feeling faintly dizzy.

‘When your ladyships are quite ready,’ Potter called out.

Ignoring her, the blonde woman said, ‘My name’s Kim Giles. Your stepfather has asked my firm to act for you. Are you sure you’re OK? Is there anything I can get you?’ Before Charlotte could answer, Kim Giles was saying to Potter, ‘I’ve been reliably informed that my client brought a bag with her from New Zealand, but I don’t see it anywhere.’

‘The bag is safe,’ Potter pronounced. ‘Now, if you’d like to come this way.’

Taking Charlotte by the arm, Kim Giles steered her towards the door, let her go through first then held back as she passed Potter. ‘Can I ask why it was necessary to bring my client in through the front door?’ she demanded.

Potter’s surprise at being challenged turned to such hostility that Charlotte half expected the lawyer to take a step back, or at least to flush. She did neither, merely blazed her own stare at the detective before moving on. ‘We’re going through to the custody area now,’ she explained to Charlotte as they followed Potter along a scuffed, narrow corridor with offices each side and a locker room at the end. ‘I know they formally arrested you when you got to Heathrow, have you spoken to either of them since?’

‘No.’

‘Good, that’s what I want to hear. From now on you speak only to me – or to them if I’m there. They have to give us some time together now, as much as we need, so we can start the process of getting you out of here.’

Latching on to the lawyer’s confidence, Charlotte attempted to push her numbing tiredness aside so she could stay focused. How long had it been since she’d last slept? Given the time difference, and her exhaustion, she couldn’t even begin to work it out.

It felt like a week.

‘Is this your first time in a custody suite?’ Kim Giles asked, as Potter released a heavy door and directed them through.