Chasing Innocence (47 page)
The chainsaw fell away, skittering across the floor before coming to a stop. Hakan stepped forward into the light and behind him she was sure she could see the horseman. He winked at her with eyes that had seen more than a lifetime and pulled the chain tight and hard to the right, a malicious snaking tail of blades that whipped across Hakan’s neck. Sarah smiled and closed her eyes and felt the rain of another world warm upon her face.
Andrea Scott Found Alive
London (Reuters)
– Tuesday morning police raided seven locations in Grimsby that culminated in the recovery of the missing child Andrea Scott. There were several related fatalities that were not the result of the raids, police said.
Sarah Sawacki, the witness police have been seeking, was also found unharmed with Andrea. Several tabloids today have stirred speculation around her role in Andrea’s abduction, revealing a history of criminal convictions. There has been wide condemnation for topless pictures of Mrs Sawacki published by a number of tabloids.
Chief Inspector Anne Darling who headed the investigation into Andrea’s abduction made the following statement: ‘It is a great relief to us all that Andrea has been recovered unharmed. It is an excellent example of collaboration within this force and our ability to react and act on information decisively and quickly. Our investigations are of course ongoing and will be undertaken with the same efficiency and attention to detail.’
A separate press release by Northampton Police has confirmed Andrea Scott’s mother was last night taken to hospital, nobody was available to confirm whether she was in custody.
Epilogue
Detective Sergeant Helen Ferreira fished her ID from her bag and slid it across the counter. The woman waiting the other side studied the photo and started copying the detail onto a sheet of paper.
Ferreira leaned against the counter, looking across the small room at Andrea. The girl was sitting on one of the chairs, fidgeting and writing in her book while listening to music through headphones. When Ferreira flicked through her recollections of these Saturdays it seemed she stretched taller before her eyes. Today Andrea was excited and with good reason. A stark contrast to when she first saw her five months before.
She had made Cleethorpes that night in just over two hours, waiting then amid the mayhem of legalities and the raids, anxious to hear news that Andrea was safe. They found four bodies in a warehouse, blood in a house and nothing overtly sinister at the other addresses. It was only when they began figuring why the girl was still missing that they discovered Sarah and Andrea were already in Grimsby Police Station. It seemed they had walked in off the street just as they had started knocking down doors.
Separating Andrea from Sarah had resulted in a violent and hysterical reaction from the girl, so they were given blankets, hot drinks and food and left in an interview room, with the door open and a constable outside. That was how Ferreira first saw them, two sets of haunted eyes, both sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, Andrea holding on to Sarah as if some feat of gravity might suddenly render them separate. It was only after Sarah’s subsequent interview that they learned of the hidden room in Eve Hill Way and of the luxury yacht in Grimsby dock.
‘You’re free to take the child, Detective.’
She turned to say thank you but the woman was already making her way to a photocopier. So she took her ID and stepped across the room.
‘Come on then,’ she said and held open the door as Andrea hastily packed her book and headphones into her rucksack.
‘Let’s hope your dad’s remembered!’
Andrea flashed a fleeting smile and a faux scowl as she considered the possibility. The supervisor for her visits had reported him late twice and a no show once.
They stepped from the council building to a bright March morning, the air cold and the sun climbing a clear blue sky. They crossed the road with Ferreira’s hand on Andrea’s shoulder, then along the High Street, not yet busy. They crossed the market square into a weave of side streets, passing the library and through its car park. And then they were on the verge of the park. Throughout the short journey Andrea’s excitement had grown in a babble of questions and each stride that was almost a skip as she kept up. It had been three weeks since her last visit and this would be her first unsupervised since her abduction.
‘He is here!’ Andrea’s faith was vindicated as she bounced and skipped back.
Ferreira squinted at two figures standing by a bench next to the canal, framed by a red and white narrow boat passing behind. ‘Go on then.’
Andrea ran across the park, a receding figure with her rucksack bouncing on her back, an outward image of a happy child that belied her struggle. A child who now saw her mother less than she did her father, her de facto parent was her stepfather. Andrea merged with the two figures by the bench, first a leaping hug at Brian and then a much longer one with the other figure. Although Ferreira could not make out any features she knew the other figure was Sarah Sawacki.
Brian hugged Andrea and watched her attach to Sarah and then squat beside her as they sat on the bench, their bond tangible just from watching them together. He turned his attention to the detective making her way towards them, a little self-consciously. Andrea had spent a lot of time these last months completing her statement with Ferreira. So far their own statements were holding up, partly because they were
mostly
the truth, substantiated by Andrea, largely because the police and media were busy hunting for two men who were already dead. Whenever he thought of the two blonds he imagined them washed out to sea or their bloated bodies floating at high tide in the brick workshop. A detail he was not about to share with the police, lest some bright spark decide he had used excessive force escaping execution.
He had stayed away from Boer’s funeral although he did go to Adam’s, watching Sarah beneath her large umbrella in the rain. He felt guilty, of course, just like she did. Except for him death had been a companion for so long, they were on easy terms. He kept his distance though, despite the chaos being stirred around her. Then in December she had turned up at the club, asking about Andrea, but in reality she was looking for help.
Ferreira came to a stop, glancing at Sarah and fixing her attention on Brian. He was looking smarter these days, easy in a shirt and jacket, his hair and moustache neatly trimmed. ‘Andrea’s officially returned to your care. If we get to court there’ll be a review of her statement, otherwise I’m done too. Your time with Andrea is now between you and Kevin. Take care of her. We could do without the paperwork.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Brian hesitated, ‘and thanks.’
Andrea climbed off the bench and gave her a hug. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
Ferreira hugged her softly back, her attention now on Sarah, looking at each other and exchanging shallow nods in greeting.
Sarah seemed different to Ferreira each time she saw her, her clothes and style evolving over the months. Always it looked effortless, these days a lot darker. Today she was wearing jeans and a silk shirt, a long coat and stylish boots. Thin silver chains shimmered at her wrists, her eyes given greater emphasis with dark liner, her fringe cut straight. Her hair, peroxide with dark highlights, normally down past her shoulders, but today held up with two wooden pins.
‘You need anything at all, you call. Anything,’ Ferreira said.
‘Thank you. Your number is committed to memory, Helen.’
Sarah stayed seated and Ferreira let go of Andrea. She said her goodbyes and walked back along the towpath towards town. She had a backlog of work stacked high on her desk, but today, she thought, she might just blow her time in the library, working on a project that increasingly consumed her spare time.
Sarah relaxed into the restless attention of Andrea and the breeze rippling across her shirt. She embraced this rare moment of normality, comfortable as ever these last months in Brian’s company. She had struggled of course. She still did, constantly reconciling his involving Adam, against what might have happened if he had not. The truth was she felt at ease with Brian, secure even. She knew this might be psychological, an unconscious correlation with her childhood desire for a saviour and being saved by him. It might also come from a shared sense of being damaged. It was what it was. She felt better now in her own skin. She was learning to look after herself and that had started with not looking like a victim.
You’re always going to get looked at so fuck them off with that first look.
That was Brian’s considered philosophy. It had been an evolution but he was right. Her clothes were a large part of that, the part she struggled with the most. Her hair was key too. It had taken a while to find the right mix. Right now she loved it. It was the first layer in her mental armour.
And how she needed it. The topless photos were the least of her problems despite the puritan reaction they had stirred. Her life had been picked apart with the blanks filled in with make believe. She was being painted as some homicidal harlot, complicit in Andrea’s abduction, now free to roam the streets. A modern day witch, the whole thing played like a sinister pantomime on the national stage.
But for all she had faced and was now readying to confront, she had no right to be scared, never again. She wore Adam’s bravery like a medal on her heart. She missed him terribly, woke each morning and went through the heartache and guilt all over again. She constantly saw him in the crowd and felt him beside her, but he never was there. She felt like a fraud at her inability to grieve. It felt trapped inside. She lay in bed at night and willed tears onto her cheeks but the great gasping sobs of release had so far refused to come.
She jumped as Brian scooped Andrea up from behind and lifted her squealing over his shoulder, making as if he would throw her into the canal. It looked like he actually might. She smiled and walked over to them, taking Andrea’s hand when she managed to scramble to the ground. At least Brian was trying, which made her like him a little more. Sometimes it felt like she had gained the one thing she had always feared – a family – although dysfunctional didn’t even come close.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank Peter Hanson, Louise Brady and Timothy Taylor for their invaluable generosity in reading a raw script and telling me what didn’t work. Also to Nikki Smith and Karim Chafia who complained a lot less about a later draft because of those that went before them. A very big thank you must go to Nina Jervis for not missing a thing. And to Renata Santos I offer my eternal gratitude for investing so much at every stage.
Above all this book would not exist if it were not for Katherine Priddis. She shaped its early stages and researched much that would make a child’s world. Her clinically accurate appraisals of each new chapter were equally feared and welcomed.
For taking a story and turning it into a book my thanks go to Daniel Goldsmith Associates and their whole team. Special thanks go to my editor Katie Green for her invaluable wisdom. Any failing in the storytelling is entirely mine.
This book’s cover art is so much more than my fuzzy concept thanks to John Wood the photographer, Monika Trzpil the model and Caitlin Tanner for make-up effects. You can see more of the stunning images on the Chasing Innocence website.
This book is thriller fiction but in researching the nature of lost innocence I read a number of harrowing non-fiction accounts. It is for these survivors and the many anonymous victims that this book is dedicated.
Finally my gratitude goes to Helen and Ricardo Ferreira for kindly lending me their names. And to Moby for creating music that plugs directly into my creative soul.
J.P.
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