Mummy's Favourite (3 page)

She suddenly felt incredibly sad. She still saw her mother and sisters regularly but they had lost that closeness more recently. Lucy and Beth, the children of Meg's second marriage, were still teenagers and were living at the family home in Surrey, sharing the same likes and dislikes in music, fashion and boys. Charlie had moved out to a rented flat in Clapham, nearer to work, and was living alone. She missed her sisters and her mother. Even though the drive was less than 45 minutes, she sometimes felt they were a million miles away. Especially her mum. She wished they could talk like they'd used to, but since her brother's accident it was just too difficult.

The tannoy sounded and she snapped back to the computer screen, scrolling down to Keith's statement. Initially he thought they might have gone away for the weekend without telling him so he didn't bother to report them missing. Then when they didn't return or contact him he presumed Julie had left him and taken the kid. Things hadn't been too good between them of late. It was bollocks as far as Charlie was concerned. If he hadn't known they were going, he should have reported them missing on the Friday night, or certainly by Saturday morning, when they hadn't turned up. No mother takes one child and leaves the other; unless there was something wrong. Or there was something that Keith wasn't telling them. Everything in the report left unanswered questions. Nothing made sense. There was something amiss and it started with Keith Hubbard.

*

There were three DV reports in total; not as many as other cases she'd dealt with so far, but then, how many more incidents had happened before getting to the point where police were called?

The facts made horrific reading. Bet had given her the statistics when she'd joined their office and she had them stored in her head for easy consumption. Statistically, domestic violence issues affected one in every four women and one in every six men and led on average to two women being murdered every week and thirty men each year. DV allegations accounted for sixteen per cent of all violent reported crime, but were also the crimes most likely to go unreported and the most common crime leading to suicide.

A lot of the time the information she stored was useless, but these facts weren't irrelevant, they were shocking, and perhaps the most shocking of all, that Charlie could not get out of her head, was that on average there were likely to have been thirty-five assaults before a victim called police. Thirty-five! She couldn't believe it when she first heard that particular statistic and it made her job in the unit that much more significant. She could really make a difference to the dozens of women and men living in fear of day-to-day abuse. If only they would let her. She wondered how many assaults Julie had endured before she'd first picked up the phone.

According to the reports, the family lived in a quiet residential area, the sort of street where nobody would guess what went on behind closed curtains and would never dream of asking.

She read the first report. Police had been called to a heated argument between Julie and Keith. It had escalated to the stage where Julie had been pushed around, held against the wall and forced down on to the bed. Nothing sexual had happened, but Richard and Ryan had witnessed the fight. Indeed, it had been Richard who had made the call to police and recounted what he'd seen. It was doubtful Julie would have reported the incident had her son not called it in. Charlie flicked down to the outcome. Nothing much had been done on that occasion. There were no injuries and the two adults had denied anything more than a verbal exchange had occurred. All was calm and they had promised it would remain so. Neither wanted any further action to be taken, but the incident had been recorded and the fact that the boys had witnessed it had brought it to the attention of social services.

The second incident had again been reported by Richard. The details were much the same, except this time the level of violence had escalated somewhat. There was still no hospitalization, but a couple of healthy bruises to Julie's cheek and upper arm bore witness to where she had allegedly been grabbed and pushed back against the bedroom wall. A number of items perched on the top of a chest of drawers had been swept across the room, making the scene appear chaotic, with face creams spilling out over the carpet and pot pourri scattered and trodden into the cream. Keith had found himself in the back of a cramped, smelly police van, but the resulting half-day in a cell failed to dull his desire to resort to force and, even though his timid wife had refused to press charges, it had not opened his eyes to the fact that she was now living in fear.

Worse was to follow, and on the third and final occasion, Julie had ended up in the Accident and Emergency department of their local hospital, having her arm put in plaster where it had been twisted and forced backwards, snapping one of the bones at her wrist. She alluded to having had a fall but refused to make a statement, no doubt fearful of the resulting violence that Keith seemed keen to dole out. Richard had, however, told police what he had seen and this time Keith's stay at the police station lengthened into a trip to the local court-room on a charge of GBH. True to form, Julie refused to testify and the Crown Prosecution Service decided against putting their juvenile son in the witness box to give evidence against his father. The case was dropped and Keith walked free. He attended an anger management course and, on follow-up calls had apparently sworn to the CSU officer that things had been going well.

Judging by the latest development, maybe it hadn't been going as well as he'd claimed.

Charlie checked which member of the office had dealt with the family. It was Colin. His desk was the other side of the room to hers. She got up to speak to him. He was the straight, white, middle-aged male member of their team, similar in age to Bet but as opposite in every other way as was possible. He was divorced and now single, with barely any access to his two children, who had been taken off to Ireland by a vindictive ex-wife years ago. Thin, tight-lipped and sad, he had a dry sense of humour and made it his business to look after the rights of all fathers and their children. He worked tirelessly with social services, going above and beyond what was normally required to ensure each child could know both parents. Charlie fully expected to see him on TV one day, dressed up as Superman swinging from Big Ben. What he didn't know about family law was not worth knowing.

He was poring over his computer screen, his face serious.

‘Colin, have you got a minute?'

He looked up and nodded.

‘Do you remember dealing with a family called the Hubbards? Quite recently?'

He leant back frowning, before rubbing his chin with thin fingers.

‘Yes, I do. It was a couple of months ago.' He scratched his chin again. ‘If I remember rightly, Julie Hubbard, the wife, had her wrist broken by her husband. She said she'd tripped and broken it in a fall but then refused to co-operate any further. One of their sons, Richard, said that his father had done it.'

‘I think I know who I'd believe.'

He shrugged. ‘Everyone thought the same, but what can you do? Richard phoned the police each time. He wanted to give evidence but Julie refused to let him and he did everything his mother asked. With just the one juvenile son as a possible witness, it was pretty much impossible to prove. Why do you ask?'

Charlie thought about what Colin had just said. For a young boy, Richard had certainly been brave, going up against his dad like that. The kid was protecting his mother in whatever way he could. Maybe Keith had started bullying him too because he resented the way he defended his mum. Maybe that was why Julie left and had only taken him. Ryan was certainly less vocal. Maybe Ryan was safe and she'd only had the time and resources to take one? There were too many maybes.

‘Because Julie and Richard Hubbard are the mother and son that have gone missing.'

Colin frowned and shook his head.

‘Really? Though I have to say I'm not surprised. I always thought there was something strange going on. The boy would plead with his mum to leave his father, but she just wouldn't; it was as if she had another agenda. On the last occasion I saw them, Richard was literally begging her to leave Keith, but she whispered something to him that I couldn't hear and he shut up straight away and seemed happier. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she'd been waiting until the time was right.'

‘But why not take the other son, Ryan, too?'

‘He kept out of it really. Didn't want to get involved. I think he sided with his father a bit more.'

‘So did he have a good relationship with Keith then?'

‘He probably had to because he didn't have as close a relationship with his mother as Richard did.'

‘So what would be your gut feeling? Do you think Keith Hubbard could be responsible for Julie and Richard's disappearance?'

Colin pursed his lips and looked straight up at Charlie.

‘I wouldn't like to say. He is a nasty bastard and could easily have done something, but you know what some women are like. It wouldn't surprise me if Julie Hubbard hadn't been planning this all along.'

Charlie's brain was in overdrive as she headed along the Albert Embankment towards Vauxhall Bridge.

Hunter sat beside her rubbing his eyes. He always did this when they pulled out of the gloom of the underground car park, as if the light hurt him. He needed glasses really but refused to acknowledge he was getting older and stubbornly refused to wear them.

‘Are you all right guv?'

‘Fine thanks. Glad to see you've smartened yourself up.' He pulled a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his eyes a minute longer. Charlie watched, slightly intrigued. He was the only person she'd ever known to use a proper handkerchief, apart from her grandfather. He'd even got his initials ‘GH' embroidered on the corner, as if to distinguish his from all the hundreds of non-existent identical handkerchiefs he might come across. He pushed it back into his pocket and folded his arms.

‘So, you've read the reports. What's your gut telling you?' He always did this too, as if testing her to see if she really did possess the same thought waves as he.

‘That something's not right. I know there have been DV issues and Julie had every reason to leave. And I know that Richard is close to her and that Ryan got on with Keith pretty well. So I can see why she might take one son and not the other; but it just doesn't quite add up.'

Her thoughts sometimes came out more garbled than they were in her head.

‘I spoke to Colin, who dealt with the family. He said he wouldn't be surprised if Julie had left Keith of her own accord and taken Richard. Keith has given accounts too, which are conflicting. First he said he thought they might have gone away and then he said he thought she'd left him. Whatever his feelings about Julie, I can't see why he didn't report his son missing straight away. Unless he's hiding something?'

She stopped talking as they passed the pale green MI5 building standing stoically on the banks of the Thames and navigated the five lanes of traffic circulating the Vauxhall one-way system. A lorry sounded its hooter, loud and long, as they went under one of the railway arches, the noise making Charlie jump slightly. She wondered for an instant whether it was hooting at her but then realized she didn't care if it was. Her mind was concentrating on that last question.

Her body was driving the car, but her mind was elsewhere. She was aware of Hunter gripping his seat. They hurtled out the other side into South Lambeth Road and the dual carriageway melted into single lane. The traffic slowed to a manageable pace. Hunter relaxed his grip and refolded his arms.

‘Sorry about that, like doing a lap of Brands Hatch.'

She adjusted the mirror and caught a glimpse of a white and red Yamaha R1 swinging out to overtake them. It roared past, its rider revving impatiently at the slow-moving traffic. She watched it enviously.

Hunter glanced across.

‘Don't even think about it. You'd kill yourself within a month.'

‘One day guv, though glad to know you care.'

‘I never said that now, did I? Anyway, where were we… you think Keith Hubbard's hiding something?'

‘Well, I think the thing that really clinches the fact that something is wrong for me, is that Julie doesn't appear to have said anything to Ryan. She hasn't even left a letter explaining her actions or done anything to let him know that she'll be coming back, that she loves him. No mother could do that to their son, could they? How ever much Julie needed to get away from Keith, you'd think she would find a way to let him know somehow.'

‘Unless he's been sworn to secrecy?'

‘Possible. Or is too frightened of Keith to say? So…I'm thinking that something must have happened to prevent her from talking to Ryan and, as Keith has been extremely slow in coming forward to report it and given two accounts, I would hazard a guess that he might have something to do with it. I'm looking forward to meeting him.'

She glanced at Hunter from the corner of her eye. A glimmer of a smile played across his lips.

‘I'm looking forward to meeting him too.'

She knew in that moment that she had passed the test.

*

Keith Hubbard was in the garage of his semi when Charlie and Hunter pulled up. As a self-employed builder he'd obviously done well for himself. The house clung to the side of a small hill which ran from the diverse centre of Brixton towards the palatial houses around Dulwich, where Margaret Thatcher had once resided. Charlie watched as he lifted his head slowly from the work-bench in the garage and stared towards their car. The slight roll of his eyes gave away the fact that he recognized immediately they were cops and wasn't too keen to see them. She hopped out of the driver's seat carefully and started up the driveway towards him. Hunter followed suit, a little slower, puffing slightly at the gradient.