Trafficked, p.9
Trafficked, page 9
‘Can you tell us where you have been, Aurélie?’ Remy Lebrun asked.
How could she find the words to explain where she’d been? The last ten years she’d been settled in the hole, but before that she had been ferried from one cell to another. She’d tried to make friends with one of the girls in one of those places – she could no longer recall which one – but had been told in no uncertain terms that it was every girl for herself. When she’d then been moved to the last place, she hadn’t known she would be there for so long, nor that the regular turnover of faces would eventually reduce until it was only her and him.
She shuddered at the memory of his rough stubble scraping against her cheek; the tang of cigarettes, beer, and wine on his breath; the coarseness of his tongue as it prodded and probed inside her mouth. He’d told her he loved her, and that she was special, but then he would strike her when she was less than compliant. She’d grown accustomed to what he offered: two parts affection to one part aggression. It was all he knew, and she’d learned to accept it.
She shook her head in answer to her father’s question. Even if they gave her a map, she’d never be able to pinpoint the exact location of the bolthole.
‘Trees,’ she offered in French. ‘There were lots of trees.’
‘A forest?’ he clarified.
She nodded. ‘Yes, a forest. Very dark. I must have walked for more than an hour to get here.’
Her father pulled out a phone and pressed it to his ear. ‘Detective Cavendish? Please come quickly. She is starting to remember.’
Chapter Fourteen
Now
Poole, Dorset
There is a sudden hubbub beyond the glass in Aurélie’s private room, as her father talks urgently into his phone. It’s at that same moment that I feel my own phone ringing, and for a second I actually believe it is him calling me – until I see Jack’s name on the screen. I don’t immediately answer as a nurse glares at me for holding the phone and points at a sign on the wall. I should have turned the phone off as soon as I entered the hospital, but in my defence I was somewhat distracted by keeping my face away from the waiting cameras.
Heading out of the ward, I call Jack back the moment I step outside the hospital, deliberately steering myself away from the much larger pool of journalists and cameras only a few feet away.
‘Thanks for phoning me back,’ he begins, though he sounds distracted. I immediately sense this isn’t a personal call.
‘No problem. What’s up?’
‘Big news potentially for our investigation! Have you watched the news yet this morning? Missing French schoolgirl Aurélie Lebrun has been discovered some thirteen years after she was abducted from a beach in Worthing. Incredible, right?’
Oh, this is awkward. I can’t tell him that this isn’t news to me, and that I’ve already met her.
‘Oh, really?’ I say, trying to sound as blasé as possible, and failing miserably.
‘From what I understand she walked into a hospital in Poole of all places a couple of nights ago, and has been receiving treatment ever since. Have you seriously not watched this morning’s news? The story is trending on Twitter too; I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet.’
I can’t tell if this is a slight dig, as Jack knows I’m not great with social media feeds. ‘I’ve only just woken up,’ I lie, and I don’t really know why I don’t come clean with him. He’s bound to find out soon enough that I am already here, so I should just come out and say that I know she’s here and have done since yesterday. It’s because I know how much it will hurt him to think that I have kept this from him.
‘What does it have to do with our investigation?’ I ask instead. ‘Hers wasn’t one of the faces identified in the videos on the hard drive, was it?’
‘We haven’t checked until this point. Although her case was fairly high profile, it wasn’t at the top of our list on account of how long she’s been missing. I’ve prioritised it now though. It would really help if we can get a picture of her face now, so the tech guys can do their magic. I’m sure there’ll be pictures in the press soon enough; or we can reach out to whoever is running the case and see if they’ll share resources.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say.
There is a pause on the line. ‘I thought you’d be more excited?’
‘I am, I mean it’s potentially a big break, I guess, so it’s great.’
‘You’re a terrible liar, Emma. What’s going on?’
He’s right, of course: I am a terrible liar!
‘Okay, the thing is, Jack, I know about Aurélie Lebrun because… I’m already here, at the hospital, I mean. Her father reached out to my publishers and asked to meet me here this morning because he wants to hire me to write his daughter’s story.’
I take a moment to allow the revelation to sink in, but I can’t hear any kind of response. Peeling the phone from my ear, I check that we’re still connected.
‘Jack? Hello? Did you hear what I said?’
‘You’re already there…’ he says, and I can hear the sadness in his tone.
‘I’m sorry. That’s why I had to rush away when I saw you yesterday. This was the lead I told you I had to chase up about Anna. You’re right that her return could provide us with insight about the people who took and held her for so long, and potentially any other victims she met along the way.’
He doesn’t answer, and again I find myself checking the screen to ensure I haven’t lost signal. Still four strong bars though.
‘Well it sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, and don’t need me, so I’ll let you get back to it.’
‘Don’t be like that, Jack. I was sworn to secrecy, and couldn’t tell you where I was going. I didn’t know that the story would get leaked to the national press this morning, otherwise I would have come clean sooner. I’m sorry.’
I can picture him now, with puppy dog eyes, wallowing in self-pity, and I wish I could give him a hug and show him how sorry I am.
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ I repeat.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says. ‘It’s fine.’
It clearly isn’t, judging by his tone, but there’s nothing else I can do.
‘How is she?’ he asks after a moment.
‘Pretty banged up, I’d say. She is so skinny, and has this constant look of fear in her eyes, like she doesn’t trust anything or anyone around her. I can’t even imagine what she’s been through, or how much strength it took to get away from whoever has kept her locked up all this time. They reckon she’s been kept in some kind of dungeon for several years, with no sunlight or freedom.’
‘Have you spoken to her yet? Has she said anything about who or where she was being held?’
‘Not to me, but it’s difficult as I don’t think she speaks much English, and my French is limited. Plus, her parents arrived just after I’d met her, so I haven’t really spent any time with her yet. Her dad certainly seemed keen on securing my writing skills though.’
‘That’s good for you; at least you know where your next royalty cheque will come from.’
I don’t react to the snap, as I know he doesn’t mean to be so snide.
‘Actually, I turned him down.’
‘What? Why?’
I squat down on a bench around the corner from the main entrance. ‘Because there is far more at stake here than a story. This poor girl looks as though she’s experienced agony for years, and I don’t feel comfortable cashing in on that level of misery. What she needs is professional psychological evaluation and the brains of a valiant team of detectives to catch those responsible. I don’t want to get in the way of her recovery.’
Jack is silent again, and I wish I could read his mood better. If we were face-to-face I’d be able to see whether he’s still hurt about me keeping him in the dark, or whether there’s something else on his mind.
‘Why do you do that? Put yourself down all the time? When we first met I thought you were just self-deprecating, but I’ve noticed it more and more. Arrogance is an ugly trait, but your self-doubt is eating you alive, Emma.’
I’d argue but this is the theme of many conversations I’ve had with Rachel and Maddie these last few months.
‘Besides,’ he continues, ‘if you’re in with her parents, we could use that to our advantage. Even if you have no intention of writing about her story, your position on the inside gives us direct access to Aurélie as a victim. You need to speak to her as soon as you can and find out whether she was being held alone, or whether there were more victims like her. Also, find out whether she was ever forced to perform on video or for pictures.’
‘It’s not that easy, Jack. As I said, she doesn’t seem to understand English, and my GCSE French isn’t up to the task.’
‘So, use her parents to translate for you. I’m sure they’re as keen as anyone else to get to the bottom of what happened.’
I gasp at the audacity. ‘I can’t ask her parents to ask her whether she was forced to perform sexual acts in front of cameras!’
‘Um, no, of course you can’t,’ Jack backtracks. ‘Sorry, but I’m sure you could use them to garner more information until we can sort out an alternative. I’m sure we could hire an interpreter or something.’
‘She’s pretty shaken up, Jack. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything.’
‘How are they? Her parents, I mean.’
I think about the question for a moment. ‘I haven’t spoken to her mum yet, but she seems quite overwhelmed by it all from what I can see. Her dad – Remy – he seems a bit more pragmatic. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he’s over the moon to have her back, but the first thing he did upon arrival was take me for a chat to ask me to write a book about Aurélie. I would have expected him to at least greet her before pursuing publicity angles.’
‘It’s the world we live in now though, isn’t it? Everyone’s after their fifteen minutes of fame.’
‘And there was something else… I don’t know how to explain it, but when I watched him go to her, there was this look in her eyes… like she was absolutely terrified to be so close to him… I’m sure I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Really? Are you sure it wasn’t just her way of dealing with the raw emotion? I mean, she won’t have seen them in thirteen years, so they probably are virtual strangers to her.’
‘Mmm… I don’t know. It’s probably nothing, but it just struck me as odd.’
‘Well, did she say anything, or did he notice her reaction?’
‘I was outside the room, so I couldn’t hear what was said, but he was hugging her at the time, so couldn’t have seen her face.’
‘Well then, it’s probably nothing. What’s the alternative, that he’s somehow involved in her going missing?’
I can’t answer the question because somewhere in the back of my mind that’s exactly what my brain is trying to process, and the thought disgusts me.
‘Emma? Are you suggesting that Remy Lebrun was complicit in his ten-year-old daughter being abducted?’
‘No… I don’t know… I…’
‘Don’t let our experience with Lord Templeton Fitzhume cloud your judgement here. This is not the same as what happened to Cassie Hilliard. Okay?’
He’s right, I know he is, but I have no other explanation for that look of pure terror I saw in Aurélie’s eyes.
‘Have you asked her about Anna yet?’
The question throws me. ‘What?’
‘Come on, it must have crossed your mind… Anna disappeared from a seaside town nearly twenty-one years ago now… Aurélie Lebrun disappeared from a seaside town thirteen years ago; you can’t deny there’s similarity there.’
I don’t want to see the connection because to do so would mean to accept that Anna might have been held in similar conditions, and it breaks my heart to picture my sister in such a state.
‘Not yet,’ I reply.
‘Do you have a picture of her you could show Aurélie? It wouldn’t hurt, and you never know, it could be that big break you’ve been seeking all these years.’
I know he’s right, and in my bag I have copies of the aged images I had mocked up of how Anna could look now. It wouldn’t be difficult to show her them and ask if there’s anything familiar, but I don’t know if I could take it if she said yes.
‘I’d better head back in there before her dad sends out a search party,’ I say.
‘Sure, okay. Will you keep me posted on anything you learn? I’ll see if I can find out anything from this end; see if I can’t reach out to the detective in charge and offer some support.’
‘Thanks, Jack, and I really am sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.’
‘I know; given how things were yesterday, I don’t blame you. Let’s chat later.’
He doesn’t wait for me to answer before hanging up. Switching the phone to airplane mode, I bury my face in the thin scarf again, and return to the ward, but when I reach Aurélie’s door, the uniformed officer is gone, and there is a stern-faced woman in his place.
‘Hi,’ I say casually. ‘My name’s Emma Hunter, and I—’
‘Oh, I know exactly who you are, Emma, and I’m here to tell you that you’re not wanted. Not here, not now, and nowhere near my case. Is that clear?’
Chapter Fifteen
Now
Poole, Dorset
I’m not used to being so publicly demeaned, and I instantly shy away from the door with no idea who the short, stern-faced woman before me is. Her hair is cut boy-short but shines with platinum peroxide under the ward’s harsh lighting. The scowl she wears I can only hope isn’t solely intended for me, and yet it is clear – although we have never met before – this woman has taken an instant dislike to me. It is a feeling that is almost a hundred per cent reciprocated.
‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ I try, suddenly conscious that she may have mistaken me for someone else.
‘Detective Sergeant Zoe Cavendish,’ she replies with a glower, holding her identification up so I can read it. The passport-sized photograph looks even sterner.
‘Ah, I see,’ I say quickly, ‘you’re the detective running the show here, aren’t you? We haven’t been properly introduced.’
I am putting on my most sincere and unoffended smile, even though her aggression has definitely put me out.
‘Aurélie’s father, Remy, asked me to be here,’ I clarify.
She casually glances over her shoulder through the window, where I see Remy and Solange huddled close to Aurélie in the bed, before turning back to face me. ‘In there.’ She nods at the room next door, not waiting for me to respond before heading inside.
This is the room where, only an hour ago, Remy Lebrun begged me to help share Aurélie’s story with the world, and yet I don’t sense that Cavendish’s response will be quite so generous, or delivered with anywhere near as much empathy.
‘Sorry, have I offended you in some way?’ I offer, determined to take the moral high ground, even though I’m not the one who should be apologising.
She grunts. ‘What’s your angle here, Emma? Hoping to stir another scandal? Has anyone ever told you that if you kick over enough hornets’ nests, eventually you’re going to get stung?’
I’m biting my tongue, but I’m not sure how much longer I can manage to keep my growing ire in check. ‘With all due respect, Detective Cavendish, I was invited to be here today, and I haven’t even decided whether to accede to Monsieur Lebrun’s wishes and help.’
‘Ha!’ she scoffs. ‘Do yourself a favour, and save the bullshit for your ever-growing fan base, will you? It doesn’t wash with me. I know you couldn’t wait to get here and sink your claws into yet another high-profile story; something your publishers are probably salivating over, and your readers will devour. Well, not on my watch, Missy.’
She straightens her shoulders, which are barely contained by the tight black polo shirt she’s wearing, and I have no doubt that her upper arms have been enhanced by a lot of gym work. There isn’t an ounce of fat on her, and yet she’s certainly no pushover; I feel intimidated just being in her shadow.
‘I’m sorry, have I wronged you in a past life or something?’ I try again. ‘I don’t understand where all this animosity is coming from.’
She wrinkles her nose in disgust. ‘I know all about your type: outwardly claiming to champion justice, while looking for any angle that will help you sell more of your books. Oh yes, I read your bestseller Monsters Under the Bed, and despite everyone fawning all over it, I thought the writing was average at best, and the way in which you verbally attacked those who’d investigated those boys’ allegations was tantamount to libel.’
Ah, finally the penny drops; you’ve got to love a critic!
‘So you didn’t like my book.’
‘No, what I despised was the one-sided view you took, leading your readers to the only conclusion you wanted them to reach: that the police force failed those boys.’
‘It did!’ I snap before I can stop myself; the last thing I need is to rile her further.
She shakes her head dismissively. ‘What you failed to acknowledge is the level of pressure those investigators would have been under. Do you think it’s easy being in the police? Constantly being criticised for doing your best? There aren’t nearly enough officers to handle the volume of crime that needs investigating. Yes, those officers who were tasked with investigating those boys’ claims could have uncovered the web of lies being spun by that Arthur Turgood and his cronies, but only if they’d been given the resources to properly investigate. Tell me, Emma, if you were in that situation, thrown an allegation from an orphan in social care – a boy who’d been in trouble with the police several times before – and it is one allegation on top of a hundred other cases you’re supposed to be investigating, would you give it the credence it deserved?’
