The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Read online

  Minutes after the call with Ruby, a detective inspector rang her mobile. He chose his words carefully and his gentle tone reminded her of her late father. He offered to send someone to collect her from Gaia Hall, but she refused, saying she needed to have her car and would manage.

  The detective – his name escapes her – told her not to go back to William Morris Terrace, although she can’t work out why. Surely that’s where they should go to wait for their daughter’s return. But no, she has to go to her mother’s house instead, where a family liaison officer will be waiting for her. It’s happening. Once these things start, they can’t be stopped. There must be a protocol for missing children, systems that can quickly be put in place. She has no choice in the matter. Her role is to follow instructions and do as she’s told. It’s better this way. If she lets her thoughts have free rein, they’ll drag her into the abyss.

  Keep your eyes on the road, don’t have a crash. You have to stay in one piece.

  She’s driving through familiar territory now. Mum still lives in the same house where she and Ruby grew up. These road junctions, zebra crossings, bus stops, this parade of shops, this library, railway station, hairdresser, chip shop and Chinese takeaway are part of her DNA. She passes the primary school she used to attend and the bank that’s now a wine bar, then takes the third turning on the left: Faversham Road.

  Coming here is like going back in time, becoming a child again. As she approaches the house, the strings that are holding her heart in place start to loosen. She has to make it to the front door, that’s all. Then Mum will take over.

  ‘Darling! Thank God you made it safely,’ Mum says, standing on the front step. Amber shuts the car door and stumbles into the house. She falls into her mother’s arms and they start to cry simultaneously. ‘They’ll find her,’ Vicky says, her voice choked with tears. ‘I know they’re going to find her. She’ll turn up, I promise, we have to have faith.’

  ‘Is George here?’

  ‘Not yet. He’s on his way back from Manchester. Coming straight here.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ A tiny ripple of relief passes through her, but it’s only temporary. She hasn’t spoken to George yet. Somebody must have contacted him, because she’s had about a dozen missed calls and voicemail messages on her mobile. She couldn’t answer the phone while she was driving. Couldn’t bear to speak to him at all.

  ‘I’ve made up the bed in your old room,’ Mum says. ‘Do you want to go and lie down?’

  ‘What? No! How can I lie down at a time like this? I should be out there looking for her.’

  Vicky shakes her head. ‘Leave it to the police. They’ve got it all under control, doing everything they can. Whoever’s taken her won’t get very far.’

  ‘I should be doing something.’

  A blonde woman in her forties emerges from the kitchen. ‘Hi, I’m Sergeant Sally Morrison, your FLO – family liaison officer.’ She holds out her hand and Amber shakes it limply. ‘I can only imagine how awful this must be for you. I want you to know that I’ll be here supporting you the whole way through.’ Her round face and blue eyes ooze sympathy. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘She’s utterly distraught,’ Mum snaps on Amber’s behalf. ‘What do you expect?’

  Sally doesn’t react, turning instead to Amber. ‘Shall we talk in the conservatory? It’s nice and private in there.’ The code is obvious.

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ her mother says, walking briskly into the kitchen.

  Sally, who already seems to know her way around, leads Amber into what Vicky calls the sun lounge. There is no sun today, though, just a blanket of grey cloud.

  ‘Please sit down,’ she says, as if Amber is her guest.

  ‘It feels wrong, being here.’ Amber sinks awkwardly into a wicker armchair. ‘I should be out searching for her. Or at least I should be at home, ready for when she comes back.’

  Sally sits in the chair on the other side of the glass coffee table. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible right now,’ she says gently. ‘Your flat is a crime scene, you see. SOCOs are there now taking prints and DNA samples, looking for signs of entry, recovering evidence. Officers are making house-to-house enquiries, appealing for witnesses, tracking down CCTV footage. Your mother gave us a photo of Mabel. We’ve issued it to our search teams and they’re scouring everywhere. It’s been declared a major incident, Gold Command – that’s as serious as it gets.’ Her words are both reassuring and terrifying.

  ‘How did they manage to take her?’ Amber asks, her voice trembling.

  ‘We don’t know yet. We’re trying to piece that together at the moment.’ Sally stares into her eyes, demanding her full attention. ‘Everything we do is evidence- and intelligence-based. We are trained not to have preconceived ideas about what might have happened. We explore every possible scenario and keep our minds constantly open.’

  Amber’s mouth dries. ‘Yes, but what do you think happened?’

  Sally holds out her hands. ‘Like I said, we’re not going to jump to conclusions. We’re still assembling evidence. And you can help us with that.’

  Amber looks at her blankly. ‘How can I help? I wasn’t there, was I?’

  ‘These circumstances are extremely unusual. It’s possible that the person who took Mabel planned the abduction. They may have known that she lived in the flat; they may even have known that you and your husband were going away for the weekend, leaving her with your sister. They may have had a key, or known where the spare was kept, or known how to get in. In other words, they may be somebody you know.’

  Amber shudders. ‘No, no, that’s horrible.’

  ‘You may not know them very well, or they may be somebody you used to know in the past. Somebody you fell out with. I want you to think really, really hard.’

  ‘Nobody we know would ever do something like that. It’s evil.’

  Sally pauses, nodding. ‘I know it’s shocking, but often the answer is closer to home than we realise. So it’s really important that you tell us the truth.’

  Amber flinches. The truth is a bullet she’s been dodging for some time now. ‘Why wouldn’t I tell you the truth? My daughter is missing!’

  ‘I’ve worked in Child Protection for many years,’ Sally says steadily. ‘Most child abductions are committed by parents, often fathers who’ve been denied access by court orders.’

  ‘Well not in this case, obviously,’ Amber says, feeling herself prickling all over. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree there.’

  But Sally will not be dissuaded. ‘As I understand it, you and your husband are together. You’re not going through a separation or divorce? You both live with Mabel full-time and parent her jointly?’

  ‘Yes, of course! What are you implying?’

  Sally shifts uncomfortably on the padded cushions. ‘I’m just trying to build up an accurate picture of Mabel’s home life, that’s all. You both went away for the weekend, separately, leaving her with your sister. That’s quite an unusual thing to do, if you don’t mind my saying, with a baby so young. Was there some particular reason for doing it?’

  ‘You’re asking a lot of intrusive questions,’ says Amber defensively. ‘You’re judging me!’

  ‘Not at all, I’m sorry if you—’

  ‘You should be concentrating on Mabel, not me. She’s out there somewhere, somebody’s got her! We’ve got to find her before … before …’ She doesn’t complete the sentence.

  Sally nods. ‘It’s true, time is not on our side; we have to work quickly, which means we can’t always be as sensitive as we’d like to be.’ She leans forward. ‘Can you think of anyone – family, friends, acquaintances – who might think Mabel belongs to them?’

  Amber stares at her. ‘No! How could anyone possibly think that? They’d have to be mad.’

  Sally remains undeterred. ‘I’m really sorry to have to ask you this, Amber, but it’s important, if only to rule it out … Is there anybody else who might have reason to believe he is Mabel’s father?’


  Amber’s temper flares. ‘How dare you even ask me that?’

  ‘I’m sorry if I offended you, but please understand, we have to explore every possible line of enquiry. Our overwhelming priority is Mabel’s safety; that’s all we care about here.’

  ‘You think I don’t care? I’m her mother! She’s my baby and she’s gone! I can’t take any more of this. This is a waste of time.’

  Sally stands up. ‘My gaffer, DI John Benedict, is on his way. I believe you spoke to him on the phone earlier. He’ll want to talk to you again as soon as George arrives. I’m afraid he’ll probably ask you all the same questions. I’m sure you understand we have to be thorough.’ Amber glares at her. ‘I’ll … er … let you rest now.’ She makes a tactical retreat.

  Amber can’t contain her emotions a second longer. A tsunami of anger, guilt and fear – dark, icy fear – rises in her throat and bursts forth in loud, ugly sobs.

  ‘Now, now, this won’t help.’ Vicky enters with a cup of tea. She puts it down and tussles with her daughter, pinning her arms against her sides and holding her tightly. ‘You must stay calm for Mabel,’ she says. ‘You’re no good to her in this state.’

  ‘I’ve lost her!’ Amber wails. ‘It’s all my fault. I should never have left her with Ruby. She’s my baby, mine! I wanted her so much, too much, and now she’s gone, she’s probably already dead! I’m a terrible mother, a wicked, terrible mother, and this is my punishment, this is my fault.’

  ‘Stop this now! Listen to me.’ Vicky shakes her by the shoulders. ‘This is not your fault. There’s a simple explanation for all this, it’s going to be all right. Mabel is alive, I’m sure of it. She’s safe and well, I can feel it in my bones.’

  Amber is lying down in her childhood bedroom, pretending to have a headache, although a genuine pain is building behind her eyes. It’s safer here, away from the wretched family liaison officer, who seems to scoop up her every word and gesture, popping it into an invisible evidence bag for later analysis.

  She wants to call Seth, but daren’t. Are the police able to recover deleted texts? One look at her mobile bill would betray her. They haven’t asked to see her phone yet, or checked her alibi. Why would they? She’s not a suspect. If only she could summon Seth before her, like a genie from a lamp. She conjures his voice in her head. ‘Try not to panic,’ he’d say. ‘Stay calm. Mabel is safe. Everything is going to be all right.’

  She tries to imagine where Mabel is right now and what she’s doing. Is she missing her? She hopes she’s not upset, that whoever has got her is looking after her properly. It’s hard to picture her daughter when she doesn’t know what she’s wearing. One of her sleepsuits, presumably. Ruby will know – she must ask her. Except she doesn’t want to speak to her sister.

  The bell has rung again. Who is it this time? There have been numerous comings and goings this past hour – the front door opening and closing, unfamiliar voices in the hallway, heavy footsteps on the parquet flooring. Usually, this is a strictly take-your-shoes off house, but not today. Her mother hates visitors because they leave traces that she then has to eradicate – a toilet seat left up, a badly folded towel, stray hairs, human smells … Will she cast these neuroses aside in the light of the current crisis, or will she cling to them more tightly than ever?

  The doorbell rings again. Amber holds her breath as she listens. Yes, that’s George’s voice. She is instantly filled with dread. He has stepped into the hallway and Sally is introducing herself. There’s another voice, a man. He and George have a brief exchange. She can’t make out what they’re saying.

  ‘Where’s Amber?’ George’s tone is demanding. Footsteps bound up the stairs. She dives for cover, head under the pillow, holding it tightly against her ears as she waits for the explosion. The door opens and he bursts in.

  ‘Why didn’t you ring? Why didn’t you pick up my calls?’ he says accusingly. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind!’ He pulls the pillow off her and throws it on the bed.

  She starts to sit up. ‘I couldn’t, I was driving.’

  ‘Driving? You mean you were out looking for Mabel?’

  ‘No. Driving home.’

  He screws up his face, unable to comprehend. ‘Driving home from where?’

  She braces herself. ‘I was on a yoga retreat.’

  ‘A yoga retreat?’

  ‘Please don’t keep repeating what I’ve said.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. What do you mean, you went to an early-morning class or something?’

  ‘No, it was a weekend – in Somerset.’

  He stares at her as the words gradually gather meaning. ‘Oh my God,’ he gasps. ‘You mean she was with Ruby when …’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I couldn’t face looking after her on my own. I had to get away.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he says, rushing forward and shaking her by the shoulders. ‘Why? If I’d known you were that bad, I would have stayed. I would never have let Ruby look after her the whole weekend.’

  ‘But nothing happened the last time; she did a good job. I wasn’t to know …’

  He releases her and stands back, breathing heavily through his nose. ‘What happened? How did the bastard get in? Did she leave the front door open or something?’

  ‘We don’t know. The police are trying to work it out. Ruby’s helping.’

  ‘If anything’s happened to Mabel, I’ll kill her. And as for you …’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Amber says again, but she knows he can’t hear her.

  ‘We can’t stay here talking and doing nothing,’ he says, pacing about. ‘We need to be on the streets. I’ll get a search party together, friends, neighbours, guys from the gym. We have to get the word out on social media.’

  ‘I think the police are doing everything—’

  ‘She’s my daughter – it’s my job to find her!’

  ‘Don’t shout, please don’t shout.’

  There’s a knock on the bedroom door. George and Amber exchange a glance.

  ‘DI Benedict here,’ a gruff male voice says. ‘May I come in?’

  George marches across the room and opens the door. The detective stands on the threshold. He is unusually tall, with blue eyes, olive skin and thick black hair peppered with grey. Why is he standing there? Does he have news?

  ‘Well?’ says George. ‘Have you found her?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m afraid not, not yet, but we’re putting all our resources into it. Hundreds of officers are—’

  ‘I want to join the search party,’ George interrupts.

  ‘Of course, but right now, you’re of more use here.’

  George looks askance. ‘Here? How?’

  ‘For a start, we need to take DNA samples from you both. For elimination purposes. We’ve taken samples from Mabel’s cot and changing unit. I need a list of everyone who’s visited the house recently, their contact details and so on. And I want to talk to you about friends, neighbours, acquaintances, anyone you’ve fallen out with, anything out of the ordinary that’s happened these last few weeks, anyone you’ve seen hanging around, suspicious phone calls, notes through the door, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to Sally,’ says Amber. She can’t bear the thought of DI Benedict asking her the same excruciating questions all over again, especially not in front of George.

  ‘Yes, I know, and she’s debriefed me. I’d like to talk to you together first, and then separately. We can do it at the police station if you need more privacy.’

  ‘You’re making it sound like we’re suspects,’ says George icily.

  ‘No, you’re witnesses,’ DI Benedict replies. ‘Extremely important ones. You may not realise it, but you may already have the information that will lead us to Mabel.’

  George gives him a grudging nod. ‘Okay, let’s do it here, quick as we can. Then I want to get out on the streets.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Day One without Mabel

  Ruby frowns as DS Ali Sm
art hammers away with her questions.

  ‘Can you just take me through that again? You say all the doors and windows were definitely locked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘At what time did you make your final checks?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Last night, before you went to bed, you went around locking up, yes?’

  Ruby hesitates. The idea of patrolling the flat like a security guard is completely alien to her. She’s not even very good at turning off the lights at night, much to Lewis’s irritation.

  ‘No, not as such,’ she replies finally. ‘There was nothing to do. It was too cold to have windows open and I knew the front door was already locked so I didn’t bother going downstairs to check.’

  ‘I see …’ The detective leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on her clasped hands. ‘When you say “already locked”, what do you mean by that? Precisely?’

  ‘Um … well, I mean it was locked, like normal, with a Yale key, you know, the sort that locks automatically when you close the door.’

  ‘You didn’t use the five-lever deadlock or the bolts?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t given the deadlock key and I had no idea there were bolts.’

  DS Smart looks mildly disbelieving. ‘There are two, apparently, top and bottom.’

  ‘Oh, right. Sorry, I hadn’t noticed. It’s not my flat … and Amber didn’t mention them.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did she specifically ask you not to use the deadlock or bolts?’

  ‘No. She gave me a load of other instructions about Mabel, but nothing like that. I guess she just assumed …’ Ruby tails off as she sees the detective freeze. She instantly knows what’s troubling her, and now it’s troubling her too. Why would Amber, who’s so anal about protecting Mabel, be so relaxed about home security? Particularly when she knows Ruby is casual about such things to the point of negligence.