Authors: Susan Lewis
‘DC Donahoe,’ the taller one told her, holding up his badge. His face was waxen and pockmarked, his eyes were grey. ‘This is DC Felix,’ he added, gesturing to the other officer.
‘What’s – what’s happening?’ she cried, stepping back towards Grant. ‘Who are you?’
‘We’re from Dean Valley Police,’ Donahoe explained. ‘We’ll be escorting you back to the UK.’
As horror leapt through her the roar of a jumbo jet all but drowned her words. ‘But what about . . . ? Can’t I . . . ? I
have the right to a lawyer
.’
‘Of course,’ Donahoe agreed, checking his phone. ‘As soon as we get back to England.’
‘But what about extradition?’ she protested. ‘I thought . . .’
‘It’s all been signed off,’ Felix assured her as Donahoe turned away to take a call.
‘But how? I don’t understand.’ She was looking at Grant, imploring him to explain.
Grant glared at Felix, challenging him to be more specific.
With an expression that was kinder than his words, Felix said, ‘I guess the simplest way to put this is that our government has spoken to the New Zealand government, and everything’s been cleared.’ He glanced briefly at Grant.
Charlotte couldn’t fight down the panic. ‘You have to speak to Bob,’ she told Grant urgently. ‘Please will you call and tell him what’s happening.’
‘Sure.’ He was already taking out his phone.
‘Oh my God,’ she gasped, as Wex handed her bag to Felix. They really were taking her. ‘Do you know where Chloe is? Will she be on the same flight?’
‘No, she won’t,’ Donahoe replied, coming back to them. Then, ‘We need to go get ourselves checked in now, flight leaves . . .’
‘Can I make a call?’ she asked desperately. ‘Please can I just ring my mother? She needs to make sure no one calls Chloe Ottilie. It’s really important . . .’
‘I’m sorry, but the little girl’s not your concern any more,’ Donahoe informed her, and taking her arm he steered her into the terminal building.
‘Gone! What do you mean, gone?’ Anna demanded when Bob broke the news.
‘It seems some deal went down between Whitehall and Wellington . . .’
‘But they can’t do that. She has rights . . . Where’s Don Thackeray? I thought he was meeting her.’
‘He would have if we’d received the information in time, but he didn’t stand a chance of getting to the airport before the flight left.’
Anna’s eyes were wild. ‘So they just took her? Bundled her on to a plane without allowing her to make a single phone call, or to see a lawyer . . . You can’t let them get away with that, Bob.’
His face was bleak as he said, ‘I’m afraid they already have, because no matter what arguments Don puts up now there’s no way in the world the Brits are going to turn around and bring her back.’
Anna looked to Rick and Shelley, whose expressions reflected the helplessness in her own. ‘I have to go over there,’ she suddenly declared. ‘I can’t leave her to face this on her own.’
‘I’ll go online and sort out some flights,’ Bob said, opening up the kitchen laptop.
‘But what about Chloe?’ Anna cried. ‘It’ll be like we’re abandoning her . . .’
Rick said, ‘If they’ve already flown Charlotte back, you can be sure they’re going to do the same with Chloe. And Dad, before you go booking any flights you ought to consider the position you might put yourselves in if you go over to England. Anna helped Charlotte to bring Chloe here, and you’ve given them shelter since. The authorities here might turn a blind eye to that, but I don’t think it’ll be the same over there.’
Bob was staring at him in stunned realisation.
‘Oh my God, what are we going to do?’ Anna gulped.
‘For now, I’d say the best thing,’ Rick replied, ‘is to get in touch with someone who can help her when she gets there.’
‘Of course,’ Anna agreed. ‘Actually, there’s a lawyer . . . Oh God, what’s his name? He’s a barrister, a QC even, he’s kind of a friend of Charlotte’s . . .’
‘He won’t be able to help at this stage,’ Bob interrupted. ‘It’s not what barristers do. She needs a solicitor. I can get Don Thackeray to recommend someone.’
‘Or I could speak to her sister, Gabby,’ Anna suggested. ‘I’m sure she’ll help. I wonder if she knows yet. I guess she must now it’s hit the news.’
Shelley said awkwardly, ‘They haven’t been in touch since Charlotte came here, and this is something . . . Well, she might not want to get involved.’
Anna nodded uncertainly. ‘I know who I can speak to,’ she declared. ‘Tommy Burgess. He used to be her boss. I
know
he’ll want to help, and as he’s with social services he might be able to help us with Chloe too.’
‘Good idea. Try to find a number for him. Rick, could you get the phone?’
As Rick went to pick up the landline Bob took out his mobile to call Don Thackeray while Anna Googled Dean Valley Social Services.
‘No thanks, not now,’ Rick said sharply and hung up.
‘Who was that?’ Bob asked, cutting his connection.
With an uneasy glance at Anna, Rick said, ‘I think we’re going to need some security around here, at least for the next few days.’
Bob frowned.
‘It was someone from Sky News,’ Rick explained, ‘asking if this was where the missing child, Ottilie Wade, has been living.’
As Shelley gasped, Anna said, ‘They can’t call her Ottilie. She’ll think she’s going back to where she was before.’
‘I’ll speak to the social worker,’ Shelley said, reaching for her phone. ‘I don’t suppose we can stop it in the press, but at least we can try to do something about it with her carers.’
‘Who are you calling?’ Anna asked Bob.
‘The elders at the settlement,’ he replied. ‘They’ll take care of the security.’
The landline rang again.
‘And so,’ Bob murmured as the voicemail picked up, ‘the media circus begins.’
Chapter Twelve
CHARLOTTE WAS GOING
through motions that felt utterly surreal. It was as though she’d been caught up in some Kafkaesque movie, or someone else’s nightmare, for surely to God it couldn’t be her own. Throughout the flight, and the change at a Middle Eastern airport, she’d remained locked inside herself, barely eating, or sleeping, or speaking, while attempting to find distraction in movies and magazines. She kept telling herself that her mother had somehow managed to take custody of Chloe – if she could believe that she could get through this.
If only she’d tried harder with her mother while she’d had the chance. That last day – only yesterday, or was it the day before, she’d lost track of time now – at Kauri Cliffs, she’d been unforgivably hostile towards Anna without even meaning to be. Now she’d very likely lost her a major client as well as causing her the hideous embarrassment of having her daughter arrested and removed by the police.
Their relationship didn’t have the kind of roots most mothers and daughters shared; it wasn’t strong enough, or stable enough for her to expect anything of her mother now, so she must try not to. Anna and Bob had given her everything they could to help her and Chloe build a new life, and she would always be grateful for it, but it had to end there. She wasn’t their responsibility, and nor was Chloe, though please God they’d continue to do all they could for the little girl. For her, there would be nothing they could do apart from stay as far away from the British legal system as possible. The crime that had been committed was hers, and hers alone, and though they might have been a party to it, were either of them to find themselves under arrest, possibly even on trial for what
she
had done, she would never be able to forgive herself, or face any sort of relationship with them again.
Perhaps they wouldn’t want one after this. They might feel the price of knowing her, including her in their lives, was too high.
She was somewhere in the depths of Heathrow airport now, in an airless, grey-painted area with a section of empty desks and computer terminals sprawled across the back of it, a large glassed-in room to one side where a uniformed officer was speaking on the phone, and an unlit corridor leading off to what could be cells. Detectives Donahoe and Felix had disappeared a while ago, leaving her with two fellow officers from Dean Valley Police who’d been there to meet them. DS Karen Potter and DC Darren Wild. No sign of Detective Chief Inspector Terence Gould yet, the officer who’d led the hunt for Chloe, or Ottilie as he’d known her then. He wasn’t someone Charlotte was looking forward to meeting again.
Karen Potter was rearresting her. The words were making her feel nauseous and dizzy.
‘. . . you do not have to say anything,’ Potter was reciting, ‘however, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand your rights?’
Charlotte nodded, and swallowed dryly. ‘Yes,’ she managed, the word seeming to echo from somewhere far inside her.
Would those be the same rights I was supposed to have before leaving New Zealand?
she wanted to ask.
She was tired to the point of exhaustion and felt in sore need of a shower, but didn’t imagine one would be on offer here.
When might she get one again?
‘Do you have a lawyer?’ Potter asked.
Charlotte’s grainy eyes drew focus. Potter was probably around forty, she thought, with a flaky complexion and dyed blonde hair. She didn’t look like a happy woman.
‘Can I have an answer please?’ Potter prompted.
‘No, I don’t have a lawyer,’ Charlotte replied. Her mind filled with thoughts of Anthony, but nothing in the world would persuade her to call him for help.
Did he know yet? He must do; the police had taken some pleasure in telling her she was all over the news. She wasn’t going to torment herself with what he might be thinking of her now, it wouldn’t help in any way, unless she wanted to make herself feel even worse than she already did.
No one had offered her anything to drink, or to eat. It didn’t matter, she didn’t want anything anyway. All she really wanted was to use a phone so she could find out what was happening to Chloe.
As a fresh wave of fear came over her, DC Wild appeared, announcing that the car was outside.
Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a shawl her mother had thought to pack for her, she was huddled in the back of a saloon car with Wild at the wheel and Potter sitting in a preoccupied silence beside him.
Charlotte was silent too, gazing out at the passing countryside through weary eyes and seeing only New Zealand, as she wondered if Chloe was still there. She felt sure she must be, but where exactly, and for how long? Who would bring her back when the time came, unless by some miracle it was decided she should remain with the family she knew and loved? It might be hard for her at first without Charlotte, but she’d have Nanna and Auntie Shelley and Danni. She could carry on going to Aroha where she’d settled in so well. She’d be able to bake cakes for her birthday and ride her new bike and play with her puppy. She could make wishes and practise her jump-off and dance on the beach for pipis.
Oh God, oh God, oh God
. Why, for the sake of one tiny innocent girl, couldn’t it just happen?
Would Dean Valley send a social worker to collect her, or would someone from New Zealand escort her back? Just please God don’t let it be a man, especially if he was going to call her Ottilie. The dread of it lurched sickeningly inside her. Chloe wouldn’t be able to handle that. It would send her spiralling back into a place of anguish and terror.
She had to stop tormenting herself like this, somehow shut down her mind or at least force it to go elsewhere. Yet how could she, when not to worry about Chloe would be like abandoning her all over again?
You have to try, Charlotte,
she told herself firmly.
For the sake of your own sanity you have to rein in your fear and take one step at a time.
How often had she given that advice to parents of children in her caseload? More often than she could remember; never had she imagined giving it to herself. Now she knew how easy it was to say, and how very hard to follow.
She hadn’t expected it to be so sunny here in England, so eagerly springlike, as though the whole landscape was pausing before an exuberant burst into bloom. She used to love days like this when she’d lived here; they’d filled her with such hope and anticipation, a feeling that it was nothing but good to be alive. Today the sunshine seemed to mock her, and knowing what she was facing in the hours, weeks, months to come it was impossible to generate even the merest flicker of cheer, no matter how beautiful her surroundings.
As they turned into the Leigh Delamere services she remembered the time she’d stopped here once with her ex-boyfriend, Jason. She wondered what he was doing now, if he’d seen the news and what he was thinking of her if he had.
It didn’t matter. Nothing did apart from Chloe – and how she, Charlotte, was going to survive being sent to prison.
It might not come to that,
she told herself forcefully. There was still a long way to go, and in that time anything could happen.
Like what? You stole a child, lied to the police, deceived your friends and colleagues . . .
There was no escaping what she’d done; the guilt, the shame of it was all over her, and yet she only had to think of Chloe’s laughter and spirited little dances, her big eyes gazing up at her full of love and an eagerness to learn, or to please, to know that she’d do it all over again.
‘Do you need the toilet?’ Karen Potter asked over her shoulder.
‘No,’ Charlotte answered. ‘I’m fine.’
Seeming satisfied with that, Potter returned to whatever she was doing on her phone while Darren Wild got out of the car to fill up with petrol.
Charlotte wondered what Karen Potter’s home life was like. Was she married, a mother, a carer for an elderly father? She couldn’t imagine ever getting into conversation with the woman, or certainly not in a friendly way, but that was hardly surprising. She, Charlotte, wouldn’t be the Dean Valley force’s favourite person right now, given what fools she’d made of them over Chloe’s disappearance. No doubt they were getting a rough ride of it in the press and none of them would be enjoying that, DCI Gould least of all.