Authors: Kerry Wilkinson
Jessica held her own phone in the air. ‘We’ve got to go,’ she said.
Deborah glanced up and nodded at Jessica. If she was suspicious, she did not show it. ‘Are you going to be all right?’ she asked the constable.
Dave grimaced. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Jessica raised the phone higher. ‘Come on, they said it’s urgent.’ She turned to Deborah. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sturgess, something’s come up. We’ll come back
another time.’ The woman nodded and led them back to the front door before saying goodbye.
Rowlands didn’t say a word until they were back in his car with the doors closed. ‘Did you get the phone?’ he asked as he started the engine.
‘Yes.’
‘Couldn’t you have thought of something better than that? You could have asked her to show you where the toilet was or something, then I could have grabbed it.’
‘Sorry. That would probably have worked too.’
The constable indicated and pulled out onto the road. ‘Why couldn’t I spill tea in your lap, then grab the phone?’
‘Because if either of us was going to be touched up by a middle-aged woman, I’d rather it was you.’
Dave laughed but Jessica could tell there was no real amusement in it. He changed his tone. ‘Are we ready?’ he asked seriously. Jessica took the pieces of Deborah’s phone and
put it back together, waiting for it to start up. When it arrived at the home screen, she pressed the button to bring up the contacts list.
‘Yeah, we’re ready,’ she said, pointing at one name but knowing her colleague was watching the road.
‘Isn’t she going to realise you took her phone?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. She’ll probably think she’s lost it somewhere first of all. By the time she’s checked through the house and called it a few
times, I’ll have used it.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Tonight.’
Over the course of her life, Jessica had taught herself not to be nervous. It was a hard thing to describe to other people because apprehension was such a natural emotion. No
one would have believed it now but as a twelve-year-old, she was a good athlete. She never practised but could run fast and beat other people with little effort at all. Her dad loved coming to
school events and watching her win but, even though she knew she was the best runner, her nerves would become too much for her. She would eye her competitors and wonder what might happen if she
tripped, or if one of them got a better start than she did.
Eventually she taught herself to lock the emotions away. Instead of thinking of what might go wrong, Jessica started every race not caring if anything went awry. Though she had grown out of
sports, that ability to ignore any nerves was something that had stayed with her.
But now, as she sat in a fold-up chair in Benjamin’s shed, she felt the type of anxiety building she had rarely experienced in over twenty years. In the course of her career, she had had
amazing highs and the worst of lows. Nothing compared to the way she had made a mess of things with Adam the first time around and, as she stared at the patched-up floor, Jessica thought of him
waiting at home for her. He was the man who pretty much forgave her anything and was quite happy to support her no matter what the consequences were. She wasn’t sure she had forgiven herself
for everything that happened with him initially but the fact he had smiled and said it was okay amazed her every morning she woke up next to him.
The night was cold and Jessica could see her breath drifting out of her mouth. She looked up at Annabel, who was sitting in a similar chair. ‘Are you okay?’ Jessica asked. Annabel
said nothing but she could see plumes of air coming from the other woman’s mouth too. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jessica added, knowing it meant nothing.
Both women looked up as they heard a gentle tapping sound on the wood at the back of the shed. ‘Be brave,’ Jessica whispered as everything went silent again. She could hear footsteps
outside, a mixture of crunching from the frost and squelching from the puddles that hadn’t frozen over. Jessica found herself holding her breath as the door rattled and then opened. In the
dark, a silhouette of a man stepped into the room.
‘Hello?’ he said.
Before he had finished speaking, the door banged into place with the sound of a padlock slotting into the bracket. The man spun around towards the door with a startled ‘hey’ as
Jessica pressed the button to turn on the light they had rigged up. She found herself squinting as the bright white lamp illuminated the room and the man twisted to face her.
His eyes were wide with surprise as Jessica spoke. ‘Hello, Toby.’
The man had gelled black hair with trimmed stubble on his chin. He had dressed for the weather, with a pair of heavy boots, jeans and a thick coat. He blinked rapidly, stunned
by the light, and stared open-mouthed at Jessica, then noticed Annabel sitting to his right. ‘What?’ he said, barely able to get the words out.
‘Do you want to sit down?’ Jessica asked, pointing towards another fold-up chair resting against the wall. He turned around and tried to open the door. ‘It’s
locked,’ Jessica added. ‘And people are outside so don’t even bother. I think it’s time for a chat.’
The man turned around and looked from Jessica to Annabel then back again. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
Jessica snorted involuntarily. ‘That’s an odd question coming from you. I’m Detective Sergeant Jessica Daniel and this, as I’m sure you remember, is your sister.
Don’t worry about Deborah, she’s fine. I just borrowed her phone to send you a text message.’
The man shook his head. ‘I really think you’ve got the wrong person,’ he said, reaching back towards the door. ‘My name’s Stephen.’
Jessica nodded. ‘I know, we’ve met. Do you remember when I was leaving Deborah’s house with a colleague, and you were walking down the drive?’ The man nodded slowly.
‘“Friend of the family”, that’s what Deborah told us you were at the time.’
The man picked up on her words. ‘That’s right.’
‘You’re not, though, are you?’
‘Why do you think that?’ He was still standing close to the door, looking at Jessica.
‘A hunch, a turn of phrase, a photograph. If you were just a friend, why would she call you “dear”? Why would there be pictures of you with both Benjamin and Deborah from when
you were younger?’
It had been the way Lucy Martin called Olivia ‘dear’ that had made the connection for Jessica – it had been exactly how Deborah referred to the man on her driveway all those
weeks ago. It was all in the tone of voice, an inflection of concern that didn’t happen when you were speaking to a random person.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Stephen countered.
‘Why would someone keep pictures of themselves posing with a teenager if it wasn’t their own child?’
He stared back at Jessica defiantly.
‘I didn’t even notice it the first time I was at Benjamin’s house,’ she continued. ‘Everything was so normal, pictures of an apparently happy family. It was the
type of thing you wouldn’t even notice but I checked the records. Benjamin and Deborah had a son named Stephen – but he died within a week of being born a few months before you went
missing. One of your friendly teachers took you home one night and never gave you back. After everything had died down, they raised you as their own.’
Jessica paused for breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. ‘When I was a kid, all our neighbours knew who I was,’ she continued. ‘It was a bit of a pain because if I ever
got up to anything, it would always get back to my parents. I guess it depends on the area. I checked the housing records and within six months of you disappearing, Benjamin and Deborah moved into
a new house. I’m guessing their new neighbours would have assumed you were their son. If you happened to look a little like a boy who had been in the newspapers months earlier, then it was
just a coincidence.’
Stephen was still staring at Jessica. ‘Sit down or we’re going to be here all night,’ she added.
He turned around and picked up the chair, opening it out and placing it next to the door before sitting on it. Jessica didn’t need him to confirm or deny it to know she was right. On the
surface, it seemed so simple. For whatever reason, Benjamin and Deborah couldn’t have children after Stephen died, so they simply took one. Whether it was a Stockholm Syndrome situation with
the boy falling for his ‘captors’, or whether it was voluntary, Jessica didn’t know. For whatever reason, Toby – or Stephen – had willingly been brought up by parents
who weren’t his. By moving to the opposite end of the city, possibly dyeing his hair or doing something else to change his appearance, with new, unfamiliar neighbours, they didn’t have
any awkward questions to answer about where he came from.
None of that answered what had happened with Isaac though.
The man sat forward, hunched and ready to move quickly if necessary. ‘If I’m not Stephen, then how come that’s the name on my driving licence?’
That was one of the key things Jessica had struggled to figure out but she had stumbled across a possible answer on the Internet. She spoke firmly: ‘If the real Stephen was registered at
the hospital, Deborah and Benjamin could have applied for a birth certificate then. Given the speed things move, they might have received it in the post weeks after he had already died. Assuming
they kept it in a drawer, it would have been easy enough for you to use it to register yourself for a driving licence, as well as anything else you needed to live a normal life under a name that
isn’t yours.’
He didn’t say a word, locking eyes with Jessica in an uncomfortable silence.
Annabel interrupted their non-verbal sparring. ‘Why didn’t you come home?’
The man adjusted the way he was sitting and glanced towards Annabel, although Jessica could see he wasn’t looking high enough to meet her eyes.
‘Why?’ she repeated.
He glared at the ground but Annabel leapt to her feet and ran across the room, launching herself into him. The echo of the chair crashing to the ground rang around the room as the two people
collided. Jessica realised what was happening too slowly, jumping forward in an effort to pull Annabel away.
The man had been blindsided and knocked backwards with his coat and shirt ruffled up around his face. Annabel pointed towards him and spat out the word: ‘Look.’
Jessica squinted at where she was indicating and saw a zigzag-shaped mark across the man’s abdomen. As he picked himself up, Annabel returned to her seat. She made no attempt to hide the
fury in her voice. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember. I was only nine. We tied that rope to the tree on the edge of the park near our house. We were taking it in turns to run at
it and swing across the stream. I’d got across but you came sprinting over and slipped. You got one hand on the rope then landed sideways in the water.
That
scar comes from the rock
you hit when you landed.’
The man straightened his clothes but wouldn’t look up from the floor. ‘Just tell me your name,’ Annabel shouted at him.
‘Stephen,’ he replied quietly.
‘Oh, fuck you, Toby. Why didn’t you come home?’
For a moment, Jessica thought the man was going to remain silent but then, finally, he spoke. ‘Because I didn’t want to.’
Toby’s words hung in the air as he ran his hand through his now-dark hair. Jessica felt a mix of vindication for everything she had done, along with an almost overwhelming feeling of
regret because, in some ways, she had hoped she was wrong. Nobody said anything but Toby had finally met his sister’s stare.
‘Why?’ Annabel asked forcefully.
‘I enjoyed being with Ian and Deb. They bought me things, they looked after me.’
‘They
bought
you things? That’s why you chose to stay with them? Did they take you or did you go willingly?’
Toby spoke quietly but firmly. ‘None of your business.’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say to me? We thought you were dead. Mum still thinks you’re dead!’ Annabel didn’t sound upset, just angry. Jessica was already feeling
guilty about what she had asked the woman to do and was wondering if she had gone too far.
‘You don’t understand,’ Toby said dismissively.
‘So make me.’
‘I got bored. All the kids at school had everything I didn’t, Mum and Dad argued all the time. You got the best things because you were older.’
‘Are you joking? That’s it? You were only ten.’
‘Eleven.’
Annabel shook her head and kicked at the floor. ‘You’re disgusting.’
Jessica wondered how bad things could have been, but then she remembered Annabel had also left home and not returned. Lucy’s account might well have put a rose-tinted view on what life was
like with her and Dean. What Jessica did know is that there had to be something seriously wrong to make an eleven-year-old want to leave his birth parents and not go back. Everyone had moments as a
child where they threatened to leave home and not return. To have actually gone through with it must have meant he either genuinely hated it there or, even at such a young age, he was materialistic
enough to put gifts above everything else. She didn’t know which category Toby fell into.
‘You moved out too,’ Toby said.
‘How do you know that?’
‘I looked you up on the Internet a few years ago. I saw you’d moved and wondered if you were thinking like me. I was going to contact you but Dad convinced me not to.’
‘“Dad?”’
Toby didn’t reply to Annabel but looked towards Jessica. ‘Can I go now?’
Jessica narrowed her eyes and stared at him. ‘Did you ever live in this shed, Toby?’
‘For a bit.’
‘Do you know we found your old clothes? The football shirt and the rest.’
Toby smiled and shook his head mockingly. ‘It was in the papers, I’m not an idiot. Who do you think buried them there? It was time to say goodbye to the old Toby for good and embrace
Stephen.’
‘Why those woods?’
The man shrugged. ‘Why should I tell you?’
‘Tell me,’ Annabel shouted. ‘I’m still your sister.’
For the first time, Jessica could see pangs of regret in Toby’s face. He looked at the ground, as if embarrassed with himself. ‘Did you miss me?’ he asked quietly. There was no
edge to his tone, it was a genuine question.