Trafficked, page 19
I just want to hug him and assure him that I won’t keep pressing, but the voice in my head won’t stop.
‘Can you remember what the place looked like? I’m working on a theory that some kind of film studio might have been used. Does that ring any bells? Did the place they took you look like that, or am I totally on the wrong track?’
He pulls the plug and empties the sink, before refilling it with fresh water and soap. ‘I’m sorry; I wish there was more I could tell you, but my mind isn’t what it once was, and I don’t think it wants to remember any of that.’
I sigh with regret. ‘Okay, Freddie, I understand, and I’m sorry to ask you all these sordid questions. I know how difficult this is for you. Just one last question: do you recall any distinguishing features about your journey to the place? Did you pass through any towns, or familiar landmarks?’
He turns to face me, the bright eyes sterner now. ‘No, I told you, I don’t. I think I slept most of the way there and back.’
I know better than to press any more; I may already have done irreparable damage to my friendship with Freddie, so I put a lid on my questions, and allow the awkward silence to descend as I finish wiping the crockery.
Chapter Thirty
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
The walk back to my flat is stifling, yet sobering. I promised Freddie I would drop off the signed hardbacks for the raffle or auction, and he said he would keep me posted about the date of the event, though he’s hopeful it will be before the end of the month. Freddie is a smart man, and I know he won’t see my visit today as anything more than me following my journalistic instincts, and yet the guilt sweeping through my mind right now is overwhelming. At what point does the desire to find justice for victims cross into making their lives unbearable?
When I first met Freddie and he told me about his time at the St Francis Home, he wanted me to find the evidence – to finally prove once and for all – that he was telling the truth. He (as well as Mike and Steve) had tried to tell the authorities countless times before but their claims had been dismissed, belittled and ignored. My desire to find justice for them was in their best interests and they welcomed the support.
All the same – and this applies to Aurélie as well – is it not unkind to force them to recall such horrific trauma when there is no guarantee of finding the people responsible? In Freddie’s situation, even if he did recall the precise location of the studio where Turgood made his film, what good would it do? It’s not like there will be much evidence to prove who is running such a place and how these various nefarious groups are tied together. It won’t bring Jemima Hooper back; it won’t allow Aurélie to bury her past and move on with her life.
I suppose maybe catching the man who held Aurélie below the ground for so many years would bring her some closure, but is that worth the emotional cost she will have to bear? It was Remy’s idea for me to be introduced to Aurélie and tell her story through her words, but did anyone consult her? If I was in her position and had been subjected to such horrors, would I really want them displayed for the world to see? I’m not convinced I would.
There’s no sign of Jack’s car when I arrive home. Opening the door, I can see Rachel in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, her back against the freezer, an open tub of ice-cream beside her.
She extends the tub towards me. ‘You want some?’
Nothing would be as welcome right now as bathing in a tub filled with ice-cream, but until that’s an option, eating it will have to suffice. Grabbing a spoon from the drainer, I slide down the cupboard, plopping onto the floor beside my best friend.
‘You look like you need this more than me,’ she says, passing me the tub. ‘Rough day?’
‘Yeah, pretty sour, to be honest; what’s your excuse?’
‘I asked first. You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.’
Putting the spoon in my mouth I savour the cool texture and saltiness of the caramel, and for a fleeting moment I’m transported to a flightless world where there is nothing more troubling than choosing which cloud to float on.
‘Things didn’t go great with Freddie. He couldn’t recall anything of where he was taken, nor whether it was some kind of bespoke film studio. And now I feel like it was a stupid idea going there to ask him at all. He was doing so well – organising a summer fête to raise funds to fix the roof of the shelter – but was crestfallen by the time I left. Who needs a wrecking ball when they’ve got me in their life?’
She puts her arm around me. ‘I do. My excuse for devouring half a tub of ice-cream is that Daniella messaged me, saying she thinks we need to talk.’
I drop my spoon in the tub and sit bolt upright. ‘That’s brilliant news! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
She pulls a face. ‘I’m not so sure it is such good news. She didn’t say she wants us to get back together.’
‘No, but she hasn’t told you she doesn’t. Remember, it was her idea that the two of you split up, so maybe her request to talk is so that she can apologise and start making it up to you.’
Her frown deepens. ‘I doubt it’s that…’ She scrunches her eyes closed to hide her embarrassment. ‘Last night after you’d gone to sleep, I stayed awake online,’ she sighs, ‘cyber stalking her as I do most nights when I’m feeling lonely. I think I might have commented on a few of her Instagram posts, and not in a good way. The horror of what I’d done hit me like a thunderbolt first thing, and I deleted them straightaway, but if she saw any of them, it would explain why she would want to talk. She’s probably looking to file some kind of restraining order against me.’
‘Oh.’ It’s hard to argue with her logic.
‘Yeah, which is why this salted caramel whirl is my new love; you can say a lot about how bad ice-cream is for your health, but it never fails to call when it’s promised it will, and it never breaks your heart.’
I have another spoonful and savour the ice on my tongue before swallowing. ‘You know we can do one of two things right now: we can either spend the rest of the day wallowing in self-pity and eating things we will regret in the morning—’
‘Sounds like a fine idea to me,’ she interrupts, plunging her own spoon into the tub.
‘Or we can put the ice-cream away and have another go at trying to figure out who was responsible for Aurélie’s abduction thirteen years ago.’
‘I vote self-pity and ice-cream,’ she says, raising her hand, but I’ve already taken the tub from her and replaced the lid.
Dropping the tub back into the freezer, I drag Rachel up off the floor. ‘Sorry, but you lost all your democratic privileges when you cyber stalked your ex.’
She groans playfully, but doesn’t resist when I tug her by the arm into the living room.
‘Where’s Jack anyway?’ I ask, searching for the box of materials relating to Aurélie’s abduction.
‘He got called up by Cavendish and apparently his presence at the hospital was required.’
I raise my eyebrows at her snooty voice.
‘I asked him what it was about or whether either of us should be there too, but he said she’d only asked for him.’
‘I’m sure he’ll keep us posted if it has any relevance to this,’ I say passively. ‘Let’s begin with this,’ I add, reaching into the box and extracting a DVD with indecipherable writing scrawled on it. ‘This is a copy of the public appeal Remy and Solange made a couple of days after the abduction.’
Placing the disc in the player, I switch on the television and settle back into the sofa beside Rachel. The picture quality isn’t great and looks as though the original recording was made on tape and then transferred to DVD; it lacks any of the sharpness of modern filmmaking. The scene opens with the picture of Aurélie – freckles either side of her nose, her fair hair plaited in pigtails, the red and white ruffled dress – hanging from the wall behind a long table. A moment later, two suited men lead in the grief-stricken parents, a younger Solange bawling, Remy beside her trying to remain resolute.
The lead detective reads out the carefully worded brief confirming the date and time of the abduction, describing Aurélie and pointing out that she speaks little or no English. He explains that the parents have asked that he read out a prepared statement on their behalf. I could almost recite the words without hearing them, having heard the same words tumble from my own father’s mouth. They ask for the kidnappers to return their precious angel to them, and call on anyone with information that can lead to Aurélie’s return to come forward and help the investigative team. Maybe it’s the passage of time, or the fact that I know their wish won’t be realised for another thirteen years, but the words sound so flat.
But no, it’s more than that, there’s something very wrong with the scene before us.
‘Don’t you just wish you could go back in time to the day before and warn them what is going to happen?’ Rachel says rhetorically.
I skip back to the beginning of the footage, and watch again, this time ignoring the image hanging from the wall and the bobbing shoulders of Solange. Instead, I’m carefully watching Remy’s body language.
There’s no doubt that he is shaken by the events as described by the lead detective’s wooden voice, but there is more. Maybe it’s the poor quality of the footage, or the old-fashioned 4:3 image ratio, but I would swear there is a lot more to Remy Lebrun’s reactions on the screen. He isn’t just a terrified and grieving father; he wears a look I’m more than familiar with: guilt.
Chapter Thirty-One
Then
Poole, Dorset
The nurse had just advised that dinner would be delivered to Aurélie’s rom in the next fifteen to twenty minutes, signalling the end of another day stuck in the bed, her anxiety growing as the prospect of facing the real world grew in the pit of her stomach. At least her mother’s crying had finally subsided.
‘You should go for a walk, get some fresh air,’ her father had suggested an hour ago.
Aurélie had been reluctant, her eyes still not accustomed to the hospital’s artificial light, let alone natural sunlight, but Remy had offered her his sunglasses, and that had left little reason to refuse. He’d helped her out of bed, arranged for the nurse to transfer her pouches to a mobile stand, and bought her a coat from a shop inside the hospital so she’d have more than just the hospital gown to protect her dignity.
He’d taken her hand in his, supported her arm as they slowly moved out of the room, along the corridor and towards the elevator. It had felt like everyone’s eyes followed every step of the journey, but she kept her gaze glued to the floor, unable to seek confirmation that she was right; why would anyone be interested in her?
The calling of her name as they’d emerged through the sliding doors had been more than a shock; she’d suffered what felt like her heart attempting to explode in her chest, and she’d begged her father to take her back inside. He’d listened and comforted her; told her he would support her in whatever decisions she made, before helping her back inside, offering a solitary wave in the direction of the gathered journalists and cameramen. It had been a huge relief that none of them had attempted to follow them back in.
‘What do they want of me?’ she’d asked as she’d clambered back into the bed, discarding the coat on her mother’s lap.
‘You are big news, my darling,’ Remy had said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. ‘Everybody wants to know that you are safe and well.’
Why would any of them care about her? She was nobody; a girl who had allowed herself to be taken when she should have known better; a girl who had been forced to do things she didn’t want just to survive. She was nothing special.
Dinner’s arrival would signal her parents’ temporary disappearance while they went to replenish their energy levels; at least that would bring the silence and solitude she had been craving since her arrival. A knock at the door signalled the moment she’d been waiting for, and seconds later, a young man entered, carrying a tray, which he deposited on the sliding table at the foot of the bed.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee to go with that?’ he enquired.
‘Tea, please,’ she replied. ‘No milk, no sugar.’
He nodded, offering a friendly smile, and disappeared back through the door. He returned with a steaming mug as her parents departed.
‘There you go,’ he said, before turning back when he realised they were now alone. ‘Can I just say how brave I think you are? After everything you must have been through… To find the strength to get away and come back… You’re such an inspiration.’
He was beaming, and it felt as though he was talking about someone else.
‘I’m Carl, by the way. If there’s anything else you need, or you just want a friendly face to chat to, just ask the nurses to call Carl; they all know me around here.’
She nodded, watching him leave, grateful he hadn’t asked for a picture or autograph. What had happened to the world she’d left? Was it normal now that unimportant people such as herself were treated as celebrities? Or was all the attention just her father’s ploy? Would she ever be able to just slip away and find some level of normality and simplicity once more?
A second knock at the door wasn’t welcome, even less so when Detective Cavendish and the other policeman entered the room, carrying a folder, approaching the bed without hesitation.
‘Good evening, Aurélie,’ Cavendish said without a trace of a smile. ‘Are your parents around?’
Aurélie shook her head, staring at the tray of food, the plastic lid over the plate filled with condensation. ‘They have gone for dinner.’
‘Good,’ Cavendish said, nodding at the man, ‘that’s probably for the best. How are you feeling?’
Aurélie shrugged.
The policeman was shuffling from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable about being here.
‘This is my colleague PC Jack Serrovitz,’ Cavendish said when she spotted Aurélie staring at him. ‘I’ve asked him to be here with me, as I have some further questions I’d like to ask you about your time away. I appreciate you’re waiting to eat, but it is really important we ask you these questions. Okay?’
It was less of a question, and more of a statement; would she even have listened had Aurélie refused and said she wanted to wait for her parents? She doubted it.
‘We have finished processing the scene in the woods,’ Cavendish began. ‘We have taken a number of samples from both the cabin and your cell, and will be reviewing those against a database of similar samples, looking for any matches. We will also compare them to the sample of your DNA that was taken upon your arrival at the hospital for cross-examination purposes.’
She paused and took a step closer, tightening her grip on the folder. ‘The thing is, Aurélie, we also found something else at the site that we’d like to discuss.’ She opened the folder and extracted three large photographs. ‘The white markings you can see on the ground here are graves. Examination of the ground in and around where you were being held revealed the shallow nature of these holes, in which we discovered a number of bones; human bones.’ She looked up at her colleague again. ‘One of the graves contained the remains of a baby.’
Aurélie’s heart skipped as she thought back to that night of agony when he had ripped the lifeless child from her womb. Yet if the detective was right, then what he’d told her the last time she’d seen him was a lie. She stared down at her hands.
‘We will perform a DNA test on the bones to confirm the baby was yours,’ Cavendish continued, ‘but what I’d like to ask you about is the other remains we found. One set of bones belong to an adult male. A thorough examination of the skeleton is now under way, and it is believed the victim was aged between eighteen and thirty on account of the size and shape. Do you recall any other men being at the site?’
Aurélie shook her head immediately. There hadn’t been any other men in her life for many years, and yet something stirred somewhere in the embers. There had been a man there once, hadn’t there? The memory was just out of her grasp.
‘Exhumation of the bones revealed markings consistent with an axe of some kind. We believe this victim may have been murdered, the body burned on a fire to remove the flesh, and then the bones buried in the shallow grave. Whilst it is feasible that this man’s grave has nothing to do with the man who was holding you prisoner, he is our prime suspect at this time. You could really help us out if you can tell us anything about this victim. Did your captor ever bring other men to see you?’
The sound of her captor arguing with another man filled her head in an instant, but it had been when he was transporting her back to the hole from the exercise hall. They’d been arguing about her, hadn’t they? He’d shoved her into the hole, and then returned to continue the argument. She hadn’t heard any more after that.
Aurélie shook her head. ‘No, he would not share me with anybody… He would say I was his, and nobody else’s.’
‘Can you recall your captor mentioning an argument with another man? Or do you recall ever hearing an argument, raised voices, shouting?’
Aurélie avoided looking at her, shaking her head. What if they thought she’d caused the argument that had led to the younger man’s death?
‘Or were there any times when your captor seemed… I don’t know, seemed angrier, or worried about anything?’
Again she shook her head.
‘Did he ever speak of a partner, or someone he worked with?’
‘He never spoke of himself so I knew little about him.’
Cavendish flashed a glance at her colleague. ‘What about family? Did he ever tell you about his family? Do you know if he was married, or had any children?’
She wanted to cry, thinking that trapped in her prison she could have been so close to a burial ground. ‘No, I’m sorry.’
