Sally had left her phone plugged in to charge in the kitchen. She unplugged it and began to scroll through the news stories on the BBC News app. There was nothing of great interest. She logged on to Facebook. Her heart sank at the lack of notifications. This was the third day in a row without some form of communication about a sighting of Carl, or even a well-wisher saying she was in their prayers. People were forgetting all about him. She opened the Twitter app and saw that Sheffield was trending. That rarely happened.
@JoArm: My 9yo sister was kidnapped this afternoon around 4pm. We’ve had a ransom demand. If anyone knows anything, tell us. We love her. We miss her. #FindKeeley #Sheffield
@SusieQT: Girl missing in #Sheffield is Keeley Armitage. My kid is in her class at Mary Croft. Parents in pieces. #FindKeeley
@JillRice: Girl in #Sheffield missing since yesterday. Really eerie out there right now. #FindKeeley #Sheffield #Stannington
@Blades379: Keeley is a lovely girl. Always happy and smiling. Why can’t people let kids be kids? #FindKeeley #Sheffield
@SheffGirl21: I saw Keeleys mum. She was screaming for her in street. Heartbreaking. #FindKeeley #Sheffield
The kettle boiled. Sally ignored it. It was happening again. Another child had been kidnapped in Sheffield. She had no idea what this meant, but suddenly, the hope of finding Carl grew a little stronger.
‘Philip,’ she said. She looked up, remembered it was dark and the middle of the night. ‘Philip!’ she shouted and ran out of the room. She took the stairs two at a time, almost falling over Woody who was following, and ploughed into the bedroom.
She turned on the main light and jumped on the bed.
‘Philip. Philip.’ She shook him hard. ‘Wake up.’
He mumbled under the duvet and eventually scrambled his way out of his comfortable cocoon. He opened his eyes and squinted at the brightness.
‘What’s up? What time is it?’
‘It doesn’t matter what time is it. Look at this,’ she showed him the phone.
‘Hang on. I can’t see a thing.’ He took his time sitting up and picked up his glasses from the bedside table. He noticed the time on the alarm clock. ‘Sally, it’s not even half two yet.’
‘I know.’
‘Have you even been to sleep?’
‘No. Look, Philip, please, just look at this,’ she said, annoyed.
He scrolled through the phone, reading the postings on Twitter while Sally provided him with a running commentary.
‘A nine-year-old girl has been kidnapped in Stannington. Her sister has been posting on Twitter asking if anyone’s seen her. She’s put up pictures of her too. The family have been asked for a ransom. She hasn’t said how much, though.’
‘So?’ Philip said, looking up at his wife.
‘Don’t you see what this means?’
‘No.’
‘Philip, how many people get kidnapped for ransom in this country?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Not very many. Yet here we are, in Sheffield, and we have the second kidnap for ransom in four years. That’s not a coincidence.’
‘You don’t seriously think that the same people who took Carl have taken this … what’s she called …?’
‘Keeley. Keeley Armitage, and yes, I do.’ Her face had lit up.
‘But … why?’
‘I don’t know. But don’t you see, this is fresh evidence. If the police find Keeley, they’ll find Carl.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do.’
‘Sally, please, don’t get your hopes up.’
‘It’s too late for that,’ she said, jumping down off the bed.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To phone Matilda. She’s bound to be working on this.’
‘You’re not phoning her at this time of night.’
‘Oh. No, you’re right. She’ll need her sleep so she’s fully alert. I’ll wait until morning.’
‘No,’ he said firmly.
‘What?’
‘Matilda is going to have her hands full. If you have to call anyone, ring Pat. Let her deal with this.’
Sally thought about this for a moment. ‘Fine. You’re right. Pat will be able to get to Matilda much sooner than I can.’
‘Good. Now, come on, get back to bed.’
Reluctantly, Sally placed her phone on the bedside table and got into bed.
‘Philip, just think, we could have Carl home in a few days.’
Chapter 7
Ellen Devonport was struggling to get comfortable on the sofa bed in the living room. She was used to a king-size bed, a memory-foam mattress and a hunky paramedic to snuggle up to. A rickety aluminium frame that squeaked every time she turned over and a mattress the thickness of a cream cracker was not ideal for a good night’s sleep. It didn’t help that she could hear Riley wailing in the next room.
She wondered why nobody got up to tend to him, or were they supposed to leave him in the hope he’d tire himself out and fall asleep? She turned over, put the thin pillow over her head and closed her eyes. It was going to be a long night.
A noise woke her up. She wasn’t fully asleep, but the sound of a door opening and closing made her sit up. She looked at the time on her phone: it was a little after three o’clock. She sat in silence and listened intently. Riley had fallen asleep. But there was something else, too. Somebody was moving around downstairs.
It was only natural that the family wouldn’t be able to sleep. They’d be worried sick about where Keeley was, what had happened to her, and who had taken her. Maybe Linda or Craig had got up to make a drink. They might appreciate a stranger to talk to, a friendly shoulder to cry on.
Ellen pushed back the duvet. She felt the cool night on her bare legs. She pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and slipped her feet into the slippers she’d brought with her. She put a sweater on over her T-shirt and crept out of the room.
The kitchen was in darkness. She didn’t turn on the light and tried not to make a sound. She hoped Riley was a heavy sleeper and didn’t want to wake him up in case he didn’t go back to sleep and spent the next few hours crying out.
The dining room and kitchen had once been two separate rooms but had clearly been remodelled to accommodate Riley and his wheelchair. The sound of whoever was up was coming from around the dining area. Ellen carefully walked through the kitchen and flicked on the light.
Linda jumped. ‘Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,’ she said in a loud whisper. She was bent over the dresser, rummaging through the drawers.
‘I’m sorry. I heard movement. I thought someone might be up and want to talk.’
‘No. I’m fine,’ she said, turning back to the open drawers.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just looking for something.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No.’
‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’
‘No. Ah, here it is.’ She pulled a folder out of the drawer and sat down at the dining table. ‘Can you pass me a pad and pen from the top drawer in the kitchen? It’s the drawer under the kettle.’
Ellen obliged. ‘What are you doing?’