Final Catch

Friday, November 9th 1996 6.27 pm

Not having watched the news item on the local television channel, Petra Sammon was unprepared for the telephone call. She pressed the ‘sound off’ button on the remote control and pulled herself out of the settee. In the hallway she glanced in the mirror above the telephone table and pushed back her thick, dark hair. She answered with a flat Hello. The editor of the South Gwent News broke the news well before the police had made the canal site fully secure. His brief question made her neck stiffen.

No, the police haven't contacted me. She replied and stared unseeingly at her reflection. Yes. I know the canal near Pontypool. When was this? She didn't hear any of the other questions she was asked. Her thoughts were racing ahead. She needed to use the phone to speak to someone else. Look, I must go. Yes, thanks. Yes, I'll speak to you later. Yes. Yes.

Without thinking, she dialled a number that she hadn't used for nearly four months

I'm afraid Detective Chief Inspector Bull isn't available at the moment, Mrs.Sammon. was the reply to the first question that she asked. I'll contact him and let him know you've called. I'm sure he'll be in touch with you at the earliest opportunity..... Yes, he has your number, Mrs. Sammon. We'll, get back to you.

The response showed that her call had been anticipated. In an effort to cut through the barriers inevitably surrounding any such incident, she tried to enlarge on the information she'd received but to no avail

No, I'm afraid I'm not in a position to give you any details at the present, but I'm sure DCI. Bull will get back to you as soon as he can. Will you be staying at that number for the next hour or so?

Official speak had said enough. Petra was already sure. She consciously prepared herself for the moment she'd always known would come. She picked up a school photograph from the hall table. A smiling face with one tooth missing near the corner of its mouth looked as directly at her as it had for the past year. She held the frame in both hands, her elbows resting on the small table. Oh Becky, she said through her tears, I'm so, so sorry. She pressed the image to her with eyes shut tight. She kissed the photograph before replacing it. She guessed there would be formalities to undergo, arrangements to make, so many people to contact, including the College. ‘At least,’ she thought, ‘most of this will be under my control’. After so long, she'd at last have a chance to do something for her daughter.

She tried to shut out the inevitable resurrection of the search for ‘the person or persons responsible’. The outcome, maybe a trial and all its publicity, would be work for others. Nevertheless, she realised these few quiet moments were all she was likely to get in the near future. She walked into the now darkening lounge lit by the silent but flickering television. She switched it off and looked out onto the front lawn through the rain spattered window. Her solitude now seemed more intense. She again asked herself why the hell she'd wanted to go to that bloody meeting such a time ago. She thought back again and wondered if she really had been so interested in the politics or whether she knew she'd finish up in the pub.

The General Election, that Spring, had been called unexpectedly and with so little prior notice, party political meetings had been set up very hastily. Confusion and excitement had mixed in the immediacy of the events and occasionally venues had been doubly booked or not even booked at all. In one nearby case this had left officials and supporters standing in the dark gateway of a local village hall whilst someone tried to find a key. Maybe it was stories of such mix ups, which would certainly deter any floating voter, which had accounted for the very poor turnout at the meeting Petra had attended a few days before. On the other hand, it's just such a mix up that promises to make this evening's meetings all the more interesting, she'd thought to himself.

Her local school, indeed the last school she'd taught in, was to be host to both the main parties, albeit in separate buildings at slightly different times. The first was due at 6-30 p.m. And who's responsible for accepting these arrangements? she'd asked her image in the mirror, as she quickly brushed her hair and freshened her lipstick. She'd comically assumed a stentorian voice as she remembered past days of management within the school.

Do we have here a master stroke of organisation or is it the same old disease of the left hand's ignorance of the right?Her headmaster would have boomed.

That evening, the late arrangements had meant a last minute change of plan for Petra, resulting in a hurried phone call to Jean and the equally hurried and unexpected dispatch of Becky, who was delighted to spend another Friday night at Auntie Jean's house, some 200 yards away. More importantly it accounted for her failure to wait for Jean's usual call to say Becky had arrived at her house. Whether the lack of the call would have enabled her to have taken any action that would have made a difference, she'd never know. All she did know, was she'd ignored her own safety code in watching Becky until she was in sight of Jean's house and Jean's three rings of the telephone which always indicated her safe arrival. On the evening in question she'd merely paused in the car before driving away and had waved to her as she turned the corner. The image of Becky's raised arm waving in response would be for ever with her.

The Labour Party meeting had been poorly attended and all too brief. Rather than preach to the converted, the sitting candidate had spent his time offering his audience questions they could throw at the Conservative candidate whose meeting was due to start within a few minutes. As the meeting broke up a small group of people began to straggle the short distance to the Upper School hall which was already filling with Conservative supporters. In the hope of an hour or so of vigorous audience participation, Petra walked across the few dark yards with the surety of someone who had made the journey hundreds of times before. Two policemen stood at the entrance to the building. Both carried heavy duty torches. One turned away as he spoke into his radio, which was clipped to the top of his coat.

‘Either you're expecting trouble or the Conservative's candidate is more worthy of protection than Labour's’, Petra thought to herself.

She took a seat near the aisle, about half way down the hall. She wanted to hear everything but didn't want to associate herself with the obvious supporters at the front. She thought of all the times she had been in that hall, usually on the stage. Had she been there then, she would probably have asked everyone to move nearer the front. Old instincts die hard, she thought. Her mind wandered over the various school drama productions she'd been responsible for. The panic, sweat and heartache they'd caused were now lost in the rosy nostalgia of time. Her rapport with the children had been such that they had worked hard for her rather than because of her. This had been especially true of the older and more reluctant boy ‘stars’ she'd cajoled into taking part. Somehow, through their experience and excitement of being on stage, she had assuaged any desire she might have had to act herself. There was enough greasepaint used through my parents' career to satisfy one family for several generations, she thought.

There were few in the hall she knew by sight and even fewer by name. The stage party made an organised entrance to enthusiastic applause from the front ten or twelve rows and took their seats at the blue covered table. Coping with a few catcalls from the small disgruntled group about to sit through their second meeting, Adrian Close, the chairman of the local association stood up and introduced himself and his colleagues. Before anyone was able or allowed to make any comment, the chairman, acknowledging a signal from the wings cleared his throat and began his address. Ladies and Gentlemen, I know you've come along tonight to meet, listen to and support our most worthy candidate Dr. Richard Masters. I also know what he has to say is going to be of importance, not just to the people of this constituency, but to the nation at large. What you will hear are not just the views of one man, but the blueprint for a successful Britain at the forefront of both European and World affairs.

Put us all back into the poor house more likely, came a call from behind. The chairman continued despite a number of turned heads.

Over recent years other nations have looked to us for a lead in those technological and industrial developments which have made us the envy of so many of our competitors. Our success has seen such massive inward investment that foreign firm vie with each other for our attention

You mean lots of fat Capitalist cats trying to get their noses into our trough, shouted the voice from behind again.

It's not CATS who feed from troughs though is it? called a companion. There were looks of concern from the stage. Petra turned to see the police reaction to the hecklers. They were merely talking to each other and showed no intention of intervening. The chairman checked his papers and seeing he only had one small page left, he decided to see his speech through.

Ladies and Gentlemen, such success has not been achieved without sound government. More especially, it wouldn't have occurred to the same degree without the tireless work and without the respect, so fully gained, by one man. His theatrical glance to the wings of the stage distracted his hecklers. This truly international statesman, who has worked so ceaselessly all over the world, has found time within his very tight schedule to join us this evening. He comes to lend his support in launching our candidate into a career which we would hope will emulate his own. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce our guest of honour, the Minister for Economic Development, the Right Honourable Sir Anthony Brevis.

There was a moment's pause of surprise before a burst of applause brought the hall to its feet. Sir Anthony was well built, if somewhat overweight, well groomed and a well respected Minister. Although working somewhat outside his brief, he was recognised as being responsible for bringing about a recent peace settlement in a long running Central African war. However, it was in the Far East that his standing was particularly high. A complex series of trade negotiations had resulted in such huge inward investment that, as the chairman had said, competitors were practically pleading for the opportunity to bring their new plant and car lines to this country. His was the voice of confidence that could, with the Prime Minister's, win the election. Many in the room had reason to be thankful for his efforts in bringing new industry to the town. Even those who had gone to the meeting to heckle remained silent. Sir Anthony strode across the stage to shake hands with the chairman and then walked to the front with his arms raised in salute to the applause which died as he slowly lowered them to his sides. The conductor had taken control of his orchestra.

Mr. Chairman, colleagues, ladies and gentlemen, he began, in a voice much used to public speaking. Petra had found herself taken back to Mark Anthony's speech in Julius Caesar. It had been the last school play she'd produced.

May I say how delighted I am, Sir Anthony continued, to be able to take this opportunity of thanking the people of this town, through this audience, for their support over the last five years. We all know times have been difficult for this country in general and this town in particular

Heads on the platform nodded in agreement. Sir Anthony acknowledged their response and checking on the straightness of his tie, turned to his audience to continue.

However, the future for this area has never looked so promising. No one has worked harder to help me achieve our recent success in persuading Yamora Motors to move their new plant here, than your candidate, Dr. Richard Masters.

A hesitant ripple of applause from the stage was taken up by the front row of the hall. Quite right too. boomed Sir Anthony. Stand up, Richard and accept the plaudits you so fully deserve.

Sir Anthony led the applause clapping his hands well above head level as if in example of what the audience should do. Dr. Master accepted the acclaim with an almost apologetic wave of the hand. Sir Anthony brought the applause to a halt by lowering his arms once more. He pulled down the waist coat which had ridden up when his arms were held aloft and made sure his shirt wasn't trapped over the front of his trousers. He noticed he'd lost a button from the bottom of the waistcoat. For the rest of his speech he used one hand to grasp the other wrist in order to conceal an escaping shirt front.

Richard's local knowledge and unfailing faith in his hard working and deserving electorate may not have literally moved the mountains, but it has achieved more by moving Yamora. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe the country will be as safe in the hands of the Conservatives as this seat will be in the hands of Richard Masters. Give him your support and I promise that we, in the Conservative Party, will continue to give you, our very special support in return.

He half turned to the beaming stage party and with an outstretched arm and slightly raised voice continued.

My friends; you have my every good wish for a most successful evening and my expectation of a most successful campaign.

Advancing on the rapt Dr. Masters with hand thrust out for a public handshake of support, he added his final clarion call.

Good Luck, Richard! and as he broke away and turned to leave the stage he stood with one arm raised, the other holding the opposite side of his jacket, as if blessing his audience, And good luck to you all!

Suddenly he was gone, but it was as if his after-image had remained amid the loud applause. No one in the hall seemed to have the will to spoil such a spellbinding performance. Petra looked behind her at the two policemen. One checked his watch and with a shrug of his shoulders started to do his coat up. The chairman hurriedly resumed control and with all hostility quelled, the meeting followed the normal format of urging the faithful to spread the word and ensure everyone who should vote Conservative, did so.

Petra was bored. An unexpected star who had made an all too brief appearance, had not even made a formal speech or offered to take questions. The evening had been robbed of its entertainment. She looked around and noticed the two policemen had left and she realised their role had been to see that the Minister and his car had safe passage. Carefully, she slipped from her seat, tip toed to the back of the hall, and stepped out into the darkness. As she drove towards the school gates, she felt the same sort of dissatisfied exhaustion she had often felt when leaving the site in the past after a late parents' evening. On this occasion she wasn't with her usual group of colleagues. On the other hand it was Friday night and as far as she knew they still went for their regular, end of the week glasses of wine. She suddenly fancied a drink. She reminded herself it was Friday night and Becky was safe at Jean's. Besides, the girls were always asking her to join them. It would do her good. To avoid drinking and driving, she'd leave her car in the car park and either get a lift from one of her friends, or walk home and then collect it in the morning. As she pulled into the Swan Inn, the car behind her switched on a blue, flashing light and sped past her. Not for me officer! she said aloud, as she switched off the engine before dropping her keys deep into the side pocket of her handbag. As a check she tapped them twice saying quietly to them, Take the night off lads. I won't be needing you until tomorrow. She felt in quite a jaunty mood as she walked into the pub and was delighted as the group in the corner turned and welcomed her with such enthusiasm. It was Friday evening and the whole weekend lay ahead.

Friday, March. 31st 1995 10.35 pm.

Despite the rain that had been falling gently for the two hours she'd been in The Swan, Petra felt warm and light headed from several glasses of red wine and an evening with lively friends. With the protection of her folding umbrella she had declined the offers of a lift home in preference for the enjoyment of walking home in the fresh air. As she walked up the slight hill towards her house she realised she was breathing more heavily than she would have wished. There was a time when she'd jogged up this stretch of her regular run with less effort than it was taking now. The thought of going on a diet as part of a new fitness regime hardly had chance to form in her mind as she was passed by a police car driven at speed.

‘That's the second lot tonight.’ she thought. At least, I hope it's not still part of the first incident. Suddenly both the warmth and the confidence of the wine left her. ‘It can't possibly be my place.’ she told herself aloud as she turned the corner which gave her a view of her house. A blue flashing light was glancing off her and her neighbour’s house front. ‘A burglary? A fire?’ She tried to contain her growing panic. ‘No. No fire engine and therefore no fire. A traffic accident maybe? No, no sign of an ambulance. Surely.’ she tried to convince herself, ‘It can't be for me.’ hoping that shaping the words would remove the feeling of dread slowly beginning to register with her. As there was no fire, as her vehicle was in the Swan car park, as Becky was at Jean's house if it did concern her it had to be a break in. ‘Sod it,’ she said to the night, her heavy breathing showing in white billows.‘Just my luck. One of my few nights out and this has to happen.’ She crossed the road to get a better view of the street to determine outside exactly which house the two police vehicles were parked. It was then she spotted Jean.

Her sister ran towards her with her open coat flying out behind. Becky wasn't with her! ‘Why?’

Is she with you? Is Becky with YOU, Petra? Jean shouted and seeing her uncomprehending stare, she grasped the bewildered Petra by the arms, pleading through her sobs. I didn't know what to do. I thought you must have changed your mind and taken her with you and then I realised that was stupid and she was gone. They've looked everywhere and we didn't know where you were.....

A constable stood in front of Petra's still blank stare.

Miss Sammon, is it, Madam? Becky's mother? I'm afraid there's a problem, Madam. Sergeant Tomlin is inside your house. Perhaps we could go in and let him explain. It would be better than out here in the street.

Petra needed no explanation. She knew. She knew with more certainty than she ever knew before. The small knots of neighbours, some still in bedroom slippers but with an umbrella, the group of youngsters with their mountain bikes, all told her. All explanation seemed irrelevant. She felt somehow remote from the scene as if she were watching things happening to someone else. She asked herself if it was the alcohol making things so clear and yet leaving her so numb. She was aware she didn't even seem to be panicking .As Petra was ushered into her own house she met Sergeant Tomlin coming downstairs. He, in turn, called to and introduced a Detective Constable who had been standing in the open back doorway, and explained they had been let in by Jean.

I expect you've gathered there's a problem. he said gently. It appears your Becky has gone missing. I know it's only early days but it's just as well to be on the safe side.The plain clothes officer took Petra towards the settee and motioned her to sit down.You realise when we get a call for a child gone missing we have to verify that really is the case. If it is, then we can call for support. We've already started. He pulled his notebook out. We do need some details from you, I'm afraid, regarding your daughter. What she was wearing for instance? Where do her friends live? Has she been in any trouble lately? That sort of thing

Seeing a growing look of panic on Petra's face and realising he'd moved too quickly, the detective stopped. Look, interrupted the uniformed Sergeant Tomlin gently, in ninety nine cases out of a hundred these things turn out O.K. It's just the public never hear of those instances because the children are found before they become news. I'm sure your daughter will turn up before long. He glanced at Jean for any reaction. She appeared to be close to tears. He filled in the awkward silence. As my colleague said, just to be on the safe side, we need your help.

Petra sat in the middle of the settee with Jean sitting alongside her with her arm around her. As the sergeant moved to sit close to her, he nodded to the constable suggesting perhaps he and Jean should see if they could make some coffee. He followed them to the door and closed it behind them before he returned to sit opposite Petra. The fruitless questions then began.

Those were her memories from nearly a year ago. Now it was all about to start again. Petra shook herself out of her trance like state. She blinked hard a few times and saw a reflection in the window without recognising herself. She pulled her hands through her hair and returned to the hallway. For a moment she paused and looked at her daughter's photograph. With a sense of shame that she couldn't think of something suitable to say to her, she picked up the phone and dialled. With her head tilted upwards to hold back her tears she waited for her sister to answer.

Jean? She paused to control herself, aware her voice didn't sound normal. "It's

Petra here. Can you come over? I think I've got some bad news....."

CHAPTER THREE

Friday, November 9th 1995 5.15 pm

Eighty three year old Miss Carlisle stood at her bedroom window. She was proud that, of her several close friends she was the only one who still slept upstairs, rather than having succumbed to the temptations of rearranging her life style to account for the passing years. It was her belief that it was regular daily exercise, such as climbing the stairs that kept her fit. She was waiting in the darkness for the first signs of her nephew's car which would arrive from around the far corner. He'd promised to install a spy hole in her front door so she could check on any callers before opening it the three inches its stout chain would allow. There had been several attempted burglaries near friends' houses and she thought t it was only a matter of time before they moved further afield and towards her home.

The house almost opposite hers was holding a children's party. She could clearly see down into its front garden. About seven or eight children had been using a variety of bicycles, tricycles, prams and scooters in what she suspected was an attempt to use up as much of their energy as possible before they went home. Although there was a hint of rain in the air, it was still quite warm. The empty garage was open and the car porch extended cover down the side of the house. The combination of porch and garage lights and kitchen curtains pulled well back gave extra light in the gathering dusk, so the noisy five and six year olds were able to race around with only the occasional collision or stumble. Squabbles for possession of the most favoured toys were settled by brute force and opportunism.

Suddenly the children were called indoors. Presumably the party was drawing to a close thought Miss Carlisle. She tried to change the position of her rather bony elbows on the window sill and transferred her weight to the other foot. As she changed her position against the window frame, she noticed the movement of what appeared to be a figure in the dusk. Stood to the side of the house holding the party and hidden in a shadow cast by some conifer trees, was the barely discernable shape of a man. Unexpectedly, the front door of the house opened and a small figure holding some food in one hand slowly made his way to the tricycle. This activity caught Miss Carlisle's attention and in the fraction of the second she spent looking away, she lost sight of the watching figure. It took a few moments before she could spot him again, pressed against the evergreen hedge. The old lady sensed something was wrong. She hoped that Jeff, her nephew, would arrive soon. He would know what to do. The almost hidden figure then moved and offered the now frightened Miss Carlisle some relief from her suspicions. A thin man in a woolly jacket stepped openly out of his shadowy hide and walked slowly past the front gate of the house. He stopped to tie his shoe lace for what seemed longer than necessary and then stood up, straightened his coat and took a casual look around the rest of the street. Miss Carlisle froze and hoped she wouldn't be spotted. She could still clearly see the youngster carefully making his way around the edges of paved area negotiating the other discarded playthings. He had at last found a chance to play with the toy of his choice.

The man, who Miss Carlisle had already decided was rat-like, walked slowly on, past the house and into the cul de sac which bordered it. As its door was opened a light appeared in a van that she could now see was parked there. A moment later the light went out and she fully expected to see the van move off. Her temporary relief turned to further alarm when, instead, the figure reappeared and opened the rear doors. Part of the back of the van was being cleared as if to make space for something. ‘Rat-man’ took out a blanket, shook it briefly and then carefully replaced it back on the floor of the vehicle.

There was still no sign of Jeff and the worst of horrors began to mount in the old lady's mind. Hadn't the poor Sammon girl been abducted last year from the other side of the estate? Tonight's television news had reported the discovery of a child's body found in the canal. Although no-one had confirmed it was the same girl, Miss Carlisle felt she could read between the lines. She shuddered at the thought. The little boy opposite was still happily cycling around the patio. Now, however, someone had shut the front door, oblivious that he was outside.

Rat-man had left the rear doors of the van slightly open and was now returning towards the front of the house. ‘Please let me be wrong.’ she prayed to herself, willing the figure to walk on, away from the cycling child. As the slim figure approached the pool of shadow, he appeared to reach into his pocket for a pair of gloves.

Without being even aware of reaching for the telephone near her bed, let alone dialling 999, Miss Carlisle found herself being transferred to the police and a strong female voice. She gave her address and explained what she had seen and what she could still describe by way of a running commentary.

Give me a moment, please, said the voice in her ear. Don't leave the phone.

Miss Carlisle watched as Rat-man seemed to be tightening his belt and pulling his coat zip up tight. Whatever he was going to do it seemed certain that it would be soon. The little boy was no longer in sight, but the old lady was pretty sure she hadn't seen any sign of him leaving his play area.

There's a car in your vicinity and on its way. It should be with you in less than a minute.

Please be quick! Should I go and shout to the boy?

Is he still there? The man, that is? And can you see the number of his van?

Yes. I think so. I'm so scared. What if it's the same man who stole the little Becky girl last year? Tell them to hurry.

Can you shout from the window, Madam? What's the van number? She paused. Are you O.K?

I'm alright. I can never get the window open. He's going now. No, he isn't, she corrected herself. He's turned back and he's going into the garden. I can see the little boy again. The car's coming. The police car's coming. I can see it. I'll go and show them where to go.

Please stay by the phone...... Miss Carlisle...... Hello......

Miss Carlisle stumbled down the stairs and pulled open her front door. Still in her bedroom slippers she called to the two policemen as they stepped from their car. They headed towards her.

No! she called. He's over there, in that garden.

The gate was still open. The two police officers shone their torches onto the front of the house that was now pulling its curtains back. The small boy ran towards the front door and the startled mother picked him up without having the chance to realise the significance of his still being outside. One policeman remained at the gateway whilst his partner approached the two women now standing in the doorway trying to block the exit of the other children.

Miss Carlisle hovered near the gate trying to see into the garden.

He can't have got away because his van is still parked around the corner, she offered.

Where love? the ‘gate keeper’ asked.

Come here. I'll show you.

The officer closed the gate and spoke into his radio. His colleague shepherded the women and children into the house pulling the door closed behind them. The children immediately raced to the window and could be seen standing on a settee to get a better view of what was happening outside. The policeman's step was measured alongside the shuffle of the old lady. Another police car arrived and parked a little way further up the road. Before they reached ‘Rat-man's’ van, the officer shouted

He could get out on the far side. Stop him getting to his vehicle.

The newly arrived officer, who was just about to lock his car, jumped back into the driving seat. He reversed into the cul de sac and up against the van at such an angle as to obstruct it. He left his engine running but stood outside and urged Miss Carlisle's chaperon to get back into the garden as he probably had a better idea of the layout. He added

Do you want me to call out the dog handler? They'll soon flush the little perv out.

Give us a minute or two first, Phil. Let’s see what we can do before we get Lassie to the rescue. She bites any bloody thing that moves and sod it if I want another tetanus jab.

Pc. Phil Brookes turned to Miss Carlisle. Is it your house he tried to break into, love? Got a kid's party on have you?

No, no, no. Nothing like that, she snapped scornfully. You've got it all wrong. She turned away and saw her nephew's car draw up.

Are you alright Auntie, he called out, seeing the police car. You've not been drinking and driving again, have you?

His Auntie shushed him to be quiet. A neighbour and his wife had joined them on the pavement and soon a few more passing cars