Chapter 63

Chapter 63

It was nearly midnight and the streets were deserted. It was time for Helen to head home in the hope of capturing a few hours' sleep before the dawn of a new day. But there was one task she still had to carry out before she could rest, an act of penance that couldn't wait.

The dull glow of a single naked lightbulb illuminated Sheila Watson's features as she opened the door, surprised to have a visitor so late at night. Helen glimpsed the momentary hope in her expression, the belief that this unexpected intrusion might herald the return of her daughter, then had to watch on as this transmuted into surprise, then concern.

‘Sorry to bother you late at night. I wasn't sure if you were up or not, but the light was on, so …' Helen apologized, nodding to the hallway light.

‘I never turn it off,' Sheila conceded bashfully. ‘I suppose I feel that if I leave it on, it might light Naomi's way home. It's silly really, but—'

‘It's not silly at all,' Helen interjected kindly. ‘If I was in your shoes, I'd do exactly the same. You keep it on, until Naomi's back safe and sound.'

Sheila Watson blinked at Helen as she gathered herself, clearly reassured by Helen's words, her manner, that she wasn't the bearer of the worst possible news. Clutching her dressing gown around her, she stepped back, allowing her visitor to enter. Helen moved smartly through to the living room, where the TV burbled in the corner. As Sheila hurried to turn it off, Helen surveyed the cosy space, picking out the innumerable photos of Naomi that graced the mantelpiece and sideboard. It was moving to see the full panorama of her life, from pudgy baby to cheeky toddler and beyond, her childhood played out in a series of carefree smiles. It was cheering to see that Naomi possessed such ebullience, such spirit, yet perversely crushing too, given the misery she must now be enduring, assuming she was still alive. Next to the photos stood a vase, filled with radiant blue and yellow flowers, arresting in their simple beauty.

‘They were always Naomi's favourites.'

Surprised, Helen turned to find Sheila standing next to her, starring wistfully at the pretty display of forget-me-nots.

‘She loved their vitality, their colour – always put a smile on her face, she said.'

Sheila's desolate tone underscored the poignancy, the irony, of this memory. Happiness seemed a long way off and there was no question of either of them forgetting about Naomi.

‘Is there any news?' Sheila continued, her voice suddenly tight with tension.

‘Nothing concrete,' Helen conceded. ‘We still don't know where Naomi is, or how she's doing, though obviously I've got every officer in my team engaged in the hunt.'

Sheila nodded soberly, but said nothing, sensing that there was more to come.

‘No, the reason I needed to see you tonight, Sheila, is that there are going to be some press stories, emerging in the next day or so, which have a bearing on Naomi's disappearance, and which you may find upsetting and alarming.'

Sheila looked so worried that Helen pressed on quickly.

‘I wanted to let you know about these developments before you saw them in the press, as they are going to generate a lot of interest and cause major ructions both within our force and beyond. It's … it's my suspicion, it's my belief, that a serving police officer might be responsible for Naomi's abduction.'

Sheila stared at her wide-eyed, her expression a mixture of incomprehension and horror.

‘Please believe me,' Helen continued quickly, ‘when I say that this is as distressing and shocking for me as it is for you. But I didn't want to hide this from you. You've got a right to know.'

‘Who … who is this person?' the stunned mother stuttered.

‘He's a beat officer, who's been working for Hampshire Police for many years. It's my belief that he's been using his uniform, his authority, to commit criminal offences in plain sight, convincing young women to trust him, before assaulting them. His initial offences seem to have been opportunistic, but I fear he's graduated to abducting and holding his victims captive. I'm so sorry, Sheila, I know this is the last thing you want to hear.'

‘But why the hell is he still a police officer? Why hasn't he been booted out if he's committed all these crimes?' Sheila blustered, aggrieved, reeling.

‘Because he was never charged. Because none of his victims were prepared to testify against him. Because they were too scared, fearful they wouldn't be supported.'

The middle-aged mother was fighting tears once more, but these were tears of anger, of outrage.

‘It's wrong, completely wrong, and believe you me, Sheila, I will work night and day to make sure his crimes are exposed, that he is held to account for his actions, and if he is involved in Naomi's abduction, that he reveals her whereabouts to us so that we can return her to you.'

‘I can't believe it …' Sheila responded, struggling to find the words. ‘That someone in uniform could do something like that. It disgusting, it's evil …'

‘I totally agree, Sheila. It's beyond disgraceful, a stain on my force, on me, on everyone who wears a uniform or carries a badge. We've let you down, Sheila. We've let Naomi down. And many other young women and girls too. I won't apologize to you because apologies are woefully inadequate. All I can do is promise that I won't rest until we've got Naomi back and that this piece of shit is behind bars. You have my word on that.'

Sheila nodded absently, but Helen knew her words were scant consolation. Previously Sheila had blamed herself, insisting that she'd failed Naomi as a mother. Now it was horribly clear that the fault, the blame, lay elsewhere, that it was a serving police officer, someone whose job it was to uphold the law, who was responsible for the Watsons' ever-darkening nightmare. Helen felt sick, ashamed, hollow. She had nothing to offer Sheila except pain and disillusionment, as the extent of this catastrophic breach of trust became clear. Raising her gaze to meet Sheila's, she saw only disorientation and anguish. This time, Helen maintained eye contact, refusing to avoid the censure that was her due, but inside she was dying. In all her many years of service, she had never felt so ashamed as she did tonight.