Chrissie Most, for her friendship, kindness and fun.

  You will be truly missed.

  CONTENTS

  Euston Station

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Lynda La Plante

  About the Author

  Readers’ Club

  Letter from Author

  Copyright

  EUSTON STATION

  He has wasted weeks, including a couple of nights, at Paddington and Charing Cross stations, trying to spread out the hunt so that it was safer, and remaining wary of CCTV cameras, knowing exactly how far away from the stations he needed to be before he was in the clear. He knew it was imperative that he never created any suspicion, but it’s been frustrating.

  And so tonight, he was returning to his old hunting ground. But with one new added dimension: saving the cash required to be allowed into Euston station’s First Class Lounge, via the cheapest ticket he could purchase.

  Choosing a table with a complete view of the station’s concourse below the bay window, he helped himself to a free coffee and a pastry. Wearing rimless glasses, a black hoodie with jeans and sneakers, and carrying a non-descript canvas haversack, to all intents and purposes he appeared to be a university graduate. Sitting with his back to the rest of the lounge, he was relieved that it was virtually empty. From his position he could watch passengers coming and going, and all the train departures and arrivals were on screens clearly visible from his position. Taking out his mobile phone, he appeared to be concentrating on messages and texting, while in reality, his concentration was on Platform 1, awaiting the arrival of a train from Liverpool Lime Street. This had been very productive on previous occasions.

  Finishing his coffee, he took an old takeaway coffee beaker from his haversack in readiness, as the arriving passengers began to stream out onto the station’s concourse. Surrounded by cafés and fast-food stalls, newsagents and book shops, his focus was directed on the passengers with their trollies and wheelie suitcases. As groups of family and friends waited outside the platform’s exit gate, he began to feel very agitated that after all his planning it looked as if he was out of luck.

  The last straggling passengers had walked out of the exit gate when his antenna kicked into action. She was very petite, with blonde hair worn in a thick twisted knot. Wearing a short mini skirt with rubber-soled ankle boots and a cheap parka puffa jacket. Over her shoulder she had a large dirty white canvas bag with wide straps and what looked like a sleeping bag wrapped around with straps. He would have to learn quickly if she was meeting up with friends, intending to camp out somewhere with them. She seemed disorientated, standing by the exit gate as the grille was drawn closed. Looking around, she headed towards one of the empty seats available for passengers and paused by a stand offering various tourist attractions and free tube maps. Picking one out, she turned to look over towards the sign for the exit down to the tube trains, then concentrated on reading the tube station map.

  From the First Class Lounge it took only a few minutes for him to walk across the concourse towards her. Prepared in advance was the takeaway coffee beaker, and as he made the last few steps towards her, he jolted forwards, virtually into her arms. To any casual onlooker it would look like a friend hugging her.

  ‘I am so sorry, goodness, here let me mop this mess up.’

  He had spilt the cold watery coffee from his beaker over her canvas bag, and quickly took out some tissues from his pocket to dab at the stain. She was much younger than he had first thought, a teenager with bad acne and bitten fingernails.

  ‘It’s alright, didn’t get any over me.’ She had a strong Northern accent.

  He gently dabbed at the stain on her canvas bag. ‘I don’t think I’ve done too much damage, but I was hurrying for the tube station. Are you catching a train?’

  ‘No, I’ve only just arrived. Don’t worry about me bag, honestly.’

  ‘Well, I’ve probably missed the train I was hurrying to get, so can I buy you a coffee? Or are you waiting for someone?’

  ‘No, I’m on me own. I’ve never been to London before. In fact I was just checking out the tube station. Never been on one of them either.’

  She gave a nervous laugh, then checked the stain on her bag. ‘It’s not too bad, so thanks.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Heather.’

  ‘Well, I apologise, Heather. If you like I can walk you down to the tube. Whereabouts are you heading?’

  Almost without any hesitation they began to walk towards the exit for the tube station. He’d picked up her sleeping bag by the strap, insisting he carry it for her, at the same time asking where she was staying. He had played out this routine so many times and knew his next moves would be eventually getting her onto the tube near to where he lived, then offering her not just a coffee but stopping off for a hamburger. It would not be too difficult to subsequently offer her a place to stay. Only once before had his instinct failed.

  Heading down to the tube station it was imperative that he give her no hint of interest that might alarm her. It was important that he gained her trust. She was intending to go to Piccadilly Circus, telling him that she had been told by a friend that she might find her there, or over at the Embankment.

  When he offered to accompany her and look for her friend, Heather appeared quite relieved. She was concerned that her old flip-top mobile might need to be charged as she had hoped to do it on the train but didn’t have the right lead. By the time they had alighted at Piccadilly it was after ten, and they sat by the Eros Statue for a while before Heather started to become fretful. He looked at his own mobile, checking the time as if concerned about getting home, but at the same time saying he was worried about leaving her on her own, even though there were a lot of tourists around. He asked her if she had any other contacts, suggesting that perhaps he could call them for her on his mobile. She started chewing at her nails and shaking her head.

  The offer of a hamburger and fries with a milk shake made her hesitate, even telling him that she should be the one offering as he had been so helpful. He didn’t insist but said he was definitely hungry. He knew a cheap place they could get a burger from a street stand. It was important that by now he knew she had very little money, but there was one element he needed to find out before he wasted any more time.

  They walked up Shaftesbury Avenue as the theatres spilled out their audiences. Already there were a few homeless people taking up their positions outside the empty theatre exits. He watched Heather looking towards one young man and he bent down towards her and whispered that he was glad he was not in that position as it was very risky sleeping rough.

  The stall was close to the Shaftesbury Theatre, and sometimes there were other market stalls selling mostly tourist items. After they stood side by side eating their burgers, he gained the last important fact. She didn’t explain it right away, but eventually, she said she might have been stupid but she could not take any more tirades from her stepfather, describing him as a bully and how her mother was afraid of him.

  ‘I’ve run away. I mean not for the first time – I done it a few times before – but they always got me back. This is as far as I ever come before.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen, nearly fifteen.’

  He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin that had been wrapped around his burger. He was pleased with himself. He had been right: she was perfect. He was beginning to really like her, anticipating that it could be a few weeks or even more, depending on how she turned out. He doubted that she had even been reported missing yet.

  It took a little persuasion to get her to accept a room for the night, saying that it would just be until she made contact with her friend.

  She looked dubious, chewing at her bitten nails again. Then she crumpled the ketchup-stained napkin into a ball and tossed it into the waste bin by the side of the stall.

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t know if I should.’

  ‘I don’t want you to think I’m coming on to you in any way, Heather. I just really need to get back as I have to do some studying and be up early in the morning. It’s only a small box room, and you might have to use your sleeping bag, but you’ll be safe until you decide what you’re going to do next.’

  ‘Do you live far away?’

  ‘Two tube stops then a change and we’re there.’

  She smiled, hitched her canvas bag onto her shoulder as he picked up the strap wrapped around her sleeping bag. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘This is really kind of you; I really appreciate it, thanks ever so much.’

  They disappeared, heading t

owards Leicester Square tube station. Just another ordinary looking young couple stopping as he pointed out the hanging lanterns as they passed the entrance to China Town.

  Nothing gave any hint of the horror that would come.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The entire team had been called together by DCI Ridley for a briefing in the boardroom of Kensington Police Station. Chairs had been placed around the large meeting table and along the walls in two tiers. Stacks of notebooks and pencils were placed in the centre of the table should they be required. Squashed in the corner was a trolley with tea and coffee.

  The officers arrived in dribs and drabs; some dealt with crimes like assaults, robbery, burglary and fraud. Others were part of the safeguarding units, dealing with sexual offences, domestic abuse and offences against children. They helped themselves to refreshments then sat down at the table expectantly. Fourteen officers were already at the table by the time DC Laura Wade and DS Anik Joshi arrived, carrying their Starbucks coffees. Laura glanced at her watch. There was no sign of DS Jack Warr, and she suspected he would leave it to the last minute, so she placed her jacket on the seat next to her to reserve it. Anik eased the lid off his coffee, glanced towards the door and said under his breath, ‘Jack’s going to be late as usual. Any idea what the briefing’s about?’

  ‘No, I only got the e-mail last night. But whatever it is, it’s got to be something big. I’ve never seen so many from other departments present in previous briefings.’

  ‘Me too.’

  The two chairs at the top of the table remained empty, as well as the one next to Laura. She glanced at her watch again. It was five to nine. Two female clerical staff hurried in. One squeezed past a seated officer and flicked a wall switch that lowered a large white screen at the far end of the boardroom. The other went to the top end of the table and switched on a laptop that projected the Met Police crest onto the white screen. They then left the room.

  At exactly one minute to nine, Jack – still wearing his overcoat – strode into the boardroom. He went straight to the refreshment trolley and poured himself a cup of tea, heaping in sugar before turning to look around the table. Laura raised her hand to indicate that she had saved the chair beside her, and he beamed. He had just sat down as Detective Chief Superintendent Ian Henderson walked in, giving a brief nod to everyone. He hesitated before he spoke.

  ‘Due to personal matters, which I can’t go into at present, DCI Simon Ridley, will be stepping down from his position here for some time. I will be introducing you to an officer whom I admire greatly that will be taking over from him. He will decide how all the cases you are involved in will be handled in DCI Ridley’s absence. As I said, I can’t give you any details regarding the situation, it must be treated with the utmost discretion and not revealed under any circumstances to anyone outside this station.’

  Nobody knew quite how to interpret what Henderson had just said. There was a strong sense of confusion, but no one wanted to ask any questions. There was a light knock on the boardroom door and the Superintendent walked briskly over to open it. DCI Nathan Clarke was ushered into the room and stood next to Henderson.

  ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Nathan Clarke. He has a full list of our ongoing cases for you to discuss with him. I apologise to everyone for having been unable to give any formal notice before this morning. It is imperative that we continue to practise the high standards and commitment the teams here have always had. Thank you, and I urge you to respect my request for the utmost privacy during this time.’

  Henderson walked out leaving DCI Clarke facing everyone. If they had hoped to get some further insight into what had just occurred, they didn’t get it. Clarke opened a Word document on the laptop, then, using a laser pointer, pointed towards the large screen at the end of the table.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, when I indicate your names on the screen, please could you give me an update regarding the investigation you are attached to.’

  Clarke was tall and had a deep voice. He was dressed in an immaculate grey suit with a pristine white shirt, and tie. Everyone around the table craned their necks to look at the screen. They were still bemused at the morning’s development but followed Clarke’s request and waited in turn as he passed from name to name.

  After an hour they were all released and returned to the incident room. It proved difficult for anyone to discuss the situation or ask questions regarding Ridley’s departure, as Clarke’s secretary was already moving his computer and other equipment into Ridley’s office. This was odd, as normally Ridley’s computer and laptop would have remained there and anyone taking over in his absence would simply use a log-in code to use them, but nobody paid particular attention. Clarke instructed her to remove various personal items belonging to Ridley, including a large pot plant and a box of framed pictures and commendations. The team were then each handed a typed single page giving them details of Clarke’s impressive career with the Met. It appeared he had been a serious high-flyer, excelling in IT and establishing a forward-thinking Guide to Digital Evidence program to help all Met officers to become computer literate. He had also led a team on an investigation into burner phones and mobiles to enhance tracking and arrests.

  Lunch break was the first opportunity for the team to voice their concerns about what had taken place that morning. The consensus was that Ridley was ill, perhaps with some form of cancer, and had taken time out to have chemo. Amid all the frantic speculation, Jack kept his thoughts to himself, but inside he was upset and angry. Surely he had been a close enough friend for Ridley to have had a private conversation with him about what was going on. Unlike the rest of the team, Jack had been privy to Ridley’s cancer diagnosis the previous year, but he had been assured that he was in the clear, in complete remission. He had already been absent for two weeks prior to this morning, telling Jack he was taking a well-earned break. What the hell was going on? Thankfully, Jack was able to avoid getting involved in any discussions with his colleagues, as Clarke was already arranging one-on-one meetings with everyone.

  Jack’s own meeting with him was quite lengthy. He had been overseeing the investigation of a violent knife attack at a local corner shop and officers had made an arrest the day before. Jack would have to go through a lengthy court process as the suspect, Rodney Middleton, had a long history of violence and had been refused bail. Clarke listened attentively as Jack outlined the entire investigation which resulted in officers tracking down the offender to his flat. Clarke looked over the statements and suggested that Jack delve further into the medical background of the assailant. From his previous record it had been suggested Middleton was a schizophrenic and he had been transferred to a psychiatric unit for assessment. He told Jack the CPS would want a full medical history, and it was best to get a warrant issued.

  Jack had actually already arranged a meeting with a psychiatrist from the unit but told Clarke that in his opinion Middleton had ‘acted up’ after his previous arrest eighteen months earlier, to get a lenient sentence, serving only seven months before his release. He didn’t mention that it was Ridley who had first suggested that there was something fishy going on.

  ‘Jack, I’m not interested in your opinion. Please just get the necessary medical data as it appears his violence is escalating. I also suggest you re-interview his girlfriend.’

  Jack had already arranged to bring in the girlfriend for further questioning, but he simply agreed with Clarke as he was eager to leave. Jack had not actually met the offender as the original DS who had been dealing with the case had gone on long-term sick leave. A forensic psychologist had been contacted to assess the defendant and judge whether he was fit to enter a plea, stand trial and participate in proceedings. It felt as if Clarke was being over-diligent, but he presumed it was due to the fact that he was taking over from Ridley at short notice. When Jack returned to the incident room, he found that most of the others felt as if they had been interrogated rather than asked for a summary of the cases to which they had been assigned.

  When he left at five thirty, Jack and the entire team had no clearer understanding of what was going on with Ridley. Maggie arrived home shortly after Jack and, as soon as she saw him, she knew something was wrong. He was in the kitchen putting a casserole into the oven, and their daughter, Hannah, was upstairs being given a bath by Jack’s mother, Penny.