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She knows what she has to do. She needs to get this to the police.
She stands up, closing the lid of the laptop and pulling the memory stick out. She opens the door and hurries down the corridor. But as she does so she sees a pay phone on the corner. She stops a man walking past. He gives her a funny look but complies with her request, giving her a pound coin that she puts in the phone.
She dials a number, known by heart, and at last someone answers.
“St. Mary’s Primary,” the singsong voice says.
“Hello, yes. I’m hoping you can help me. My daughter’s come home with a Transformer toy, and she says it belongs to Hayden.” Jess is gabbling, saying the first thing that comes into her head. “His father’s Evan … or Ethan. Or something. Could I have their full name so I can message them on Facebook? I’m worried it’s a precious toy, and Hayden will be upset.”
“Um.” The voice on the other end is hesitant. “What class did you say?”
“Oh. Oak class. I think.”
Jess can hear tapping at the other end of the phone. Then another pause.
“I can’t help you, I’m afraid.”
Jess swallows. “I know, it’s a data protection thing, I’m sorry. But if you could just give me the correct first name, then I can look it up.”
“It’s not that,” the woman says. “Well, I mean, yes, I’m not supposed to give out that sort of information. But even if I wanted to, I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Jess stutters.
“There’s nobody in Oak class by the name of Hayden. Nobody in that year, actually.”
Jess mutters a thank-you and puts the phone down.
She knows for sure now. It was all staged.
How could she have been so stupid? He targeted her, like he had his other victims. And now Griffin is in the hospital and Nav’s been arrested.
A sudden thought pops into Jess’s head, and she starts to run. He knew who her daughter was. He knew where she went to school.
She sprints down the corridor, the laptop bag clutched tightly in her hand. The urgency turns her insides to liquid. She needs to protect Alice.
She pushes the doors of the hospital open, and they slam against the wall with a bang. She knows she’s getting looks, but she doesn’t care. She has to get to her daughter, and she frantically looks around.
But she can’t see the taxi rank. The place is deserted. She runs further away from the hospital, catching a glimpse of a sign, pointing her away.
The road is dark and quiet. There is no one around, nothing in sight but an old car, parked up on the double yellows.
She pauses, desperately searching in the darkness, and a hand taps her on the shoulder.
“Excuse me?” a male voice says.
She glances for a second. He’s wearing a baseball cap, his arm in a sling. The collar of his coat is pulled over the bottom half of his face.
“Could you help me carry these to my car?”
He points to a pile of books by his feet, then to his car. It’s a tan VW Beetle, an old one, and the strangeness of this registers somewhere in her brain.
But she’s too panicked.
“I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry,” she says, and he pulls on her arm again.
She turns. She sees his face. Her mouth drops open.
It’s too late.
