on their wedding day, beaming into the camera without a care in the world. The whole country knew that photo by now; it had appeared in every newspaper and flashed up time and again on the news.
But despite the familiarity, the picture still chilled Anna’s blood. The innocence in the faces of that couple was painful to behold. In that joyful moment when they’d posed together in the sunshine, they’d had no idea – not even an inkling – of the agony and horror that would suddenly descend upon their lives without warning, of the fact that one would disappear overnight and the other would be left dead in a pool of blood.
A door opened suddenly and a man in a dark suit strode up onto the podium. He was tall, well built, with dark hair and angular, very serious features. His keen, rather piercing eyes surveyed the room as if trying to pick out an individual face from the crowd. When that intense stare fell upon Anna he seemed to pause and scrutinise her with particular interest, or maybe even hostility. Did he recognise her as the hack who had humiliated CID the previous summer on account of the Underwood case?
Anna refused to be intimidated. She held his stare, unblinking, for what felt like minutes but could only have been a heartbeat or two – and then the man turned his attention elsewhere, checked his notes, tapped the microphone, and addressed the room:
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending this press conference. My name is DI Jim Townsend of Middlesex CID, B Division, and, as I’m sure you are aware, I am the officer charged with heading the investigation into the recent disappearance of Ben and Sharon Steiner. Now, before I update you as regards the current state of the investigation, I feel it necessary to address certain criticisms and accusations which some amongst you have made against CID in recent months in relation to the abduction of Josh Underwood.’
And now he surely shot a cold glance at Anna.
‘Our professionalism and integrity was called into question on account of that case,’ DI Townsend went on. ‘I have no intention of rebutting those accusations point by point so I will restrict myself to saying simply this: CID is, and always will be, dedicated to each and every task assigned to it. In the current case, myself and my investigative team are totally committed to discovering the whereabouts of Sharon Steiner, and, as far as is humanly possible, returning her safely to her family and loved ones. We are no less committed to apprehending whoever was responsible for the brutal murder of Sharon’s husband Ben. Our investigation is being carried out with rigour, dedication, and with the utmost professionalism. Any and all accusations to the contrary are unfounded and unjustified.’
‘DI Townsend, why have the forensics samples taken at the crime scene not been properly analysed yet?’ Anna called out.
The other journalists packing the room poised themselves expectantly for an answer.
Townsend turned his cold stare back towards Anna and said: ‘I am not at liberty to discuss forensics reports publicly at the current time.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because such information may prejudice the ongoing investigation.’
‘Assuming you had such information,’ Anna said boldly. ‘Detective Inspector Townsend, I have a source inside Middlesex CID who has informed me that the forensics samples taken from the crime scene were contaminated due to mishandling by an inexperienced forensics team.’
‘Untrue,’ Townsend said bluntly.
‘And I have also been informed that CCTV footage from security cameras in the vicinity of 19 Elm Crescent – footage which almost certainly would have contained images of whoever attacked and abducted the Steiners – was not seized as evidence and has since been erased.’
‘Untrue,’ Townsend repeated, an edge of anger creeping into his voice.
‘And what’s more, Detective Inspector, that same source revealed to me that basic investigational procedures were not followed by you and your officers when you first arrived at the crime scene …’
‘Untrue.’
‘… resulting in evidence gained at that time being declared inadmissible in any subsequent trial.’
‘All untrue.’
‘And that, on account of budgetary restrictions, lack of manpower, and even shortage of available computers in CID, the investigation has in reality been postponed, or at the very least seriously curtailed pending financial review.’
‘Excuse me, are you who I think you are?’ Townsend spoke in a low, hard voice, glaring at her.
‘Anna Vaughan, After-Dark.’
Townsend nodded to himself, narrowed his eyes, and said: ‘I might advise you, Ms Vaughan, that your talents and capabilities could for once be put to better use than vilifying me and my department.’
‘And I might advise you, Detective Inspector Townsend, that I am merely making public the information that has been passed to me by a whistleblower inside your own department.’
‘Not so, Ms Vaughan.’
‘You’re accusing me of lying?’
‘I am accusing you of not adequately checking your sources. There is no such “whistleblower” in my department. It’s impossible. You are, I can assure you, the victim of a hoax.’
Various shouts and cried came from the press, but Anna strained her voice to be heard over the top of them: ‘Then where are the forensics reports? Where is the CCTV footage? Why has the investigation been scaled back so quickly? Why are there no leads? Why are there no suspects?’
But now Anna’s voice was drowned out completely by the bellowing coming from the other journalists. Townsend stood there at his podium, ignoring all the shouting and hollering, his eyes fixed icily on Anna, his mouth set firmly, his jaw muscles visibly flexing. It was an expression which said, without any shadow of a doubt: You have made an enemy here today, Ms Vaughan … believe me, you have made an enemy.
It was dark by the time Anna got home to her East London flat. Dark and cold and grim. The festive lights flashing and sparkling around the city did their best to alleviate the gloom, but they didn’t manage to lift Anna’s spirits. The image of Sharon Steiner’s innocently smiling face was etched into her mind. What nightmare was that poor young woman enduring at this very moment, alone and terrified and held captive by the psychopathic Santa? What state was she in? And what hope of salvation did she have when CID seemed so wilfully incompetent? The shoddiness of the investigation being headed by DI Townsend had left Anna feeing angry and depressed. Sharon Steiner’s life depended on those clowns doing their job right. How could they be so shoddy in their search for her? They were police officers, for God’s sake – did they not have consciences?
Back at her flat, Anna kicked off her shoes, poured herself a stiff drink, and slumped down in the sofa. Her head was buzzing. She was restless and agitated. Living alone was wretched at times like this, times when you felt the profound need to give voice to your feelings, to communicate, to discuss. She fiddled with her phone, scrolling through names, looking for somebody she knew would be around and willing to talk to her. Family, old friends from university, fellow hacks in the After-Dark offices … one after the other she flicked through their names and numbers, but somehow, for all the affection she felt for these people, it was always Miles Carter she wanted to speak to most when she had something serious on her mind.
She
