‘What did you see?’ Dad asks her. His face is in shadows.
She shakes her head in a tight way, says, ‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t muck me about, Rebecca.’
A sob comes from her; it makes her body buckle. ‘I saw the girl,’ she says. ‘And I saw you.’
‘You shouldn’t have been there,’ he says.
‘She was hurt, but you didn’t care,’ Becky chokes out her words. ‘You gave her to that man, I saw you do it, she was begging, she was crying and you did nothing, you let it happen. They shoved her in the car. I wasn’t born yesterday, Dad!’
She tries to lift her head and look at him all proud, like she usually is, but instead her back slides down the wall so she’s on the floor. Dad crouches in front of her.
‘Keep your voice down,’ he says to her, ‘or you’ll wake your mum.’ He takes her chin between his fingers and wrenches her head up so she’s looking at him.
I don’t know what to do. I want to look away but I can’t stop watching. I want to stop them both from arguing. I don’t want him to hurt her.
I see a big china dog on a shelf beside me. It belongs to my mum. She loves that dog. She likes the smooth, nubbly texture of its ears. I pick it up. I don’t want to smash my mum’s china dog and I don’t want to hurt anybody, but I’m desperate to distract Dad and Becky, to stop the thing that’s happening. I throw it, as hard as I can, but it hits the top of the banisters and so it smashes right by me and rains shards of china around my feet as well as down onto my dad and Becky below. I see this as if it’s in slow motion.
Becky screams and I do too and then my mum comes from her room and turns on the landing light. It freezes the three of us: Becky, my dad and me. Mum’s wearing just her nightie, long sleeves, hem brushing the carpet, soft fabric, and she just stands there really quiet for a second, then she says to Becky, ‘Go to bed, love,’ and Becky runs up the stairs past us. My dad comes up after her fast, two steps at a time, and before I realise what’s happening his hand is on my arm and it feels so strong and my bones feel like brittle sticks, but my mum is calm, and she says, ‘Mick, give him to me, he’s hurt. Look, Mick, he’s cut himself on the broken china. Mick… Please…’
I don’t remember any further than that. Just as if it were a dream my mind cut the memory there, at the point when it felt like the stress of it was nipping unbearably hard at the edges of me. And then it replayed, even though I was desperate to sleep, and I felt as if tiredness was collapsing my veins.
And I knew what it was telling me. It was telling me that people aren’t always what they seem, and it was telling me to fear for Benedict.
And both of those things made me break out in sweat, even though the night was cold and the duvet was too thin to stop the chill from creeping in around me, and there was no extra body in my bed to keep me warm.
But, worst of all, it compounded both my guilt that we hadn’t found him yet, and my fear for what could be happening to him at that very moment.
Deep into the small hours of the morning, I felt as if I was coming undone.
DAY 8
The Prolonged Investigation: This phase in the investigative process occurs when it becomes apparent the child will not be quickly located, most immediate leads have been exhausted… While some observers might view this stage as one of passively waiting for new information to emerge, in reality, it presents an opportunity for law enforcement to restructure a logical, consistent, and tenacious investigative plan eventually leading to the recovery of the child and arrest of the abductor.
Findlay, Preston and Lowery Jr, Robert G (eds.), ‘Missing and Abducted Children: A Law-Enforcement Guide to Case Investigation and Program Management’, Fourth Edition, National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, OJJDP Report, 2011
Researchers reported that abductors seldom ‘stalk’ their victim. However, they are usually very skilled at manipulating and luring children. Those lures commonly involve requests for assistance, to find a lost pet, to claim an emergency, calling the victim by name, posing as an authority figure or soliciting the victim by internet computer chats.
Dalley, Marlene L and Ruscoe, Jenna, ‘The Abduction of Children by Strangers in Canada: Nature and Scope’, National Missing Child Services, National Police Service, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, December 2003
To: Corinne Fraser ‹fraserc@aspol.uk›
Cc: Giles Martyn ‹martyng@aspol.uk›; Bryan Doughty ‹doughtyb@aspol.uk›; James Clemo ‹clemoj@aspol.uk›
From: Janie Green ‹greenj@aspol.uk›
28 October 2012 at 08:13
OPERATION HUCKLEBERRY – WIBF BLOG UPDATE
Morning Corinne
Bryan and I have spoken about developments relating to the WIBF blog this morning – much of which he’s asked me not to refer to directly in email – so we’ll speak about that. However, I can say that activity continues on the WIBF blog, in that last night a post appeared suggesting police incompetency. In spite of that we are confident that what we discovered yesterday has taken the sting out of its tail so that while it remains unpleasant and accusatory, no further privileged information was made public.
As of this morning, the blog owner has been contacted by ourselves by email and has been asked to take down the blog. We reminded the blog owner of contempt of court and other legal issues and made it clear that we would take action against them if necessary. We’ve not yet received a response, and we are not overly hopeful of their agreement, because the blog has a rapidly growing number of followers. Best-case scenario might be that the knowledge that we are monitoring extremely closely at least keeps the content somewhat under control, while we look into tracing the identity of the owner from the email address (apparently this could be complicated depending on how smart they’ve been at covering their tracks). However, now that the blog lacks a source of confidential information about the investigation, Bryan, Giles and I all feel that it shouldn’t be a worry to the extent that it was, even if it remains vindictive and aggressive, which, as you’ll see below, seems to be the tone of much of the media this weekend. Anyway, I’ll keep you posted.
Round up of this morning’s press coverage relating to Operation Huckleberry to follow. The supplements are all over it – double spreads etc. – usual mixture of sensible and scurrilous, some editorial and thought pieces too, and Rachel Jenner in particular is still a target.
Looking forward, I’m hopeful that with the blog out of the running or at least under control, we might be able to get some more positive material out there to reinforce our efforts and encourage people to come forward.
Janie Green
Press Officer, Avon and Somerset Constabulary
RACHEL
When dawn came there was no respite from the grip of my night-time fears, because it was Sunday.
One week since Ben went missing.
A lifetime of loss in one week.
And still no news.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, as I brushed my teeth with slow, ineffective strokes, and I didn’t recognise myself.
The police organised a taxi to take me to the hospital. They promised that a squad car would remain outside the house. They promised me that they would protect me.
The police asked the taxi to collect me from the back of my house so the driver didn’t see the press, and work out who I was. The driver was an older man, wearing a Sikh turban, white beard and white eyebrows. I slunk into the back seat behind him.