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  FM: Why’s that?

  JC: She’s very clever, and very gorgeous. Funny, too when you got to know her.

  FM: She sounds lovely.

  JC: She was even better than that though; I’m not describing her very well. She was different from other girls I’d been out with.

  FM: How was she different?

  JC: She was just… she wasn’t dull like them. It’s like she’d lived a different kind of life, and she wasn’t afraid to know stuff, and she was always wanting to learn new things, to be a better version of herself. When she was a kid she was an athletics star, and she got top grades, and she’d kept that sense of purpose about her. She talked about life as if it was a given that it was interesting or exciting, not about mortgages or package holidays or where she was going out on Friday night. I don’t want to make her sound manic, obsessed with achievement or anything, because she wasn’t like that, because she was calm with it all. It’s just that she was always striving, you know, to make life better than it was.

  FM: So she had high expectations?

  JC: Yes, but in a good way. It was refreshing. She was refreshing. That’s the word I’m looking for. She had a different outlook and it was infectious, if I’m honest. I felt like it brought me out of myself, if that makes sense.

  FM: It sounds as if your relationship with Emma gave you a sort of zest for life that perhaps you hadn’t ever experienced before?

  JC: It did feel like that, yes. I felt excited about us. I felt a sort of pull to be with her.

  FM: Did you meet at work?

  JC: We did.

  FM: Did you see a lot of each other outside of work?

  JC: As much as we could. By the time the case went live, she’d kind of moved in with me.

  FM: So things were getting quite serious for you?

  JC: She kept her own flat, but she stayed over most nights. We didn’t really discuss it, it just sort of happened.

  FM: Did you introduce Emma to your family?

  JC: Yes, she met them twice, both times when my parents came up to Bristol and we went out for a meal.

  FM: How did that go?

  JC: It was very nice. They really liked her. She even charmed my dad.

  FM: Did you meet Emma’s parents?

  JC: No.

  FM: Any reason for that?

  JC: Not really. I suppose I figured I’d meet them at some point, when she was ready. I knew she wasn’t close to them. She never went to visit them and they never came to see her, or not that I knew of anyway.

  FM: Did you wonder why that was?

  JC: She said they’d had a falling out.

  FM: Did she say why?

  JC: She didn’t really explain. I got the impression her dad was quite strict, classic army type, not an easy man, but I’m not really sure to be honest. That was one thing about her – she was very private about her family.

  FM: Weren’t you curious?

  JC: A bit. But she didn’t make a big deal about it, and we had a lot else going on so I didn’t really think about it.

  FM: So you recommended Emma for the FLO role?

  JC: I did, yes.

  FM: Was that a risk?

  JC: I didn’t think so, no. I thought she’d do a fantastic job. Emma was one of the best new DCs to come through in years, everybody said so.

  FM: Was it professional of you to recommend her, given that you were having a relationship?

  JC: It wasn’t unprofessional.

  FM: Are you sure about that?

  JC: Yes, I’m sure. Look, I broke a personal rule getting involved with Emma. I never wanted to have a relationship with somebody at work, but when it happened, it felt… it felt totally right. So I went with it, but when this opportunity came up I thought she was absolutely the right person for that role. Genuinely. Why would I put my neck on the line otherwise?

  FM: OK. I understand that. It’s clear from your report that this case was a very big moment in your career. ‘Bring it on’, are the words you used, I think.

  JC: That’s how I felt.

  FM: You were excited.

  JC: The challenge of it, the possibility ⁠…

  FM: To shine?

  JC: I suppose so. I wasn’t going to put it quite like that. It was my first chance to be involved in a very high-profile investigation.

  FM: You wanted to prove yourself?

  JC: It was a chance.

  FM: And your first big task was to prepare for the press conference?

  JC: After the initial interviews, yes.

  FM: I watched the footage of the conference.

  JC: I think everybody did. Once seen, never forgotten.

  FM: Indeed. You were there too. I saw you.

  JC: I was chairing it.

  FM: Why not Fraser?

  JC: She believes in giving people a chance. She gave me the responsibility for running it and for drafting the statement that we wanted Rachel Jenner to read. I worked with the forensic psychologist on that. It was a big responsibility.

  FM: So your aim was to appeal to Ben’s abductor, to use the mother to obtain their sympathy with the hope that that might persuade them to get in contact with you?

  JC: With us, or with somebody around them, somebody they trusted. It was important that they saw Ben as a real person, not just an acquisition, or a means to their own end. It would give him the context of a loving family. It was equally important not to alienate the abductor. We wanted to make them aware that it wasn’t too late for them to give him back, if he was still alive, that it was never too late to do that, even if they were scared of what the consequences might be. We wanted to present a friendly face. At that stage it obviously wasn’t clear whether it was an abduction, or a murder.

  FM: So you scripted something for Rachel to read out that would cover all bases?

  JC: Yes. That was the idea anyway.

  FM: How did you know you could rely on her to get the tone right?

  JC: I didn’t know.

  FM: Did you consider getting his father to do it?

  JC: We considered it, but there was something about him that we weren’t sure would look good on camera. He was a surgeon, he was used to being authoritative. We were concerned that he might appear arrogant. What you want is a mother, a mother’s warmth.

  FM: And you were confident in advance that she could deliver that?

  JC: We didn’t have time to delve into her psyche. She was his mother. We assumed that she would, because at that stage we had no reason not to.

  DAY 3

  TUESDAY, 23 OCTOBER 2012

  Be aware of your public status. Although this might not be the kind of fame you want, you may attain some sort of ‘celebrity’ standing because of your continuous involvement with the media… Therefore, for your child’s sake, conduct yourself as if all eyes were upon you… Don’t do things that might cast you in a negative light…

  ‘When Your Child Is Missing: A Family Survival Guide’, Missing Kids USA Parental Guide, US Department of Justice, OJJDP Report

  WEB PAGE – www.twentyfour7news.co.uk/bristol – 6.18 AM BST 23 Oct 2012

  Fears are building for the safety of Benedict Finch, eight years old, who went missing in Leigh Woods near Bristol on Sunday afternoon.

  By Danny Deal

  Detective Chief Inspector Corinne Fraser last night said that police are ‘deeply concerned’ for the safety of the missing boy. ‘You’ve seen the weather we’ve been having,’ she said. ‘Cold, rain, you don’t want a small child to be out in that.

  ‘It is possible that Benedict has been subject of a criminal act,’ she added, but stressed that all lines of inquiry remain open. ‘At present, nobody is detained, nobody is a suspect.’

  Members of the public are being urged to phone in with any information that might relate to Benedict. ‘We would urge people to come forward if they think they might have any information that could help us find this little boy.’

  DCI Fraser revealed that they had already received 130 calls to a ho
tline dedicated to the boy’s disappearance.

  ‘I would like to give our sincere thanks to the public for their support in the search for Ben,’ she said, and urged people to report to Abbots Leigh village hall where a volunteer centre has been set up to co-ordinate search efforts.

  Anyone with information can call the missing hotline number 0300 300 3331.

  5 people are discussing this article

  Donald McKeogh

  We should keep this little boy in our hearts. Newspapers have offered £25,000 reward. Good on them. Hope he’s home safe soon.

  Jane Evans-Brown

  Where’s his dad in all this?

  Jamie Frick

  Something strange about this. How does a kid get lost in the woods? Why wasn’t mum looking out for him?

  Catherine Alexander

  Seems odd. Perhaps the police are not telling everything.

  Susan Franks

  The police are only releasing what they need to. Let them get on with their jobs and pray for this little boy and his poor family… hope he is found safe and well…

  RACHEL

  In the car on the way to Kenneth Steele House, gobbets of sound blurted out of the police radio on the dashboard, and the stop and start motions of the commuter traffic made the ride uncomfortable and slow. Nicky had put on make-up and a perfume that was sickly. I wound down the window a little to dilute the smell, but the air I let in was dirty and damply cold.

  Nicky and Laura had persuaded me to wear a skirt, boots and shirt, so that I would appear presentable. They hadn’t been able to do anything about my forehead. The gash was too angry and raw. I didn’t care what I looked like.

  None of us had spoken much, just a few murmurs of advice from Laura about how to face a camera from her college media training, which I hadn’t been able to concentrate on, but had nodded just the same.

  In the kitchen, just before we left, they’d left me alone momentarily, and I saw the notepad Nicky had been using the night before. It lay face down on the table. I flipped it over, knowing I shouldn’t, unable to stop myself.

  ‘Notes’ Nicky had underlined and then she’d jotted down some statistics: ‘532 missing kids UK 2011/12.’

  I read on: ‘82% abductions are family kidnappings. Of non-family abductions, 38% kids taken by friend or long-term acquaintance; 5% by neighbour; 6% by persons of authority; 4% caretaker or babysitter; 37% by strangers; 8% slight acquaintances.’

  There was more: ‘Crime is most often a result of interactions between motivated offenders, available targets and lack of vigilant guardianship to prevent crime.’

  I couldn’t stop reading. I was transfixed by it, carried along by the dry academic tone, and the horror of the content. The next paragraph began: ‘First law enforcement response is CRITICAL.’

  She’d underlined that, two lines drawn so hard that they’d gouged the page. What I started to read next was worse: ‘When abducted child is killed, killer—’

  Before I got further Nicky came back into the room and snatched the notepad from me.

  ‘Don’t look at that!’ she said. ‘Not now.’ She ripped off the pages of notes and put them in her handbag. ‘You mustn’t look. We’re not there yet. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left it out.’

  ‘How the hell are you finding this stuff?’ I asked. ‘What is it? Where’s it from? Show me!’ I held my hand out for the notes, but she wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘Don’t concern yourself with that. Honestly, Rachel, don’t think about it. Let’s go. It’s time to go. Let me look at you one more time.’

  She held me gently by the shoulders, looked me over, a frown fleetingly crossing her brow when she looked at my forehead, and all the while I searched her eyes for clues to what she’d read, to how and where she’d found the information so quickly and to the side of her personality which allowed her the detachment to look at the darkest side of this in a way that I simply couldn’t contemplate.

  At the police station they showed me into the same room as the previous day. Somebody had arranged four Jammie Dodgers on a plate for us. The centres of the biscuits were crimson and resinous, like excretions from a wound. The room smelled of stewed tea.

  I sat there with Nicky, Zhang and Clemo going over a statement that he wanted me to read out, an appeal to Ben’s abductor. I looked over the words with a sense of detachment and surrealism. They didn’t resemble my speech in any way. I felt deeply uneasy.

  Clemo was like a coiled spring.

  ‘Are you going to be OK with this?’ he said.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘It’s important that you’re calm, and clear, as much as possible. It’s absolutely paramount that we don’t alienate the abductor.’

  I took shallow breaths, focused on the page in front of me. The words swam across it.

  ‘Are you sure you can do it?’ he asked again. His voice sounded pressured, desperate for a ‘yes’.

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’ Nicky asked. I looked at her, her face straining with the need to help.

  What could I say? I was his mother.

  ‘No. I want to do it. I have to do it.’

  ‘Good girl.’ It was enough for Clemo. He was up out of his chair, checking his watch.

  ‘Will you be ready to go in fifteen?’ he said.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll see you in there. I’ll be sitting right by you. Emma, bring them down in ten minutes. Cabot Room.’

  In Zhang’s wake Nicky and I travelled carpeted corridors until we reached a set of double doors labelled CABOT ROOM. Inside, I was invited to take my place behind a narrow table that was set up at one end of the room. The line-up was Zhang, me, Clemo, DCI Fraser and John, who acknowledged me with a nod, his jaw set in an effort to control his emotions.

  Nicky found a place at the side of the room. She had to stand because every chair was taken. The room was packed with journalists. TV cameras were set up at the back, photographers beside them. There were more lenses trained on me than I could count.

  Those who were sitting had laptops, or tablets, or recording devices, which they were busy checking. Behind us the wall was emblazoned with a large Avon and Somerset police logo, and on each side of that two identical posters had been put up, showing Ben’s photo, and a phone number and email address for information.

  On the table in front of us was a bank of microphones, wires snaking from the back of them. I poured myself an inch of water from a carafe and sipped it. My mouth was dry, my heart thumping. The noise in the room was oppressive. Motor drives and voices meshed together to make a messy ball of sound from which my name sometimes erupted.

  Clemo called the room to order on a signal from DCI Fraser. I clutched my script, forced my eyes to run over the words. I hadn’t really come to terms with what they wanted me to say. The carefully modulated phrases that they’d written for me made me recoil.

  Clemo started things off and he was concise and authoritative. He spoke briefly and then introduced me, telling the room that I was going to read out a statement. I put my script on the table and smoothed it out, cleared my throat.

  ‘Please,’ I said, but my voice died away. I started again: ‘Please can I appeal to anyone who knows anything about Ben’s disappearance to contact the police as DI Clemo has requested. Ben is only eight years old, he’s very young, and the best place for him to be is at home where he can be with his family and friends because we all love him very much and it is making us very anxious not knowing whether he is safe and well.’

  I felt tears running down my face. I heard my voice get twisted up by my grief. I felt Zhang’s hand on my back, saw Clemo shift uneasily in his seat beside me. I took a deep shuddering breath and went on:

  ‘If you are the person who is with Ben then please make contact. You don’t need to ring the police directly, you can talk to a solicitor, or someone you trust, and they will help you get him home safely. This is an unusual situation for all of us…⁠’

  I dried up again. I’d
reached the bit of the speech I hated. Clemo’s words ran round in my head: ‘Remember we want to humanise the situation,’ he’d said, ‘that’s why we’re offering the abductor a chance for forgiveness, so that they aren’t afraid to get in contact.’

  I tried to gather myself. Clemo whispered something in my ear, but I couldn’t hear what he said, because it was then that I heard John sob. He was hunched over the table, his head in his hands, his face red and distorted. He began to cry noisily, his shoulders heaving, his grief physical and terrible.

  I gave up trying to read. I couldn’t do it any more. I couldn’t say the words on the script and, most powerfully of all, I couldn’t fight the idea that had crept into my head with a certainty and clarity that almost took my breath away.

  I carefully folded up the script, placed it in front of me.

  You see, the thought that I had was this: that Ben and his abductor were watching. They were watching John break down and watching me speak words that weren’t mine: submissive, tame words.

  I was sure of it, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  I stood up, and all the camera lenses in the room rose too, trained on my face. I moved my gaze along them and, in my mind, through each one I met the eye of Ben’s abductor.

  ‘Give him back,’ I said. ‘Give. Him. Back. Or I will hunt you down myself. I will find you, if it takes me my whole life. I will find you and I will make you pay.’

  Then, as Clemo was saying ‘Ms Jenner!’ and standing beside me, not knowing how to stop me, I spoke to my son. I looked deep down those lenses, willing Ben to hear my words, and I said: ‘I love you, Ben. If you are watching, I love you and I’m going to find you. Love, I’m coming to get you. I promise.’

  I smiled at him. I was entranced by the fact that I might have just managed the first communication with my son since he disappeared, imagining him hearing my words in a strange place somewhere and feeling less alone, less confused, perhaps even feeling hope.

  The reporters began to call to me then, but I felt triumphant. If Ben was watching then I had just made contact with him. He hadn’t witnessed his parents simply looking broken, his mother speaking in words that weren’t hers. Instead I’d told him that I was going to find him. Now I felt euphoric, as if I’d done something that was really and truly right and honest, something pure, even, amidst the horror of it all, and in my naivety I felt sure that that rightness and honesty should have some power to lead us to Ben.