Bring Him Back Read Free

minute. Please, won’t you come into the kitchen? I was just about to make a coffee.’
    She led the way into a large L-shaped space that was half kitchen, half breakfast room. Patio windows overlooked a well-tended garden with a tennis court in the distance. At one end of the room, deep wicker sofas covered in cushions faced one another across a low table. At the opposite end, an espresso maker was burbling on a shiny Aga range.
    ‘So you live in Ireland?’ she said with an effort to smile, just to make conversation and break the ice a little.
    He nodded. ‘Galway.’
    ‘Nice there.’
    He replied, ‘I love the sea.’
    ‘So does Carl,’ she said, and her face tightened at the mention of his name, her brows knitting with emotion as if she might suddenly burst into tears. Collecting herself, she offered Ben a coffee. He declined politely and walked over to the wall where a large framed photo hung. The boy in the picture was eight or nine, sitting on a bike and beaming happily at the camera.
    ‘His father took that,’ Jessica said, glancing across with a grimace as she poured her coffee. ‘Almost four years ago. It’s the only photo of Drew’s I still have on the wall. I can hardly bear to look at it any more.’ She paused. ‘Do you have any children, Mr Hope?’
    ‘Ben,’ he said. ‘No. No children. No family. It’s just me.’ That wasn’t something he liked to talk about. He pointed at Carl’s picture. ‘I’ll need a smaller, more recent shot of him. Preferably one with you in it too.’
    ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘May I ask why I need to be in it?’
    ‘Because if I have to take him away from his father, having a family photo in my hand that he recognises means you sent me, and that he can trust me. It would also help to have one of Drew.’
    She anxiously sipped her coffee, standing facing Ben and leaning against the kitchen worktop. ‘It’s such an incredible relief to hear you talk about finding him. Needless to say, there’s still no word. Nobody’s seen them. I don’t even know what the police are doing.’ She paused, looking at Ben with frightened eyes. ‘You will find him, won’t you?’
    Before Ben could reply, a man walked into the kitchen. He was about Ben’s height, just a shade under six feet, and around the same age. Despite the wire-framed glasses and the bookish look about him, he could almost have been Ben’s more sedate, more urbane brother. His fair hair was neatly combed and parted, but there wasn’t much he could do to hide the dark circles under his eyes from anxiety and lack of sleep.
    ‘I’m Mike Greerson,’ he said, striding over with his hand extended. ‘We spoke on the phone.’ Ben shook his hand. It was a good, dry grip.
    ‘You’ve no idea how grateful we are to you for coming at such short notice,’ Mike said. He waved towards the wicker sofas. ‘Please, take a seat. You must be tired after your trip.’
    Mike and Jessica sat together on one sofa, each with a coffee. Ben sat opposite. Mike Greerson might not be Mr Hunter, but from the way the two of them were sitting close together, fingers interlaced, and thighs touching, it looked very much as if he’d taken Mr Hunter’s place.
    ‘Let’s recap,’ Ben said. ‘Your son Carl was forcibly abducted from home fifteen days ago by your ex-husband Drew Hunter, who threatened you with a firearm and imprisoned the two of you in the cellar while he made off with the boy.’
    ‘That’s correct,’ Jessica said in a tight voice.
    ‘We were locked in there all night,’ Mike added. ‘Until Sally arrived the following morning and heard us banging on the door.’
    ‘Sally?’ Ben said.
    ‘Our housekeeper,’ Jessica said. ‘She lives in St Helier.’
    ‘Is she here at the moment?’ Ben asked.
    Jessica shook her head. ‘Nobody’s been allowed into the house since that day. Except the officers dealing with the case, that is. And now you.’
    ‘The moment we were let out of the cellar, we were on the