Outside Looking In: A darkly compelling crime novel with a shocking twist

Half hanging out of the car was the stricken body of a woman. Her face was a mess of sticky drying blood; her long hair was tangled and matted. She was naked from the waist down and was literally drenched in blood. One hand held on to her stomach where blood pumped out between her fingers. The other hand was rhythmically banging on the horn. She was half in, half out of the car, her body at an uncomfortable angle. She looked up and saw George through swollen eyes. She stopped the beeping and slumped to the ground. There was a brief smile on her face before her body gave up and she lost consciousness.

George dug the phone out of his coat pocket and dialled 999. He gave his location and tried to say what had happened but he couldn’t find the words. After he ended the call he phoned his wife. He told her she would soon see the flashing lights of the police but not to panic as everything was all right. It was the first time he had ever lied to his wife.

TWO (#u6179e86b-c92b-5cf4-9b7c-ce0771c70b36)

CARL MEAGAN: ONE YEAR ON

By Andrea Fullerton

Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of the disappearance of seven-year-old Carl Meagan.

Exactly twelve months ago, Annabel Meagan, Carl’s grandmother, was looking after him at his parents’ luxury home in Dore, Sheffield, when she was bludgeoned to death. Carl was kidnapped and a ransom was demanded. However, a catalogue of errors by South Yorkshire Police led to the kidnappers breaking contact with the Meagan family and Carl has not been heard of since.

Carl’s parents – Philip 37, and Sally, 34 – have spent the past year in limbo as they desperately search for their only child.

‘It’s not knowing that is the most difficult part. He could be anywhere in the world. I’m his mother. I should know exactly where he is day and night and I haven’t a clue. I’ve failed him,’ Sally said. ‘I never left him alone. I never let him out of my sight. He was my world and now I just feel empty.’

The Meagan family believe they were being watched for several days in the run-up to the kidnapping. On the night in question, Philip and Sally were attending an award ceremony for Yorkshire Businessman of the Year in Leeds. They were not due back until the following day and Philip’s mother, Annabel, was looking after Carl.

‘We had nothing to worry about. We knew he was safe with his grandmother. She doted on him and he loved her to pieces. As far as we knew he was safe. They both were. When we got back the next day it was pure hell.’

Philip Meagan, owner of Nature’s Dinner, a chain of organic restaurants in South Yorkshire, says the blame is entirely on South Yorkshire Police. ‘The whole investigation was badly handled from day one. From Carl going missing to the ransom demand it was two days. Those 48 hours were a nightmare and we had no support from the police at all. They just left us.’

Leading the investigation was Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke, who, following the botched ransom drop, was suspended from the force. She has since returned to work to continue leading the Murder Investigation Team.

‘The ransom was for a quarter of a million pounds. It wasn’t easy but we managed to get the money together. For some reason the kidnappers kept changing the location of the drop. I think the amount of press attention was too much for them. They eventually decided on Graves Park.

‘It was DCI Darke who organized it all. She had the parameters covered and everything was in place. We had no reason to doubt we wouldn’t be getting our Carl home. She came back to the house an hour later saying it had all blown up. We waited and waited but we heard nothing from the kidnappers.’

It was later revealed that the kidnappers had called DCI Darke demanding the whereabouts of the ransom money. However, they were at a different entrance to the park, and in panic, they fled. That was the last anyone heard from the kidnappers and Carl.

‘It is absolutely disgusting that that woman has been allowed to return to duty. She shouldn’t have been suspended, she should have been sacked. She’s not fit to do the job,’ Philip continued.

DCI Darke was unavailable for comment yesterday, but South Yorkshire Police issued a short statement: ‘While every effort was made to communicate with the kidnappers to ensure Carl’s safe return, events beyond our control occurred and we were unable to succeed. However, the Meagan case is still ongoing and continuously being investigated. We will keep looking for Carl until he is found.’

Philip Meagan issued a direct plea to the people holding Carl. ‘If you still have Carl, please take very good care of him. If you’re worried about handing him back, just leave him in a public place and make an anonymous call to us telling us where he is and we will collect him. There will be no more action taken against you. We just want him back home so much.’

Sally continued: ‘If Carl is reading this I just want you to know that your mummy and daddy love you very much and we always will. It may take us a while, but we’ll come and find you.’

To mark the anniversary of Carl’s disappearance there will be a special service at Sheffield Cathedral. Players at Sheffield United, who the Meagan family support, will wear special messages on their shirts at this weekend’s fixture at Bramall Lane.

Matilda Darke, having read the article for the third time, threw the newspaper onto the floor and slumped back into the sofa, releasing a heavy sigh. She hadn’t been ‘unavailable for comment’ yesterday; the reporter hadn’t even tried to contact her. To the reading public, it would look like DCI Matilda Darke had washed her hands of the whole Carl Meagan case and his family, who were, in essence, grieving for the loss of their only child.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was at times like these when she wished she had alcohol in the house. However, after a year of heavy drinking, passing out in drunken stupors, only functioning with the aid of a bottle of vodka in her hand, she had made a promise not to touch a single drop again.

Realistically, that was never going to happen. Of course Matilda would have another drink at some point, but if she could learn to live without having to depend on alcohol then it would be an achievement.

Matilda had been saved by her close friend, Adele Kean. Adele had seen the slippery slope Matilda had been on and managed to drag her back before she descended into alcoholism. The disappearance of Carl Meagan was just the starting point in a year-long nightmare that snowballed into a cataclysm of self-destruction.

She opened her eyes, which immediately fell onto the silver framed wedding photograph on the mantelpiece. Five years ago, the happiest day of her life, she and James Darke had married. Three years later he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour and within twelve months he was gone. His death coincided with the ransom drop for the Meagan kidnappers but Matilda’s mind was on other things. She should have handed the case over to a more competent detective, taken some time off to grieve, but she couldn’t. The devastation she left in her wake would stay with her for the rest of her life. She had to live with the consequences of her actions.

When it came to Carl Meagan, there would never be any redemption.

The picture frame was smeared with dried tears where Matilda had spent many a night curled up in bed, clutching her smiling husband and crying. Saying she loved him sounded hollow. She didn’t just love him, she ached for him, and sometimes stopped breathing when she thought of him. Her body, mind, and soul wanted to be with James more than it wanted life itself.

There was a knock on the door. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece: 22.50. A solid knock at this time of night could only mean one thing.

‘Sorry to bother you, ma’am, there’s been a shooting.’

DC Scott Andrews stood on the doorstep in a crumpled suit. His blond hair was windswept and it was evident from his red cheeks that he had been standing out in the cold for a while. There was no greeting. Sometimes, there wasn’t time for one.

‘Where?’

‘Clough Lane. Ringinglow.’

‘I’ll get my things. Come in.’

Scott stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He looked down at the three bulging black bags in the corner.

‘Having a clear out? I keep meaning to do that. I buy new shirts for work and never think about getting rid of the old ones. I can hardly close my wardrobe door.’

‘Those are my dead husband’s clothes. I’m giving them to charity.’

‘Oh,’ he almost choked, his face reddening. ‘Sorry. I didn’t … well … I mean …’

Matilda smiled. ‘I love how you blush at the slightest thing, Scott. Come on, let’s go before you start trying to dig yourself out and make things worse.’

There was a strong breeze as Matilda stepped out of the house. She set the alarm and locked the door behind her. She looked up. The sky was cloudless and there was a large full moon beaming down on the steel city. It made the night brighter, bathing everything in an ethereal glow. They walked up the drive to where Scott had parked the pool car.

‘So how serious is this shooting?’

‘One dead and one critical.’

‘Jesus! I hate guns.’

‘Good evening.’

Matilda almost jumped out of her skin and quickly turned to see where the greeting was coming from.

‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Jill Carmichael, Matilda’s next-door neighbour, was unloading her car. She was struggling under the weight of a newborn baby in one arm and trying to safely put several bags on her opposite shoulder.

‘You didn’t.’

‘How are things?’

Matilda frowned. Jill never asked that. Why, all of a sudden, was she showing an interest in … the newspaper article. She’d seen the story about Carl Meagan, read about how much of a failure Matilda was, and wanted the inside scoop. ‘Things are fine,’ she lied unconvincingly. ‘Bloody hell, what’s happened to you?’

‘Sorry?’