The Ex (DS Jenna Morgan)

by Diane Saxon

  ‘Jesus.’

  She turned back to stare down at Mason as he reached over into the cot and grabbed a thin blanket.

  ‘Not that.’ She barked. ‘Evidence.’

  He tossed it back inside and flung open the wardrobe door. He grabbed a folded sheet from a small, neat pile, balling it up as he whipped his head around to meet her eyes. ‘The knife’s still in.’

  ‘Leave it there.’ It could do more harm if he removed it than if he left it in for the paramedics to tend to. ‘From the timeline Lorna gave us, this woman’s been down for some time.’

  Mason left the woman curled up in the recovery position and leaned over her. He wadded the sheet around the knife wound and pressed gently on either side with both hands ‘Jesus,’ he repeated. ‘She’s lost a shitload of blood.’

  Jenna craned to take a closer look at the pallid woman on the floor. ‘She’s still alive?’

  With his fingers on her carotid artery again, Mason nodded. ‘Weak, but still kicking.’

  Eyes screwed shut, the child snuffled into Jenna’s neck, her whole body relaxing against her. Reluctant to move her, Jenna was conscious that the child had been crying non-stop for hours. Dehydration and heatstroke in those temperatures, two important elements that she couldn’t ignore. She needed to get some fluids into the toddler before they had a problem.

  With a gentle hitch, she adjusted the little one in her arms, so the child’s bottom rested on Jenna’s hip. She couldn’t stop the little wave of disappointment as she tugged the pretty pink dress with its swirls of roses emblazoned across the hem. She’d thought she had him. Her heart had been set on finding Joshua. Instead, they’d walked in on a domestic, by the look of things, and the poor little girl had been traumatised, her mother stabbed in front of her.

  Her gaze cruised across to the wardrobe filled with pretty dresses in whites and pinks. Jenna let out a sigh as she stood in the same place, reluctant to put her feet anywhere else. It was a crime scene. First and foremost, she’d rescued the child. Beyond that, every forensic detail needed to be preserved. She glanced down at her blue shoe protectors, relieved she’d taken a split second to pull them on.

  Sirens sounded in the distance and Jenna gave a soft snort, snuffling her face into the child’s thick, dark curls. The paramedics were about to bugger up the scene in any case to save the life of the woman curled up on the floor. Second one in less than a week. There wasn’t a fat lot of good she could do to help that. Their priority was to save the woman. Emily, presumably.

  On his knees at her feet, Mason whipped his head up, eyes filled with surprise. ‘She spoke.’

  ‘What?’ Anticipation sped through her veins as Jenna stepped closer. Cradling the child, she leaned in ‘What did she say?’

  He ducked his head, so his ear came close to the woman’s mouth. ‘Emily.’ He reared his head back, confusion creasing his forehead.

  ‘That’s her name.’

  ‘No!’ He raised a hand to quieten her and Jenna clamped her mouth shut. ‘Emily.’ His dark brows slammed down as he tilted his head closer. Mason rolled back on his haunches to stare at Jenna, his intensity spiking her heart rate. ‘This isn’t Emily.’ He blew out a slow breath. ‘She says she’s Fern and Emily killed her.’

  35

  Tuesday 13 July, 08:30 hrs

  Bright sunlight streamed in through the patio doors to flood the kitchen with a brilliant whiteness that made Jenna squint as she surveyed the room with its clinical white cupboards and surfaces. Immaculate but for the scatter of empty wine bottles across the small white table and the single wine glass by the side of the sink.

  Curious, Jenna stepped closer to the sink and, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she manoeuvred the sleeping child to one side to free up a hand and dropped the nappy and wet wipes she’d swiped from the changing table in the nursery onto the bench. With her gloved hand, she opened the cupboard beneath the sink to peer inside.

  SOCO would be there soon enough to join the double crew of paramedics who’d already made their way upstairs, leaving the blue lights flashing on the ambulance parked outside. A second one just pulling up behind.

  But she wanted to know, now. To satisfy her own interest.

  The small white bin inside the cupboard overflowed with more bottles. Mateus Rosé. In the region of five altogether. She didn’t poke inside to count, just gave a guestimate from her vantage point before she slipped the door closed again.

  She made her way back to the table. Seven bottles.

  She blew out a breath. ‘Christ, someone has a serious alcohol issue. Or they managed to get a job lot.’

  She drew her head back from the child. Apart from being traumatised, the poor little thing hung exhausted on her shoulder, fast asleep. The weight of her cold, saturated nappy lay against Jenna’s forearm and the strong smell of urine and poo seeped from the elasticated sides. The child may well be asleep, she’d cried herself out, but she still needed to be changed and fed.

  Jenna swung open the fridge door and peered inside, surprised at the neat little line-up of four bottles of Aptamil milk.

  ‘Please tell me you know what you’re doing?’

  Jenna whipped round, guilt at being caught firing up her languid heart rate.

  ‘Jesus, Mason! Don’t sneak up on me like that.’

  His mouth twitched into a smile. ‘I didn’t sneak. You were preoccupied.’

  She huffed out the breath that had backed up in her lungs. ‘All the same, a little warning would have been nice.’

  ‘There’s nothing further I can do while the paramedics are up there, I’ll only get in the way.’ He rolled off his bloodstained gloves, turned them inside out, and then bagged them before he laid the bag on the kitchen counter. His smile stretched wider and he jerked his chin in the direction of the fridge. ‘So, do you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue. I can honestly say, I’ve never dealt with a child in my life.’

  ‘Never?’ Surprise etched across his face enough to make her consider what she’d said. She pursed her lips.

  ‘No. Never. Fliss isn’t that much younger than me and we don’t have any cousins. Just us.’

  ‘You never babysat?’ Mason made his way across the kitchen and snapped on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves before he slipped open one drawer and then another. He flipped out a small, clean hand towel, which he flicked over his shoulder as he knee-bumped the drawer closed again and then picked up the nappy and wet wipes she’d left on the side.

  ‘No. Fliss did. I was too busy kickboxing.’

  He turned with a slow smile and held out his gloved hands. He flexed his fingers in an invitation for her to pass the child over. ‘Of course you were.’

  As Jenna placed the child in his arms, Mason hugged the little body into his wide chest in a natural move that sat easily with him. ‘I babysit my nephews from time to time.’

  Relieved of her weight, Jenna raised her hand and swiped away the sheen of sweat where the child’s face had laid against the naked skin of her neck, heating them both to boiling point. She scrubbed her hands on her trouser legs. ‘I’ve called social services. They’ll be here shortly if you’d rather wait.’

  ‘Nah, by the time they get here and sort their lazy arses out, it’ll be another hour. We don’t want her getting nappy rash.’ He shrugged as he turned towards the kitchen table and pulled up short at the sight of the pile of bottles. ‘Nice.’

  Instead of attempting to move the bottles so he didn’t contaminate evidence, he made for the small open-plan living room and dropped to his knees in front of the charcoal-grey settee. He leaned forward to place the child on her back, making shushing noises as she stirred. He whipped the towel from over his shoulder and smoothed it under her bottom.

  Fascinated at this new side of Mason, Jenna watched from the kitchen as he held out his hand for her to pass over the clean nappy and wet wipes from where he’d dumped them on the sofa. He lowered his face to the nappy and sniffed, wrinkling his
nose. ‘I think we’ll need more than a wet wipe, poor little soul. She’s obviously had this on for some time.’ He flicked a glance over his shoulder at Jenna. ‘Any chance of a bowl of warm water, some cotton wool and some of that, you know, squirty stuff?’

  ‘Washing-up liquid?’

  At his look of horror, Jenna flashed him a smile as though she was joking, but, quite honestly, that’s what she would have elected to use.

  ‘Baby bath.’ The dryness of his voice let her know he was on to her.

  At the movement in the doorway, Jenna swung round.

  Ryan linked his gloved fingers together. ‘The second ambulance crew are here, and PC Ted Walker’s arrived. He said he’ll take over scene guard.’

  ‘Excellent.’ A quiet relief at the experienced officer’s arrival ran through her. She could have her DC back now. ‘Ryan, run upstairs and get some baby bath out of the cupboard.’

  ‘Baby bath?’

  She raised an eyebrow as though she’d never just shown her own ignorance. ‘It’s squirty stuff you put in the bath to clean babies’ bums. And some cotton wool.’ She’d glimpsed it in the wardrobe neatly lined up next to the baby wipes. It hadn’t occurred to her she’d need them. ‘Run.’ She knew he would, and he’d be back downstairs in a flash.

  Now her hands were free, she stripped off her own gloves to avoid cross-contamination, bagged them and placed them next to Mason’s. She patted her back pocket and pulled out another pair of latex gloves. She preferred latex to the nitrile ones, so much softer and more flexible. She snapped them on, gazed around the small kitchen and reached for a cupboard beside the hob. Crockery. Dark blue with a cascading gold shimmer dissipating as the pattern fell to the centre of each piece. Opulent in comparison to the stark whiteness everywhere else. Dinner plates, side plates, bowls. She squinted at the contrast between the neatly lined up crockery compared to the abandoned bottles of wine scattered around.

  She removed one deep cereal bowl, nudged the cupboard door with her hip and admired the soft-close. Perhaps she needed soft-close in her life when she replaced the kitchen in her house. The one Domino ate out of boredom when Fliss left him alone for too long.

  She glanced at Mason, seemingly at ease as he murmured to the toddler, and then moved to the sink, turned on the tap and waited for the water to run warm while she stared out of the window at the flashing blue lights on the ambulances and the gathering crowds as another two police vehicles pulled up to the kerb. She’d leave it to them. They knew what their jobs were. Crowd control, preservation of scene.

  And there he was. Her pain in the arse journalist, Kim Stafford. One of these days, that man just may have his uses, but today was not one of them.

  She filled the bowl and turned with it in her hands just as Ryan zipped back into the kitchen and made his way through to Mason, who crouched over the little girl in the living room.

  Mason reared his head back, shock making his spine snap ramrod straight and Jenna stumbled to a halt, spit drying in her throat. ‘What? What’s the matter?’ Terror wedged the air in her throat as her mind refused to consider the horrors of what he may have found.

  He did a slow head turn, confusion lighting his eyes. ‘Fuck, Jenna. This is not a girl.’

  Air whooshed out of her lungs. ‘Pardon?’

  The mere fact he’d used her forename instead of her rank to address her showed how shocked he was. ‘What do you mean?’ She took four steps through to the living room and stared down at the still sleeping child.

  With the nappy wide open where Mason had discreetly curled the front down, doubling it over to tuck it under the child’s bottom, effectively covering the poo, the little boy’s genitals were on full display as he gave a lazy kick and opened stunning blue eyes.

  ‘Fuck!’ Jenna slammed one hand over her mouth as the water sloshed over the side of the bowl she held. Pure excitement zipped through her veins as she loomed over the top of Mason’s shoulders to take a closer look. The black curls, the violet eyes that until now had been either squeezed closed in hysterical crying or asleep.

  She raked her gaze further down.

  The male genitalia.

  ‘Fuck, indeed,’ Mason agreed.

  ‘It’s a boy!’ Ryan slammed the heel of his hand against his forehead. ‘We’ve found him.’

  She prided herself on her professionalism, always, but Jenna kept her hand over her mouth as an uncontrolled sob burst out and the hot prick of tears hit her eyes. ‘Oh God. We’ve found him.’ Her voice broke and she hitched in a breath. Knees weak, she sank down beside Mason. ‘I thought when we attended… I’d hoped it was him and then it wasn’t. Or we thought it wasn’t.’

  Ryan peered over the top of Mason’s shoulder. ‘Why would she dress him as a girl?’

  Confusion chased around in her mind. They had all these threads and none of them knit together. ‘To disguise him?’ She looked over her shoulder at Ryan. ‘Who went to the trouble of dressing him as a girl? Was it Emily? Or the victim upstairs? Fern. Who was hiding Joshua’s identification from the other?’

  ‘It sounds seriously fucked up.’

  Jenna shrugged. ‘If you’d stolen a child and you didn’t want it recognised, the easiest way to avoid questions would be to change the sex of it.’

  ‘Out in public maybe.’ Mason lifted his head. ‘But why in the house?’

  ‘Maybe the Fern didn’t want Emily to know,’ Ryan offered.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jenna squinted as a memory nudged at her. ‘Remember a few years ago, they found a couple who’d kidnapped a little girl? It took two years for the police, in Finland, I think, to find her as the kidnappers had disguised her as a boy.’

  ‘Still strange.’

  ‘We’ve had stranger. I’d like to know who our victim is though. Knowing she’s called Fern just isn’t good enough. We need more.’

  ‘Maybe she’s a lodger, a friend just staying for a few nights. Who knows until we get hold of Emily, or until Fern is in a fit state to talk.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Thank God we got here.’

  Mason bowed his head to look at the child. ‘Whatever, he bloody stinks.’ His voice came out gruff and strangled and she suspected he was as moved as she was. He kept his head bowed as he grasped the child’s ankles in one hand and raised his bottom from the rank nappy.

  The hot scald of tears hit the back of her hand and she quickly scrubbed it across her cheeks as breath stuttered into her lungs. ‘We’ve found him.’ Her smile wobbled as she ran her fingertips under her eyes to swipe off any more tears threatening to fall, her heart exploding with joy.

  She lowered her head and chanced a sideways glance at Ryan. For once still, he’d dug his hands deep into his pockets, his wide shoulders curling in. His jaw flexed and as his gaze flicked to hers, his eyes glistened.

  ‘Fuck me, but we’ve found Joshua.’ She let out a laugh as Mason dipped a wad of cotton wool into the bowl she still held, squeezed it and swiped it over the little boy’s penis, lifting it with thumb and forefinger to cleanse underneath. Fascinated, Jenna never took her gaze from the child, watching each deft move Mason made. ‘You’re a natural.’ He’d make a good father.

  He grunted as he patted the toddler’s bottom dry with the towel and then slipped a clean nappy under him. ‘I’m good at dealing with shit.’

  Ryan leaned over the top of them, resting his hand on Jenna’s shoulder in the familiar way he’d adopted, as though she was his older sister, not his boss. Sometimes the lines became blurred in intense situations. His familiarity was inbuilt. He couldn’t help himself. He showed her respect and deference to her rank, especially in front of others, but he was a tactile personality. He squeezed her shoulder, and she raised her hand to pat the back of his, nodding her head to acknowledge the sheer magic of the moment the three of them shared.

  ‘Just wait until we get back to the station and I tell them what a boss at changing babies’ nappies you are, Mason.’

  The smile dropped from Mason’s face and his brows
lowered. ‘Do that, young Downey, and I’ll kick your arse from here to kingdom come.’

  Ryan snorted, removing his hand as he straightened. ‘What happens now, Sarg?’ And just like that the familiarity slid off him with ease as he deferred to her rank once more.

  ‘We need to be sure it’s Joshua.’

  ‘Oh, it’s Joshua all right. Look at those eyes. Bloody gorgeous.’ Mason blew a raspberry as he pulled the sweet dress down around Joshua’s knees to cover the nappy. The child’s chubby face relaxed and a cautious smile dimpled his cheeks. Mason’s big hand squeezed the child’s knee as he blew another raspberry, and the smile broke out in full as Joshua gurgled. ‘It’s a bloody travesty you’ve been dressed up as a little girl, son, but we’ll soon have that remedied when we get you back to your dad.’ Mason turned his puzzled gaze to Jenna. ‘What the bloody blue blazes has gone on here?’

  She shook her head as the energy fizzled back to her limbs. ‘I don’t know. I don’t understand. But, Mason, we can’t just hand him over and say, “Here’s your little boy.” You know we have to do this through official channels. We can’t just roll out the red carpet and start flying the flags.’

  As he opened his mouth to argue, she laid a gentle hand on his arm. ‘I know we know it’s him, but, as you say, “what the blue blazes has gone on?” This is the weirdest situation I’ve ever encountered. What if it’s not Joshua?’ She squeezed his arm before he could speak. ‘The outside chance that we make a mistake. How devastating would that be for Zak if we say, “hey, we’ve found your son” and then we discover it isn’t Joshua after all, and for some reason this child…’ she waved her hand at him, watching him as his gaze followed her every move, ‘… has a mum who believes he should be a girl. That’s not our realm. We have to hand it over.’

  ‘We know it’s him.’ The desperation in his voice could persuade if she allowed it. ‘It’s his bloody description, Jenna, it’s the child in the photograph.’