The Cottage

by Lisa Stone

  ‘I’d better not. A large whisky on top of all the beer. It would be my luck to be stopped by the police.’

  ‘There are police in the village?’ she asked. ‘I thought the old police house was empty.’ She’d seen it when she’d walked through the village exploring.

  ‘It is empty, but a patrol car from Coleshaw comes through every so often. You can never be sure when.’ Which Jan found quite reassuring. ‘Night then,’ Chris said, opening the door. ‘Thanks for the drink. Give me a ring if you want any help tomorrow.’

  ‘I will. Thanks again for returning Tinder.’

  She watched Chris go down the short garden path and then right onto the lane that led to the village. He glanced back and gave a little wave before he disappeared from view. Rather him than me, Jan thought, walking alone at night, and she quickly closed and locked the door.

  TEN

  Emma was worried about whether she was doing the right thing as she let herself into her parents’ home while calling, ‘Mum, it’s me!’ Her father would be out at work. She’d purposely chosen a weekday for that reason.

  Her mother, Mary, appeared from the kitchen, smiling warmly. ‘Hello, love, how are you? It’s great to see you out and about.’ She kissed and hugged her daughter. ‘Tea, coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Come and sit down. Is Ian looking after you?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, very well. Don’t worry. He returned to work today. I need to make the effort to go back too before long.’

  They settled on the sofa in the living room. It was largely unchanged since Emma had left home five years ago to marry Ian. She loved returning – it was comforting and reassuring.

  ‘You look so much better than the last time I saw you, the day after …’ Mary began, and stopped as her eyes filled. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m still struggling to believe it’s happened again.’

  ‘I know, Mum.’

  ‘Will there be an autopsy to try to find out what went wrong?’ Mary asked after a moment.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Isn’t it usual when something like this happens?’

  ‘It depends, but Ian and I don’t want one, and we’re not having a funeral either.’

  ‘Really? I know it’s different with a very early miscarriage, but he would have been a fully-formed baby.’

  ‘Not fully formed,’ Emma grimaced.

  ‘No, sorry, love, bad choice of words, but you know what I mean.’

  Emma did know what her mother meant and it caused her pain. ‘Ian and I couldn’t cope with a funeral,’ she said. ‘So no funeral.’

  ‘Sometimes it can help give closure. Even a small service with just family,’ Mary persisted.

  ‘Mum, please stop!’ Emma cried. ‘This is difficult enough as it is. I want to forget and try to move on.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love. I was just trying to help. I won’t mention it again, I promise. But you know you can talk to me anytime.’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘Now, what was it you wanted to ask me that you couldn’t over the phone?’

  Emma took a breath and chose her words carefully. She was worried her mother wouldn’t understand the importance of what she was about to say and would be upset, even angry. She didn’t need any more upset in her life right now.

  ‘Mum, Ian’s doing some research online about our ancestors.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘He’s trying to find out if what happened to us has happened before to other family members. He’s applying for copies of death certificates. He thinks if it is something that has been passed down – you know, genetic – then it could be treated.’

  ‘Well, good luck to him,’ Mary replied. ‘But why are you looking so anxious?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t know Dad isn’t my biological father.’

  ‘And neither must he, ever. No one knows apart from the three of us, and the clinic where we were treated, of course. When I told you we agreed it would remain our secret. Your father is a proud man and was mortified he couldn’t father a child. He’s been good to you, a proper father. He couldn’t have loved you any more.’

  ‘I know that, Mum. That’s not the point.’

  ‘What is it then?’ Mary asked, worried. ‘You haven’t told anyone, have you?’

  ‘No, but I think I should tell Ian.’

  ‘Why? Whatever for?’ Mary exclaimed, the colour draining from her face.

  ‘Because obviously there’s no point in him researching Dad’s family as I don’t have his genes,’ she said, slightly frustrated.

  ‘I realize that, but don’t tell Ian, please. It would destroy your father if it got back to him. He’s your real father, always has been. All that other man gave was his sperm. Let Ian do his research, but please don’t tell him.’

  ‘But supposing there is something in the genes of the donor – my biological father – that’s causing our problem. We won’t know so it can’t be corrected. Ian and I have decided we won’t try again for another child unless we know for certain the same thing can’t happen. I was thinking I could trace the donor myself and then tell Ian.’

  ‘There’s no chance there could be anything wrong with the donor’s genes,’ Mary said. ‘All donors are thoroughly screened. The clinic explained to us how thorough their screening was. The donor has a detailed medical and lots of tests. They examine their DNA too. I remember the doctor saying only the healthiest sperm donors are selected, so it can’t be him.’

  Emma looked at her mother and felt sorry for her. She was so immersed in protecting her father she couldn’t see the logic in what Emma was saying. But this was too important to let go.

  ‘Ian wonders if it’s something in our genes that lies dormant and only appears if two people with the same defective gene have a child.’

  ‘It can’t be. The clinic tests for that too. They test for everything, love, trust me. If there is something wrong, it certainly isn’t with the donor. I suppose it could be me, but I’ve never heard of anything like this happening in my family. My guess is that Ian will find something in his family. If indeed there is anything to be found. Sometimes nature gets it wrong and it’s no one’s fault.’

  ‘Ian’s checked your family,’ Emma said. ‘What details were you given of the donor?’

  ‘Everything except his name and address. The donor’s identity was kept secret to protect everyone involved.’

  ‘The law has changed since then, so I could trace him now if I wanted to.’

  ‘Oh, Emma, you wouldn’t! It would destroy your father. And it’s not fair on the donor either. He made that gift to help childless couples like us, not because he wanted a family of his own.’

  ‘I don’t want to be his daughter!’ Emma cried passionately. ‘I don’t even want to meet him. Dad is my father and always will be. I was just thinking of contacting the clinic and asking for details about the donor’s genetic history.’

  ‘No, love, let it go. Don’t go looking for trouble. You and Ian have each other. Not everyone is meant to have children.’ Which was ironic, Emma thought, coming from her mother, who’d gone to such lengths to conceive her.

  ‘I’ll give it some more thought,’ Emma said. It was the only truthful reassurance she could give her.

  ELEVEN

  DC Beth Mayes was driving the unmarked police car on the return journey to Coleshaw Police Station. Her colleague DC Matt Davis was in the passenger seat. They’d just come from interviewing Charlie Bates, a member of a local family of hardened criminals. He’d only been released from prison the previous day and was already suspected of taking part in an armed robbery.

  The car phone rang and Matt answered it. ‘Have you finished with Mr Bates?’ DS Bert Scrivener asked.

  ‘For now,’ Matt replied. ‘We’re on our way back.’

  ‘Can you take a detour to 55 Booth Lane and visit Mrs Angela Slater? Beth knows what it’s in connection with.’

  ‘I phoned her yesterday, sir,’ Beth said. ‘I told her the outcome of my visi
t to Mr and Mrs Jennings, and that their baby was stillborn.’

  ‘She’s not convinced,’ DS Scrivener said. ‘She’s phoned twice this morning. She says she has new evidence, but it’s too delicate to explain over the phone. She wants to speak to someone “involved in the case”, to use her words. So that’s you, Beth.’

  ‘But there is no case, sir,’ Beth said. Matt glanced at her, puzzled. ‘The baby was born dead. That’s all there is to it. I told Mrs Slater that.’

  ‘Tell her again, please. Then come back here.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Beth said, and Matt ended the call.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asked as Beth indicated right to make the detour.

  ‘Mrs Slater reported that her neighbours, Ian and Emma Jennings, had a baby but it disappeared. I interviewed the couple and filed my report. They had a home birth but sadly the baby was born dead. I can’t imagine what “new evidence” there could be.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s claiming they murdered it,’ Matt suggested.

  ‘Impossible. There was a midwife present at the birth and she took the baby’s body away. There was nothing suspicious. Mr and Mrs Jennings are just an average couple who are struggling to come to terms with their loss. They’ve probably had enough of Mrs Slater’s prying.’

  ‘So neighbour dispute then?’ Matt said.

  ‘Could be.’

  A few minutes later Beth parked the car outside the home of Mrs Slater. Her neighbour’s drive was empty, suggesting that Ian and Emma Jennings were out, possibly at work, hopefully trying to pick up the pieces of their lives, Beth thought.

  ‘Do you want to wait in the car? I shouldn’t be long,’ Beth asked Matt. It didn’t really need two of them to speak to Mrs Slater, unlike the notorious Bates family when they always went in pairs.

  ‘No, I’ll come in. I’m intrigued,’ Matt said, and opened his car door. ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss a vital piece of information.’

  ‘Joker,’ Beth said with a smile. She’d worked with Matt before and they enjoyed some light-hearted banter.

  Beth pressed the bell at Number 55 and the door was immediately opened.

  ‘Mrs Slater, DCs Beth Mayes and Matt Davis,’ Beth said as they showed her their ID cards. ‘We spoke on the phone.’ Mrs Slater was in her early sixties, Beth guessed, and smartly dressed.

  ‘I’m glad they’ve sent you. I didn’t want to go over it all again with someone who didn’t know the case.’ She ushered them into her neat living room, which was at the front of the house. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Beth said. ‘We’re needed back at the station as soon as we’ve finished here.’

  ‘Sit down then. It will take a few minutes for me to explain what I’ve found out.’

  Beth and Matt sat on the sofa as Angela Slater took the slightly higher armchair and looked at them as if addressing an audience. A glass-fronted display cabinet stood against one wall, containing ornaments, family photographs and an empty glass decanter with six matching glasses. Matt took out his notepad.

  ‘I’m convinced my neighbours, Ian and Emma, are hiding something,’ Angela Slater began with a sense of intrigue. ‘I don’t believe their baby is dead. They haven’t arranged a funeral, nor have they registered its death.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Beth asked, surprised. Matt’s pen hovered above the notebook.

  ‘I saw Ian going to work yesterday. I asked him when the funeral was so I could attend or at least send some flowers. He said they weren’t having a funeral, which I thought was very odd.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s family only,’ Beth suggested.

  ‘I wondered that and thought maybe they hadn’t liked to tell me and hurt my feelings, so I telephoned my friend Nora. She works at Lovells funeral directors in town. She’s a good friend and we often have a chat and a laugh about the goings on behind the scenes at the funeral parlour. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she tells me!’ So much for confidentiality, Beth thought. ‘My friend Nora said Lovells hasn’t been contacted to arrange the funeral of David Jennings,’ Angela Slater concluded with satisfaction.

  ‘Perhaps they’re using a different funeral director,’ Beth said, suggesting the obvious.

  ‘That’s what I thought too,’ Angela said in a conspiratorial tone. ‘But I’ve checked all the funeral directors within a twenty-mile radius, and none of them has been contacted to arrange the funeral.’

  Beth stared at her while Matt remarked dryly, ‘That shows some dedication.’

  Beth threw him a warning look. They got on well together, but he wasn’t renowned for his subtlety.

  ‘Not only that,’ Angela Slater continued, leaning forward slightly. ‘There isn’t a death certificate. I got Nora to check the register of deaths. The baby isn’t listed, which it should have been. You have to register a baby’s death just like you do an adult’s.’

  Beth was momentarily speechless, not so much because of what Mrs Slater was saying, but the lengths she’d gone to.

  ‘If a baby is stillborn then it has to be registered on the stillborn registry, but you have forty-two days to register.’

  ‘I know that,’ Mrs Slater said impatiently. ‘But if a baby is born alive and then dies, its death has to be registered within five days as with any other death. Even if it only lives for an hour.’

  Beth held Mrs Slater’s gaze. ‘It was stillborn,’ Beth said, as Matt wrote.

  ‘No. It wasn’t stillborn. It was alive. I heard it cry.’

  ‘You didn’t mention that before when we spoke,’ Beth said. ‘You told me you couldn’t see the baby’s face because it was covered by a blanket in the Moses basket.’

  ‘I couldn’t see it, but I heard it.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me that the last time?’ Beth asked.

  ‘I didn’t think I had to. I just thought you’d assume it was alive. It was only after you said that the Jennings had told you the baby was dead that I realized the significance of what I’d heard.’

  Beth paused for a moment and looked thoughtful. ‘When exactly did you hear it cry?’ she asked.

  ‘As the midwife lifted the Moses basket into her car. I was upstairs looking out of my bedroom window. The fanlight window was open and I heard it cry. A funny little mewing sound.’

  ‘Could it have been a cat you heard?’ Matt asked, which Beth thought was a reasonable question.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Mrs Slater exclaimed, glaring at Matt. ‘I know the difference between a baby’s cry and a cat.’

  ‘They can sound similar from a distance,’ Beth offered.

  ‘I’m telling you it was a baby I heard,’ Mrs Slater said vehemently. ‘Their child was alive when it left the house.’

  ‘So what do you think happened to it?’ Matt asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea. That’s for you to find out. I’ve told you all I know.’

  ‘So that’s everything?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Beth said. Matt put away his pen and notepad.

  ‘Will you go next door now?’ Mrs Slater asked as they all stood. ‘Emma Jennings is in.’

  ‘I’ll discuss what our next step will be with my colleagues,’ Beth said diplomatically.

  Mrs Slater saw them out.

  ‘What do think?’ Matt asked Beth as they went down the path. The front door had closed behind them.

  ‘I think she’s mistaken about hearing it cry, and the baby was stillborn.’

  ‘Or perhaps she did hear it cry and it died shortly after,’ Matt suggested.

  ‘It’s possible, but in that case there should be a death certificate. Mrs Slater was right when she said a baby’s death has to be recorded in the same way as an adult’s. Even if it only lives a short while. We’d better speak to Mrs Jennings.’

  Having reached the end of Angela Slater’s driveway, they went right and walked up the drive next door to Number 57. Beth rang the bell and they waited, then she rang it again. A few moments lat
er the door opened on a chain, just enough for Emma Jennings to see out.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Jennings, Detective Constable Beth Mayes,’ she said, showing her ID. ‘I visited you before when your husband was here. This is my colleague, Detective Constable Matt Davis.’

  ‘Yes? What do you want?’

  ‘Could we come in?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Why? Ian isn’t here, he’s at work.’

  ‘We don’t need to speak to him. I’m sure you’ll be able to help us. It won’t take long.’

  Emma hesitated, and then removed the chain to let them in.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Matt said as they entered.

  ‘Thank you,’ Emma said.

  Beth thought Emma looked significantly better than the last time she’d seen her when she’d been in bed and was being looked after by her husband. But she still had a way to go and seemed fragile.

  ‘Shall we sit down?’ Beth suggested.

  Emma led the way into the front room.

  ‘We won’t keep you long,’ Beth said. ‘We’ve been contacted by a worried neighbour.’

  ‘I can guess who that is,’ Emma said dourly. ‘We made the mistake of being friendly with Mrs Slater when we first moved in. Now she won’t leave us alone.’

  Beth nodded. ‘I know this may sound insensitive, but I need to ask you a difficult question in connection with your baby.’

  ‘What?’ Emma asked anxiously.

  There was no easy way to put it. ‘Was your baby born alive and then died or was it stillborn?’ Beth said.

  ‘Why would you want to know that?’ Emma cried, immediately distressed.

  ‘It appears there is no record of the death yet.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. It’s nothing to do with me. The midwife was seeing to it all.’

  ‘The problem is, you only have five days to register a death,’ Beth said. ‘And that time has gone.’ Emma looked at her, confused. ‘If a baby is stillborn you have longer – forty-two days, but it still has to be registered.’

  ‘I suppose it was stillborn then,’ Emma said, her eyes filling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Beth said. ‘Don’t you know?’ she asked gently.