The Cottage

by Lisa Stone

  ‘No. I was in such a bad way. I couldn’t bear to see it. He was born very early, premature, and wasn’t right. We haven’t talked about it since.’

  ‘So you didn’t see or hold your baby before the midwife took him away?’ Beth asked in the same sensitive tone. She knew parents could spend some time with their dead baby if they wished.

  Emma’s reaction wasn’t what she’d expected.

  ‘No! Of course not. What a dreadful idea. I just wanted him out of here and gone. He wasn’t right. Ian didn’t see or touch him either. The midwife took him and then came back to see to me.’

  ‘I see, thank you,’ Beth said, as Matt wrote. ‘Are you planning on having a funeral?’

  ‘No, my mother asked me that. But I don’t understand why you want to know. It’s private.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Beth said. ‘I’m just trying to establish a timeline. There is some suggestion that the baby may have been alive when he left here.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! Of course he wasn’t. Can you go now, please?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I don’t need to bother you further. Your midwife will be able to give me the details. What’s her name?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Emma replied agitatedly.

  ‘Her name will be on your maternity records,’ Beth prompted.

  Emma didn’t reply.

  ‘I won’t trouble you further,’ Beth said, standing. ‘I can get the information from your health-service provider. They will have her details.’

  ‘It’s Anne Long,’ Emma suddenly said. ‘Now I want you to go. I’m not feeling well. I need to lie down.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Can I call someone to be with you? Your husband?’

  ‘No. Just go.’

  Emma remained in the living room as Beth and Matt let themselves out.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ Matt asked, once in the car.

  ‘Not sure. I need to speak to the midwife.’

  TWELVE

  Beth saw their boss, DS Scrivener, glance pointedly at the clock on the wall as she and Matt returned to their office in Coleshaw Police Station.

  ‘Seeing Mrs Slater took longer than expected, sir,’ Beth said, pausing by his desk.

  ‘We had to interview her neighbour, Mrs Jennings, the one who lost the baby,’ Matt added.

  ‘Why?’ DS Scrivener asked.

  ‘Because Mrs Slater’s new evidence is that the baby was alive when it was taken from the house,’ Beth explained. ‘She’s claiming she heard it cry. If she’s right then its death should have been registered by now, but it hasn’t been. We spoke to the mother, Emma Jennings, but she isn’t sure what happened. She was too distressed at the time. I’m going to phone the midwife who was involved to clarify the position.’

  ‘OK,’ DS Scrivener said. ‘Then I want the two of you to return to Mr Bates and arrest him. We have the evidence we need now.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Matt said.

  He and Beth went to their desks. They sat opposite each other, their computer screens back to back.

  ‘I’d better check the registry records first,’ Beth said, logging on to her computer. ‘Just in case Mrs Slater’s friend, Nora, has got it wrong and the death has now been registered.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Matt said, then turned his attention to his screen and the case he was working on.

  Beth began by checking the register of births, then deaths and finally stillbirths. Fifteen minutes later she had the confirmation she needed. Nora was right: there was still no record of David Jennings ever having been born or dying. Beth then spent a few moments finding the contact details for the midwife, Anne Long. Her name appeared as a member of staff at Coleshaw Health Centre. Beth keyed in the number for the centre.

  ‘Coleshaw Health Centre,’ a trim voice announced.

  ‘Good afternoon. I’m Detective Constable Beth Mayes, Coleshaw CID, I’d like to speak to one of your midwives, please – Anne Long.’

  ‘I’ll put you through to midwifery.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Beth waited, then a female voice sang, ‘Midwifery. How can I help you?’

  ‘Good afternoon. It’s Detective Constable Beth Mayes, Coleshaw CID. I’d like to speak to one of your midwives, Anne Long.’

  ‘She’s out at present on a call. I could ask her to phone you on her return.’

  ‘Does she have a work mobile?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Yes, but she won’t be able to answer it if she’s with a patient.’

  ‘No, I appreciate that. If she doesn’t answer, I’ll leave a message.’

  ‘No problem. Just a moment, please.’

  A few seconds later she came back on the line and read out the number for Anne Long as Beth made a note. ‘Has Anne worked there for many years?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Oh yes, she’s one of our longest-serving midwives. She’s very highly thought of. Many mums request her.’

  ‘I’m sure she is excellent,’ Beth said. ‘My enquiry has nothing to do with her competence. I’m doing a routine follow-up after a baby’s death. David Jennings. It was a home delivery.’

  ‘Oh yes, that was so sad. Anne was very upset, as we all were. But Anne is the best person to support the parents.’

  ‘Does Anne carry out many home deliveries?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s her speciality. She loves home births.’

  ‘Thank you for your help. I’ll give Anne a call now.’

  ‘You know that sometimes, despite the best care in the world, a baby can’t survive. It’s heart-breaking for all involved, but it’s no one’s fault.’

  ‘No, I understand that,’ Beth said. ‘Thanks again for your help.’

  Beth took a sip from the bottle of water on her desk and then keyed in Anne Long’s mobile number. Matt was concentrating on his screen as he typed.

  Anne’s phone was answered after a couple of rings. ‘Hello, Anne Long speaking.’

  ‘Good afternoon. It’s Detective Constable Beth Mayes, Coleshaw CID. Is this a convenient time to talk?’

  ‘I have a few minutes, yes. Why? What’s it about?’

  ‘I understand you were the midwife for Emma and Ian Jennings?’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct. Emma’s just called me. She was very upset by your visit.’

  ‘It wasn’t my intention to upset her,’ Beth said, meeting Matt’s gaze as he glanced up from his computer screen. ‘I’m hoping you can answer my questions.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘I understand Emma had a home delivery?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And their baby didn’t survive?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Was the baby full term?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Nowhere near.’

  ‘So it was stillborn?’

  ‘No. A late miscarriage.’

  ‘Oh, I see. How many weeks’ gestation was it, if that’s the right term?’

  ‘It is, but I’m sorry, this is very personal information. I should like to know the reason you’re asking before I share it.’

  ‘Of course. I am following up on a call from a member of the public who thought their baby had been born alive and is now missing.’

  ‘They are wrong. It was twenty-three weeks, more a foetus than a baby. At that stage it is known as a late miscarriage, not a stillborn. Stillborn is after twenty-four weeks.’

  ‘Do late miscarriages have to be registered?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Not at present, although there is some feeling there should be a register for late miscarriages as it could help give the parents closure.’

  ‘So it wasn’t alive when you took it from the house?’ Beth asked as she wrote. Matt was still watching her, listening to the one-sided conversation.

  ‘No. Some foetuses can survive at that stage, but not many. Mr and Mrs Jennings’s baby couldn’t, even if it had been born in hospital. It wasn’t properly formed. It’s all in my report.’

  ‘I see. So it couldn’t have cried?’

  ‘No.
It might have made a sound, but not a proper cry like a full-term viable baby does. No one would have attempted to resuscitate it, not even in hospital.’

  ‘I understand. I believe you disposed of the body?’

  ‘Yes, at the parents’ request. It was cremated at the hospital. Is that everything now?’ Anne asked. ‘Only I’m on my way to see a mum who’s in active labour.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘And you won’t have to visit Mr and Mrs Jennings again? I believe it’s the second time you’ve been, and they’re very upset. They have enough to cope with at present.’

  ‘There won’t be any need for me to see them again,’ Beth confirmed and, winding up the conversation, she said goodbye.

  ‘It was a late miscarriage,’ Beth told Matt. ‘Which explains why it’s not on any of the registers. You don’t have to register until twenty-four weeks. It was a foetus and not fully formed.’

  ‘That also explains why the parents didn’t want to see or hold it,’ Matt said, grimacing. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to, would you?’

  ‘Probably not. I’ll just complete and file my report and then we can go and arrest Mr Bates.’

  THIRTEEN

  On Tuesday evening, after Jan had finished her dinner, she settled on the sofa with her laptop and a mug of tea. She was feeling positive and determined to write the first page of her novel. A Difficult Romance. At least she had a title now! No excuses. The night-time visits had stopped, and Tinder was peacefully asleep at the other end of the sofa, eyes closed and ears relaxed.

  Jan had spent most of Sunday afternoon in the garden boarding up the hole in the hedge, using what she’d found in Camile’s shed – pieces of wood, wire netting and a roll of twine. Doubtless it was a makeshift job by Chris’s standards, but it had held when she’d tested it. She’d wedged strips of wood across the hole, then covered it with wire netting, securing it with twine to the hedge. It had worked. Whatever had been getting in wasn’t any longer. She and Tinder had enjoyed an uninterrupted and peaceful Sunday and Monday evening. Her confidence received another small boost.

  That morning she’d switched off the motion-sensor light at the socket in the spare bedroom. It wasn’t needed any longer and, as Camile had said in her text, the light gobbled electricity. It wasn’t just when the floodlight came on; the sensor used electricity too, so it was a steady drain on the power. She’d texted Chris to say she’d successfully blocked up the hole and all was well. He’d replied with a thumbs-up emoji. She’d also texted Camile – I’ve used some of the wood and netting from the shed to block up a hole in the hedge at the bottom of the garden. Hope that’s OK.’

  She’d replied straight away. Yes, fine with me. Sorry you’ve had a problem with something getting into the garden.

  Which, Jan thought, was slightly odd because she hadn’t told Camile something was coming into the garden. She supposed Chris had.

  She took another sip of her tea and set the mug down within reach. Her fingers were poised expectantly over the keyboard, ready to begin. She stared at the page before her, blank except for the title and Chapter One. It was so hard getting started, and she knew a good opening was crucial. Those considering buying a book based their decision on the blurb on the back and the first page. Online advice for new writers stated: Don’t worry about writing the perfect first page, just get down what is in your head. You will revise and edit it once the book is complete. Just start.

  Easier said than done, Jan thought.

  She forced her fingers to start typing with the thought in her head: It was a cold winter’s night and a frost was already beginning to settle on the lawn. She stopped and read what she’d written. It seemed OK, so she continued: At 11 p.m. Melissa was the only one in the house still awake. She stopped again. She thought she’d heard a noise outside. She listened but it wasn’t repeated. Tinder was still fast asleep, so it was nothing to worry about. There were plenty of noises in and around the cottage, especially at night, that Tinder was used to and she was not. He was her barometer.

  Jan looked at what she’d written and then deleted it. It would be better if it was set in summer, as it was a romance. She began again: It was a hot summer’s night. At 2 a.m. the temperature had hardly dropped. Melissa lay naked below a single sheet, her bedroom window wide open. Yes, that sounded much better. She was pleased. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard as she waited for the inspiration to continue.

  Then she heard it again. A noise on the other side of the patio window. She looked at the closed curtains and went cold. Tinder was awake now too, on guard, hackles up, staring at the curtains and growling. ‘What is it?’ she asked quietly, her voice unsteady.

  Was it back again after two nights? Had it got into the garden? Or was there something else out there? It could be anything, she told herself – a hedgehog, rats, mice. The sensor light was switched off. If she went upstairs and turned it on, whatever was outside would very likely be gone by the time she returned to the living room.

  Setting aside her laptop, Jan slowly knelt on the sofa so she was facing the curtain. Tinder, still growling, was watching her. She carefully took hold of the edge of the curtain and then quickly pulled it open. A pair of eyes looked back. She screamed and dropped the curtain. Tinder threw himself at the window as if to attack, but it had gone. He ran to the back door, barking frantically to be let out. But unlike other evenings, Jan wouldn’t be letting him out to give chase. It wasn’t safe.

  Her hand shook as she grabbed her phone to call Chris.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re there,’ she gasped as soon as he answered. ‘There was someone in the back garden. They came right up to the window and looked in.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Yes! Can’t you hear Tinder barking? He wants to give chase.’

  ‘I’ll come straight over. Lock the doors and don’t let Tinder out.’

  ‘Shall I call the police?’ Jan asked.

  ‘No, wait until I get there and we’ll decide then. I’m on my way.’

  Trembling, Jan went to the back door and checked it was locked. Then, taking her phone with her, she went down the hall to wait by the front door. It seemed safer to be at the front of the cottage and away from the back garden and living-room window. Tinder, finding himself alone, stopped barking and ran to her side.

  What had she seen? She didn’t know. She’d only seen a pair of eyes and a shadow before it had fled. Too small for an adult. A child? Surely not. Yet the eyes had shown human expression. Intrigue. If only the sensor light had been on.

  With her heart still racing and trying to make sense of what she’d seen, Jan leant against the front door for support as she waited, willing Chris to hurry. Although Tinder had stopped barking, he remained agitated. Every so often he gave a low growl while looking down the hall towards the back of the cottage. Had he heard it return? Or perhaps it hadn’t left the garden at all? Jan shuddered. Was there just the one or were there others? She’d only seen one pair of eyes.

  A few minutes later she heard a car come down the lane and pull up. Thank goodness. But she waited until the bell rang. ‘Is that you, Chris?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She opened the front door and nearly fell into Chris’s arms. ‘I was so scared,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘It’s OK. Come on, let’s sit you down.’ He took her arm and steered her into the living room where he eased her onto the sofa. ‘Shall I get you a drink?’

  ‘No, I’m all right. I had a fright. Whatever it was came right up to the window and looked in. Thanks for coming so quickly.’

  ‘I’ll get the torch and check outside,’ Chris said.

  ‘Do you think it’s safe?’

  He threw her a reassuring smile, suggesting there was really nothing to be afraid of and that she might have been overreacting, then fetched the torch from the hall, Tinder at his heels.

  ‘Keep him in, I don’t want him disappearing,’ Chris said as he returned to the living room wit
h the torch. He picked up Tinder and placed him on Jan’s lap, then went into the kitchen and unlocked the back door.

  ‘Be careful,’ she called.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Again, his tone suggested there was really nothing to be afraid of.

  Jan held Tinder close; it was comforting, as Chris went out the back door, closing it again after him. Tinder tried to break free and follow Chris, but Jan kept him securely on her lap, stroking his fur to calm him. She supposed she could have gone with Chris, but even with him beside her there was no way she was going into the garden now, and she wondered if he should have. How could he be certain that whatever – whoever – was out there had gone and wouldn’t harm him?

  A few minutes later the back door opened and Chris returned.

  ‘It’s all clear,’ he said.

  She let go of Tinder and he ran into the kitchen.

  ‘Good boy,’ Chris said, patting him. ‘It’s OK, there’s nothing out there now.’

  Taking off his muddy shoes, he came into the living room. ‘Whatever you saw has long gone, but they’ve made short work of your repair. The wood is strewn all over the lawn. I’ll come over at the weekend and fix it.’

  ‘They?’ Jan asked.

  ‘I’m guessing there was more than one. Foxes can live in groups, although they usually hunt alone.’

  ‘You think it was a fox?’

  ‘Most likely. They’ve been trying to get into my chicken coop again.’

  ‘It didn’t look like a fox to me,’ she said. ‘And the wood was in place this afternoon. It must have happened after dark while I was in here.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘I think there was someone in the garden and we should call the police.’ She picked up her phone.

  ‘So you can give a good description of them?’ Chris asked, sitting in his armchair.

  Jan paused and thought about what she’d seen. ‘I can’t. It was too dark. I switched the sensor light off to save electricity. I only saw their eyes at the window. But the outline looked similar to the last time I saw them.’

  Chris looked at her. ‘You’ve seen someone in the garden before? You didn’t say.’