The Cottage

by Lisa Stone

  ‘No, I’ll be fine,’ Jan replied stiffly.

  ‘Give me a ring if you change your mind, and I’ll speak to Camile tomorrow. I’m sure there’s an explanation and there’s nothing to worry about.’

  Once he’d gone, Jan closed and bolted the front door.

  What the hell was all that about! She couldn’t believe his reaction – calm and rational about something that defied logic. His response hadn’t been normal. Either she was losing her mind or he was, and she was sure it wasn’t her. She had the proof she needed now and tomorrow she’d take it to the police. The video was clear enough, wasn’t it? Jan looked at her phone again to check – and went cold. The video clip had gone. Chris! He must have deleted it while she’d been upstairs. The bastard! There was only one reason for him to have done that – he hadn’t wanted anyone to see it. But why? He had to be involved with whatever was going on. There was no other explanation.

  FIFTY

  It had been too late on Wednesday evening to start telephoning Moller’s patients, so Emma took Thursday off work. Ian had already taken a lot of time off and she could gather the information they needed just as well – if not better – than he could. She sat at the dining-room table with Ian’s laptop open in front of her, making notes.

  She’d been very nervous to begin with, but with each call it had got a bit easier, and being able to concentrate on something was helping. Most of the people she phoned were helpful when she explained she was asking for feedback on their healthcare experience. A few couldn’t remember the details she needed, and some said they never took part in surveys, so she apologized and moved to the next. It was time consuming and emotionally draining. Often the parent wanted to talk about the loss of their child or grandchild and poured out their feelings. Able to identify with losing a baby, Emma found it upsetting and exhausting as she struggled to hide her own feelings.

  By midday she had collected as much information as she could and was able to confirm that Moller’s ‘Second Generation’ file referred to the children of patients treated by him, although they had never been to the clinic themselves – and A.L. stood for Anne Long. In each case where Anne had been the midwife the parents had suffered at least one late miscarriage and sometimes more than one, as she and Ian had. Yet everyone spoke highly of Anne: kind, caring, dedicated and showing great empathy for their loss. It wasn’t her fault, they said.

  As a longstanding midwife, Anne would have delivered thousands of other babies in addition to those on Moller’s list, Emma thought. This high neonatal mortality rate couldn’t possibly be present in all her work or she would have been investigated and stopped from practising years ago. It was worrying and didn’t make sense. Why was this happening to Moller’s babies when Anne was involved? What was going so badly wrong?

  Ian had said he would phone in his lunch break to see how Emma was getting on, and she now took the opportunity to make herself a mug of tea. She returned to the table and sipped it as she waited for Ian’s call, puzzled and worried by what she’d found out.

  A few minutes later Ian phoned, his voice sombre. ‘Hello, how are you getting on?’

  ‘I’ve just finished. Without doubt those listed on the “Second Generation” spreadsheet weren’t patients of Moller but their parents were, and A.L. does stand for Anne Long. I’ll show you my notes tonight. But, Ian, something else has come out of this and I’m not sure what to make of it.’

  ‘What?’ he asked, anxiety obvious in his voice.

  ‘According to Moller’s spreadsheet, it seems that when Anne was the midwife, the babies never survived, and also she always took care of the disposal of their bodies. Just like she did with David.’

  Emma heard Ian’s silence. Her discovery had clearly filled him with dread as it had her.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked at length.

  ‘I don’t know. The couples were grateful at the time, but later some of them regretted they’d made the decision so quickly, like Chelsea and Grant. But it was too late by then. I feel very uncomfortable and sad about all of this. I mean, we didn’t give it much thought either, did we? We were too upset, so when Anne suggested she took David away, we agreed. We didn’t even say goodbye.’

  ‘No, but I think that was for the best,’ Ian said, remembering the glimpse he’d had of their baby.

  ‘Do you think there’s a connection between Anne Long and the Moller Clinic?’ Emma asked.

  ‘It would seem so. Why else would Moller have her details? Maybe she’s selling body parts to labs. There was that big scandal some years ago.’

  ‘Oh, Ian, don’t say that!’ Emma cried. ‘That’s horrible. I couldn’t bear the thought of David being in a laboratory.’

  ‘Hopefully I’m wrong,’ Ian said. ‘Anne wasn’t our midwife in your first pregnancy and that went wrong too. I seem to remember we weren’t allotted Anne for David straight away. The midwife was changed partway through your pregnancy.’

  ‘Yes, because we decided on a home birth and she was more experienced in home deliveries. If you remember, the hospital tried to talk us out of a home birth and said they couldn’t be held responsible. We had to insist. Then Anne came to our rescue.’

  Ian was quiet again and then said, ‘I think I need to speak to Anne face to face.’

  ‘Shall I ask her to visit us? The last time I saw her she said to phone if we needed to talk.’

  ‘No, I’ll visit her.’

  ‘At the hospital?’

  ‘Or her home.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘No, but I’ll be able to find out.’

  ‘Oh, Ian, that’s not a good idea. We don’t want any more upset. We’ve had enough to cope with this year. And Anne hasn’t done anything wrong as far as we know.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I just want to ask her some questions.’

  FIFTY-ONE

  ‘Thank you for returning my call,’ Jan said to DC Matt Davis.

  ‘You’re welcome, although if it’s an emergency you should call 999.’

  ‘It’s not, or rather it isn’t an emergency now. It happened last night. I had another intruder come into the garden.’

  ‘Yes. It was Bill Smith.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. He’s safely home now. If you’d told the duty officer what your call was about when you phoned this morning, they could have reassured you then.’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you because you’d been here when it had happened before,’ Jan said.

  ‘No problem. Anyway, the mystery of your intruder has been solved.’

  ‘Where was Bill found?’ Jan asked.

  ‘In Wood Lane. Chris Giles found him and phoned us in case anyone had reported him missing.’

  ‘I see,’ Jan said, wondering why Chris hadn’t texted her to let her know. ‘Well, I’m glad he’s home safely.’

  ‘Yes. Was there anything else concerning you?’

  Jan hesitated. She no longer had the video to prove her claims. ‘You remember you saw those track marks in the garden? Whoever made them was here again last night,’ she said. ‘They came right up to the window looking for food.’

  ‘They seem to be getting around,’ Matt replied lightly. ‘A family in the village has reported seeing a “strange figure”, to use their term, in their home.’

  ‘They did!’ Jan gasped.

  ‘Yes, it gave them quite a shock. It seems it had come in through a window in the kitchen they’d left open to clear the smell of cooking. The couple’s teenage daughter came down in the night for a drink. They heard her scream, but by the time they arrived it had gone. So don’t leave any windows open.’

  ‘No. I won’t. Did the girl say what it looked like?’

  ‘Not really. She only caught a glimpse of it as it disappeared out of the window. It was most likely a fox.’

  ‘Was there just one?’ Jan asked.

  ‘Yes. Try not to worry. Just remember to keep your windows and doors closed.’


  FIFTY-TWO

  It had been very easy to find Anne Long’s address. Ian hadn’t had to hack into a database. Her name and address were on the public Electoral Register for all to see – 45 Dells Lane, Melton, CP29 1DA. It was about three miles from Merryless.

  Ian was now driving there after work on Thursday, having first told Emma where he was going. She’d tried to dissuade him, but he was determined. He had to go. He needed to know. If Anne was out, he’d wait a few hours and then return tomorrow, and every evening until he had the answers he was looking for. What was Anne’s connection to the Moller Clinic and why was her name linked to so many baby deaths? Ian was trying to keep an open mind, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

  It was nearly six o’clock as Ian pulled into Dells Lane. It was on the outer edge of the village. A row of semi-detached houses lined one side of the road, with open common land on the other. The road was dimly lit by old sodium street lamps, which gave it an unhealthy orange glow. Ian drove slowly along the road, checking the house numbers as he went. Number 45 was last. Most of the houses had a small driveway so additional cars were parked on the road. Ian pulled into a space two doors up from Anne’s, from where he could see her house.

  The house was in darkness and no car was parked on the drive or directly in front, suggesting she wasn’t home yet. He would check anyway. Getting out, Ian walked along the pavement, up the drive and pressed the doorbell. He heard it chime inside and waited, but no one answered. He tried again and then returned to his car to wait.

  It occurred to him that if Anne was on a night shift she might not return until the following morning. He’d wait an hour or so and then try again tomorrow. He turned on the radio and watched the minutes tick by on the dashboard clock. Half an hour passed. The car chilled and Ian switched on the heater. He stretched his legs and texted Emma to say he was all right. He looked around, out of the side window to the common land, which was just grass and bare trees. He wasn’t used to this level of isolation and stillness. It was very different to where he and Emma lived. In the suburbs there was always movement – cars going along the road or neighbours in and out of their houses. Since he’d been sitting here he hadn’t seen a single person.

  At 7.30, with no sign of Anne, Ian decided it was time to call it quits for this evening. He straightened in his seat and was about to start the engine when a car appeared in his rear-view mirror, having just turned into Dells Lane. Ian waited. The headlamps dipped and Ian watched the car’s progress in his wing mirror as it came towards him along the lane. He was half expecting it to turn off into one of the driveways or draw up outside a house. But it kept coming.

  He ducked down low in his seat as it passed, then raised his head just enough to see out. It stopped outside Anne’s house but didn’t turn into the driveway. The door opened and Anne got out. He could see her reasonably clearly in the glow of the street lamp, but her vision of him was blocked by the car in front. She was wearing a dark winter coat, flat shoes, and had a bag over her shoulder. He couldn’t tell if she’d come from work or not. Ian watched her walk briskly to her front door, key at the ready, and let herself in. The door closed and the lights began going on inside the house. He’d give her a few minutes before he went to the door.

  Ian looked at her car, parked right under the street lamp. It was a grey Vauxhall Corsa, which he recognized from when she’d visited him and Emma, but he now realized he’d also seen it – or one very similar – parked outside the Moller Clinic on his last visit. It had been there when he’d arrived but had gone when he’d left. If that car had been Anne’s, which he was pretty sure it was, then she was the person with Moller when Ian had arrived and who’d left in a hurry. Why was she there? And what had happened to make her slam the door as she’d left?

  Time to confront her, Ian thought. He opened his car door, but as he did he heard a whirring sound coming from Anne’s house. He looked over and saw her garage door slowly rising. He quietly closed his car door again and waited, keeping low in his seat. The garage door rose to its full height and a small navy van with tinted windows pulled out. It turned left down the lane, going past him. The garage door automatically closed. It had been impossible to see who was in the van through the tinted windows. The lights in the house were still on. Perhaps there was someone else living there, Ian wondered, although there was only Anne listed on the Electoral Register.

  Getting out, he went to Anne’s front door again and pressed the bell. Silence. He rapped on the door. More silence. It seemed no one was in. So that must have been Anne leaving in the van, which was odd. She’d arrived home in her car and gone straight out again in a van with tinted windows. He ran to his car, quickly turned it around, and then sped down the lane after her.

  He thought he’d seen the van’s indicator flash right before it had disappeared and so he turned right, heading towards Melton. There was no van in sight. He continued along the main road that ran through the village, looking left and right, down the side roads, but there was no van.

  At the end of the village he turned the car around and retraced his route until he came to Dells Lane where he turned in. He continued to Anne’s house and tried the door again, but no one answered. Annoyed with himself that he hadn’t spoken to Anne when he’d had the chance, he went next door to Number 43 and rang their bell. A man in his fifties dressed in overalls answered.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you,’ Ian said. ‘I was hoping to see your neighbour, Anne Long, but she’s out. Do you know when she might return?’

  ‘At this time in the evening she’s either working or walking her dogs,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh, I see. Her car is still outside.’

  ‘In that case she’s walking the dogs. She takes them in the van. We keep well away. Nasty brutes by all accounts. She can only walk them at night when there’s no one else around.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ian said. ‘Do you know what time she’s likely to return?’

  ‘It varies. Recently it’s been very late. I heard her garage door at nearly midnight yesterday.’

  ‘I’ll come earlier tomorrow then. Thanks for your help.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  If Chris thought it was going to be that easy to get rid of the video she’d taken then he was very much mistaken, Jan decided. There was no other reason for him to have deleted it from her phone than to stop her from showing others, and especially the police. She couldn’t imagine why he didn’t want anyone to know, and also why he’d lied about Bill Smith being in Wood Lane, but it was very worrying.

  The more Jan thought about what DC Matt Davis had told her, the more worried she was. She was sure Chris had made up finding Bill in Wood Lane after he’d left her. Otherwise he would have texted or phoned her to say he’d been found. The police had taken Chris at his word, but perhaps Bill had been home all the time, and Chris had simply checked on him as he’d told her he was going to.

  The other reason Jan believed Chris had lied to the police was that she was certain it hadn’t been Bill in her garden last night. She’d seen Bill Smith wandering around the village and he was a big man, over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a large stomach. Although the image in the video hadn’t been clear, the person certainly wasn’t tall and broad. They were much shorter, smaller and thinner. But why had Chris lied? Had he recognized the person in her garden and was covering up for them? There was no other explanation.

  Jan fully intended to take another video if possible that evening and then go to the police with the full story. Now someone else had reported a strange sighting she felt sure that, together with the video clip, her fears would be taken seriously. She could imagine the teenage girl’s horror when she’d gone into the kitchen. The police were putting it down to an animal getting in, but Jan knew differently. Food seemed to entice them, and Jan would be using it again tonight. But she wouldn’t be showing Chris her evidence this time. He couldn’t be trusted. After she’d gone to the police, she’d call Camile and say she wanted to leave as soo
n as possible. Enough was enough. This was supposed to have been a quiet retreat to give her time to heal, and it was anything but.

  At 7.30 Jan arranged the food she’d prepared around the outer edges of the patio, not close up to the window as she had done before, then returned indoors. She shut Tinder in her bedroom and then, downstairs again, opened the living-room curtains. Hardly daring to breathe, she put on her jacket, boots, scarf, beanie hat and gloves, and, tucking her phone into her pocket, quietly let herself out of the back door, closing it again behind her. The light from the living room shone out over the patio. From outside looking in, it was obvious that no one was in the living room. They would be wary about being caught a third time, so she was using a different tactic tonight and showing them the room was empty.

  Struggling to believe she was actually doing this, Jan crossed the lawn to the shed at the bottom of the garden and let herself in. Thankfully Camile had kept it reasonably clean – there were just a few cobwebs hanging in the crevices.

  She shivered from cold and nerves and pulled her woollen hat further down over her ears. Taking out her phone, she stood a little way back from the window and prepared to wait. From here she could see the living room clearly lit up. On a cold winter’s evening it looked warm and inviting. Despite being well wrapped up, the cold seeped into her. The shed was old and some of the wood had separated at the bottom, leaving gaps. A mouse scuttled past, but Jan had never been frightened of mice. Eight-thirty came and went. An owl hooted in the distance and a light breeze stirred the barren branches of the trees overhead, making them creak and groan.

  Then she was aware of another noise. She stood perfectly still and listened. It sounded as though it had come from the roof of the shed. A scratching sound. Was it a branch chafing against the roof? She didn’t think so. There it was again. Something was up there. More scratching as it moved across the roof. Her heart raced. It was too heavy for a bird, she felt sure. Then a small hand appeared at the top of the window. It was them; they were on the roof.