‘I wish.’ She lifted her briefcase, simultaneously glancing at her watch. ‘No. I’ve got the joys of a late budget briefing at Lloyd House, which started about ten minutes ago. Have a good week, Tom. Come back refreshed.’
‘Thanks, I will.’
When the phone rang again Mariner was fully prepared for another last-minute amendment to his wardrobe, but this time it wasn’t Anna. ‘Tom? Louise Byrne from the Crown Prosecution Service. It’s about Kenneth McCrae. We thought we should let you know.’
‘Yes?’ Mariner spoke calmly, as if a small whirlpool hadn’t just started up in his stomach. Even from where he was languishing on remand, McCrae still had the capacity to crimp Mariner’s gut and make the hairs on his neck bristle. The mere mention of his name triggered a vivid sensation of cold, dark, hunger and fear that nine months and occasional counselling hadn’t yet fully dispelled. McCrae’s trial was scheduled to start a week on Monday and was the other reason for taking a break: mental preparation.
‘He’s changing his plea to not guilty, on the grounds of diminished responsibility,’ Louise Byrne went on.
Mariner snorted. Not guilty. Kenneth McCrae, the stepbrother who, until nine months ago, he’d known nothing about; the man who, fuelled by jealousy and greed, had gone on a rampage, shooting dead Mariner’s estranged father, stepmother and their chauffeur in cold blood before going on to beat Mariner’s grandmother to death, and finally abduct and imprison Mariner himself, leaving him to fester and die. He should have seen this coming. ‘What are his chances?’ he asked, evenly, ignoring the increased thudding of his heart.
‘He’ll be citing his tour in the Falklands, of course,’ Louise said, dodging the question. ‘Post-traumatic stress disorder.’ So he was going for the jury’s sympathy vote. Clever. ‘But we’re not beaten yet.’ Her cheerfulness sounded forced. ‘What McCrae did was planned and calculated, there’s no doubt about that. All we have to prove is that the two are mutually exclusive. We still have a couple of weeks to prepare a counter argument and get some favourable psychiatric reports of our own.’ But she’d been concerned enough to give Mariner the heads-up, which to him spoke volumes. ‘It’ll make your testimony all the more important,’ she went on. ‘McCrae was lodging with you at the time of the last killing and I need you to convince the jury that he was behaving perfectly rationally at that time.’
‘I hardly saw him.’
‘It will all help.’ Code for: we need anything we can get. ‘You and Mr Shipman are the only people to have had any contact at all during that time. And you are by definition a reliable witness.’ Whereas Shipman, the agent who had let Mariner’s flat to McCrae, was likely to be less secure in the courtroom arena.
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ said Mariner, ending the call. Great note to sign off on.
But when he looked up from replacing the receiver he saw a uniform hurrying towards him through the outer office, the urgency in PC Mann’s stride catching everyone’s attention. He wasn’t the bearer of good news.
‘We’ve had a call from a day nursery,’ Mann gasped, arriving in Mariner’s doorway, his face glossy with perspiration. ‘One of the mothers came to collect her baby daughter, but she isn’t there. The staff think she’s been abducted.’
In police work there’s one type of incident that, more than any other, requires an instant response and is guaranteed to galvanise the force. And this was it. Until they knew exactly what they’d got, no one would be leaving for the weekend. If Mariner had taken the gaffer’s advice a bit more promptly it might have gone to someone else, but now his weekend was set to take on a completely different shape. Instructing Mann to gather together a team of uniforms, Mariner took Tony Knox and Charlie Glover and hurried down the stairs.
‘You two up for this?’ he asked the two sergeants. Only fair to give them an escape route now if they needed it.
‘Fine with me,’ said Glover. ‘I’ve got the in-laws for the weekend.’
‘I just need to make a phone call,’ Tony Knox said, searching out his mobile.
‘Cancelling a hot date?’ Glover jibed.
Knox grimaced. ‘No, calling in my dog-walker.’
‘I didn’t know you employed one,’ said Mariner.
‘The kid from across the road,’ Knox illuminated. The boy had turned up on Knox’s doorstep one Sunday afternoon a few weeks back, bucket and sponge in hand. ‘Can I wash your car?’
Knox had looked out at his vehicle, put through the OCU car wash only the previous day. ‘No, but you can walk my dog if you like.’ After that it had become a regular arrangement.
It was by default that Tony Knox had ended up with Nelson, the canine orphan of McCrae’s murder spree. Mariner had been all set to take him on, but then, with everything else that had been happening, it had seemed like not such a good idea. ‘How about you though?’ Mariner had said to Knox one evening over a pint. Knox’s girlfriend, Selina, had moved out, taking with her the chocolate Labrador puppy that Knox had grown so fond of, so it had been an obvious question. And Nelson had settled in beautifully.
Compared with the puppy, Nelson was well behaved and low maintenance and, thanks to him, Knox had stumbled across a whole new world. His sights were set on a willowy brunette he’d met walking a maniacal springer one evening a couple of weeks ago, but though he’d been back to the same park regularly since, he hadn’t been able to synchronise with her again so far. Not much chance for the next few days now this had happened, but he lived in hope.
Most of the family liaison team had also left for the weekend but Millie Khatoon remained. Mariner was glad. They’d worked together before. For several years now she’d brought to family liaison work the kind of openness and down-to-earth common sense that was instantly reassuring to families under duress. As they walked out to the car, Mariner talked through what Mann had told him, his own weekend obligations temporarily forgotten as his mind raced through the procedure. Right from the start with an incident such as this, there was a careful balance to be struck between acting quickly before the abductor had a chance to build any kind of relationship with the baby, and an equal need to be methodical and systematic so that no important details were overlooked.
Blues and twos eased them through the building rush-hour traffic that seemed to begin earlier and earlier on a Friday afternoon. As they drove, Mariner put in a call on his mobile to Anna, but the line was engaged. He didn’t leave a message. ‘I’ve never handled a baby-snatch before,’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘Haven’t even been directly involved in an investigation.’
‘I have,’ Knox was grim. ‘It didn’t turn out well.’
After a couple of seconds it dawned on Mariner. ‘Adam Teale,’ he said, out loud. Christ. He’d forgotten that Knox was up on Merseyside back in 1993 when the toddler had disappeared, only to turn up three days later, strangled and beaten to death. ‘This is different,’ he said, sincerely hoping that the outcome would be, too. ‘There it is.’
They’d almost driven past the nursery before Mariner spotted it, set as it was on the main through route connecting the suburbs of Selly Oak and Harborne. Mariner must have passed it hundreds of times before without noticing. There was no adjacent parking that was obvious, so continuing past, Glover manoeuvred them into a neighbouring cul-de-sac, Mann and his contingent following in convoy. The street was already lined with cars, but each driver managed to find a space to squeeze into, then they all trooped back the twenty or so yards along the main road. A little further up from the cul-de-sac and on the opposite side of the road they passed the entrance to the city’s teaching hospital, the Queen Elizabeth. This was an area busy with traffic and pedestrians, Mariner noted, and instantly the odds began stacking against them.
Jack and the Beanstalk nursery was housed in a squat red-brick that stood apart from its neighbours in a tiny garden enclosed by high spiked iron railings. A red painted board in the garden advertised it as a Private Day nursery for babies and toddlers aged 0—5 years. A sticker affi
xed to the lower part of the board advertised free places for three- and four-year-olds, with a directive to enquire within. Someone was watching out for them, and as they passed through the gate and into the garden, the main front door swung open, on the other side of which stood a young woman in a royal blue tunic. Tall and slender, with shoulder-length blondish hair, she was young enough for her hormones to still be playing havoc with her complexion.
Mariner had his warrant card ready, though with PCs Mann and Khatoon in uniform it hardly seemed necessary. ‘I’m DI Mariner and I’m here with DC Knox, DC Glover, PC Mann and PC Khatoon.’
‘Samantha.’
The introductions, like Samantha’s limp-fingered handshake, seemed a strange formality under the circumstances. As they all crammed into the narrow lobby she shut the front door, blotting out the traffic noise. ‘I’m the deputy manager.’ Her voice was thin and nervous. ‘Mrs Barratt who owns and manages the nursery has just popped out.’
‘Where to?’ Mariner asked.
‘She had an emergency, personal I think, and after that she might have gone to the cash and carry. She’ll go ballistic. I’ve tried to get her on her mobile, but she must be driving. It’s switched off, so I’ve left a message. I wanted to wait until she came back but Jessica’s mummy insisted that we call you straight away.’
‘Quite right,’ said Mariner. ‘We can’t afford to lose any time.’ He gestured towards the two uniforms. ‘These officers will need to search the building and grounds. It may seem unnecessary but we need to ensure that Jessica is definitely missing.’ On Mariner’s signal, Glover, Mann and their team headed off. ‘Meanwhile I have to ask you some questions. Is there somewhere we can go to talk?’
‘The main office is in here.’
Stepping past them Samantha pushed open the nearest door on their left, which opened into what was little more than a large cupboard crammed with two desks at right angles, a tower of filing cabinets and shelves bowed beneath the weight of dozens of ring binders. Every inch of wall space was covered with paper. A monochrome split-screen CCTV played four mini silent movies at them from one of the desks.
Squashed into the tiny area of free space, knees almost touching, were two more women. The younger one wore a uniform identical to Samantha’s and seemed to be ministering to the other, who from the raw, swollen face, Mariner deduced to be Jessica’s mother. ‘Thank God!’ she jumped up recognising immediately who they were. Her face contorted with emotion. ‘Somebody’s taken my daughter. You have to find her.’
‘We will Mrs O’Brien—’ began Mariner, recalling the details passed on by Mann.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Tom Mariner and I’ll be leading the search for your daughter. First of all I need to speak to the staff to establish exactly what has happened. While I’m doing that, Millie — PC Khatoon — who is a family liaison officer, is going to sit with you for a few minutes, and will be able to explain to you what’s going on.’ Mariner glanced up at Samantha. ‘Is there somewhere more private where PC Khatoon can take Mrs O’Brien?’ Mariner asked.
‘They could go upstairs to the staff room.’
‘Mrs O’Brien—’ Millie stepped in to take control.
‘Miss,’ the distraught woman cut in, automatically.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s Miss O’Brien.’
‘Sorry, Miss O’Brien. Why don’t you come with me?’
‘It’s at the top of the stairs and on the—’ Samantha said.
‘We’ll find it.’ Khatoon was already halfway up the stairs, shepherding a bewildered Emma O’Brien ahead of her.
Mariner watched them go before entering the office. ‘Okay, Samantha. Let’s just go through the sequence of events.’ Samantha automatically placed herself behind the desk, leaving Mariner and Knox to the chairs on the opposite side recently vacated by Emma O’Brien and her consoler. She’d picked up an elastic band and was stretching it over her fingers as Mariner spoke.
‘When did you first realise that Jessica was missing?’ he asked.
‘About four o’clock, when her mummy came to fetch her. She just wasn’t there.’ That was fifty minutes ago.
‘How many ways are there in and out of the nursery?’
‘Just the entrance where you came in. There are patio doors at the back of the nursery that lead into the garden, but they can only be opened from the inside. And there’s a fire door off the kitchen, but if someone wanted to get in through there they’d have to get over a high fence at the side.’
‘And the main entrance has a security pad. Who knows the code for that?’
‘Only permanent members of staff.’
‘You don’t give it out to parents?’
‘They have to ring the bell.’
‘So everyone gets buzzed in by you, in this office?’
Samantha shook her head. ‘Sometimes Mrs Barratt or I get called away, so there are door releases in a couple of the rooms too.’
‘Do they have cameras too?’
‘No, but there’s an intercom.’
‘So people can be let in by simply identifying themselves verbally.’
‘Yes.’
‘But everyone who comes in would have to ring the bell and make themselves known to a member of staff,’ Mariner clarified.
‘Yes. Unless . . .’ she tailed off, uncertainly.
‘Unless what?’
‘Sometimes people hold the door open for each other. We ask parents not to do that, but it’s just good manners, isn’t it?’
‘So, if they chose the right moment, someone could get into the nursery without ringing the bell and without having to explain themselves to a member of staff.’
She thought about that for a moment. ‘I suppose it’s possible, yes. It shouldn’t happen like that but . . .’
‘And once they’re in the building they are free to go anywhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘So potentially, if they’d chosen the right moment, someone could have just walked into the nursery off the street without any of the staff being any the wiser.’
‘It shouldn’t—’
‘Could they?’ demanded Mariner.
‘It’s possible, yes,’ she repeated, becoming increasingly rattled.
‘And they could just take a child without anyone noticing?’ Mariner exchanged a brief glance with Knox. He couldn’t quite believe that.
‘No,’ said Samantha. ‘The children are never left unattended.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ Mariner was floundering. ‘It means that someone must have seen the abductor take Jessica.’ He allowed himself a moment of optimism. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it had first appeared, and they would at least get a decent description.
‘She did, but she assumed it was Jessica’s mummy.’
Mariner was flummoxed again. ‘Didn’t she know Jessica’s mother?’
‘Jessica was a crèche baby,’ Samantha said as if that explained everything. When she realised it didn’t, she went on: ‘In the main nursery staff do get to know the parents, because the children come here regularly over a period of time. We haven’t had any new children for several months. But we also have an arrangement with the hospital to provide a daily crèche for medical professionals who attend conferences at the medical school, and for visiting consultants. Most of those children just come here for a day or maybe two and that’s it, although we have a handful of regular users. The children are booked in advance, so that we can plan the right staffing levels.’
‘And Jessica was a crèche baby, so she’d never been here before,’ said Mariner finally beginning to grasp the situation.
‘It was a complete one-off,’ said Samantha.
‘So the staff didn’t know her mother. Isn’t that a bit of a risk?’
‘Everyone who comes into the crèche is meant to sign the visitor’s book when they come in and go out.’
‘And in practice?’
‘It doesn’t always happen,’ she admitted. ‘If parents ar
e in a hurry—’
Mariner still couldn’t make sense of it. ‘But surely the staff would have seen Jessica’s mother when she dropped the baby off this morning. Wouldn’t they expect the same person to pick her up?’
‘Miss O’Brien brought Jessica early. The crèche staff work a nine till five, so any children being left earlier than that are received by Mrs Barratt. It happens sometimes.’
‘So up until she came to collect Jessica, the staff in the room had never met Miss O’Brien.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And the only person who had met Jessica’s mother — Mrs Barratt — wasn’t here. Meaning that anyone could have come in and announced themselves as Jessica’s mother and wouldn’t have been challenged.’
Samantha was beginning to lose her cool. ‘It wouldn’t usually have been possible, because Mrs Barratt would have been here. And parents are supposed to sign the book and staff are meant to ask for identification—’
‘Except we’ve already established that your security systems aren’t exactly what we’d call watertight, are they?’ said Mariner.
‘No.’ Samantha’s flimsy veneer of confidence had all but dissolved. She looked about to cry and it crossed Mariner’s mind that she was far too young to be burdened with this much responsibility.
There was a light knock on the door. Charlie Glover peered in and, catching Mariner’s eye, gave the faintest shake of the head. Baby Jessica was definitely gone. But then, Mariner knew that now anyway. A member of staff had stood by and watched it happen. The priority now was to get a good description and start to fan out the search.
Leaving Samantha for a moment, Mariner went out to the hall to brief Glover, and Brian Mann. ‘Get someone from uniform to retrieve as much CCTV footage as they can from a half-mile radius, then gather as many bodies as we can, and as soon as we have a description we’ll start talking to people within a five-mile radius. See if the other OCUs can spare any troops. And call the technicians to get someone down here so that we can start to monitor phone lines going in and out.’
Baby Lies (Reissue) Page 3