Baby Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘Well . . . I wouldn’t know about that. But she had good reason to want to get away from that bully of a boyfriend of hers.’

  ‘Her relationship with Jimmy Bond had finished,’ Knox told her.

  ‘Had it?’

  ‘Last weekend. She didn’t say?’

  ‘Christie didn’t share much of her personal life with me. She might have told some of the other girls. I’m sure, despite what Bond was like, that must have upset her. They’d been together quite a while. She did take the kidnapping to heart too. I think she felt that it was her fault, even though we all know it wasn’t, of course. And then that awful man making the ransom demand. I think Christie is — I mean, she was — accustomed to taking the blame for things. It had got to be a habit.’ It all spilled out, one conscious train of thought, the nervous reaction to bad news.

  ‘When did you last see her?’ asked Mariner.

  Trudy Barratt thought for a moment. ‘Sometime during Friday afternoon. I had to go into the baby room.’

  ‘Christie wasn’t in the crèche?’

  ‘The crèche has been suspended indefinitely.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mariner allowed himself a glance in Knox’s direction. ‘Whose decision was that?’

  ‘It was a decision mutually agreed by myself and the hospital,’ she said, tightly.

  They’d look into that later. ‘And how did Christie seem when you saw her on Friday?’

  ‘Well, she did seem quiet, I suppose, as if she had a lot on her mind.’

  ‘We’ll need to talk to her friends,’ Mariner said.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  The rest of the staff were naturally engaged with the children so interviewing them was a slow and painful process. Again they used the staff room, but this time the young women were called in one at a time for Mariner and Knox to break the news. Without exception, they took it emotionally. As well as being valued, Christie had been a popular member of staff. Once over the initial shock, and clutching a glass of water, it was a girl named Joy who seemed able to provide them with the most information.

  ‘When did you last see Christie?’ Mariner asked her, as he had the other girls.

  ‘She came to Frankie & Benny’s for Rachel’s leaving-do on Friday night, but that was it. She was going to spend Saturday moving her stuff back into her nan’s house.’

  ‘So you were aware of the split from Jimmy?’

  Joy nodded.

  ‘And how did she feel about that?’

  ‘It was hard, but deep down she knew she’d done the right thing. I was glad. We’d all been trying to tell her for months what a loser he was.’

  ‘You knew that he hit her?’

  ‘How could we not? She always had some excuse about the bruises, but we saw right through it. I think when he made that bogus ransom demand, she saw him for what he really was, so it seemed like at least one good thing came out of the kidnapping. But now . . .’

  ‘How did Christie seem on Friday night?’

  ‘To tell you the truth we all got pretty bladdered, but I remember thinking how much happier she seemed. She’d been sort of edgy earlier in the week and I know she nearly didn’t come, but then I think she’d realised she’d done the right thing leaving Jimmy and she started to relax. It even crossed my mind that there could be someone else on the scene.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘I made some comment about enjoying her freedom, but she said it might not last long anyway. I asked her what she meant and she said something like “plenty more fish in the sea, and some of them a bit more grown up than Jimmy.”’

  ‘What do you think she meant by that exactly?’

  ‘I can’t be certain, but it sounded like she had her eye on another older guy. Christie always seemed to go for older men. Then later when we were talking about Rachel leaving — there have been a few people who’ve gone since baby Jessica — Christie said, “Could be me next.”’

  ‘Those were her exact words?’

  ‘Yes. I asked her what she meant but she just sort of laughed.’

  So what was Christie so cheerful about? Leaving Jimmy Bond, or because she’d thought of another way out? As Mariner and Knox left the building, they acknowledged a couple of the auxiliary staff who sat on the outside wall smoking. ‘You’ve been asking about Christie, haven’t you, poor girl,’ called out the older of the two; a woman in her fifties Mariner would have guessed.

  ‘We have,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Mrs Barratt tell you about the ding dong?’

  ‘The ding dong?’

  The woman glanced knowingly at her friend. ‘What did I tell you?’ She turned back to Mariner. ‘Friday night when everyone else had gone home, I’d just finished up and needed to put the keys back in the cupboard in the office, but I couldn’t go in because Christie was in there with Mrs Barratt and they were at it hammer and tongs.’

  ‘They were having an argument?’

  ‘A right old slanging match. I thought world war three was about to start.’

  ‘How long did this go on for?’

  ‘Well, I came out here and had another ciggie. I was putting it out when Christie came out the door.’

  ‘Was she upset?’ asked Knox.

  ‘No. She was grinning, like the cat that got the cream. She looked well pleased with herself.’

  With an impatient sigh, Mariner led the way back into the nursery, annoyed that their time was being wasted. He confronted Trudy Barratt. ‘You didn’t tell us that Christie came to see you before she went home on Friday.’

  ‘Oh, was that Friday?’ She was all innocence. ‘I could have sworn it was earlier in the week. The time just goes, doesn’t it?’

  Genuine mistake or not? ‘We’ve just been told quite definitively that it was Friday,’ said Mariner. ‘What was the discussion about?’

  ‘Christie was talking about leaving. I tried to dissuade her. She was a good nursery nurse, reliable. There aren’t too many of those around at present. And if I’m honest, I’ve invested a lot in her in terms of training. I was disappointed that she’d be going before I got a return on that.’

  ‘Did she tell you why she wanted to leave?’

  ‘Not specifically, but she’d had her name in all the papers, I expect she thought she could get a better job at another nursery. That’s what usually happens. It’s frustrating. You train up members of staff and then they move on.’

  ‘So you didn’t part on the best of terms?’ Mariner surmised.

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She spoke quickly. ‘We resolved the matter.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I persuaded her to stay.’

  ‘Did you offer her a sweetener, an incentive? A pay rise, for example?’ Mariner thought back to what Christie had told her nan.

  ‘Not exactly. But I might have implied that one would be forthcoming. Samantha will be going on maternity leave soon, so the deputy cover will be available.’

  ‘Isn’t that a risky precedent, to give in to that kind of pressure from a member of staff?’

  Mrs Barratt gave a nervous laugh. ‘That’s putting it rather strongly. But no, I don’t usually respond to threats of any kind, but Christie wasn’t really that sort of girl, and she was a valued member of staff. I genuinely didn’t want to lose her.’

  * * *

  ‘Doesn’t make any sense at all,’ Knox reiterated, when they were outside on the street again. ‘The promise of a future promotion and a pay rise, even if it’s only temporary, would surely have made her happy. So why kill herself twenty-four hours later? Where to now, boss?’ he wondered aloud.

  ‘The last place we know Christie was before she died. The Golden Cross. We can walk it from here. What about this other man?’ Mariner said, as they walked.

  ‘Yeah, where did he come from? No one else has said anything about him.’

  ‘An older man, possibly not available—’ Mariner stopped. ‘You don’t think—?’

&nbs
p; ‘What?’

  ‘Christie helps us with the abduction investigation which, you said, she seemed really keen on. She builds a bit of a rapport with you, even mentioning you to her nan. As you say, you had something in common; you understood her circumstances. Then, on your advice, she leaves her boyfriend. Do you think she could have developed a crush on you? She wanted to meet up with you to tell you that she’s left Jimmy and that she’s available?’

  ‘And then throws herself in front of a train because I’m not? Thanks a lot. That makes me feel a whole lot better.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, you’re right,’ Mariner conceded. ‘It’s a big conclusion to arrive at.’

  They’d also arrived at the pub, one of those that had begun opening all day and now, in the middle of the afternoon, held a smattering of customers watching Sky News on the giant flat-screen TV. Mariner could remember a time when people went to the pub to socialise. Not anymore. Instead a dozen pairs of dead eyes gazed at the screen. There was one barmaid, of about Christie’s age, in jeans and the traditional low-cut T-shirt. Knox showed her the picture of Christie.

  ‘Yes, I do remember her,’ the girl affirmed. ‘She’s been in a few times, usually with her mates. I think she’s one of the girls from the nursery up the road. She sat here, at the bar, and kept asking me the time. I got the impression she was waiting for someone and that he’d stood her up. Git. They’d arranged to meet at eleven.’

  ‘Is that what she told you?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘I guessed, because up until that point she was on soft drinks, but after that, she was knocking back Bacardi Breezers like there was no tomorrow and she stopped the clock-watching. By the time she left she’d had a skin full — could hardly stand up.’

  ‘What time did she leave?’ asked Knox.

  ‘About midnight. I wanted to call a cab for her because I could see what a state she was in, but she wouldn’t let me. She’d spent all her money and couldn’t pay for it. I offered to lend it her but she didn’t want to know.’

  ‘Did she seem upset that she’d been stood up?’

  ‘She wasn’t in tears if that’s what you mean, but nobody happy gets hammered alone, do they? I’ll bet it was one of those internet dates. We get that all the time these days. Still, maybe he was a psychopath and she was better off without him.’

  ‘She’s dead,’ said Mariner, bluntly.

  ‘Oh, God. That’s awful, I’m so sorry . . .’

  Outside the pub Knox and Mariner studied the map. ‘She should have been going back to her nan’s house,’ said Mariner. ‘So the most logical way for her to go would have been this way.’

  ‘—which makes no sense at all because the railway bridge where she was found is beyond that,’ Knox pointed out.

  ‘And a hell of a long way too. What is it? About three miles?’

  ‘She was pissed. Maybe she started out and lost her bearings.’

  ‘Where does Jimmy Bond live?’

  ‘That’s more like the direction I suppose.’

  ‘Maybe she forgot herself and was walking back to Bond’s house,’ suggested Mariner.

  ‘Is that the kind of thing you forget?’

  ‘If she was that far gone . . . wait though, her nan’s a Jehovah’s witness, isn’t she? She wouldn’t think much of Christie arriving home drunk.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘What I’m saying is, maybe Christie knew she’d be in the doghouse if she went back to her nan’s, and if she knew that Bond was away, his house was a safer bet. She probably still had keys.’ But all they could do was speculate. ‘Let’s go and have another look at the scene.’

  * * *

  A light rain had begun to fall and it was the kind of dull late afternoon that would merge seamlessly into dusk and then night. The SOCOs were finishing off when Knox and Mariner arrived at the bridge. The distinctive tape had been wound round the wall, but despite the presence of a bored-looking uniform standing guard, the damp weather had seen off any onlookers.

  Making himself known to the constable, Mariner walked to the middle of the bridge and peered over the stone parapet, down onto the track. It was a long way down. Amid the green of the surrounding trees, with the intermittent sound of birdsong, it didn’t look like the scene of a grisly death. A little further down the track were signalling lights. The line had been reopened now and as they stood there a train approached, slowing and squealing to a halt as it reached the lights. After a ten-second pause it creaked into life again gradually gathering speed as it disappeared under their feet, but even then it would only have been doing about ten or fifteen miles an hour. That was how the driver had spotted her, slowing at the lights.

  ‘This is the approach to Kingsmead station,’ said Mariner as Knox walked over to where he stood.

  ‘So?’

  ‘The trains would be slowing down or starting to gather speed. Not the best place if you want it to be quick.’

  ‘That’s what the driver said. But she wouldn’t have thought about that, would she?’ Knox said. ‘If she was in enough of a state to take her own life, I doubt she would have considered that detail, even if she knew it. To most people a railway line is a railway line.’

  Mariner couldn’t help thinking about Kenneth McCrae’s attention to detail, even though a jury had concluded he was mentally ill. ‘But what I’m saying is; a train wouldn’t have killed her going at that speed.’ Moments later there was a deep rumbling and the high speed express train roared by beneath them.

  ‘That would do the trick though,’ said Knox. ‘Question is, was it an accident or intentional?’

  Mariner stood back to survey the wall. The brickwork of the bridge was smooth, with nothing in the way of hand- or footholds. ‘How tall d’you think she was?’

  ‘Bit shorter than me,’ said Knox, who stood at five foot nine. ‘About five six or seven?’

  The top of the wall was level with Mariner’s chest. Stretching out his arms he heaved himself up to look over onto the line below. He was just about able to get the leverage to pull the upper half of his body on to the top of the wall, and from there he would have been able to scramble over, but it wasn’t easy. Staring down at the receding track thirty feet below gave him slight vertigo. How desperate must Christie have been feeling to bring such a violent end to her life? He shuddered, before jumping back down, catching his breath. ‘The wall’s too high for it to be an accident,’ he concluded, knowing that it wasn’t what Tony Knox wanted to hear.

  ‘So you’re saying that it’s suicide, even though she had things to look forward to and even though she was making plans?’

  ‘She was a mixed up kid,’ Mariner reminded him. ‘She’d been knocked about over time, just split with her boyfriend and finished up back living with her nan. She blamed herself for Jessica’s abduction—’

  ‘That turned out all right though.’

  ‘Alcohol distorts things too, doesn’t it? It can leave you on a real downer. Maybe leaving Bond had more of an emotional impact than anyone thought, and spending the evening alone in — let’s face it — what’s a pretty bloody awful pub made her realise what she’d given up. It could be why she was headed back to Bond’s house.’

  ‘She’d walked quite a distance to get to here, though. Wouldn’t she have sobered up a bit?’ Knox was morose. ‘Christ, if only I’d met her as planned—’

  ‘You never did tell me what the better offer was.’

  Knox told him.

  ‘Ah.’ It wouldn’t have been the first time Knox had been led by the trousers.

  ‘I suppose I saw it as an unmissable opportunity,’ said Knox. ‘Her ten-year-old son was—’ he broke off.

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘There’s something wrong here, boss. Christie can’t have been hit by a train on this line in the early hours of Sunday morning. There were no trains running. The line was closed for essential maintenance.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ said Mariner.

  Knox told him about the conversation
with Michael’s mother. ‘We’ll have to verify it, of course, but Jean was pretty anxious about her dad’s driving. If she could have put Michael on the train she would have done.’

  ‘And the Transport Police didn’t mention it?’

  ‘Why would they? We didn’t have a time of death when I spoke to them. They would have assumed that Christie was killed during Sunday night after the trains had restarted. It was Croghan who told me she’d been dead more than twenty-four hours. It’s not the sort of thing he gets wrong.’

  Back at Granville Lane, Knox phoned the Transport Police who were able to confirm what he already knew: that the line had been closed from ten o’clock on Friday night until ten on Sunday night. It took them back to Stuart Croghan. ‘We now know that there were no trains running at that time. Is it possible that Christie was dead before she was hit by the train?’

  Croghan was doubtful. ‘I can’t see how. The impact injuries have to have been made when she was alive, because of the extent and nature of the haemorrhaging.’

  ‘Could the fall onto the track have caused that?’

  Croghan shook his head. ‘Not a big enough drop.’

  ‘The SOCOs didn’t find much blood at the scene,’ Knox remembered Olsen telling him.

  ‘And therefore reached the conclusion that she’d been carried some distance by the train and that they were looking in the wrong place.’

  ‘There is another alternative, of course,’ said Mariner. ‘That she wasn’t hit by a train at all, but by a car.’

  ‘Well, that’s possible,’ Croghan agreed. ‘She died from impact injuries and because she was found on the railway track the natural conclusion is that a train caused them, but it’s not certain. In any case we’ll find out before long. There were paint flecks in her clothing and hair that I’ve sent off for analysis. Those will be able to tell us what kind of vehicle struck her.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Well, there are no signs of sexual assault, but as you already knew, she had very high levels of alcohol in her blood.’

  ‘She was pretty drunk when she left the pub,’ said Knox.

  ‘As the proverbial newt, I’d say. And there are traces of gastric juices in her mouth, while her stomach is nigh on empty. I’d say she threw up somewhere along the way. We haven’t had any rain to speak of since the weekend, so if you’re trying to trace her last movements you could do worse than look for a pool of vomit.’