The Babysitter

by Phoebe Morgan

  I clear my throat.

  ‘My husband and I wish to thank the media and Suffolk Police for all they are doing to help bring Caroline Harvey’s killer to justice and to find baby Eve. However, whilst it is true my husband had a—’ my voice falters, but I push on, ‘relationship with Caroline Harvey, there is no doubt in my mind that he is not the one behind this terrible murder.’ At this, I pause, turn to look at him, feel our eyes burning into each other. ‘Callum and I have been married for fifteen years,’ I say, ‘and whilst I am saddened that our trust has been broken, both of us are confident that it is something we can rebuild. I stand by my husband and we ask that we are left to pick up the pieces along with our young daughter, Emma. We wish the very best of luck to all those giving up their time in the search for Eve, and of course, our deepest condolences go out to the family of Caroline Harvey at this dreadful time.’ Another pause, a nod from his lawyer. ‘Callum is a good man, a good husband, and an excellent father to Emma. He is an innocent person, who made one mistake, and I love him very much.’

  That last sentence was a bit too much; the words make me feel sick and strange. There is a beat of silence, and then, when they all realise that that’s all they’re going to get, the crowd start shouting once more.

  ‘Are you going to divorce your husband, Mrs Dillon?’ one screams at me, ‘aren’t you embarrassed by what he did to you?’

  I ignore both questions.

  ‘If Callum didn’t kill Caroline, who do you think did?’ shouts another, and at this I shake my head, lifting my shoulders to indicate that I have absolutely no idea. It’s difficult to strike a balance between looking ignorant and uncaring. And yet it is hard for me to summon sadness at the fact that my husband’s lover is dead.

  I’m not saying I can’t. I’m just saying that it’s hard.

  Back inside, Maria is waiting for me. As Callum goes upstairs, she takes me by the wrist, holding me too tightly, like she used to when we were small.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ she hisses at me, her voice urgent. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Siobhan?’

  I wince. ‘You’re hurting me, Maria,’ I say, trying to twist out of her grip.

  She relents a bit, easing off the pressure with which she’s grasping me but keeping her fingers looped around my wrist, my body held close to hers.

  ‘I just want you to think about it,’ she tells me, ‘think about what he did to you. And think about what’s best for Emma.’

  I stare at her, confused. ‘I’m doing what’s best for Emma,’ I say, ‘Emma is the reason I’m standing by him. I thought that was obvious, Maria. I’m trying to prioritise my daughter.’

  I shake myself free of her and continue up the stairs. I can feel her staring after me all the way up to the top, her eyes on my back until I disappear from her sight. She doesn’t like me not doing what she wants. She never has.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ipswich

  10th August: The night of the murder

  Caroline

  She loves the bath! Finally, finally she has stopped crying, and the silence is so new and fresh and such a relief that I almost want to laugh. Her little hands splash at the water, her fingernails tiny and perfect, and as I gently wet a flannel and sponge it against her back she gives a squirm of delight.

  ‘There you go, baby,’ I say to her, running the flannel across her forehead, hoping that it helps to cool her down, ‘there you go, little water baby. You are a little water baby, aren’t you? Yes you are, yes you are!’

  The noise of her giggle is the best thing in the world.

  I wish I had some toys for her to play with, a little yellow duck, or one of those books made of inflatable plastic. Maybe I’ll get some, for next time I babysit – now that I know she likes the bath I can do it whenever she wants, it could be our thing. Fun time with Auntie Caroline. Yes.

  I squirt a bit of my shampoo into the bath because I haven’t got any proper bubble stuff, swoosh my hand around in the water to create white foam that Eve immediately reaches for with one of her chubby little hands. I scoop a blob of it onto my finger then place it onto her nose; it makes her look even cuter and I wish I had my phone to take a quick snap. It would be nice to have a picture of her, to remember what a happy time we’re having, to prove to myself that I can do this, that I made the right decision leaving Callum, that some day I too will have a little girl of my own.

  ‘You stay there for a minute, Eve, there’s a good girl,’ I say and I stand, smiling down at her as her little legs make splashes in the water. She’s sitting up, perfectly content, and I quickly look around for my phone, check in case it’s somehow fallen into the bag of her things that I’ve placed on the side. But no, all that’s there are her nappies and a few wooden toys that Jenny packed – not suitable for the bath, I don’t think.

  I must have left it in the kitchen.

  ‘One sec!’ I say to Eve, even though she’s totally oblivious to me, is enjoying the water too much to notice if I’m there or not, and I hurry into the next room and spot my phone on the surface, lying next to the kettle. When I grab it, there’s another message. And this one makes my blood run cold. It’s from the unknown number again.

  I’m here, Caroline.

  I stare at it, shocked, my heart beginning to race. It is only a minute, maybe two, before I stuff the phone into my pocket with shaking hands and go back towards the bathroom, wanting to immerse myself once more in the happy world of Eve at bath-time. What do they mean, I’m here? Downstairs? In the flat? What if the downstairs security has broken again? My heart begins to thud. I haven’t heard anyone come in, but they’d be being quiet, wouldn’t they? I need to lock the door, get Eve into bed. If this person really is downstairs, I don’t want them coming anywhere near my baby. Sorry, Jenny’s baby, I mean. I know she isn’t mine.

  The phone in my pocket, I walk into the bathroom. For a second or two, I stare.

  And then I scream.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Ipswich

  18th August

  DS Wildy

  DS Wildy is out in the corridor by the vending machine, debating between a Twix and a Mars bar, and about to call Joanne to tell her he won’t be home in time for dinner tonight for the third night in a row, when Dave Bolton appears by his side, slightly breathless and with brighter eyes than Alex has seen any of the force have in days.

  ‘The French police have found something in the grounds of the Dillon family villa,’ he says. ‘They’ve just emailed it over – thought you should come and have a look.’ He glances at the pound coin in Alex’s hand. ‘The Mars bar can wait,’ he says. ‘This is big.’

  Back inside the main room, the team are gathered around DCI McVey’s computer. She’s the only one with her own office – the Ipswich constabulary is a relatively small force – and as far as Alex has experienced, her office is usually pretty out of bounds. In other words, she’s precious about her personal space, so this really must be something good.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says by way of apology as he enters the room, ‘I was just trying to get through to Joanne.’

  Gillian McVey nods, barely looking up at him. She has a reputation for being hard as nails; Alex knew it when he joined the team. He’s always wanted to be one of those people whose reputation goes before them, too, but unfortunately the main impression he’s given people in his time here is that he’s too nice. But he can’t help it – he feels sorry for people. And in this case, there are so many victims – not least poor Siobhan Dillon whose husband was having an affair right under her nose, and Jenny and Rick Grant, whose faces grow more and more haggard every day, despite the fact they’re in their early thirties.

  If only he could find the baby, at least it would put some of it right. But even Alex knows that outside of the first forty-eight hours, the chances of finding Eve Grant alive are pretty bloody slim. The best they can hope for is a body, some sort of closure for the parents. Perhaps that’s what this is.


  ‘What did the French find?’ he says, and McVey beckons to him to come look over her shoulder.

  On the screen is a little pink object, laying on a police evidence table. Alex leans closer, squints at it. It’s a child’s dummy. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  ‘It matches the one that belonged to Eve Grant,’ McVey says, clicking through to more photos. ‘And it was found in the villa, during a search of the grounds carried out by the guys in Rouen for us. Took them a few days to unearth it.’ She taps the mouse, showing them photographs of the outside of the villa, the land that rolls down towards the bottom of the huge hill. Alex stares at it, the luxury of the place. Orange markers denote the spot where the dummy was found, a patch of earth not too far from the swimming pool.

  ‘Christ.’ Alex frowns, his mind beginning to race. This could change the whole investigation yet again. ‘So we’re saying Callum Dillon took Eve’s dummy all the way to France with him? Why?’

  Gillian shrugs. ‘Some sort of twisted keepsake? Happens more than you think. But he’d obviously tried to get rid of it – though what I don’t get is why you’d throw something like that in the grounds. I mean, it wasn’t even properly buried. Surely there are better places to hide it.’ She gives a grim smile.

  ‘Do we think this means Eve is in France?’

  McVey shakes her head. ‘I mean, it’s possible, we can’t rule it out, but it’s highly unlikely that the Dillons would’ve been able to get a one-year-old that didn’t belong to them across the border. Not on a plane.’ She pauses. ‘But we’ve spoken to border control anyway, they’re going through the CCTV at Southend and Caen again now. Just in case we missed something the first time.’ She gives a little snort. ‘But come on, a one-year-old? That’s a pretty significant thing to miss.’

  She glances across the office to DS Tom Smith, who is one of the newer recruits, and the one who went through the airport CCTV in the first place to check the Dillons’ travel times.

  ‘I don’t think he’d have missed it, boss,’ Alex says quietly, but Gillian just rolls her eyes.

  ‘Always the nice guy, Wildy. I’ve been in this game long enough to know that sometimes we miss even the unmissable.’

  She sighs. ‘Callum’s lawyer isn’t going to like this very much though, is he? If it’s hers, it’s a direct link between him and that night.’ She pauses. ‘His wife didn’t do an awful lot to clear his name when I spoke to her, either. She can’t verify that he was in the studio. She went to bed alone after her book group, didn’t even hear him come in, despite what she said originally. She’s not convinced of his innocence, no matter what she’s saying to the press.’

  ‘Well,’ Alex says, knowing that the DCI likes a devil’s advocate, someone to challenge her, ‘the dummy could be a link between the villa and that night. Don’t forget, Callum wasn’t the only one staying there.’

  McVey nods, frowning. ‘True. But either way, this could be a bit of a game-changer for us. It’s been sent to the lab; I’ve asked them to fast-track the DNA. If it belongs to Eve Grant, we might be able to bring him back in, charge him this time.’ She runs a hand through her short blonde hair and exhales loudly. ‘I’d love something to wipe the smug smirk off Callum’s face. Did you know I actually think he tried to flirt with me the other day before we let him go? Even his arse of a lawyer looked embarrassed.’

  Alex winces dutifully. ‘Are you going to let the parents know about the dummy?’

  The DCI shakes her head. ‘Not yet. Not until we’ve talked to Callum again.’ She sighs, and Alex knows she is thinking of Eve, of the tiny, innocent girl who will likely never be reunited with Jenny and Rick Grant. ‘Poor little mite.’ There is a pause, and then she says, ‘I’m going to request a digger for the ground around the villa. If the dummy’s there, we can’t rule out that there might be more to find.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Ipswich

  19th August

  DS Wildy

  DS Wildy watches as McVey lays into Callum, whose lawyer is starting to look distinctly uncomfortable, despite the greased forehead and power suit. Patrick O’Connell has slicked-back hair and clean, clipped nails, and most of the time his smile is as smug as Callum’s is; Alex can certainly see why the Dillon family hired him. He’s obviously done his absolute best to rid himself of his native Irish accent, but, pleasingly, it slips in here and there. He is tapping a finger against the table, his eyes darting around the room whilst Callum sits wide-legged across from the DCI. There is something offensive, insulting even, about the spread of his legs, and Alex can feel dislike for the man radiating off him.

  ‘Right then,’ he says to himself, ‘let’s see what you’ve got to say for yourself, Callum smug-arse Dillon.’

  Interview Room 3

  Present: DCI McVey, Callum Dillon, Patrick O’Connell, acting solicitor for Callum Dillon

  DCI McVey: I think we’ve all had enough of messing around and wasting time, don’t you?

  CD: No comment.

  POC: My client has thus far complied with all of your questioning. No attempts have been made to waste police time. You have already held my client for the maximum amount of time this week, and to bring him back in so soon after his release is nothing short of ridiculous. Mr Dillon has a family to get back to, responsibilities in his work. It is unacceptable to continue this ludicrous line of back and forth questioning, hauling my client in and out of custody, if you’ve no idea where you’re going with it.

  DCI McVey: I’ve got every idea where I’m going with it, thank you. Mr Dillon, by your own admission, you flew to France with your family on 11th August, last week, the day after your long-term girlfriend Caroline Harvey was found dead in her apartment. You stayed in Saint Juillet for a total of two days before you were apprehended by our colleagues in Rouen. Prior to that, you say you had no contact with Jenny and Rick Grant, nor with their baby, Eve Grant. [pause] So please, Mr Dillon, explain to me how a dummy belonging to Eve Grant was found at the holiday villa where you had been staying?

  CD: A what?

  DCI McVey: [pushes a photograph across the table to him] A dummy, Mr Dillon. As you can see here. This dummy is identical to an item that belonged to Eve Grant. It was bought for her by her mother Jenny. Purchased from Mothercare last year. And now it turns up, hundreds of miles away, at the very villa you’d decided to holiday at. So, Mr Dillon, I’m going to ask you again – how can you explain this, please?

  CD: I can’t explain it. It doesn’t make any sense.

  DCI McVey: I put it to you that it does make sense, Mr Dillon. I put it to you that the reason the dummy was there was because you had it on your person on the night of 10th August, after you killed Caroline Harvey and disposed of the body of Eve Grant.

  POC: Objection to that statement – there is no evidence that my client disposed of anyone’s body. Or that the dummy you have found is the same one belonging to Eve Grant. So using the term ‘belonging to Eve Grant’ is in fact completely inaccurate.

  CD: I don’t know how the dummy got there. Maybe it was left over from another family.

  DCI McVey: Isn’t the villa owned by your sister-in-law, Maria Wilcox?

  CD: Yes, it is, but she rents it out. Have you even asked her? There could’ve been another family staying there before us.

  DCI McVey: We have checked the records, Mr Dillon. The house hadn’t been rented out in a few months. And Maria Wilcox doesn’t have any children. She also has no connection to Caroline Harvey. You are the connection, Mr Dillon. You are the one with the motive.

  CD: [silence]

  DCI McVey: The dummy is identical to the one that Jenny Grant describes leaving with Caroline Harvey on the night of the murder. It is currently being tested to see if it contains traces of her DNA. If it does, Callum, then I have to say, things aren’t looking up for you. It would be a lot easier for everyone – including yourself – if you confessed to what you’d done.

  CD: I’ve never seen that dummy before
in my life.

  DCI McVey: [pushes a photo of Caroline Harvey across the table to him] She was a beautiful woman, Caroline, wasn’t she?

  POC: I don’t see how that is relevant.

  DCI McVey: Would you say she was prettier than your wife, Mr Dillon?

  POC: Again, irrelevant and unnecessary questioning, designed solely to upset my client.

  CD: I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

  DCI McVey: Did you ever have plans to leave your wife for Ms Harvey, Mr Dillon?

  CD: [pause] I don’t – I hadn’t really thought.

  DCI McVey: You’d never thought about it? I have to say I find that hard to believe.

  CD: It was a difficult situation – look, I’m not proud of it. But having an affair doesn’t make me a murderer, does it? As I keep saying.

  POC: Of course it doesn’t.

  DCI McVey: It suggests a lack of morality, though. Wouldn’t you say?

  CD: No comment.

  DCI McVey: Mr Dillon, from accessing your phone records, we can see several recent correspondences between you and Ms Harvey, the last of which is from you, telling her to leave you alone.

  CD: I don’t think I used those words.

  DCI McVey: [reads from paper in front of her] When I get back, I think it’s best we don’t speak any more. Please, stop calling me.

  CD: You see! When I get back. Why would I have used those words if I was planning to top her the night before I went?

  DCI McVey: Mr Dillon, you had been to Ms Harvey’s flat many times before, had you not?

  CD: You know I had, yes.

  DCI McVey: So it’s fair to say you knew the layout well.

  CD: It’s a small flat. There wasn’t much to know.

  DCI McVey: But you did know about the exit route at the ground-floor level, which led to a communal garden, didn’t you? You did know that the CCTV cameras had been smashed a few weeks back?

  CD: Yes.

  DCI McVey: You knew that there would be very few people around at that time of night and that if you wanted to leave through the garden, you could.