Hush Little Baby (DC Beth Chamberlain)

by Jane Isaac

  ‘Without further tests on the body and the surrounding area, we can’t be sure of anything,’ Freeman said. ‘We’ve pulled the old case; Baby Alicia was wearing a silver christening bangle with similar markings when she was taken. She was kidnapped in August 2002, less than two miles from the location, and her parents lived nearby. But fifteen years is a long time, we can’t make any assumptions. I imagine there are plenty of these bracelets in circulation.’ The buzz of his mobile interrupted the conversation. He excused himself and moved away to take the call.

  Beth’s gaze wandered to another board, standing on its own at the far end of the room; the remnants of an old investigation. Her eyes unwittingly met those of Dale Yates, the serial killer who’d systematically executed his victims in his twisted efforts to avenge the death of his late partner. The murderer who’d scrutinised the police case as it unfolded, led them on a cat and mouse chase; he’d placed photos of Beth on his murder wall and later broken into her home in an attempt to hamper the enquiry. Six weeks had passed since he’d escaped police custody. Six weeks in which he’d disappeared into thin air. A shiver rushed through her. Unsolved cases, with a murderer running free, were challenging enough, but a known serial killer who’d tortured his victims before he brutally killed them, still on the loose, filled her with disquiet. What made it worse was that every time she entered the conference room, she felt his eyes on her.

  ‘Right.’ Freeman cut the call and pocketed his phone. ‘That was the super. The officers guarding the building site where the child’s remains were found have requested additional assistance, there’s already a crowd of reporters gathering at the cordon.’

  Nick rubbed his forehead. ‘They didn’t waste their time.’

  ‘Could the body have been dumped there during the demolition process?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Freeman said. ‘Although I’m guessing it would take some muscle to move a concrete block that size. Considering the cracks in the block and the smell emitting from the body, Hunter thinks it’s more likely it was disturbed by the early diggers this morning. The builders were taking a tea break when it was discovered. I’m hoping the forensic anthropologist/archaeologist will be able to confirm more details. In the meantime, we’re contacting GP surgeries and health visitors for any unusual activity: babies or young children in the vicinity who suddenly moved away or dropped off the radar, and any pregnant mothers who skirted the system before they gave birth. We also need to speak with the Owen family and prepare them for any links that might be made.’

  Beth examined the bangle. ‘Why would someone go to such lengths to dispose of a body, yet leave a bracelet on them?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a copycat,’ Nick said. ‘Made to look like Alicia.’

  ‘Again, that’s possible,’ Freeman said. ‘Alicia Owen is the only reported missing baby in our area in the past twenty years. We are taking steps to check with other forces nationwide. In the meantime, we deal with what we have. The Owens divorced a few years after Alicia’s disappearance. Marie Owen remarried and is now Marie Russell. I sent an officer out to her address an hour ago, when I called you,’ he said to Nick, ‘but she wasn’t home. The next-door neighbour said she was at work and gave us the address of Mrs Russell’s workplace. Which is where you guys come in.’

  He placed his hands on his hips. ‘Marie Russell works at Weldon’s Soft Furnishings in town. I want you to go straight out there. Obviously, the bracelet gives us cause for concern. We’ll need to get a sample of DNA from both parents to test against the child.’ He turned to Beth. ‘Set yourself up as the family’s point of contact. It’s early days. If this is Alicia, I’m going to need you to act as their family liaison officer. Warren Hill’s away, sunning himself in Tenerife, so you’ll need to shoulder the burden until I can get someone else to assist.’

  Beth gave a sombre nod. Family liaison officers usually worked in pairs and, with less than twelve months in the role, she’d certainly miss Warren’s experience and support here.

  ‘I was away on a review team when Alicia’s case broke,’ Freeman said. ‘The senior investigating officer was DCI Mark Tanner, now retired. If the forensics suggest this is Alicia, I’ll get in touch with him and see if he can pass on any thoughts.’

  ‘I was a rookie on probation at the time,’ Nick said. ‘Didn’t work the case, but still remember it. It was the biggest enquiry Northamptonshire Police had faced in years. It was also the biggest disappointment when she wasn’t found.’

  ‘What do we know about Alicia’s father?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Daniel Owen? That’s proving tricky. I sent an officer out to the last address DWP hold and it’s out of date. The current residents claim he moved years ago. He works for Hiltons, the hauliers just outside town. We’ve asked them for his contact details and they’re being a pain in the arse, want all the paperwork before they’ll part with any personal information. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a current address.’ Freeman raised a hand and scratched the wispy hairs around his balding crown. ‘The Owen case made national news fifteen years ago. We need to keep an open mind, but if our Baby Doe is Alicia, when this comes out, the media will go into overdrive. I’ve persuaded the superintendent to keep the finer details to ourselves for now. We’re putting out a general statement to the press, announcing the discovery of a child’s remains, and keeping the bangle and a potential historic link confidential until we know more.’

  He checked his watch. ‘Right, I’m heading off to the post-mortem. We’ve had to get the fire service out to move the concrete block and call in environmental cleaners to sanitise one of the police garages to create a sterile environment for the examination. It’s a bloody nightmare.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Once we break into the concrete, we’ll have more of an idea what we’re dealing with.’

  Beth looked back at the photo. ‘I take it none of the site workers have seen anyone coming and going?’

  ‘They say not. And there are no cameras. The informant was a builder working on the site. What drew his attention to the area where the child lay, was a sudden shriek. When he investigated, he found a teenage girl close to the body, between fourteen and sixteen, he reckoned. She ran off before he could speak with her, but he’s given a good description. Long ginger hair – the tie she wore belonged to the nearby secondary school.’

  ‘St George’s?’

  ‘That’s the one. The child was found after registration. They’re currently checking their absentee register for any girls missing or late today. I should have the details shortly.’

  4

  Marie Russell was staring at her computer screen, fingers rippling across the keyboard, desperately trying to feed figures into a spreadsheet before the sales review meeting at 12 p.m., when her mobile buzzed. She cast the phone an annoyed glance, pressed backtrack and deleted the last two digits, then double-checked her figures.

  A voicemail message flashed up on her phone from her elderly neighbour, Elsie, back home. She paused a second. For the past twelve months, as Elsie’s health deteriorated, she’d occasionally picked up shopping for her. Elsie was a family friend, she’d babysat Marie’s son, Zac, in his early years and Marie was happy to support her. But Elsie didn’t have any concept of work. Marie tossed the phone aside. She’d listen to it later. It was probably something simple like a request for her to pick up a bottle of milk on the way home.

  The figures lured her back to the screen. Sales were down almost twenty-five per cent over the past quarter and they’d failed to hit all bar one target. There was no doubt about it, soft furnishing sales were waning. The footfall in the store hadn’t declined; it seemed the people of Northamptonshire were visiting the shop, trying out their wares, then going home and ordering them cheaper elsewhere online, from warehouses with smaller overheads. This coupled with the fact they’d recently been taken over by a large corporation who’d increased their targets meant the figures made for bleak reading. Her eyes flitted to the clock. 11.51 a.m.

  The skinny frame
of Tim Brookes, the new assistant manager, appeared around the doorway. Brown hair, blow-dried at an angle, flopped over his forehead. Freshly out of university, he was almost young enough to be her son.

  ‘Nearly ready,’ Marie said in her cheeriest voice.

  ‘The police are here to see you.’ He looked harried as he stepped aside and ushered a man and a woman, both in dark suits, into Marie’s office.

  ‘DC Beth Chamberlain,’ the woman said holding up her identity card. ‘And this is DS Nick Geary,’ she pointed at her colleague.

  Marie felt like she’d been plunged into icy water. She shot out of her chair, pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Has something happened to Vic, or Zac?’

  ‘Please don’t be alarmed,’ Beth said. ‘Your family are well, as far as I’m aware.’

  ‘What then?’ She switched from one detective to another.

  The male detective turned to Tim. ‘If you could give us a few minutes, please?’ he said. ‘We’d like to speak with Mrs Russell in private.’

  The door latch sounded like a clock chime as it closed. Marie’s chest tightened.

  ‘May we?’ Beth said, pointing at the chairs in front of Marie’s desk.

  She nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you at work, Mrs Russell,’ Beth continued when they were settled. ‘It’s a sensitive matter.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Please forgive my bluntness, there’s no easy way to say this. The remains of a young child were discovered on a building site on Boughton Green Road this morning.’

  Confusion whirlpooled inside Marie. They’d said Zac, her son, was alright. ‘That’s awful. I don’t see what it has to do with me though.’

  ‘It’s early days, there are more tests to be done, but it looks like the child may have been dead for some time. Maybe even years. There is a chance it could be your daughter, Alicia. I’m so sorry.’

  Every muscle in Marie’s body tensed. ‘That’s absurd. Alicia was taken fifteen years ago.’

  ‘I understand Alicia was wearing a bracelet when she disappeared?’

  ‘Y-yes.’

  ‘Can you describe it?’

  ‘A Peter Rabbit christening bangle. Silver. With a rabbit symbol.’ She pointed at the side of her own bare wrist. ‘It was mine when I was young. You guys already know that, I made a statement, several statements, when—’

  ‘This child was wearing a similar bracelet.’

  The whirr of the photocopier fan in the corridor outside penetrated the room.

  ‘We can’t be completely sure,’ the detective continued, ‘not until we’ve had time to investigate thoroughly. We wanted to let you know it’s a line of enquiry we’re pursuing.’

  Marie opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, a fish out of water.

  ‘There is always the possibility it’s another child,’ Beth said gently. ‘But we wanted to let you know a child’s remains have been found, before we release the details to the press. And we’ll need your help.’

  5

  The swab slid down the inside of Marie Russell’s cheek. The detective moved to the other side of her mouth and repeated the action before pulling it out and dropping it into a plastic tube. The green top squeaked, plastic against plastic, as she screwed it firmly closed.

  ‘How long will the results take?’ Marie asked.

  ‘It’s difficult to say until we know more,’ the detective said. ‘We’re hopeful for a reasonably quick turnaround. I’ll keep you informed.’

  Marie gave a single nod. Since they’d visited her at work earlier, her mind had been awash. Was it or wasn’t it, Alicia? The answer to that simple question was all she wanted to know. The detective said the quickest way to be certain was a DNA test. She wanted to ask what was left, what had happened to the child, but her tongue swelled in her mouth at the very thought. An hour ago, she’d been at work, preparing for the monthly performance meeting. Thinking about calling her neighbour and picking up some shopping on the way home. Now she was back in her kitchen having her mouth swabbed. It was surreal. Almost as if she was floating on the edge of reality. After all this time…

  ‘You okay, love?’ Vic said. He placed his hand at the small of her back, the heat of his skin sinking through her shirt. As soon as the detectives delivered the news that morning, she’d phoned him and asked him to meet her back at the house. He was her husband; he should be there.

  She passed him a sideways glance, her gaze slipping past him and out into the back garden. The washing she’d hung out first thing hung limply on the line, a kaleidoscope of colours.

  She should be relieved. They might have found her baby, her little girl; she could finally lay her to rest. Though, if it was Alicia, it raised so many ugly questions: What had she been through? How had she died?

  Spiky memories of the frantic hours and days after Alicia’s disappearance resurfaced. The question mark over who’d taken her, the uncertainty… The news appearances, the appeals for her baby’s return that, as the months and years passed, she’d been forced to bury in the depths of her mind.

  The very idea of reliving all that anxiety was suffocating.

  All those years in which she’d buried the past deep in the filing cabinets of her mind, forcing herself to rebuild her life. But the longing remained, a warning finger. Just in case she ever relaxed enough to consider happiness. The longing that one day she’d get her child back.

  ‘I understand Alicia had a twin?’ the detective asked.

  Vic jerked his head back. ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘I’m trying to build up a picture and understand—’

  ‘Your people have been trying to understand for fifteen years. It hasn’t brought Alicia back.’

  Marie pressed a hand on his forearm to silence him. She had no energy for arguments. ‘Yes. Her brother, Liam. He was stillborn.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Twins run in Daniel’s family. He has a twin sister himself.’

  The detective pressed her lips together. She had a kind face with petite dark features. Pretty. ‘Do you have an address for your first husband, Mrs Russell?’

  ‘Surely you can find that yourself,’ Vic said, his eyebrows knitting together.

  ‘We are trying to trace him, Mr Russell.’ She turned back to Marie, her tone lighter. ‘If you have contact details, obviously it’ll speed things up. We need to reach him urgently.’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to Daniel for…’ Marie shook her head, a desperate attempt to settle her jumbled thoughts. ‘At least twelve years. I have no idea where he’s living now.’

  The detective thanked her and asked them both for discretion; they wanted to avoid speculation, control the flow of information to the press, until they knew more. She explained how the next few days would roll out. If they confirmed the identity as Alicia, her remains gave them new evidence; the case would be looked at afresh.

  The words merged together, a dull ramble in the background. Marie caught the title, ‘family liaison officer’. They’d had family liaison officers fifteen years ago, a middle-aged woman called Julie who wore wrap-around skirts and loose tops, and a young man in a sharp suit whose name escaped her. Visiting their home, updating them on the investigation, offering support. Both good detectives, no doubt, unobtrusive even. But they hadn’t brought Alicia back. And the notion of going through all that questioning, subjecting her new family to all the hopes, fears and wishes, only to have them dashed again, made sick pool in her mouth.

  Her gaze rested on the fridge. On a photo of Zac, her happy-go-lucky six-year-old, sitting on a beach. He was holding an ice cream, one eye closed in the sunshine. While he knew about his brother, Liam, they’d never spoken with him about Alicia, not wishing to scare him.

  The chair leg squeaked against the floor as she pushed it back. ‘I can’t do this.’

  She felt Vic’s hand brush her arm, heard his footsteps behind her up the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs he moved in front, blocking her path. His grey-blue eye
s were soft, beseeching. ‘We can do this,’ he said. ‘If we stick together.’

  He was right, of course. They needed to be strong, to comfort and console each other. She’d retreated into herself after Alicia’s disappearance, watched from afar as it ripped apart her last marriage, tearing it into tiny pieces. Pieces that bowed and mangled until they no longer fitted together. So many years had passed; so much grief. She knew Vic was right, but she couldn’t be there for him, or consider his feelings right now because her mind was brimming with her own and the possibilities that lay ahead.

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I need a moment.’

  She scooted around him and up the stairs, not daring to look back. In her bedroom she was alone, away from the head tilts, the sorry eyes, the questions. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. It couldn’t be Alicia, could it? Not after all this time. No. No way. Though as much as she tried to block them, the detective’s words wriggled back into her head, ‘a young child wearing a bracelet similar to Alicia’s…’ They must have had reason to think it was Alicia, otherwise they wouldn’t have taken steps to visit her at work and home.

  She lay on her side, dragged a pillow down and wrapped her arms around it.

  She could still feel baby Liam in her arms on the day of their birth. His skinny cold body, lips tinged with blue. Perfect nails, eyelashes; a bush of chestnut hair just like his sister. With his eyes gently closed, he looked like he was sleeping. A short hold, they’d said, to say goodbye. It had been a difficult birth. Through Alicia’s delivery he’d become increasingly distressed in the womb and was pronounced dead on arrival, the cord wrapped around his neck. A rare tragedy these days.

  The bed squeaked as Marie drew up her knees, coiling them around the pillow. The memories inducing a familiar rush of guilt. If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in the foggy grief of losing Liam, she wouldn’t have left Alicia alone outside the shop on that fateful day. Her baby wouldn’t have disappeared.