Hush Little Baby (DC Beth Chamberlain)

by Jane Isaac

  ‘Not yet.’ He switched to Beth. ‘Can you set up an interview? Take an account, see if she knows anything about the body, or has seen anyone nearby?’

  Beth nodded.

  ‘Okay,’ Freeman scanned the room. ‘Where are we with tracing Daniel Owen?’

  ‘We’ve got an address in Kingsthorpe,’ Pete said. ‘He’s in Lancashire, delivering a load today. Won’t be back until after 6 p.m. this evening. I did manage to speak to him briefly, but the signal was poor. I told him we’d visit him at home this evening. He’d asked his employer to be extra discreet with his personal details. Apparently, he’s had problems with reporters. Even took out an injunction against one journalist who kept pestering him, a few years back.’

  Beth sighed, recalling the newspaper article she’d read about Marie Owen marrying her husband’s best friend. The disappearance of Alicia afforded the family little privacy in the eyes of the media. ‘Which reporter did he get an injunction against?’ she asked.

  Pete checked his notes. ‘Pip Edwards. Used to work for Northants News.’

  ‘Ah,’ Beth said knowingly. Northants News was headed by Mike Carter, an editor known for focusing on sensational headlines and civil liberties, rather than working together with the police to help solve crimes. Beth had rubbed shoulders with him a couple of months earlier when his wayward son was arrested for perverting the course of justice. Since the charge, Mike Carter had stepped away from the limelight ‘to spend time with his family’ but if Edwards had worked closely with him, he likely followed a similar line. ‘One to watch out for.’

  ‘You can say that again. Pip’s freelance now and still shows a lot of interest in Alicia’s case. He wanted to write a book about the Owens but the family refused to assist him and I don’t think it ever came to fruition.’

  Freeman scratched the back of his neck. ‘Okay, Beth, I need you to visit Daniel Owen, explain the situation and get a DNA sample.’

  Beth checked her watch. 3.45 p.m. ‘I’ll go after I’ve interviewed Jordan Quinn.’

  ‘Excellent. Right, that’s it, everyone.’

  Beth closed her notebook and was gathering her belongings when Freeman called her and Nick back.

  ‘Meet me in my office in five minutes, will you? There’s something I need to tell you.’

  8

  Beth tugged on her collar. Freeman’s office was at the opposite end of the corridor from the conference room, a pokey box that always felt stuffy, no matter the time of year. She glanced out of his window at the sports field beyond. Late afternoon clouds were drawing in, bringing with them an early dusk.

  ‘The superintendent wants a reshuffle,’ Freeman said after he’d invited them to sit on the plastic chairs opposite his desk. ‘You know the score. Her workload’s increased and she’s delegating more and more down to the team. And I’m sure you are both aware we’re losing our DI.’

  ‘Andrea got the Met promotion?’ Nick said. ‘She hasn’t mentioned it.’

  ‘Not exactly. Andrea Leary didn’t pass the Met assessment day but she is leaving us. She’s going to be the chief constable’s aide, starting tomorrow,’ Freeman said, his mouth twitching with the edge of a suppressed smile. ‘She’s taken today to clear out her office.’

  Beth shared his elation. She’d rubbed shoulders with the acting DI on their last case when Andrea, a former family liaison officer herself, had made it quite clear she disapproved of Beth’s policing methods and accused her of becoming biased and too close to the families she supported. The chief constable’s aide, or ‘staff officer’ as it was generically referred to, was a position sought by those keen to move up the ladder, providing the opportunity to learn the strategic side of policing, a position that would suit Andrea Leary perfectly. Her not leaving Northamptonshire force was a blow, although a move away from homicide would at least afford them all welcome breathing space.

  ‘Which leaves us with a shortfall on the team,’ Freeman continued. ‘Nick, the superintendent wants to temporarily promote you to acting detective inspector. I’m going to need all the help I can get with this Operation Aspen – we’re reviving the original operation name, by the way – and Beth, I understand you’ve put in your promotion papers?’

  ‘Yes. The interview board isn’t until next year.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll act you up to DS and review it after your board. You’ll continue with your family liaison duties, but we’ll also need you in the office more to allocate jobs and hold everything together.’ Freeman’s face broke into a rare smile that exposed a wide gap between his two front teeth. ‘I take it that’s acceptable to you both?’

  ‘Err… yes,’ Nick said. He looked gobsmacked.

  Beth nodded her thanks. But it was what Freeman said next that really caught her.

  He moved around the desk as they rose, leaned forward and tapped the top of Nick’s arm. ‘Need to make the most of you before the National Crime Agency snap you up.’

  Beth passed a confused glance from one to the other. She had absolutely no idea what they talking about. Nick averted his gaze and laughed off the comment, as if it was a private joke.

  ‘The temporary promotion will mean long hours,’ Freeman said. ‘Operation Aspen already attracts attention at the highest levels. I don’t think there are many coppers in the force that wouldn’t be thrilled to finally see a result on this one. And there’ll be a lot of pressure. Nothing you’re not used to though.’

  He clapped them both on the back and guided them to the door. ‘Right, congratulations. Now let’s get back to work. I’ve a meeting with the superintendent and the assistant chief constable.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ Nick said, as they made their way back down the corridor.

  Beth was slow to answer. While she was flattered at being offered the temporary sergeant’s role, any joy she felt was tempered with discomfort. Whatever Nick said about the force’s tolerance of couples working together, she doubted Freeman would invite them both onto his management team if he knew they were in a relationship. But that was the least of her concerns right now.

  ‘Me neither,’ she said. ‘What did Freeman mean about the National Crime Agency?’

  ‘Oh, that was nothing.’

  Beth grabbed at his arm, stopping him in his tracks. ‘It didn’t sound like nothing.’

  Nick took a long breath and spoke through his exhalation. ‘I applied for a job there, a while ago.’

  Beth stiffened. How long ago was a while? They were living together, working together, sharing the same bed. Yet he hadn’t once mentioned he was looking to leave homicide or had applied for a position elsewhere. ‘What job?’

  ‘On the Child Exploitation and Online Protection Team.’ He walked on, dismissing the words, as if they were unimportant.

  Beth continued alongside. ‘You want to leave homicide?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve been here over six years. They’re desperate for investigators on the NCA. I used to work in child protection.’

  ‘Sounds like a good move.’ Beth fought to keep her voice even. She’d thought they were close. It riled her that he wouldn’t discuss a decision like this.

  He shrugged a single shoulder in response.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention it?’

  They’d reached the doors of the incident room now. Nick paused. ‘We were separated when I applied. Things were…’ He dropped his eyes to the floor. ‘… Awkward. Anyway, I didn’t hear back, so it doesn’t matter anymore.’

  He grabbed the door handle, but before he was able to pull it, the door opened, and Pete stepped out. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said to Nick. ‘I’ve got press liaison on the phone. They’ve received an enquiry from Northants News and need to speak with a senior officer urgently.’

  ‘Tell them I’ll be right over.’ He waited for Pete to retreat into the office, and then turned to Beth. ‘I’ll get someone to accompany you to Daniel Owen’s later.’

  ‘That’s not necessary.’

  ‘Yo
u know Freeman’s line: pair up when out and about.’

  Beth rolled her eyes. Since the escape of Dale Yates, the serial killer on their last case, Nick had barely left her side. He was lodging in her house, driving her to the supermarket. She couldn’t even go to the loo when they were out, without him standing close to the door. At work, they carried out enquiries together. She understood his concern – during the course of the enquiry, photos of her had been found in Dale Yates’s possession – but she’d had a frontline role as the liaison officer on that case, supporting the families, and Yates had merely followed the police investigation closely while stalking his victims. In the six weeks that had passed, nobody had seen or heard from Yates and security on the victims’ families had been relaxed. She couldn’t see any reason why he’d target her now and there was no way she was going to be babysat indefinitely.

  ‘I’m sure I can take DNA from a bereaved father on my own.’

  He checked the empty corridor, his eyes softening. ‘You need to take this seriously, Beth. I don’t want anything happening to you.’

  Beth lowered her voice. ‘I’m fine. If I’m to be the DS on this team and liaison officer to the family, you’re going to have to give me some space.’

  He held her gaze a moment, unsure. ‘Okay. Make sure you keep your phone with you.’

  9

  Fifteen-year-old Jordan Quinn wound her gold neck chain around her fingers, again and again, bulging eyes buried in the floor. She was a small girl, with mouse-like features and sheets of copper hair that hung like curtains either side of her face.

  They were sitting in one of the more comfortable interview rooms, with a sofa and coffee table, specially reserved for vulnerable witnesses and, at fifteen, Jordan fell into that category. A social worker shifted in her seat beside her.

  Jordan’s mother had been waiting outside the room when Beth entered earlier, an intense woman who shared her daughter’s red hair and nervously pinched at her neck. Beth guessed it was probably their first brush with law enforcement and asked one of the staff to make her a cup of tea. Kids tended to be more open without a parent in the room – which is why they engaged a neutral contact when questioning – but it would be stressful enough to deal with what Jordan had seen, without bringing her in for a witness interview at which her mother couldn’t be present.

  ‘Let’s go through this again,’ Beth said. ‘What time did you enter the construction site this morning?’ They were almost twenty minutes into questioning and Jordan was waning.

  ‘Shortly after 8.30. School had just begun.’

  ‘Did you see anyone on the site?’

  Jordan cast a brief look at the camera in the corner. ‘No. It was empty.’

  ‘What about nearby? You said you slipped inside through a gap in the barrier,’ Beth checked her notes, ‘close to the end of Boughton Green Road.’

  ‘There wasn’t anyone around. Not that I noticed anyway.’

  ‘Have you visited that spot before?’

  Jordan scratched her parting. She was a pretty girl, her face lightly made up – a touch of mascara, the amber glow of blusher – and framed with striking pencilled-in eyebrows. ‘Yes. I go there when I need to clear my head. I found a gap in the railings, tucked away from the main road, down the side passage of Guilding’s Factory.’

  ‘And that’s what you were doing there today, clearing your head?’

  Jordan’s eyes widened as she met Beth’s gaze.

  ‘You’re not in any trouble, Jordan,’ Beth reassured in her most soothing tone. ‘We do need you to be as accurate as you can in your account though. The ground is currently being examined.’

  ‘I… um. I had a cigarette.’

  ‘Okay. How many times have you been there?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘A few.’

  Beth watched her pick at the skin around her thumbnail. She suspected it was more than a few but didn’t say so. There was little point lingering on Jordan’s smoking, she’d receive enough grief from her mother afterwards and the last thing she needed was for her to clam up. ‘How many exactly, over the past couple of weeks?’

  ‘Three, I think.’

  ‘Do you always visit the same spot?’

  ‘Yes. It’s usually quiet there.’

  Beth took her time working through dates and times and jotted them down.

  ‘Have you ever taken anyone with you?’ she asked when they’d finished.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Jordan.’ Beth sat forward. ‘Think carefully before you answer the next question. Have you ever seen anyone else there?’

  ‘No. Never.’ The teenager wound her ankles around each other at this remark, lifting her toes and pointing them towards the door. It was difficult to ascertain whether she was agitated because she’d been trespassing or was actually hiding something.

  ‘How long were you there this morning?’

  ‘I don’t know. A few minutes maybe. I left when I saw the builder.’

  Beth asked her to describe what she’d seen. When she reached the part about the bracelet on the infant’s wrist, her face tightened. ‘It smelt weird there today.’

  ‘What do you mean, weird?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain. A horrible sickening smell.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve never noticed it before.’

  Beth recalled the feedback from the autopsy. The body had been sealed for some time, possibly years. As soon as it was disturbed it would decompose rapidly. That smell would hang in the air awhile. ‘Why did you run away?’ she asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t have been there. I thought I’d be in trouble.’ She described how she’d walked the streets afterwards and sat in a nearby park until the school contacted her mother about her absence.

  ‘What happened to it?’ Jordan asked, her voice barely a whisper. She looked like she was about to cry.

  ‘To what?’

  ‘The child.’

  ‘We don’t know yet, we’re still examining everything. Try to put it out of your mind, if you can. You’ve done a grand job, passing on these details. We’ll take over from here.’

  10

  Beth tapped the front door of number 691 Chalcombe Avenue and waited. A chorus of high-pitched barks sounded from inside, then fell silent.

  She pictured Jordan Quinn’s face in the interview earlier. The awkward fifteen-year-old who lived alone with her mother, her face like a deer in headlights. Beth had taken a moment to speak with her mother afterwards, recommending she take her to her GP, passing on details for Victim Support. A close eye needed to be kept on the girl for the next few days; she could only imagine how finding a child’s remains might affect a teenage mind. They’d carry out the usual checks but, if she was to be believed, she didn’t have much to offer.

  She glanced at the road. A lorry was parked outside. A light was switched on in a room on the first floor of the house. She strained her ears and could make out the babble of voices inside. She knocked again. More barking. High-pitched. Continuous this time. The upstairs curtain twitched.

  The sound of heavy feet on stairs. The door juddered open. Daniel Owen was a tall spindly man with sunken cheeks. Clumps of wet fair hair stuck to his forehead. He tugged the charcoal robe he was wearing around him tighter.

  Beth held up her card and introduced herself.

  ‘Sorry, I got back later than expected,’ he said, standing aside for her to enter. ‘I was in the shower.’ A thick Liverpudlian accent coated his words. He motioned for her to follow him into the front room and gestured for her to sit on the sofa opposite a television, blaring out a game show. ‘I’ll just go and get some clothes on.’

  Beth nodded. As soon as he disappeared, she reached for the remote and turned the television down.

  The room was clean and tidy and furnished with a brown leather suite, decorated with beige cushions that matched the curtains. A soft pile rug lay across the wooden floor. According to his employer, Daniel had lived there for a year. Her eyes were drawn to a photo on the wall behind
the sofa of Daniel and a woman with long blonde hair, having a meal in a restaurant. A few paintings of landscapes adorned the other walls.

  A collection of gilt frames on the mantel caught Beth’s eye. She crossed the room to take a closer look. Two black and white baby pictures, side by side, shared a frame, and were surrounded by three other photos taken of a young child in its early months of growth. Beth hadn’t found anything to suggest Daniel had more children and was beginning to wonder if they were nieces or nephews when she noticed something in one of the photos. A silver bangle laced around the child’s wrist.

  Footsteps on the stairs drew her hastily back to the sofa. By the time Daniel re-emerged she was sitting down, retrieving her notebook from her bag.

  He was carrying a small Jack Russell terrier underneath his arm – the source of the earlier barking. He placed the dog down on the armchair beside the window.

  ‘Hello!’ Beth said. She held out her hand to the dog.

  ‘Say hello to the detective, Bailey.’

  The dog gave her hand a brief sniff, then turned away and curled into the arm of the chair.

  ‘Sorry, she’s not keen on strangers in the house,’ Daniel said. ‘Different dog altogether when you take her for a walk. Wants to meet everyone.’ He rubbed the terrier’s head. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea, or coffee maybe?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. Why don’t you take a seat?’ Beth’s eyes briefly flicked to the baby photos.

  He followed her gaze to the mantel. ‘You’ve seen my Alicia then. She’s a strapping young ’un.’

  Beth smiled kindly. ‘Mr Owen, please sit down.’

  He squeezed in beside the dog. As soon as he was settled, his knee began to judder.

  ‘Mr Owen—’

  ‘Daniel, please.’

  ‘Daniel. Do you know why I’m here?’

  ‘Not really. The other detective said there were some more questions about our Alicia.’

  Beth took a breath. Pete would have given Daniel an inkling, but it was always preferable to deliver bad news face to face. To safeguard and also watch for any reaction. ‘I’m here this evening to tell you that the body of a young child was found on the building site at the end of Boughton Green Road this morning. We have to carry out more tests, to be sure, but we have reason to believe the body might belong to your daughter, Alicia.’