by Jane Isaac
‘Miss Marsh has been keeping an eye on him, as you know. Have you spoken with him about Alicia?’
The mention of her missing daughter’s name caught Marie. ‘No. We’d planned to sit him down after the results come back. We still can’t be sure it’s her. I don’t want to upset him unduly.’
‘Ah.’
Marie searched the contours of the woman’s face. ‘What is it?’
‘You asked me how Zac has been. Yesterday, according to Miss Marsh, he was fine, his usual sociable self. There was an incident today though, at afternoon play.’
‘What kind of incident?’
‘Zac got into a fight with another child.’
‘What?’ Marie felt her jaw drop. Her son was the most placid creature she’d ever encountered. They’d had to encourage him to tackle the ball off an opponent in football. ‘Who?’
‘Ben Knight. I believe they had an argument in the playground. Zac punched him in the face and pushed him to the ground.’
No! Ben was in Zac’s class, they were friends. He’d been to their house several times to play on Zac’s trampoline in the garden. She recalled him distinctly because of his white-blond hair, his cheeky smile. The same white-blond hair sported by his elder brother when he called round to collect him. ‘There must be some mistake.’
‘I’m afraid there isn’t. Miss Marsh was on playground duty. She broke up the scuffle.’
‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘Zac has a couple of scratches on his face. He’s fine otherwise. Ben’s mother has taken him to hospital. There’s a cut on his crown, it looks like he’ll need a couple of stitches.’
Marie gasped. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘We tried your phone and there was no answer. We left you a voicemail.’
Marie pulled out her phone and checked the screen. Sure enough, a missed call flashed up at 2.05 p.m. It must have been when she was at the graveyard. ‘I’m sorry. What happened?’
‘We don’t know exactly. Neither boy has said much. Some of the other children said they were talking about the child’s body that was found.’
Dread seeped into Marie’s veins. ‘H-how did they know?’
The headteacher’s face was full of empathy. ‘People watch the news. They talk.’
‘Around their children?’
‘Sadly, not everyone is as careful as they should be. With the internet these days and older siblings in the house, it’s difficult.’ She shrugged a single shoulder.
Marie hitched a breath. She’d naively thought people would go to great lengths to protect their young children from the sickening news of child murder. She was wrong. And now the spindly fingers of gossip had reached Zac too. Why, oh why hadn’t she listened to Vic and spoken with him earlier?
‘We can arrange for a counsellor if you think it will help.’
‘No. Thank you. I’ll speak with him myself. Can I see him now?’
Zac was sitting on a chair in front of the headteacher’s desk studying his feet when they entered her office. He didn’t look up, although Marie did notice his legs flinch. He was small for his age, but he seemed tiny squashed into the arm of the large chair. Miss Marsh was standing beside him. She shot Marie a kind smile.
Mrs Tilbury gestured for Marie to take a seat beside her son and moved around the desk to a leather chair behind. Marie glanced through the window at the sports field beyond, the goalposts of the football pitch. They’d been one of the things that caught his eye when they viewed the school. St Andrews wasn’t the closest primary school to them, a good fifteen-minute car drive away. They’d chosen it because of its excellent reputation and, after seeing that pitch, Zac had nagged and nagged to go there.
‘I’ve told your mum about the fight in the playground this afternoon, Zac,’ Mrs Tilbury said, leaning forward and squaring her hands on the desk. She’d kept her tone soft, but her voice sounded loud and authoritarian, pulling Marie back to her old school days. It seemed too much for a six-year-old, especially considering the circumstances.
‘Are you sure there’s no mistake?’ Marie said.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Miss Marsh interjected. ‘I saw it happen.’ Zac didn’t move, didn’t budge an inch as she ran through the events again.
‘Zac?’ Marie said to her son when the teacher finished her account.
Zac kept his head down, as still as a statue. A scratch like a sleep crease ran down his tomato-red cheek.
‘Are you going to tell us what happened?’ she asked, eyes glued to her son, imploring him to respond.
Nothing.
Mrs Tilbury laced her fingers together. ‘I realise this is completely out of character for Zac, but you must know we can’t tolerate this behaviour. Zac knows that, don’t you, Zac?’
He gave a quick nod, refusing to make eye contact.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Marie looked at her son. ‘We both are, aren’t we, Zac?’ Still no response.
Marie made her apologies again and led her son out of the office, her mind working overtime. She cursed the press. This could have all played out so differently, quietly waiting to see if there was a match, preparing each other. If they hadn’t printed the story, if the builder hadn’t leaked the findings, her son wouldn’t be in this position now.
Thankfully, the playground and road outside were empty, parents and children now on their way home. The wind swirled around them as they crossed the tarmac, his tiny hand clamped in hers, and climbed into the car.
Marie placed her key in the ignition and turned to face her son in the back, his car seat elevating his face to her level. ‘You do know you can talk to me, don’t you, darling?’
He met her gaze for a split second and looked away.
The sight of his crimson cheeks plucked a heart string. She wrestled with her seatbelt and pulled off down the road.
The purr of the engine was the only sound to fill the car on the way home. Marie navigated through the traffic, checking the rear-view mirror intermittently, only to find Zac staring out of the window. By the time they arrived home, frustration was gnawing away at her. She wanted to know what had happened in the playground, what he’d been through.
Marie ignored the reporters, driving straight into the garage, pressing the button to close the electric door behind them. When they reached the hallway, she could bear it no longer. She crouched down to her son’s level, made to undo his coat. He pulled away, unzipping it himself.
‘Why, Zac?’ Marie said. ‘Why would you fight with Ben? You’re friends.’
His chin quivered.
‘What is it?’
A tear slid down the side of his nose. He wiped it away with the inside of his cuff. ‘Ben said you had another baby. A girl. He said you killed her and buried her in the ground.’
Marie’s heart shrivelled to a tiny crisp. Was that what people thought? That she’d killed her own child and buried her beneath the cold earth.
She cast her mind back fifteen years. The appeals, the interviews were draining, every one zapping another drop of energy from a tank already close to empty. Until there was no more to give, and she retreated into herself. It was then that the press turned on her. Interviewing friends and associates from her past. Snapping photos of her whenever she was out. Speculating over her mental health. Raising ugly questions. What kind of person doesn’t watch their child? Who would leave a child alone outside a supermarket?
Marie faced her son. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘I told him I didn’t have a sister. He laughed at me; said he couldn’t come to my house anymore because you were a killer mum.’
Vic was right yesterday. They should have prepared him. Given him half a chance to cope with the questions, the allegations. She’d considered Zac safe. That his tender age would protect him from the gossip and the conjecture. She was wrong.
Her pulse raced, she found it hard to catch her breath. She needed to explain but her tongue had expanded, filling her mouth and she couldn’t form the words.
; ‘You’re not a killer, are you, Mum?’ Tears glistened in Zac’s eyes.
‘No, darling. I’m not.’ She squeezed the ailing words out.
He wrapped his arms around her, digging his head into her neck. Marie was dumbfounded. The idea of her son standing up for her was too much. It should never have come to this.
‘Can I go and play my Xbox now?’ he said when he pulled away.
She nodded and watched him wander into the front room, leaving her to sit back on her heels, alone.
28
Beth jogged up the back stairs of the station, nodding to a couple of passing colleagues. On the drive back, the issue of family concern had rolled around and around her head. What could it be and, more importantly, who’d raised it? She bypassed the entrance to the incident room, heading straight down the corridor. There was only one person she wanted to speak to right now.
Freeman’s door clicked open as she approached, and Beth was surprised to see Andrea Leary emerge. Her hair looked freshly cut, a sharp fringe pointing down towards dark eagle eyes. Her brown trouser suit nipped in at the waist and was, as usual, immaculate.
It must have taken Beth almost twenty minutes to drive back to the station. What had she been doing in there all that time?
‘Thank you for your understanding, Lee,’ Andrea said, using his first name and ignoring Beth’s presence beside her. ‘Keep me updated.’ She turned, viewed Beth a second, gave a sharp nod and moved off down the corridor.
‘Sir,’ Beth said to Freeman when she’d gone.
‘Come on in, Beth.’ He signalled for her to enter and take a seat. ‘How did you get on with Pip Edwards?’
Beth waited until they were settled in their chairs, facing each other across Freeman’s desk, and conveyed her meeting with the journalist.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that can’t have been easy.’ He eased back in his chair. ‘Scott didn’t feature much in the original enquiry. I take it Edwards won’t disclose his sources?’
Beth shook her head. ‘I guess he wants to save it all for his precious book.’
Freeman rolled his eyes. ‘We’ll get a court order and force his arm if we have to.’
‘That’s pretty much what I told him.’
‘Good. First, we need to establish a connection.’
‘Nick’s checking with intelligence. I’m not sure what they’ll have with the time lapse though, fifteen years is a long time.’
As if on cue, Nick’s head appeared around the door frame. ‘Thought I heard your voice,’ he said, smiling at Beth.
‘You might as well join us,’ Freeman said, beckoning him in. ‘Close the door, will you? There’s something I need to say to both of you.’
Freeman’s phone rang. He cast it an annoyed glance. ‘I’ll just get this.’
‘Anything on Scott?’ Beth asked Nick as he pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it.
‘I’ve left it with intelligence. They haven’t come back yet. I’ve also tracked down the local community officer for Kettering town centre. He’s off duty today, I couldn’t reach him, but I’ve left a message for him to call us. If Scott Owen is sleeping rough, there’s a good chance he might recognise him or know where he is.’
Freeman ended his call and replaced the receiver, eyeing them both, his face sombre. ‘Cara Owen’s been in touch.’
Beth stared at him. ‘Daniel’s sister?’ She was the last person Beth expected.
‘She phoned the chief constable. Apparently, he was a member of the same golf club as her late partner, many years ago. They met at a few functions. She’s concerned about her brother.’
Beth recollected Daniel Owen’s twin with the blunt fringe and the taut face, sitting on the arm of his chair. ‘She’s certainly protective of him.’
‘The reporters have started contacting him again.’
‘That’s to be expected. I tried to prepare him. Followed all the protocols, kept him updated.’
‘She reckons he’s vulnerable.’
Beth didn’t like the way this conversation was going. ‘We talked about this at the briefing,’ she said. ‘I alerted the right channels, put a marker on his file so he’s not alone when we visit with sensitive information.’
‘I remember.’
Nick’s earlier comments, the voices he’d overheard in the corridor outside Freeman’s office pressed on her. Andrea and the DCI. ‘A member of the family isn’t happy,’ he’d said. She looked Freeman in the eye. ‘Has Cara complained about me?’
‘No. No complaints were made. No names were mentioned. She’s just concerned about her brother.’
The short silence that followed was tense. ‘You’re not removing me as FLO?’ Beth asked.
‘The chief wants some changes.’
Beth was indignant. ‘What? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘I know. Which is why I’m not removing you as FLO. We will have to play this carefully though. And we have your sergeant duties to think of. This is a high-profile case.’
‘That’s not a problem,’ Nick said, before she had a chance to respond. ‘Beth’s allocating the jobs before she goes out on her liaison visits, and I’m usually here or at the end of the phone if needs be. We can manage the team between us.’
Freeman’s expression eased. ‘Okay. If things step up, we’ll have to review the situation. In the meantime, you’ll continue as FLO, but as and when we have information, or the DNA results are back, I’ll liaise with Daniel myself.’
Beth couldn’t believe her ears. She’d started building up a rapport with Daniel, he trusted her. She opened her mouth to retort.
Nick beat her to it. ‘Might make sense actually,’ he said to her. ‘And it’ll free you up to spend time with the Russells. It’s difficult enough shouldering the liaison burden alone, especially when there are two families involved.’
Anger fizzled within Beth. She opened her mouth again to respond and caught a warning glare from Nick. What was going on here? When she looked back at Freeman, his face was firm, the decision already made. She pulled back, fought to keep her voice even. No sense in quibbling until she knew more. ‘He’s away the next couple of days,’ she said, ‘on a long haul to Poland. He switches off his phone when he’s in Europe. That should afford him a break from the press.’
‘When is he back?’ Freeman asked.
‘Saturday.’
‘Okay. We should hopefully have the DNA results back by then.’
‘I’d like to visit Cara Owen,’ Beth said, ‘follow up on her phone call and get more of an idea of Daniel’s needs.’ Contacting the chief was a giant step, it made sense to check on her motive. Might afford the opportunity to press her about her younger brother again too. There had to be some reason why Daniel and Cara were uncomfortable talking about Scott.
Freeman surveyed her a second. ‘Okay, take it gently. Dress it up as a reassurance exercise, a welfare visit. She’s been told I’ll be speaking directly with her brother from now on.’ He passed his gaze from one to another. ‘You can go together.’
Beth closed Freeman’s door behind them and stomped back to the incident room at breakneck speed, the anger she’d held at bay re-surfacing.
‘Hey!’ Nick caught her arm to slow her.
‘What’s his problem?’ she said, pausing and pointing her forehead towards Freeman’s office. ‘I can’t believe he’s allowed Andrea Leary to muscle in and remove me.’
‘You’re not removed.’
‘I might as well be.’
‘Look, he could easily pull in someone else, a liaison officer from another force even, to take over. He hasn’t because he trusts you. He just has to be seen to be doing something.’
29
Zac was perched on the edge of the sofa, playing his games console, eyes fastened to the screen in the corner, when Marie entered the front room with a tray. Half an hour had passed. Half an hour in which she’d turned the afternoon’s incident over and over in her mind. She needed to phone Ben’s mother, to che
ck on him. But first she needed to talk to Zac about his sister. She knelt and laid the tray on the floor.
‘Daddy’s going to be home late,’ she said. ‘I thought we’d have tea here together this evening. A carpet picnic.’
He eyed her suspiciously and turned back to the screen. They rarely ate in the front room.
While he finished his game, she placed the plate of sandwich triangles on the rug, a collection of cupcakes beside it. ‘Why don’t you put that down now?’ she said. ‘I’ve made cheese and pickle. Your favourite.’
He cast the handset aside, slid down onto the floor beside her and eyed the cakes. ‘Can I have that one?’ he asked, pointing to one with a Smartie atop a swirl of chocolate icing.
‘You can. After you’ve eaten your sandwiches.’
Marie switched the television to the children’s channel and lifted a sandwich to her lips. The idea of eating made her heave, she had to force the food down, but this was a real treat for Zac. Tea was usually a family affair at the table; television wasn’t allowed.
‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ she said, leaning her back into the base of the sofa.
Zac nodded and grabbed a cake.
When he’d finished the last crumb, she leaned forward, wiped a smear of chocolate from his face with her finger and passed him a wet wipe. He scrubbed the wipe across his hands.
‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she said eventually. Discarding the wipe and moving a little closer, she wrapped an arm around him. He rested his head on her shoulder, watching the television.
‘You remember you have a brother, Liam?’
‘The one with the train?’
He was referring to the toy train on Liam’s grave. Many a time he’d played with it when they’d visited. The lump returned to Marie’s throat. This was going to be even harder than she imagined. ‘Yes. He was poorly when he was born and went to live in heaven. Well, I’ve never told you this before, but Liam had a twin sister called Alicia.’
Zac gazed up at her, his eyes like pools. ‘Did she die too?’
Marie paused, still unsure of how to find the right words. ‘Yes. She died after her brother.’