by Keith Nixon
“Your DNA was a partial match to the baby.”
“My DNA is still on file?”
“That’s right. It was taken when you were arrested.”
“I remember, but surely it would have been destroyed?”
“Clearly not.”
“Look, what’s going on here? I’m a respectable person with a good job, about to be married and you come here, to my house, making accusations that I’m the parent of a mummified baby!”
“Nobody is accusing you of anything, Miss Hudson.”
“My name won’t end up in the papers, will it?”
“Why would that happen?”
“I know what you police are like.”
“Strictly only one of us is with the police, Miss Hudson,” said Wyatt.
“And what do you do then?”
“I’m a liaison officer.”
“I don’t know what that means. I’m warning you; my future father-in-law is a lawyer. If anything about my past makes it into the papers or sullies my name at all we will be suing you and the authorities for a small fortune.”
Hudson pushed her way past Gray, flung open the door. “Now, please leave.”
“Miss Hudson.”
“Go, I’ve nothing more to say.”
Wyatt turned to Gray. “Do as Miss Hudson says.”
“I’m not talking to you either,” said Hudson to Wyatt.
“I suspect you’ve something to get off your chest. Better you tell me now than it come out later.”
“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” But Hudson spoke quietly now.
Wyatt tilted her head. Gray went outside.
***
He sat in the car, watching the house. The minutes slowly rolled by until, eventually, the front door opened, and Wyatt stepped out alone. She closed the door behind herself and walked quickly over to the car.
“Well?” asked Gray.
“Just drive,” said Wyatt.
“Where?”
“Anywhere, Sol. Then we’ll talk.”
Gray started the engine, pulled away, turned left a few hundred yards along and continued along a narrow road until it widened with enough space for a few cars to park just opposite the medieval gatehouse. Gray stopped. “All right?”
“I wanted us to be out of sight.” Wyatt put her mobile down between them. “You need to hear this. I recorded what Hudson told me. To be honest it didn’t take much pushing to reach this stage.”
“Did she know you were taping her?”
“No comment.” Wyatt tapped the screen.
“Start from the beginning, Kerry.” Wyatt’s voice sounded muffled over the phone’s speaker.
“First name terms?” said Gray.
“Shhh, Sol.”
“This is all off the record, right?” said Hudson. The tone in her voice said having this conversation was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Absolutely,” said Wyatt.
“None of this can come out. If anybody asks, I’ll deny everything. I’m not going to court. My fiancée doesn’t know and I’m not screwing up my job, all right? I’ve worked bloody hard to get to where I am and put the past behind me.”
“You have my word.”
“What about him out there?” Hudson meant Gray.
“I can make him keep a secret.”
There was a long moment of silence before Hudson said, “God, it was all such a long time ago.” A pause. “I was just a child really.”
“How old?” asked Wyatt.
“Seventeen. Legal, at least.” Hudson gave a wry chuckle. “He was older than me, much older. But I suppose at that age, most men are.”
“How did you meet?”
“He was friends with my foster parents. I’d seen him around since I moved in with them.”
“When was this?”
“Just after my 15th birthday. So, he was a familiar, kind face.”
“How did your relationship start?”
“It’s hard to be specific, really. It just sort of … developed. I was growing up, becoming more independent, like you do when you’re in Sixth Form. I went out for a drink with some friends from school and he was in the pub. We just got chatting. He asked if I came here often.” Hudson laughed. “That old cheesy line. He bought me a few more drinks, soon my friends left, and it was just me and him.
“We arranged to meet again which we did, several times. I felt very mature, going out on dates. They were always scooting off to out of the way places, like Reculver. He’d pick me up in his car around the corner from where I lived. Eventually we fell into bed. It didn’t feel like he groomed me or anything like that. I was almost an adult. Looking back now I still feel everything was totally consensual.”
“How long were you in a relationship with this man?”
“A few months. Until I fell pregnant.” A pause. “Which is when it got nasty.”
“What happened?”
“He threatened me. I’d won a place at University on a grant. He told me to get rid of the child or I’d lose the money.”
“Could he do that?”
“I don’t know, it certainly felt that way by how he spoke. I wasn’t going to keep the kid anyway, there was no way I could study with a baby, could I?”
“So, you had the termination?”
“Yes, and I’ve never thought about it since. It was the right thing to do.”
“I went off to Bristol, came back a few years ago, met Jake and I’ll become his wife soon. We can have our own children. Things are great and I don’t want to mess them up because of a stupid mistake from years ago.”
“What about the man who got you pregnant?”
“He never contacted me again and I haven’t seen him either.”
“Can you tell me his name?”
“No, never.”
“Why?”
“He still lives in the area. I’m really not getting into all of that.”
“We will be totally confidential.”
“I’ve told you all I’m willing to. Nothing illegal went on. It’s time for you to leave now too.”
Wyatt leant over, stopped the playback. “And after that I was out on the street. When she makes her mind up, she sticks to it.”
“So I found,” said Gray. “She’s 27 so all this would be nine or ten years back.”
“That’s right.”
“Too early for the baby in the box to be hers.”
“She had a termination, Sol. There was no baby.”
“Assuming she told the truth.
“I believe her.”
“All right, then she’s not the mother we want.”
“No.”
“Did you get any indication at all who this man might be?”
“You heard what she said, Sol.”
“The fostering connection was interesting. That guy you passed on the details of, Vardie, I’ve met him. I’ll ask him to access the records and maybe we can speak to the people. I’ll call him.”
Gray got Vardie’s voicemail, as usual. “Inspector Gray here, I’m trying to reach you with a couple of questions. I’ll send you an email with them but please call me when you’ve had chance to take a look.” He disconnected. “I didn’t realise social services were so busy.”
“We live in a generally sad world, Sol,” said Wyatt.
“Very heartening.”
Gray performed a U-turn. When they passed Hudson’s house her car was gone. They were back on the Canterbury Road when his mobile rang. Vardie’s voice came over the speakers. “Sorry I missed your call, Inspector.”
“I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”
“Well, I’m in the office, why don’t you pop in when you’re passing by?”
Eighteen
This time Gray parked around the rear of the social services building. The same Asian receptionist was on the desk. Vardie didn’t make them wait long. When he came down the stairs, he was wearing a bottle green three-piece suit.
“Good to see you a
gain,” said Vardie.
“Emily Wyatt.” She handed her card over.
Vardie read it with interest. “CEOP? Not after my job, Mrs Wyatt?”
Wyatt laughed, said, “It’s Miss and I’m temporarily assigned to Thanet Police.”
“Come on up.” Vardie led the way. “Do you want a drink? It’s just a machine, I’m afraid.”
“We won’t be keeping you long,” said Gray.
“Probably for the best. The vegetable soup is particularly vile.”
They went into the meeting room again. Vardie’s laptop was sitting on the work surface. He pulled out a chair for Wyatt, leaving Gray to fend for himself. Wyatt winked at Gray as he sat.
“Now, you mentioned more questions? I assume they’re related to your baby case?”
“Three names have come up – Imogen Nicklin, Kerry Hudson and Zara Jessop.”
“Who do you want to start with?” Vardie pulled the laptop over, tapped in his password.
“Might as well go from the top.”
“Imogen Nicklin then.” More tapping, a pause. “We don’t have any information on Nicklin. If she ever lived in Thanet, there was no involvement with Social Services. Next, Kerry Hudson you said?”
“That’s right.”
“I play lots of memory games.” Vardie tapped the tip of a finger against his temple. A brief pause. “Okay, according to the files she was a local girl essentially born into fostering. Hudson was immediately removed from her mother; she didn’t even get chance to take her home from the hospital. The father isn’t known. Hudson them moved around between a number of carers in her earliest years before settling in one place when she was seven where Hudson stayed all the way through until she was eighteen.”
“Any details of her having a child?”
“Not in the time we have records for.”
“Then we come onto Zara Jessop. She was homeless, living on the streets. She spent a night or two at a hostel near your station, The Lighthouse.” Gray knew the location, just behind the Dreamland amusement arcade off the seafront. “But its mainly men staying there, and it wasn’t ideal for a young girl. So, the manager, Natalie Peace, got in touch with us and we found Miss Jessop a short-term foster.” Vardie frowned. “Hmm that’s interesting.”
“What?”
“Both girls stayed with Andrea Ogilvy.”
Gray glanced at Wyatt, said, “Is that unusual?”
“Not particularly. As we discussed when we first met, Andrea was one of our go-to carers in times of need. And Miss Jessop was definitely in need.”
“How long did she stay with Andrea?”
“The first time was for a couple of months.”
“She was there more than once?”
“That’s right. More than a year between her stays. On the second occasion she was with Andrea for longer until she was just over 17. She moved into a council flat in Ramsgate. After that, we lost touch with her. And there’s no indication Jessop had a child either.”
“And there would have been an overlap between Hudson and Jessop staying with Andrea?”
“The first time yes, the second, no. Hudson had relocated. That’s pretty much all I can tell you.”
“Very helpful, Mr Vardie.”
“Get in touch again if I can help with anything else.” When they were downstairs Vardie handed his card to Wyatt. “As you don’t have my details.” He smiled.
When they sat in the car Gray stated the obvious. “Jessop and Hudson knew each other, and they were both with Andrea.”
“Does it mean something?”
“I’ve no idea.” Gray started the engine. “What did you think to Vardie?”
“Nice.”
“Really?”
“Why, jealous?”
Gray snorted.
Nineteen
Gray turned his attention to the next most likely person on the DNA list – Zara Jessop. He pulled her police files again to go over in more detail.
Eight years ago she’d died; cause of death was listed as accidental. And Jessop was not even 18 when she passed. She’d been arrested multiple times for soliciting sex and possession of Class A drugs. Her hometown was Rochester, one of the Medway towns about forty-five miles and an hour’s drive away. Her mug shot, taken months before she died, revealed a sad, angry girl who appeared much younger than her years – perhaps that was her unique selling point. Unkempt hair, gaudy lipstick and grinning as if she was high.
She’d lived at a flat in Ramsgate on Albert Street on the corner of Grundy’s Hill, just a few roads back from the Royal Harbour. Gray knew the place, a low-rent block housing mainly people on benefits. Her place of work was Platinum, a lap dancing club over in Ramsgate.
Next, Gray moved to the crime scene report. “Jesus.” He recognised the name of the senior investigating officer. Detective Sergeant Mike Fowler.
They’d been close friends. Fowler too was deceased; Gray had seen him die. Anything involving Fowler immediately raised concern in Gray’s mind. He’d been a good cop, though with some bad leanings. Could he have tainted the investigation? For now, Gray needed to push that particular thought to one side.
Jessop’s body had been discovered in her flat after a concerned friend phoned the police, worried she hadn’t been seen for a few days and the flat was locked up tight.
Two uniformed officers forced their way in, breaking the Yale latch on the front door, finding Jessop stretched out on her back on the living room floor. There were no signs of forced entry – all the windows were closed despite it being a warm summer. The crime scene report focused on two aspects: an open bottle of alcohol beside the body, which had drained its contents into the carpet; and evidence of blood and bone matter on the wooden fire surround above the body. The friend was named as Lucy Gold, a co-worker of Jessop’s at Platinum.
Gray moved to the post-mortem report. Actually, there were two, carried out several days apart. Clough, as the forensic pathologist who’d attended the scene, performed the initial PM. The follow up PM was undertaken by Amos Jenkinson. At the time Jenkinson would have been Clough’s superior. Again, Gray scanned through the documents. Their conclusions were very similar.
The level of hypostatis indicated the body had remained in the position in which she’d died. Several photos of the corpse showed large purple livid patches on her back, caused by the settling of the blood because the heart no longer pumped the fluid around the body. Once the heart stopped gravity took hold and the blood drained to the lowest point. If the body had been repositioned following death then a shadowing would often be seen as the blood moved again, forming a second set of patterns. But there was no shadow, so she’d remained in this one position.
Cause of death was concluded as a single injury to the rear of the skull, caused by blunt force trauma. The shape of the wound, long, narrow and wedge-shaped, matched that of the fire surround. Photographs from the scene and the skull concurred. Clough’s notes revealed several marks along the forearm from needles –they were old.
Along with the PM data was a toxicity report. Jessop’s bodily fluids had been tested. No drugs, so she was no longer a user, but there was a high level of alcohol present, enough to have put her more than three times over the drink driving limit. Jessop was relatively small – just over five feet and weighed only 57 kilos – here Gray had to convert to the imperial measurement – slightly under 9 stones.
Finally, Gray flipped to the inquest into her death. It was Jenkinson, not Clough, who’d attended. The details were brief as the hearing was short. The evidence all pointed towards accidental death. The conclusion was that Jessop had been highly inebriated, fell backwards and banged her head. Death would have been almost immediate.
Gray read over everything again. Slower this time, in case he’d missed anything. No mention of a recent pregnancy. Neither Clough’s nor Jenkinson’s PM report stated as such. So, she didn’t appear to be the mother, either.
Ibbotson knocked on Gray’s door. “Sir,” he said, “Gl
asgow CID have been back on. They’ve visited Imogen Nicklin. She claims to never even have heard of Thanet, never mind visited here.”
“That’s a pretty definitive no, then.”
“I’d say so. Thanks Ted.” Ibbotson left.
Gray picked up the phone and called Dr Aplin. When she answered he said, “I’ve got a quick question for you. If none of the three women your analysis has targeted is the mother, what would be our next steps?”
“You’ll just have to wait for more DNA. There will probably be additional hits in the future.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much, we can only test against the samples that we have, I’m afraid. The NDNAD database is the biggest in the world. We find a match against a suspect in about 60% of cases. About 80% are men and mainly Northern European. As we discussed, the commercial databases are a rich source of information but not everybody’s details are available. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
“That’s fine, thanks for letting me know.” Gray disconnected.
Gray had a contact number from the records for Zara’s mother. Her first name was Susan. He picked up the phone and tapped in the number. It was answered after a couple of rings. “Hello, Jessop residence.”
“Am I speaking with Mrs Jessop?”
“I rather thought that would be obvious.” She sounded well educated, her accent bordering on upper class, southern and privileged. Like BBC newsreaders from fifty years ago.
“My name is Detective Inspector Solomon Gray, I’m with the Thanet police.”
A deep intake of breath came down the line. “Would this be to do with Zara?”
“It is.”
“Then you’re wasting your time, Inspector, I’m done discussing her.” Her tone was haughty and dismissive, immediately getting Gray’s back up.
“I have some questions I want to ask.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“They’re to do with your daughter’s death.”
“I don’t want to think about her. It was a long time ago.”
“Her name was Zara.” Mrs Jessop snorted in response. Gray continued, “My questions are important. When we’re finished you won’t hear from me again.”