by Jill McGown
“What have I told you about theories?” Freddie said, when he told him, and strode past him to the door. “I’ll be able to do the postmortem this afternoon!” he called as he disappeared down the hallway. “Half past four, sharp. Don’t be late.” There was a moment’s pause; then his head appeared round the door again. “Maybe by then you’ll have detected who the victim is—then you can move on to the trickier question of who actually murdered her.”
Lloyd pulled a face.
“. . . THE BABY WAS ABDUCTED FROM MALWORTH’S RIVERSIDE Park at a few minutes after eleven o’clock this morning. Police say they are anxious to trace a woman seen in the vicinity just before the abduction, in order that she may be eliminated from their inquiries. She is described as around thirty years old, with a slim build, shoulder-length brown hair, and wearing a pale yellow sleeveless summer dress.
“Superintendent Ewan McArthur spoke to Jim Bolsover a few minutes ago, and this is what he had to say:
“We would like to interview this lady, both to eliminate her from the inquiry and as a potential witness. We think she may have vital evidence which would help us reunite baby Emma with her parents, who are, as you can imagine, totally distraught. Obviously, if anyone thinks they may have seen this lady, or was in the park or anywhere in the Riverside area this morning and thinks they may have seen something—however insignificant—we would like to hear from them. And if the abductor is listening to me now, I would ask you to think of what Emma’s parents are going through, and please get in touch with the police.’ “
Theresa sighed a little as she reached into the back of the van for the bundle of ironed bed linen she was about to deliver. Bad news seemed all wrong in weather like this, somehow.
She wondered, as she delivered the ironing and found change for the twenty-pound note she was offered, what it was that drove women to that. She and Ian had never really discussed children, which was probably just as well, in view of how they had ended up. Of course, they might not have grown apart if they had had a family; she would never know now. But why would being unable to have a baby assume such terrible proportions that you would steal someone else’s?
She got back into the van, and to the background of Radio Barton’s pop songs she made her deliveries. She was halfway through when the two o’clock bulletin came on. It led with the baby, but instead of the minor news items that had followed the one earlier, this time there was more bad news.
“Reports are just coming in that police were called this morning to a house in the Byford Forest area of Stansfield, where they found the body of a woman and a man they described as ‘seriously injured.’ The man is undergoing emergency surgery at Barton General Hospital. No further details have been released.”
And that news was very close to home—Byford Forest wasn’t a forest but a housing estate. It got its name from the woodland that had once covered that whole area, and it included Brook Way Wood. Whoever these people were, they had been, technically, her neighbors. Not that she would know them; the cottage was too isolated for that. But even so, it made her give a little shiver. Had he murdered his wife and then tried to kill himself? Probably. And she wondered what drove men to that.
It was odd that the genders favored one type of crime over another. Men rarely became obsessed with babies, and women rarely reached that sort of murderous despair. It might be an interesting academic study; she had been trying to think of what she would like to do.
The baby’s head was warm against Kayleigh’s face as she walked along the dusty path toward the cottage, her heart beating faster and faster.
She came to the edge of the woods and could see the corner of the house; she walked slowly toward it, unsure of what to do. But the decision was taken out of her hands; as soon as she had rounded the corner to walk to the front gate, she was met by a uniformed policeman.
“Sorry, love, but you can’t go in there, I’m afraid. Did you have business with the people who live here?”
“I live here. Well, sort—”
“Could you wait there a moment?”
He was calling someone else over, but Kayleigh didn’t wait there; she walked farther along until she was at the gateway and she could see the cars and vans and people wearing white overalls and policemen everywhere. A man came up to her then; he was perhaps a bit older than Phil and had even less hair.
“My name’s Lloyd,” he said, and showed her a card. “I’m a detective from Stansfield Police. What’s your name?”
She licked her lips. “Kayleigh Scott.”
“Kayleigh. That’s a nice name. How old are you, Kayleigh?”
“Fourteen.”
“And what’s the baby’s name?”
“Alexandra.”
“Is Alexandra your sister?”
She looked over at the cottage and frowned. Someone she didn’t know was driving Ian’s car into the garage, and her mother’s car wasn’t there. Where was it? Where was Ian? She didn’t understand what was happening. “Where’s Ian?” she asked. “Who’s that driving his car? What’s happened?”
Chief Inspector Lloyd smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Kayleigh—would you mind if Julie here looked after Alexandra for a few minutes while you and I had a little chat?”
Kayleigh gave the baby to the policewoman and allowed herself to be steered to one of the cars. Lloyd opened the rear door of one and invited her to sit down. He didn’t get into the car with her; he just crouched down to speak to her.
“Are you related to Ian Waring?”
She shook her head. “He’s my mum’s boyfriend.”
He took a short breath. “Is your mother called Theresa Black?”
“No.” She frowned again. “That was who Ian lived with before he came to live with us.”
He looked puzzled. “And you live here?”
“Sort of. It’s Ian’s cottage.” She looked over at it again. “We’re moving in today.”
“Oh, I see.” He thought for a moment before he spoke again. “Something very bad has happened here, Kayleigh. I’m afraid Ian’s been badly hurt. He’s in hospital.”
Kayleigh stared at him, her head shaking.
He took a deep breath before he carried on. “And someone has been killed. I’m very, very sorry to have to tell you this, but I think it could be your mother. Can you tell me what she looks like?”
“She’s got fair hair, and she’s slim. Smaller than me.” Kayleigh watched his face as she described her mother. “Is it her?”
He gave a little nod, and his voice was gentle and sad when he spoke. “I think it must be. But we need someone who can tell us for sure, and I don’t want to ask you to do it—is there someone who can help us? Someone who can perhaps look after you and Alexandra? Do you have grandparents somewhere?”
She shook her head. Her mother had been brought up by Dr. Barnardo’s—that was why she had wanted to adopt her, give her a real home. It didn’t matter how good a children’s home was, she said; it wasn’t the same. And since he’d died, her mum hadn’t had much to do with Richard Newton’s parents, who Kayleigh supposed were legally her grandparents. She didn’t even know where they lived.
“Is there anyone we can contact? Your dad, maybe?”
She didn’t know where he was. She didn’t answer, just stared at the cottage and all the activity, trying to understand what had happened.
“Well, don’t worry. That doesn’t matter.” He looked across at the cottage, then turned his attention back to her. “Was anyone else here this morning?”
She couldn’t answer him.
“When you left with Alexandra, was it just Ian and your mum who were here?”
She couldn’t answer.
“I am so sorry.” He straightened up. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll get you and Alexandra somewhere to stay, and maybe we can talk later?”
Maybe. Once she understood what had happened.
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
It was like being back on the beat; the
y had been walking up and down the streets and alleyways of Riverside for over two hours and were now once again following the Andwell along Bridge Street. It was half past two and Judy thought it was a lost cause, but Tom still hadn’t given up hope that she might spot their quarry. And he hadn’t given up selling child care to her, either, which puzzled her a little.
“But if you employed a nanny, she would be the real McCoy.”
“Have you any idea how much they cost?”
“I mean she would be a grown woman—she wouldn’t be seventeen. And she wouldn’t be going off back to her car instead of watching Charlotte.”
“I know. But I still think maybe I should stay at home.”
Part-time work had occurred to her; on their first walk along Bridge Street, she had seen again the young woman she had seen that morning, picking her baby up from the Riverside Nursery. They had acknowledged each other again, but still Judy hadn’t asked her about the nursery. This time, she had been carrying a briefcase; she had presumably reached the compromise of part-time work, Judy thought, but she doubted if Bartonshire Constabulary had many part-time posts that they would be prepared to give someone of her rank. Not that it would have to be police work at all, really. She could do something else. But it would still mean leaving Charlotte with strangers.
Besides, she had watched the girl put the baby in the pram, and something about her attitude, about the impression she gave, bothered Judy. She didn’t want to turn into someone to whom the baby was an inconvenience. She was probably still projecting her own doubts and fears onto this poor girl, but it bothered her, all the same.
“I don’t think I can—” She broke off when, in among the people sitting outside a wine bar in the sunshine, a flash of pale lemon caught her eye. Naturally, a bus came between her and the tables just as she had spotted it and it took an age to drag its length past her, but when it had, the yellow dress was still there, and in it was the woman she had seen in the park. She had held out no hope at all of Tom’s idea working, but it had. She touched his sleeve. “That’s her,” she said, nodding across the road and turning away in case she was recognized. “The couple at the table farthest from us. That’s the woman I saw.”
Tom looked across at the couple and took out his mobile phone. “What about him?”
“I couldn’t swear to it being the same man, but that’s the wooden case that was beside the easel.” The man was also about thirty and did indeed have a beard but no mustache. Judy always objected to that, for some reason that she couldn’t explain. He and the woman were ostensibly eating a late lunch but were in fact engrossed in serious, possibly confrontational conversation.
She looked at Tom. It might still have been a waste of time. “Where’s the baby?” she asked. “Maybe they’ve got nothing to do with it.”
Tom pressed the short code for the incident room. “Or maybe they were stealing her for someone else,” he said, his voice grim. He got through and asked for Superintendent McArthur.
No. No, it was bad enough that something like this had happened in Malworth without it being a criminal, rather than a desperate, act. But Tom could be right, she reluctantly conceded, because the man and the woman certainly didn’t seem to be together in the park and now they were.
Tom spoke briefly and put the phone away, leaning back on the wall, smiling at her as though he were making small talk. “We’re to watch them, follow them if necessary.”
Judy leaned her arms on the wall, facing the river, her back to the couple. “Why are they just sitting there? Wouldn’t you want to get as far away as possible?”
Tom nodded. “But I think we’ve got a falling-out, by the looks of things. They’re definitely arguing about something.”
“Why come out in the open to argue, rather than stay in the wine bar? And what’s his role in the setup?”
“I think they might have targeted Emma,” Tom said. “That she was always going to be snatched, whatever Andrea had done. Andrea takes her to the park most mornings—he was there to watch for her, and as soon as she arrived, he contacted the woman, and packed up his easel for a quick getaway. Perhaps Andrea was going to be distracted by him, and Emma snatched by her.”
“And Andrea just happened to make it easy for them?” Judy doubted that. If they had snatched the baby, she thought that Andrea’s story should be examined rather more closely than it had been. And where had the baby gone? “We should check out the wine bar,” she said. “They must have been in there the last couple of times we passed.”
“Here we go,” said Tom. “That was quick.”
Judy looked away from the river to see one squad car approach from one end of the street and an unmarked car and another squad car from the other end. The two squad cars waited, and the other car pulled up beside Tom and Judy.
Superintendent McArthur wound down the window. “So which of that lot are we after?”
Judy indicated the couple, and, accompanied by two officers, McArthur approached the wine bar. There was an earnest shaking of heads, a display of puzzled innocence, then apparently ready compliance; in moments, the two were being taken away in separate cars and McArthur was on his way back to Judy and Tom.
“They went voluntarily to give statements as possible witnesses. They didn’t seem too worried. Anyway—whether they had anything to do with it or not, that was good work, both of you. Let’s hope we’re as quick at finding the baby.”
Tom and Judy had been watching the wine bar throughout the muted drama; no one had left. McArthur agreed that Tom should make a discreet search of the place.
“I don’t want to spook anyone if the baby is still there. Just get a good look round—if there’s a baby on the premises, I’ll take it from there.”
McArthur and Judy waited, with McArthur, less harassed than the last time they had met, making baby noises at Charlotte, who beamed at him, as she did at everyone who took the trouble to talk to her. If Judy did get Malworth CID, McArthur would be her boss, and she thought that she could live with that. She sighed, wishing there was an easy way out of her dilemma. After about five minutes, Tom came out, indicated that there was nothing of interest, and Charlotte’s new best friend left.
As McArthur’s car drove off, Tom walked back across the road toward Judy, shaking his head. “I checked everywhere,” he said, joining her. “Told them I was from Trading Standards. And I asked if anyone ever brought children or—” He broke off as his eye was obviously caught by something on the river behind her.
Judy turned, but she didn’t know where he was looking. She turned back to see him running along the pavement, leaning over the wall, shouting to people on the opposite bank. She pushed Charlotte along to where he stood, his hands on his head, his face white. “What is it?” she said. “What’s wrong?”
He spoke in an appalled whisper. “A baby’s body, Judy. I saw a baby’s body caught up in those reeds.”
Judy stared at him, at the river, then back at him. “Are you absolutely sure?”
He nodded. “I shouted, but they couldn’t hear. It was a baby’s body, Judy. There was nothing I could . . .” He closed his eyes. “It was dragged under.”
Dean opened his eyes, disoriented and aching all over, the sound of shifting branches overhead. Where the hell was he? Gradually, he became aware that he was sitting on the branch of a tree, leaning against its trunk, and remembered, his heart plunging.
His mouth was dry and he couldn’t think very clearly, but at least he wasn’t wringing wet anymore. But he should be; he hadn’t been asleep that long. His mind began to clear a little, and while he might not be a country boy, even he could see that the sun, which had been climbing, was now on its way down the sky, and he accepted that he must have been asleep for at least a couple of hours. Maybe he really could stay here until dark, he thought, then shook his head. He couldn’t do that; the pain was even worse, and he had a feeling he ought to be seeing a doctor or something. He had to start walking and make his way back to the bus station somehow.
He pushed himself up from the branch, his arm across his chest. As long as he took it slowly, he would be all right. Just keep walking, he told himself. Find a path, follow it, and get to civilization. How difficult could that be? It wasn’t the Black Forest; it was just a wood. He stumbled as he set off, as though he’d had too much to drink, and he steadied himself, his hand on a tree. He wished his thinking processes were a bit sharper; he had to think up some sort of story to account for how he looked if anyone asked, and he couldn’t seem to concentrate on that.
He still hadn’t found a path, but the trees were thinning a bit and he thought he was probably walking in the right direction to get out of the wood, at any rate. It was just that walking was difficult, because his chest hurt, his head was muzzy, and he felt as though he were moving through treacle. In fact, he felt very strange. Weak. He held on to another tree as the giddiness claimed him. If he could just get his head clear, it wouldn’t be so . . .
He sank to his knees as his legs gave way, and everything went dark.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Keyes.”
Lloyd sat down opposite the man who was the nearest thing he had to a witness, apart from one deeply shocked teenage girl who was having to wait at the police station until Social Services found her and Alexandra somewhere they could be together, because it was thought by everyone concerned that they should not be separated if at all possible. He had sent for the police doctor to have a look at Kayleigh.
And her arrival on the scene had thrown up infinitely more puzzles than answers. She had to have been wandering around in the woods for almost three and a half hours, so she had to have seen something that had made her pick up the baby and run away, but she was too shocked to speak at all now and Lloyd just had to hope that the postman had some information that would help him get to the bottom of all this.