Baby Dear: a gripping psychological thriller

by Linda Huber

  Julie sagged against Sharon, then pulled herself up. ‘I’m going to him,’ she said, grim determination in her voice.

  Anita pointed to her car. ‘Wait in there, Sharon. I’ll get someone to take Julie to the hospital, and join you in a second.’

  Sharon looked at Craig, lips pressed together and hands clasped under her chin. ‘They’ll get her back,’ she whispered. ‘They have to.’ She allowed him to pull her to her feet, leaning against him and by some miracle managing not to vomit. Craig put his arms round her. She could feel his body shaking.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s wait in a car like she said. It’ll be more comfortable and more – private.’

  Sharon stared at the crowds of people gawping at them from each end of the cordon. Vultures, just waiting for some excitement, wanting a cheap thrill at someone else’s expense. Jael’s expense, and hers and Craig’s and Julie’s. How could people be so thoughtless?

  Her baby was alone with Jeff Horne and she didn’t know where. Sharon raised a fist to her mouth and bit down on her fingers. Please, let our girl be saved. When was the last time she’d been to church? Years ago. Maybe God didn’t think she deserved to have a daughter. Maybe the opinion in heaven was that Jael would be much better off as an angel, and that Jeff Horne was just the person to turn her into one.

  Julie 2.45 p.m.

  Julie clutched the sides of her seat as the police car sped around the corner of the High Street and on towards the bridge. There was no sign of an ambulance in front of them, and she couldn’t hear any other siren apart from their own. What did that mean? She clenched her teeth together to stop them chattering.

  The car sped up the hospital driveway and jerked to a halt at the side of A&E. Julie jumped out and ran to the ambulance parked at the doors. Green-clad paramedics were unloading the trolley, it was Max, and his face looked like a shop window dummy. Unreal, plastic, soulless… He had an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth so he must be breathing, but she couldn’t see his chest rise and fall. Julie sobbed. A squad of medical staff were waiting by the door, and she ran beside the trolley as the paramedic listed Max’s injuries – a stab wound, broken ribs, soft tissue injuries – what were they? He mentioned blood loss and GCS levels, but all Julie wanted was to touch Max. Then–

  ‘He’s arrested!’ A doctor bent over the trolley, hands thudding up and down on Max’s chest as different hands on Julie’s shoulders pulled her to the side.

  She stretched an arm out, but she couldn’t touch him. ‘Max! I’m here. You’ll be okay, you will.’ The trolley vanished through double doors.

  ‘Wait here, love. I’ll see what’s happening.’ The officer who’d brought her here patted her shoulder, then disappeared after the trolley.

  Julie was left alone, realising she’d left her handbag with her phone in Liam’s living room. There was no way for Sharon – or anyone else – to contact her now.

  Jeff 2.45 p.m.

  He’d made it and none of the other stupid policemen had even noticed him. Jeff fled through back courts and closes; they were like a little maze in the centre of town, up and down and in and out. Now all he had to do was get home, and it was a bit of a way from here.

  He glanced right and left before crossing the road, his head clearing when he saw the taxi approach. Brilliant – he’d get a cab. He slapped his pocket and sure enough, his wallet was there, but he also noticed his hand was covered in the policeman’s blood. He dodged into a doorway, and fished a couple of wipes from under the baby, sleeping peacefully in the bag. There! Clean again, and fortunately, his jacket was black so no bloodstains were noticeable. He could go in a taxi without worrying the driver might get suspicious.

  Back at the main road, Jeff flagged down another cab and got into the back, tossing the bag in first. The baby gave a little squawk, and he winced. Mercifully, the taxi driver didn’t appear to have heard her.

  ‘19 Alton Gardens,’ said Jeff, and the driver swung his cab into the traffic. The baby was silent as they drove, and Jeff relaxed. He eased the zip of the bag open an inch or two, remembering his brother driving around with his eldest when he was a baby; it was the only way they could get him to sleep, he had said. They could do that with Miriam, too.

  It was good to be going home again. He’d be able to relax there, and they would look after their baby and be happy, him and Caro, and… but where was Caro? Oh, well, he would take care of the baby until she got back. He rubbed the tightness above his forehead. Caro was hurt, he remembered now. She’d been bleeding, so maybe she was at the doctor. He should have gone with her – they’d gone together last time, hadn’t they? Yes, to the hospital. And the doctor had said there would be no babies. That was when the headache had started – had that been his headache or Caro’s? But he had a baby now, so the headache should be gone.

  ‘Here you are, mate.’ The taxi driver pulled up opposite the house.

  Jeff handed over a note and got out. Home. He hadn’t been here since… whenever.

  ‘Don’t forget your bag,’ said the driver, and Jeff turned back. He gripped the sports bag and jogged across the street and up to his own front door.

  There was something funny about the house, something not quite right. No Caro for one thing. And it looked all – wrong. As if he was back after being away for a long, long time. But he wasn’t – was he? Jeff left the sports bag on the sofa and walked into the kitchen. A double espresso, that was what he needed.

  The baby gave a bleat before he could switch on the coffee machine. Jeff turned back. Miriam. He lifted her into his arms and she whimpered, not quite crying but not peaceful either, and he sat down to think. Being at home helped, he could remember things better here.

  Everything had gone wrong. Caro had left him; she’d gone away because she didn’t want this baby. She wanted her own baby. Well, in that case, this was his baby. He would look after her and they’d be together forever. They would, they would.

  The positive moment didn’t last. Jeff rubbed his face with both hands. It wasn’t only him and Miriam – someone else would come and spoil things, they always did. They would try to take the baby away from him, like that stupid policeman he’d stabbed in the close.

  Jeff sat still as clarity, accompanied by painful brightness, swept through his mind. Oh no. He had stabbed a policeman. He wouldn’t be allowed to keep the baby now. The fog swirled back. She was his baby, wasn’t she? He wanted to be her daddy, he wanted Caro to be her mummy. A happy family. Yes?

  Weariness crept through his head and into his eyes, turning everything black and white with fuzzy edges, like a jerky old film. Jeff ran his fingers through his hair, jumping in fright as a plop from the boiler in the hall cupboard sounded loud in the stillness of the house. He smiled as a wonderful idea struck him. There was a way he and Miriam could be together forever. It would be quiet and peaceful and no-one could interfere because no one knew where he was. And it would definitely be forever and ever. Amen.

  The pellet gun. You could kill someone with a pellet gun, if you aimed carefully.

  He would shoot the baby and then he would shoot himself.

  Sharon 2.55 p.m.

  There was a flurry of activity amongst the waiting policemen, and Sharon clutched Craig’s arm.

  ‘Something’s happening. What are they doing?’ Sweat ran down the side of her face and she wiped it away.

  Several officers drove off in three cars, and another handful ran up the lane towards Mortimer Square. An evil-tasting bile rose in Sharon’s throat, and she had to force herself not to hyperventilate. She would be sick if someone didn’t tell her what was going on. But oh, maybe she didn’t want to know. Maybe in five seconds someone would come and say, ‘I’m so sorry, Sharon. But it was quick. She wouldn’t have felt a thing.’ Sharon’s body shook with dry, heaving sobs.

  ‘I’ll go and ask Anita,’ said Craig, opening the car door. His voice was brittle.

  Sharon made herself look up. ‘Wait, she’s coming over.’ Sure enough, DCI
McKenna and Anita were jogging towards the car. They got in quickly, the FLO in the driving seat. She drove off down the High Street, through the cordon two officers were holding up for then, and down towards the traffic lights.

  The DCI turned to Sharon and Craig. ‘Jeff Horne has taken a taxi, but don’t worry, we won’t lose him,’ he said grimly. ‘By the looks of things, he’s heading for his home. The experts in hostage situations are on the way there, and they’ll negotiate with Jeff and get the baby out. The first priority is your daughter’s safety.’

  Sharon nodded, hope flaring inside her. Experts were here, things were being done, and she and Craig were part of it. Jael, baby, Mummy’s coming.

  A few minutes later they were driving along a pleasant street with red brick detached houses on either side. It was only a mile or so from their flat. Everything was deathly quiet, but Sharon was aware of faces at windows, and curtains twitching as they drove past. People had obviously been warned to stay indoors. How efficient the police were, getting all this organised so quickly.

  Brian McKenna was speaking into his radio, but Sharon could barely understand the crackling static that formed half the conversation. Brian answered briefly then turned in his seat.

  ‘So far, so good. Jeff Horne is in his home with the baby. We’ll give him a minute or two, then the hostage boys will try to make contact. We’re going to wait just around the corner.’

  The car drew up behind a police car, and Anita switched off the engine. An uneasy silence fell, and Sharon could feel her heart thumping against her ribs. She took Craig’s hand, startled to feel how cold her own was. He was afraid, she could tell, his mouth was a thin slash, and oh God, she was afraid too, she was terrified she wouldn’t have the chance to mother this child she hadn’t wanted. How crass that sounded, how uncaring. She did want her baby. More than anything in the world.

  The DCI was speaking on the crackling radio again, and Sharon looked up and down the street they were parked on. It was a pretty little place, houses with gardens on both sides, and kids’ bikes and footballs and other evidence of childhood were lying around. Suburbia.

  New dread settled into Sharon’s heart. They were back at the waiting game, and it was no easier now they knew where Jael was. Think what Jeff Horne had done to his wife and to Max. What could he do to a tiny baby?

  Brian finished his conversation and turned to report to them. ‘Everything’s in place,’ he said, and Sharon could tell he was speaking carefully. ‘We’ve got cameras and police marksmen in various houses on the street so we can see a bit of what’s going on in Horne’s place. At the moment, Jael is on a sofa and Horne is sitting beside her. He has a gun. They’ll wait until he puts it down before attempting to establish contact. Please be assured that our marksmen are ready to act any second if it becomes necessary.’

  Sharon’s mouth went dry. Her baby was in absolute, real danger. Craig was shaking beside her, and Sharon reached for his hand again but he pulled her close. They sat in silence, holding each other. Sharon’s eyes were burning, but right at this moment she felt as if she would never cry again. All she was feeling now was ice-cold rage, anger against the man who was trying to destroy her life like this. She had never believed in the death penalty; she had always felt repulsed when a news report came in about yet another execution in America or in the East. But if Jeff Horne killed her baby, Sharon knew she would be capable of murdering him with her bare hands. And when she thought about how she’d felt when she first realised she was pregnant…

  An ambulance drew up behind them and sat there, waiting. Sharon looked out of the back window and recognised one of the paramedics. He had taken her to hospital the day Jael was born. He was with a woman today.

  Craig had seen them too. ‘I could kill that bastard Horne.’ He thumped his hand on the seat in front.

  Anita turned to him. ‘You need to stay calm, Craig,’ she said, not unkindly. ‘If you can’t, I’ll take you to wait at home.’

  ‘No!’ Sharon and Craig spoke together, and Sharon went on. ‘We’ve had more than enough waiting around at home. At least here we’re close to Jael, and as soon as anything happens we can be with her.’

  Brian nodded. ‘Okay. You must keep calm, though. We could be in for a long wait.’

  Sharon leaned back, feeling her blouse stick to the seat. This helplessness was laming. She had waited and waited and waited already, and there was still no knowing when the wait would be over. I can’t bear this, she thought to herself, at the same time knowing it was a useless thing to think. She had to bear it. She had no choice.

  20

  Thursday 9th June, late afternoon 4.10 p.m.

  Julie

  The relatives’ waiting room was as cheerless a place as Julie had ever been in. All she could see from the window were the high hospital buildings, grey and forbidding. An alien world. She stood there, looking out over the car park. The back of the maternity building was visible; how incredible to think that little more than a week ago she’d visited Sharon and Jael there. She’d sat beside Sharon’s bed and joined in the excitement about Jael’s birth. There was no sitting with the patient this time – she’d been told very firmly to wait in here. She didn’t even know if Max was still alive. They were ‘looking after him’ somewhere out there.

  The door opened and the policeman who had driven her here came in, carrying Julie’s bag. ‘They brought this. You left it in the boy’s home.’

  Julie clutched the bag to her chest. She had her phone back now, her lifeline to the outside world. ‘Is there any news? They’re not telling me anything.’

  He shook his head. ‘He’ll be in theatre for a while yet, that’s all I know. He was acting alone, accosting Jeff Horne – he said something to his partner about having to help the baby, and ran away from his post. It was a stupid, brave thing to do, and we’re not sure why he did it. By the time his partner had radioed in and gone after him, it was too late.’

  Julie wiped her face with one hand. She knew why Max had done it – he was trying to save Jael from the fate of his own unborn baby. ‘Has his family – are they…’

  ‘His parents are coming up from Dumfries, so it’ll be an hour or two before they arrive. He doesn’t have relatives in this area. I’ll see you later, probably.’

  Left alone, Julie went back to the window. At least there was something to watch outside, people moving about, hospital workers and visitors, going about their lives. If only she had a chance to have a life with Max. But she mustn’t think too hard about that or she might break down, and she had to be strong for – shit! Sam!

  Julie leapt to her feet, hands shaking as she scrabbled for her phone to see the time. Twenty past four – what a never-ending afternoon this was. Horrified, she opened her contacts, then stopped. Was she allowed to use her phone here? She would take it outside; a breath of fresh air would do her good. She stumbled along the corridor.

  The air outside was muggy and hot rather than fresh, but at least it didn’t smell of hospitals. Julie called Dee.

  ‘Julie? Is everything okay?’

  The sound of her friend’s voice brought tears to Julie’s eyes. ‘No. Jeff Horne kidnapped Jael, practically killed his wife and stabbed Max. I’m at the hospital now and he’s in theatre. I’ll wait until his parents get here. Dee, can you collect Sam? He’s at After School Club and they close at six.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Dee immediately. ‘Do you want him to stay with me, or should I find someone else for him and come and wait with you?’

  Julie closed her eyes. How good, how very good it would be to have Dee here. But could she do that to Sam? On the other hand, he would probably enjoy a play-date, and he didn’t need to know anything about all this yet.

  ‘I’ll call Ben’s mum and let you know,’ she said.

  Ben’s mother was happy to take Sam when Julie told her about ‘an injured friend’, and offered to keep him overnight, too. Julie called Dee again, and then the childminder, who was less happy.

&nbs
p; ‘I’m sorry about your friend, Julie, I’ll keep her another hour or two, but I’ve had a full house here today and tomorrow’s not going to be less busy.’

  Frustration burned in Julie’s throat. ‘I’ve got no way of getting to her yet. Rona, please, I’m desperate. I’ll make sure she’s collected by eight at the latest. If I can’t make it, my friend Dee-Cee Taylor will come – and I’ll keep her at home tomorrow.’ No matter what happened tonight, she would be in no fit state to work in the morning.

  ‘OK, but no later than eight, please. See you soon.’

  Julie disconnected and leaned against the building. Her legs were trembling, and she slapped them impatiently, regrets in their thousands swirling around in her head. They would be so good together, her and Max. Why hadn’t she seen that straightaway? He had. Please, Max, be okay. Julie swallowed painfully, then shivered. Maybe a drink would help.

  The main waiting area was busy and noisy. Julie fed coins into the drinks machine and punched a button, not caring what it was. A can of fizzy orange fell into the tray and she popped it open and sipped, the icy liquid soothing its way down her throat. She held the can against her forehead for a moment, feeling marginally better. The kids were sorted and Dee was coming, she could relax a little.

  The relatives’ room was occupied when she returned. A small, heavily pregnant woman with dyed blonde hair and red eyes was slumped on the baggy sofa, a scrunched-up tissue clutched in one hand. The lump came back into Julie’s throat. This was how she felt too, except this woman had obviously had time to have a good cry.

  The woman glanced up at Julie, then stared at the soggy tissue in her hand before stuffing it into her pocket. She rummaged in her bag then said, ‘Oh, Christ,’ in a strangled voice and wiped her face with the palm of one hand. Julie pulled out her own packet; she only had two tissues left.