“What?” said Pauline, much too loudly.
Lauren stood up with her back to the camera, still feeding the baby. “Give me the notes,” she said, “or I’ll tell the doctor to check the footage.”
Pauline’s expression was sour. But she knew she had no choice if she wanted to keep her job. Within twenty minutes, Lauren was in the bathroom, waiting for the shredded pages from the notebook to soften enough that she could flush them and they wouldn’t come back up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AUGUST 15TH
11 A.M.
It was falsely pleasant inside the Hope Park unit. Yesterday, when she’d come with Patrick and the boys, the fresh paint and clean floors had masked it, but now Harper could feel the constrictive undercurrent, the echoes of the Selver General psychiatric ward: the clanging metal doors; the jangling of key chains; the smell and the occasional moan or shriek from within a locked room. However, even taking all that into account it was still vastly superior to the Selver in many ways. The staff she’d met in the Hope were upbeat, friendly and professional. The setting was beautiful, too, which made a real difference to the feel of the place.
After the routine of the secure entry procedure, Harper had been shown into a bright, clean day room and given a cup of terrible vending-machine coffee as she waited to speak to Lauren and Patrick. Over by the window, a young mother fed her baby. The woman ignored Harper, or was at least only vaguely aware of her presence. Harper smiled at her but she continued to stare at a point on the wall near a bookshelf. Harper cleared her throat, and wished there was a radio or a TV on to fill the silence.
Presently the door was opened by a uniformed nurse, who held it for Lauren and Patrick to enter, each of them pushing a single stroller in front of them containing one of the twins. Lauren’s skin was dull, her face impassive. The babies were still and silent, but when Harper glanced into the buggies they were looking directly at her.
“Hey, Morgan,” she said to the one in yellow. The baby continued to stare at her. She transferred her gaze to the one in green. “Hey, Riley.” She always ran out of things to say to babies.
“Thanks for meeting me,” said Harper, reaching out to shake Patrick’s large hand, then Lauren’s cold and bony one.
The nurse who had held open the door took a seat a short distance away, picked up a magazine and flicked through it, pausing to look up at them every few moments. Nurse, or guard, thought Harper.
“Shall we sit?” said Patrick.
Lauren lowered herself warily. Her gaze flitted around the room and landed briefly on Harper.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
Patrick sat next to Lauren on a long settee, while Harper was opposite the couple on a chair, next to the two babies in their buggies angled towards their parents. In the far corner of the room the young mother had stopped feeding her baby and was staring into space, rocking backwards and forwards, humming something tuneless. The baby had fallen asleep in her arms.
Harper looked at her hands. She knew that what she was about to do was risky, considering the information she had about Patrick and Natasha’s relationship. She suspected that Lauren wouldn’t know a thing about it, and she wasn’t planning to be the one to tell her. She could question Patrick later, at the station, regarding that. But, it was crucial to discover if Lauren knew Natasha from previous sightings. If Natasha had been spotted by Lauren in any context—even if Lauren wasn’t aware of who Natasha was—it would help to build the case against her. Also, it would be interesting to see what Patrick was willing to admit in front of his wife.
“I’m gathering information about our suspect. I’ve reason to believe that one or both of you know her. Anything you can tell me will help the investigation. I’m trying to establish why she might do something like this. We only have a right to hold her for twenty-four hours, then either charge her or let her go.”
“Why does it matter if we know her or not?” said Patrick. “Didn’t you catch her in the act?”
“The evidence is rather inconclusive, I’m afraid.”
“How can it be? You said you saw it with your own eyes.”
“She claims that what I saw, was her trying to return them to you.”
“So what? She’s lying, obviously. She took them, then changed her mind, decided it was a stupid idea. I mean, you can see why, she wasn’t going to get very far with them. But how does that absolve her of the crime, the fact that she took them in the first place?”
At that moment, a nurse entered the room backwards, pulling a metal drugs trolley. She had red-framed glasses and short black spiky hair, and wore a white tunic and green uniform trousers.
“Medication, ladies,” she called, in the same sort of upbeat voice you might say ice-cream all round. She handed the woman in the corner a small white cup, followed by another, and a beaker of water. After the woman had tipped both cups of medication into her mouth and taken a swig from the beaker, she automatically opened her mouth wide so the nurse could check inside it to see that she’d swallowed.
“Here’s yours, petal,” said the nurse to Lauren, checking a clipboard before handing over the paper cup. Lauren looked at the pills before she took them. She had trouble swallowing, asked for extra water and was given it, gulped it down with effort.
“Open up,” said the nurse, and Lauren paused for so long that Harper thought she would refuse. Then, she tilted her head back and opened her mouth while the nurse shined a small torch inside.
“Thank you,” said the nurse. She wheeled across to the door and exited backside first, pulling the trolley with her.
When the door had shut, Lauren started to cough, covering her mouth with her hand. The nurse in the room glanced up without interest, slowly turning a page. Patrick slapped Lauren on the back gently, asked if she’d like some water.
“Not water,” she said, “tea or something. From the cafeteria.”
After he’d gone, the two women faced each other. Again, the nurse flicked her eyes towards Lauren, then yawned extravagantly.
“This woman,” said Lauren, “you’re right, I think I know who it is. And why she’d do it.”
Harper leaned in to catch Lauren’s words, which were spilling out quickly and quietly as she tried not to be heard by the nurse or the young woman across the room.
“Did you see anything?” said Harper. “Did you remember something important?”
“She’s not normal. She’s evil. And everyone told me she wasn’t real. But this proves it, right?”
Harper gave an encouraging smile, but she had a feeling she was losing the thread of what Lauren was saying. Were they still talking about Natasha?
“I never told you what happened,” said Lauren. “I didn’t think you would believe me.”
“Try me,” said Harper. She glanced at the nurse, who seemed to have fallen asleep. Her head was on her chest, eyes closed, magazine slowly edging from her hand towards the floor.
“In the hospital, when I had them, this woman was there—I mean she was really there, I don’t think I was imagining it. Well, sometimes I do. It’s complicated. Anyway, she frightened me. And then later on, when she was outside the house, and I called you—I was right about that, Harper, I knew it, I saw her so clearly.” Lauren’s eyes drifted away and she shuddered. “She’s from the water, that woman. Where the two rivers meet. Just like these two.” She nodded towards the babies, both of whom seemed to be smiling faintly as they gazed at Lauren.
“The babies?”
Lauren nodded. “You saw them before. Do they seem different to you?”
Harper didn’t know. All babies looked similar. They were a bit bigger than they had been in the hospital when she first saw them, definitely. But different? Different how? She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Look closely,” said Lauren. “Look in their eyes. She changed them.”
“In the water?” said Harper. “You mean she changed them … in the water?” What was she talking about? Natasha was from the water? And the ba
bies, too? Did she think that, while they were with her, Natasha had performed some strange baptism on them and that they were somehow altered by it?
“Yes,” said Lauren, “yes, yes, you do understand. Thank God.”
A voice from the corner, then. “I’ve heard them singing.”
Harper turned to where the vacant young woman had suddenly come to focus.
Lauren’s head snapped round. “What did you say?”
“Those boys, they sing at night. In the nursery. It’s beautiful.”
In the stroller, the boys tipped their heads towards the woman’s voice. Just as if they knew they were being talked about.
“I heard them talking, too. You know what they call each other?”
Lauren’s voice was barely a whisper. “What?”
Patrick gave the door a kick to open it, and the nurse woke with a snort. “Tea’s up,” he said. Across the room Harper saw the young woman’s focus drift away as she faded into her thoughts again. The babies started flapping their arms and making baby noises. Harper realised her mouth was hanging open and she shut it.
Lauren reached for the tea that Patrick offered, blew on it. She swilled the hot liquid round a few times and placed it on the table, rather too close to the edge.
“Thanks, love.”
“Aren’t you going to drink it?” said Patrick.
“Of course. It’s just a bit hot.”
“Sorry, Detective Sergeant, I didn’t get you anything. Did you want—”
“Oh, no, don’t worry. I just had one.” She felt a little light-headed. The twins, when she turned towards them, did not return her gaze. To look at them now, they seemed like normal babies. But just a minute before, they’d been eyeing her as if they understood everything she was saying.
Harper became serious, remembering why she’d come. “I’m going to show you both a photograph now, of the person we caught. If you could first tell me whether or not you recognise the person, that would be helpful.”
She slid the print on to the table. In it, Natasha was as pale and drawn as Lauren. Her dark hair stood out in unattractive contrast to the skin, white and dry as paper.
Lauren’s face fell. “That’s who you think it is?” she said.
“Yes,” said Harper. “This is the person we arrested at the scene.”
“You’re wrong,” said Lauren, shrinking back against her husband. “That’s not her. I’ve never seen that person before.” Tears began to spill.
“A moment ago, the woman you were talking about, who threatened you, and that you saw outside the house,” said Harper, “this isn’t her?”
Lauren pressed her face against Patrick, shaking her head, no.
“You don’t recognise her at all?”
“No. I just told you, no.”
“What about you, Mr Tranter,” said Harper, “do you recognise this woman?” she didn’t bother to hide the knowing tone, the fact that she already knew the answer.
“That’s Natasha,” said Patrick, without expression.
Lauren drew her breath in and grew still. She raised her face. “Natasha from your work,” she said, “who gave us that weird present?”
“Yes,” said Patrick, looking at Harper, who knew that Natasha had never worked at Strategy Outsource Marketing, because she’d visited the office on the way to the unit and discovered that none of them knew who this person was. The receptionist identified her as someone who “sometimes hangs around outside waiting for Patrick,” but wouldn’t be drawn on what she made of the arrangement.
“I knew it,” said Patrick. “She’s out to get me. Of course she’d deny it, if it means there’ll be a trial and I’ll have to face her in court.”
“Why would she be out to get you?” said Lauren.
“She’s mad. You saw that rat thing she sent, not even knocking on the door, just leaving it on the doorstep. The girl’s a nut.”
The nurse in the corner cleared her throat pointedly. “Sorry,” said Patrick. “She’s mentally … challenged.”
Harper said, “What’s this rat thing? Do you still have it?”
“No,” said Patrick, “it was a really tasteless little ornament. I threw it in the bin. I don’t know what she meant by sending it, but it wasn’t funny.”
“But Patrick,” said Lauren, “what did you do to her?”
An infinitesimal pause, then, “Nothing. She’s just obsessed with me.”
“Why?” said Lauren. “Why is she obsessed with you?”
He looked at Harper then, and back at his wife.
“I … sacked her. I had no choice; she was useless, not at all right for the job. But since then, she won’t leave me alone.”
The most convincing lies, thought Harper, are the ones that are almost true; for sacked, read: dumped.
Harper said, “Did she send you any text messages, or emails?”
“Yes. Hundreds. I deleted them.”
Harper said, “That’s another reason I came. I’m afraid I need to seize your phone. Don’t worry, you’ll get it back once it’s been analysed.”
“My phone?” said Patrick. “I don’t have it. It’s with reception.”
“I know. I can get it on the way out.”
“But I just told you, I deleted everything anyway.”
“We have people who can recover all sorts of things from phones, Mr Tranter.” She watched as his face paled by a couple of shades.
“Oh,” he said, and then swallowed hard. “Good.”
“You never said anything,” said Lauren to Patrick. “If you were being stalked, you should have told me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. I thought if I ignored her, she might eventually go away. I’m so sorry. I feel like this whole thing’s my fault. For having her sacked. For hiring her in the first place.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” said Lauren. “I believe her.”
There was a silence. Harper watched the couple with interest.
“You what?” said Patrick.
“I don’t think she took them.” Lauren turned to face Harper. “You’ve got the wrong one. You need to keep on looking. This girl,” she indicated the print, still on the table between them, “she’s innocent.”
Patrick stared at his wife, his face full of pity.
“The woman you want is young, she’s got dark hair, bad teeth, piercing eyes. She stinks. She’s got a basket. She took my babies, she took them. Not this one.”
Patrick put his hands on top of Lauren’s to stop them flitting in the air. He said, “Shh, honey, you’re babbling.”
Harper cleared her throat. She didn’t know what to make of Lauren’s certainty that they had the wrong person in custody. She could have been describing Natasha, apart from the basket, and maybe the teeth. Perhaps, in her heightened state of agitation in the hospital, she simply hadn’t taken in what the person looked like, and had constructed something from her own imagination that didn’t match reality. “Natasha Dowling is our only suspect at this time. So far, the evidence isn’t conclusive, but I think we’ll soon be able to prove that she’s the one who took them. Hopefully she’ll be charged soon, but I’ll keep you informed as much as possible. And Mr Tranter, you may also have to come in to give a statement.”
Patrick didn’t look too happy about that prospect, but he nodded that he understood.
Lauren kept her eyes averted as Harper got up and said her goodbyes. As she walked over to the door she heard the splash of liquid spilling and turned back to see Lauren’s tea had fallen to the floor, was streaked across the carpet at her feet.
“Oh, I’m so clumsy. I don’t know how that happened. I’m so sorry. Let me clear it up …”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine, I’ll do it,” said Patrick, reaching for some paper towels and dabbing at the floor.
Harper stopped and stared. There on the darkened patch of carpet, dissolving rapidly in the hot liquid, were fragments of what she thought were medication capsule cases. Almost immediately, the fragments wer
e gone, melted entirely away, leaving no evidence that they had ever been there.
“You didn’t even drink any of it,” said Patrick. “I’ll get you another one.”
Patrick went past Harper and out of the room towards the cafeteria, disappearing around a corner. Harper stepped into the corridor, wondering what she ought to do about what she’d just seen. Should she report Lauren for avoiding her meds? Should she go after Patrick and tell him? The more she thought about it, the less sure she was about what she’d seen. Hadn’t the nurse checked Lauren’s mouth, to make sure she’d swallowed? As the door started to close, she heard the dreamy young woman start to sing. The tune was ancient, sad, and heavy with feeling.
I’m a four-loom weaver as many a one knows
I’ve nowt to eat, and I’ve worn out me clo’es
Me clogs are both broken and stockings I’ve none
They’d scarce give me tuppence for all I’ve got on
Harper listened. And then she thought she heard more voices, a high harmony. She put her hand on the door to stop it closing completely, and through the gap she looked at Lauren to see if the sound came from her, but her mouth was shut. It was the babies; she could see the twins in profile, their mouths taut and open as if they were crying, but the sound, in that split second, was like singing. The police officer’s eyes raced between the young woman and the two babies, an impossible trio. Impossible. She pushed the door wider and looked in desperation over at the nurse, who’d fallen asleep again, the magazine on her chest.
Lauren gazed at Harper, shining eyes triumphant. “You see, now, don’t you?”
Then the nurse snorted awake and the young woman stopped singing and the babies were crying, long, sorrowful screaming cries of the kind that cannot be ignored.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The visit to the unit was very troubling. Harper had been hoping that Lauren would identify Natasha as the woman who had been harassing her, so that she could build the case against Natasha, but it seemed Lauren didn’t know her at all. After the conversation, Harper’s conviction that Lauren wasn’t as mad as everyone thought was disappearing fast. But, just imagine if your babies had a cry that sounded like singing. That would be enough to make anyone question their grasp on reality. Such an eerie moment, she shuddered to think of it.
Little Darlings Page 20