I dangle a toy in front of her face and watch as her eyes try to focus on it, mesmerised.
‘But we could go?’
I look up. He’s staring at me with an odd look on his face, his hands covered in soap suds.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you’re sixteen now, you can go where you like. I can move anywhere really – transfer to another force, so we could be sure of an income.’ He’s becoming animated. ‘I mean, what’s for you here?’
‘My mum,’ I say immediately, even though I haven’t seen her in over a year.
He doesn’t miss a beat. ‘We can invite her to stay with us, away from your dad. It would be like a new little family.’
The word makes my heart twitch. I look at his kind eyes and the brown hair that never looks brushed and wonder what it would be like to be a family with him.
‘But Joanne …’ I say.
He turns back to the bottles.
‘We can’t, Mary. I’m so sorry.’
And I know he’s right, I know he is sorry, and I also know he’s not going to change his mind.
The night he is to take Joanne away, rain is battering the windows.
‘You can’t go now, can you?’
I see him wince at the hope in my voice. He comes across to me and looks down at Joanne in my arms, then kisses the top of my head. I haven’t had human contact other than Joanne for so long I feel electricity jump through me. He places his hand on my shoulder; it’s warm and heavy.
‘Let me have her, Mary.’
I pull her closer. ‘No. I want to go.’
‘There’s more chance of us being seen if there are two of us.’
I look down at the baby, who is perfectly asleep, a small bubble of milk on the side of her lip. I dab it with the blanket.
‘You know I’m right. And then after the court case, we’ll go too.’
‘Will she be safe, where you take her?’ My voice is so small I can barely hear it.
He nods.
‘And you have the bag with all her stuff and the note explaining which toys she likes?’
Again, he nods.
‘Do you think she’ll ever come looking for us?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What would we do?’
‘I honestly don’t know. I suppose it would depend on what she wanted from us.’
I look at Joanne, who is starting to wriggle, and wonder what she will be like when she’s big. I get a sudden punch to my heart at the thought she’ll meet a man like Alf or that her new mum won’t want her when she’s older. I start to cry. I can’t stop anything bad happening to her, just like I couldn’t stop it happening to Aoife.
‘Mary …’ He’s speaking softly in my ear. ‘I’m going to have to go.’
I hiccup back a tear and look at Joanne. ‘I love you,’ I say. ‘I love you so much, and your mummy was the best thing to ever happen to me. But she was wrong when she said you are our baby. You’re not, you’re hers, and all I can do is make you safe.’ I stroke the top of Joanne’s head, hair soft like down. ‘She would’ve loved you to the moon and back every single day and so would I. I’m so sorry I took her away from you and that I won’t be there in her place. Please don’t hate me when you grow up and please don’t try to find me, because I’m not worth it.’
I start to cry again, so much I find it hard to breathe. I kiss her on the head, tuck the blanket in tightly around her, and hold her up to him. He leans down to kiss my cheek, but I turn my head and our lips meet. We stay like that for a moment, holding on tight to each other, with Joanne close between us.
Then he’s gone, and with him the only thing holding me to this life.
Fifty-two
Ian Fowler flung open and door and glared out at them. ‘What?’
Nell decided to match his directness with her own. ‘There’s been a development in the O’Brian case.’
‘And?’
‘So we’d like to speak to your wife, please.’ It wasn’t a question and Fowler knew it.
‘She’s asleep at the moment.’
Nell put her hand on the door and a boot into the hall. ‘That’s OK, we’ll wait while you wake her.’
Ten minutes later Joanne appeared, dishevelled and bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket.
‘Hello, Joanne,’ Nell said. ‘We’d like to ask you about a phone call made to your house on the night Connor O’Brian was killed.’
Ian glanced down at Joanne. It looked innocent enough, but Nell knew it was a question, one that told her he wasn’t the one who had taken the call.
‘Joanne,’ she asked, gently. ‘Did somebody phone you the night Connor was killed?’
Joanne didn’t move; it was as if she couldn’t even hear them. Nell looked to Ian.
‘It’s hard for her to have you here. The trauma of the last few years is still very real and we’ve barely undergone therapy for it.’
His tone was gentler than before and Nell nodded. Leaning forward, she tried to catch Joanne’s eye.
‘Joanne,’ she said softly. ‘We don’t think you did anything wrong. We think the killer has involved you in this by mistake. I know you want to avoid all mention of it and pretend it didn’t happen. And I understand you don’t trust us, but if you know anything at all about that night, please tell us.’
Nell thought Joanne was about to cry, but the woman surprised her by wiping her face with the palms of her hands before sitting upright.
‘Someone did call here.’ She ignored the questioning look from her husband. ‘I don’t know who it was. They hung up before I could speak to them.’
‘The thing is, Joanne, we know the call lasted three minutes. So, are you telling me the call was just three minutes of silence?’
Joanne opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Ian stared at Nell, his arm still around his wife.
‘Can you tell me what relevance this has to anything?’ he asked.
‘The killer called the victim and one other person – that other person was your wife. I’d say that was pretty relevant, wouldn’t you?’
When he didn’t answer, she turned back to Joanne. ‘Was the woman who rang you called Mary?’
Joanne’s head shot up. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Why don’t you answer that?’ Nell replied. ‘Do you know someone called Mary?’
‘No.’
‘Was the woman who contacted you on the night Connor was murdered called Mary?’ Nell repeated.
‘No.’
‘Are you working with Mary?’
Joanne gave a small laugh. ‘Working for what?’
‘I don’t know, I’d hoped you’d tell me that. Maybe you want to frame Ms Graham for Connor’s murder?’
‘No.’ Her tone was one Nell imagined she’d learned in prison: hard, defensive.
‘But you do want to pay back Ms Graham for what you consider a miscarriage of justice?’
Ian opened his mouth, but Joanne put her hand on his arm, silencing him.
‘I want Ms Graham to pay for what she did and why she did it. I don’t want to do that by framing her for a crime she didn’t commit. How would that be any better than what she did to me?’
‘So why did she do it?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Why did Ms Graham frame you for the murder of your child?’
Joanne winced as if Nell had slapped her.
‘You’d have to ask her that.’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Because she found proof, Sergeant, proof that gave her crimes away.’
Nell felt adrenalin kick in. ‘Crimes?’
When Joanne remained stoically silent, Paul took over.
‘Joanne, what did Mary say to you on the phone?’
Joanne hesitated before answering, clearly deciding whether to admit her role or stick to denial. She chose the former.
‘She said nothing. I asked if it was her, but she didn’t reply.’
‘But you thought it was her?’ Paul asked.
/> ‘Yes. She’s done it before.’
Nell made a mental note to get Carla to check further back on Joanne’s phone bills.
‘So you’ve spoken to Mary before?’ Paul continued.
‘No. But I have spoken to her husband. And I think Mary has called me. I get odd late-night calls when no one speaks.’
‘You never told me that,’ Ian said, lowering himself onto the seat next to her. Nell held up her hand.
‘You’ve spoken to Mary’s husband?’
Joanne looked frustrated she had to explain. ‘Mary isn’t yet ready to speak to me, so her husband does.’
‘What were the conversations about?’
‘Just chatty, asking how I was, that sort of thing.’
‘And you contacted them?’
‘Yes.’
Paul glanced at Nell, who nodded for him to continue.
‘And why was that?’
‘Because Mary and her husband saved me – they’re the reason I’m alive.’
Nell couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it coming.
‘Joanne,’ Nell said, ‘did Mary save you from the beach?’
Joanne looked at her. ‘Yes.’
‘Was your mum called Aoife?’
‘Yes. I just wanted to find out who had saved me, so I searched all the papers for clues of an abandoned baby around the time I was born, but the only thing I could find was a reference to a missing baby. I did look everywhere for more information and finally found a mention of a policeman who had looked after me the night I was born. I traced him to Thames Valley but when I contacted him and asked about Mary he explained she wasn’t ready to acknowledge her role in my mum’s death, so we were biding our time, trying to coax her to face up to her past. And mine.’
‘Joanne,’ Nell leaned in again, keen to get her full attention, ‘did you collude with Mary to kill Connor O’Brian?’
‘No.’ She was assertive now. ‘I had no reason to hurt him.’
‘But Mary did?’ When Joanne didn’t reply, Nell glanced at Paul. ‘Joanne, I’m going to have to take you in, do you understand that? There is a lot we need to go over and I think it’s best we do that at the station.’
‘No!’ Ian’s face flushed with anger. ‘I won’t let you do this to her again. I promised to care for her, to look after her, and so far, thanks to you, I’ve failed. But not this time.’ He stood. Paul did too.
‘Please take a seat, Mr Fowler.’
‘No. This time I’m coming out fighting, so no, you may not “take her in” unless you have a damn good reason to do so.’
‘Would accessory to murder be good enough for you?’
‘My wife hasn’t murdered anyone – not Connor, and most definitely not our child.’
Nell hadn’t wanted it to, but she’d guessed it would end like this, and if they were going to continue to obstruct the investigation she really had no choice. ‘Joanne Fowler, I’m arresting you for—’
‘NO!’ Ian launched towards her. His hand connected with her cheek, but before she could react, Paul had him on the floor. ‘Ian Fowler, I am arresting you for attacking a police officer—’
Joanne let out a howl. ‘Not again, not again not again not again …’ She began to hit her hands against her temples, harder and harder, until Nell grabbed her wrists.
‘Stop.’
Joanne struggled against her, both their arms in the air. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ Her face was wet, tears and mucus merging to form a shiny film. ‘Please, I just wanted to find my family.’
Nell felt Joanne’s arms go slack, so she loosened her hold, pulling them downwards to Joanne’s waist. She spoke gently, as if to a child.
‘Let’s go to the station and I’m sure we can clear it all up. We just need to find Mary, Joanne, before she hurts anyone else. Before she hurts you.’
Joanne was shaking her head, looking at the floor, and Nell doubted she’d heard her.
Fifty-three
Eyre sipped at his coffee and continued. ‘I don’t remember the officer’s name, I’m afraid, but the boy was conscientious, if a little too empathetic for my liking. Seemed to have developed an emotional attachment to Mary, you could see that straight off at the scene. Might have been his way of dealing with the trauma of the event, but even so …’ Eyre trailed off.
‘Do you know if he’s still on the force?’ Carla figured if he was new to the job at the time of Aoife’s killing, there might be a chance he was still on active duty. And if he was, maybe he’d know what happened to Mary.
‘No, and that’s probably why I can’t remember his name. He left soon after the case went to court. Gave his evidence, then transferred to another force.’
‘Which one?’
‘No idea I’m afraid.’
HR would know.
‘Was there anyone else on the beach that night, anyone who might have taken the baby for Mary?’ As Carla saw it, between Mary leaving the beach and meeting the unknown officer, she’d managed to hide the baby, which meant if it wasn’t him, someone else must have helped her.
‘Not that we documented, but remember we weren’t on the scene until at least twelve minutes after she’d left the beach.’
‘Yes, but she met your officer much sooner than that, didn’t she?’ Carla said.
‘Yes, three to five minutes, if that.’
‘So it’s just impossible it was anyone other than him who helped her hide the baby.’ It didn’t help, but it closed a blind alley.
‘If it was hidden,’ Bremer said. ‘We are assuming the child lived, but what if Waites got rid of it while Mary was running for help?’
‘Impossible,’ Eyre said. ‘He wouldn’t have had a chance to bury it anywhere other than the beach, and we searched every last inch of it.’
‘Impossible to search every last bit, though?’
‘True,’ Eyre conceded, ‘but he’d have had to dig pretty far down to hide it from us, and we saw no sign anywhere of digging, other than at Aoife’s makeshift grave. Plus,’ Eyre added, ‘the tide has a marvellous way of revealing secrets of the sand, and it never has. Not to my knowledge, anyway.’
‘So we’re back to the baby being alive when Mary left the beach and our unknown officer colluding with her to hide it,’ Carla said. ‘What was the timeline between him meeting Mary and calling for help?’
‘He said he met her, rushed her to the bin when he saw Waites coming up the steps, and then ran back to his patrol car. He estimated four minutes between meeting her and radioing in.’
Carla wished Eyre was as good at names as he was at the rest of the case details. But then a timeline would have been pored over time and again; a junior officer, not so much.
‘But we’ve only got his word for that?’ Bremer asked. ‘The time he took.’
‘Yes. It could be he took longer, but I doubt it. We found Waites near to the scene, and even taking into account his size slowing him down, he’d only managed a distance of about ten minutes.’
‘And Waites never admitted there was a baby?’
‘No, both he and Mary denied any knowledge of it.’
Bremer looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder why she saved it.’
‘Proof,’ replied Eyre.
‘Proof?’
‘Yes. She’d been abused by this man who’d killed her best friend in front of her. The baby was proof of what he’d done and taking it was like some sort of insurance policy.’
‘But that would require careful thought, wouldn’t it?’ Carla said, ‘and I can’t imagine a fifteen-year-old being that savvy moments after her best friend was killed. Maybe she wanted to save it because she loved Aoife.’
The men shared a glance but Carla didn’t care. Something was irritating her, something she couldn’t remember, but which she had a feeling mattered to the case.
‘When did you say the officer left Hampshire Police?’
‘Right after the case went to court, so about a year.’
‘And you say he’d been in the police for abo
ut two years by that point?’
Eyre nodded, watching her carefully.
‘And his age at the time he transferred?’
‘I’d say around twenty-one.’
Carla stood. ‘Can I use your office?’
Bremer looked questioningly at her, but when she didn’t reply he said, ‘Sure.’
Carla grabbed her notebook and with an apologetic smile at Eyre, went into Bremer’s office and closed the door.
She rang HR. Three short minutes later, she heard what she’d hoped against hope she wouldn’t.
‘And you’re sure? He transferred from Hampshire Police?’
‘Absolutely sure. The third of September, 1984.’
It was Gerry. She’d remembered him telling her he was lucky he was only going to have to serve twenty-eight years to get his pension and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask why not the usual thirty. But now she knew. He’d transferred from Hampshire Police, bringing his pension with him, at precisely the time Mary had gone missing.
Gerry was the officer on the beach. The age fitted – Gerry was coming up to fifty-five, so at the time of the murder thirty-five years ago he would have been twenty. Then she remembered the phone call to Joanne.
Joanne who was thirty-five. Joanne who was adopted because she’d been abandoned.
Carla had no idea what to do. She’d kept the phone call a secret and now that call was the one thing to link Joanne to the O’Brian murder. And what about Gerry? The man who’d helped her so much over the years, and not just in work but in life, too. He’d been the first person she’d told when Baz asked her to marry him and the first she’d confided in over her fears of having a baby. She put her head in her hands. She couldn’t lose another person from her life, not now, not after Baz had gone.
Bremer knocked on the door and opened it. ‘You looked like you had a lead there?’
Carla looked up, startled. ‘Not sure, still firming it up.’
Bremer looked interested. ‘OK, I’m going to take Mr Eyre to his car. Let me know when I get back.’
When he’d gone she just sat and stared at the desk, trying to ignore the conclusion she’d already drawn.
When I Lost You Page 21