‘Who’s going to do all this?’ asked Anni.
Phil sighed. ‘I wish we still had Clayton. The Birdies should be here soon. I’ll make a couple of calls. Get all available ranks here and working on it.’
Marina looked over at the press once more. Flashbulbs popped in her direction as she did so. ‘Should have brought Ben Fenwick after all,’ she said to Phil. ‘He could have kept them quiet.’
‘I suppose he does have his uses,’ said Phil.
‘We’re going to need to tell them something,’ said Anni.
Phil nodded. Looked up. ‘Would you two do it?’
Anni and Marina exchanged surprised glances.
‘Aw, boss,’ said Anni, ‘that’s not my thing. Come on . . .’
‘You’ve had media training, you can do it,’ said Phil, warming to his theme. ‘Both of you. Together. Say what’s happened - don’t give details - then if you, Marina, could look at the camera and make some kind of plea to . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Whoever’s got the baby. Ask them to give it back, ask them to come forward and we’ll help them, that kind of thing.’
‘You think that’ll help?’ asked Marina.
‘It won’t hurt.’ Phil sighed, and Marina saw just how much stress he was under. ‘I know it’s not what you signed up for, but if anyone knows the words that’ll hit this person’s buttons, it’s you.’
She just looked at him.
‘Please.’ He glanced over at the news crews, then back to Marina and Anni. ‘It’s national now, not local. We need as much help as we can get.’
Marina shook her head, looked at Anni. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I will if you will,’ said Anni.
‘Thank you,’ said Phil.
The two women walked over to where the press were waiting, Anni complaining that if she’d known she was going to be on TV, she would have remembered her make-up. Phil watched them go. He couldn’t hear what they said, but the audience seemed to lap it up. Anni was surprisingly poised, he thought. And Marina sincere. He noticed that she kept touching her stomach as she spoke, in that new nervous habit of hers. Then they were finished and walking back towards him. Flashbulbs popping once again.
‘Well done,’ he said.
Marina smiled. ‘Thank you. I can now add media star to my CV,’ she said with a grim smile.
‘Yeah,’ said Anni. ‘Judge on X Factor next.’
Marina smiled once more. It covered the weariness and the tension.
Phil looked away, but she kept scrutinising him. His hand went to his chest, clutching it as if in sudden pain. She knew he was hiding it from Anni and his team, but she caught it. She knew what it was too. A panic attack.
She felt suddenly protective of Phil as he stopped rubbing, took a few deep breaths.
‘Come on then,’ he said, turning back to them. ‘Let’s get started. Time’s running out for that baby.’
He turned, walked away towards the mobile incident room. Marina caught up with him.
‘Thanks,’ he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead, his jaw set. ‘I owe you one.’
Marina didn’t reply. Just smiled.
55
The baby was quiet. Finally. Hester had picked it up, held it, shushed it. Rocked it from side to side. The motion must have made it sleepy. It closed its eyes. Eventually it had woken up and wanted feeding. She had given it milk. It had taken it. Hester felt good. Proud. Like she could cope.
Now the baby was sleeping in its cot. Hester had the TV on. Hester loved the TV. Especially the adverts. The stuff in between them she often didn’t understand. She saw people doing things and heard laughter at the result but didn’t know what was supposed to be funny. She watched people being serious with each other but couldn’t work out what they were so worried about. She heard singers and dancers getting whooping applause and failed to see what the audience was getting excited about. You had to phone in and vote for the best one. She couldn’t work out who that was. But sometimes it was the other way round: things that were supposed to be serious she laughed at. Things that were supposed to be funny she found serious. But the singers and dancers she still didn’t get, still didn’t know what was supposed to be good or bad.
She was watching the news. She had started watching it when her first baby arrived. And got hooked. Photos of happy women on the screen would cut to a reporter standing in front of a crime scene. She knew it was a crime scene because the police were always there. And the reporter said so, in a voice that didn’t smile.
Hester knew better. They weren’t crime scenes. Birthing rooms, her husband called them. Where the surrogates - her surrogates - had given up their babies for her. So she could be a mother. She felt a tingle inside herself when she watched. She picked a word that the reporter used - random. She frowned. It wasn’t random, it was her list. Pinned to the kitchen wall, the ones already used crossed out, the ones still to go unmarked. And there were lots more to go. She shook her head, frowned again. Some people . . .
She expected to see the same policeman again. The tall, smooth-looking one, with his good suit and his neat hair. Handsome, she thought, in a way. Then felt guilty at the thought: there should be no other man for her but her husband. She never listened to his words, just watched the shape of his mouth as he spoke. It had lines at the sides, tense little lines that seemed to be increasing every time she saw him. She smiled. It was becoming a familiar little ritual. Comforting, in its way.
But this time was different. He wasn’t there. Hester stopped smiling. She didn’t want that. Instead there was this black girl with a harsh voice that Hester instinctively didn’t like, and someone with her. Another woman. Young, attractive. The black girl stood back and let her speak. Hester felt anger build within her. Who was this woman? What did she want? Where was the smooth policeman with the nice voice? She was talking, leaning forward and saying something serious. Hester was too angry to listen to the words.
But the woman kept going, talking and looking. And Hester felt she was looking right at her.
‘What are you lookin’ at?’ she shouted.
At the other end of the room, the baby made a noise.
Hester didn’t care. She felt uncomfortable with the woman staring right at her. ‘Why are you lookin’ at me?’ Her voice was louder. The baby moaned, thrashed.
Hester wasn’t stupid. She knew the woman wasn’t really looking through the TV at her. She knew they couldn’t do that. Or thought they couldn’t. But it still didn’t feel good. She tried to calm down, listen to what the woman was saying. Maybe when she did that, when she heard the words, she could get the woman out of her head.
‘. . . implore you. Please. If you have this baby or if you think you know the person who does, then get in touch with us. We urgently need to talk to you. We have professional care waiting. Please. We just need to talk to you.’
The woman’s face got even more serious. Like she was saying something and she desperately wanted to be believed. Like when Hester told a lie and knew it was a lie but knew it would be worse to admit it.
‘Please.’ The woman hardly blinked. ‘For the baby’s sake. For your sake. You must be hurting. Please. Come forward. And let us help you.’
Then it went back to the reporter.
Hester thought she would be feeling anger at the woman’s words. But she didn’t know what she felt. It was like the anger she had expected to feel was in there but was getting churned around with some other stuff that she didn’t know the name of so that it wouldn’t come out properly. In fact, the other stuff felt like it was going to come out more. She didn’t know what it was but she didn’t like it. It made her feel sad. And that wasn’t good.
So not knowing what to do and wanting to get rid of the feeling, she screamed at the TV. And kept on screaming.
The baby woke up. Hester felt it all in her head, couldn’t tell who was screaming the most. Eventually she stopped, leaving just the sound of the baby. Hester was breathing hard, like she had just been for a long run or worke
d outside in the yard. And the baby was still screaming.
He was watching the TV alongside Hester when the woman came on. Speaking to the camera, looking serious. Begging whoever had the baby to give it up. At first he was surprised. He recognised her but couldn’t think from where . . . then he got it. Leisure World. The yoga class. Same as the last one. He smiled. She was pregnant too.
That gave him something to think about. Something to consider . . .
The baby kept crying.
Shut that fuckin’ noise up, or I will . . .
The woman had gone from the TV and the news was on to something else. Hester got up, went to the baby, picked it up, looked at it. Feeling not anger or love but other things. Like when the woman had been talking. Things she didn’t know the name of. Things she hated the feel of.
She sighed, knew what her job was. What her job would be.
To find ways to stop the baby crying.
56
Phil sat on the sofa, Marina next to him. In front of them sat Erin O’Connor.
Phil could see why a man like Graeme Eades would fall for her. She sat curled in an armchair, her legs tucked underneath her, long-stemmed glass of white wine in her hand. Her body was as warm-looking and inviting as her eyes were not. Like twin adding machines. But Phil doubted Graeme Eades had looked at her eyes much. Mid-twenties, he guessed, her long dark hair pulled back, wearing pink velour jogging bottoms and matching hoodie with a tight white T-shirt underneath. The tracksuit said she had been working out. Taking care of her greatest asset, he thought.
She sipped at her white wine. Phil and Marina hadn’t been offered any. The house was small, a two-up two-down terrace in New Town. It was pleasantly furnished but didn’t feel lived in. Phil got the impression that Erin O’Connor didn’t intend to be living here, or anywhere like it, much longer.
Phil had got her phone number from Graeme Eades. It had been a simple matter of calling, explaining who he was, getting her address, then going round. He didn’t tell her what it was about, only that it was an important matter.
Marina sat next to him. He had intended driving her home, but Erin O’Connor’s was on the way. He didn’t mind her listening in, since she was part of the investigation. Marina, however, didn’t seem all that comfortable. She sat on the edge of the sofa, looking round the room. No doubt, thought Phil, sizing its owner up, making assumptions. Hopefully ones that would be able to help them.
‘So what’s this about, then?’ Erin O’Connor was trying to look composed and nonplussed, but failing. An unexpected night-time visit from the police would do that, thought Phil. There was tension in the set of her jaw. Her voice was well modulated, as if she had taken elocution lessons to obliterate any trace of an Essex accent.
Phil leaned forward, confidential but professional. He felt weary as he did so, his muscles complaining. The stress of the day and the aftershock of the panic attack was making itself felt. He needed a bath. A long, hot bath. And a large glass of whisky. Something expensive and peaty. Or a good bourbon. He blinked. Concentrate.
‘Well,’ he said, pulling all his focus together on Erin O’Connor, ‘I couldn’t say much on the phone, but I believe you’re familiar with Graeme Eades.’
Erin O’Connor stiffened, the wine glass halting on the way to her lips. ‘Yes,’ she said, her face as blank a mask as she could make it, ‘I am. He’s my boss at work.’
Phil nodded. ‘More than your boss, I believe.’
She held her wine glass so tight that Phil thought she might be wearing her drink before too long. She must have reached the same conclusion, as she put it down, clasped her arms tightly round her body. ‘What’s this about?’
Cut to the chase, thought Phil. She can take it, she’s a big girl. Very big girl, he mentally added. ‘We believe you spent the afternoon with him at the Holiday Inn.’
‘So? What if I did? It’s not illegal.’Then, before Phil could say anything more, ‘Do I need to get a lawyer?’
Phil shrugged. ‘You tell me. But while you were with Mr Eades this afternoon, someone broke into his house and attacked his wife.’
Her jaw dropped. Phil was treated to the sight of some expensive dental work and wondered whether Graeme Eades had paid for that too. ‘Are you . . . but I was with Graeme . . . do you think I did it?’
Her Essex accent had started to creep back, Phil noticed.
‘No.’
‘You think I know who did it?’
‘Do you?’
‘No!’ Her accent had returned completely. ‘Course not. Oh my God . . . Did they . . . what happened? Did they get away with much?’
Phil knew Marina would have noticed that remark. Not asking whether Mrs Eades was all right, but was there anything taken. From that, he knew that Erin didn’t have anything to tell them. It would just be a matter of sorting out timelines. Ruling out rather than ruling in.
‘Robbery wasn’t the motive, we don’t think,’ he said. ‘She was murdered.’
Her hand flew to her mouth. Stayed there. Her eyes widened. ‘Oh my God . . .’
‘I just need to know what time you were with Mr Eades from and what time you left.’
‘Oh my God . . .’
‘Please.’
‘Oh . . .’ Erin O’Connor became thoughtful. Before she spoke, her eyes narrowed. ‘Am I going to lose my job for this?’
‘That’s not for me to say,’ said Phil. He had had enough of this woman. ‘You’ll have to talk to Graeme Eades about that.’
‘Oh . . .’
‘What time were you there from, please?’
She thought. ‘About half one, two-ish, I think. I left, we left, about five. Something like that.’
‘Can anyone verify that? Did you check out?’
She shrugged. ‘Graeme paid for the room. It was all done upfront. When we were finished we just walked out.’
Phil blinked again, stifled a yawn. He shouldn’t be doing this. He was too tired. A voice came from his side.
‘Would you describe Graeme as your boyfriend, Erin?’
Marina. Her voice soft and gentle. No longer uncomfortable. Phil didn’t look at her, kept his eyes on Erin. Waited to see what her response would be.
She frowned again, took a sip of wine. She seemed more at ease with Marina. ‘I suppose . . . we’re . . .’
‘Lovers?’ suggested Marina.
She nodded. ‘Yeah. That’s it. Lovers.’
Marina smiled. ‘Seems an odd match. I mean, you’re young and very attractive . . .’
Did Phil notice Erin O’Connor blush?
‘And Graeme’s . . . well. I met him.’ Marina smiled. ‘I would have thought you could have done better.’
‘He’s my boss,’ she said, as if that explained it. And in a way, thought Phil, it did.
‘Does he have lots of girlfriends?’ said Marina. ‘Lovers who he’s the boss of?’
‘I don’t know. He said he doesn’t.’
‘Did he promise to . . .’ Marina shrugged, as if the question had just come to her. ‘I don’t know . . . advance your career?’
‘That’s exactly it!’ Erin O’Connor almost shouted as she jumped enthusiastically on the suggestion. ‘He said I would get promotion if I slept with him.’
‘And did you?’
‘He promised I would. He was going to do it. Start the ball rolling tomorrow, he said.’
Marina shrugged. ‘I think all that’s changed now, don’t you?’
Erin nodded. Then she became reflective. Phil looked at Marina, impressed. Marina stifled a small smile. Phil knew they would get no more from Erin O’Connor. He knew she would just move on to the next man who fell for her charms. He made to stand up. Then Erin O’Connor spoke.
‘You know what he said?’ There was a bitterness in her tone, as if she was realising not only that she wouldn’t be getting her promotion through Graeme Eades, but that she had wasted all that time with him when she could have targeted someone else.
Phil stopped moving, sta
yed where he was. ‘What? What did he say?’
‘Today. This afternoon. He was . . . when we were . . . doing stuff. And I . . . I asked him if it was okay. If he liked what I was doing. And d’you know what he said?’
Marina and Phil waited, knew it was a rhetorical question.
‘He said, at least I don’t have to pay for it any more.’
‘Charming,’ said Marina.
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