Hester looked down at the baby, began shushing and soothing it. The baby’s crying began to gradually subside.
Anni edged a couple of centimetres forward.
‘You’re good with babies, Hester. Very good. Now why don’t you put it down, yeah? Then we can talk . . .’
Hester frowned, still clutching the baby tightly to her. Rocking it from side to side. ‘Wh-what about? Why . . .’
‘You’re out here on your own, you’ve got a baby to look after, you need help, Hester . . .’
‘I’ve got my . . . my husband, he’ll . . . he’s away, he’s . . . got to come back . . .’
‘Your husband. Right.’The last thing they wanted was for the husband to return while Hester was holding the baby. ‘Listen, Hester, don’t worry about your husband now. He’s not here. Just think about what’s best for you and the baby. I can help you, Hester. Give you the support that you and the baby need.’
Another step forward.
‘Come on, Hester, let’s talk, yeah? Just two women together.’
She risked another step. Hester, still rocking the baby, had reacted when she had said ‘two women’. Clearly that was the right thing to say. Anni kept going.
‘Look,’ she pointed at the team behind her, ‘don’t worry about them. They’re men. They don’t understand. Guns and that, shouting, that’s how they respond to things.’ She turned back to Hester, looked her directly in the eye. ‘Women are different, aren’t we? We know how to talk properly, without all that. So come on.’ Another step forward. ‘Let’s talk. Just you and me.’
Hester looked between Anni, the baby and the tooled-up task force. It seemed, from the confusion in her eyes, that she genuinely didn’t know what to do. She kept rocking the baby from side to side. It was silent now.
Anni risked another step forward. She was almost level with her now.
‘Come on, Hester, you must be tired standing there. Are you tired?’
Hester thought about it, nodded.
‘Thought so.’ Anni held out her arms. ‘Let me put the baby down, then we can talk. Properly.You and me.Yeah?’
Anni smiled. Hoping she looked trustworthy and honest.
Hester looked at the baby and then at Anni, her world having shrunk down to that choice. She began to release her grip on the baby, to hand it over.
Anni’s heart was racing, her hands shaking. She hoped it didn’t show too much.
‘Come on, Hester. Let me take the baby and we can have a chat . . .’
Hester, with the simplicity of trust that a child would have, hesitantly stretched out her hands, the baby held firmly in them.
Anni stepped up close to her, smiling all the while. She placed her hands beneath the baby, took her gently from Hester.
She held the baby tightly to her. She looked up, saw Hester’s face. Expectant, waiting. Trusting. It really was like betraying a child, she thought.
She nodded to Phil, who gave the order. Hester was rushed. Grabbed by the task force, pushed to the ground. She let out a cry of rage that turned into a wail of sorrow.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Anni, but her words were lost in the noise.
She carried the baby away from Hester, right to the back of the house. Phil followed her.
‘Well done,’ he said.
‘Get the paramedics,’ said Anni, without turning round. ‘I’m going outside.’
And she left the house, clutching the baby to her chest. Still not turning round.
Not allowing anyone to see the tears on her face.
81
‘We’ve searched the whole house, sir,’ said one of the uniforms. ‘No sign of Marina Esposito. No sign of anyone. But we found this.’ He handed Phil a piece of paper. ‘It was nailed to the wall in the kitchen.’
Phil looked at it. Couldn’t believe his eyes. They were all there. Lisa King, Susie Evans, Claire Fielding, Caroline Eades. Other names followed them. Beside each name was a date. Due dates, thought Phil. But it was the name at the bottom of the list that concerned him most.
Marina Esposito, it said in handwriting different from but no better than the earlier entries. And next to it, from the coppers.
Phil tried to keep panic, desperation from his voice. He addressed the uniform again. ‘You’ve looked everywhere. What about basements? Lofts? Anything like that?’
The uniform shook her head. ‘Nothing. We’ve checked.’
‘Outbuildings?’
‘Checked them too. Apart from some chickens and pigs, there’s no one else here.’
‘Keep looking.’
Phil moved swiftly outside. Hester was just about to be escorted away. He ran to the van, confronted Hester. The policemen holding her didn’t let her go.
‘Where is she?’ he said. ‘Where’ve you put her?’
Hester just stared at him, mouth hanging slackly open, fear in her eyes.
Phil brandished the list before her face. ‘Here,’ he said, stabbing the name with his finger, ‘Marina Esposito. Here. Her name. Now where is she? Where’ve you put her?’
Hester tried to back away from him, terrified. She started whimpering. Phil kept going.
‘Where is she? Where is she?’
Hester cowered away from him, turning her face into the arms of one of the officers holding her. ‘No . . . no . . . don’t, don’t hurt me . . . go away, go away . . .’
‘Where is she . . .’ Phil realised that his words weren’t working. Hester didn’t know.
It wasn’t her. She didn’t know.
He turned away. ‘Oh God . . .’
They bundled her into the police van.
Phil stood there watching her go, his heart as black, dark and heavy as the Wrabness night.
He was lost.
Marina crept along, bent low, walking slowly. The light was getting brighter as she reached its source, the shadows lengthening, flickering as they came round the corners. It was accompanied by noise. Rhythmic pounding. Hammering.
She pressed herself in tight against the wall, gripped the screwdriver firmly in her hand. Risked a look round the corner.
The walls were lined with shelves containing canned food, cartons of milk, bottles of water. It was like a survivalist’s larder. In the centre of the space, a figure was kneeling down, hammering nails into wood. Marina looked closer, tried to work out what was being made.
There were huge squares of wood, metal mesh. The wood was being turned into frames, the mesh covering the frames. Marina was chilled by something more than just cold. She knew what was being made.
A cage. A cage for her.
She gave a gasp. Involuntary, unplanned. Cursing herself for doing it.
The figure stopped hammering, looked up.
He smiled. It wasn’t pleasant.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Welcome to your new home.’
82
The baby had been taken to hospital in an ambulance. The paramedics had given her a cursory examination and decided she was quite well, considering, but really needed full nursing care. Graeme Eades would be contacted.
Anni was sitting on the step, looking out towards the beach, her coat pulled tight round her, a blanket over that.
Phil sat down next to her.
‘Hey,’ he said.
She nodded, kept staring straight ahead.
‘Well done in there,’ he said.
She sighed. ‘I lied.’
‘You did what you had to do. What was best.’
She shook her head. ‘I lied to a vulnerable, damaged human being. I just made someone who’s lonely and fucked in the head feel even worse about themselves.’
‘You did your job, Anni.’
She didn’t reply, just continued to stare.
‘You coming back inside?’
She didn’t reply at first. ‘I think I’ll stay here a bit longer. If you don’t mind, boss.’
‘Okay.’ Phil stood up, looked round. Took in the desolation of the place once again. He looked across the field the way they had c
ome, passing his eyes over the caravan site. Who would want to come here for their holidays? he thought, not for the first time.
Something jarred within him.
The caravan site.
‘Anni . . .’
She looked up.
‘When you checked the details on the Croft family, didn’t it say something about owning a caravan site?’
Anni looked up, startled out of her reflective mood. ‘Yeah, yes it did . . .’ She stood up, joined him in looking. ‘D’you think . . .’
‘Worth a try,’ he said. ‘Tell the rest of them where I’m going. If I find anything I’ll come back, let you know.’
He picked up his torch, started hurrying across the field.
Marina started to back away from the man. She held the screwdriver out in front of her.
‘Don’t . . .’ Her throat felt dry, parched. Her voice small, croaking. ‘Don’t come any nearer . . . I’ll . . . I’ll stab you . . .’ The words sounded unconvincing, even to her.
The man smiled again. Shook his head. ‘No you won’t.’ His voice sounded like he looked: rough, callused, feral and powerful. He was tall, his body thick-limbed and bulky. Dressed in old suit trousers, braces and a once-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he was sweating and dirty. Work boots on his feet, an old, festering overcoat on the floor beside him. He was bald, but his thick, powerful arms were covered in hair. He had a large stomach protruding over his trousers and straining his shirt buttons, but it looked as solid as granite. He turned, giving Marina his full attention. His eyes looked like dark, stagnant, treacherous pools, his unshaven face red like bad blood. He smiled, his teeth yellow and stained.
‘It’s . . . it’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one who’s been taking all the . . . all the babies . . .’
‘That idiot bitch of mine. She wanted them. Wouldn’t fuckin’ shut up about it. On an’ on . . . so I had to. Kept her quiet.’ He smiled again. It reached those stagnant eyes. ‘Can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, though.’
‘So . . .’ She kept backing away as she spoke. ‘Why . . . why am I here?’
He pointed to her stomach. ‘What’s that you got growin’ inside you? Eh?’
Marina felt her legs weaken.
He laughed. Deep and rough, it sounded like the prelude to an animal roar. ‘Can’t keep goin’ with her any more, can I? Not when your lot are on to me.’ His voice dropped, became cold and sharp. ‘An’ I’m not givin’ up. I might have to hide for a bit. Go underground. Keep out of their way.’ Another smile. ‘An’ I’ll need some company down here. Then when the kid’s born we’ll go up again. Find somewhere else.You an’ me an’ the kid. Bring it up properly.’
Marina shook her head. She could barely comprehend what she was hearing. It seemed so unreal. A nightmare. ‘But . . . but why me?’
‘’Cause I saw you.’
‘On TV?’
‘Yeah. An’ outside the leisure centre. Filed you away. I’ve had my eye on you. Knew you’d come in handy.’
‘They’ll . . . they’ll be looking for me . . .’
‘Look all they want, they’ll never find you.’
Marina stopped moving, stared.
‘An’ you won’t escape neither. There’s no way out for you. Not down here. So get used to it.You’re gonna be here for a long time.’ He picked up the hammer. ‘I’m gonna get this done. Your new cage. Then you an’ me are gonna get to know each other properly.’
And with that he turned his back to her, knelt before the frame, started hammering.
Marina’s heart was beating so fast she felt it could grow wings and escape her body. That was it, she thought. That was it. No Hollywood rescue. No escape. And Phil. No Phil. Despite his promises, despite what he’d told her. How he would never let her down again, always be there for her. He wouldn’t be. This was it. For the rest of her life.
She crumpled into a heap.
Started sobbing.
83
Phil reached the brick wall, shone his torch past it into the caravan site. He stepped off the dirt track, on to the grass. Looked round.
There weren’t many vans. And each of them was in darkness. He stood still, listening. He could hear distant movement from his team in Hillfield, but there was no movement from the site. He shone the torch round again, settling on the caravan tucked in behind the gate nearest the wall. It was the one he had looked at on the way down. Filthy, old, rusted and mildewed. The others didn’t look like anything special, but this one was completely uninviting.
Phil stepped nearer to it. And tripped over something.
He dropped the torch, beam shining back at him, bent down to pick it up. As he did so, he tried to see what had caused him to trip. He ran the beam along the ground, found a raised edge that he traced back to the brick wall. He knelt down, examining it. It was the remains of another wall, knocked down but not completely.
He turned in the other direction, followed the raised line with the torch. It led to the middle of the site, turned left. He walked along it, following. There were raised areas all the way up the field. Like the grass had grown over foundations of houses that were once there.
Phil thought. Something about owning houses . . . He remembered. Laurence Croft had owned a row of houses that had been knocked down and the land turned into the caravan site. It figured, he thought. Judging from Croft’s DIY legacy in the house, he would have expected a job like this.
He turned back to the mildewed caravan. Something wasn’t right about it. The others had their Calor Gas bottles hooked up outside; this one didn’t. The others had their curtains open; this one had them closed. And he really couldn’t imagine anyone coming to stay in it. So why was it there?
He moved in closer, shone the torch over it. He bent down to look at the step beneath the door. There were tracks in the grass, muddy tracks, like someone had been dragging something. Or someone. The tracks led up the step and into the caravan. Heart thumping, Phil turned the handle. It opened.
He pulled the door open slowly, kept his head back, his body out of the way, not knowing what might jump out at him. He shone the torch in. Held himself ready to fight.
Nothing. He swung the torch round. Dirt everywhere, seating with rotting covers, work surfaces with chipped and peeling Formica, a table with a broken leg, filthy curtains. But nothing else. No one else. The caravan was empty.
Phil stepped inside. It wasn’t just the dirt, it was the smell. Like something that had been closed up too long. A tomb. He looked round, swinging the torch, taking it in. It definitely wasn’t a holiday home. But it had some purpose, he was sure of that. He just had to find out what it was.
He shone the torch round the cupboards, under the table, on the chairs, on the floor. And found it.
The muddy track marks led to a square in the centre of the floor. It was of matching carpet to the rest of the van, but had been cut out. Phil knelt down, rolled it back. A square had been cut out of the floor, hinged, then replaced. A trapdoor.
He knew what he should do. Call the others. Get a team over here, get that trapdoor open. See what was in there. But he couldn’t leave it to them. He had made a promise to Marina. If she was here, then it didn’t matter. He would have found her, one way or the other.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the trapdoor.
It wasn’t what he had been expecting. It wasn’t a crawl space or a shallow grave. It was a tunnel leading downwards. A wooden ladder was clamped to the side, a thick black cable fastened to the opposite side of the shaft. Electricity, Phil thought. Whatever - whoever - was down there, they had rigged up power.
He shone his torch along the floor, found a ridge in the carpet where the cable snaked in. Must be a hidden generator somewhere, he thought.
He looked down the hole again. It was dark down there, pitch black.
He should call the others over, let them lead the way.
He looked down again.
And swung his legs over, began climbing down.
8
4
‘Shut up! Fuckin’ shut up! If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a whingein’ bitch!’
Marina’s kidnapper was standing over her, anger blazing in his eyes. He had walked towards her, exuding an almost primal energy, bent down and smacked her across the face.
Philip Brennan 01 - The Surrogate Page 37