by Mick Bose
“Of course.” Suzy stands up and puts Margaret carefully in the cot, then hugs me. “I really can’t thank you enough.”
I say goodbye, and follow DI Ingram out of the door. I don’t see Eva anywhere. I would like to see her before I leave but the police are waiting to give me a lift. She might be in the loo. I will text her later.
CHAPTER 10
There isn’t a police station nearby, so Ingram gives me directions to Wimbledon. She arrives before I do, and is there to buzz open the electric barrier to the car park. She checks me into the front reception of the station. The place is cold and stark. A few hard faces turn to look at me, all of them men. A sergeant is leaning over the counter, resting his meaty hands on it. He looks at me with interest. The green plastic seats are scuffed and worn, the blue lino on the floor has scratch marks on it. This place is alien, strange, and it makes me shiver.
I follow Ingram through the doors. She has her ear on a mobile phone now, and is talking to someone in a low voice that I can’t pick up. We come to a room with a green door that says Interview Room 4, and we go in. I notice the rectangular glass window on the wall opposite as I enter. There is a table with two chairs on either side, and a camera on the wall above it, with a red light that blinks.
“Have a seat. Would you like a glass of water?” Ingram says. I nod.
A side door opens and Rockford steps in. The low ceiling is not far off the top of his head. His curly, black hair is glossed down, and it gleams. He greets me, then sits down.
Ingram presses a button on a black machine that sits on the side of the table. She introduces herself and us and notes the time and date.
Both of them look at me. Rockford asks, “How long have you known Suzy Elliot for, Mrs Mansell?”
“She’s one of the school mums, and I heard that her baby was missing. I didn’t actually know her before that.”
“So you only met her after the baby had disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“And you are sure that you have not met her anywhere else before that? I mean outside the school. Socially maybe, in a pub.” Rockford is relaxed, friendly even, but his eyes are fixed on me.
I don’t know where they are going with these questions. Of course I haven’t seen Suzy before this. Didn’t they hear me the first time?
“No,” I say firmly.
“What about her husband, Paul?”
“Nope, never seen him either.”
Rockford says slowly, “And yet Suzy’s missing baby appears in the park behind your house, just when you happen to be there.”
“I…” I try to swallow and find my throat is parched. I drink hastily from the cup. The water feels cold going down my throat. I put the cup down slowly and it shakes. Damn it.
“I was putting posters up there. For the missing baby. I told you that already.”
“And you had no idea that the baby was going to be there?”
My throat constricts despite the water. “What are you trying to say?”
Neither of them reply. I look at each of them in turn. “What is this? You suspect me of abducting the baby? That’s ridiculous.”
Still they keep looking at me, and below the table, my thumb is scratching against my index finger, and my feet keep shaking. I feel nervous. My rational brain tells me they are cops. This is what they do to freak people out, gauge their reactions. But I don’t like the way they suspect me already. What did Eva tell them?
I clear my throat. “If you ask my friend Eva, she’ll tell you I only met Suzy a couple of days ago.”
“Yes, I spoke to her.” Ingram speaks for the first time since Rockford came in.
“Then you must know that I’m telling the truth.”
Rockford says, “Please think carefully, Mrs Mansell. What you say in this room is an official statement.”
I don’t like the tone of his voice. His face is so neutral I can’t make anything out of it. He seems to have all the time in the world. I sense he is giving me space…to trip me up?
“Do I need a lawyer?”
He shrugs. “It’s up to you. There’s one available if you want to.”
“Am I under arrest?” Even as I say the words cold sweat trickles down my spine. The thought is nauseating.
Rockford shakes his head. “No. But you are a suspect. As soon as you turn up, so does the missing baby, and in a location that is very convenient to you. There are no witnesses to verify what happened at the park, either.”
“But you can ask…” I stop myself. I was going to mention Jeremy’s name, but that’s the wrong thing to do. I don’t want to drag him into this.
“Who?”
“The rest of the mums at school,” I say.
Ingram asks me, “You have a child, don’t you?”
“Yes. Molly, aged eight.” Panic prickles inside me, but I meet their gazes full on.
“You never had another?” Ingram asks.
Her remark annoys me. What business it of hers? “No,” I say coldly.
“Did you want one?” Ingram is very still, focused on me. I meet her head on, angry.
“No, I did not. Not that it’s any business of yours, DI Ingram.”
She sits back in her chair, and I give myself a mental high-five. I look to Rockford. “Can I go now?”
He nods. He fishes out a card from his pocket and slides it over to me. “Please call us if you think of anything new. Anything at all. Child abduction is taken very seriously, as you know.”
I take the card, thank them and leave the room.
CHAPTER 11
Ten years ago
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Neither could most of the women at the party. Clive Connery had a crisply pressed dinner jacket on, white shirt open two buttons down, showing sparse curls of black chest hair. As I watched, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. His muscular shoulders and biceps rippled under the tight cotton shirt.
“Who’s he?” Eva whispered in my ear.
“My boss,” I whispered back.
“I can see why you took the job.” Eva giggled. I stuck an elbow in her ribs playfully. Clive did interview me, in fact, but he was one in a panel of three. Every time he turned those dark, glittering eyes on me, I stumbled my well-rehearsed answers. To this day, I didn’t know how I got the job.
But I was doing it well. I had become one of the better sales agents, trusted by customers for my laid-back and non-pushy style. Most sales agents did the reverse, they tried to shove a property down a buyer’s throat. I didn’t, and buyers respected me for that.
It was a far cry from waking up at five in the morning, to get the loaded train to the city.
I enjoyed my new job more, but I had to say my heart wasn’t in it. More than anything else, I would like to get back to my easel and canvas, like I did in my teenage years. Sitting by the window of our Yorkshire farmhouse, putting brushstrokes on the rough white paper. Watching sunset colours claim the sky, and my canvas.
But I couldn’t complain. Painting wouldn’t pay my bills, and being an estate agent meant I could pretty much choose what hours I worked. I went running and did yoga the rest of the time, trying to stay in some sort of shape.
Eva leaned towards me again, her voice dry. “He’s coming over!”
I shifted my eyes away towards the other tables. This was a black-tie dinner event for the National Independent Estate Agents Association, or NIEAA for short. I tried to act interested in the rest of the people, all the while aware that Clive was walking deliberately towards Eva and myself.
“Hi, Emma,” Clive said. His voice was warm and baritone, with an undertone like logs crackling in a fireplace.
I turned my head, feigning surprise. “Oh, hi, Clive, didn’t see you there. May I introduce my friend Eva Harris?”
Clive faced Eva and actually did a half-bow. “Enchanted, I’m sure.” He shook her hand lightly, and Eva made a funny noise in her throat. Then he turned to me with a gleam in his eye,
and a big smile.
“So glad to see you here tonight.”
I cleared my throat before replying. “Lovely to see you, too.”
“You look ravishing.” His eyes swept up and down my little black evening dress slowly. I failed to keep the heat off my cheeks. I heaved a breath, I needed to say something or I would turn into a statue like one of those ice maidens.
“Thank you, Clive. You look nice yourself.”
He fixed his eyes on mine. When Clive Connery stared at you with intensity, you had no choice but to look back, hypnotised. His blond hair was wavy and combed back straight. His square jaw framed a sharp nose, strong lips, and eyes that were designed to devour.
He leaned closer, and I could smell his cool aftershave. “Guess what a little bird told me,” he said in a lower voice.
“What?” I asked, intrigued.
“The best new sales agent award is coming to our firm.” He raised his eyebrows, and gave me a knowing smile. “And guess who’s on the board of the judging panel?”
“Who?” It was a silly question, as it was becoming obvious.
“Yours truly.” He spread his arms slightly and winked. “It’s going to be an entertaining evening.” He nodded at Eva, and walked back to his table.
“What was that all about?” Eva asked.
“Not sure,” I said, feeling butterflies in my stomach.
We sat down to wine and starters soon, and the stage was taken by the MC of the awards ceremony. I almost spilled my white wine when I heard my name being announced.
“The award of best new sales agent in the independent sector goes to…Emma Dixon!”
I hastily swallowed the wine, and put the wine glass on my table. Shakily I stood up, encouraged by Eva. My colleagues at Connery’s, sitting around me, were all smiles and clapping. Feeling acutely self-conscious, I walked down the tables to the stage, hearing the applause grow. All I could think of was my dress, and feeling mortified I hadn’t worn something more suitable. Heck, what did I know what suitable was in these conditions?
Thankfully, I didn’t have to deliver a speech. I clutched the round disc on a pedestal in my hands, and walked back to my table.
“Congratulations,” Eva said, and others around the table followed. I beamed, feeling happy and bubbly, and reached for the wine.
When the music started, Eva dragged me to the dance floor. From the corner of my eye, I saw Clive approaching. Suddenly I was dancing with him, swept up in the rhythm, losing my inhibitions. He was a fantastic dancer, his taut, jerking body gyrating to every beat. He put his hands on my waist like it was the most natural thing to do, and we started moving as one.
When the music came to an end, he followed me back to my table. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. Every woman in that place wanted to be with Clive Connery. I couldn’t believe my luck.
CHAPTER 12
Present day
I park near the school gates, and walk Molly up, joining the parents taking their kids to school.
“Do you have to come up to my classroom?” Molly asks me.
“Yes, why not?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. It’s just that not all the mums do it. You didn’t used to do it either. Did you?”
She can understand everything. Still, I don’t let go of her hand, and keep an eye on her till she goes inside the classroom. When she is in, I walk back to the car quickly. I will see Eva for coffee and pastries later, but first I have to go and see Steve Ponting, the gallery owner.
The gallery is in the old-town section of the high street. Its cobblestone paths, and arched passages are from the medieval time, and the modern vies for space with the ancient, giving the place a timeless vibe. Shoppers stroll in and out of fashionable boutiques. I walk into the gallery and spot Steve at the counter, showing someone where to hang a canvas.
Steve first saw my work hanging in the walls of a local café. He took down my details from the café owner and called me. I did two exhibitions with a group of artists, but this was my first solo venture. Steve seems surprised to see me.
“How are you?” he said. Steve is medium-height, only slightly taller than me. He is in his fifties, and has a paunch that is the result of his fondness for food and fine wine.
I become aware there is something in his stance that seems off. “Is everything OK?” I ask with some trepidation.
He spreads his hands. “Yes, fine. It’s such a shame we had to cancel the show with such short notice.”
I feel like I have been hit by a sledgehammer. After a stunned silence, I say, “What? I didn’t cancel anything.”
Steve frowns. “But your husband came around. He said that you had to go abroad because your father was unwell.”
I am struggling to catch my breath. “My husband? Steve, my husband would never…” My voice trails off. “Hang on. This man, who called himself my husband. What did he look like?”
“Tall, blond hair, dark eyes. Square-jawed, handsome guy.” Steve’s eyes twinkled. He’s never made a secret of the fact that he’s gay. “Shame I haven’t seen him around before.”
There is a pain in my chest, and lights are flashing in my eyes. I need to sit down, before my knees fold. Somehow, I remain standing.
“What did he say his name was?”
“Jeremy. Gave me his card. Jeremy Mansell.”
“When did he come?”
“Two days ago, in the afternoon.”
I know for a fact Jeremy was at work then. And the man’s description? This man is nothing like Jeremy. He’s dark-haired for starters. He doesn’t have that square-jawed, broad face that Steve is describing.
I know who Steve is describing, and the knowledge turns my insides to ashes and ice.
Steve doesn’t have CCTV on the premises so we can’t check images. He looks at me with a strange expression in his eyes.
“Are you saying someone was impersonating your husband?”
I know this sounds crazy and can’t blame him for being puzzled.
“What was this person like, Steve?” I ask.
“He was very nice, actually. Charming, in fact. Showed me his card, and it did have your partner’s name on it. The way he explained, it seemed he knew about your dad, too. Does he own a farm in the Yorkshire Dales?”
My hands and feet are getting numb, despite the heating in the art gallery. I look at a giant canvas in front of me and it seems the oils are dripping down, forming a puddle on the floor. Decomposing.
“Emma?” Steve prompts.
I touch my forehead and clear my throat. “Sorry, Steve. Yes, my dad does live on a farm.”
I catch the look in his eyes. “But no, that person wasn’t my husband.” Something strikes me, and I ignore the expression on Steve’s face. “Can I please see the card he left you with?”
“Sure.”
The card is a typical business one, black embossed letters on a white background. The words ‘Jeremy Mansell and Family Law Solicitor at Burnham and Drexel’ are printed in raised letters. I turn it over. Nothing.
I ask Steve, “Can I keep this?”
He shrugged. “If you want.”
I look at him hopefully. “Steve, I can’t explain everything right now, but that man who came was pretending to be my husband. If you ever see him again, please call me.” Even as I say the words I know I sound paranoid and elusive. Nothing cloak-and-dagger happens in this town. There is the odd scandal, but no criminal activity. Well, not until recently, that is. I think about Suzy Elliot with her missing baby and another flutter of panic hits me.
“Please, Steve.” My voice is steady, not betraying the anxiety I feel inside. He nods. I wonder if I should just call the police. If the cops do get involved, then they will question me. Once they start picking on a thread of my past, how far will that spool unravel?
Apart from involving me, they will question Jeremy as well, and he knows nothing about this as yet. I need to resolve the situation with Jeremy quickly. I realise now that I should have come clean with
him four years ago when we first met. Secrets are like skeletons in the grave. Getting them out is as traumatic as having them in the first place.
I say to Steve, “Now that you know, can we hold the exhibition?”
To my dismay, he moves his head from side to side. “I’m sorry, Emma. Gallery space is scarce as you know. The same day your husband, I mean this guy, came in, another two artists wanted to book the place.”
I clamped my jaw shut. These artists would be paying, whereas my deal with Steve was that sales from the exhibition would make money for the gallery hire. We had an arrangement, and that’s now blown.
Steve says, “I can’t keep changing my mind either. You know it’s bad for business. Maybe we can do this later. Sorry.”
I can’t be angry with him. It’s not his fault. But this was my big chance to get my name known locally. My paintings sell, and there are plenty of people around here who would buy reasonably priced work. I could have slowly raised my prices, and progressed towards my dream of making a living from my work.
I say goodbye to Steve and walk out of the gallery, furious and frustrated. In my coat pocket, I am clutching that miserable business card. Disturbing thoughts rise up in my mind.
The person who did this has been spying on Jeremy as well. He knows where Jeremy works, down to the fact that he is a family lawyer specialist. That does not bode well at all.
My phone chirps, and it’s Eva. I long to see her, as she is the only person I can talk to right now. We meet up for coffee, and I tell her that my solo exhibition has been cancelled.
Eva is surprised. “What? Why?”
Right now, I don’t want to tell anyone what I think. “Got rescheduled,” I say. “I’ll see you at the pick-up.”
CHAPTER 13
We arrive at the school gates on time. Eva is good friends with a lot of the mothers. She is talking to them, while I stand to one side. I have one or two friends here, that’s it. Eva is my main connection to this crowd. She beckons me over, and reluctantly, I walk up to the group. The mums are wearing jeans and casual clothes, but from the Prada and LV handbags I can tell they are wealthy. My River Island fifty quid shoulder bag pales in comparison.