Endangering Innocents

by Priscilla Masters

  “What have you got, Mike?”

  “Traces of blood in the back of Huke’s van,” Korpanski said softly, glancing behind her shoulder.

  “And?”

  “Hair.”

  He was teasing her. There was a merry light in his dark eyes that she hadn’t seen for a few weeks. She waited.

  “And a felt-tip pen.”

  “What colour?”

  “Bright yellow. Canary yellow.”

  She recalled the carefully coloured in Easter egg. Mike must have read her mind.

  “I rang the teacher,” he said. “Vicky. They’d cut the shapes out on the Thursday but spent all Friday colouring them in. Sky-blue, purple, red and canary-yellow.”

  She let out a long breath and allowed herself a silent YES.

  Then she glanced back at Huke. He was leaning back in his chair, his eyes bouncing between the two police officers, trying to look nonchalant.

  She had him in a poacher’s bag with a drawstring top.

  She re-entered the room and Phil Scott restarted the tape recorder. “We’re curious as to how Madeline came by her injuries, after she was reported missing,” she said.

  Huke tried to glare her out so she stroked the nail on her index finger. “Of course Carly should be able to help us out there.”

  Huke half rose and sank back again, staring straight ahead as though the blank wall would help him. “I’ve nothing to say,” he said.

  She went to Carly next.

  “You’re Madeline’s mother,” she accused. “You should have protected her.”

  Carly was at the end of her tether, wild-eyed and heavy-lidded. Her skin looked sallow and dingy, her fingers shaking as she lit cigarette after cigarette, taking deep drags on them and stubbing them out in the ashtray with a viciousness that made her seem wiry and strong.

  The room smelt fusty. WPC Anderton coughed a couple of times, tried to suppress it. Carly seemed impervious.

  “She was only five years old,” Joanna continued, “but she had an awful life.”

  Carly’s eyelids were too heavy and swollen to open but she made an effort.

  “There isn’t anything you can do to blot out or change the past,” Joanna said softly. “All you can do is to pay some tribute to your small daughter’s memory. Give us the truth.”

  With a huge effort Carly managed to open her eyes. Joanna looked deep into them.

  “Go on.” She nodded. “It’s up to you, Carly,” Joanna said with a hard note in her voice. “But I can tell you now - we will access the truth. It might take us some time. It would be quicker if you helped us. Just remember this. If you wilfully obstruct us I won’t see you as the grieving mother but as an accessory.”

  “To what?”

  Joanna simply stared back at her.

  Carly dropped her eyes. “I wasn’t,” she whispered. “I never.”

  “When you realised Madeline had vanished you rang your partner, didn’t you?”

  Carly nodded.

  “For the tape recorder, please.”

  “I rang him about half past three,” Carly whispered. “I just said she’d disappeared. That she didn’t come out with the other kids and that I couldn’t see her in the classroom either.”

  Joanna nodded.

  “He said he’d come to the school. That’s all I really know. He didn’t get there.”

  Joanna shook her head.

  “Then you was called in.” She licked dry lips. “I don’t know anything for certain.”

  “I think you do.”

  “He told me he found her,” she whispered. “She was somewhere near a farm. Her leg was bleeding. I think he hit her and she ran away. That’s all I know. On my mother’s life, Inspector, Darren has swore to me he didn’t kill her. He just …” She took a long, sucking drag on her ciagarette. “… disciplined her. He told me this. I think it’s the truth. Someone else is responsible.”

  Joanna nodded.

  Someone else was responsible.

  This was not a simple murder case but a sequence of events. Many people had played their part. Wendy Owen had had a party, invited a second-rate conjuror. Baldwin’s wife had given up on him and taken their daughter, so he had hung around the school and watched Madeline. The headmistress had called the police in to deal with the unwanted stalker and she and Mike had made assumptions so had brought Baldwin in for questioning. Which in turn had meant that he had not been able to free her from Alice’s Mirror and Madeline had died. Paul Wiltshaw had run off with Carly’s sister, abandoning his own wife and child to the attentions of Darren Huke. Huke himself had been heavily disciplined as a child by a tyrannical father. Even foot and mouth had played its part. Crowdeane had concealed the fact that Madeline had been there because he did not want to risk visitors who might carry the virus about their persons or vehicles. And again the virus had stepped in, delaying the discovery of the body.

  Even somehow, Daniel’s christening and her own predicament had some bearing on this case which, in the end, boiled down to vulnerability.

  And the final ingredient; Madeline had been a child who had fervently believed in magic.

  Through the entire sequence of events ran the thread of the coloured pens, as though Madeline had strewn clues behind her, like roses scattered on the pavement telling of a recent wedding.

  She went back to Baldwin then for the answer to one last question. “Was it you who gave her the set of felt-tip pens?”

  Baldwin nodded.

  She sat down opposite Huke with a smile and a sigh of relief. “Good,” she said.

  His eyes flickered over her. “What do you mean good? My bleedin’ partner’s kid is murdered and you’re saying good.”

  She moved forwards then, her elbows on the table, her face very near his. “I meant good that we’re beginning to get some answers. No.” She folded her arms. “All the answers.”

  Huke sat back, bit his lip.

  “Mobile phones are wonderful things, aren’t they?”

  Huke was watchful.

  Joanna spoke again. “Sure you don’t want a solicitor?”

  “I haven’t got anything to say,” Huke said, “except this. If I did ever discipline that little runt of a kid - maybe a bit over-hard - it was for her own good. It’s the way to bring up kids. It’s the way I was brought up and it’s never done me any harm. It’s called being a dad. I’ve done more for that kid than her own dad did. Little squirt. Didn’t know or care whether ‘is own daughter was alive or dead. Unnatural bastard. You might see Madeline as something between a saint or a perfect little Barbie doll but she wasn’t. She was a cheeky little cow. A deceitful scum of a kid. Full of lyin’ and thievery. You couldn’t trust her a bloody inch.”

  She knew Huke might be applying these lines to a five-year-old child just as long ago the very same words had been used to describe him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  So back to Baldwin. And in the mood she was in she was relishing the thought of the combat ahead. While her own problem festered at the back of her mind making her extra tetchy, like a bear with a nagging tooth she was spoiling for a fight.

  She had no pity any more. It had drained out of her. The SOCOs were still searching the farm leaving the farmer blustering from an armchair. He might - just might - have saved Madeline’s life if he’d simply talked. But he hadn’t. He’d buried his head in the sand and concerned himself with his own problems. This is what the human race did, Joanna thought bitterly. Huke and Carly were being held until the very last second before she was forced to either charge them or release them. If she let them go they would all know she would simply be playing the game by the rules. She would be rearresting them. And charging them. And convicting them. Of cruelty.

  And Baldwin? She knew the C.P.S. well enough to know that they might allow a conviction of concealment of a body. But his life would not return to normal. He had been labelled.

  She sat opposite him, eyeballing him silently for a while before putting her face very close to his. �
��I hope you’re ready to talk,” she said softly. “And I hope you’ve got the dates and times as clear as polished glass in your mind when you had any contact at all with Madeline Wiltshaw.”

  Baldwin nodded quickly, his head jerking up and down. He was anxious to oblige.

  Like Carly Wiltshaw he had been on the end of an over-stretched tether for the past few weeks. In common with many men who are overfond of children, Baldwin was a cowardly, gentle soul in some ways. And Huke’s attack plus Madeline’s death had made him even more vulnerable.

  Joanna watched him and judged him. Not evil. Something else.

  He had enjoyed impressing children, deceiving them, teasing them, watching their eyes grow round with amazement and shock when he pulled off some ‘impossible’, ‘magic’ trick.

  Joanna allowed her mind to drift for one split second. Once, as a child, long ago, she too had believed in luck, in magic, in impossible things happening provided you crossed your fingers or didn’t walk on the cracks on the pavement or some other nonsensical action. But she had grown up. Madeline never would.

  “Tell me about the time you first met Madeline.”

  “It was a Christmas party,” Baldwin said falteringly. “The kids were messing around. I did one of my shows.”

  He gave a self-conscious little laugh. “I was dressed up as a clown. You know - baggy suit. Big trousers. Huge shoes. I kept fallin’ over. It made them laugh. But my little girl. She looked sad for me. That made me sad.”

  “So?”

  “Some of the boys were takin’ the piss. Laughin’ at my jokes. But she just sat there as though she really believed I was good. And that I really was doing magic. It made me feel special.”

  “Your tricks?” Joanna prompted.

  “The usual stuff.” Baldwin’s gaze veered off to the left. “Dice and things hid under glasses, coloured handkerchiefs up my sleeve. I made an egg disappear out of my hand and come back in her ear, Alice’s Magic Mirror …” His voice tailed off. His upper lip was beaded with sweat. He gave a long blink and when he opened his eyes Joanna read fright.

  “Look at it from my point of view, Inspector,” Baldwin pleaded. “How could I have known? Look at it this way. If it hadn’t ‘ave been for you I’d have got back to her and that child would have been all right. It isn’t just me that’s guilty. You play some part too.”

  “But you put her in the box.”

  “She asked me.”

  “And then you found her dead.”

  “The mirror was meant for birds,” he said again. “Not for little girls.”

  “And you buried her.”

  “It seemed right. It seemed proper. I couldn’t leave her there.”

  “What about her clothes? You stripped her.”

  “They had blood on them. I couldn’t bury her like that. Her face. She’d been hurt. He’d hurt her. Like he went for me. There was blood on her leg and on her socks. Even her pants. Even her vest.”

  “You washed them.”

  “I thought her mum would want them back. But not with …”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because, Inspector Piercy.” For one brief moment he was the one in command, drawing himself up and meeting her eyes without fear, “because I believed you’d have arrested me. And the evidence would have followed. I didn’t trust you any more than I trusted Mr Huke.”

  The dart hit home. Joanna held her breath.

  She didn’t trust herself either.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  And now she must concentrate on her own problems.

  It was almost midnight when she let herself through the front door of Waterfall Cottage. The house was ablaze with every light on. Matthew was sitting in the sitting room, a few letters scattered across the pine table. He looked up she walked in. Waited until she’d sat down before they both spoke simultaneously.

  “It was an accident,” she said wearily. “An accident waiting to happen.”

  His green eyes were fixed on her. He cleared his throat. She knew he wanted to speak but began first. “I can hardly bear to imagine the last twenty-four hours - or the entire life - of that child. She was being so cruelly treated by Huke, and Carly allowed it to happen without lifting a finger to protect her daughter. Maybe that’s the bit I find hardest.”

  Matthew made as though to speak then pressed his lips together again.

  She pressed on. “Baldwin was kind, I think. And she believed he could hide her from Huke. Through magic. Making her invisible. Who knows.” She ran her fingers through her hair. Matthew still waited.

  “She missed Baldwin that day. And ran to the farm where the dog gave her a welcome,” she said wryly. “So she ran again. Huke picked her up. And being Huke, thinking she was being naughty, he ‘punished’ her. So she ran again. And found Baldwin. He was probably genuinely moved by her plight. He was crying when he described how her clothes were blood-stained.”

  “I thought the forensics on the car was clear.”

  “She probably was sitting on the cloth she was found with. So she hid. And died. Frightened, alone.”

  Suddenly she burst into tears and put her head on Matthew’s lap.

  He knew there was more.

  He waited for her to lift her head.

  Then he must have read something - God knows what - in her face.

  And waited.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  His face was alight with joy for one brief second. Before he read properly the expression on her face.

  Then he stared at her. When he spoke his voice was hard and hostile. “You’re not glad, are you?”

  She could not lie. She shook her head.

  “In fact,” some edge crept into his tone, “you’re not pleased at all to be carrying our baby.”

  She winced at the phrase, ‘our baby’ but she’d always known it would end like this. “It’s a mistake,” she said harshly. “An awful accident. A nasty trick of nature. It’s not a baby yet, Matthew. It’s just a few cells. I think I puked up the pill. After the christening. Bloody Sarah and her vol-au-vents,” she finished viciously.

  Matthew stood up, the letters scattering across the floor. “And bloody me,” he said, “for making love to you.”

  She sat with her back against the sofa, hugging her knees, knowing whatever she said he would sense a lie.

  There was nothing she could say to rescue the situation. It was beyond redemption. She was beyond redemption.

  Matthew towered over her. “Well done you,” he said bitterly, “for solving your case.”

  She didn’t know where she could look to escape the accusation, the dislike, in his face.

  Even if she didn’t look his voice was saturated with it. Coldness. Detachment.

  She hugged her knees harder and rocked to and fro. Unable to find the right words. Any words.

  Unlike Matthew.

  “I’m a bit mystified, Jo, as to what you expect me to do now. Are you seriously suggesting you have an abortion to which I agree?”

  “I never wanted a baby,” she said.

  “Hang on a minute, Jo.” His eyes were gleaming with anger. “What exactly are you saying?”

  She stared at him. Having formed the words the act seemed too enormous.

  Matthew sat back in the armchair and said nothing.

  She had said it all.

  For two days the subject lay like an iceberg between them. Then three nights later he brought home a takeaway and when they had eaten and parcelled up the papers he broached the subject again, sitting on the opposite side of the room, on the sofa, while she sat, bolt upright and alert in the armchair.

  His eyes fixed on his fingers fiddling with the stem of his wineglass. “I can’t persuade you to go ahead with something which feels so very wrong for you,” he said, sounding every inch the kindly, understanding doctor. “I’ve been a medic long enough, Jo, to know that nature is nature and I’ve always known you would not welcome a family.”

  She tried to explain. “M
atthew - to have a child would mean the end of my lifestyle, my career. My life.” She could hear the panic making her voice shrill. “I can’t do it. It wouldn’t be me.”

  “No.” He smiled. Still the same, kindly, detached smile. “You’re right. It wouldn’t. You’re Joanna Piercy, Detective Inspector, and that’s why I feel you have to make your own decision. In law,” he continued, “you have that right. It would be very hard - if not impossible - to compel you to go through with the pregnancy. Try and force you to love a child you never wanted in the first place.” His eyes flickered away from the wineglass, searching the room for something else to fix on. He found it with a deep sigh, the picture of himself holding Eloise, the baby. “In a way,” he said, “this makes something easier.”

  “What easier?”

  He was staring at the picture as though seeing something he had never seen before. She felt her frustration rising. Look at me. Not her.

  “I haven’t known what to do. I didn’t want to leave you. But I was tempted.”

  “To do what?”

  He didn’t answer her question. Not immediately. The room was silent while she waited.

  “And then I thought - well - Joanna’s work comes first, last, and all through the middle. Like the resort on a stick of rock. So why not mine? If this was her opportunity she would pursue it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice was drained of all confidence.

  At last he looked at her. “Us, Joanna. What’s been the point of all this? My divorce - why did I bother? You’re never going to marry me. You wouldn’t commit. You and Eloise skirt round each other like a couple of wrestlers in the ring. You’ve never wanted a family. You can’t hide it. You’re not pleased about the baby. My baby. My child. Our child.” Now he was staring at her.

  She tried to retrieve something. Explain her behaviour. “It’s partly a shock reaction.”

  Matthew ignored the excuse. “You call it a few cells.”

  “That’s what it is now. Not a person.”