by Penny Kline
‘Couldn’t tell you exactly. Might not be right, although I guess the story always had a ring of truth about it. My mother had a way of embroidering things, taking an ounce of reality and building it up into a jaw-dropping saga. She didn’t want me but she wouldn’t give me up for adoption. That way you get the worst of all possible worlds: kids’ home, couple of temporary placements, then, when I was eleven, she took one of her regular overdoses and this time made a better job of it.’
‘Oh Kath, I’m so sorry.’ Izzy was shocked. ‘And all the time I thought you had a family in Ohio.’
‘Because that’s what I wanted you to think. Everything else was true. Meeting Jim when he was on holiday in the States, getting married, coming to live over here, getting a divorce.’
‘What about your father?’
Kath shrugged. ‘Doubt if my mother knew which one he was.’
‘So all this stuff with the baby – with Cressy – must have stirred up memories. There was me thinking I’d had such a traumatic experience and all the time …’
Kath patted her on the shoulder. ‘How is the baby? Doing well I expect? Tough little buggers, babies, need to be that way I guess.’
Chapter Four
Where was Dawn now? With Miles, or had they split up? He could have returned to his wife. And left her with the baby? Izzy had only met him once, very briefly, and knew nothing about him, but first impressions are often correct and she had wondered at the time how he would handle Dawn’s unpredictable moods and determination to get her own way. Possibly, his wife was equally determined and he had been caught in middle of two women wanting him to live with them. He could have run away, disappeared. No, what was the use of trying to work out what had happened? It was all so frustrating. And not just that. The thought of DS Fairbrother loomed large in Izzy’s mind.
Blanche had gone through the cat flap and was still out, unless she had slipped back into the house without Izzy noticing. The garden was so small the cat usually scaled the wall straight away and Izzy lived in dread she would be killed crossing the main road. All through her childhood, she and her two older brothers had never been without a collection of pets. A dog, a cat, plus numerous hamsters that had the advantage they could live in your bedroom but the disadvantage they had a lifespan of only a couple of years. A corner of the garden was reserved as a burial place, with crosses made out of ice-lolly sticks and names written in felt pen that faded in the sun. After Pushkin was found dead, she had wanted to know why, wanted a post-mortem, but her mother said the vet thought the cat must have eaten weedkiller. At the time, Izzy had accepted the explanation but later it occurred to her that cats were fussy about what they ate – unless someone deliberately put poison in their food.
There was no sign of Blanche in the garden. Izzy strolled down the road, looking in front gardens and between houses. Then she tried the patch of grass, surrounded by trees, but the only cat she spotted was a Siamese one, sharpening its claws on the wooden seat. Because it was pedestrianized, it was a relatively safe road but the trouble with cats: unlike dogs, they were territorial and liked to inspect the surrounding area. Izzy called Blanche’s name a few times then returned to the house, jumping back, almost as if she had come face to face with an intruder.
During the brief time she had been away, a package had been propped against her front door, bound up with sticky tape. Who had left it? Surely whoever it was must still be around? Izzy ran to the end of the opposite road and screwed up her eyes, staring into the distance, but there was no one in sight.
Tearing the parcel open, she found a sheet of lined paper wrapped round a white teddy bear, dressed in a navy blue jumper with a picture of a boat on the front. A gift from a well-wisher? When a baby was found abandoned, hospitals were inundated with toys – she had read about it in the paper – but Fairbrother had reassured her no one knew her address, although it was possible someone in the street had seen the police with the carrycot, and put two and two together. Who was she fooling? Wishful thinking – it had to be.
The lined paper had been written on in red. Block capitals so badly formed they looked as though the sender had used his or her ‘wrong’ hand. YOU MUST GET HER BACK, she read. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE LOOKING AFTER HER. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU DO OR YOU COULD LAND YOURSELF IN SERIOUS DANGER. OR FIND YOURSELF RESPONSIBLE FOR A DEATH.
Blanche had returned and was busy kneading the crackly brown paper the bear had been wrapped in. Izzy stared at it, with its missing fur and beady glass eyes, and pictured it as she had first seen it, standing looking out of the window of the first floor flat in Elwood Road. As far as she knew it had never been taken to bed, perhaps because it was too small, but in any case, Dawn had been the least sentimental child Izzy had ever met.
Harry was in his office, checking the messages on his phone.
‘Izzy.’ His revolving chair spun round and she saw he had a half-eaten bar of chocolate in his hand. ‘How are you? All the hoo-ha about the changeling died down, I hope. Apparently there are one or two cases a week, but we only hear about a handful of them.’
‘I went to see the foster family.’ Izzy sat on the arm of one of the pair of new leather chairs Harry had bought to impress clients. ‘They live in Dawlish, on an estate.’
‘Really? Wasn’t that a bit beyond the call of duty?’
‘I wanted to make sure she was all right. Actually, if I’m honest I suppose I just wanted to see her.’
‘Yes, I think I understand.’ Harry’s voice was softer than usual, in fact his whole manner was quieter, more thoughtful. ‘Anyway you look refreshed from your weekend trip. Good idea to get away. Amazing how a change of scene puts your life into a different frame.’
‘That wasn’t the reason I went, Harry. Do you remember me talking about someone I’d known as a child in Chester? Dawn Dear – she came here to do a Ph.D. in theology.’
‘What is she – a female vicar?’
‘No, nothing like that. She went through a phase of being a fanatical believer in something or other, spent time with a community in Scotland, then suddenly left.’
‘Saw the light?’ Harry was starting to take an interest. ‘Does all this have something to do with the abandoned baby?’
‘No, I’m sure it doesn’t. Before her mother came to Chester she’d been living in the Wirral and that’s where her mother’s returned.’
‘Hang on. You went all that way to see your friend’s mother? Why?’
‘I was worried about Dawn, wanted to find out where she is now, but her mother had no more idea than I did. Or if she did, she wasn’t going to let on. While I was there, she told me about someone called Stuart Robbins. I wondered if you’d come across him. He’d met Dawn but didn’t know her well. He lives in Exeter, does research into sea birds, but he’s interested in history too. Only, you’re interested in old churches, aren’t you?’
Harry laughed, running his hands through his new haircut. ‘Old churches – do you mind? Victorian architecture and I’m quite an aficionado I’ll have you know. Yes, I know Robbins. Not well but I went to a lecture he gave. Interesting chap. We had a drink together after the lecture.’ He paused, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. ‘I haven’t talked to him recently but I’ve heard … No, it doesn’t matter.’
‘What? What have you heard?’ But he wasn’t going to tell her and it was unlikely to have anything to do with Dawn.
‘Dawn had this boyfriend – called Miles. He was married, but when I met him he’d left his wife, moved into a bedsit. I’m going to look up his wife.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Harry was starting to become suspicious. ‘You sound as though you’re taking too much on yourself. Surely if you have any suspicions at all, the police should –’
‘No, I can’t.’
He waited for an explanation.
‘I mean, I will tell them, but not just yet. Miles’ address is still in the phone book. There’s only one entry for Bruton, M so it’s worth a try.’
<
br /> Harry stood up. ‘I’m starting to worry about you, Izzy. The way you’re going things could easily get out of hand. Why did you want to know about Stuart Robbins? You think … No, it can’t be that.’
‘I just thought he might know where Dawn is now. Forget it, you’re right. A wild goose chase. I should leave it to the police.’
‘But tell them everything you know.’
‘Yes, of course.’
He looked at her, doubtfully. ‘I’m sorry about Josh. It must have been a wrench. No regrets?’
‘No.’ So he thought she was acting irrationally, as a diversion from her own problems.
‘If you want to meet Robbins I’ll see what I can do, but only on the understanding you keep me posted on what you’re up to. I worry about you, Izzy, we all do. You’ve been looking exhausted lately.’
‘I’m still getting my work done.’
‘Of course. I’ve no complaints in that department.’
In the summer, she and Josh had walked on the dunes at Dawlish Warren, a little farther along the coast. The beach stretched as far as the Exe estuary and part of the area was a nature reserve, enjoyed by bird watchers. Wading birds could be seen from a hide – either side of high tide was the best time – and rare birds sometimes landed when the weather was bad, normally between August and mid-November.
Izzy was thinking about the man called Stuart Robbins, who worked at the university and studied birds. Josh had no interest in birds, but Izzy liked to watch them and she loved the way the seagulls dropped the heavy shells of clams and mussels onto rocks in order to eat the contents.
Had Stuart Robbins known Dawn well? She had no recollection of her mentioning his name, but that meant nothing. Perhaps she should contact him – she could say the university wanted to get in touch with Dawn – but perhaps not since it might complicate the situation even more. The fewer people involved, the better, although Izzy longed to confide in someone – and ask their advice.
‘How goes it?’ DS Fairbrother strode into the house as if she owned it. She was wearing a grey jacket which she removed and hung over the back of a chair, revealing a red top made out of some velvety material and black trousers stretched tightly over her substantial thighs.
‘Been to see the nipper?’ she asked, making it clear the question was rhetorical. ‘There’s always a shortage of foster parents. Social Service have been having a recruitment drive but without a great deal of success.’
‘The Jordans seem a very nice family.’
‘Good.’ Fairbrother was so relaxed, Izzy was starting to think it was a social call, although wouldn’t that be carrying the wish to promote good relations between police and public a bit too far? Of course, it could be a trap. Up to now, Izzy had believed police officers worked in pairs. Had they selected a woman, and let her visit on her own, to lull her into a false sense of security, make her think Fairbrother was her friend.
‘Coffee?’ she asked, but Fairbrother shook her head.
‘No thanks. The last time I was here … after I’d gone … my fault entirely but a couple of questions came up and I wondered if you’d be able to help.’
‘What questions?’ Immediately Izzy was on her guard.
Fairbrother paused before answering, building up the tension, increasing Izzy’s anxiety. ‘The main one that came to mind – you said you thought the baby must have been left outside your house because of the piece of overhanging roof.’
‘The old porch. It needs pulling down. I keep meaning to do it but –’
‘But some of the houses farther down have complete porches. Wouldn’t she have been safer under one of them?’
‘Not if the mother came from … I’ve no idea which way she’d have come. I expect she chose the first suitable spot.’
‘Not if the mother came from the opposite direction? Is that what you were going to say?’
‘Yes. No. I was just thinking aloud. As I said before, I expect she thought the pedestrianized part was safest.’
Fairbrother made a few notes. ‘None of your friends have recently given birth?’
‘No.’
‘Relatives?’
‘My mother’s in New Zealand, visiting my eldest brother. My other brother’s gay.’
‘I see.’ Fairbrother stared at her for a few moments, as though she expected more, and Izzy was afraid her response had come too easily, as though she had invented a cover story and rehearsed what she was going to say.
‘Just one thing more.’ Fairbrother smiled at her but Izzy didn’t smile back. ‘This may seem an odd question, but why did you want to see the baby again?’
‘I told you, I wanted to make sure she was all right. Poor little thing, she was so hungry. I heated her bottle of milk, made it too hot, then had to cool it down. I felt so sorry for her. Imagine being –’
‘Sure. I get it. Meeting up in a crisis forms a special attachment, like people who get stuck in a broken-down lift.’
Izzy said nothing. She had heard the theory before, something about mutual fear, adrenalin. As far as possible, she avoided lifts, but sometimes it was impossible. Crushed together, with a group of uncongenial people, it was hard to imagine a special bond developing. Not that she had a phobia about lifts, nor about anything else. Apart from the mud at the estuary, and a fear of sinking into deep mud was perfectly rational, as was a fear of falling off a high cliff.
Blanche had come downstairs and seeing a visitor made a beeline for her lap. Fairbrother reached out a hand to stroke the cat’s head then placed her on a chair and stood up to study the photograph of Izzy and Josh on holiday in France. ‘The name Cressy – did it ring any bells?’
‘Why should it?’ But her reply had come out too quickly, sounded too definite.
Fairbrother gave her a sharp glance. ‘Well, I think that’s all for now.’
For now? But if Fairbrother’s suspicions had been aroused she showed no sign of it. Now was the time to tell her about the parcel, particularly the teddy bear with the navy blue jumper, but if she did that she would have to tell her everything.
A fleeting smile crossed Fairbrother’s face. ‘No, don’t bother to come to the front door, I’ll let myself out. Will you be visiting the Jordans again?’
‘I’m not sure. Bev said she was happy for me to call round whenever I liked but it might seem … I’m thinking about it.’
Fairbrother nodded. ‘Odd place to leave your baby. Most people choose a hospital or shopping centre.’
Izzy was silent. Anything she said made her feel like she was digging a bigger and bigger hole. But the silence was incriminating too. She knew now how people felt when they were accused of a crime they hadn’t committed. Withholding information was a crime, but she had no definite information and it would be equally irresponsible to send the police off on a pointless search.
Who was she fooling? Certainly not herself. But there was something about Fairbrother that made her want to keep quiet a little longer. Then what would she do? She could pretend the name Cressy had only just triggered off a memory from long ago. Fairbrother wouldn’t believe her but neither would she be able to prove it was a lie.
‘As I said, any news and I’ll be in touch.’
‘Yes. Thanks.’ Izzy surprised herself with how unperturbed she sounded.
‘Although if you and Bev Jordan have hit it off so well I daresay she’ll be the one to let you know if and when we trace the mother.’
Did that mean it was last she was going to see of the police? After Fairbrother left, Izzy poured herself a glass of wine and sank onto the sofa with a sigh of relief.
It was short-lived. The phone rang and she snatched it up. No one spoke.
‘Dawn? I know it’s you. Look, I’m sorry about the baby but she’s being well cared for, I promise. Dawn?’
Could she hear breathing or was she imagining it?
‘Speak to me, Dawn. I haven’t told the police but …’ She broke off. Supposing her calls were being monitored. Could they do that withou
t her permission? And now she had admitted she knew something she had kept from the police. ‘Look, I know how you feel, Dawn. At least, I don’t, but unless you contact me and we discuss this properly I may have to …’ But no one was listening. Dawn had ended the call.
Had it been Dawn? It could have been Josh. Surely silent calls were not Josh’s style, but she was losing judgement, needed someone she could trust. Kath would listen. So would Harry. But the more she confided in them the more they would urge her to go to the police. Harry might take it out of her hands and tell the police himself.
For the first time, she admitted to herself how afraid of Dawn she was. Apart from Rosalie, and even Rosalie could have pushed any such thoughts out of her head, Izzy was the only one who knew what Dawn was capable of, how dangerous she could be if anyone tried to thwart her.
Dearest Miles,
I’m seething. No, that would be counterproductive, but you wouldn’t credit what’s happened. I’ve known Izzy all my life, well since I was eight, and we used to think we were telepathic but of course we could only work out what the other was thinking because we knew each other inside out. Now this. I know you understand that what I did is for the best. Best for everyone. But because I love you I want to explain properly. I told you about my father. Poor fool. Izzy used to ask about him sometimes – she’s always been inquisitive – but her guess was as good as mine. Have you noticed how other people’s fathers are always nicer to other girls than they are to their own daughters? It was the right decision, the only one, Miles, because the way I was brought up left me quite unfit to be a mother. I don’t imagine I was an easy child although Sylvia – that’s Izzy’s mother – thought butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. Butter in my mouth. What an odd idea. How far back can people really remember? I remember being five. Starting school. Sitting on a chair that was too small and not knowing what to say when I wanted a pee. I’ve got a stomach ache today. From eating too much fruit. I think that’s enough. I haven’t told you much, have I, but it’s best in small doses.