White Is the Coldest Colour

by John Nicholl

  Siân stared at her mother’s bloody mouth. Mum was trying to say something. Yes, she was definitely trying to say something. What was she trying to say?

  She stood for a second or two, as if attempting to read her mother’s mind, and then sprang into life, running towards her younger brother’s bedroom. He wasn’t there. Why wasn’t he there? There wasn’t any blood. That must be a good thing. But where was he?

  Siân began weeping. Could he be hiding? Yes, that was it. He was very probably hiding.

  She flung open the wardrobe door, and then fell to the floor, peering under the single bed. Where was he? Please be safe, Tony. Please be safe. Please, God, let him be safe.

  Her chest tightened and she struggled for breath. She had to get help. It was time to get help.

  Siân shouted, ‘I won’t be long, Mum,’ as she ran down the stairs and into the hall to use the phone. Nine-nine-nine, that was it, nine-nine-nine. Answer. Please hurry. Please hurry.

  ‘Emergency. What service do you require?’

  Oh, thank God. ‘I need an ambulance and the police. It’s very urgent. My mum’s been attacked, and I can’t find my little brother anywhere. He’s missing.’

  ‘What’s your name and address please?’

  Siân provided the required information and other pertinent details on being prompted by the emergency room operator.

  ‘And you’re at that address now?’

  ‘Yes, yes, please hurry.’

  ‘Help is already on the way, Siân. I know it’s easier said than done, but please try to remain calm. Do you want me to stay on the line until the police or an ambulance arrives?’

  Siân remained silent for a few seconds, considering her options. It was a tempting offer. And what if the attacker came back? But, no, her mother needed her.

  ‘Are you still there, Siân? I can stay on the line if you want me to.’

  ‘No, thanks, I have to go back upstairs. My mum’s on her own. Please don’t let them be too long.’

  ‘Help’s already on the way; your mother’s going to be very proud of you.’

  Siân sat on the bloodstained carpet next to her mother’s bed and tried her best to smile. ‘Help’s on the way, Mum; they won’t be too long. Everything’s going to be all right. Promise it is. Hold on, Mum. Please hold on.’

  An ambulance arrived outside the cottage with its siren blaring and blue lights flashing within ten minutes of Siân’s emergency call. She watched, relieved, from the bedroom window as a middle-aged paramedic and his much younger assistant hurried up the path. Siân was already halfway down the stairs to greet them, when the first of the two men knocked heavily on the front door, and shouted, ‘Hello, ambulance,’ as loudly as he could through the letter box. Siân opened the door almost immediately and yelled, ‘Up here,’ as she turned and ran back up the stairs.

  Both men struggled to hide their shock on first sight of Molly’s facial injuries, despite their extensive experience in dealing with all manner of medical emergencies. While the paramedic reassured Siân that things were going to be okay, despite his unspoken doubts, his assistant followed his senior colleague’s instructions and rushed back and forth to the ambulance, fetching a neck collar, stretcher, oxygen cylinder and mask.

  The paramedic rested his hand very briefly on Siân’s shoulder. ‘I’m Dai. Is it okay if I call you Siân?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’m going to need your help, Siân. Do you think you can do that for me?’

  ‘Just tell me what to do.’

  He smiled reassuringly. ‘Sit on the bed as gently as you can, and hold your mum’s head absolutely still.’

  ‘But, won’t that hurt her?’

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you. It may hurt a little, but it’s important. We have to be extra careful in case your mum’s suffered a spinal injury. Do you think you can do it for me?’

  Siân sat on the bed next to her mother and followed instructions.

  ‘That’s great, Siân, you’re doing well. I’m just going to check your mum’s breathing, pulse and blood pressure.’

  ‘She is going to be all right, isn’t she?’

  ‘We need to get your mum to hospital as soon as possible. But she’s going to be just fine.’ He sounded a lot more certain than he felt.

  The second of the two men suddenly reappeared carrying a stretcher. ‘Who the hell did this?’

  Siân met his gaze. ‘I don’t know. There was no one else here when I found her. Are you sure my mum’s going to be all right?’

  Dai Rees considered his next words carefully, and then said, ‘We’ll make sure that your mum’s as comfortable as possible, and then get her off to hospital as soon as we can,’ in gentle, reassuring West Wallian tones. He shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. He knew that. But sometimes the temptation was just too great to resist. ‘Your mum’s going to be just fine. What’s her name?’

  ‘Molly, her name’s Molly.’

  The paramedic smiled down at Molly, masking his horror at what had been done to her. He wasn’t entirely sure if she could hear him, but he spoke on the assumption that she could. ‘I’m just going to put a neck collar on you now, Molly. It’s purely precautionary. Nothing to worry about. You’re in good hands. We’ll have you in hospital before you know it.’

  Molly had some limited dream-like awareness of what was going on, and tried to smile, but her face barely moved. She began crying silent tears.

  Siân began to shake violently as she watched the two men lift her mother onto one side, and carefully slide the stretcher under her body. As they lifted Molly off the bed, Siân finally lost control and shouted, ‘My brother’s missing.’

  Dai Rees, who had two teenage daughters of his own, wanted to help. But what could he say? If the boy was missing, he was missing. Nothing he said was going to change that fact.

  He forced another wary smile and said, ‘Is there someone you can call, Siân? Your dad, perhaps?’

  Before she could answer, Siân’s dark thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a female voice shouting, ‘Hello, police,’ from the hall. PC Bethan Williams reached the top of the stairs just as the two men were carrying Molly out of the bedroom strapped securely to the stretcher. She took one look at Molly’s face and urgently stood to one side to allow them to pass. There were important questions to ask, but any thoughts of an interview were going to have to wait.

  As the ambulance men carried their patient down the stairs, the officer shouted after them, ‘Where are you taking her, boys?’

  The paramedic replied, ‘South Wales General,’ without looking back.

  ‘Thanks, boys, I’ll follow you there as soon as I can.’

  Siân looked at the officer with pleading eyes. ‘I want to go with my mum, but my brother…’

  ‘You must be Siân Mailer, you dialled nine-nine-nine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your mother’s in good hands. I’ll need to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right with you?’

  Siân nodded. ‘The downstairs bathroom window’s broken and he’s missing.’

  ‘Missing? Who’s missing?’

  Siân began sobbing. ‘My b-b-brother, Anthony, he’s only seven. Please, you have to f-find him.’

  Oh shit, that was not good news. Why the hell hadn’t she been told that before? ‘Every effort will be made to find your brother as quickly as humanly possible. Let’s go downstairs to wait for the CID officers. They shouldn’t be too long. I’ll take you to the hospital to see your mum as soon as they arrive. Come on, I’ll make you a quick cup of tea, and we can talk in the lounge. It’ll be more comfortable.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The officer switched the kettle on and waited for it to come to the boil. ‘How do you like your tea?’

  ‘I don’t really care at the moment.’

  ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just milk.’

  She handed Siân her mug. ‘Come on, let’s take a seat in the lounge. It’s important
I establish the facts as soon as possible. It’ll help us find your brother. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  Siân took a seat and sipped her hot tea. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘When did you last see your mother and brother before finding your mother this morning?’

  Siân took a deep breath before responding. This really mattered; she had to get it right. ‘I had some t-tea with mum and Tony at about f-four yesterday afternoon. They were in the l-lounge watching something on the telly when I went out to meet some friends at about half past four.’

  The officer smiled. ‘Did you actually see them before you left?’

  Siân stared into her tea. ‘No, I was in a h-hurry to get to my friend’s house. Mum called me from the l-lounge when I was about t-to leave, asking when I’d be b-back, but I didn’t answer. I really wish I had now.’

  ‘Hindsight is an exact science.’

  Siân raised her eyes with a baffled expression on her face.

  The constable winced. How could she be so stupid? ‘You couldn’t have known what would happen. I’m sure your mum will understand. Now then, just so I’m clear, you left the cottage at about four thirty yesterday afternoon, and your mother and brother were absolutely fine. Correct?’

  Siân nodded and said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t see either of them until you found your mum at approximately half past eleven this morning?’

  ‘Y-yes, yes, I told the woman on the phone. The front door was open when I arrived, and the bathroom window was broken. I searched for my mum and Tony, and found Mum upstairs. When are you going to start looking for Tony? Surely you should be looking for Tony?’

  ‘Detectives are already on the way here. They’ll arrive at any minute. This information is really, really important. The more I can tell them when they get here, the better. It will help us find your brother. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  ‘I’ll have a quick look at the bathroom later. Now then, what’s your brother’s full name and date of birth?’

  ‘Anthony Mailer, he was s-seven in December.’

  ‘What date in December?’

  ‘The s-second. We had a birthday tea with a cake, and some of his friends came.’

  ‘That must have been nice. Does anyone else live at the house?’

  ‘Dad used to l-live with us, but he met another woman a few months ago and l-left.’

  ‘Do you and your brother still see him?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad came to see the psychiatrist with us. I think Mum and Dad may be getting back together. Mum seems to think so, anyway.’

  ‘Your mum must have been extremely angry when she first found out about the affair.’ It was a statement rather than a question, and she continued without waiting for a response. ‘Do your parents argue a lot?’

  ‘I s-suppose so.’

  ‘Does your father ever hit you, Anthony, or your mum?’

  ‘No, never! He’s not like that.’

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry, I had to ask. Do you think Anthony could be with him?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible, b-but I doubt it. I think Dad was supposed to be coming over to see us this evening.’

  Williams made a note of Mike Mailer’s new temporary address and said, ‘Can you think of anywhere else Anthony may be, at a friend’s house, for instance?’

  ‘I d-don’t think so. Tony hasn’t been seeing much of his friends since Dad left.’ She frowned. ‘Can w-we go to the hospital soon, please?’

  ‘We will, I promise, but this is important. Give me a list of all Anthony’s friends. It may help us find him.’

  Siân provided what information she could.

  ‘That’s great, thanks, Siân. Have you got a recent photograph of your brother?’

  Siân fetched an unframed portrait taken at school a few weeks previously, and handed it over. Anthony was smiling in the picture, but there was an unmistakable sadness about him.

  ‘Thanks, that’s really helpful! Now show me the bathroom.’

  Williams heard the Cavalier, which served as one of the force’s inconspicuous CID cars, pull up outside the cottage a few minutes later, and acknowledged her two plain-clothes colleagues from the lounge window as they walked down the path. She instructed Siân to wait in the lounge and met the two detectives at the front door. ‘DI Gravel, DS Rankin, I’m very glad to see you both.’

  She showed them the obvious access point, succinctly outlined the information collated prior to their arrival, and introduced them to Siân, who was still sitting in the lounge waiting anxiously for some positive development.

  Detective Inspector Gareth Gravel acknowledged Siân with a cursory nod of his head, but nothing more. There was no time for pleasantries when a child’s life was at stake.

  ‘Let’s talk outside, Bethan. Rankin, you stay with the girl. See if she’s got anything useful to tell us.’

  Williams partially closed the front door and looked at the inspector quizzically. ‘What is it, sir?’

  ‘I want you to take the young girl along to see her mother. Contact me as soon as Mrs Mailer can be interviewed. Speed is of the essence. The chances of finding the boy alive diminish with every hour that passes. As soon as she’s conscious, talk to whoever’s in charge, and don’t take no for an answer. Do not contact Mr Mailer under any circumstances. Which goes for the girl as well, by the way. Leave that to me. I need to be certain what we are dealing with before approaching him.’

  ‘That’s going to be tough on Siân, sir.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of that, thank you, Constable. The father could be involved. There’s no room for assumptions in this job. As soon as I rule him out, you’ll be the first to know. Is that all right with you?’

  Williams swallowed hard. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’ve been in the job long enough to know that, Bethan. You’re a police officer, not a social worker, for fuck’s sake.’

  Bethan Williams returned to the lounge, glared at Rankin with a look that said a thousand words, placed a supportive arm around Siân’s shoulder, and guided her towards the police car. ‘Come on, Siân, let’s go and see how your mum’s doing.’

  Gravel and his experienced sergeant made a thorough search of the property as soon as Williams and the teenager left the building. It was a long shot, but the inspector had once found a baby’s body in a kitchen drawer, and it was a painful lesson he’d never forget. They searched every room, looking in cupboards, wardrobes, under beds and in the attic, but found nothing out of the ordinary, except for a small piece of glass on Anthony’s bedroom floor. It puzzled them for a time. But could it really be of any significance?

  They discussed it briefly, and concluded that the answer was almost certainly no.

  30

  Molly was still in the hospital’s busy casualty department awaiting admission to the major trauma ward for assessment by a surgeon specialising in facial reconstructive surgery, when Williams and her charge arrived at South Wales General. There was, however, going to be an unavoidable delay as the surgeon had to be contacted at home, where he was enjoying his Sunday lunch with his family.

  Both Williams and Siân were motivated to speak to Molly for their own very different reasons. They tried repeatedly to engage her in conversation, but the combination of her injuries and the pain-killing morphine in her system meant that her responses were limited to incomprehensible noises rather than words. They eventually gave up trying to communicate with her, and waited in hushed contemplative silence.

  Within fifteen minutes or so, a thin young porter, seemingly covered with poor-quality tattoos that appeared self-inflicted, arrived to transfer Molly to the ward, with Williams and Siân following close behind. Siân was increasingly desperate to contact her father, and was finding the police officer’s explanations as to why this wasn’t currently possible difficult to comprehend. She didn’t even seem convinced by her own arguments.

  On reaching the ward, Molly was transferred from trolley to bed b
y two state registered staff nurses in light-blue uniforms, while the porter stood by and watched. The ward sister made a second urgent request for a prompt assessment by the appropriate surgeon, and ensured that Molly was as comfortable as circumstances allowed. The surgeon arrived surprisingly quickly, and concluded that urgent reconstructive surgery was essential. The complex operation was arranged for later that afternoon. All Williams and Siân could do was wait, watch the minutes tick by on the clock on the wall opposite Molly’s bed, and hope for the best.

  31

  Gravel kicked his filing cabinet drawer shut, and slumped back into his office chair with his broad fingers linked tightly behind his head. He’d done what needed to be done, he’d followed the relevant standing orders, he’d written them, for fuck’s sake. But what had he achieved? Fuck all, that’s what.

  The inspector closed his eyes, released his hands, bowed his head, and tapped his forehead gently with the first two fingers of his right hand. Had he missed something? Was there anything he hadn’t thought of? Anything he hadn’t covered?

  He opened his bloodshot eyes, rubbed them with the back of his hand, took a generous gulp of tepid coffee, and reviewed progress, or rather the lack of it, in his analytical mind. He’d arranged for a scenes of crime officer to check the cottage for potential evidence—basic good practice in complex cases—but nothing of use had been found, except for a number of faint but discernible footprints in the semi-frozen earth at the rear of the building.

  He smiled half-heartedly. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a lot better than nothing. He’d liaised with the top brass and negotiated what additional resources he could, but they were never sufficient. Rankin was contacting local hospitals and Anthony’s friends and relatives. He’d get on with it quickly and efficiently, as he always did. DC Hawkins was collating information relating to all known criminals in the area who posed a threat to children, or had a relevant history of violence. That would take a bit of time. All available officers were making door-to-door enquiries and searching the immediate area. He’d told them where to look: outbuildings such as garages and sheds, any containers such as bins and water tanks, and any other place where Anthony could potentially hide, or, God forbid, a perpetrator could conceal a child’s body. They were reporting back at seven that evening. It was a case of fingers crossed. Anthony’s description had been circulated to all operational officers in the force area. He’d covered all the bases. What he needed now was a break.