by Lee Weeks
‘Yes, that’s Jackson, isn’t it?’ He was losing concentration; Jeanie knew the session was coming to a close.
‘Shall we find the one of Nanny?’ Jeanie looked back inside the bag and pulled out the Nanny puppet again.
‘There, Jackson, this one is Nanny, isn’t it?’
Jeanie packed away the puppets.
‘All right, Jackson. I think that’s enough for today. He’s getting tired. We’ll do some more tomorrow.’ Jeanie started packing the crayons away; she left them in a tub on the corner of the table. ‘It’s a good start though.’ Tracy didn’t say anything. She was in shock. ‘Tracy, let’s get Jackson some tea and the bath and bed. Tracy?’
Tracy nodded.
‘Yes.’ Jackson looked up at her. He looked as if he were about to cry.
‘Jackson needs a cuddle, Tracy.’
‘Of course. Come here, Jackson. Nanny loves you such a lot. Shall we see what Scruffy’s doing?’ She led him into the kitchen. Jeanie gathered up the drawings and numbered them. She finished up her notes and closed her pad.
Tracy gave Jackson his tea and bathed him and left Jeanie reading a book about Spot the Dog to him whilst she went into the kitchen to tidy.
‘It’s late, Jackson.’ Tracy heard Jeanie’s words as she stood in the kitchen staring out at the dark. She was wondering what she’d say to Steve. Jeanie checked her watch; she’d promised Peter she’d be back an hour ago. She had lost all track of the time. It was gone eight o’clock. She had promised to make it home in time to read to her own daughter Christa. She would have missed bathtime now. She’d have missed playing with Christa. She must try and get back to put her to bed. ‘Spot is getting very tired. I think it’s time for Spot and Jackson to go to bed.’ Jackson watched Jeanie’s face for a few seconds before he nodded and jumped down off the sofa. Jeanie looked up at Tracy as she came in from the kitchen. Tracy nodded.
‘Come with Nanny and I’ll tuck you in.’
Tracy took his hand. ‘Say goodnight to Jeanie.’ Jeanie bent down for him to give her a kiss.
Jackson went across to Scruffy and hugged his neck. He kissed him and wiped his face in Scruffy’s fur. ‘Night night.’ Jackson was looking for something. He went to the table where he’d sat with Jeanie and the puppets and he climbed up on the chair and leant his weight across the table.
‘Careful Jackson.’ Tracy rushed towards him.
Jeanie held up her hand for her to take her time. Jackson looked back from Tracy to the table and he found what he was looking for, he kissed the Mummy puppet. Then he got down from the chair and came towards Tracy.
‘Night. See you in the morning.’ She looked up at Tracy as she came back out of the bedroom having settled Jackson down.
‘I’m going home now, Tracy.’ Tracy nodded and smiled. She sympathized with Jeanie – she could see she wanted to be going – but she needed to clarify something first:
‘What Jackson said about there only being one man in the flat when Danielle left, could that be his dad?’
‘I think he would have said so if it was,’ Jeanie answered.
‘But I know it’s been a long time since he saw him.’
Jeanie shook her head. ‘Nothing is certain, Tracy.’ She smiled kindly. ‘We’re bringing in Niall Manson and we’ll start from there. You must be shattered.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Please get some sleep and let’s hope it all gets resolved in the morning. I’ve left my number on the kitchen worktop. You call me if you need anything and I’ll bring more things for Jackson tomorrow.’
Tracy watched through the lounge window and saw Jeanie’s car tail-lights disappear down the road.
Jeanie tried Carter’s phone but it was busy. She rang Robbo.
‘The child has Down’s syndrome, right?’ asked Robbo.
‘Yes, but I think we have a bright child, despite that. He is perfectly able to count, to recognize colours. He draws to a good ability for his years.’
‘Have you been able to interview him?’
‘I’ve made a start. I think we can be sure that someone took her out of that flat in full view of her little boy. From what Jackson has said, I feel that she must have known her abductor. She must have known enough to trust that if he said he wouldn’t harm Jackson then he wouldn’t. She felt secure enough to think the best option was to go. Seems like there was just one man in the flat with him and his mother. I have a description of sorts: white, brown hair. I’ll keep chipping away.’
Tracy went to lie in bed next to Jackson and listened to his breathing.
She had given him a penguin toy she had got from the women working on the nail bar. It was being given away free with a Christmas manicure. She lay there listening to him and felt such a deep panic that she couldn’t have closed her eyes if she wanted. Only the sound of his rhythmical breathing calmed her.
She went over what Jeanie had said and what had happened with the puppets and drawings. If it was Niall Manson who was in that flat then Tracy felt sure things would be sorted out and he wouldn’t harm the mother of his child. Fingers crossed, Danielle would come back tomorrow. Jackson’s face was turned towards her. With Jeanie’s help she’d pushed her bed up against the wall to make sure he couldn’t fall out and she’d put a rubber sheet beneath his side of the bed. She’d found it in the spare-room cupboard, kept from when Steve’s niece and nephew used to come and stay when they were young.
Tracy watched Jackson as he slept, his eyelids pink and paper-thin. He was dreaming. She dreaded what he might say when he woke up. What questions would he ask her? He’d never said a whole sentence to her yet. She had no idea what he was capable of. All she could think was that something awful must have happened to Danielle for her to leave her little boy.
She didn’t remember falling asleep but she awoke when she heard people outside on the street warming their car engines ready to go to work. She heard a whine coming from the kitchen. She got up, agitated; she’d forgotten all about Scruffy, who she’d bedded down on an old duvet on the kitchen floor and now he was whining for something. She thought about calling Steve – he’d be getting ready for work now – but decided against it. She would get everything organized so that when he came home later he wouldn’t notice a thing out of place. If she told him the truth about what was happening she would have one more problem to deal with. She’d tell him when and if she had to. After all, Danielle might appear at any moment.
She pulled on her dressing gown over her pyjamas and opened the bedroom door, leaving it slightly ajar as she padded softly out into the kitchen. As she opened the kitchen door Scruffy went ballistic with happiness.
Tracy unlocked the back door to their patio garden, which had half a dozen tubs, a gazebo and a barbecue. The patio furniture was all covered up for the winter outside. There was no lawn, just pots, mostly emptied now till spring when they would be planted up with geraniums. But some of her pots had herbs in all year. She had brushed the snow from them. The purple sage was still usable, the rosemary a great asset to her culinary skills.
Scruffy went bounding outside and cocked his leg against the herbs.
‘Oh God,’ Tracy moaned.
She watched him nose around the rest of the garden until he was satisfied that he was master of the territory and then he leapt up onto the shrubs in a small bed at the end of the garden and crapped.
She let Scruffy back in and then crept back into the bedroom. Jackson was still asleep but he looked like he’d moved slightly. He was frowning, cross. He was fighting something in his sleep.
She tried hard not to feel despondent when she walked out of the bedroom and back into the lounge and saw Scruffy on the couch.
‘Down. Get down,’ she hissed. Scruffy didn’t move. Tracy marched over and pushed him off the sofa. She heard her phone ring from the kitchen. A sense of relief came over her. It would be Danielle. She would be phoning to tell Tracy she was all right, she was coming home. She walked towards the phone with a calm breathy smile o
n her face. Stay calm. If I’m calm then so will everyone else be. She answered it before she realized it was a withheld number. She heard the delay between her answering the phone and someone speaking and knew what that meant. Oh God! Even on a day like today, even with every trouble in the world heaped on her shoulders, they were going to ring her about double-glazing or accident compensation.
‘Tracy Collins?’
Tracy was instantly annoyed. They didn’t usually get her name right. They usually called her Mrs Smith or Mrs Jones. They just picked any common name and pretended they weren’t cold-calling She listened hard. The line wasn’t good. Now she was doubly irritated: not only was it an unwanted call but she could hardly make out what the person was saying, it was so quiet and muffled.
‘Yes. Who’s calling? What’s it about?’
The voice, so dark and low, rolled out the words: ‘It’s about your daughter.’
Chapter 17
‘Niall Manson’s in the police cells next door, Guv.’ Ebony came into Carter’s office. She’d been at work since seven. Carter had arrived a short time later. He had managed to get home for a few hours’ sleep after they left Sandford. He had a feeling they had better grab sleep whilst they could.
‘Where’s he living at the moment?’
‘No fixed abode. He was picked up at a friend’s home last night.’
Carter and Ebony crossed over from ‘The Dark Side’ into Archway Police Station next door – a door was all that separated them.
‘I’ll catch you up, Ebb.’
Carter went to talk to another inspector for a few minutes. Ebony’s friend Zoe was waiting outside the interview room.
‘Hi, Ebb.’
‘How’s he been, Zoe?’
‘He’s calm; the lawyer’s arrived now. Don’t think Manson knows what he’s been brought in for.’
Carter joined them and Zoe blushed. Carter was the station’s pin-up boy.
‘Can we go in, Detective?’ Zoe smiled, standing tall. ‘Just taken my detective exams, Sir, not sure if I’ve passed yet.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He winked at her; his hand was on the door. Ebony followed him inside the interview room and sat down across from Niall Manson. Carter sat next to her, opposite the lawyer.
Manson sat back arrogantly and stared at them. He played with the fingers of his left hand: tapping the tip of his index finger against the pad on his thumb. A nervous habit like someone playing with a rosary. His lawyer sat beside him, tired, yawning.
Carter switched on the recording machine and read Manson his rights. Then he sat back a little in his chair and studied Manson. Carter was good at interviewing. He was good at establishing a baseline. Seeing what was normal for the person and then knowing when something he said created a reaction in their habits, in their voice pitch, control, in the way they breathed – the tell-tale signs that the answer they had just given had been a lie.
‘Can you confirm your name and address for me please?’
Manson sat back and stared around the room.
‘Could you answer please.’
Manson looked across at his lawyer, who nodded, more irritated by his client than Carter was.
Manson’s voice was deep. He had a habit of nodding, breathing in through his nose loudly as if he were bored.
‘Niall Manson.’
‘Address?’
‘Don’t have one.’
Carter spoke into the machine. ‘Address given as “No fixed abode”. Mr Manson, do you understand why we’ve asked you to come in today?’
Manson blew out his cheeks, breathed in, answered,
‘No.’
‘It’s concerning the disappearance of Danielle Foster.’
‘Where’s the bitch run off to?’
Carter smiled; he made sure his eyes stayed on Manson. ‘When was the last time you saw Danielle?’
‘Three weeks ago.’
‘Can you tell me about that time?’
‘It was Jackson’s birthday. She wanted money. If she’s gone missing you better ask one of her dyke friends.’
‘What about when you sent some of your mates around to her flat on Monday night?’ Manson looked at his lawyer, who was busy making notes.
Manson looked disgusted. ‘Yeah – that’s really my style?’ His voice had risen a little.
‘Who were they? They asked for you by name. They definitely knew who you were.’
‘Business acquaintances. I owed them some money is all it is. Nothing more.’
‘You used Danielle’s address to make your deals?’ He shrugged his answer. The finger-tapping had disappeared. ‘How do we know they didn’t just come back and decide to take things further for themselves?’
‘Because I’ve seen to it.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve settled it. They don’t have no reason.’
‘I want their names.’
Manson thought it through; he looked around the room for a few minutes. He shook his head. ‘I won’t cause unnecessary trouble. I will ask around about Danielle. Although it’s no skin of my nose if she’s in a skip somewhere.’
‘I take it you two don’t get on very well?’
‘Could say.’
‘But you have a child together.’
‘Havin’ a kid was the worst thing we ever did.’
‘Jackson’s not easy?’
‘Oh he’s easy all right but then you’re never going to get much back from him. He’s never gonna to be playin’ football for England, is he?’
Carter didn’t answer this.
‘You still feel something for Danielle, Niall?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure. But most of it is hate. She looks at me like I’m shit on her shoe. I ain’t good enough for her any more.’ Manson sniffed and turned away and pretended to be looking at the décor in the small interview room. There was nothing for him to look at except the sheen of the grey paint.
‘You think she got ideas above her station? She wants to be a teacher now, doesn’t she? She’s going to classes, isn’t she? And it feels like she doesn’t want to know you any more. I sympathize. I have a kid, Niall. I understand how tough it is.’
Niall turned back and sneered. ‘Yeah well, she’s got a new set of friends. Go and talk to them. What you botherin’ me for?’
‘Who are they?’
‘All those single women she meets in the school. Bunch of dykes. Plus – she denies it but I know she’s seeing someone else.’
‘That’s tough.’ Carter sat back in his chair, nodded sympathetically.
Manson watched Carter closely. Then he mirrored Carter’s actions. He relaxed, sat back.
‘How do you know?’ Carter continued.
Manson shook his head slowly, screwed up his face. ‘I can tell. You can, can’t you? When they’re cheating on you?’
‘You been together long then?’
‘Long enough.’
‘A few years?’
‘Since we was teenagers. You’d think she’d feel some fucking loyalty – bitch.’
‘You ever feel the need to put her in her place? You ever slap her, Niall?’
‘Once or twice. Nuthin’ bad. Nuthin’ she didn’t deserve.’
‘Where were you yesterday evening?’
‘Round my mate’s house.’
‘Address?’
‘Concord Square, Lewisham.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Yeah. We had a visit from friends of yours. Thought there was some chance of finding a cannabis farm; turned out to be next door. No apology – nuthin’. Just smash the fucking door down and leave.’
‘Make a complaint.’
‘Tsss.’ He turned away, disgusted. ‘Fucking filth. What about my son? What about Jackson? Who’s got him?’
‘He’s being looked after by family.’
‘I hope it ain’t Danielle’s dad?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he’s a weird fucker. Never liked me. Never wanted nothing for D
anielle. Kicked her out when she got pregnant. Who’s got my son?’
‘He’s with Danielle’s mother.’
He shook his head, confused. ‘She’s dead.’
‘Her birth mother.’
‘What? What is that shit? Where did she crawl out from? She never tried to find Danielle before. Why did she bother now?’
‘Apparently it was Danielle who made the contact. Does that seem strange to you?’
‘Yeah. The way she talked about her real mum I’m surprised but . . . Danielle was full of surprises lately.’
‘I know that things didn’t work out for you and Danielle but this is the mother of your child and she’s disappeared. You think of anything she may have said to you?’
‘The last thing she said was that she hopes I die slowly. Oh yeah, and if I didn’t want her contacting the filth I better sort out my affairs fast. I want to see Jackson.’
‘You’re not allowed, are you? The court order says you are refused permission to see your son ever since you put him in danger with your drug dealing ways. You can reapply to the courts to have the injunction lifted. If you help us we’ll certainly put in a word for you.’
Niall’s face took on an indifferent expression.
Tracy watched Jackson waddling out of the bedroom, his eyes full of tears.
‘What? Pardon? Sorry?’ Tracy still hadn’t really understood what the person on the other end of the phone was saying.
Jackson came to stand in the kitchen doorway. ‘Mummy . . . Mummy?’ He stood rubbing his eyes, still half asleep.
The voice, deeply distorted, now became loud in her ear. ‘Tracy? You listening? I have your daughter here.’
Tracy turned away from Jackson and the phone became part of her head, clamped to her ear. The clock stopped. Her eyes saw nothing. Every sense was tuned into her ear, listening.
‘What do you mean? Where is she?’
‘Right now? She’s somewhere dark.’
‘Who are you?’ Tracy struggled to understand what the man was saying. His voice was so deep and each word rolled into the next. ‘Let me talk to her. Danielle?’ Tracy listened hard as she pinched her free ear shut with her forefinger and Jackson gripped her leg, whimpering. Tracy called into the phone. She strained to hear. There was a background noise, persistent but erratic.