by KL Slater
No.
It’s all she has time for before the end of her shift, and she doesn’t want to overtire Jo. These initial questions are of the utmost importance and she has to keep Jo onside.
If she asks the right ones, then surely, even without the help of the letter board, she can help Toni Cotter begin to unlock the mystery of her missing child.
* * *
On the way home from work, Nancy makes a detour to Muriel Crescent. She knocks on the door of Toni Cotter’s house and her mother, Anita, answers.
‘How is she?’ Nancy asks in a low voice. Anita shakes her head sadly.
Toni sits, a crumpled wreck, in the same corner of the couch as when Nancy visited three days earlier with DI Manvers.
When Nancy enters the room, Toni looks up sharply, desperate hope glimmering briefly in her eyes. Within seconds, it has fizzled out and evaporated, leaving her eyes dull and listless once more.
‘I thought it might be DI Manvers with news,’ she says quietly, looking down at her hands.
‘I wanted to call and see how you are.’ Nancy smiles. Have you heard anything from the police?’
‘They’re questioning people that knew Jo Deacon,’ Toni says, suddenly animated. ‘But she was such a loner, Nancy. No family or friends to speak of and they questioned all my work colleagues last time and didn’t come up with anything.’
‘You said the two of you were friendly. Didn’t she tell you anything about herself?’
Toni shakes her head. ‘She was always really guarded when it came to speaking about the past or about herself generally. She was more interested in me and Evie, for obvious reasons, we can see now.’
‘I suppose they have to go over it all again in case anything was missed the first time,’ says Nancy. ‘But surely, if Jo Deacon took Evie, there should be signs of that in her home.’
‘They’ve sent hairs and other bits off for analysis,’ Toni says. ‘What I want to know is, where is Evie now? What has Jo done with her if she isn’t at her house?’
Nancy shivers.
She knows then what her next question to Jo Deacon must be.
* * *
The next morning, Cheryl Tong, the ward manager, stops Nancy at the desk.
‘You’re back on Ward C,’ Cheryl says, handing her some wrongly directed mail for the other ward. ‘You can go there right away.’
Nancy doesn’t move. ‘But why?’
Cheryl looks up sharply. ‘Why what?’
‘I mean, I’ve only just come onto Ward B. Why am I being moved already?’
Unconsciously, Nancy feels her eyes drift towards Jo Deacon’s private room and she sees her manager register this.
‘There’s no specific reason, Nancy, just staffing logistics.’ Cheryl hesitates. ‘Although I have noticed you’re spending a lot of time in the stroke patient’s room.’
‘I do what I need to do in there,’ Nancy replies tersely. ‘Sometimes it takes a little longer because the patient is unresponsive.’
‘Well, they’re moving her later today, anyway,’ Cheryl says in an offhand manner. ‘Can’t say I’m sorry, if it’s true what she did to that Cotter girl.’
‘Evie,’ Nancy says. ‘Her name is Evie. Where are they moving her to?’
‘No idea.’ Cheryl busies herself with a pile of paperwork. ‘You’d have to ask Dr Chance.’
‘I just remembered I left my fob watch in there yesterday,’ Nancy says, feeling grateful she placed it in her handbag this morning instead of pinning it to her uniform. ‘I’ll just get it now and then I’ll get off to Ward C.’
Cheryl gives her a vague nod and moves to the other side of the admin station to take a telephone call.
Nancy enters the room. It’s quiet, save for the hiss of the respirator and the particularly loud tick of the wall clock. She pads over to the bed and leans forward so Jo can see her.
‘They’re moving me today, Jo. They’re short-staffed on another ward,’ Nancy says, leaning in closer. ‘I wanted to tell you that I saw Toni Cotter last night.’ Nancy pauses for a moment to observe her but there is no reaction at the mention of Toni’s name. ‘And I have one last question for you before I go.’
Nancy takes a breath.
‘Jo, do this for Toni. Was there someone else involved in the abduction of Evie? Yes? No?’
No reaction.
‘Jo, please. This is so important. Does someone else know what happened to Evie? Yes? No?’
No blink.
Nancy asks the last question again and adds in ‘I don’t know’ as an option, but still nothing.
Nancy looks over at the door. She doesn’t have an excuse if Cheryl Tong comes into the room right now. She’ll want to know what Nancy is saying to Jo and why she’s acting strangely with a patient.
‘Jo, please. For Toni’s sake, and for little Evie, tell me. Is there someone else involved, who knows what happened to Evie, knows where she is? Yes . . .’
And Jo Deacon blinks.
‘Does Toni know this person, like she knew you?’
Jo blinks.
The answer is, categorically, undeniably, yes.
67
Present Day
The Nurse
Nancy leaves Jo Deacon’s room and reports directly to her ward manager, Cheryl, who has just finished her call.
‘The patient blinked,’ Nancy says. ‘Jo Deacon blinked.’
Cheryl’s eyes widen. ‘Are you sure? There’s been no sign of life at all.’
‘I’m certain,’ Nancy says. ‘She just blinked.’ She can’t reveal her experimental communications with Jo because it would be very dimly looked upon. A nurse taking it upon herself to use unconventional techniques on a patient when she should be busy with other duties? Trying to save a grieving mother’s sanity by getting information from the patient who broke her world in two?
That wouldn’t do at all.
Fortunately, on this occasion, Nancy doesn’t give a toss about their ethics.
* * *
This time, when Nancy is shown into the sitting room by Anita, she is greeted by a very different Toni Cotter. She stands up as soon as Nancy appears and walks across the room to envelop her into a hug.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers. ‘Thank you for helping me.’
‘But you don’t know what I’m here to tell you, yet,’ Nancy says, struggling with how to break the information she’d managed to extract from a now-blinking Joanne Deacon. ‘I don’t even know if she’s telling the truth.’
This had occurred to Nancy after she had relocated to Ward C. When she’d asked if someone else was involved in Evie’s abduction, Jo hadn’t responded at first. What if she was playing games? She would probably never make a full recovery, even though the blinking was a sure sign that movement was returning. Though Nancy has no intention of spelling it out for Toni, she knows that Jo Deacon will probably never face justice. She can lead Nancy to believe anything she likes. She has nothing to lose.
Anita brings steaming mugs of tea through and the three women sit, bound only by their desperation to find Evie. Nancy feels selfish even thinking what she was about to say next, but she is going to say it anyway. Just so there is no ambiguity.
‘I have some news for you but I have to ask you not to repeat what I’ve told you or tell anyone where you got this information.’ Both Toni and Anita nod solemnly. ‘I could lose my job, you see. What I’ve done is totally unethical and talking to you about it now is breaching patient confidentiality and data protection.’
It’s too late for Anita – she’s so frail, like a burned-out shell – but Toni Cotter leans forward in anticipation, reminding Nancy of a small, hungry bird, quick in her movements.
Nancy hopes that what she’s about to say won’t disappoint her.
She outlines the communication method she has used and also gives them a short explanation of what locked-in syndrome is.
‘Are you saying that she is fully compos mentis behind that dead face and body?’ Toni looks horrifie
d. ‘That she’s actually alive and probably laughing at us for what she’s done?’
‘I doubt she’s laughing,’ Nancy says. ‘I would imagine it feels like being buried alive or locked into a transparent prison where no one can reach you.’
‘Good,’ Anita mutters, twisting her fingers together. ‘I do hope so.’
‘Through the use of blinking, Jo answered a few of my questions.’
‘Go on,’ Toni urges, although Nancy notices her face has drained of all colour.
‘She did take Evie that day—’
Toni jumps up out of her seat. ‘Why? Why would she do that? What has she done with her, where’s Evie?’ She begins pacing up and down the room, grasping and rubbing at her own throat. ‘Where’s my baby?’ She releases a wail of pure grief – one that Nancy has inadvertently unleashed without the correct environment or supporting professionals to help. A knot of panic twists in her stomach. She has made a terrible mistake in thinking Toni can deal with this.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Nancy shakes her head and stands up. ‘I should never have burdened you with this. I’ll go now.’
‘No, please!’ Toni lurches towards her, grabbing her arm. ‘Please, Nancy, don’t go. It’s just a shock. I want to know everything. I have to know.’
Nancy looks over at Anita and the old woman nods sadly, bowing her head. Nancy remembered how, the day she first met Anita, her hair was brown and set in soft curls. Now it is flat and dull, the colour of ashes.
‘We have to deal with it,’ Anita says softly, looking to her daughter and back at Nancy. ‘Whatever you have to tell us, it’s better than this living hell, where we’ve known nothing for years.’
‘That’s right.’ Toni’s grip tightens on Nancy’s arm. ‘Mum’s right. I’ll deal with it, Nancy. Whatever you tell me, I’ll cope with it. I promise.’
And so Nancy tells her.
She tells her that Jo Deacon has indicated that there was another person involved in Evie’s abduction, and more than that, Toni also knows this other person.
Toni sits down heavily next to her mother and Anita puts a shaking arm around her. Nancy falls quiet then, watching them entwined in a terrible shared silence.
Finally, Toni looks up and stares, not at Nancy, but through her.
Nancy can hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the shrieks of nearby children playing outside. The ticking of a large clock on the mantelpiece reminds her of the wall clock in Jo Deacon’s room. She wonders briefly if the two timepieces tick in sequence or are out of kilter.
Then, unexpectedly, Toni speaks. Nancy is surprised to hear that her voice sounds clear and calm, the panic and grief reburied for now.
‘I want to thank you again, Nancy, for doing this,’ she says slowly, reaching for Anita’s hand. ‘It means so much to me and Mum, to know we have a real friend in you. Someone who knew Evie, who is firmly on our side.’
‘It’s the least I could do,’ Nancy says, her eyes fixed on Toni, wondering what it is about her that suddenly seems different. More focused.
They sit in silence for a few seconds.
‘Has DI Manvers been in touch?’ Nancy asks.
‘Yes,’ Toni says, trancelike. ‘Nothing to report, apparently. It’s like Evie was never here in the first place.’
‘I’m sure he’s doing everything he—’
‘I don’t need the detective, not now,’ Toni says, a smile playing on the edges of her mouth. ‘Thanks to you, I can take it from here.’
‘Sorry?’ Nancy frowns. Had this new information tipped her over the edge?
‘I don’t need DI Manvers, at least not yet.’ Toni smiles, squeezing her mother’s hand as though she’s just discovered something she’s known all along.
Nancy stares, not quite knowing what to say. Toni looks at her, her features soft and relaxed for the first time.
‘You see, Nancy, I know what I have to do now.’ She stands up and stares out of the window. The light is fading, but it’s still bright enough to shine through Toni’s sparse hair. ‘It’s so obvious to me.’
Nancy shakes her head, not understanding.
‘I know.’ Toni speaks slowly, emphasising the words. ‘I know who the other person is that helped steal my daughter away from me. I’m going to make that person tell me where she is or I’m going to kill them.’ Toni smiles. ‘It’s that simple.’
68
Present Day
Toni
As soon as Nancy leaves the house, I ring DI Manvers.
When I move, my bones crack, my muscles strain and ache. I feel like I’m unfurling, like a seedling coming up for spring.
Evie needs me. I believe she’s alive now more than ever.
The first call rings and rings and then clicks through to voicemail. I dial again. DI Manvers picks up on my third attempt.
‘I need to know what’s happening,’ I say.
My throat feels choked by the sharpness of my words. I haven’t heard from him since yesterday.
‘Toni, I can assure you the investigation is ongoing,’ he says smoothly, his tone implying he feels mistrusted by me. ‘We’re currently looking into Ms Deacon’s affairs.’
Her affairs? What does that phrase actually mean? Are they dissecting her bank account? Analysing her telephone records? Investigating any recent purchases?
‘This is not a fucking traffic incident, DI Manvers. When will you be trying to find my daughter?’ I spit. ‘When will that be your priority?’
‘Mrs Cotter. Toni,’ DI Manvers stammers. ‘I do understand your concerns, I really do, but please trust us. We’re doing everything we possibly can.’
I’m supposed to feel placated. He is prepared to say anything to calm me down and get me off the phone. I have to do something to make him listen.
‘There’s someone else involved,’ I blurt out. I’m met by silence on the other end of the line.
‘How do you know this?’ DI Manvers’s voice takes on an official tone.
I think about Nancy, the way she’s helped me and Mum, placed her trust in us. I think about her job, the years she’s worked to build up her career.
‘What I mean to say is that there must be someone else involved,’ I correct myself. The last thing I want to happen is for him to become distracted with Nancy’s interventions at the hospital. ‘Otherwise Evie would be there, at her house, wouldn’t she?’
‘Toni.’ He sighed again. ‘We have yet to be convinced that Jo Deacon actually did take Evie. These cases are rarely so clear cut, and it would be extremely unusual for a middle-aged female like Joanne Deacon to successfully abduct a child and evade detection for the last three years.’
‘What about the photograph?’ I press. ‘She had a photograph of Evie looking much older.’
‘I know that. But it could have just been a coincidence. She could have found it or been given it. I shouldn’t even tell you this much, but we have forensics crawling all over Ms Deacon’s flat. If there is anything to find there, you can be sure we will recover it.’
‘So what are you going to do now?’ I ask, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to stay calm. ‘Evie could be out there, still alive. What are you doing to look for her?’
‘I can’t answer any more of your questions I’m afraid,’ DI Manvers says, his tone regretful. ‘Until Ms Deacon recovers sufficiently to be properly questioned, we can’t begin a full-scale enquiry. We’re in touch constantly with the hospital and they will contact us the second she shows any signs of improvement.’
‘Well maybe you should check your messages,’ I snap. ‘Because Jo Deacon blinked this morning.’
I end the call, blood boiling in my veins and my heart splitting open. I have no hard, fast evidence, but I just feel the police have given up on us.
I think they are going through the motions of what is expected, but deep down, they truly believe that Evie is already dead.
69
Present Day
The Teacher
Harriet sits i
n her armchair, staring at the front page of the newspaper. Specifically, she is staring at the photograph on the front page of the newspaper, because she knows the woman’s face.
Granted, it has been a long time, but Harriet is good with faces. Her sharp memory was one of the reasons she was so good at her job. She rarely forgot the face of a parent or child once she’d had a conversation with them. People like it when you remember them. It doesn’t matter what age they are, the neediness is there. From young children right along the line to very old people, everyone likes to think they’re memorable, interesting enough for you to remember their name or ask how they enjoyed their birthday party, weeks after they told you the date.
So Harriet has no problem recalling the conversation she had with the woman who is now plastered all over the front page of the local newspaper. She’d had several conversations with her, in fact.
The woman had told Harriet back then that her name was Mary Short, but the tagline under the photograph quotes another name: Joanne Deacon.
It’s a demeaning photograph, snapped in a hospital bed. In order to get a clear shot of her face, it looks as if someone removed her respirator, which lies discarded on the pillow next to her. No doctor would have allowed the invasion; the press must have found an underhanded way to get hold of the image.
Her grey skin tone and sightless, glassy stare remind Harriet of a dead carp she’d seen as a child on the banks of the River Trent. It had been clutched in the hands of a fat, grinning fisherman with ruddy cheeks and a wispy comb-over and, for some inexplicable reason, it had made Harriet feel desperately sad.
She scans the printed columns.
As she suspected, the article states that the photograph was leaked anonymously, that the image and details of what the woman had done were posted on social media, just before midnight yesterday. The full report is inside.