by Alex Clare
Five minutes before the briefing was due to start, Robyn returned to the office suite and stood on the first floor landing, desperate for the loo. There were voices coming from the women’s changing room. She hesitated, then ducked into the men’s toilet, grateful to find the cubicle free, before fleeing upstairs, face burning because she couldn’t face the possible confrontation.
The press were already crowded into the staff room with no sign of Graham. Robyn scanned the faces as people settled themselves on the mismatched chairs. There were representatives from the local weekly paper, the regional daily and a couple Robyn didn’t recognise, who had the polished look of TV people, confirmed when they set up a small camera. Everyone seemed to be taking pictures of her. She hoped they were just checking light levels.
Graham slid in, holding another disc. ‘I’ve got the extra CCTV footage, Guv. The little twerp in security admitted he was having a fag when Ben went missing. When someone told him what’d happened, he checked the footage, then posted the clip “so people would spread the word”. Thought he was being a bloody hero.’ He pulled a face.
Robyn shook her head then scanned the room again. They couldn’t wait any longer, even though she’d been expecting to see Ady Clarke, from the Meresbourne Gazette. Everyone was taking a good look at her and who knew what they were thinking.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I’m DI Robyn Bailley.’ The sudden flurry of scribbling didn’t help her composure. ‘This briefing is to ask for your help in finding Ben Chivers who went missing from this shopping centre two and a half hours ago.’ Robyn held up the photo of Ben in his school sweatshirt and tried not to blink in the flashes. ‘Ben is nearly two years old, of mixed race. We’ll show you evidence that this was a deliberate snatch so we need everyone in Meresbourne and the villages to be vigilant and report anything suspicious.’
Ady had appeared and was now watching with the rest. Robyn wondered whether he could imagine them now going for the pint they’d talked about a few times. Another person who should have been told beforehand. It was a relief when she was able to stop talking and show the CCTV. From high up in the pharmacy, they watched Gillian and Ben walk in: the door was propped open. All that could be seen of the pharmacist was the dome of his bald head as he faced Gillian. Ben approached her once, the angle making him disappear behind the counter. Gillian looked down, her stiff gesture making the lost words unnecessary. Ben wandered back into view, moving to the doorway, looking out, his backpack a lighter square on his dark sweatshirt. He turned back for a few seconds but Gillian was still talking. There was a collective sigh from the watchers as the boy toddled out of the top of the screen.
Graham loaded the centre’s CCTV, just five frames. The grainy blob that was Ben stood alone in a patch of empty floor. Next shot, four lads, all caps and loud logos, were occupying half the frame, one pushing another, Ben just visible behind them. Then the screen was full, a crowd of teenagers, girls and boys, mouths open, laughing or jeering. In the fourth shot, the first of the group were already out of the top corner, half a screen of empty floor behind them. Finally, only two remained, almost out of shot, empty space where Ben had been. Robyn finished with the blurred image from the camera shop, blown up as large as they could make it. The digital display showed eight thirty-four. Two shapes, joined in the middle, walked away from the camera, a small one in red and a larger, yellow one. Ben was being led away by a figure in a long, patterned frock.
5
There weren’t a lot of questions at the end of the briefing and, to her relief, the most personal was how to spell ‘Robyn’. Ady had left straight away, without saying goodbye, which she hoped was simply because of the deadline for the local evening paper. She and Graham walked back up to Northbank, past the pharmacist, who was gesticulating for reporters. Graham pushed at the door to the car park with one finger, then one hand but the heavy door barely shifted. ‘These would be hard to open if you had an unwilling toddler. Someone might remember.’
Robyn peered into the corridor. ‘If so, Phil’s team should find them. Right, time to talk to Ben’s mother.’
They got back into the car, Graham taking advantage of the lighter traffic to go faster. Robyn was grateful when they turned off the ring road onto Albert Avenue and started the climb towards Upper Town.
‘I think I’ve only been to Upper Town once since I came back to Meresbourne, when that accountant embezzled from the mayor’s charity fund.’ Even under the shade of the plane trees, it was hot and Robyn leant towards the window to catch any hint of breeze.
Graham waited for two women with enormous buggies to cross the road. ‘Of course, the estate agents don’t tell you how often little Timmy and Jocasta raid mummy and daddy’s drinks cabinet and start trashing cars.’
Robyn laughed then checked herself. They were about to meet a mother who’d lost her child. She needed to bring her comfort and reassurance.
‘Oh, by the way, did you hear about Gold-Top? Signed off with stress, this time.’ Graham snorted. ‘The only thing he’s got to be stressed about is his golf score.’
Robyn always wondered where Graham got his information from and how he got confidential HR information on DCI Golding. In the short term, it was bad news, meaning she would have to spend more time in meetings.
The road was rising steadily, parallel turnings on either side filled with neat rows of Victorian red-brick terraces behind pocket-handkerchief front gardens. After three junctions, the slope slackened, the side roads now broader, lined with pale brick town houses. Just before the crest of the hill, they turned off the avenue and began the hunt for a parking space in the grid of streets.
A lot of people seemed to be walking around so progress was slow. Robyn wondered whether she was being paranoid or whether the hard looks people gave the car were aimed at her. Graham swore as the first parking space he’d seen in five minutes turned out to hold a stone trough filled with flowers. They continued up into the two rows of detached villas crowning Upper Town.
‘So she hasn’t quite made it …’ Graham craned his neck in the hope of a space. ‘… still not got a place at the top of the hill.’ Leaving the car hanging over a junction, they walked back to the last row of town houses.
A tall officer in uniform stood at a crossroads. In response to Graham’s wave, he ran over with a smooth, easy motion, clipboard gripped like a relay baton.
‘Morning, Clyde. Found anything?’
‘Morning, Graham, sir.’ Clyde turned to Robyn and almost bowed. ‘Good morning, DI Bailley.’ He turned back to Graham, shoulders relaxing. ‘Nothing so far but everyone’s asking how they can help. We’re getting volunteers to check sheds and report anything suspicious. Teams are doing house-to-house.’
That explained the scrutiny of the car as they drove in. Graham nodded. ‘Keep going. We’re seeing the mother now. Good luck.’
They walked on through a contemporary conformity of façades with two-step front gardens and blinds at the sash windows. The only thing distinguishing number twelve was a ‘To Let’ board nailed to the fence. The family liaison officer answered the door, multiple bracelets jangling together. From the way she scrutinised them, you wouldn’t believe she was in the doorway of someone else’s home.
Robyn coughed. ‘Can we come in, Susan?’
In a swirl of printed skirt, Susan stepped past them, to scan up and down the street. ‘We haven’t had any reporters yet …’ She stopped, focusing on Robyn before checking the street again. ‘But I’m expecting them soon.’ Graham sniffed.
As Robyn stepped onto the quarry-tiled floor, cold rose through the thin soles of her new shoes. The air was thick with scent; there were two plug-in air-fresheners but none of the usual hallway litter, just a series of close-up photographs of lilies on the walls. High contrast, soft focus, just the sort of bland shot a couple of bores at her camera club specialised in.
Graham had already scanned around the front room. ‘Well? Is there anything we should know?’
Susan folded her arms. ‘Melissa Chivers, Ben’s mother.’ Graham kept his eyes on the end of the corridor before turning to scowl at Susan.
After the dim hallway, the kitchen was dazzling with ceiling spotlights and the noon sun. Melissa stood poised, a spread of shiny tools on the worktop, a flat-pack shoe-rack half way to completion. Susan hovered in the doorway: Robyn had never seen her so subdued. Despite the brightness, the room was stuffy with the same persistent scent as the hall. There was no invitation to sit on the white bar stools. Robyn cleared her throat of the cloying smell of pine. ‘Ms Chivers, I’m DI Robyn Bailley. I know this is a traumatic time for you so first, I want to reassure you we’re doing everything we can to find Ben. Susan will be keeping you up to date with our progress and will screen approaches from the media. Are you feeling up to a few questions?’
‘My son has been gone for nearly four hours. Four hours.’ Melissa put down the screwdriver and gripped a hammer. She turned to face Robyn, pale patches showing on her knuckles. ‘How can you stand there and say you are doing everything to find him? And his name is Benjamin.’ The voice was low, each syllable distinct and the words hung in the air until Melissa rapped the metal frame twice with the hammer, the sharp sounds cutting the silence.
Robyn cleared her throat. Melissa snapped her head around to glare at her then slotted the hammer back into a tool roll and tucked herself onto a bar stool, sitting with her back rigid, one pink nail tapping the counter top.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Chivers. We’ll try and make this as quick as possible.’ Robyn ticked herself off for misjudging her approach. Roger had never had that problem. ‘Now, can you please tell me about Benjamin? Is he an adventurous boy?’
‘No.’ She made an angry gesture to the paved yard. ‘He doesn’t like to go outside. Benjamin is a studious, obedient child.’
Graham’s eyebrows rose as he started taking notes. Fortunately, he was out of Ms Chivers’ eyeline.
‘So could Ben, Benjamin, have seen someone he knew?’
‘He does not associate with the sort of people who use that place.’
‘How can you be so certain? We understand Benjamin goes to school – could he have seen another pupil or a teacher?’
Melissa tutted. ‘No one from the school would have taken Ben. Why aren’t you questioning his nanny?’
‘We’ve spoken to Gillian Green. Can you tell us how long she’s worked for you?’
‘Have you not already asked her?’
‘We have asked her, ma’am, but we need to cross-check every fact.’
‘Sixteen months. She came from a top agency and had references, even though she lives in the Docks.’ Melissa pursed her lips.
‘Thank you. And before?’ Again, she was couldn’t establish any rapport with a witness. Robyn wondered what else she could do.
‘I had a specialist nursery nurse from the same agency.’ Melissa was aligning the next shelf within the shoe rack.
‘So apart from Gillian, who else does Benjamin have regular contact with?’
‘He sees the teachers at his school and two music tutors, for piano and violin.’
‘Could you give us their details please?’
Melissa spoke over her shoulder to Susan who was still loitering in the doorway. ‘In the office, at the left-hand end of the shelf above the desk is an address book.’
The bangles on Susan’s wrist rattled as she folded her arms. She looked back at Melissa and opened her mouth as if to say something.
Robyn caught her eye. ‘Susan, please – we need those details.’ Susan shut her mouth, blinked and disappeared into the hall. Melissa made an impatient noise in the back of her throat.
Another shelf was secured. Graham was shifting from foot to foot, a soft shuffling against the tiles. Susan reappeared, placing an A4 book on the counter and retreating to the doorway.
Melissa inserted a manicured nail into a tab.
‘I’m glad you do things the old-fashioned way.’ Graham turned to a fresh page of his notebook.
Melissa stared at Graham for a second, his bald head glowing under the spotlights, then she smiled. To Robyn, it all seemed rather predatory but Graham swallowed, his pencil poised. Melissa read out the details, pausing at the end of each line until Graham confirmed. To Robyn, watching, the process seemed to take longer than it needed to as Melissa’s voice had slowed to a drawl.
Closing the book, she turned to Robyn. ‘I saw you at the press conference. Why did you do that without my permission?’
Robyn swallowed. ‘Ms Chivers, when a child goes missing and we suspect foul play, time is of the essence. We try to get as much early coverage for the case as possible so the public are on the alert and ready to report anything suspicious.’
Melissa held the book across her chest. ‘Let me be clear. I meant, why were you speaking at the press conference? Now, rather than thinking about Benjamin, everyone will be focusing on you and your deviance.’
6
Robyn stood in the hallway of Melissa’s house, fumbling with the front door catch. She had concluded it was better for her to go and leave the interview to Graham.
Susan had followed her. ‘Typical, bloody Graham.’ She reached past Robyn to click back a lock. ‘Of course she’s happy now. She’s got everything under control.’
Having Susan glowering next to her reduced Robyn’s temptation to slam the door and it was reassuring that it wasn’t just her who found Ms Chivers hard to get on with. From what she had seen, Susan, with her offerings of chamomile tea, hadn’t built up a rapport either.
‘You’d better find her boy quickly. She’s so tightly wound, I think she’ll snap.’ Susan began twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. ‘And you need to have a word about Graham. He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near women in case he starts dribbling.’
That was a conversation Robyn didn’t want to start. ‘Keep me posted, Susan.’ She realised she’d been holding her breath. Two steps to the gate and she was on the pavement under the shade of a plane tree. To the right, Clyde stood with a group of people. Susan was watching from the doorway so Robyn turned the other way, towards the main road, then left, up the hill. She let her mind go into neutral. Melissa Chivers’ reaction was what she must learn to expect. The counsellor had gone through this, over and over again. Not everyone would understand or be supportive. She remembered the example given – think of football – some people would stab you for wearing the wrong shirt. Ms Chivers’ son was missing, presumed kidnapped so she was coping any way she could. Grief showed in lots of ways. There was no point in reacting to what someone said when they were under such stress.
A bus from the town centre edged up the hill and stopped, a group of teenage girls getting off in a fizz of giggles. Robyn wondered whether they were laughing at her until she heard a mention of Superstar Seeker as they crossed the road, ponytails swinging and she made a mental note to stop being so sensitive. Next to the stop, on a small patch of green was an old-fashioned cluster of phone-box, post box and bench. Without a destination, Robyn sat, contemplating the regular rows of roofs. There would be plenty of toddlers just like Ben around here. Any one of them could have wandered away for a second. The CCTV was not conclusive. The footage didn’t show the moment when Ben met the woman who led him away. Robyn followed the thought: if the woman had planned to take a child, this could be just a chance encounter, Ben the unlucky one in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alternatively, the toddler had been the target for some reason and a lapse in his nanny’s concentratio
n had made the snatch easier. She reached into her handbag for a copy of the picture from the camera shop. Robyn scanned the grainy image again, sure that she was missing something. The print dress looked like the ones now heavily-reduced in every chain store. The woman’s height and build were nothing unusual. She followed the outline: the woman’s left hand was holding Ben’s right but her right was empty – no handbag.
Her phone rang. Graham was at the car, sounding anxious to be off. Robyn hurried back, hearing the engine start as she neared the car. She opened the door.
‘Bitch.’ Graham accelerated hard out of the space, Robyn almost banging into his shoulder as she struggled to fasten her seat belt. Another car was waiting behind, indicator on.
‘I’m getting an idea of how the rest of the interview went.’
Graham grunted. ‘What? I mean the bitch who took little Benjamin.’ He braked at the junction where Clyde broke off a conversation with a knot of residents and shook his head. They turned into the next cross-street.
‘What did she tell you?’ Robyn tried to suppress the creeping fear that she’d be no use as a detective if she couldn’t interview anyone.
‘Couple of possible lines of enquiry, Guv. Melissa Chivers is a lawyer, done rather well for herself, partner in a law firm with offices over in the business park. Implied it was a big thing when they appointed her, “a black woman in the dusty corridors of Derby and Rutherford”.’ Robyn swallowed hard as Graham mimed the speech marks, both hands off the wheel. ‘She’s some kind of property specialist. Not your normal conveyancing, she looks after big, commercial developments.’