by Alex Clare
‘Thank you.’ The girl poked the alarm with one finger.
Robyn trudged down to the car park, wondering where her daughter was. She left the car on her driveway. Some plant in a neighbouring garden was making the air thick and sweet. In the hallway, the answering machine showed ‘1’. She dropped her bag and hurried forward, hoping to hear Becky but got a tinny automated message offering discounts on boilers. She stabbed at the delete button.
Slumped onto the sofa, she realised how late it was. She had promised to call Becky, found her name, hesitated, then pushed the button. Better late than break a promise.
‘Hello?’ The voice sounded a long way away.
‘Hi, sweetheart. Can we talk? Is now a good time?’
A heavy bass beat was in the background. ‘Meresbourne’s all over the news.’ Becky paused, Robyn straining to hear over the music. ‘You’re all over the news as the “cop who thinks he’s a woman”.’
It didn’t seem the right time to say anything, even if she could think of something to say.
Becky’s next breath shuddered into a sob. ‘So I’m left trying to answer a lot of stupid questions like “is your dad now your mum?” and I’ve got trolls posting horrible things on my Facebook page.’
Robyn found it hard to keep hold of the phone, her hands were shaking so much.
‘So if you have something to say to me, why don’t you just say it?’
‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart.’ She sounded feeble. ‘I wanted to tell you, face-to-face when you came down …’ Now she’d made it sound as if all this were Becky’s fault.
‘Tell me what exactly?’
‘But you said you’d read my letter?’
‘I read it and I didn’t know what to believe. You said you wanted to tell me something. I want to hear it from you.’
The song changed in the background, the beat faster, more insistent.
‘Could you please turn the music off? I can’t hear you.’
There was an exasperated snort, muddled noises, then peace. ‘There. Happy now?’
‘Becky, I’m going to live the rest of my life as a woman.’
There was no response. Soft sounds could have been Becky shifting on the bed.
‘This process will take a while. I’ve got to experience at least a year of being female before any sort of medical treatment can be considered. Work is being supportive about it – I just didn’t expect a case like this to blow up on my first day.’
Robyn could hear Becky’s quick bites of breath. ‘Then I’ll need hormone treatment for another year, to prepare my body for surgery.’
‘Oh Christ, you’re not going to …’ There was a confused jumble of sound, then the line cut.
TUESDAY 19 JULY
10
When the radio alarm went off at six, as usual, Robyn was already awake. The creases on the sheet reflected the anxieties of the dark hours and a glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed it had been a bad night. There was no hiding now: she’d installed a new one with a magnifying side and built-in lighting on an adjustable arm. It was justified because shaving had to be much more precise than before. The tide mark of stubble had become a symbol in Robyn’s battle – something to be defeated. When, as Roger, he’d gone to a salon to have his chest, back and legs waxed, he’d taken the easy way out and agreed with the assistant’s sympathetic question of whether he had a fussy new girlfriend. Now, as Robyn, she wished she’d been bolder and asked the girl for more advice. Between strokes, she inspected the results while the radio chattered about local traffic jams and confirmed the hot spell would continue.
It’s six-thirty on Tuesday the nineteenth of July and here is the news for Meresbourne and North Kent. Despite extensive searches by police and volunteers, there are no sightings of toddler Ben Chivers, who was abducted by a woman from Whitecourt Shopping Centre yesterday morning. Police are urging everyone to be vigilant and to come forward if you have any information.
A new voice cut in, smooth, measured and precise; Khalid. His calm delivery gave the impression everything was under control. There was another plea for the public to be alert and report anything suspicious, then contact details were given, with modulated pauses so everyone could take them down. He was doing a good job even though it was normally the lead police officer’s job to do the media for a case. As Robyn inspected the few hangers in the wardrobe, she wondered where this left her.
She’d visited a few shops as Roger but the questioning looks from the shop assistants whenever she’d picked anything up had put her off and decided it was much easier to buy the first set of female clothes online. After measuring her bust (as she must now call it), waist and hips, there had still been questions as many sites just had sizes but without measurements. Then when the things had arrived, most were wrong in ways she hadn’t imagined. The upper arms of a couple of jackets were cut too tight for her to wear and another was too short in the body. Until she could face going to a shop and trying something on, she only had two work outfits. Although she’d made the effort to hang up yesterday’s suit, it was still a creased rag. The thin lining was a mess of sharp ridges darkened by dried sweat. She threw it down on the bed frustrated at its flimsiness. She knew that there would need to be another press conference so everything she did would be on show, unless someone higher-up had decided things would be better with Khalid, who probably never had anything out of place. Well, she reasoned, if he could keep the media off her back so she could get her job done, she wasn’t going to complain.
Giving up on the rumpled suit, she pulled on the other, still struggling with the trouser fastening. Robyn remembered the counsellor’s matter-of-fact statement about what she’d need to do to demonstrate she was living as a woman. Make-up and skirts – they insisted on skirts. The first time she’d tried wearing one, the cool freedom was wonderful in the heat and she’d bought a couple for home. For work, she’d stuck with practical trouser suits, like all of the women in her team.
To offset the grey suit and plain blouse, she chose a bright necklace, a jumble of coloured blocks. These trousers had pockets, tiny little decorative things that might just hold a tissue. After a frantic look around, she realised she’d left her phone in the handbag, abandoned in the front room after speaking to Becky. Clearly, she wasn’t a proper woman yet, or at least one of those who seemed to treat handbags like extensions of themselves. She resolved to buy a belt holster for the phone.
There was a missed call and three text messages. As she put the kettle on, she read the first text: Hello, Robyn. I hope you’re OK after what must have been a stressful day. I was wondering whether you could do me a favour sometime and take my Martin out for a drink to cheer him up as he’s finding retirement a bit dull. Let me know, see you later, bye.
Typical Janice. To show concern for you, she pointed attention another way, making you feel as if you were the one coping. Robyn was sure Martin was loving retirement. No doubt, Janice had told him Robyn needed someone to take her for a drink, to make her feel accepted. Still, you couldn’t fault her for the thought.
One text from Graham confirmed there’d been no sightings of Ben overnight and the second that search warrants were in place for the warehouses. Khalid’s smooth voice agreed he would see her first thing. The kettle clicked and Robyn went through the routine motions of making tea, wondering whether it was worth calling Becky. Her finger hovered over the number. Once she got to the station, everything would be focused on Ben. No, there was no point ringing now, a student wouldn’t be awake yet. It might also be too soon after last night. She sent a text: Understand why you’re upset. Will call this evening. She wondered how to sign it off, then added. With love.
The drive to work was an attempt to marshal all her unconnected thoughts into a plan. Now twenty-four hours had passed, the certainty Ben was nearby was fading. Life wasn’t so convenient. The longer they went without a sighting, the lower the chances of Ben being alive and unharmed, or even just alive. She found herself driving faster.
>
The first person she saw at the police station was Janice, leafing through papers while walking down the steps to the car park.
‘Morning, Janice, ready to go?’
Janice gasped, hand flying to her face before she relaxed. ‘Sorry, Robyn. You made me jump. Just double-checking I’ve got all the paperwork. I’ve got through to most of the owners and we’re going in.’ She paused, scanning Robyn’s face. ‘You look tired – are you OK?’
Maybe others noticed but only Janice would say something. ‘Too hot to sleep. Good luck. Keep me posted.’
Walking in through the main door, you could feel a change in the station’s atmosphere. There was something in the air, a lack of energy despite the bright morning. The faces were more subdued than yesterday, the greetings in the canteen less cheery. Search teams were taking on water prior to working in the heat.
Back behind her desk with a cup of tea, Robyn dialled Khalid’s number. The smooth voice answered after the first ring.
‘Ah, DI Bailley, good morning. Thank you for calling me back. If you’re in the office, I’ll come down.’
The line cut. Robyn checked the signal, then jumped as a body stopped by her desk. Ravi stepped back, banging into the evidence board. His eyes seemed drawn to where her necklace met the blouse’s lace-edged neckline.
‘Morning, Ravi. Sorry, I’m expecting someone and I thought they’d arrived already. Any more news on the offenders you’re tracking?’
‘We can probably discount one of them, Guv. He was on the register for a relationship with a fourteen year-old girl when he was nineteen. They married as soon as she turned sixteen, five years ago. They have two kids now.’ Ravi’s foot started tapping an irregular rhythm. ‘But the other one’s more promising, a conviction for possessing indecent images of young boys and he served time. I’m waiting on a call from Newcastle to get more details.’
‘Where does he live now?’
‘Out in Pickley. There’s a charity refurbishing and selling furniture on some old farm. It’s some sort of religious-type community with accommodation in exchange for work and everyone is supposed to make sure everyone else stays straight.’
‘OK, get all the details, then we can pay him a visit.’
Ravi stood up a little straighter; Robyn turned to find Khalid standing by her desk even though she hadn’t heard the door open. The trimmed beard she remembered but not the force behind the deep-set eyes.
‘Good morning, DI Bailley. So good of you to make time to see me. Could we find somewhere quiet?’ Not wanting to miss any developments, she led Khalid to the far corner of the incident room, sheltered by evidence boards.
Forty minutes later, Khalid had probed every element of her police and personal life. He’d wanted to know how long the Bailley family had lived in Meresbourne, details of Roger’s service and promotions in Bristol and even asked what his ex-wife thought of the transition. Robyn, who thought about Julie as little as possible, found her answers getting shorter. Murmurs from behind the screen told her the rest of the team had arrived and was getting down to work.
‘How much more do you want? I need to be out there.’
Khalid stopped the recorder. ‘This investigation is getting a lot of press and we need to be able to counter any negative accusations. The Service’s positive media profile must be maintained.’
‘You’ve got a media profile, I’ve got a missing child.’ Robyn put her hands to her head. ‘Can I get on now?’
Khalid stood up. ‘You may not like it but this is police work too. I’ve arranged a press conference for one o’clock. You need to get a family member there to do an appeal.’
He turned and weaved his way out of the corner leaving Robyn feeling weary and in desperate need of another cup of tea. As she stood up, her foot tangled in the strap of her handbag and she cannoned into one of the evidence boards, pictures scattering to the floor.
‘You all right, Guv? Bit early for the gin.’ Lorraine stooped to pick up items.
Robyn picked up a picture of Melissa in a formal suit with a challenging expression, taken from her online LinkedIn profile. She needed to get through to this woman and, based on yesterday’s conversation, it wouldn’t be easy. ‘Lorraine, I know you’ve got the lead you want to follow up on the burglary but I need to see Ms Chivers this morning and persuade her to do a press conference at lunchtime. Perhaps you might be more on her wavelength?’
‘Are you sure, Guv? We might be similar colours on the outside but let me tell you, there’s nothing a successful black woman likes less than another black woman she thinks might be doing better than her.’ Lorraine grimaced. ‘I’m serious, Guv. If she’s as driven as Graham described, she’ll want to prove she started from a worse place in the “suffering sisterhood” stakes.’
After the session with Khalid dealing with perceptions about her, Robyn had the feeling she was missing something subtle. ‘I’m sorry, Lorraine, I wasn’t trying to make assumptions. My conversation with Ms Chivers was cut short because, well, she doesn’t want to speak to me which means I can’t develop a proper impression of a person who’s crucial to the case. Graham says she’s distraught over Ben’s loss and Janice thinks she’s a heartless bully. I trust your judgements of people and I’d like your view. That’s all.’
Lorraine grinned. ‘Well, why didn’t you say so, Guv? Give me two secs.’ She focused on her computer for a moment, then snatched up something from the printer and joined Robyn in the corridor. In the car park, like Janice, Lorraine seemed to expect Robyn would drive. Robyn filed it as another difference between men and women.
‘I printed off what Derby and Rutherford say about themselves, Guv.’ Lorraine read from a piece of paper as they drove towards the business park. ‘Founded in 1877 by men with lots of facial hair, always at the centre of Meresbourne’s commercial life. Oh, here we go: “worked for the family of the renowned Victorian novelist Edmund Napier Loveless (the pen name of Faith Gregory)”. Is there anything in Meresbourne not claiming some connection with Loveless?’ She turned over the page. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s read her books.’
‘I did at school.’ Robyn grimaced at the memory. ‘We all had to. After all, she’s the only thing the town is famous for, though now someone’s on Superstar Seeker, who knows?’
‘I didn’t have you down as a Superstar Seeker fan, Guv. All sorts of things I didn’t know about you.’ Lorraine giggled.
Robyn’s fingers tightened on the wheel for a second, before she made an effort to relax. ‘Where’s this office?’
If Lorraine was surprised by the tone, she didn’t show it. ‘Do you mean their “prestigious new office for the next generation of legal services”?’ Lorraine consulted the sheet again. ‘Second on the left.’
They drove past “To Let” signs, one so faded, the words were almost invisible. Robyn parked her Mondeo in a visitor’s space and thought she should try and relax a bit. She couldn’t keep snapping at people and expect them to remain positive. She cast around for something to say. ‘They used to have that big stone building on the High Street. It’s still got “Derby and Rutherford” carved onto a plaque – the ground floor is the Pet Rescue shop now.’
Lorraine heaved open the heavy glass front door. From behind an intimidating flower arrangement, a bottle-blonde receptionist interrogated them about their parking space number, pouting when they admitted not noticing. They were pointed towards a waiting area where pictures lined the walls. At one end, there were portraits of men with serious expressions standing amongst bales and crates at the Docks, their top hats suggesting it was a long time ago. In the more recent images, men in suits held large cheques in front of junior football teams and the air ambulance. The largest shot was a crowd under a banner for Small Law Firm of the Year. Robyn leaned closer. ‘Have a look at this …’
Lorraine scrutinised the picture. ‘There’s Ms Chivers.’ She pointed. ‘Hmm, everyone else has champagne, it looks like she’s got a soft drink. Was that it?’
&n
bsp; ‘No, beside her. Is that Janice’s lad Josh?’
After a second, Lorraine raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you’re right. What he’s doing there?’ She looked again. ‘According to the banner, it was three years ago and it must have been summer because people are in short sleeves.’
‘We’ll ask her. He might be able to give some inside information.’
The receptionist came out from behind the desk and held open an inner door. She led them past glass-walled meeting rooms, each with identical sideboards, round tables and four high-backed brown leather chairs. They were pointed into the third one.
‘Not sure about the art.’ Lorraine met the dark, dead eyes of a sculpted African woman which took up most of the sideboard. Across the room, an abstract of zebra stripes was highlighted with smears of pink. ‘I can’t believe she’s come back to work when her son’s missing.’
Melissa appeared in the corridor outside, piling files into the arms of the receptionist.
‘That’s why I want your opinion. Is she blocking out the trouble by focusing on normal things, or is there something more sinister?’ Robyn turned to the door.
Melissa gave them a quick nod to sit down but remained standing, gripping the back of a chair. ‘Why are you here?’ The navy suit squared her shoulders.
‘How are you, Ms Chivers?’
‘Did you just come to ask me idiotic questions?’ Melissa stepped closer to the chair so her body was hidden.
Robyn swallowed. She should have learned from what Susan had told her and kept it factual. ‘No, Ms Chivers. We wanted to update you on the investigation and seek more information to help us find Ben.’
Melissa opened her mouth.
‘Sorry, Benjamin. This is Detective Constable Mount. We tried to arrange this visit with your family liaison officer but I understand Susan is no longer with you?’