Two Little Girls

by Kate Medina

  ‘Then you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve managed to extract matchable fingerprints from the hair of this doll that we found in that box in the Reynolds’ loft.’

  Marilyn sat forward. ‘Now you’re saying something that I’m interested in hearing.’ He maintained a neutral tone, didn’t want to jinx Burrows’ message with hope. ‘A woman’s prints?’ he continued, thinking of the blonde woman on the beach walking with the child who was likely to have been Jodie Trigg, thinking of Carolynn Reynolds. Trying not to let his thoughts transfigure the neutral expression on his face.

  Burrows nodded. ‘Yes. The prints were from a woman.’

  Marilyn knitted his hands together to stop himself from drumming his fingers impatiently on the desktop. Burrows liked to communicate his findings in a structured way, at his own steady pace. Frustrating, when all Marilyn wanted was the crux.

  ‘I would say that the fingerprints – one finger, one thumb – were left when the doll was lifted or held by the hair, in pincer fingers, to quote your friend Dr Flynn.’

  Marilyn nodded, thinking of what Jessie had said. Perhaps someone sent them to her.

  Why?

  The killer, to taunt her.

  ‘And …’ He held up a finger, halting Marilyn’s impending interruption. ‘I’ve matched the prints to someone on the fingerprint database.’

  ‘Carolynn Reynolds?’

  68

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Reynolds sighed.

  ‘Zoe was never the child Carolynn wanted her to be,’ he said. ‘She never lived up to the image that Carolynn had of her child. She was lively, chirpy, I suppose would be a good way to describe her, but not academic and she could be naughty and difficult.’ His gaze rose without meeting Jessie’s and drifted around the narrow hallway, his mind seeming to follow it. ‘The poor little kid never measured up in the London mother-and-toddler groups. She never shone. Carolynn was embarrassed by her, embarrassed by her behaviour and by her …’ He paused, swallowed, as if the next word was sticking in his throat. ‘By her stupidity.’

  ‘How did you find her? Find Zoe?’

  ‘Carolynn was a senior social worker in children’s services, a director, in our local borough council. We’d registered through her department for adoption and she was in a position to oil the wheels from inside. The care and placement orders were arranged before Zoe was born.’

  ‘And the birth mother?’

  ‘We requested that she didn’t know our identity.’

  ‘And they complied with that request?’

  ‘She was a sixteen-year-old prostitute and druggie from Portsmouth, with a history of violence. So yes, they complied with that. The family courts are secretive. It wasn’t a big deal.’

  ‘What was her history of violence?’

  ‘We were told that she attacked a couple of clients.’

  ‘Clients?’ Jessie said. ‘Tricks, you mean? Men who were exploiting a teenage girl for sex? I’m not sure I’d hold that against her.’

  Reynolds sighed and gave a slight, dismissive shrug of his shoulders. ‘Whatever. She was deemed to be violent, and she didn’t want to give her baby up.’

  Jessie thought of the little thing growing inside her. The pregnancy test was still in her bag. She hadn’t known what to do with it, but throwing it away had felt wrong. How would she feel when her and Callan’s baby was born?

  ‘So Zoe’s natural mother wasn’t given a choice.’

  ‘The family court decided that the baby’s welfare would be best served by being removed from her mother and permanently adopted. The welfare of the child has to come first.’

  ‘Indeed. And so it should.’ Though Jessie wasn’t entirely sure that it had in Zoe’s case. The family court was secretive and had been caught up in controversy before, accused of taking perfectly happy, healthy babies and young children from marginalized parents with no right of appeal, those parents then gagged by the court’s absolute rule of secrecy, unable to publicize their plight, however unfairly they felt they had been treated.

  ‘When and where did you collect Zoe?’

  ‘Carolynn went to the hospital the day she was born and took her from her mother.’

  Jessie frowned. ‘Surely that’s not policy?’

  ‘As I said before, she was a social worker. One of them had to do it. She went with a policeman.’

  ‘Did Zoe’s mother know who Carolynn was? That she was the one adopting?’

  ‘No, she was just a faceless social worker.’

  Jessie wondered at the psychology of an adoptive parent who wanted to take a child away from her biological mother in person, from a mother who hadn’t wanted to give her baby up. It felt sadistic. Her thoughts must have telegraphed themselves straight to her face, because Reynolds’ jaw tightened.

  ‘Carolynn wanted to have her from birth. She said that it made the child more “hers”, if you get what I mean.’

  Jessie didn’t get what he meant, but what she was learning was useful and she didn’t want to risk derailing their discussion. He was still loyal to Carolynn for some reason she couldn’t begin to guess at – time served perhaps, years invested – and there was nothing to be gained from sharing her newly formed views on his wife. Again, she thought of how completely Carolynn had duped her. Usually, she had a good sense about people. Why hadn’t she with Carolynn? The question niggled.

  ‘How did Zoe’s mother react when her baby was taken from her?’

  His eyes hung closed for a moment. ‘Carolynn said that she struggled, fought.’

  Fought for her child. Fought and lost. But of course she would have lost. What hope did a teenage prostitute ever have of fighting the system?

  ‘Why Portsmouth?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s where Carolynn comes from.’

  ‘So she had some misplaced commitment to helping a local child?’

  A weak, apologetic half-smile was Reynolds’ only reply.

  ‘What kind of family did Carolynn come from?’

  ‘A disadvantaged one,’ Roger murmured. ‘Very disadvantaged. Single mum – a drug addict. She never knew her father. I’m not even sure that her mother knew her father.’

  ‘Do you think that Zoe reminded her too much of herself? A “herself” who didn’t measure up, as she had done? A failure of a mini-Carolynn?’

  Roger didn’t answer. He looked bereft suddenly.

  ‘People who have escaped are often the harshest critics of people who remain, those who have failed to escape a similar situation, aren’t they?’ she prompted. ‘Just as reformed smokers are the most scathing critics of people who still smoke, who they perceive as being too weak to give up.’

  ‘Carolynn is smart and resourceful,’ he said wearily. ‘She worked hard, clawed her way up from the gutter. By the time I met her, she’d already polished off the rough edges. I grew up in Winchester, went to agricultural college. Carolynn is far cleverer than I am. She was clever enough for the both of us, and I was privileged and rich enough for the both of us.’

  ‘Who was in control in your relationship?’

  Reynolds bridled. Jessie didn’t blame him. It was a tough question to ask a man, even tougher for him to answer truthfully.

  ‘Roger?’ she prompted.

  A heavy sigh. ‘Carolynn, initially. She had a very definite vision of how she wanted our lives to play out, where we should live, how our house should be decorated, what car we should drive, the holidays we should take, who we should befriend.’

  The box your child should fit seamlessly into. She could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking the same.

  ‘She is very resourceful,’ Jessie agreed, her comment the antithesis of a compliment. A chameleon. A masterful chameleon. ‘And later? After Zoe was murdered? Who was in control then?’

  ‘Being accused of Zoe’s murder, the trial and the fallout that followed destroyed her,’ Roger murmured.

  Of course it would have done. Carolynn’s carefully constructed life collapsing around her ear
s.

  ‘So I took control. It was more important then to be strong, to hold it all together … more important than before.’

  From his tone of voice and choice of words, Jessie realized that he was trying to salvage some ego.

  ‘Why did you keep the fact that Zoe was adopted from the police?’ Jessie asked bluntly. ‘Why did you hide it during the trial?’

  Reynolds wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  ‘Why, Roger?’

  ‘Because we put our names on Zoe’s birth certificate as her natural parents,’ he muttered.

  ‘Surely that’s illegal.’

  ‘It was what Carolynn wanted.’

  ‘Because it made Zoe more hers?’ Jessie said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  To his credit, Reynolds visibly winced.

  ‘And as the trial progressed?’ she asked.

  ‘As the trial progressed, she … we thought that if we came clean it would negatively influence the outcome. Make us look like liars.’

  ‘You are liars.’ And God knows what else.

  ‘The lawyers went on and on about Carolynn’s postnatal depression. They insinuated that she hadn’t bonded with Zoe, that she didn’t love her. If we’d confessed the truth about her parentage …’ he tailed off.

  ‘From what I’ve heard, she hadn’t bonded with her and she didn’t love her,’ Jessie snapped.

  Reynolds was staring determinedly at the floor as if there was something inherently fascinating about the worn black-and-white tiles, though Jessie noticed a muscle twitching involuntarily under his eye.

  ‘Did Zoe know that she was adopted?’ she continued, bringing him back to the present with a slight jerk.

  He shook his head, a shake that turned into a dispirited half-nod.

  ‘We’d agreed not to tell her, but Carolynn snapped one day and shouted at her, told her that she wasn’t even hers. Wasn’t ours.’

  Jessie winced. Lovely way for a child to find out.

  ‘How old was Zoe then?’

  ‘Five,’ he said. ‘Six, maybe.’

  ‘That insecurity alone would be enough to generate behavioural problems, particularly given that the news was broken to her as a rejection. In her mind, she would have been rejected twice, once by her real mother and again by her adoptive mother.’

  And probably not just once by her adoptive mother. If Carolynn had snapped – his words – how many other times had she ‘snapped’? And how had each snap manifested itself? Psychological abuse could be as damaging as physical abuse, sometimes more so. Poor little Zoe – Jessie’s heart went out her.

  ‘Zoe was a tetchy, irritable baby who grew into a naughty, difficult child. She used to fuss and cry when Carolynn held her,’ Reynolds said. He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but rougher, laced with emotion. ‘Her behaviour towards Carolynn … it was almost as if she knew she’d been stolen from her real mum. That Carolynn … that we were imposters. Carolynn has a strong need to be loved and she felt as if Zoe didn’t love her in the way she should be loved by her daughter.’

  ‘Zoe wasn’t her daughter – or yours,’ she said baldly.

  When Reynolds only reply was to lift his shoulders, eyes still glued to those worn black-and-white tiles, Jessie asked, ‘Who made the decision to run? Nine months ago?’

  ‘We had nothing left in London,’ he murmured. ‘The fallout after Carolynn was accused of Zoe’s murder was vitriolic. We had nothing, no one, just hate.’

  She nodded. ‘Did Carolynn murder Zoe, Roger?’

  69

  ‘The woman whose fingerprints are on the doll’s hair is an ex-prostitute, with a charge sheet as long as your arm.’ Burrows pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and glanced down at it. ‘Her name is Ruby—’

  ‘Lovatt,’ Marilyn cut in.

  Burrows’ eyes widened. ‘Yes, Ruby Lovatt. How did you know that, Uri Geller?’

  Ducking his head, Marilyn coughed into his hand in a show of clearing his throat to mask the shock he felt. He looked back up and met Burrows’ searching gaze, held it calmly, his heart thumping hard in his chest. ‘She’s the woman who found Jodie Trigg’s body.’

  Burrows frowned. ‘That can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘She’s a …’ A what? ‘Unemployed,’ he said. ‘Always out and about walking on the beach, particularly in the summer months, looking for—’ Looking for treasure. ‘Looking for money, valuables, things that the tourists have dropped. So it could be a co—’ he broke off with an unconvincing, unconvinced, shrug.

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.’

  ‘I don’t. You’re right. It can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘So …?’

  Marilyn sighed. ‘I’d seen a light, Tony.’ He held a hand up, thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart. ‘I’d seen a tiny light in that pitch-black tunnel I’ve been floundering around in for the past two years, and you’ve either extinguished it or lit twenty more flames.’

  ‘Well, good luck with making sense of it all,’ he said, pushing himself to his feet.

  Marilyn held up the evidence bag containing the doll, by the corner, in pincer fingers. ‘Take your dolly with you, Tony. My childhood was fine, just fine, so I won’t be needing its dubious comfort.’

  Burrows took the bag from his outstretched hand. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Marilyn shook his head. ‘The only thing I can say for sure is that I’m not sure about anything.’

  ‘You need a long holiday, mate. When all this is over, take yourself off somewhere, chillax.’ His sunburnt moon face split into a wide grin. ‘Haiti, maybe? Voodoo land.’

  70

  Reynolds was shaking his head, hands pressed over his ears like a toddler, as if that action would negate the question Jessie had just asked him. She was tempted to grab his forearms and pull his hands away, give him a slap around the face for good measure. But she was alone in his house, he was between her and the front door and he was twice her size. He was also upset and on edge. Fear was a far less predictable emotion than anger: a frightened dog more likely to bite than an angry one, a frightened man more likely to lash out.

  ‘Answer the question, Roger.’

  ‘If I had believed for a moment that Carolynn murdered Zoe, I never would have supported her throughout the trial. She’s not capable of killing.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘I’ve been with her for twenty years. I know her.’

  Carolynn was clever, resourceful and a brilliant actress. Jessie was sure she had been whatever Roger wanted her to be, and was equally sure that he’d never known his wife at all. Just as Jessie had never known her, never been able to pin her down, work her out. But there was no benefit to be had in correcting him now. Finding Carolynn was the priority and she needed his help.

  ‘Where has she gone, Roger?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You need to tell me where she’s gone, because I believe that she’s …’ She’s what? Losing it? On the spur of the moment, she couldn’t think of a more professional term. ‘She’s losing it, Roger.’

  He shook his head. ‘I need to protect her. I need to protect my wife.’

  71

  When Burrows and his voodoo doll had departed, Marilyn planted his elbows on his desk and sank his head into his hands. Staring hard into the darkness of his palms, he sent his mind inwards, tuning out the sounds of vehicles and pavement chatter rising up from the street below, the ring of telephones and the clack of keyboards from beyond the glass partition that divided his office from the scrum.

  Why would Ruby Lovatt have sent Carolynn Reynolds that doll? It didn’t make sense. Unless … unless. He thought of her standing on the back steps of the police station two days ago, in her low-cut silver top.

  I had no use for a kiddie.

  He, she’d said. A boy.

  He flattered himself that Ruby appreciated their nebulous relationship enough not to lie to him, but he saw now that his sentiment was id
iotic, a fool’s confidence. He barely knew the woman, knew next to nothing about her. It was he who appreciated the connection, not her: the detective with the common touch. It was a nice moniker; he’d liked it. And he’d liked her, been really taken with her all those years ago when he’d first set eyes on that feisty, fiercely proud, but irreparably damaged fourteen-year-old. Even at that age, she’d already struggled through more shit than most people dealt with in a lifetime. She’d survived, barely, was still surviving, barely, and the reality was that she’d do anything to continue surviving. Do anything. Say anything. Be anything. It was human nature.

  Was it a coincidence that she had found Jodie Trigg’s body? It could have been – she did spend most summer days scavenging on the beach – but now that he really thought about it, he didn’t believe it was.

  What the hell is going on?

  Dropping his hands, he reached for his mobile, dialled Workman’s number and spoke as soon as he heard a break in the ring.

  ‘DS Workman, have you run Zoe’s DNA against Carolynn Reynolds’ yet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why haven’t you called me?’ he snapped, knowing his anger should rightfully be turned inwards.

  ‘I was running more—’

  ‘What’s the result?’ he interrupted.

  ‘Dr Flynn was right. Carolynn and Zoe Reynolds were not biologically related.’

  Oh, Christ. ‘Not even distantly?’ Aunt and niece? Second aunt and third niece, four times removed?

  ‘Not even distantly.’

  ‘And Roger?’

  ‘Zoe wasn’t biologically related to him either. She wasn’t biologically related to either of her “parents”.’

  72

  A look of torment twisted Reynolds’ features out of shape. ‘Carolynn didn’t kill her. She didn’t.’ His hands were writhing around themselves, as if they had a life of their own, and his whole body had started to shake.