‘She was just a bit sort of—full-on. Like she kept going on about how bonny Louis was.’
‘Well, he is,’ said Silver.
‘Yeah, but I thought—she looked kind of familiar, but then she said she didn’t know me. And she just got a bit—close, that was all. You know, like when people invade your space.’
‘Familiar?’ he prompted.
‘Well yeah, but I never worked out why. I don’t think I did know her. She just had one of those faces.’
‘Could you describe her again?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Good,’ Silver said. ‘You go with Mitchell here and do just that then. Better to be safe than sorry, I think. Shame you didn’t remember before, kiddo.’
I was shocked at how upset I was at his reprimand. He strolled off before I could mention Gorek and I decided that in the circumstances it could wait. I shook off the peculiar feeling that I’d begun to crave Silver’s approval now, and followed the artist into another room. I’d brought Maxine’s magazine to show him; he promptly made some bad joke about supermodels not needing to nick babies when they could afford to buy them, and Deb coughed loudly and pulled a face at him.
He shut up and drew quite fast, tapping his pencil ferociously against the table when I found it difficult to describe her exact features. I kept getting muddled with flipping Heidi-in-the-magazine, and the final image didn’t really convince me. Still, it was a start. Then Deb took me into the conference room, where I joined Silver on the platform. There certainly wasn’t going to be any hand-holding today. He sat beside me, absolutely cool and calm, as I faced the usual barrage of flashes and questions destined to make my head ache. Then a rather spotty youth stood up.
‘Chris Thomas, S.E. News Agency. Glad to hear your husband’s on the mend. I just wondered, are the police considering the possibility of child-traffickers? I’ve been covering a story about a Moldovan gang who’ve been known to operate in this area. There are various rumours about snatching kids to sell to wealthy childless couples—’
My top lip lifted up and back, like an animal about to snarl for its life, but before I could speak, Silver interrupted him, smoothly glossing over Spotty’s words.
‘It’s something we’re definitely looking into. But we’re following a few other leads right now. The feeling is it’s likely to be rather more domestic than your scenario. Any more questions?’
But I was shaken to the core. Baby traffickers? They’d never crossed my befuddled mind. Silver began to give a description of the woman spotted down in Sussex, asking for more eyewitnesses to come forward. He asked people to be especially vigilant; to report anyone with babies in any sort of suspicious circumstance. Then he called the conference to an end.
‘Same time, same place tomorrow, guys—unless there’s any change in news. Thank you.’
Then he said he’d drive me home; Deb would meet us there. I was haunted by images of swarthy-skinned, pirate-type men with gold teeth and heavy accents snatching Louis from his pushchair and running to the ports with him, wads of money jammed in stone-washed denim pockets.
‘Do you think there could be any truth in what he said?’ I asked nervously as Silver pulled off. I puffed rather desperately on my inhaler. Dark clouds sagged with unspent rain, the air still thick and soupy. God, I wished this weather would break; there was nothing left to breathe.
Uncomfortably, Silver looked less certain than he had in the conference room.
‘We’ve certainly been aware of these gangs that he mentioned—but the scenario doesn’t really fit in your case. Why would they target you in the Tate? They work much closer to home generally. And there’s usually some connection with the family first.’
A horrible thought had been speeding through my brain since Spotty had stood and spoken.
‘Maxine’s new boyfriend. He was alone in my house last night, using my phone to call abroad.’ Silver’s head snapped round. ‘He said Maxine let him use her key but she’s been away so I couldn’t ask her. I didn’t like it anyway. It was kind of creepy.’
‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’
‘I was going to mention it to Deb, but she was late this morning.’
‘It’s not really fair to blame Deb, Jessica.’
‘I’m not.’ I was feeling increasingly flustered. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just—this morning I saw the same bloke with a baby. I thought—I thought it might be his daughter, but I’m not sure. And he had a strange flag flying from his car that I didn’t recognise the other day. He could possibly be Moldovan, I suppose. I don’t know anything about the place,’ I said in a very small voice. I looked hard at the oily shimmer that rose from the road.
‘Maxine told me she didn’t have any one boyfriend. She mentioned someone called—something French, I think.’
‘Leo? Yeah, but she’s a bit of a—a goer, you know. I’ve mentioned it, I’m sure. The night Louis went missing this bloke came around for the first time, came to pick her up in a sports car.’
A blare of horns as we swerved out too far across another vehicle’s path.
‘Christ, Jessica! Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘You questioned her.’ I was panicking now. ‘You said there was nothing to worry about. I told you about the photos in her room and—’
‘This isn’t about the bloody photos. You should have made sure we knew about any strangers around the house. I have asked you time and time again. What with the woman at the Tate and now this—’
He pushed me over the edge I was balanced so precariously on. ‘Hang on! Why do you keep blaming me for all the things you miss?’ I thumped the window angrily. ‘You’re the copper, aren’t you? You’re the ones doing the questioning. I’m trying to make sure you know everything but it’s just—it’s all been so full-on, and with Mickey in the hospital too, well, it’s really hard to think straight at the moment. God, please don’t try to make me feel worse than I already do.’
I felt him struggle to compose himself. I’d never seen him so disconcerted. ‘Okay, you did tell me about the woman. Only, not immediately.’
I was about to snap, when he held a conciliatory hand out. ‘But you’re quite right, Jessica. I am the copper. I’m sorry.’
My head was throbbing. ‘I’m sorry if I messed up, it just didn’t occur to me. I’ve only seen this bloke Gorek a couple of times; it’s just, well—last night he really freaked me out.’
‘Forget about it, kiddo. It’s just a bit—frustrating to realise that I don’t have all the facts when—’
‘She has so many bloody boyfriends I can hardly keep track—’ I was choking on my words. ‘God, Silver, I can’t bear it if something I didn’t mention has made things worse for Louis.’ Hysteria was building; I tried to hold it down.
‘All right, kiddo. Calm down, okay?’
‘Don’t call me kiddo, please. I really hate it, it’s so—so bloody patronising. What if that bloke has got Louis, Silver? What then? Whose fault will that be?’ I groped at the door handle. ‘Let me out, please.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ He snapped the central locks on.
‘I just need to be on my own for a minute.’
‘I don’t think you do, you know. You’re panicking.’
I couldn’t really speak now; I just kept stuttering, ‘Just let me out right now, please, just let me out. Let me out or I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’ He pulled the car over onto the small road across the heath. I fumbled with the door again; he leant across and grabbed my arm. I could smell him, smell the sweat under the perpetual aftershave, see the grey under his tired eyes, the yellow flecks in the hazel irises, the silvery hairs in the close-cropped dark hair, feel each finger on my skin. We were so near each other, the adrenaline pumped through me and I felt my stomach lurch strangely. I stared at Silver for a second that stopped and hovered in time, and then I tore my eyes from his. I turned back to the door and muttered ‘Let me out, please’ again, and finally he did.
He unsnapped the locks and I hurled myself out, pulling out of his grasp, stumbling over my own feet, running and then nearly falling, and then righting myself on that arid heath, the parched grass beneath me, the huge sycamores towering above, dripping with insects’ honey dew.
I was practically crying with sorrow and frustration as I heard him call my name, just once, and I nearly looked back at him but I couldn’t bear to, I could hardly bear to see how shaken he was, when I was relying on him so completely. And I was realising he was only human, and I didn’t want to know that right now, because I was coming to depend on his warm solidity, and I felt like I was betraying Mickey, but most of all my Louis, and that this unbidden feeling of some kind of need for him was the most ridiculous thing of all. As I walked across the heath towards home, my breath came harsh and ragged as I repeated over and over again, ‘I’m sorry, Louis, sorry, Louis, I’m so sorry, my little baby,’ dashing the hot tears from my eyes.
Silver didn’t follow me.
As my house came in sight I made out a man walking from the front door, behind Maxine. Nearing, I saw it was Egg-belly, and he was ushering my au pair to his car. Silver was taking this seriously then. I tramped across the pavement outside as the big car backed out of the drive, and Maxine’s round eyes swum over me. She didn’t look particularly perturbed, but then that was Maxine for you, tightly woven into a tough but silken sheath.
Deb was waiting anxiously in the kitchen.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, peering closely at me. I was so hot and sweaty my dress clung like a second skin, and I felt an exhaustion that crept its greedy tentacles into my very core. I opened the fridge. ‘I’m fine, honestly, Deb.’
‘DI Silver just rang. He left a message for you.’ Deb shoved a bit of paper into my hand as I drank half a bottle of cold water straight down in one go, feeling almost triumphant. He was going to apologise. Then I read the note. I didn’t understand what it said.
‘What does it mean?’ I passed it back to Deb.
‘Ring him and find out, why don’t you?’ She handed me the phone.
Silver picked up straight away. ‘Do you remember where Mickey was the night before Louis disappeared?’ he asked, and his voice was flat. He definitely wasn’t about to say sorry. I thought longingly about the time before everything went wrong, back when I was just Louis’s mother and not a crime statistic.
‘He was meant to be working, but actually we went to the opera.’ It sounded terrible in the context of things now. Was it really only a few days ago that I had only small worries like whether I was too fat? And why the hell hadn’t I been at home with Louis, instead of enjoying a night out—albeit rare. Instead of—the guilt drenched me yet again—dashing out the door as quickly as I could for a few hours on my own. I shook my head impatiently against the memories.
‘Um—Mickey had been away for a few days; he’d been on a shoot for the Romantic Retreats brochure. He was meant to be coming back really late; and then he suddenly rang me in the afternoon, and told me to meet him in town. We went to see Madame Butterfly.’ I was babbling. ‘I’m not mad about opera but it was a last-minute work thing. A special gala night. His company arranged it. I hardly ever go out these days.’
‘So who’s Agnes?’ Silver said.
My heart skipped a beat.
‘What?’ I must have heard him wrong.
‘Agnes. Who is she, do you know? We’ve just got hold of Mickey’s private online diary from someone called—’ I heard him flick a page ‘—called Pauline. There’s a meeting scheduled the night before Louis disappeared with someone called Agnes.’
‘Are you sure?’ I half-whispered. I remembered Mickey dashing into the box at the interval, straight off the train from the country, slightly sweating in the sultry evening heat, unusually ruffled for him. Deb was looking worried now.
‘Got it here in black and white, Jessica. Can you shed some light on it? I need to eliminate everything I can asap, and I can’t reach this Pauline on the phone right now.’
‘Yeah, I can unfortunately.’ My top lip was suddenly clammy with fresh sweat. ‘Agnes is—’ my voice cracked; I cleared my throat ‘—Agnes is Mickey’s ex-wife. I thought she—she lives abroad, I think. I’ve never actually met her.’
‘Right-o, kid—’ He pulled himself up before he said it. ‘Right you are. Know anything about it then, this meeting? I’m guessing from your tone of voice you don’t.’
‘Oh, well done.’ I chewed a bit of skin right off my thumb, studiously avoiding Deb’s concerned eye. ‘As far as I know, Mickey hasn’t seen Agnes since we met. I’m sure it’s a mistake. Can’t Pauline help you if she’s back?’
‘Let’s see,’ he said, and hung up the phone.
*
Two things were worrying me. One was that Pauline hadn’t bothered to get in touch on her return. The other was far worse. Why the hell had Mickey been meeting his ex-wife behind my back?
‘I’m going out for a bit,’ I told Deb casually.
She ran a hand through her mop of hair. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
I looked pleadingly at her. ‘There’s just someone I need to see.’
Her eyebrows shot up enquiringly. I was reluctant, but I knew she wasn’t going to budge.
‘Pauline. Mickey’s PA. She’s a friend, kind of. Apparently she’s back from holiday. There are a few things I’d—I want to ask her. Not about Louis.’
‘Well, let me come anyway. I’ll keep you company.’
So in the end, I did. I called Pauline and invented some story about being in the neighbourhood, could I drop in for a cuppa; and then Deb drove me up to King’s Cross. When we reached Pauline’s, though, I wouldn’t let her come in.
‘Please, Deb.’ I looked her squarely in the face, her cosy, friendly face. ‘I need a bit of space on this one, yeah? It’s kind of—personal. Is that okay?’
She squeezed my hand kindly, and I went up alone.
Pauline lived in a fashionable gated complex down by the old canal. I’d been there once before, to her fortieth bash last winter, just before Louis was born. I liked her a lot; she was sassy and young-looking beyond her years, small and sturdy with huge blue eyes, a no-nonsense Geordie, and absolutely Mickey’s right-hand woman at work. When I’d first started at the office myself, I’d felt rather worried by her, threatened somehow, but once I’d started seeing Mickey I realised that, much as he leant on her for so much, it was strictly business—mainly because Pauline was as gay as you like. These days she shared her penthouse flat with her very posh and rather boyish girlfriend Freddie, and their slobbering mastiff Slobodan.
Pauline was waiting by the lift as the doors opened, tanned and fresh-faced from her holiday. She hugged me and I wondered if it was my imagination that her huge doll-eyes seemed strangely blank. ‘I’m so sorry, pet.’
Slobodan wandered out into the corridor to goose me, and Pauline pushed him back inside. ‘Sod off, Slob. In your bed, okay?’ She led the way through the open-plan room to the galley kitchen, the big dog close on her heels. ‘Just push him down if he annoys you. He’s missed us, poor old thing. We only got in this morning.’
Through the open bedroom door I glimpsed half-unpacked suitcases and carriers of duty-free slung on their gaudy bedspread; heard the shower running.
‘I was about to ring you, Jessica, but you got to me first. I’m so bloody sorry. I didn’t have a clue about real life out on that boat. So isolated. Give me Ibiza any time, pet. Freddie might have grown up at sea, but me and sailing—nah.’ She threw open the balcony door. ‘God, it’s hotter here than Greece.’
She made coffee while I perched on a chrome stool, summoning the courage to open the can of worms I’d tried to ignore for so long. There was a collage of photos in a frame on the wall that included a picture of Mickey, incongruous in a paper party-hat.
‘He was pissed, pet,’ she smiled, following my wistful gaze. But I could feel apprehension buzzing round her like a persistent fly.
‘I gath
ered.’
‘So, how are you bearing up, pet?’ She handed me a steaming cup.
‘I’m fine,’ I answered automatically, and her forehead creased.
‘Really?’
‘Okay, no, actually, I’m bloody awful. Louis has been gone for—’ I swallowed hard ‘—for nearly six days now. Mickey’s still in hospital, not doing very well. I’m petrified.’
‘Oh, pet.’ She stepped towards me. I couldn’t bear it any longer.
‘Pauline, please. I’ve got to ask you something. And there’s obviously—there’s something on your mind, isn’t there?’
The emerald in her nose glinted as a shaft of sun sliced through the glass and hit it. ‘Yeah.’ She put down her steaming cup. ‘Yeah, I guess there is. And I suppose you weren’t just passing, were you?’
‘Hi.’
I jumped as Freddie plodded up behind me, wrapped in a huge scarlet towel, auburn crop all spiky and glistening from the shower.
‘How are you?’ she said. She looked at me very intently, her big face gentle, her carthorse frame bent towards me. ‘I was—I’m so sorry about the baby.’ Very baby-friendly, Freddie, for a dyke. I vaguely remembered her beneath the Christmas tree at Pauline’s party, all drunk and maudlin, fondly stroking my bump; oddly familiar for such a stranger, though for some reason I hadn’t minded. ‘We’re going to get one of these soon,’ she’d told me, patting my tummy, though I hardly knew her. ‘A baby. Just need to persuade her indoors.’
I didn’t trust myself to speak now; so I nodded thanks as Freddie helped herself to coffee, grabbing her packets of tobacco and Rizla from the worktop.
‘I’ll leave you guys to it.’ She dropped a kiss on Pauline’s head. I thought uncomfortably of the last time I’d seen Freddie and Pauline together, at my house, a few months after Louis was born. Not a happy occasion in any way, although it should have been. The lavish bouquet they’d bought, the tiny Tiffany cup with Louis’s name inscribed, the beautifully wrapped clothes from Baby Gap. The look of horror on Freddie’s face when she came into the sitting room and found me and Louis howling on the floor, in total disarray. I pushed away the memory, pushed it really hard; watched Freddie plodding back towards the bedroom. Pauline sighed almost inaudibly, staring after her girlfriend with what looked much like longing.
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