Cold Blood

by Jane Heafield

  ‘Not Taylor? She changed her name? Was that so I couldn’t find her?’

  ‘No, no, it’s not because of you. I… I don’t know why she changed it.’

  Joe knew Mum and Dad had never married, hence why she’d never been a Bennet. Thankfully, he failed to consider marriage as a reason for the surname Cross. The lie had felt like chewing broken glass, but Liam wasn’t yet ready to broach this subject. Once he did, he would have to go all the way. And he might just tear his little boy’s heart in two. A marriage wasn’t the end of it.

  ‘Have you talked to her?’ Joe asked. He seemed almost high on fabulous news.

  ‘Sort of. She left me a message. She says she wants to talk to me.’

  ‘Just to you?’

  He gave his next claim careful thought. ‘Well, it might be about you. I think she might be ready to meet you again.’

  ‘Can I have her number? Can I hear the message?’

  Joe had never heard his mother’s voice. For the second time, he opted to lie to his flesh and blood rather than risk scorn: ‘It got automatically deleted. And it was a withheld number. But you’ll talk to her soon. When I talk to her tomorrow, we might be ready to arrange a meeting. So you can meet your mum.’

  ‘And go out with her?’

  He had to be careful not to go too far with this, before he knew the whole story. He still wasn’t certain what Lorraine wanted to talk to him about. ‘Maybe. We’ll work it out.’

  ‘Has she got a new family now?’

  The question hit him like a fist, but Joe didn’t look upset. It seemed to be genuine curiosity, and it swayed Liam’s hand.

  ‘Yes. She has a husband. And a child.’

  ‘A new boy?’

  ‘Well, it’s a daughter. Five years old.’

  ‘Is this because she didn’t want me? She didn’t want a son?’

  Bennet sat on the bed and stroked Joe’s shoulder. ‘No, not at all. Me and your mother… we didn’t work out. She moved away and made new friends and a new life. She met a man and they married. Married people have children sometimes. That’s all it is.’

  ‘So she won’t move back home?’

  ‘I don’t want you to expect that we’d be a family again. But she wants to see you and that’s good. It means you can get to hang out with her at weekends, or once a month. She’ll be in your life again. Will that be okay? Do you understand what I said?’

  He nodded. ‘She won’t be my proper mother.’

  ‘She will, but she won’t live with us. Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes. I can play with her. And I have a new sister.’

  Bennet wasn’t sure Joe did fully understand. ‘Half-sister. But, Joe, you have to understand something. You might not see your mother as often as you’d like. It might not be often at all. You might not meet the rest of her family, at least not at first.’

  ‘So I won’t ever meet my sister?’

  Bennet felt he was tying himself in knots. God, he’d interrogated and broken down vicious killers, but he didn’t know how to proceed with a ten-year-old boy.

  4

  On Saturday afternoon, while out bowling with Joe, Bennet got a call from one of his team. Six months ago, Detective Constable Henderson had thrown up at her first murder scene and announced she was quitting; now she had her sights on promotion and often did weekends off the clock.

  ‘Liam, we got another call from Helium Girl. Same silly disguised voice trick. It was about twenty minutes ago. I have a copy of the recording on my phone. It’s the same phone box in Wombwell.’

  Bennet watched Joe send a bright-green bowling ball into the gutter. ‘Okay, send me it. Thank you.’

  On Thursday the 16th an anonymous female caller, with a voice disguised by sucking on helium, had claimed to have information and was willing to talk to a senior detective, face to face. She had promised to call back with details of a meeting place, but so far hadn’t. The call had been traced to a payphone on a busy commercial street in Wombwell.

  It was one of myriad calls the incident room had received, but this one had gotten interest because the caller sounded like a teenager. Everyone involved in the lethal football game at Buttery Park had been a teenager: maybe she knew one or more of them. But with no clues found at the payphone, all the team could do was wait for the tipster to call again.

  DC Henderson sent the recording by email. Once more Bennet listened to a voice made comical by helium: ‘I don’t have anything for you peelers. I was wrong.’ A pause here, probably while the caller loaded her lungs with gas again. ‘So I won’t be coming in. But I know it was a black man from Bradford what did it.’

  Helium Girl’s first call had mentioned a black man. No witnesses had reported a black man amongst the teenagers though. He called Henderson back. ‘Helium Girl mentioned a black man again. Go through the files again and see what we have on any other mentions of a black man in the park.’

  ‘I did that. No joy.’

  In the neighbouring lane, a family of three was having the time of their lives. The kid was a boy about Joe’s age. Bennet tried to picture himself there with Joe and Lorraine, but it felt wrong. Maybe there was a chance Joe and his mother could make such a social trip, but not with Bennet. Too awkward. And it threw him a new worry: what if Joe enjoyed his time with her so much that he wanted a lot more? A lot more than she was willing to provide? How would he feel when their time was up and she basically dumped him in order to return to her daughter and husband?

  ‘Dad? Your go.’

  ‘Sir? What should I do?’

  Bennet snapped back to the moment. ‘Try the files again,’ he said to Henderson, then hung up the phone. ‘Okay, Joe, watch the master.’

  For the remainder of the game, Bennet couldn’t take his eyes off the family in the next lane.

  5

  As eight o’clock approached, Bennet popped round to his neighbour’s. Patricia was in her seventies, widowed, no children, and loved to babysit Joe, even at a moment’s notice. When he rapped the window and she appeared, a thumbs up from him was all it took. She mirrored it and Bennet went to fetch Joe. Minutes later, his boy was next door, probably destroying Patricia’s chocolate collection, and Bennet was sitting in the living room, staring at the landline. The minutes dragged. He was torn between a couple of tactics. Should he insist that Joe was eager to see his mother? Or pretend he was willing to let Lorraine see the boy because a mother shouldn’t be denied access to her son? He didn’t know why it would matter either way, but the worry was there.

  At two minutes to eight, he started to pace. God, it felt like he was waiting for news of a blood test. He’d waited to give evidence in court with less tension in his muscles.

  The phone rang. The display said unknown. Bennet was known amongst his team as unflappable, like a cyborg, but if this horrendous timing was a colleague’s doing, they’d soon alter that opinion of him.

  ‘Oh, Liam, you’re in, good. How are you?’

  It was Lorraine. The wait had been the worst part, because now he relaxed. ‘Good. You?’

  ‘Always good. How’s Joe?’

  Last time she hadn’t mentioned their son, but now had at least acknowledged his existence. ‘Always good also. So, you wanted to talk to me?’

  ‘Yes. It’s about my old place, Lampton. You remember it?’

  Of course. It was a Peak District village, Lorraine’s former home. But he didn’t want to give the impression that their time together, a decade ago now, was still vivid in his mind. So he gave a pause. ‘Lampton? Oh yeah, that place. I remember a little. What about it?’

  ‘Not long after I left, there was that missing girl, you remember?’

  Vaguely. He recalled hearing something on the news, back when Lorraine had been pregnant with Joe and just a few weeks after she’d left Lampton and moved in with him. But he’d been a detective sergeant with South Yorkshire Police, not Derbyshire Constabulary, and the investigation had nothing to do with him. He hadn’t known much back then and hadn’t lea
rned anything new since.

  ‘I remember hearing about it. Did they find her?’

  ‘No, that’s the point. It’s been ten years in March. Not a single clue, no suspects. But the anniversary is the perfect time to bring the story into people’s minds again.’

  ‘I’m getting lost, Lorraine. Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘I saw an article on a Facebook post. A friend sent it to me because it was about Lampton. It was asking for help with a documentary about the missing girl. They wanted people who knew Lampton. So I called them, and they hired me. They’ve got a lot of their background sections filmed and now they want a walkaround. Round Lampton, filming certain places, and they want me to talk to them about the village and what it was like back then. Back when the girl was taken. And then we’re going to Chesterfield. We’re doing it over the next few days, starting tomorrow. I can’t wait. It’ll be such fun.’

  She was starting to ramble, and he was lost. ‘Sounds great, Lorraine, but what has this got to do with me and Joe?’

  ‘Well, the film-makers are hoping to examine old clues and see if they can find something new. Wouldn’t it be great if they could solve it after all these years? So I told them about you. I told them you’re a police officer. I said you could get into the files. You can get all the police information from back then, including stuff the public didn’t see.’

  The tension came back with a vengeance, almost locking every muscle. ‘Wait a minute, Lorraine. That’s why you called me? That’s all you want?’

  ‘I know I haven’t been in touch for years, but if we can solve–’

  ‘And Joe?’

  Her pause said everything.

  ‘Don’t call me again, Lorraine. I thought you wanted to meet up with Joe. I thought you gave a shit about your own son. Some detective I am, right?’

  She stammered. ‘I… Liam… I have a… I can’t just…’

  He felt anger pushing to the surface, but long practice had made him adept at subduing it. Calmly, he said, ‘You have a what, Lorraine? A new family now? That’s cold. There’s something wrong with your mind. You’re not wired right. But it doesn’t matter. Joe doesn’t need you. In fact, he’s better off without you. Has been for the last ten years. So don’t call me again and stay away. Stay away from me and stay away from Joe.’

  He hung up. Now he felt the anger bubbling up again, and this time he let it. It wasn’t directed at Lorraine, but at himself, and he deserved to let it gnaw and pound at his insides. He had earned this abuse because he, not Lorraine, was the fool who’d made a promise that was now fated to crack his son’s heart.

  6

  Bennet woke in the dead hours of Sunday with the urge to do something. He felt antsy and needed to work his muscles. He considered washing his car, a five-year-old Nissan Pathfinder he’d recently bought because Joe loved the idea of a big four-by-four. He thought about doing Joe’s unfinished homework. He debated cleaning out the garage. All would burn energy, but none would satisfy a need to… progress. That was the best word for it. Something that furthered his life, or meant something in the great scheme of things. He even got dressed and got the front door open, his plan to hit the station and work some more on the Buttery Park case. But even that had an air of the futile about it. He knew what the problem was. Same as all of last night: Joe and his mother.

  He settled for jabbing a phone number. Detective Liz Miller answered quickly, even though Spain was only an hour ahead of the UK.

  ‘Stake-out?’ he said.

  ‘Can’t sleep. Our man’s doing just fine in that department. And you? Raid?’

  She’d understood his question: why was she awake so late? The inspector, part of MIT 3 in Sheffield, was in Barcelona as part of an investigation into the armed robbery of a jeweller’s in broad daylight just a hundred yards from her station. The suspect was Spanish and had fled home, and they were staking him out. And Bennet understood her question: was he awake because of an upcoming dawn raid?

  ‘Can’t sleep either,’ he said. ‘My son’s mother just got in contact.’

  A moment of silence from Liz. She knew his history. Lorraine had fallen pregnant with Joe and they’d decided to live together. Bennet was newly promoted to detective sergeant and hadn’t wanted to leave Barnsley, so Lorraine had cut her roots. A year later, unable to deal with having a child she’d wanted to abort, she’d abandoned her new family and lived alone in a bedsit until she’d met her current husband and relocated to Birmingham.

  Bennet had met Liz in December last year, when she’d inveigled her way into a double murder investigation his team was heading. There seemed to be a hint of something beyond the professional to their relationship, but nothing had coalesced so far. Bennet hadn’t realised how much he liked Liz until he heard about her Spanish trip with a male colleague. He hadn’t liked it. Now, Liz’s silence suggested she wasn’t impressed by the resurfacing of Bennet’s old flame. Unless he was reading it wrong.

  ‘Does she want to see Joe?’ Liz asked.

  ‘So I thought. But it turns out she just wanted my police clout to help her with something.’

  Liz didn’t ask what exactly. ‘Does Joe know she got in contact?’

  ‘Yes. I told him there could be a chance they could meet. I was impatient and it was stupid. And now I’ve got to tell him he means less to his mother than some dusty old crime file in a basement.’

  ‘Did she say she won’t see him?’

  Ah. No. He had to admit he didn’t really give her a chance. ‘I might have told her to get lost and never call again.’

  She tutted at him. ‘Mr Unflappable, eh? Call her back and find out for sure.’

  ‘I can’t. I don’t have her number.’

  He wasn’t sure he would have called anyway. He was still annoyed at her. He and Liz spoke for a few more minutes, on subjects not involving family or work, and after the call he didn’t feel as tense. Getting his feelings off his chest, onto that of someone impartial, had eased him a little. But not enough to sleep. He sat on the sofa, surrounded himself with Buttery Park files, and sank himself into the world of a young man whose mother loved him but would never see him again.

  He was still there come daylight and a call from his boss. Superintendent David Hunter got straight to the point. ‘A little gift was left for you at the station late last night. It’s a herbal stress remedy. With a little bow on it and a note telling you to take it easy. I sent it for prints.’

  Bennet didn’t need to ask who’d sent it. Since the Buttery Park stabbing, Don The Man hadn’t exactly laid low and kept silent: he’d been calling himself Teflon Don, after mafia boss John Gotti, who got the nickname because multiple charges by the law authorities never stuck to him. Don The Man clearly rejoiced in the fact that he’d been arrested and released, thus outwitting the police. His sending of a herbal stress remedy to the man leading the murder hunt was a taunt. It managed to get Bennet’s mind off Lorraine for half a day.

  That changed when Joe went for a bath just after a roast lamb dinner. Joe hadn’t mentioned his mother thus far today – surprising because he knew she had planned to call the previous evening – and the question came out of the blue.

  ‘Mum didn’t call, did she?’

  ‘No. But she’s busy, and she didn’t say it would definitely be Saturday night. She might call later this evening, or tomorrow.’

  Joe nodded, but there was no conviction behind it. If the boy hadn’t last seen her when he was a baby, Bennet might have thought Joe knew what a waste of space his mother was.

  7

  On Monday Joe’s school class departed on a two-day trip to the cathedral city of York, an hour or so north, where the kids would learn about Vikings, Romans, and the Industrial Revolution, and spend the night camped under the stars. Bennet parked outside the school and checked Joe’s knapsack to make sure everything was there. Joe gawped at the coach outside the school gates as if it was a rocket going to take him to faraway worlds.

  Joe opened the do
or, but didn’t get out. ‘What are you doing today?’

  ‘Just work, son. Files to read.’

  ‘But you’ve got another two days off.’

  ‘A policeman is always on duty, twenty-four-seven.’

  ‘But they only pay you for forty hours,’ Joe said with a grin. Bennet laughed. But he stopped when Joe quickly changed track. ‘Will Mum call today?’

  ‘I don’t know, Joe. We’ll see. She’s probably very busy. Perhaps we shouldn’t look forward to it too much. It could even be weeks.’

  That put a frown on his boy’s face. ‘Okay. I’ve waited years. Can wait some more.’

  Bennet ruffled the boy’s hair, then pressed a twenty-pound note into his hand. ‘Buy me something cheap and tacky from a gift shop and keep the change. Hey, isn’t that your pal Shaun?’

  Bennet pointed at a kid by the school gates.

  ‘Yeah. Did I tell you his granddad’s a policeman as well?’

  Bennet’s father was a former detective and Joe was very impressed that the two main male adults in his life had such ‘cool’ jobs, although he had no desire to follow in their footsteps. ‘You might have mentioned it. Why?’

  ‘Shaun says his granddad says it was harder back then. He says there were hundreds of serial killers because no one knew.’

  Bennet laughed. ‘If he’s saying it was harder back then to connect crimes, well, today’s technology makes it easier for sure. It’s possible murders could have been committed by the same person and the police never discovered it. We’re better at catching people who might have gone on to be serial killers. But I’m not sure serial killers is a subject kids your age should be talking about.’