Hush Little Baby (DC Beth Chamberlain) Read online

  ‘Maybe she’s a good liar,’ Nick said. ‘She’s certainly had plenty of years to practise.’

  ‘What about the workers from the former farm?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Old man Moreton’s given me a list of labourers spanning the past twenty years,’ Pete said. ‘It’s steep. Since we are reasonably sure it’s Alicia, I’ve prioritised those who worked for him around the time she went missing. We’re interviewing them individually, checking their movements at the time and any connection with the Owens. I took a statement from Mr Moreton when I was there.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Now that we are focused on August 2002, he was able to check his records. He grew oilseed rape that year, harvested it during the middle of July and then cultivated the soil, ready to plant winter wheat mid-September. The field would have been standing dormant for some weeks after Alicia’s disappearance on the 13th of August.’

  ‘A labourer would know that.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s difficult with the time lapse. Old man Moreton believes he was working on the 13th. They’d finished harvesting and cultivation early that year. He was feeding cattle, doing his normal rounds. His wife was at home; she doesn’t work. His son was away, travelling around the US at the time. They don’t appear to have any connection with the Owens.’

  ‘Okay, good work. Keep me updated on the labourers,’ Freeman said, ‘and make sure all the statements are recorded on the Holmes computer system and cross referenced for consistency. We don’t want anything missed.’

  20

  Marie Russell’s heart thumped as she placed the cutlery around the table mats. A frying pan filled with chicken breasts sizzled away on the stove. She was going through the motions, trying to keep the routine of a family evening dinner, desperately trying to hold everything together when all she wanted to do was to crawl into a box and hide away, alone. Almost two days had passed since the child’s body had been found and there was still no confirmation it was Alicia. It was torturous.

  She looked up to find Vic in the hallway, standing at the doorway to the front room, his back to her. Vic, the perfect partner who radiated kindness and treated her with kid gloves. The man who’d helped her rebuild her life after losing Alicia and made it quite clear that she was all he ever wanted. But – her heart thumped louder – there were things about Marie that Vic didn’t know, that she’d hoped nobody would never know. And now with the possibility of Alicia’s case unravelling, and DNA testing, she wasn’t sure how she could avoid him finding out.

  She buried her anxiety, pushing it deep inside, then wandered out and stood beside him. Zac was sitting on the sofa working the controls of his games console. Vic wasn’t watching the game on the television screen, he was watching his son.

  She touched Vic’s arm. ‘You okay?’

  He tugged his gaze away, tilted his head to the hall, indicating for her to follow him.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked when they were back in the kitchen.

  He pushed the door to. ‘We need to speak to Zac about Alicia.’

  Heat rose in Marie’s head. She wasn’t ready for this. Zac was so little. So innocent. ‘He’s too young.’

  ‘We have to tell him something, Marie. Sooner or later he’ll hear it from elsewhere. What did you tell him about the reporters outside?’

  ‘That I thought they were there because they think Elsie’s son might be visiting her next door, the one who won some money on the lottery.’

  ‘What? Our next-door neighbour’s son won some cash on the postcode lottery, it’s very different.’

  ‘He doesn’t know that.’

  ‘I can’t believe you lied to him.’

  She had to admit, guilt had pinched at her at Zac’s little face when she’d shared the news. His eyes widening to plates. He was such an easy-going child, so accepting.

  ‘What if he hears about Alicia at school?’ Vic said. ‘It’s all over the news.’

  ‘He’s in year one. Who’s going to say anything to him?’

  ‘I don’t know. One of the other kids maybe.’

  ‘They’re five and six-year-olds. They don’t watch the news.’ Though butterflies were now dancing about in her stomach. She’d shared his concern when they’d seen the news article that morning. Zac was always her first priority; she hated him being upset. Vic and she had discussed it, arranged for him to speak with Zac’s teacher when he dropped the boy off, and make sure she kept an eye on him. Surely that was enough for now. ‘Didn’t you speak with Miss Marsh?’ she asked.

  ‘I did. She was very helpful; said she’d keep an eye out.’

  ‘There we are then.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. He needs to hear it from us first. In our words.’

  ‘So, what do we tell him? That he has a sister he doesn’t know about who was kidnapped as a baby? And we don’t know where she is. It’ll scare the living daylights out of him.’ This was a conversation she knew she’d have to have with him one day, when he was older, more mature. More able to understand. She’d always planned to tell him the truth eventually. Not when he was six years old.

  ‘There’s no need to be so blunt.’

  ‘We can’t be absolutely sure it is Alicia until the results of the DNA test come back.’ She was putting off the inevitable, she knew that. But she couldn’t think of another way of dealing with it right now. ‘If it is her, then we’ll sit him down together and find a way to explain. If it isn’t, the reporters will disappear, this will all go away and we’ll continue as before. It’s only going to be another day or two.’

  Vic looked unsure.

  ‘He’s settled at school,’ Marie continued. ‘Happy. Even the presence of the reporters outside hasn’t bothered him. Let’s leave it for now. I don’t want to distress him unless we have to.’

  *

  The babble of a low television filled Daniel Owen’s living room: a weather forecaster in a red dress brushed her hand across Northamptonshire on a map and warned of impending snowfall. Beth tried to ignore her.

  She’d spent the last ten minutes relaying the post-mortem findings to Daniel in as much detail as she was able. He’d flinched when she mentioned how the child was dressed and the injuries she sustained, appeared mildly relieved at the confirmation of no sexual abuse. His nostrils flared when she mentioned the newspaper article. He already knows. Another glance at the television. But if he had read the article or seen any mention of the case on the news, he didn’t say.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I have been trying to reach you,’ she said. After leaving messages throughout the day, she’d decided to call in after work and was relieved to find him at home. This wasn’t the kind of news that should be delivered over the phone.

  ‘I don’t answer my phone when I’m working. I haven’t checked the messages yet.’

  Not surprising, Beth thought, after being plagued by reporters for years.

  Bailey was curled up beside him. He reached out, stroked the dog’s head. ‘Do you know how she died?’

  ‘There’s an injury to the back of her head. The pathologist believes it was the main cause of death. There are no immediate signs of any other injuries.’

  Daniels eyes watered. ‘You still can’t be sure it’s her though, right? I mean without the DNA match…’

  ‘Not as yet,’ Beth said. She was beginning to feel weary. It was important to keep families up to date, so they didn’t hear information elsewhere, and when parents or family members lived separately this was even more of a challenge, especially at the end of a long day. Another reason why liaison officers generally worked in pairs.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t have contact details for your brother?’ Beth asked when she finished up. ‘Even a mobile number would help.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did something happen between you two?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘I don’t know. Years ago. Look, it was a family issue. Nothing to do with Alici
a’s disappearance.’ He sat forward. ‘I’m away for the next few days. On a long-haul job to Poland. My phone will be off, I don’t like using it in Europe, so you’ll need to contact Cara if you want anything. I’ll be checking in with her.’

  The drone of a car engine filled the room as a car passed outside. Bailey lifted her head and growled.

  Beth’s eyes rested on the dog. She seemed infinitely comfortable there, lying beside her owner. ‘What do you do with Bailey when you go away on a job?’ she asked in an effort to loosen the tension in the room.

  ‘Cara takes care of her. Bailey’s happy there. Always glad to come home though, aren’t you?’ He scratched behind the dog’s ear and she gazed up at him adoringly.

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘We’re not sure exactly. The vet reckons she’s probably about fourteen.’

  ‘You re-homed her?’

  ‘Not exactly. Found her wandering around the estate one evening. No collar. No tag. She came over and followed me back here. When I took her to the vet, they couldn’t find a chip and suggested re-homing, but I couldn’t let her go. Look at her, she’s such lovely company.’ A fleeting glance at the baby photos on the mantel. ‘Loves children too. Makes a beeline for them when we go to the park.’

  ‘Okay.’ Beth gathered her bag. ‘I just wanted to keep you updated on our findings and to warn you about the press interest.’

  He closed his eyes a second, squeezing his eyelids together. When he opened them, his gaze rested on the baby photos. ‘I’d prefer to keep an open mind. Until we know for definite.’

  21

  It was after eight by the time Beth pulled onto her empty driveway. Nick was still out. She let herself in and no sooner had she shrugged off her coat than she heard a low mewl and Myrtle, her tabby cat, appeared.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ Beth said, kicking off her shoes. ‘Have you missed me?’

  Myrtle mewled again.

  Beth bent down and fondled the cat’s head. They were interrupted by the trill of Beth’s phone. It was her sister, Eden.

  ‘Hey,’ Beth said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good, thanks. Are you still okay for tomorrow evening?’

  Beth checked the date on her watch. Tomorrow was the 14th, her niece, Lily’s, birthday and Eden was throwing her a party at home. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘What time do you want me?’

  ‘We’re starting at 5.30 p.m. As near to that as possible would be great. I’ve twenty kids coming.’

  ‘Wow!’ With Lily as her only experience of kids, Beth couldn’t begin to imagine what was involved in an eight-year-old’s birthday party. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Do you need anything?’

  ‘No, I’m all sorted. I picked up the cake today and Chloe’s mum’s coming to help me decorate the house while they’re at school.’

  ‘Okay. Is Lily alright? I felt awful having to drop her off early yesterday.’

  ‘She’s fine. Oh, and make sure Nick’s knows he’s invited tomorrow. We’d love to see him.’

  Beth rang off and stared at the ceiling. A birthday party was all she needed in the midst of a fresh investigation. But it was important to Eden and, after losing their mother last year, there were only three of them left now: Beth, Eden and Lily. She owed it to them both to make the effort to be there.

  She cast her phone aside, refilled Myrtle’s food bowl and was refreshing her water when she heard a noise. A faint knocking.

  Beth turned off the tap. The only sound was Myrtle softly crunching her cat biscuit. She was placing the water bowl down when she heard the noise again. Knock… no, more of a tap. It was coming from outside.

  She switched on the outside light, illuminating the middle of her lawn in a tunnel of light. The garden looked empty.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Beth grabbed a torch from the drawer, unlocked the back door and stepped out into the garden. All was quiet. She spanned the torch around the edges of the lawn in a semi-circle, then walked down the side of the house. The gate was open, hanging on its hinges.

  She never left the gate open.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she called. No answer.

  Another tap.

  It was the gate. Blowing back and tapping on the wall in the wind.

  She hadn’t noticed it open when she’d pulled into the driveway earlier, although it was set back, down the side entrance slightly, easy to miss if you weren’t looking. She walked down the side of the house to the front, squinted down the road, both ways. All was still.

  Beth wandered back to the gate and checked the latch, wondering if perhaps Nick had left it open when she realised her heart was thumping in her chest, her palms clammy. Six weeks had passed since Dale Yates had broken into her house and he’d gained access by the very same gate. Six weeks in which Nick hadn’t left her side and as soon as she secured herself some independence, some breathing space, she jumped at the slightest sound.

  She cursed her frayed nerves, loosened her grip on the torch. Made to fasten the gate, when another sound caught her. Footsteps. They drew closer. She moved tentatively to the front of the house. A shadow flicked across.

  ‘Hello! Is that you, Beth?’

  Beth’s shoulders dipped. It was her neighbour, walking their spaniel.

  ‘Hi. You startled me,’ she said, bending down to stroke the dog who was leaping about her feet. ‘Hello, Benji.’ The dog wagged his tail and pressed his nose into her calf.

  ‘What are you doing slinking around in the dark?’ he said.

  ‘I heard a noise, came to investigate.’

  ‘Ever the cop, eh?’

  ‘Something like that. Have you seen anyone around? I found my gate open. It’s usually bolted.’

  ‘A chap was knocking doors this afternoon, offering to clean windows and clear guttering. I think he put a flyer through.’

  She didn’t recall seeing anything on her doormat. ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘I can’t remember. Average height. Stocky. Seemed genuine.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’ She gave a reassuring smile. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’

  ‘I’m working from home again tomorrow. I’ll let you know if I spot anything.’

  Beth thanked her neighbour again and closed the gate, checking the latch had caught, then slid the bolt across before she walked back inside. Her phone was trilling when she reached the kitchen. She checked the screen, didn’t recognise the number and clicked to answer.

  ‘Detective Chamberlain?’ The voice was cultured, deep.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘It’s Pip Edwards from Northants News.’

  Beth started. It was the journalist who’d been following Alicia’s case, the one who’d written the article that had caused so much bother. ‘How did you get this number?’

  He ignored her question. ‘You’re the liaison officer on the case of the murdered child, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said warily.

  ‘I have some information that might be useful.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’d rather not talk over the phone.’

  ‘I’m sure you know you can make an appointment with the incident room to come into the office,’ she said.

  ‘I’d rather meet you at a neutral location. Do you know Kingsthorpe Cemetery?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘There’s a road opposite the main entrance called Birch Barn Way. Meet me there at 2 p.m. tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be in a navy Saab.’

  The line went dead. She leaned up against the kitchen surface, phone still in her hand. It was common knowledge Pip Edwards had been investigating the family for years and the idea of him phoning her, at this time of night, and requesting a meeting out of the office filled her with disquiet. Unless it was a tactic and he’d targeted her, fishing for information. It wouldn’t have been too difficult for an investigative journalist to trace her mobile number; it was all there if you dug deep enough and knew where to look. He’d prised information out of the builder informant to publish it. B
eth gritted her teeth. If he thought she was a soft touch, he was in for a shock.

  She couldn’t afford to ignore his request though. If he’d spent years delving into the family backgrounds, there was always the outside chance he did have something fresh to add.

  Nick’s earlier comments about Marie wriggled back into her head.

  Beth had dealt with a wide mixture of criminals during her time in the force, from sociopaths to cold-blooded killers, enough to know that people were often not what they initially appeared. Assume nothing. Believe no one. Challenge everything. Those phrases formed the cement, the very basis of the building blocks of any enquiry.

  She closed her eyes, replayed Marie Russell’s account of the day Alicia disappeared in her mind, pausing when she parked the pram outside the supermarket, again when she wandered up and down the aisles. And as much as she tried to deconstruct the account, it shed no new light. She fast-forwarded to the part when Marie approached the till, paid the assistant, left the supermarket and replayed those seconds in slow motion. It was like a scene from a movie that starts with a happy premise, a special dinner party planned for her husband, and ends with the devastation of her child kidnapped from under her nose.

  Within minutes their lives were turned upside down.

  Beth imagined the events afterwards. Shop assistants and pedestrians scurrying around, searching for the child. The police cars with their blues and twos, the traffic checkpoints. She scrutinised Marie’s reaction as she gave her account earlier that day, considering her body language, searching for any signs of uneasiness or guilt. Outwardly she’d displayed sadness and regret. Sadness that derived from a prolonged police investigation, a cold case destined to remain unsolved. Regret that she’d left her little one in her blind spot, unguarded for the shortest of minutes. But there was a sense of fidgety uneasiness too. Was that because she was reliving the traumatic events, over again, or was there another reason for her agitation?

  The lack of witnesses needled her. Surely somebody would have seen something.