Make Believe

Chapter 17

Janine woke with a crushing headache, roiling guts and an uncomfortable sense of unease. She was too old, her liver too tired to cope with nights like that.

Charlotte was burbling in her cot. It was six am. Janine left her to burble and went to shower. Her mortification grew as snatches from the evening came back to haunt her, her ill-fated attempts to tease Richard and Millie that had quickly unravelled. And Louise! Oh, Lord. Louise warning Janine and Janine playing dumb. And then to crown it all she had confided in Louise, blurted out her doubts. ‘Kids, promotion, a case like this. Usually, usually,’ Janine had found it hard to pronounce the word right, ‘I can hack it, wing and a prayer, yeah? Having it all, they call it having it all. Well… it’s too bloody much, sometimes…’

‘Do you need time off? It can be arranged.’

‘Nah! Just having a moan, Louise, honestly, I can cope. I will cope. I want to get the bastard. Bastards. Plural.’

Shit! Had she offered to resign? Janine tested the notion but could not recall actually saying that.

Did she tell Louise about Pete and Tina and the baby? God, please, no. There were some parts of her life she’d rather keep private. Louise was OK but she didn’t have kids, didn’t have that extra load, day in and day out. Janine didn’t know if that had been a conscious choice or whether it had just never happened or even whether it was something Louise had longed for that never came to pass. They weren’t close enough for that sort of conversation.

Janine’s toes curled and she felt heat on the nape of her neck as she imagined what she might have shared, blithely overstepping the boundaries under the influence.

There’d been some bother with Butchers too, not that she needed to feel any responsibility for Butchers’ behaviour. She had enough on her own plate. Butchers and the fiancée had left the party early on and never returned. Maybe he’d gone after her to make up.

Janine wasn’t sure she was right for him. Butchers had been married once before, had a child as well, but that had all gone wrong and he didn’t see the child. It hadn’t looked like there was much love lost last night. Kim seemed to treat him as a joke. Not a good way to start a marriage – no respect. Butchers could be an idiot but he wasn’t a stupid man. Nor was he malicious. He played the clown at times, his size and demeanour made him an easy target for people’s jokes but he was a diligent detective.

She thought of her own marriage. Did she still respect Pete? Not really. Certainly not the way he was dealing with the whole baby situation. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair wincing as the movement of her head backwards made the pounding behind her eyes even more violent.

She wouldn’t have been so peevish with Millie if she and Richard hadn’t been so condescending, as if suddenly instead of being Richard’s old mate, pals and colleagues, Janine had turned into some embarrassing maiden aunt or alcoholic neighbour to be tolerated and evaded as quickly as possible, passed on to someone else to deal with.

As she turned off the shower, Charlotte cried for attention, a noise that pierced Janine’s skull and made her grit her teeth. She needed coffee and painkillers. Janine put on a bathrobe and went to pick her daughter up and wondered how soon she could rouse the nanny.

She wasn’t the only one suffering judging by the state of the rest of them. Apart from Detective Superintendent Hogg, of course, fresh as a daisy and looking critically at Janine as Janine got herself some water. Janine smiled hello, determined to keep up a front of normality even while her mind was scrabbling around wondering what else she might have said or done in her drunken stupor. Lesson one – do not get pissed in front of the boss.

Janine realized that she had left her laptop in the hall. Pete had stayed the night, bunking in the spare room, not something he did regularly but it meant he hadn’t had to stay up late waiting for Janine to get home and as it was his day off today he could take Eleanor and Tom to school, which they always liked. She rang and got his voicemail and left a message asking him to drop her laptop off at the station once he’d done the school run.

Lisa and Butchers hadn’t arrived as she began the briefing on the murder. Not like either of them. Butchers had never been late in all the years she’d worked with him, and Lisa keen and energetic, wouldn’t dare be late, too eager to make the grade.

‘News has come through from Interpol,’ she told the team, ‘Dutch police have completed the comparison on the DNA profiles of missing Tomas Rink and our unknown victim. No match.’ Janine knew it had been a long shot, though she’d held out a sliver of hope because if the child had come in from another country, it would account for why no-one here had reported him missing.

‘Those we know with easy access to the crime scene are the Palfreys, the Staffords and the builders McEvoy and Breeley. We now have detailed statements from them and we also have house-to-house for the whole of Kendal Avenue plus testimony from Royal Mail staff, window cleaners, meter readers, Avon lady, the works. That little lot needs correlating and mapping out.’ The run of bad weather hadn’t done them any favours. Fewer people had been out and about, and when they were they didn’t linger. They were concerned with keeping dry, getting from A to B as quickly as possible. The heavy rain made it harder to see too, especially if you were driving. They’d got absolutely nowhere finding a primary crime scene. And without the identity of the child they had no idea where to look. ‘Someone put that child there. They weren’t observed, so when did they get the chance?’

‘Paedos, boss.’ Shap began.

‘Sex offenders,’ she corrected him.

‘Them and all,’ he grinned. ‘Known individuals on the sex offenders register in the neighbourhood have been visited and interviewed. No-one’s done a bunk or raised any alarm bells with their probation workers, apart from this one perv who admitted breaching his licence by being within a hundred yards of a school.’

‘He admitted it?’ Richard asked. ‘Perhaps he owned up to that hoping to hide what he’d really been doing.’

Had this been the bearded weirdo by the gate?

‘His story checked out,’ Shap said. ‘He’d travelled across town to Altrincham and spent the days indulging his fetid little fantasies outside a high school there. On the Saturday in question he did the same, loitering near the playing fields. His record’s for raping twelve and thirteen-year-old girls.’

‘A different profile from our victim,’ Janine said. She was distracted by Lisa’s arrival. ‘Late night, Lisa?’

‘I’ve been out with Sergeant Butchers, boss. He’s brought in Luke Stafford and Phoebe Wray.’

What on earth! ‘Has he now?’ She felt a surge of irritation. She couldn’t blame Lisa, Butchers was her senior in rank so if he said jump, Lisa or any other DC would have to, unquestioningly.

‘Continue building a timeline for the crime scene and identify periods when the place was apparently deserted,’ Janine told the team, ‘there may have been opportunities for the killer to leave the body. Anyone need further guidance on tasks in hand see Sergeant Shap,’ she wound up briskly. She set off to see just what the hell Butchers was playing at.

Butchers looked shocking, unshaven with a gash under his eye where presumably the fiancée had left her feedback.

‘Why are they here?’ Janine demanded, ‘ I expressly told you yesterday that you were to do nothing without some solid grounds.’

‘They were at Luke Stafford’s together on the Saturday afternoon,’ Butchers said quickly. ‘I’ve just asked her. That’s where she went after the hockey match. Luke failed to mention it and her mother said she was at home, so she’s lying as well. They could have gone to the park and taken Sammy back to Luke’s. Stafford wouldn’t let us search. If we can get a warrant-’

‘You’re clutching at straws,’ Janine said, ‘it’s all supposition.’

‘I know the lad’s involved,’ he insisted, ‘they’re alibi-ing each other.’

‘You do not know,’ Janine said. ‘You believe he’s involved. This is not a faith based operation, Butchers.’

‘Don’t you want to find out what they were doing together, why they kept that quiet,’ he said.

‘I can imagine,’ Janine said crossly, ‘I’ve a teenager at home. We can’t talk to either of them without their parents present,’ she said, ‘and I’m not sure that’s warranted-’

‘The parents are here,’ Butchers hurried to tell her, ‘well, Felicity Wray and Ken Stafford.’

Janine was tempted to tell him to send the lot of them away but relented. They should try and find out why the youngsters had been secretive, if only to rule them out of the picture and put a stop to Butchers’ mission.

‘If I can just interview them,’ Butchers said.

‘No way,’ said Janine, ‘you’re convinced they’re involved and that compromises your impartiality. I’ll do it. Let’s hope you’re not wasting my time.’

Chapter 18

She began with Felicity and Phoebe. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Felicity Wray began as soon as Janine entered the interview room.

‘Mrs Wray, Phoebe, I hope we won’t keep you very long, just some anomalies I need to clear up.’ The woman muttered and Janine reined in her own antipathy, Felicity Wray drove her barmy. How on earth her daughter put up with it, she had no idea.

Janine made introductions for the tape and stated the time then said, ‘Phoebe, I want to talk to you about your movements on the day that Sammy went missing. After the hockey match-’

‘I’ve already told you,’ Felicity huffed and puffed.

‘Mrs Wray, please, I’m asking Phoebe.’ Janine turned back to the girl who was looking very wary. ‘After the hockey match where did you go?’

‘Luke’s,’ she said in a small voice. She looked terrified.

‘Luke Stafford’s?’

‘Yes.’

Felicity Wray gave a theatrical gasp and shook her head, rattling her earrings. Janine saw the girl glance at her mother. Phoebe’s mouth tightened, then she looked away.

‘What did you do at Luke’s?’ Janine said.

‘We hung out together, that’s all. We just stayed at his house.’

‘You didn’t go out at all?’

‘No,’ Phoebe said.

‘That boy’s totally out of control,’ Felicity said.

‘You don’t know anything about him,’ Phoebe said.

‘I know he’s a violent thug!’ Felicity retorted.

‘That’s rubbish,’ Phoebe said, looking close to tears.

‘Mrs Wray, please,’ Janine intervened, ‘let’s hear what Phoebe has to say.’

‘Luke’s not a thug. His mum died and his dad won’t even say her name. It’s like she never existed. He’s really down and people wind him up so he gets into fights, that’s all.’

‘That’s all!’ Felicity snorted with derision.

Janine glared at her. ‘How far would he go?’ Janine said to Phoebe. ‘Has he ever really hurt anybody?’

‘No, it’s just a scrap – usually someone who’s getting at him, they pick on him,’ Phoebe said. ‘He doesn’t like fighting. And sometimes all he talks about is killing himself because his life’s not worth living.’

‘I know a great loss can-’ Felicity began.

‘Please!’ Janine said, ‘Be quiet.’

‘No! No, it’s not the same,’ Phoebe confronted her mother. ‘His mum died. Dad left you, right? Well, he left me too. You just made it harder. He wanted to see me but you made it impossible. You made me pick sides. You went on and on about it. Like it was only you that mattered, how he’d hurt you.’ She stopped suddenly, eyes brimming, pressed her hand to her mouth.

Felicity looked stunned. She obviously wasn’t used to Phoebe challenging her.

‘Did anyone ever ask what you wanted after your parents separated?’ Janine said.

Phoebe shook her head. ‘I wasn’t even allowed to talk to him. I missed him so much.’

‘You should have told me,’ Felicity said.

‘Like you care,’ Phoebe said.

‘If I’d known-’

‘Phoebe’s telling you now,’ Janine told Felicity, ‘just listen.’ She nodded to the girl who began to speak again, her eyes cast down, thumb picking at the table’s edge. ‘He’d gone and then you took the pills. What if I hadn’t found you in time? Did you even think about that? And what it was like for me? I’m so sick of it. I just want it to stop.’

Janine saw Felicity’s face alter, a tremor flickered around her mouth then her eyes filled. For an awful moment Janine thought she was going to break down, respond with histrionics to her daughter’s plea for understanding but then Felicity Wray spoke quietly, ‘I am sorry. It will stop. I promise.’

‘I want to see Dad.’

Felicity opened her mouth, resistance in her face but then she sighed. ‘ OK, if you’re sure but-’

‘Mum!’ Whatever Felicity’s objection was Phoebe obviously didn’t want to know.

‘On the nineteenth of April,’ Janine said, ‘you and Luke, did you go to Withington park?’

‘No,’ Phoebe said.

‘When was the last time you saw Sammy?’

‘When Dad brought him round,’ she said.

‘And can you tell me anything at all about him going missing?’ Janine said.

‘No, honestly.’ She sniffed.

Janine nodded. ‘Has Luke spoken to you about the murder, the little boy found next door?’

‘A bit – just how horrible it is.’

‘Phoebe, we recovered a book from your room,’ Janine lifted the envelope up and pulled out the book that Butchers had got so excited about.

Phoebe froze, an expression of horror in her eyes. ‘It was for school,’ she said quickly, ‘for Crime and Punishment. It’s on the reading list. That’s all. I borrowed it from Luke.’

Janine slid the book away. ‘Phoebe, why didn’t you tell us before about going to Luke’s?’

‘Because of Mum, because she’d tell me off,’ she said, looking thoroughly miserable. ‘I’m sorry, I really am.’

‘ OK,’ Janine said. She believed the girl and she was sorry that she’d been put through the trauma of a police interview but perhaps there was a silver lining if Phoebe got to see her father as she wanted to.

Chapter 19

Claire almost laughed as she realized why she was feeling so sick. Hysteria wild in her chest. This wasn’t sorrow or the nausea of grief. She was pregnant. They had been trying for a few months, ready to add to the family, to have a brother or sister for Sammy. Now they no longer even had Sammy.

Claire felt like smashing something, hurling the vase on the windowsill, with its fancy bouquet of decorative dried grasses and seed pods, at the mirror and watching the cascade of silver glass. The resounding crash of broken dreams.

It felt like a vicious irony. An appallingly distasteful joke. How could she possibly nurture a baby, let it grow inside her, when her whole world was so empty?

She heard Clive in the kitchen downstairs. The family liaison officer wouldn’t be here today, though they could always call if they needed her. The mornings were hard, waking to remember. Waking to the absence, not to hear Sammy giggling, or to have him clambering all over them. But the nights were worse. It was then that the vilest thoughts plagued her. At first she tried not to imagine what might be happening to him, to block it out but she simply couldn’t sustain it. So she let the demons in, cobbled together scenarios snatched from bleak television documentaries or in-depth newspaper features she’d seen in the past. The trade in children. The court cases that sickened yet fascinated. Sometimes she prayed that he was dead rather than suffering.

‘Claire,’ Clive called up, ‘do you want tea?’

She laughed to herself. What earthly use was tea?

She didn’t reply but instead went downstairs to the drinks cabinet. Poured herself a half-tumbler full of vodka.

Clive came in and saw. ‘Bit early, isn’t it?’

‘Does it matter?’ she said. ‘Does anything actually really matter anymore?’

Clive shrugged. His expression softened as he moved towards her but she held up her hand to stop him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Clive said. ‘How many more times? I messed up but I was just trying to see my daughter. Is that so very wrong?’

‘You should have stayed with them,’ Claire said.

‘I love you, I don’t love Felicity,’ he said.

‘Then why do you come running like a fucking poodle every time she whistles?’

‘I don’t,’ he said hotly.

‘When I had Sammy-’

‘Not that, not still that,’ he groaned. ‘It wasn’t her I was going to. It was Phoebe. She was eleven years old. I am her father.’

Claire drank, the heat of the alcohol searing through her belly, spreading into the back of her skull.

‘Don’t shut me out,’ he reached a hand towards her but she batted it away.

‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.

‘What?’ Shock slackened his face. ‘But… well…’ His eyes lit up, a half smile tugged at his lips. ‘That’s wonderful.’

How could he say that? Think that? ‘No,’ she said, ‘it really isn’t.’

His eyes moved to the glass in her hand. She drained it dry. Reached for the bottle, already feeling unsteady. When had she last eaten?

‘I can’t have it,’ she said.

‘Claire!’

‘I can’t. You want me to just substitute this baby for Sammy. No!’

‘You’re talking rubbish,’ he said, ‘that’s not what I meant at all. We wanted another baby, we talked about it-’

‘That was before,’ she poured another drink. Her mouth watered, a sour taste mixed with the astringent sting of the alcohol.

‘Please Claire,’ he said, ‘don’t decide yet, not like this. It’s a shock with everything else that’s… I love you,’ he said.

The silence that followed was deafening. ‘Did she love him? She honestly couldn’t tell any more, she was so angry with him, so confused.

‘I don’t want to lose you too,’ he said quietly.

‘You should have thought about that when you lied to me, lied to the-’

‘All right!’ he exploded. ‘I know. I fucked up. I made mistakes. Don’t you think I regret that every second of the day?’ He was shouting, he flung his arms wide, turned in a half circle and back. ‘I don’t want to be that man. The man who messes up. My first marriage was a disaster and I should have come down harder on Felicity, I know that now. I should have fought for custody but I thought we could come to some arrangement. Maybe I can’t change but I want you and I want Sammy back and I want this new baby. I am sick of feeling like this, feeling like I’ve let you down. But I will not spend the rest of my life being punished for it. Just like you should stop punishing yourself. You didn’t take Sammy. You’re not to blame.’

Claire felt as though he had kicked her.

‘Whoever did take him, whoever that person is, don’t let them take what we have left,’ he said, his eyes locked on her. ‘You don’t want this baby because you don’t feel you deserve it.’

Was that true? Claire gritted her teeth, determined not to break down. ‘And if I get rid of it?’

‘Honestly?’ he said. ‘I don’t know.’

Hot tears burned behind her eyes.

‘But I’m not going to play games anymore. Not with Felicity, not with you.’ He turned away. ‘I need some air.’ And he left.

She cried again, feeling utterly bewildered and alone. Then she lifted the glass to take another swig and felt a spasm in her guts and a rush of vomit up her throat and the back of her nose. She reached the kitchen sink just in time and clung there until she was empty and spent.

Claire was sitting in the lounge when Clive came back in.

He took off his jacket and looked directly across at her.

‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ she said.

‘I don’t know what I think,’ said Clive, ‘I have to believe he is. I have to hope.’

‘Because then it might come true?’ she said.

‘Something like that.’

‘If they come again, say they’ve found the body?’ her voice shook.

‘I hope they won’t, that’s all there is.’

She looked out of the window where it had begun to rain, thin drops scattered across the glass by the wind.

‘Tea?’ he said

She tried to smile, almost succeeded. ‘Thanks. That’d be nice.’ And she closed her eyes and listened to the pattering of the rain.

Chapter 20

Ken Stafford was fuming, Janine didn’t blame him but she had to present a united front. ‘Why on earth are we here?’ the man said bitterly, a half snarl on his face, ‘this is a bloody outrage.’

‘There’s a very good reason we’re here,’ Janine said calmly, ‘we are conducting two very serious investigations. A child murder inquiry and a search for a missing child and when my officers spoke to you, Luke,’ she looked the boy in the eyes and he glanced away, ‘you failed to mention your connection to Phoebe Wray and you also failed to mention the fact that you and Phoebe spent time together on the day you were being asked about. Why was that?’

‘They just asked me where I was,’ Luke said defensively.

‘Didn’t you realise it might be significant, or that withholding such information might impede our inquiries and waste time?’

Luke shrugged, a blush crept up his neck, glowed in his cheeks.

‘Luke, think carefully before you answer me now, do you know anything about the abduction of Sammy Wray?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘Did you and Phoebe leave your house together that afternoon?’

‘No.’

‘What time did Phoebe arrive?’ Janine said.

‘About half-one.’

‘And what time did she leave?’

‘Four.’

‘You didn’t see Phoebe?’ Janine checked with Mr Stafford.

‘No, I was asleep, I work nights,’ he said as though tired of repeating it.

‘Did Phoebe say anything to you that day about Sammy?’ she said to Luke.

‘No… oh,’ he caught himself, ‘yes, she said she wished it wasn’t all such a mess, that people could just get on. That maybe it would be cool having a little brother.’ Janine thought of Tom and his fears about Pete and Tina’s baby.

‘And why did you not tell us about Phoebe being with you?’

‘It’s her mum,’ he said, ‘she’s got it in for me.’

‘She doesn’t approve of your friendship?’

‘No, she thinks Phoebe’s too good for me,’ he said.

‘Is it more than a friendship, Luke?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Ken Stafford broke in.

Janine ignored him. ‘Luke?’

‘We’re just mates,’ he said.

‘An item was recovered from Phoebe Wray’s possession.’ Janine showed him the book. ‘Is this yours?’

He swallowed. Paused. Don’t deny it, thought Janine, it’s got your name in, for God’s sake.

‘Yeah. It’s just a book,’ he said quickly.

‘You were interested in it?’

‘Yes. That’s not a crime is it?’ A flash of anger there and Janine wondered for a second exactly what Luke was capable of.

‘No, but given the investigation I am interested in what made you buy a book like this.’

‘We were doing crime and punishment – at school, in sociology. Stuff about the age of responsibility and that,’ he said.

‘And why give it to Phoebe?’

‘Same – she’s doing it as well.’

‘What about the child found at the house next door, can you tell me anything about him?’

‘No.’ Alarm flared in his eyes. ‘I swear. How can you think that?’ He blinked hard and Janine saw how upset he was.

‘Would you have any objection to giving us a hair and DNA sample to help eliminate you from the inquiry?’ she said, thinking of the hair found in the sheet, short and dark like Luke’s.

‘You don’t seriously think he had anything to do with it.’ Ken Stafford got to his feet. ‘That’s absolutely ridiculous.’

‘Please, sit down,’ Janine said.

‘I can’t believe you people-’

‘Mr Stafford, please sit down. This isn’t helping.’

He sat and Janine said, ‘Would you be prepared to give us a hair and DNA sample, Luke?’

Luke looked to his father. Ken Stafford rolled his eyes and flung up his hands. ‘What does that involve?’

‘We take a mouth swab from Luke and a couple of hairs from his head. It will only take a few minutes.’

Luke nodded.

‘Is there anything else you wish to say?’ Janine asked him.

‘No.’

She paused a moment, in case he volunteered any more, but although his face was working, and he chewed on the inside of his lip he didn’t speak again. ‘Is there any detail you remember that you didn’t tell us in your earlier statement, anything about comings and goings at the house next door, any unusual activity, noises late at night, people you didn’t recognise in the area, anything at all?’

‘No. Where’s Phoebe?’ Luke said.

‘She’s going home with her mum,’ Janine said.

‘She’s all right?’ Luke said, his voice almost breaking with relief. Janine felt like hugging him, the poor, daft lad.

‘Yes,’ Janine said, ‘thanks for your help. Can you just wait outside for a minute, in the other room?

Once Luke had left, Janine said, ‘The problems that Luke’s been having – they started after your wife’s death?’

‘What problems?’ Ken Stafford said with hostility.

‘Fighting, suspension from school and so on.’

Ken Stafford looked uncomfortable, ‘He took it hard.’

‘Did you try and talk to him? Did he get any help?’

Ken Stafford shuffled in his chair. ‘There’s no point in dwelling on it.’

‘So you did nothing,’ said Janine. ‘Are you aware that Luke’s struggling with depression?’

‘Kids that age-’

‘Mr Stafford this isn’t some teenage tantrum. Luke has been having suicidal thoughts.’

‘Who told you that,’ he said as though he didn’t believe it.

‘That doesn’t matter. What does matter, what is important is that Luke gets some support before it’s too late. He seems like a decent enough lad, he could make something of himself but that’s unlikely if he’s left to flounder.’

‘He wouldn’t-’ he said but the belligerence had evaporated. It was sinking in.

‘It happens,’ Janine said, ‘far too often. And sometimes for what seem to be the most trivial reasons. Losing a parent, that’s not trivial. Have you heard of CAMHS?’ she pronounced it calms. ‘Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service.’

He shook his head.

‘I’ll give you their details,’ Janine said, ‘they are very good.’

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. He’d gone pale. Janine thought he probably needed some therapy himself. He’d clearly not got over the bereavement either. Still, one step at a time.

‘Oh, God,’ he shuddered, his thoughts obviously still on the awful prospect of suicide.

‘We’ll get those samples taken now,’ Janine said, ‘won’t take long and you can get home.’

He nodded, got to his feet slowly, his earlier antagonism replaced by bewilderment.

Chapter 21

DCI Lewis was spitting mad. Butchers stood in her office and took it.

‘I’m a detective chief inspector not a bloody family therapist. You drag them in here, forcing me to take time away from two critical investigations. Neither of them have anything to do with it, except in your fevered imagination. You latched onto Luke Stafford, the whole teenage killers theory, and made it your mission because it was easier than dealing with personal stuff.’ She shook her head irritably. ‘We’ve all done it but it cocks things up. Here, and at home.’

‘Sorry boss,’ he said. ‘It’s all off – the engagement.’

‘Now, why am I not surprised? Happy?’

Butchers shrugged. Relief if he had to put a name to it, blessed relief. ‘She was a bit of a slapper,’ he said.

‘And you’re a prat. Now, you did door-to-door at the Staffords, I want to review your original statements, see how objective they are. Get them now,’ she barked. ‘And don’t pull any stunts like this again. I decide who we pull in and when. Got it?’

‘Yes boss.’

He was out of there.

Pete arrived with her laptop in time to hear the tail end of Janine setting Butchers straight. Janine was still angry. With Butchers. With Pete. And her headache had grown worse not better.

‘Laying down the law?’ Pete said. ‘Looks like he’s done a few rounds with Amir Khan.’

He held up the laptop and she took it and put it on the desk, plugged it in.

‘Thank you would be nice,’ Pete said.

Any show of restraint that she had intended went out of the window. ‘Honesty would be nice,’ she snapped. ‘Were you ever going to say anything? Telling the kids and getting them to do it – how pathetic is that!’

‘I didn’t tell them,’ Pete said affronted, ‘it was Tina.’ It wasn’t me! Like a five-year-old.

‘Oh, so you were keeping the baby secret from all of us? Forgive me if I don’t congratulate you.’ She wanted to punch him, to slap him.

‘I don’t want another child,’ Pete said making eye contact, ‘you know that. It was never part of the plan. Look,’ he said more softly, ‘whatever happens I’m not going anywhere. The kids – I’ll be here for them.’

‘How are you going to fit it all in?’ she said.

‘I’ll have to find a way,’ he blustered.

‘So, is she going to want to get married?’ Janine said.

‘I don’t know,’ Pete said, as though he was fed up with the whole situation.

‘Oh, go on, Pete, take a wild guess. What is it? A commitment too far?’

‘It’s not just the baby,’ Pete said, ‘it’s just – I had options. See how things panned out.’

Talk about pathetic.

‘And you can’t leave Tina now, can you?’ Janine said. ‘But no, hang on! You left me when I was carrying Charlotte. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed principles. Options!’ She could feel the rage burning behind her breastbone, her temperature rising. ‘And what options did I have? Promotion, three kids and one on the way when you swan off. I didn’t choose this. It wasn’t in my plan.’ It came to her then, what she did want. She wanted rid of Pete, she wanted to seal the separation. He wasn’t ever coming back, things were never going to be how they used to be.

‘I want a divorce,’ Janine said.

Pete was taken aback. ‘You’re upset,’ he said.

‘You don’t say! But I’ve had enough Pete. It’s been two years, it’s not complicated. This isn’t a marriage. It’s over.’ She knew how final it was. Felt a moment’s sadness that this was how it ended, with an ill-tempered squabble in her place of work, prompted by his cowardice and fuelled by him whining about his lot.

‘Janine-’ he said, moving closer as though to reason with her but she cut him dead, ‘I’ll set things in motion.’ She opened the laptop and sat down to work, ‘And I’ll tell the kids,’ she couldn’t resist adding as he moved to go.

Janine read carefully through the statements. It wasn’t as bad as she feared, apparently Butchers’ years of experience in taking down factual information had served him well. The initial statements were quite bald, perhaps because, as Butchers had said and Janine could imagine, the Staffords were surprisingly uncooperative. Now she knew it wasn’t so much that they had an agenda, a reason to mislead the police but more that father and son were too bound up in their own misery to engage. Of course those initial statements were made at a time when everyone was imagining that the dead child was Sammy Wray.

It was hard now to pull apart the two cases, as if the details resisted being untangled. It made any analysis more complicated.

Janine froze, the skin on the back of her neck prickled and she took a quick breath. Woken by the builders. Wasn’t that a contradiction? She rifled through the statements. Yes. There. She found the other reference.

She picked up the pages and went to the door of her office. Called out to the team. ‘Statements from Ken Stafford – second statement, quote: “Saturday, back from the night shift, just got off to sleep when the builders start up.” Luke Stafford tells us his dad complained about it.’ She pulled out the other page. ‘The initial door-to-door testimony from Ken Stafford, and I quote, “Don’t see them for days, then they’d turn up at the crack of dawn”. Join the dots. If they are so bloody lazy then why do they suddenly pitch up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning? Lazy builders on the job before daylight. It’s the builders we should be talking to. The bloody builders!’

Chapter 22

‘Breeley and McEvoy,’ Janine said, ‘pull together everything we have so far, every whisper, every mention we have of them and do background checks. I’ll give you half an hour then we’ll see what it tells us.’

When they re-assembled Janine got the ball rolling. ‘Both men have been working on the site for six weeks. Owner’s abroad?’

‘That’s right,’ said Lisa, ‘we spoke to him to verify that. And he’s hired them before and had no complaints.’

‘OK, starting with Joe Breeley,’ Janine said. ‘Breeley has an alibi for the early hours of Saturday morning from his wife. If it is him – his wife is covering. Breeley has an alibi, but Donny McEvoy doesn’t. McEvoy lives alone, no family.’

‘That make it any more likely?’ Richard said.

‘No-one keeping tabs on him,’ Janine said.

‘Has its advantages,’ Richard muttered. Although he was contributing, he kept giving her dirty looks and his manner was decidedly frosty. To do with last night, she assumed.

‘Breeley was fixing the car when we first went round,’ Richard said, ‘their car broke down, on the Friday afternoon, the eighteenth of April. AA were called out. Mandy was driving. So if that was out of action, if it was Breeley, he’d have used his van to move the body to the site.’

‘From?’ said Janine. Shrugs and shakes of the head. If only they knew. She thought about her visit to the Breeleys, had there been anything off-key?

‘Breeley had been on the sick,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ Richard agreed, ‘that’s what he said at first then he changed his story, said that the weather was slowing work down at the house so he hadn’t been in.’

‘Bit odd,’ Janine said, ‘young family to feed, and he’s a steady reputation, wouldn’t you want to be bringing in the money?’

‘Might be paid for the job. Do the hours as and when,’ said Butchers. ‘Common enough in the building trade.’

‘Yes, he said as much,’ she remembered. ‘Anything else on Breeley?’

No-one spoke. ‘ OK then, Donny McEvoy.’

Shap said, ‘McEvoy was already at Kendal Avenue when Breeley turned up for work on that Saturday. Plus McEvoy was there when the body was recovered, he didn’t actually find the body but…’

‘He’s shown a very public interest in the case,’ Janine said. That type of close involvement was a feature of killers on occasion, a combination of fascination they had with the awful deed they’d committed, a need to be at the centre of attention but also a useful way they could keep tabs on what the police were doing. ‘Is he just after his fifteen minutes or is there more to it? He’s been eager to talk to us so far…’

She looked at Shap who nodded.

‘Right see if he’s happy for us to take a look round his place.’

‘The murder scene?’ Lisa asked.

‘Worth a look,’ Janine said, ‘anything to suggest the victim was there. Or at the other site where McEvoy’s been working? Find out if he’s access there out of hours. We ask both men in turn about that early morning visit on Saturday nineteenth. Given the fact that McEvoy has no alibi and he’s been rubber-necking I think we have grounds to bring him in and talk to him here. Shake him up a bit. Let’s get cracking.’

As the meeting broke up she was aware of the tension between herself and Richard. She could have ignored it but she didn’t want it to fester. ‘Richard?’ she said, ‘A word?’

She moved with him to her office, made sure to shut the door, hoping for privacy.

‘Is this about last night?’ Janine said.

‘What?’ he said.

‘This: the glacial tone, the moody stare? Did I pop your balloon?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘You were a right cow to Millie. You could barely say her name, ‘Millie,’ he mimicked Janine. ‘Patronising her, sticking your nose in. Maybe you don’t remember? That was just before you made a complete prat of yourself with the boss. What is your problem with Millie? Is she some sort of threat?’ Richard was livid, hands on hips, his eyes burning.

‘I work with her, I don’t have to like her,’ Janine said. ‘Have you seen today’s papers?’ They were making much of the confusion of the cases, pointing the finger at the police.

‘You’re blaming Millie for the coverage?’ he said, incredulously. ‘She’s doing her best in a very difficult situation. You know what that’s like, to be up against it. You’ve been there.’

He was right. She had been there, got the DVD. She was being a cow because she was pissed off with Pete. Pete and bloody Tina. And Millie, with her poise and her brains, her youthful beauty and her claim on Richard, had been a handy target. She missed her mate Richard, she missed the buzz there used to be between them, the easy company, the patter and the unspoken support. She winced as she recalled bawling out Richard over talking to Millie about the case and then omitting to inform Millie about Felicity Wray’s arrest. Petty behaviour. She wasn’t being straight with him. Janine swallowed. She did not want to be like this, act like this. As if she was no longer in control.

‘It’s just,’ she said, ‘I’m just-’ she looked away, down the corridor.

‘What?’ he said irritably.

‘Tina’s having a baby,’ she blurted it out. ‘Pete always told me he didn’t want any more children. That was something we had. He didn’t even have the bottle to tell me himself,’ she said sadly, ‘I had to hear it from the kids. I hate the whole idea of it.’

‘But you and Pete, it’s finished, right?’ he said, some confusion in his eyes.

She sighed. ‘I’ve told him I want a divorce.’

He was still puzzled. He didn’t get it, he really didn’t get it. ‘Well, what d’you expect,’ he said, ‘you can’t have it both ways.’

Janine was stung. Before she’d formulated a response Richard had walked out. Well, that went well, she told herself. She felt like crying but contented herself with kicking her desk, which brought tears to her eyes.

She was startled by a knock on the door. Christ! Couldn’t she have five minutes peace? She sniffed hard, sat down. ‘Yes?’ she said.

Millie opened the door. ‘I’d a voicemail from Richard, I thought he was here. Sorry to bother you,’ she said formally, making to leave again.

‘Come in,’ Janine said. ‘We’ve had a break, he probably wanted to tell you – Ken Stafford’s statement puts one of the builders at the scene early Saturday morning.’

‘Who?’ Millie said, alert.

‘Can’t eliminate either of them yet,’ Janine said.

‘Anything else?’ Millie said.

Was she expecting an apology? Janine felt discomfited but decided that keeping it all professional was the best way forwards. ‘You could issue a statement: new information has given us some positive leads. I’m very hopeful.’

‘That true?’ Millie said.

Was it? Hardly. Janine didn’t dare to be very hopeful any more. Hope was a scarce commodity. ‘No. It feels like I’m smacking my head against a brick wall, actually, but that doesn’t scan so well.’

‘I could dig around a bit, do an archive search?’

Janine accepted the offer. It felt like an olive branch of sorts. ‘Thanks, that’d be great.’

Janine watched her go. She was so pretty, young too, Janine guessed a good ten years younger than Richard and her. And obviously good at her job. And am I not, Janine asked herself. Where had all her confidence gone? All that energy and conviction?

Chapter 23

McEvoy sat beside a duty solicitor and Janine was sure he was still enjoying the attention. He made a show of watching keenly as she loaded the tape and did the preamble to the interview.

‘I’d like to talk to you about your whereabouts on the nineteenth of April, the Saturday,’ Janine said. ‘In your statement you said you arrived for work at approximately nine am.’

‘That’s right,’ McEvoy said.

‘We have a witness who heard work start at Kendal Avenue much earlier,’ Janine told him and watched his face change, the expression of avid interest changing to one of consternation.

‘It can’t have been me. I didn’t get there till nine,’ McEvoy insisted.

‘Were you the first?’ Janine said.

‘Yes,’ said McEvoy

‘When did Joe Breeley show?’ Richard asked.

‘Just after. You think he might have something to do with it?’ McEvoy leant forward, mouth forming a salacious smile.

‘You’re the one in the interview room,’ Richard pointed out.

‘That’s bollocks,’ McEvoy reared back. ‘I went round to sort out the flood on Monday, I was the one reported it. Why would I do that?’ He looked askance.

‘You tell me,’ Richard said.

McEvoy said nothing and for the first time Janine felt he was taking on board the seriousness of the situation.

‘You’re a true crime fan, am I right?’ Richard said.

McEvoy nodded.

‘You’ll know then, that there are some people who attract particular attention in a murder inquiry,’ Richard continued.

McEvoy couldn’t resist showing off. He nodded eagerly, ‘Family and close friends.’

‘Also the last person to see the victim alive, the one who finds the body, anybody showing an excessive interest in the case and a person who returns to the scene of the crime,’ Richard said.

‘That’s three out of four,’ Janine said unsmiling.

‘No way,’ McEvoy shouted. ‘You’ve got it arse over tits. I was working there and I called in the flood. That’s just circumstantial that is.’

‘You’ve been trying to sell your story to the papers. What exactly is your story?’ Janine said.

‘It’s human interest, it’s in the public domain,’ he said. Then he became defensive. ‘I’m entitled-’

‘What vehicle do you use for work?’ Richard said.

‘An old transit,’ McEvoy said.

‘Diesel?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Handy that – if you wanted to move something, hide something,’ Richard said

‘I’m not hiding anything,’ McEvoy said hotly.

‘As you know we have a team searching your house. Are we going to find anything there?’ Richard said.

‘No, nothing, nothing at all.’ He wasn’t smiling anymore.

‘Do you know who the child is?’ Janine asked.

‘No! Look, you’ve got it all wrong,’ he said, ‘the papers, and that, I was just trying to help. That’s all.’

He stuck unwaveringly to his account of arriving at work on that day at nine and no earlier. As the interview went on he pleaded with them to believe him. ‘Honest, on my mother’s grave,’ he said more than once.

They let him go with a warning that they might well want to speak to him again.

‘What do you think?’ she said to Richard.

He shrugged, shook his head. ‘Don’t know.’

No, she thought, neither do I.

The Breeleys were both home when Janine and Richard called on them.

‘Hello Joe, Mandy. Can we come in?’ Janine said.

A friendly smile from Joe Breeley but Janine saw his throat ripple as he swallowed. Who really wants the police in the house – unless you’re a victim needing assistance?

‘We wanted to talk to you again about Saturday the nineteenth of April. You got to Kendal Avenue just after nine, how long after?’

‘Maybe quarter past,’ he said.

‘And Donny McEvoy was already there?’ said Janine.

‘That’s right,’ he said.

‘And how did Mr McEvoy seem?’

‘Same as usual,’ Joe Breeley said, ‘why?’ He looked concerned.

You were here at home till then?’ Janine asked.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘You can confirm that?’ she turned to Mandy.

‘Yes, he was.’ She tried to smile but it was a weak attempt.

‘Are you certain about that?’ Janine said.

‘Yes,’ Mandy replied, ‘it was me had to tell him to get up, he went back to sleep after the alarm.’

‘And you didn’t go to work on the Monday,’ Richard said, ‘why was that?’

‘The rain-’ he began but Mandy cut him off.

‘It’s OK, Joe, we just tell them the truth.’

Janine felt a tightening in her chest. Joe Breeley had been hiding something.

‘It was me,’ Mandy said, ‘I was struggling with the kids, not coping and then the car had broken down and…’ Her mouth trembled as she spoke. ‘I asked him to stay off, help me,’ she sounded close to tears.

Janine could remember those early days, broken nights, the never-ending demands of small children, how hard it was to keep on top of even the basics – feeding, changing, cleaning, shopping. The exhaustion.

‘I didn’t want to tell Donny,’ Joe Breeley looked embarrassed, ‘said my back had gone.’

Janine could well imagine the ribbing the single man would have given Breeley had he known the facts: she got you under her thumb? Not letting you out?

‘Sorry,’ Breeley added.

‘ OK,’ Janine said. She glanced at the clock it was time to go, get herself to Withington Park for the reconstruction.

‘The manhole cover over the sewer, how easy would it be for someone to remove it?’ she said.

‘Easy enough, just jemmy it up,’ Joe Breeley said.

‘Had you or Mr McEvoy any reason to open the cover in the course of the work you were doing?’

‘No, that’d be a plumber’s job. We’re making good the fabric of the place, roof, walls, getting ready for the windows.’

Janine stood up. ‘If anything else occurs to you, please let us know. Doesn’t matter how small, how insignificant it might seem.’

‘Donny,’ Joe Breeley said, frowning, ‘you don’t think, you can’t-’

‘Routine inquiries,’ Richard said,’ we have to pin all the detail down. That’s all.’

‘Right,’ Breeley said, ‘course.’ He smiled again but worry lingered in his eyes.

Chapter 24

The day was grey and blustery as the actors took their places getting ready to re-enact Sammy’s abduction. A throng of press and media waited at a designated spot on the edge of the playground. A police officer was playing the part of Claire and Millie had found the son of a friend of a friend to play Sammy. They were dressed like Claire and Sammy had been on that sunny Saturday, right down to Sammy’s glasses and distinctive red shoes. Janine shivered, the boy would be cold once they took his fleece off, but only for a few minutes. She stood with Claire and Clive and Millie. The couple huddled close together, Clive had his arm around Claire and she was clutching Sammy’s fleece.

‘We’ve a good turn out,’ Janine said to Claire. The woman’s face was wretched, hollowed and grey. There was a glassy, remote look in her eyes. Had she given up? Given up daring to hope?

The guilt must be crippling, thought Janine. To know that Sammy had disappeared while she was supposed to be looking after him. Janine wondered if the abduction had been premeditated or opportunistic. Had someone been watching Claire and Sammy, set their sights on the young boy, trailed them to the shops, to playgroup, to the park. Noting their routines and behaviour. Planned when to strike, a vehicle at the ready for a quick getaway, somewhere lined up to take the child, the whole thing done with intent and deliberation.

Or had there been a terrible collision of circumstances. A predator passing through the park, keen not to attract interest, window shopping if you like, just turned out to be in the right place at the right time, within feet of Sammy as his mother was distracted. A matter of seconds to pick up the child and walk steadily away.

Millie spoke to one of her colleagues who was co-ordinating the re-enactment. The actor playing Claire took the fleece from the child and led him round to the steps.

‘He took his fleece off,’ Claire said. ‘Sammy always gets hot running about. But it was warm, it was really warm. He’s only got his t-shirt now. What if he’s cold?’ Anxiety danced in her eyes. ‘I should have gone to the front as soon as he got to the top of the slide.’

‘Claire, I can’t tell you what you want to hear,’ Janine said. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish I could. That’s why today matters. If we can jog someone’s memory-’

‘What if it doesn’t work?’ Clive Wray said. ‘How much longer-’ he broke off, unable to continue.

Janine couldn’t answer that question, either. Some children were never found. That was the reality. ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ she said, ‘I promise.’

The little boy pulled at the spectacles, unused to them. The woman playing Claire, took his hand and led him round again. The cameras drank it up, ready for broadcast on the news bulletins, for Crimewatch, for stills in the next editions of the papers, for the police website.

Janine looked at the T-shirt, the green dinosaur, just the sort of thing she’d have bought Tom when he was younger and obsessed with the creatures. She thought of the victim, the paltry evidence they had from the scene, everything compromised by the water and the actions of scavenging animals. The t-shirt, underpants, bed sheet, the human hairs and the screw. A glasses screw.

The boy slid down the slide and was caught at the bottom.

Janine’s pulse jumped. She turned to Millie, and stepped closer, away from the Wrays so they wouldn’t hear. ‘The glasses screw in the sheet – we thought it was Sammy’s,’ Janine said, ‘switch it round. What if that’s the killer’s?’

Millie understood straight away and nodded quickly.

Janine pulled out her phone and called Richard. ‘Richard, the glasses screw, not that many three-year-olds wear glasses. It’s more likely to be the killer’s, isn’t it? Get someone onto McEvoy, check the prescription of his glasses against the glass on the drive. He had his glasses on earlier but maybe he has a spare pair.’

‘Or got them fixed,’ Richard said.

‘What about Joe Breeley, he wasn’t wearing glasses, was he?’

‘No,’ said Richard. ‘But if he’d broken them…’

‘ OK. Keep in touch, I shouldn’t be much longer here and then we’ll decide what we do next.’

‘No match to McEvoy’s prescription,’ Richard told her as she arrived back at the office. ‘And nothing out of order at his house.’

‘Back to Breeley then,’ she said.

‘How do you want to play it?’

‘Cautiously,’ Janine didn’t want to make any more mistakes.

Janine looked at the photographs, Joe and Mandy and their two sons. John and Aidan as newborns and older. In several photographs Joe Breeley was wearing glasses, rectangular, dark frames. Janine looked at Richard, signalled with her eyes. He saw what she meant, gave a brief nod.

Mandy was holding Aidan, she looked nervous, full of fleeting smiles.

‘You’ve not got your glasses, Mr Breeley?’ Richard said.

‘I lost them,’ Breeley said, ‘I can manage without, don’t need them really.’

‘When was that, then, that you lost them?’ said Richard.

‘I can’t remember.’ He scratched at the edge of his jaw line.

‘You didn’t have them when we first called round. So, before then?’ Richard said.

‘He only needs them for reading. He’s always losing them,’ Mandy said. Aidan wriggled in her arms and squealed and she hushed him.

If he only needed the glasses for reading, Janine thought, then why was he wearing them in the photographs?

Breeley’s leg was dancing, the man was wound up tight.

‘We found optical glass on the pavement at Kendal Avenue. And a glasses screw inside the sheet the child was wrapped in. Your glasses – are they lost, or broken?’ said Janine.

‘Lost. I told you.’

‘Maybe they’re in the van,’ said Richard, ‘it’s just out there. We can have a look.’

‘No.’ He got to his feet quickly. ‘They’re not there.’

‘Won’t take a minute,’ Richard said, ‘and we can clear this up.’ Richard set off with Joe rushing after him, Janine and Mandy close behind.

‘No!’ Breeley was shouting, ‘You don’t go near my van.’ Breeley tried to grab Richard, pull him back but Richard, the bigger man shrugged him off.

‘No. Leave it!’

Richard reached the van and glanced in, turned back. ‘Here all along, one lens broken.’

‘It’s nothing!’ Breeley shouted, ‘Just a pair of specs.’

Richard pulled handcuffs out and moved quickly to Breeley. Began the caution, ‘Joseph Breeley, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything…’

Mandy, her mouth open, was shaking her head. Then she began to shout, ‘Leave him alone, get off him, he hasn’t done anything. Leave him.’ The baby was crying and Janine steered them back towards the house. ‘Leave him alone,’ Mandy shouted, ‘where are you taking him?’

‘He’ll be at City Central Police Station while he helps us with our inquiries,’ Janine said. ‘We may wish to speak to you in due course.’

‘I can’t,’ Mandy said, ‘the kids… what about the kids?’

‘If necessary we can provide temporary child care while we speak to you if you can’t find anyone yourself.’

‘He didn’t… he couldn’t…’ she broke down.

Denying everything. Had she suspected her husband of such a crime? She had given him the alibi for the Saturday morning. Maybe that was genuine. The child could have been placed there another day, though that didn’t account for the noise of the van heard so early in the day.

Or maybe Mandy Breeley suspected her husband but wouldn’t admit it to herself. Shut down the whispers in her head, made light of the worry gnawing away inside. Wanted to believe him innocent. To believe he was a good man, a decent man. Not think that the father of her children murdered another child.

Chapter 25

While Joe Breeley was booked in and a solicitor was arranged, Janine and Richard prepared the interview, going over all the facts, the evidence they had and the contradictions in what Breeley had told them so far.

Janine had sent CSIs to recover the van. In the lab, Joe Breeley’s glasses prescription was being compared to the broken lens found close to the manhole, and an examination was underway to see if the glasses screw fit the frames. In the custody suite, Breeley was being processed, having his fingerprints taken, giving a DNA sample and a hair from his head. The lab would look at the hair to see if it resembled the one recovered from inside the sheet. A DNA profile would establish if they came from the same person.

Once word came back positive on the screw and the lens prescription, Janine felt a wash of relief and the kick of excitement. Finally, finally they were getting closer, things were adding up. Still a lot of blanks to fill in but if they could just get Joe Breeley talking.

His solicitor was a whey faced woman with greasy hair. Thankfully she had not advised her client to offer no comment, perhaps because of the seriousness of the crime. She sat next to Breeley and opposite Richard and Janine in the interview room.

‘What can you tell me about the body of a child recovered from Kendal Avenue on the twenty-eighth of April?’ Janine said to Breeley.

‘Nothing. I don’t know anything about it, I swear,’ he said.

‘How do you account for the fact that a screw of the same type to that missing from your glasses was found in the sheet wrapped around the child’s body?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You told us before that the manhole cover had been closed and that you had no need to access the drainage tunnel. So how come your glasses screw ends up in the drain, inside the sheet covering the child.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, looking away.

Janine could see a pulse ticking fast at the side of his neck.

‘We have a witness who heard your vehicle arriving at the address at six-fifteen on the morning of the nineteenth of April,’ Richard said.

The solicitor interrupted, ‘Is this witness able to distinguish individual vehicles by the sound of their engines?’

Janine knew it was a fair point.

‘A diesel engine, a sound the neighbours had become familiar with over the course of the weeks you were working there,’ Richard said.

‘I was at home then,’ Breeley said.

‘I don’t think that’s the case. When did you break your glasses?’ Richard said.

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Where did it happen?’ Richard said.

‘Not at work,’ he replied.

‘The screw must have worked loose, dropped onto the sheet. Later, as you were moving the body, your lens fell out and broke,’ said Richard.

‘It’s not mine,’ Joe Breeley said. He rubbed his jaw.

‘We can identify the prescription from the fragments. It matches yours,’ Richard said.

‘You’re bound to find traces of me all over the shop. I worked there,’ Joe Breeley said.

‘But you have just told us that you didn’t break your glasses at work. I’m confused,’ Janine said.

‘You went to work early, in the van,’ Richard said, ‘you put the little boy there, left. Came back at nine. What happened, Joe?’

He refused to answer.

‘How did particles of glass that match your missing lens come to be on the driveway at Kendal Avenue?’ Richard said.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ Temper or desperation edged his reply.

‘We’ve taken a DNA sample from you along with hair from your head. Will we find that matches material recovered from the victim?’

Breeley stilled though Janine was not sure why but then he recovered. Had he remembered something incriminating? She decided to push this topic a bit further.

‘Anything like that could have come from the house,’ he said, ‘we use the basin, the toilet.’

‘And how might that have got inside the sheet? Or onto the child’s body?’ she said.

He swallowed, closed his eyes momentarily. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Let’s back up a little. Friday afternoon, the eighteenth of April. You left early?’ Janine said.

‘Yeah, Mandy was going shopping. I had the kids.’

‘She didn’t take them?’ Janine said.

‘No – John’s got the chickenpox,’ he said.

‘So Mandy went shopping, she came back when?’

‘She was late – the car broke down. Be going on five when she got back.’

‘And that evening where were you?’ Janine said.

‘Just in the house,’ Breeley said.

‘Neither of you went out?’ Janine said.

‘No, honestly. Ask Mandy. She’ll tell you,’ he said.

‘Oh, we will,’ Janine said, ‘I promise you that. Saturday morning what time did you leave home?’

‘Nine o’clock, like I said.’

Joe Breeley maintained his story, refusing to be drawn, then there was a knock at the door. Richard suspended the interview, paused the tape and went to answer it.

He came back into the room and nodded to Janine. It must be something important.

‘We’ll take a break now, half an hour,’ she said to the solicitor.

‘You’re keeping me here?’ Joe Breeley said.

‘For as long as it takes,’ Janine replied.

‘Millie’s found something in Breeley’s background,’ Richard said in the corridor once Breeley had been escorted to a cell.

‘Where is she?’

‘Incident room.’

Millie held a sheaf of printouts. She handed Janine the top one. Janine scanned the headline. Tot’s Death Inquest. She checked the date, 12th February 1991. Janine started to read, The county coroner opened an inquest yesterday into the death of Gary Breeley (3) who died at the family home in October 1990.

‘Fractured skull,’ said Millie. ‘Joe Breeley had a little brother, Gary. Joe was looking after him when Gary died. He fell down some steps, fractured his skull. They ruled accidental death, though there were rumours.’

‘Did he fall, or was he pushed?’ said Janine.

‘Exactly,’ said Millie, ‘Joe was ten at the time.’

The same cause of death. What were the chances? Was family man Breeley repeating an earlier crime?

‘We can use this,’ she said to Richard, ‘we should put this to him.’

While they waited for the half hour to elapse, Janine checked on responses to the Sammy Wray reconstruction. ‘The phones are red hot,’ Shap told her, which could mean anything or nothing. Perhaps Sammy had been snatched and taken abroad, at best for an illegal adoption and at worst as a victim for the men who get pleasure from abusing children.

‘Joe,’ Janine said once they had resumed the interview, ‘we really need to sort this out. You need to start telling us the truth. We have good reason to believe that you were involved in the death of the child found at Kendal Avenue. You’ve not been in to work since. Bad back you said, then excuses about the weather, then you claimed you stayed at home to help Mandy. Not like you to blob work according to Donny McEvoy. This is why, isn’t it, Joe? You couldn’t do it. Go back and carry on knowing that child was down there in the dirt. Alone. You couldn’t stomach it.’

He looked down at the desk, closed eyes. When he raised his head and stared at Janine, he looked tired, cynical, his cheeks hollowed.

‘We know about your brother. About Gary,’ she said.

Joe Breeley jerked as if she had slapped him then sat back his eyes blinking rapidly, his face tight and Janine could see how close he was to breaking point.

‘Oh you do, do you? You know all about that,’ he said bitterly.

‘He had a fractured skull, too. Same age. What happened this time, Joe? Another accident?’

Joe Breeley’s mouth was rigid, his face pale. His upper body was shaking and Janine realised his leg was bouncing up and down as it had at the house. A nervous tic. He didn’t answer.

‘Who is he?’ Janine said.

He looked down, put his head in his hands.

Janine spoke quietly. ‘Someone out there is worried sick because their little boy is missing. You’re a father. Imagine that? That little boy needs a name. We need to find out what happened to him and return him to the people who love him so they can lay him to rest.’

She kept pushing but keeping her tone soft, full of concern. ‘Where he is, he’s no name, no identity, like a bit of rubbish that no-one cares about. He has a mother, he has a father, they deserve the truth. That’s all they can have now. That little soul needs peace. I think you do too.’

He raised his head, tears leaking from the sides of his eyes, anguish stretched across his face.

‘Where did you find him? Who is he, Joe?’

He shook his head, raised his hands to his face, pressed his fingers against his lips as though he’d stop the words. Gave a sob.

‘Joe, please, who is he?’

‘He’s my son.’ His arms fell, he cried to the heavens. ‘My boy. He’s dead and he’s my son.’

Chapter 26

‘Is he losing it, or what? Has he got another kid?’ Richard said as soon as they were alone, after the solicitor had insisted on a break and Janine agreed without argument. ‘Is there a previous relationship?’

‘Not that we know of,’ Janine said. ‘They’ve the baby – and John,’ Janine recalled the photos, the child crying from upstairs. Miserable with chickenpox. ‘And no-one’s reported a child missing, anyway. Apart from Sammy. If he was from a previous relationship surely the mother would have… John Breeley’s been sick,’ she was thinking aloud, ‘we didn’t see him. We heard him though.’

She looked at Richard. Her stomach turned over and her bowels turned to water. ‘We heard a child. We were told it was John.’

Richard narrowed his eyes, listening intently to her.

‘There is a connection,’ she said, her mouth dry and heart thumping. ‘This is John, our victim. The child we heard upstairs – I think it’s Sammy.’

The way Breeley had hesitated when Janine mentioned DNA. He must have thought then that they’d soon identify the relationship between father and son, that the game was up. That no matter how vehemently he denied all knowledge of the crime, the science would blow it all wide open.

‘He killed his son and took Sammy?’ Richard said.

‘The timing would fit. He puts John there early Saturday morning, goes away and comes back just after nine. He works the morning…’

‘Goes to the park,’ Richard said.

‘That’s why we’ve had no reports of another missing child.’ She could feel her pulse racing, a buzzing in her head.

‘We arrest Mandy as an accomplice and remove the children,’ she said.

‘You sure?’ Richard said.

‘That it’s Sammy? Hell, yes. This time I’m sure.’ She was trembling with adrenalin but she needed to focus, to use the energy to concentrate on the task in hand – recovering Sammy from Mandy Breeley.

There was no reply at the house. Janine peered through the letter box, no sign of life, no sounds from upstairs. Shap checked around the back and found the same. They began knocking on doors along the street.

A neighbour opposite reported seeing Mandy leave with the children in the car only a few minutes earlier. She knew the family well and was able to tell them where Mandy’s mother lived.

‘Richard and I will go round there now,’ Janine told the team who stood, poised to act, outside the Breeley’s house with all the neighbours watching. ‘Shap, flag up the car registration so we can try and catch her with ANPR if she’s done a runner,’ referring to the automatic number plate recognition technology they could use. ‘Butchers, get onto telecoms, we want to pinpoint her location if she uses her phone – Joe Breeley will have her number in his. Be prepared to instigate a child rescue.’

Janine rang Lisa and brought her up to speed. ‘Map out radius, probable distance travelled and time projections. Set up a child abduction alert. Shap will give you the details.’

Shap got out his phone. As Janine hurried to her car Shap began to speak to Lisa, ‘Maroon Vauxhall Astra registration mother 635 x-ray, lima, hotel. Full alert all ports and airports. Occupants twenty-five-year old white female, long blonde hair, believed to be travelling with infant boy and three-year-old boy…’

Mandy’s mother lived about a mile away and looked disconcerted when she opened the door to police officers.

‘Have you seen Mandy today?’ Janine asked her, once she’d identified herself.

‘No.’

‘Have you heard from her?’

‘No. Why? What’s going on?’ she said.

Janine didn’t have time to go into a full blown explanation so said instead, ‘She’s missing from home and we’re anxious to speak to her.’

‘About what? What on earth’s the matter?’ the woman’s voice rose.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t discuss that with you now but please if you do hear from her will you let us know immediately?’ Janine passed her a card. The woman opened and closed her mouth, her forehead creased, eyes bewildered.

Knowing what she did, Janine felt a moment’s pity for Mandy’s mother. Whatever happened in the hours to come, her life was about to be torn apart as she learnt about the death of her grandson and the abduction carried out by her son-in-law. ‘I’m sorry,’ Janine said, ‘I have to go.’

They drove away, the woman still standing in her doorway, as if frozen by dread.

Janine requested that Joe Breeley be returned to the interview room.

He came in walking slowly, face drained of colour. He sat beside his solicitor and rubbed at his face with his palms, like he was trying to wake himself up.

‘Joe, Mandy’s missing,’ Janine said.

‘What about Aidan?’ He looked alarmed.

‘She’s taken him, and Sammy.’

He froze and looked at her, he obviously hadn’t realised they had made the connection. Did he think he could hide the abduction from them?

‘I don’t know anything about Sammy.’

Lying.

‘Are you telling us you didn’t abduct Sammy Wray?’ Richard said.

‘I didn’t,’ he said.

‘We heard him at the house,’ Janine said, ‘remember?’

His face crumpled. He sniffed. ‘I can’t-’

The lone woman in the park. Janine’s stomach fell. Mandy! Mandy, deranged with grief, had substituted someone else’s child for her own. And Joe was trying to shield her.

‘Mandy,’ she said. He flinched, wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘We’re very concerned for their safety. Where would she go?’

‘You’ll take him off her, Aidan.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ll charge her. I can’t do that to them.’

‘And if it all goes wrong?’ Janine said.

‘No,’ he said.

‘If you help us, Joe, that will be taken into account,’ Richard said.

‘I don’t care about that,’ he exploded. ‘Christ, do you think that matters?’ He put his hands on his head, pulled at the hair there, his knuckles white.

‘We need to contact her friends. Perhaps she’s left the children with someone or asked somebody for help,’ Janine said.

There was a long pause. He seemed torn. ‘I can’t,’ he said eventually.

They examined his phone anyway and Shap began ringing round all the contacts in his list.

‘Mandy went out shopping on Friday afternoon,’ Janine said. The car broke down. You were on your own with the boys, tell me what happened.’

‘It was an accident,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘I just wanted him to stop messing about.’ He shook his head.

‘Joe?’ she prompted, ‘What was he doing?’

‘He was having a tantrum, chucking his food all over the place, kicking me. He’s screaming his head off. I pick him up and-’

He stopped short, lips crimped together, his fists clenched, miming how he held the child by the shoulders.

‘You shook him?’ Richard said.

‘Yeah, and he’s yelling and I just…I-’

‘Go on,’ Janine said.

He took a rapid breath in. ‘I just put him down, too rough and he goes backwards, hard against the wall. Then he’s quiet.’ Breeley began to sob, his shoulders heaving, saliva at the corners of his mouth. ‘She wouldn’t let him go,’ his distress was palpable, Janine felt her throat tighten.

‘Why didn’t you get help? Tell someone, if it was an accident?’

‘They’d dredge it all up again – what’s the chance of it happening twice? They’d never believe me. The truth. I told the truth back then and it all fell apart. Gary opened the cellar door, he’d not done that before. The light was broke but he didn’t mind the dark. He must have tripped. It had gone quiet and I went to see what he was up to and the door was open.’ He shivered. ‘I didn’t want to go down there. I got my bike lamp.’

Joe Breeley paused. Janine waited. Eventually he spoke again, his voice so low she had to lean in to catch it. ‘He was still. He never kept still.’ He rubbed at his face. ‘My mam’s eyes, her face – she never spoke to me again. I was ten years old. Fifteen years of wishing… Blame and hate – that’s what the truth got me. And it never brought Gary back.’ He looked at her, eyes lanced with pain. ‘I loved my boy… I loved him… We sat with him all night. But I had to…’

‘What did you do, Joe?’ Janine said gently.

‘I put him in the sheet, put him in the van. On the seat,’ he added, ‘not in the back, like.’ The sad detail, as if he’d protect the child he had killed. Janine recalled Lisa’s observation about the sheet being like a shroud. Perceptive.

‘Then what?’ she said.

‘I drove to the house.’

‘To 16 Kendal Avenue?’ She had to have it all on tape, facts, figures, details.

‘Yes. I got out of the van, opened the-’ He stopped, overcome.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘Opened the manhole, I went for John. That’s when my glasses broke.’

‘You fetched John,’ Janine prompted.

‘I put him in the drain.’ He was crying as he spoke, wiping at his face with his hands. ‘I went home, came back just after nine.’

‘And then after lunch, when you’d finished work, Mandy came home with Sammy?’

Joe Breeley shook his head sadly. ‘I wanted John back,’ he said, ‘but it was too late.’ His mouth worked.

He refused to tell them where Mandy might be. ‘I can’t,’ he said, ‘I can’t do that to her.’

Eventually Janine and Richard withdrew but asked that Joe Breeley wait where he was, as they would certainly want to resume questioning him.

The incident room was alive with a sense of urgency. Phones were ringing and people taking calls in the background. A large map of the country, centred on Manchester, was projected onto an electronic whiteboard and Lisa had outlined circles with estimated time of travel.

‘Butchers,’ Janine said, ‘speak to the bank, they’re to notify us immediately if Mandy uses her cards.’

‘The mobile network,’ he said, ‘say she’s not calling anyone so far, phone’s switched off.’

‘If she’s on the move, how far has she gone?’ Janine said.

Lisa indicated on the map. ‘Almost forty minutes, boss. She’s somewhere in this area. No ANPR hits yet.’

‘More than likely, she’s on a motorway,’ Janine said, ‘cameras should be able to pick her up. Richard, we want a negotiator standing by. And talk to the National Crime Faculty – see if there’s a psychologist can advise us on how to play it.’ She turned back to Lisa. ‘Are customs on board?’

‘Yes, boss,’ the young DC said.

‘What about social services?’

‘Will do.’

‘We could go public, breaking news, I can get us a ‘be on the lookout for,’ said Millie.

‘Could freak her.’ There was a moment’s tension as Janine tried to weigh up whether this was the right tactic. ‘ OK,’ she said, ‘do it. But give me time to call the Wrays first.’

Millie left for the press office to set things in motion.

Shap called out, ‘Breeley’s contacts – no-one has heard from her in the last few days. No-one had any suggestion as to where we might find her.’

‘Boss,’ Lisa said, ‘tea, coffee?’

‘Yes, anything.’ Janine was too bound up in the hunt to be able to make trivial decisions.

Janine rang Claire Wray, determined to warn her of unfolding events before she heard anything on the news. ‘Claire, I wanted to let you know we have just received a strong lead as to Sammy’s whereabouts and we’re hoping to recover Sammy but I can’t make any promises. As soon as I have any more information at all you will be the first to know.’

‘You’ve found him?’

‘We think we know where he’s been held, I can’t say more than that.’

‘It’s definitely Sammy?’

‘We believe so,’ Janine said. She couldn’t be one hundred percent sure until she saw the child with her own eyes. She could hear Claire breathing but nothing else.

‘Claire?’

‘Is he alive?’ Claire said.

‘I believe so,’ Janine said.

‘But you don’t know?’

‘I can’t be sure,’ Janine said.

‘But what-’ Claire began.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t answer any more questions now. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I can. Is Sue there?’

Janine briefed Sue, the family liaison officer, as quickly as she could. Then she let Lisa know the family had been informed of the breakthrough.

Lisa nodded, passed Janine a cup of tea. She took a sip, scalding her mouth, then Butchers called out, ‘She’s using her phone, she’s on the phone.’

A mobile was chiming in among the office phones.

‘Who’s she calling?’ Janine said.

Shap stood up, waving Breeley’s handset. ‘Joe. She’s calling Joe.’

Janine snatched the phone and ran to the interview room. Janine handed Breeley the phone, ‘Mandy calling’ was on the display. She nodded for him to answer.

‘Mandy?’

‘Joe, I wanted to say goodbye. I had to go. I’m sorry.’ Janine could hear her voice, distant, tinny, distraught.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Joe Breeley said. ‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Come back, come home, please Mandy.’

‘I love you, Joe. Remember that, I love you,’ Mandy said.

‘We can sort it out,’ he answered, ‘just come home. We can work something out.’

‘It’s too late. I’m sorry.’

‘Mandy, no, don’t!’ Joe Breeley cried out.

But Mandy had ended the call.

‘Oh, God,’ he was agitated. ‘Oh, Christ!’

‘What does that mean,’ Janine said, ‘too late?’

He just sat there shaking his head.

‘Joe,’ said Janine, a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, ‘did Mandy make any threats?’

He pressed his knuckles against the edge of the table. ‘When she brought him home, I said we’d have to take him back, there’d be trouble. How long till people realised they’d not seen John, family, people in the avenue? She was all for a fresh start. Wait till the fuss died down and then move. I tried to make her see sense but she said if I took him away she’d… kill herself. She said life wouldn’t be worth living anymore.’

Chapter 27

The first newsflash came over the television in the incident room. ‘Police appeal for help in finding missing toddler Sammy Wray. Believed to be travelling with a woman and baby in a maroon Vauxhall Astra M635 XLH. Please ring this number if you see the vehicle or the occupants.’

‘Got an ANPR hit,’ Shap said.

‘Where?’ Lisa asked him.

‘M62 West. Just past Warrington.’

Lisa typed in the details and pulled up a new projection on the whiteboard.

‘She could be heading for Liverpool,’ Shap said. He sent word to the boss who was still in with Breeley.

‘Mandy’s travelling towards Liverpool,’ Janine said. ‘We believe she may be trying to reach the airport or the port. Where’s she going? Have you got family abroad. A place that’s special?’

‘What’ll happen to Aidan?’ Joe Breeley said.

‘I don’t know but let’s get him back safe, yes?’ Janine said.

‘She wouldn’t hurt him,’ Breeley said but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

‘She’s grieving. She’s lost a child and taken a replacement. Mandy’s on the run. She knows we’ve arrested you. The game’s up. When things are that bad it can feel like there’s only one way out. Are you willing to take that risk. With Sammy? With Aidan?’ Janine spoke quietly, firmly. ‘Too late, she said. But it needn’t be.’

Joe Breeley hesitated, obviously torn.

‘Come on, Joe. We need your help. Aidan needs your help. Wherever she is headed, she can’t hide, not on her own, not with two children. I’m concerned for her safety and the children’s safety. For Aidan.’

‘I told you, she wouldn’t hurt him,’ he said.

‘How can you be sure, she’s never been in this situation before. She knows that we’ve arrested you, she probably understands it is only a matter of time before we work out what has happened. Where is she going?’

‘I can’t,’ he said.

‘It’s better this way, believe me. You’ve already lost John, let’s keep everyone else safe. Mandy can’t do this on her own. She won’t be thinking straight. She knows you’ve been arrested, she knows you’ll be charged and remanded awaiting trial. You’ll probably be convicted. You won’t be there for her, the only thing you could do now is help us so we can reach her and bring them all back safe. Please help us do that.’

He shuddered, the motion shaking his shoulders and arms, rippling through his face. He put his hands to his head then said quietly, ‘Isle of Man. She’s cousins in Douglas. We used to talk about moving there. She thought it’d be a better place to bring up the kids.’

‘Thank you. How do you usually get there?’ Janine said.

‘The ferry from Liverpool,’ he answered.

Janine asked Richard and Butchers to remain with Joe Breeley and took Shap with her to try and intercept Mandy at the ferry.

‘We should be with you in about thirty minutes,’ Janine said to a contact in the port police. ‘Mandy Breeley could be volatile. She’s grief-stricken and she may be feeling desperate. We’re faxing descriptions over for you. Let her board. Try not to do anything to spook her. Can you instruct your people not to approach her?’ He agreed and assured her that the harbour master was prepared to delay sailing if necessary.

Shap was a good driver at speed and as the car raced along the M62 with an escort ahead to clear the traffic, Janine tried to ease the tension twisting in her guts. She wanted to be there now, faster, sooner. Her stomach was a heavy ball, her back stiff, even her fingers and toes felt locked, rigid. What if they were too late? Mandy’s words: Too late. When the prospect of saving Sammy was in sight, what if it was snatched away? The Wrays would never survive that and Janine didn’t think she would either.

She spoke to a hostage negotiator and gave him a summary of the situation. He said he’d meet them at the terminal as soon as possible but roadworks on his journey south might affect his expected arrival time.

At last the terminal came into view. They passed the cargo container depot with its massive stacks of metal boxes, followed the plethora of signage directing traffic to parking, loading and ferry-boarding areas. Overhead, gulls wheeled and shrieked and a fierce wind snatched at flags and litter. With their lights and sirens off, the unmarked cars drew up close to the ship itself.

Janine and Shap were greeted by the port police officer who was expecting them. Janine shook hands with him.

‘We’ve done a discreet search,’ he said, ‘she’s on the top deck. Coastguard standing by.’

‘Thanks,’ Janine said, ‘social workers should be here anytime.’

‘No negotiator yet?’ he asked.

‘On their way,’ Janine said, ‘the traffic’s bad, an incident on the M6.’ Janine didn’t want to wait, felt that the outcome could be worse if they delayed and Mandy began to suspect something was wrong. She thought for a moment and then said, ‘I know the situation. I’ve met her before. She might talk to me.’

He nodded.

‘We go up,’ she said, ‘when I find her if we can clear that deck…’

‘Sure, I’ll brief these guys,’ he nodded to his officers.

When everyone was clear on the strategy, Janine and Shap climbed the stairwells between the decks followed by the port officers. The ferry was busy with travellers: a stag party dressed in monkey outfits, families of all shapes and sizes, couples and solo travellers. Janine caught a whiff of hot fat and sugar from one of the cafés on board, mingled with the oily smell of diesel.

When they reached the top deck the wind was even fiercer. Janine saw Mandy at the far end, at the rail looking out to sea, Aidan in her arms, a baby feed and changing bag over her shoulder. Sammy was beside her, holding her hand. Sammy wore different clothes but had his red shoes on and his glasses.

Janine nodded and Shap with the port officers assisting him began to approach the other passengers and quietly ask them to go downstairs, making sure that no-one passed Mandy and alerted her to the evacuation. The wind helped them, masking the noise of people moving.

Soon they were alone and Janine walked closer to Mandy. She was perhaps ten yards away when Mandy turned, panic stark in her face as she caught sight of Janine. Mandy scooped up Sammy and began to retreat, edging along the perimeter of the deck.

‘Mandy. Are you OK?’ Janine said. She kept moving trying to narrow the distance between them.

‘Go away,’ Mandy said.

‘We know about John,’ Janine said, ‘I am so sorry. You must miss him terribly.’

‘He’s fine,’ Mandy glanced at the boy in her arms. ‘Aren’t you, love? We’re fine. Just leave us alone.’ The wind whipped at her hair.

‘That’s not John. That’s Sammy. He hasn’t been ill with chickenpox. He’s sad and he’s frightened and he misses his mum,’ Janine said.

‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Mandy said.

‘You saw him at the park. T-shirt just like John’s. Same age, looked alike, that blonde hair. John had gone but you wanted him back. It hurt so much, didn’t it?’ Janine said.

Mandy started to cry.

‘It can’t work – a secret like that. That’s Sammy, isn’t it?’ Janine said.

Mandy didn’t speak, her mouth trembled.

‘Mandy?’

The woman nodded, but she was still holding on tight to Sammy. She looked down at the freezing water. Janine’s chest tightened. Janine didn’t know enough about Mandy, about her history, her previous mental health, to know what she was thinking but given what Mandy had been through she must be disturbed. Anyone would be, to see her husband kill her first son, to have to relinquish him, to keep the ghastly deed a secret and play happy families whenever the police called round, to snatch Sammy and cope with the fear she must have felt every time someone came to the house.

‘Joe told us what he did,’ Janine kept talking, edging closer, keeping her voice as low as possible but fighting to be heard above the wind. ‘You weren’t there. You’d have stopped him. You love them. John and Aidan. I can see that. It was Joe, just Joe. He’d done it before.’

Mandy frowned.

‘When he was a child himself. His brother. And now his boy,’ Janine said. If she could just get her talking, interacting. Janine had done a basic course in hostage negotiation, you started by communicating, by interacting, by listening and empathising and enabling the person to open up to you.

‘No. It’s not like that,’ Mandy said.

‘Tell me,’ Janine said.

‘I wanted to get an ambulance,’ Mandy said, ‘to get help, but he wasn’t moving.’ Janine thought of her holding her child through that long, dark night. Feeling his lifeless body grow cold, then stiffen, the colour fade from his skin. Mandy hitched Aidan higher up on her shoulder. ‘He just snapped, he’s not a bad man, he has a temper but he’s not a bad man. I was late back. Joe said we’d lose it all. With his brother, it was an accident, but they still put Joe in care, his mother left… Joe said he’d go down for it, and they’d take Aidan away… we’d lose everything… he was so sorry. Now, it’s even worse – we’ve lost everything, anyway. There’s nothing left.’ Sammy began to grizzle and wriggled in her arms. She couldn’t hold both children indefinitely.

Mandy, weeping, looked to the water again.

‘Imagine if someone could bring John back?’ Janine said. ‘They can’t, no-one can. But you can do that for Sammy’s mum and dad. You can bring Sammy back for them. You know what it must be like for them, how sad they are. Please. Come with me now, Mandy. Come on. Please, Mandy. This is all a mess, but part of it we can put right. Part of it, you can make better.’

Mandy wept, snot on her face and tears damp on her cheeks. Around them the gulls called, their cries harsh and mocking.

‘Please, Mandy.’ Janine stepped closer, ‘let me take Sammy.’ Her mouth was dry, her heart in her throat. What if she misjudged it, lost all of them. ‘I know you didn’t want to hurt anyone. You were hurting. All you wanted was your little boy back, for things to be the same.’

Janine reached Mandy. Sammy was still crying quietly. ‘That’s it,’ Janine said, soothing her as much as possible, ‘that’s it, I’ll take Sammy, come on, that’s it.’ Janine put her hands round Sammy’s waist. ‘I’ve got him, come on Mandy, that’s it. Come on Sammy, there we go. I’ve got you, Sammy.’ Mandy relinquished her grip on Sammy and Janine lifted him into her own arms. ‘That’s it. Good. It’s all right.’

Mandy moved Aidan to the centre of her chest, wrapping both her arms around him, kissing his head, her tears falling on his fine blonde hair.

Janine turned to where the social workers waited near the steps and nodded. One of them came up onto the deck and approached them.

‘Sammy?’ she said.

Janine nodded.

‘Hello, Sammy,’ the woman said, ‘off we go then, that’s it.’ She took the child from Janine and walked back. Janine waited until the clang of her shoes on the metal steps had faded then put her arm around Mandy’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go down now. You give me your bag.’

Wordlessly, Mandy eased the bulky hold-all off her shoulder and Janine took it. Gently she steered Mandy, one arm on her back along to the steps and slowly guided her down, the other officials melting out of the way.

Mandy froze when she saw the small crowd of people waiting on the dockside at the end of the passenger walkway.

‘It’s all right, Mandy,’ Janine said. The words were meaningless, something to keep the woman walking, keep the child safe. ‘Come on.’

A woman with a name-tag on stepped forward and met them as they stepped off the ship.

‘Mandy,’ she said, ‘I’m Glenys, I’m Aidan’s social worker.’

Mandy began to cry fresh tears.

‘I know this is really hard but I will make sure that Aidan is well looked after.’

‘Can I see him?’ Mandy cried.

‘Yes, of course,’ Glenys said, ‘I’ll arrange visiting as soon as we have things straightened out. You’re still his mum, remember that, nothing can ever change that.’

The compassion brought a lump in Janine’s throat.

‘He’ll want a bottle in an hour or so,’ Mandy said through sobs like hiccups. ‘There’s a change of clothes in his bag. And his teddy. He likes rusks and apricot.’

Janine handed the bag to Glenys.

Glenys smiled at Mandy. ‘Thank you.’

Mandy held her cheek against Aidan’s head. ‘Oh, baby,’ she said, ‘Oh, baby, I love you. Mummy loves you.’

Weeping helplessly she handed her son to Glenys.

‘Mandy,’ Janine said, ‘I have to arrest you now.’

Mandy nodded, her chin quivering, wiping away her tears and snot with her hands, the wind still slapping at her hair. Janine began the caution, dimly aware of the passengers up on deck staring down at the unfolding drama.

Chapter 28

Janine accompanied Maria, the social worker, from the hospital where Sammy had been taken, back to the Wrays. She had informed the family liaison officer that Sammy would be coming home soon and asked her to prepare them, though how anyone prepared themselves for such a momentous change of fortune, was hard to imagine.

A press embargo was in place until Sammy was safely back with his parents, so the road outside the Wrays was deserted as they arrived. The rain had stopped at last. Millie wanted to organise a photo shoot for later that day, a batch of photographs to be taken by one of the official police photographers and made available to the media; something less intrusive than a scrum of press. Good news of this sort was rare in their work, on most occasions the best they could hope for was catching criminals, seeing them convicted for their crime but to have a child found safe and well after twelve days and reunited with their family was a happy outcome indeed. And excellent PR for the force, which would help counterbalance the wave of earlier hostile coverage.

Millie would also advise the Wrays on media interest. A bidding war for an exclusive was undoubtedly on the cards. It was the ultimate human interest story. They’d be handsomely paid if they agreed and very few families resisted that even if at first the idea seemed distasteful. What the money wouldn’t do, couldn’t do was fix the damage inflicted by the trauma of the abduction. In a lot of marriages and partnerships, relationships never survived that sort of pressure. Even when they did, the individuals were battered, bruised and scarred by the event, prone to emotional and mental illness, depression, PTSD, anxiety. She didn’t know if the Wrays’ marriage would survive. They obviously had their problems and Clive’s behaviour at the outset had not shown him in a good light. But perhaps this ‘happy ending’ would give them a chance.

Janine undid Sammy’s straps and helped him out of the child seat, lifting him out of the car.

Claire flew out of the door and ran down the path followed by Clive.

‘Mummy!’ Sammy, in Janine’s arms, shouted, launching himself forwards. Claire took him from Janine, holding him tight. Clive ruffled Sammy’s hair, kissed his cheek and led his wife and son to the house. Maria and Janine went in with them.

Sammy sat on Claire’s knee and held on to his father’s hand. Sue brought drinks and biscuits.

‘He’s been well looked after,’ Maria told them. ‘He’s been checked out by a paediatrician and there are no worries at all.’

Claire nodded, her face mobile with emotion. Janine could see she was making a big effort not to break down in front of Sammy.

‘I’ll be here to support you over the next few weeks,’ Maria said. ‘You may find there are some different behaviours from Sammy as a result of what’s happened. Trouble with sleep or regression we can deal with as needs be.’

‘What sort of thing?’ Claire said.

‘It’s common to have an apparent loss of skills, whether that is toilet training or language, dressing and so on. You may find he’s clingy, watchful. You can help him by tolerating it. He needs to be with his primary carer as much as possible.’

Claire nodded.

‘Try and reduce the number of times you separate for the time being,’ Maria said. ‘As for anxiety, avoid potential triggers, don’t go to the same park for example.’

Claire shuddered.

‘Routine is good,’ the social worker went on, ‘maintain any routine you had before. Sammy may become very angry for no apparent reason. If that happens it’s important you keep calm; that will comfort him.’

‘The woman,’ Clive said, ‘the one who took him.’

‘She’s in police custody,’ Janine said, ‘along with her husband.’

Clive shook his head. ‘To do that-’ he said.

Janine changed the subject. ‘If the case comes to court, which is almost certain, then you may be called as witnesses.’

Claire gave a little moan, Sammy glanced at her quickly and she smiled to reassure him. Then Claire exchanged a look with Maria – she had seen how alert he was to her mood.

Hypervigilance, thought Janine, the term they used, a response to the trauma.

‘It won’t be for several months,’ Janine said. ‘And if they plead guilty then we won’t have to go through the process of a trial.’

‘Another biscuit,’ Sammy said.

‘Here.’ Clive reached for the plate and Sammy picked up one, then glancing first at Clive and then at Claire, he took a second.

‘Go on then,’ Claire said, smiling, ‘special treat.’

Janine told them about the photo shoot and then said, ‘Is there anything else you want to ask me?’

Claire shook her head.

‘I’ll be on my way. Bye bye, Sammy.’

His mouth was stuffed with biscuit and he gave a little wave.

Clive got up and so did Claire.

‘No, stay there,’ Janine said, ‘please. I can see myself out.’

‘Thank you,’ Claire said, a break in her voice, ‘thank you so much.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears.

‘Yes,’ said Clive.

Janine accepted their thanks, smiled and left them to it.

‘CPS?’ Louise Hogg said crisply.

‘I’m preparing the file now and hope to speak to them early tomorrow. I think it’s looking very promising.’

Hogg’s eyebrows twitched as though she thought Janine’s observation arrogant or overconfident. She looked back at Janine’s interim report, turned a page, then closed the file.

Here it comes, Janine thought, the dressing down for last night. The questions about judgment and competency, about boundaries and professionalism. Had she mentioned Pete and Tina? She still couldn’t remember.

‘Anything else?’ Hogg said.

‘No, ma’am. If you’re… erm… well, the team are having a drink, I’m popping in now.’

‘Is that wise?’ Hogg said.

Oh, God. Her heart sank. Here it comes. When Hogg didn’t hold forth, Janine rallied. ‘I’m on the fruit juice,’ Janine said.

‘No hair of the dog?’ Was she joking?

‘No. I’m driving,’ Janine said.

Hogg nodded. ‘I’ll see this one out,’ she said, ‘give them my regards.’

‘Thank you,’ Janine turned to go, feeling the weight lift.

‘Pint?’ Shap said to Butchers.

‘You buying?’ Butchers said. He fancied a bevvy. They deserved to celebrate a job well done.

‘Your turn, mate,’ Shap said.

‘Skint,’ Butchers said, ‘had to shell out for the do.’ Just thinking about it made him uneasy.

‘And nothing to show for it, apart from that black eye,’ Shap said. ‘I can sub you,’ he offered. ‘We could go on after, see about some action.’ He winked.

‘Get in!’ Butchers scoffed.

‘You should try the Internet,’ Shap said, ‘hundreds of birds on there looking for love.’

‘Looking for trouble, more like,’ Butchers said.

‘Can’t do worse than the lovely Kim.’

‘She wasn’t that bad,’ Butchers said.

Shap stared at him.

Butchers shuffled. ‘Mebbe she was,’ he allowed.

Shap pulled on his ear and grimaced. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to know what you’re after.’

‘Bit of peace and quiet’d do me,’ Butchers said.

‘She messed with your bearings, mate, didn’t she? Mucked up your sense of judgement. Sent you banging on about Luke Stafford and Phoebe Wray.’

‘With good reason,’ Butchers objected.

‘What reason?’ Shap sneered. ‘You were way off, mate, way, way off.’

‘You coming,’ Lisa called from the corridor, ‘only neither of you stood me a round last night so it’s your shout.’

Chapter 29

Claire felt jittery, her pulse racing, thirst raging. She fought to appear calm for Sammy.

Once the photographer had been and gone and the social worker and the family liaison officer had left, obviously delighted by the happy event, the three of them were alone together.

When she wondered how it had been for Sammy, away from home, in a strange house, without his toys or books or anything familiar, in the presence of a man who had killed his child, her heart ached and burned. A swarm of questions hummed in her mind but she had been advised to let Sammy talk at his own pace, if he chose to talk. And that the best care they could give was to re-establish all the routines he knew.

So with her heart fluttering, Claire asked him if he’d rather have egg and soldiers or beans on toast and then, when he said beans she went to make them while Sammy sat watching television nestled on Clive’s lap.

And after tea, Clive took him up for a bath and it was all she could do not to run up there and watch. She wanted him in sight, in earshot, every moment.

Resisting that impulse and eager for distraction, she stripped and changed their double bed and then cleaned the fridge.

Clive brought Sammy down, pink-cheeked, his curls damp and honey coloured from the water.

‘I’ve just spoken to Phoebe,’ Clive said, ‘she’d like to see him.’

Claire’s first reaction was hot defiance but as she took a breath to rebuff the idea Clive said steadily, ‘She’s been worried, too. She’d like to see her brother. I said it would only be for a few minutes, near bedtime.’

‘You said yes?’ He’d already arranged it.

‘Yes.’ Clive turned to Sammy, chucked him under the chin. ‘You remember Phoebe?’

Sammy gave a nod.

‘She’s coming to say hello.’

Clive set Sammy down on the sofa and then looked at Claire. ‘No more messing about, no hiding,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a new start.’

She wasn’t sure what she felt but she wasn’t going to make a scene about it. And she felt herself relax a little, the tension ease across her shoulders.

Sammy played with his dinosaurs and Claire watched, alert for any change to his actions or his commentary, keen to find any clues as to the differences he’d encountered but there was nothing new or unusual in what he did.

His face lit up when Phoebe arrived, which astonished Claire. They had only met once before. But Phoebe had an easy way with him and kept up a stream of chatter and Sammy insisted on showing her all his special things, bringing one item after another, taking Claire with him to fetch them each time (Tyrannosaurus, my big stone, the red digger, baby mouse) until the floor was littered with them.

‘Bedtime now,’ Clive said and Phoebe left promptly, kissing Sammy on the cheek, hugging her father and thanking Claire on her way out.

Claire had an image of Phoebe coming round to babysit for Sammy and the new baby and felt her eyes sting with tears at the prospect of normality and the rift between Clive and Phoebe healing.

She took Sammy up to bed. He insisted on counting each step like he did. In his room she sat beside him on the bed, and read the customary two books.

He took his glasses off, put them on his bedside table and pulled his teddy bear close, burying his nose in the fur.

‘Night, night, lovely boy,’ Claire said but she stayed there, listening to Sammy’s breathing, gazing at him until her eyes closed and she sank into sleep.

Clive woke her a little later, shaking her shoulder, whispering her name.

‘I’m going to sleep here tonight,’ she said.

He looked worried.

‘Just tonight,’ she said, ‘I promise.’

And he accepted that and when he bent to embrace her, she was happy for it. ‘We’re so lucky,’ she said quietly.

‘We are,’ he said, ‘I love you.’

‘Yes,’ she knew he did. ‘I love you, too,’ she said. And she knew that for the first time in weeks she meant it.

Chapter 30

Richard was removing items from the incident boards when Janine came in. The rest of the team were having a well-earned beer. Hair of the dog for some. But tomorrow they’d be back in early, putting together all the reports needed to build the case for trial.

She thought he might congratulate her on a good outcome, no further loss of life but all he said was, ‘Reckon they’ll prosecute her?’

‘Hard to say. I’m not pushing for it. More good would come of letting her raise that baby.’

‘And Breeley?’ Richard said.

‘He caused John’s death – then he covered it up. Put his son’s body in a drainage tunnel,’ Janine sighed. ‘If he’d come clean straight away, things might have been different.’

Millie came in then, her coat on. Nodded to them both.

‘Five minutes?’ Richard said.

‘Fine.’ Millie turned to Janine, ‘Congratulations. Great copy.’

‘Thanks,’ Janine said. The shadow of the previous evening still made her embarrassed.

‘See you down there,’ Millie said to Richard.

Once Millie had gone, Richard took down the remaining items and put them in the box files. He picked up his jacket and laptop.

Janine didn’t want him to go without trying to make the peace. ‘Last night,’ she said, ‘I was out of order. Everything-’ she stopped herself from trying to justify her behaviour. ‘No excuse.’

‘No,’ Richard agreed.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Maybe you should tell that to Millie,’ he said unsmiling.

‘I will. She’s coming for a drink?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll talk to her,’ Janine said.

‘ OK.’ He put his jacket on and walked to the door.

‘But there is something.’

‘What?’

‘Not an excuse, more a sort of explanation with a big apology attached. I was kicking the cat. I know you don’t really get it, the baby thing but it’s… let’s just say that for me it’s a biggie. I was struggling and you seemed a million miles away, not even on my side anymore and Millie, well, she seemed to be the reason. But I was unfair and I was a cow and I’m really sorry. It was just with Pete and Tina-’ She sighed, began to close down her files. ‘She’s nice.’

‘Tina?’

‘No, not Tina, Tina is a bloody nightmare. Millie.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m still not convinced,’ Janine murmured.

‘What’s that?’ he stopped.

‘That she’s your type.’

‘I don’t have a type.’ Richard took the bait, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. ‘What’s my type? Go on.’ He was laughing. Almost.

‘You’re going to be late,’ Janine said and turned back to her screen.

She would join the team, down a tonic without the gin or maybe an orange juice. And then she’d head off. Home to her kids.

She might put off explaining about the divorce until there was a bit more time to field questions and deal with the inevitable upset. But she’d tell them that it would be OK. Pete could still have them every other weekend and holidays. The baby would come along and everything would change a little bit but life would go on.

She saved her files and powered down the computer.

We’ll be fine she’d tell them – don’t worry.

Janine paused at the door, looked back at the notice boards which looked bare now, vacant.

We did it, she thought. After all that mess and confusion we did it. Solved the murder and found the missing child. John could be laid to rest and Sammy was back with his mum and dad. We did it, she thought, as she snapped off the lights. We bloody did it!