The Baby-Snatcher

Chapter Six

The door opened while he was still sitting in the car so he felt awkward, irrationally guilty, as if he’d been spying. Marilyn stood on the step. She was dressed in clothes which her mother might have worn: a shapeless knee-length skirt, a roll-neck sweater, fluffy pink slippers. Her hair was pulled away from her face. The effect was of middle-aged dowdiness and exhaustion.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you. I heard the car and I thought… Is there any news?’

He shook his head. ‘Your mother’s not back yet? You’ve not heard from her?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Perhaps I could come in. I’d like a word with you all.’

‘I’m the only one here. Dad’s out looking. He went as soon as it got light. I don’t think any of us slept.’

‘Is your father a big man? Wearing a black cycle cape?’

She nodded.

‘I think I saw him on the road.’ So the strange figure at the level crossing had been an anxious husband, not a suspect. Not yet at least. Marilyn continued. ‘Claire’s at work. She offered to stay but there didn’t seem much point.’

‘Claire’s your aunt?’

‘That’s right.’

She moved away from the step to let him in and took him straight to the back living room. There was a fire banked up in the grate and the sulphurous smell of smokeless fuel which reminded him again of his mother’s house. In one corner a clothes horse was draped with towels and the windows ran with condensation. The dining table was spread with textbooks.

‘I was trying to do some homework,’ Marilyn said. ‘ I thought it would take my mind off Mummy but I couldn’t really concentrate.’

He sat in the rocking chair where Kathleen Howe had been when he had surprised her on his previous visit to the house. In the hot, steamy room it would have been easy to doze off.

‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’

‘We don’t know what happened!’ the girl cried. ‘She just disappeared.’

‘Well, when did you last see her?’

‘At breakfast yesterday. Then I went out.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘To school.’

‘On a Saturday?’

‘There was a special choir rehearsal. We’re taking part in a music festival at the Cathedral.’

‘What time did you get home?’

‘Two o’clock.’ She paused then continued like an ordinary schoolgirl, chatty, enthusiastic. ‘ We’d taken packed lunches because Miss Winter thought the practice would drag on into the afternoon but it went really well and we finished early.’

‘Your mother wasn’t expecting you back then?’

‘Not until later. That’s why I didn’t worry at first.’

‘How did you get home from school?’

‘I got a lift.’ There had been a slight hesitation. A flush of embarrassment. Or was it pleasure?

‘Who from? A parent? One of the sixth-formers?’ He had seen them, the kids coming out of the High School. They all seemed to have cars these days, and not just old bangers either.

‘No.’ She hesitated again. ‘ One of the teachers sings with us. Mr Taverner. He was coming this way.’

An adolescent crush, Ramsay thought.

‘Was anyone in when you got home?’

‘My father. He went out at about four. He works as a children’s entertainer. He had a booking at a kids’ party.’

‘Didn’t he tell you where your mother had gone?’

‘He thought she might have walked into Heppleburn, to the Co-op.’

‘Wasn’t he sure?’

‘Not really.’ She had been standing with her back to the table. Now she leant forward. ‘ When you meet my Dad properly you’ll understand. It’s not that he’s stupid. He’s absent-minded. When you talk to him he doesn’t always listen. Especially to Mummy, who tends to nag. I think it’s because his head’s full of tricks and illusions.’ Again she saw the need to explain. ‘He’s a magician. Brilliant. Anyone round here will tell you. He’s only part-time, of course. His real job’s with the DSS at Longbenton. The insolvency section.’

‘I see.’

Ramsay was glad he had visited Marilyn Howe in his own time and alone. He wondered what his sergeant, Hunter, would have made of the family. Hunter’s prejudices were widespread and various. He distrusted anything outside his own experience. A household without a car or a television would have struck him as sufficiently odd to raise his suspicions. But a part-time magician…

‘When did you start to worry about your mother?’

‘Soon after Dad left to go to the party. Even if she’d left just before I’d got home she should have been back from Heppleburn by then. She’s a fast walker.’

Ramsay gave a brief smile. ‘I know.’

‘I didn’t want to panic or make a fool of myself like last time. I told myself she’d soon be home. I looked to see what she’d taken with her, to try to work out where she might be. Then I knew something was wrong. Her coat was still here and her shopping bag and her purse. She wouldn’t have gone to Heppleburn without them.’

Her face crumpled and Ramsay was afraid she would cry. He felt a stab of anger because she was being put through this anxiety. Parents should be the ones to worry. It was part of the job description. But she hadn’t asked to be responsible for two middle-aged eccentrics whose thoughtlessness had caused this panic.

He gave her a moment to compose herself then asked, ‘Has your mother ever been ill?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Has she ever had any nervous trouble, suffered from stress or depression, anything like that?’

‘No,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Who’s your GP?’

‘Dr Lattimer in Heppleburn.’ She looked up at him and he saw that despite her sheltered life she could be mature and perceptive. ‘You think she’s had a sort of breakdown?’

‘It’s one possibility.’

‘She wouldn’t have committed suicide,’ Marilyn said, and again he was surprised at her ability to follow his train of thought. ‘Absolutely not. She wouldn’t want to leave me alone.’

‘No.’ He saw what she meant. ‘But the breakdown? She did seem rather tense when I came here last September. Did she ever really explain what happened that afternoon?’

‘Not to me.’ It was said too quickly but he didn’t feel it was the time to push her.

They waited for a moment in silence.

‘I’m not doing much good here,’ Ramsay said, ‘but I don’t want to leave you alone. Can we get your aunt to stay with you? I could talk to her employer. Explain. Where does she work?’

‘She’s a nanny to the kids in the Coastguard House. Don’t go up there. They think I’m daft enough already. That’s where Dad was working yesterday and I burst in and made a scene. Claire will be home soon. She’s only gone in for a couple of hours to help clear up after the party. Anyway, I don’t mind being on my own.’

‘Well,’ Ramsay said. ‘If you’re sure…’ She had, after all, been on her own when he found her. ‘Perhaps I’ll have a walk around the Headland. See if your dad’s come back.’

Outside it seemed very cold and the mist was thicker than ever. Ramsay carried on up the track until he arrived at the high, whitewashed wall which surrounded the Coastguard House. To the south a fog-horn belched, marking the mouth of the Tyne.

He called tentatively, ‘Mr Howe,’ then decided that only a maniac would be wandering along the cliff tops in fog. Besides, if Kath Howe’s husband had returned to the Headland he would surely have called home. Ramsay supposed he was still searching the footpaths in the dene.

He walked back between the double row of houses towards the club and the jetty. It was only eleven o’clock but there were lights on in the front rooms. In one a pretty little girl was playing at dressing up. She wore a frilly white garment which might once have been her mother’s night-dress, and twirled round and round so the skirt spun away from her body.

The club was still shut. The door was covered by a grille, the windows by steel shutters. The tide was well on its way in and the gully which had been cut through the rock to let out the coal boats was nearly full.

Four children were playing on the jetty. They were rowdy, foul-mouthed, cocksure. Future customers, he thought. The oldest had probably already been up before the Juvenile Bench and he’d guess they were all on some register or another. They were throwing rocks at a target floating in the water, swearing indiscriminately whether they hit or missed.

Ramsay approached them and shouted. They stopped briefly and looked at him, then continued their game, deciding he was nothing to be scared of.

‘Hey!’ he called again. ‘Come here.’

‘Sod off!’ one of the boys shouted, not taking his eyes off the target. ‘We’re allowed. It’s not private.’

‘I was looking for someone. Mrs Howe. Do you know her?’

They didn’t answer immediately but they did stop throwing stones. They turned and gave him their attention.

‘Why?’

‘I’m a policeman,’ Ramsay said.

‘Na!’ The boy was probably too young for school. ‘ We know the copper round here. PC Whelan. He’s not on duty today though. Weekend off.’

Ramsay thought that crime prevention couldn’t be best served if a gang of bad boys knew the rota of the only local policeman. Then the target the lads had been aiming at drifted into his field of view. A dead animal, he thought at first. Not a dog. Something with long, grey hair floating on the surface like fine seaweed. The position of the animal shifted as it was buffeted by a wave and he saw that it was wearing clothes.

‘Do you know where PC Whelan lives?’ he asked.

‘Heppleburn Village.’ The answer was grudging but they were bored and curious.

‘I suppose that’s too far for you to go on your own.’

‘Don’t be dumb!’ They were scornful.

‘Would you be able to go and fetch him? Tell him that Inspector Ramsay is on the Headland and needs him urgently. If you can remember that.’

It was enough of a dare to send them running across the railway line and up the short cut through the dene. That was all Ramsay wanted. To be rid of them before they realized what was floating in the cut. He used his mobile phone to call Otterbridge Station. He talked to Sally Wedderburn.

‘You’ll set it all up then. I’ll wait here.’

‘Sure.’

‘And get here as soon as you can, Sal. I’m going to need you.’

She was ambitious and he heard her resistance.

‘For an accidental death?’ The child abductions were far more glamorous.

‘For a suspicious death.’ He didn’t want to be on his own when he told Marilyn Howe that her mother was dead.