by C J Parsons
‘It would be fair to say that I will never get over that loss.’
Alistair pushed his hands up the sides of his head, taking his time, pausing ahead of his next move.
‘Nick Laude is in the next interview room. We will be speaking to him as soon as we’re done here. The poor lad is feeling rather stressed right now. The woman he claims to have been shagging at the time of the abduction has gone AWOL. Which means he doesn’t have an alibi. So it would be accurate to say that desperation is setting in. Fortunately for Nick, we will be offering him a deal in exchange for his testimony about the two of you working together.’
Tara laughed: a hollow sound without an ounce of humour in it.
‘Yeah, good luck with that.’
This wasn’t working. Juliet leaned across the table on her forearms, determined to provoke a reaction.
‘We know you met Sofia two weeks before she was taken. You wanted her for your own, to plug the hole Clarissa’s death had left in your life. She told you about her love of penguins, so you decided to use one as bait. You knew about Laude’s drug dealing and enlisted his help – perhaps threatened to report him if he didn’t do as you said. And when your plan fell through, you tried again. Another park, another dark-eyed, curly-haired girl.’
Tara closed her eyes and sighed.
‘Have either of you stopped for a minute to try and think this theory through? Because it doesn’t stand up to any kind of scrutiny. What exactly would I do with this child afterwards, given that half the world was searching for her?’
‘We have thought it through,’ Alistair said, returning Tara’s medical records to the file. ‘We believe you were planning to leave the country with her, to take her to Hong Kong. You have permanent residency there and went to the trouble of obtaining it for Clarissa too, when she was still a new-born, perhaps because you were thinking about emigrating. You have family there, no? A sister? Clarissa’s Hong Kong passport doesn’t expire for another two months and the baby in the photo could easily be Sofia or Zoe. So you could have gotten either one of them out of the country. Started a new life in Asia.’ He tented his fingers in front of his chin. ‘Or maybe we’re giving you too much credit. Maybe you weren’t thinking logically at all. Maybe you were acting on instinct, driven by emotion, by grief. Anyone would understand that. Anyone would sympathise.’
Tara’s expression didn’t change.
‘You have my computer. You have my mobile. Any sign of an attempt to book a plane ticket?’
‘You’re too smart for that. My guess is you were planning to buy one at the airport. No one would think twice about a mother carrying a sleeping child onto an overnight flight.’
Juliet cut in, trying to soften the mood, bring Tara’s defences down a notch.
‘We know you’re a good mother, Tara. No one doubts that. Despite the incredibly tough challenges you’ve faced. And not just Clarissa. We know all about your recent issues with—’
‘Is that what we’ve come here to discuss?’ Tara snapped. ‘What kind of mother I am?’
‘All we’re saying is that we don’t believe you meant Sofia or Zoe any harm,’ Alistair said. ‘Quite the opposite; you were offering them love. A new family.’
‘You’ve got my mobile phone. And have no doubt used it to track my movements. So, tell me: is there any sign of my having gone anywhere near Perivale or South Acton on the dates in question?’
‘Of course not,’ Alistair said. ‘That would have been careless. You left your phone behind. Or perhaps arranged for your accomplice to take care of that end of things. You read about that street being evacuated and saw an opportunity: a perfect location. You didn’t even need to gag your victim because there was no one around to hear her scream. Or there wouldn’t have been, if Josh Skelter hadn’t chosen to ignore the hazard signs.’
Tara rolled her eyes and made a scoffing sound with her throat.
Juliet could hear a prickle of irritation in Alistair’s voice as he continued.
‘Sofia was discovered before you had the chance to collect her. So then, lo and behold, another child goes missing from another park you just so happened to be in. Another girl the same age as your daughter would have been if she’d lived. You weren’t planning to hold her at that construction site for long, though, were you? No sandwich this time. The location wasn’t isolated, like Perivale, but you still didn’t gag her. Because you didn’t think you needed to; you were planning to collect her before she regained consciousness. But then we ruined everything by bringing you in for questioning. Holding you here until the drugs wore off and Zoe woke up and started screaming.’
He gave her a triumphant, we’ve-got-you stare, but Tara merely waved a hand in the air and said: ‘Is there a question in there?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.’ Alistair slowly gathered up the photos and documents from the table, tucking them back inside the file. ‘Given all the evidence stacked against you, are you sure there isn’t something you’d like to tell us . . . before we start speaking to Nick Laude?’
A rictus-smile. ‘I have no idea who that is. But you go ahead and speak to him. Don’t let me keep you.’
Alistair turned towards Juliet, eyebrows lifted in a silent query: Any ideas?
She responded with a small head shake.
‘DI Alistair Larkin terminating interview at twenty-two forty-seven,’ he told the tape. Tara stared emptily into the distance as Juliet and Alistair stood up.
The interview was over and the feeling hadn’t come.
Twenty-eight
‘You need to stay away from her,’ Josh said, chopping red onions into tiny squares. ‘She’s dangerous.’
Carrie closed her eyes, feeling a headache brewing behind them. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours swerving between conflicting versions of the truth and had gone to bed feeling as if her mind was tied in knots. She had hoped a good night’s sleep would bring clarity, but she’d woken up just as confused and disoriented as ever, caught in a tug of war between loyalty and suspicion.
‘Tara’s only being questioned. That doesn’t mean she’s done anything wrong. The DCI herself said this could just be a coincidence. If the police aren’t rushing to judgement, then nor should we.’
‘You seriously believe it’s just a coincidence that Tara showed up in two different parks at the same time that two different children went missing?’ Chop-chop-chop. ‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his head, pressing his lips together. ‘Well, hopefully she’ll be charged and locked up, so the question of whether or not you should see her again becomes moot.’
Carrie twisted the handle of the tin opener, wishing he would change the subject. Her insides felt heavy, as though her stomach was filled with wet sand. The opener carved a circular path around the tomato tin. Josh was cooking his ‘Spanish-style omelette’ for breakfast, which seemed to involve tossing eggs into a pan along with whatever else happened to be in the fridge.
‘Tara is my friend. I can’t just turn my back on her when we don’t know that she’s done anything wrong.’
‘She’s not your friend.’ The knife rose and fell, rose and fell. Did the omelette really need that much onion? ‘She only pretended to be your friend to gain access to your child. You mustn’t let her come anywhere near Sofia again. It’s too big a risk.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’ She spooned tomatoes into a bowl. ‘Why would Tara want to steal my child? She already has a child.’
‘Does she? How do you know that? You’ve never seen him.’
And, suddenly, she understood.
That’s assuming she even has a son.
Josh didn’t believe Peter existed.
The shock of realisation hit her like a slap of cold water, cutting through the blurry film of confusion, leaving her sharp and alert for the first time that morning. She turned slowly towards him.
�
��Why would Tara claim to have a son if that’s not the case?’
‘So she could connect with you, as a mother, then use your relationship to gain access to Sofia.’
‘But—’
Her mobile buzzed against the counter beside Josh. He glanced down at it and his mouth pulled to one side.
‘Speak of the devil.’ He held the phone out to her. ‘It’s Tara. I guess the twenty-four hours ran out, so they had to let her go. For now.’ Carrie stared at the mobile ringing in his hand. She felt a powerful urge to turn and walk away, to go back up the stairs and back to bed. To start this day all over again.
Josh’s eyebrows rose. ‘Aren’t you going to answer?’
Carrie took the phone. Pressed ‘Accept’.
‘Hello, Tara.’ Her bare toes curled against the wood floor as she said her friend’s name.
‘Hi, Carrie.’ A pause. ‘I guess you’ve probably heard. About me being questioned?’
‘Yes.’
Josh turned towards the stove, tipping onions into the frying pan.
‘Can you believe it? I totally get why the police wanted to talk to me. The same person being in two different parks when two children were taken. What are the chances?’
‘Slim.’ She shot a side-glance at Josh. ‘Though by no means impossible.’
‘Well, I think it’s a pretty remarkable coincidence.’ Carrie could hear Tara breathing in the pause that followed. ‘Look, I just wanted to make sure you know I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to that Zoe girl. And I certainly had nothing to do with Sofia’s disappearance.’ Another pause. ‘You do know that, right?’
Carrie blinked, trying to work out whether this was a serious question, or one of those hypothetical ones that always threw her. Because if a real answer was required, she wasn’t sure what hers would be. Until yesterday, she had viewed Tara as her friend and confidante, a trusted ally in the struggle to overcome her condition. But after the double barrage of DCI Campbell’s questions and Josh’s warnings, could she honestly claim to be 100 per cent certain of Tara’s innocence?
And then there was the other question, the one that Josh had left ricocheting around inside her head.
‘Tara, why haven’t I met Peter?’
‘You have. In the park. And at Bundy’s.’
‘No. I didn’t see him in either of those places.’
‘How odd, I could have sworn I pointed him out to you at Bundy’s when he was there.’
‘Was he there? I only have your word on that.’
The silence that followed was so long she started to wonder whether the signal had dropped.
‘Hang on. What exactly are you accusing me of? Making up a seven-year-old child? Because, if I was going to construct some elaborate fantasy about my life, I’d go for something a little more exciting. An affair with Idris Elba or maybe a job at MI5.’ Another pause. Carrie felt as if she was supposed to say something but couldn’t think what. Then Tara sighed. ‘You don’t trust me at all, do you?’
And in that moment, Carrie wished, more than anything, that she could tell Tara it wasn’t true – that she believed in her completely. But Josh was right: so long as even a sliver of doubt remained, Sofia’s safety had to come first.
‘I’ve learned that I have to be very careful about who I trust. My judgement can be . . . flawed.’
‘I get that, I do. But this – implying that I’ve been lying to you all along, that I’m some sort of, of dangerous fantasist – this isn’t you. Because, in spite of all your challenges and your self-doubt, I’ve seen how you always give people the benefit of the doubt. So what you’re saying now, it’s . . . well. It’s not the Carrie I know.’ She made a clicking noise with her tongue. ‘This is Josh, isn’t it? He’s put these ideas into your head.’
Carrie’s eyes flicked to the stove, where Josh was taking eggs out of the carton. She could hear shells cracking in the gap that followed.
‘He has been helping me to think things through logically . . .’
She hadn’t said anything funny, but Tara made an odd-sounding laugh.
‘The problem is, Carrie, this isn’t about logic. This is about trust. About knowing something in your gut. But if you want to talk weird coincidences . . . how about the fact that a man you’d already met, who admired your work and clearly fancied you from the get-go, magically turns up at the door with your missing child? I’d say that’s a pretty big coincidence. And if you want to know what I think—’
But Carrie never found out what Tara thought, because her next words were obliterated by a scream. It came from somewhere in the background, high-pitched and harrowing: the sound of a child in extreme pain . . . or terror.
‘I have to go,’ Tara said quickly, and severed the connection.
Carrie put the phone back on the counter, the scream still echoing in her head, like the soundtrack of a horror film.
A terrible thought hooked itself inside her. What if the police were right to suspect Tara? What if she had captured another little girl – one who was even now shrieking for her mother? She picked up her mobile again. Maybe she should call DCI Campbell? Tell her to go over there and check?
Josh began whisking eggs, the sound superimposing itself over the fading imprint of the scream.
Logic began to reassert itself, telling Carrie that her jangled nerves were getting the better of her. After all, how many times had she heard a bone-chilling shriek in a playground and spun towards it, only to find that the cause was nothing more sinister than a pestering wasp or flung water balloon?
There was a simple, obvious explanation for that sound: it must have come from Peter. He had probably hurt himself while they were on the phone, stubbed his toe or tripped and banged his head.
Josh was wrong. Tara was with her son right now, ministering to his injury. Her chest loosened as tension released its grip.
She would call Tara back in a few minutes, apologise for having doubted that her son was there. Hopefully she would understand.
Josh’s voice butted into her thoughts.
‘Sofia! Breakfast is almost ready!’
She turned to find him standing at the bottom of the stairs, calling up.
No sound from above.
Carrie checked her watch. Nearly nine o’clock. Late, by Sofia’s standards.
It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t spoken to her daughter since dinner the day before. Josh had become amorous after their discussion about the DCI’s visit, towing her up to the bedroom. The sex had been a welcome release from the evening’s stresses and she’d abandoned herself to it, plunging into sleep straight afterwards. Which meant she’d missed giving Sofia a goodnight kiss.
Brushing past Josh, she dashed up the stairs, mounting them two at a time, pausing when she reached the top, listening.
Silence. Not the faintest sound to indicate that a living, breathing person was just a short distance away. Carrie ran the last few steps, gripped by a sudden, irrational fear that she would reach Sofia’s door only to discover that there was no one on the other side.
But when she crossed the threshold, her daughter was exactly where she was supposed to be: lying under her duvet with Petie beside her, hair trailing across her face, eyes closed.
Carrie released a pent-up breath. What was wrong with her today? She needed to get a grip, stop jumping at shadows.
She pulled back the curtains, letting sunlight pour in.
‘Good morning, my love. Time to wake up.’
No response. She must be sleeping very deeply.
Crouching down beside the bed, she gently drew back the veil of hair covering Sofia’s cheek.
And saw the red blotches corrupting her daughter’s skin. The utter stillness.
‘Sofia!’ she shouted, as though raising her voice would make a difference. ‘Wake up!’
But
Sofia didn’t stir, and when Carrie touched her forehead, the heat there sent a spike of terror straight through her heart.
‘Don’t panic,’ Josh said.
A ridiculous, infuriating thing to say. How could she not panic when her daughter was unconscious with rashes all over her body and a searing fever the doctors had yet to explain? And anyway, he had no way of knowing whether she actually was panicking. Because despite the howling gale of emotion tearing around inside her, Carrie’s surface remained still, unruffled by the storm. She stared at her own ghostly image in the glass divider separating the waiting area from the nurse’s station: her reflected self, seated bolt upright on a fake-leather chair. Her features looking exactly as they always did. She might have been sad or annoyed. Bored, even.
Why hadn’t she been allowed into the examination room? How long had the doctors been in there? It was impossible to know, because time seemed to have stopped, trapping Carrie in this shrunken universe, sandwiched between Josh on one side and a table of tired magazines on the other. She picked up a copy of Hello! (the cover showed a blonde woman holding a baby, surrounded by Edwardian furniture), flipped through it unseeingly, then tossed it back. She jumped up from her chair and paced back and forth a few times, shaking out her arms. Sat down again. Josh tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away. She didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t want to hear his voice. She didn’t want to hear anyone’s voice right now except the doctor’s, telling her that her daughter was going to be fine. But the doctors (three of them. That couldn’t be a good sign, could it, in a cash-strapped NHS hospital?) were still with Sofia in that room. They had rushed her there as soon they saw the rash, Carrie clinging to the side of the gurney as it raced through the maze of corridors, one of the wheels squeaking maddeningly against the lino, past a girl who couldn’t have been more than seven tethered to a rolling IV stand. She had no hair and the skin around her eyes looked bruised. But at least she was alive. At least she had a chance. That was what Carrie had found herself thinking on that terrible journey through the hospital, holding tight to her daughter’s limp hand. If Sofia had been herself, she would have complained that it was too tight and snatched her fingers away. Instead of just lying there, empty, her breathing so shallow it felt as though her air supply was slowly running out. As though soon there would be none left and the breaths would stop altogether.
