by ML Rose
Rebecca stood, making a choking, strangling sound. Her hands were fists. “This is rubbish! After all I’ve been through, how dare you accuse me of this . . . this. . . .”
“Infanticide?” Arla raised an eyebrow.
Rebecca shook her head, then pointed a finger at Arla. She shouted, “But the boot prints! They belonged to Rhys. You saw them!”
“Ah yes, the boot prints. As it happens, our forensic gait analyst confirmed that the boot prints in your house and at the crime scene were the same as the boots you found at Rhys’s house.”
Rebecca made a huffing sound. “And you need more proof?”
Arla paused as Harry took out the laptop from his backpack. He powered it on, and clicked on a file. Arla put the laptop on the desk and turned it towards the family so all could see.
“On the right, you can see the boot. On the left, you can see the gait predicted by the marks made by the boots. The gait is a zig-zag pattern. Correct?”
Everyone nodded, apart from Rebecca, who breathed heavily, her nostrils flaring. She was glaring at Arla, who ignored her.
“Now, the funny thing is, we have similar boot prints at the warehouse in Hounslow, at Rhys’s hideout. Not the same shoes, but Rhys clearly liked using these big builder’s boots. However, his gait is completely different. He walks in a ramrod straight line. His gait does not match the gait we found at the crime scene where baby Reggie was killed.”
Silence again. Jeremy said, “So what are you saying? Someone else wore Rhys’s boots at the crime scene?”
Arla nodded. “That’s exactly what our forensic gait analysis software shows. There is no way Rhys walked around in the Common crime scene.”
“So, who did?”
Harry pulled the laptop towards him and played a clip of CCTV footage. It was inside Jeremy’s house and showed Rebecca walking in the kitchen.
“We took this footage, and analysed Jeremy, Rebecca, and Miss Mildred’s gait. Only Rebecca’s gait is a perfect match for the one found at the crime scene.”
“You’re lying,” Rebecca whispered.
“Of course, that only proves you were there, not that you killed Reggie,” Arla said softly. “The plastic bag baby was found in was from a company called Refresh. And they supply bags to the Weston Parks Farm.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Christine. Arla turned towards her. “That is this farm, Mrs Walton. Your daughter took that bag from here. No fingerprints, of course; she always handled it wearing gloves.”
“This is . . . absurd!” Christine exclaimed.
Arla shook her head. “You were delivered a stack of bags on the same order. We have the barcodes to identify the serial numbers. That bag came from this farm, Mrs Walton, unless you didn’t get any bags at all.”
Christine and Rebecca gaped at Arla. She continued, addressing Rebecca. “You put Reggie’s blue cloth, and a pair of Rhys’s old boots that you had worn to the crime scene, into a bag and then planted it at Rhys’s house. Didn’t you?”
“Detective Baker,” Rebecca said through gritted teeth, “I think you have lost your mind.”
“I don’t think so,” Arla said calmly. “That blue cloth and the boots are key items of evidence that point the blame to Rhys Mason. You knew that, of course. Hence you took them with you and then pretended to find them in Rhys’s house.”
Christine intervened. She stretched an arm out, speaking over her daughter, who was gasping. “Why would she do that, detective? Everything you have said so far just makes no sense. You’re accusing my daughter of murdering her own son!”
Arla stared at Christine, then at Rebecca. “When Rebecca went to Rhys’s house, Miss Mildred drove her part of the way there. She saw the bag Rebecca was carrying. We have that bag in our possession now.”
Harry pulled out a small Ralph Lauren shoulder bag from his backpack and zipped it open, putting it on the table. “You can see the few fragments of mud inside. There are also microscopic fibres of the same fabric as the blue cloth that belonged to Reggie.”
“Miss Mildred gave you this bag?” Rebecca asked, incredulously.
“Yes,” Harry said softly. “It was not obtained by coercion, and therefore it is valid as evidence.”
Rebecca stood again, her face losing colour. “She’s lying. She’s trying to—”
“Frame you?” Arla said. “No, she isn’t.”
The sound of a car pulling up on the gravel drive came from outside. Conversation in the room stilled. The doorbell went and no one moved for a few seconds. Then Jeremy stood slowly.
“Any idea who this is?”
Arla said, “One of my detective sergeants. She has a witness with her.”
Jeremy went to open the door, and returned shortly with Edna Mildred, accompanied by Lisa Moran. Lisa pulled up a chair for Edna, and the elderly lady sat down. Lisa stood behind her, keeping a watchful eye. Edna’s face was drawn and haggard, as usual, but her dark blue eyes were alive, and they swivelled between Rebecca and Christine.
Arla said, “Miss Mildred, why don’t you tell everyone who you are.”
Edna sat with her back straight and arms folded on her lap. “My name is Cheryl Mason. I am Rhys Mason’s mother.”
Both Rebecca and Christine gasped, and Jeremy’s mouth opened.
The woman they knew as Miss Edna Mildred continued.
“I knew what Grant had done to my son. I threatened to go to the papers, but he threatened me back. He had an army of lawyers, who also had questionable connections in the underworld. They harassed me to the point where I had to change names. Rhys helped me get a different identity and move up to Birmingham. I stayed there for ten years before returning to London.”
The truth was sinking in slowly, layering upon the silence in the room. She continued.
“When your job came up,” Cheryl Mason addressed Rebecca, “it seemed too good to be true. My son didn’t know anything about it, and I didn’t want him to be involved. To be honest, after what Grant did to him our relationship has never been the same. Grant paid off my debts, bought me a house, and I lost sight of what he was doing to Rhys. I have to live with that.”
The tip of her nose turned red and a teardrop rolled down her cheek. She wiped it off with a tissue and took a moment to compose herself.
“I took your job to see if it would get me closer to Grant. I doubted he would recognise me after all these years. However, I never got to see him. He seemed to have become a recluse, spending all his time in his mansion, or abroad.” She shrugged. “I don’t even know what I would have done if I did see him. However, I told Rhys where I was working. It was me who left the bathroom window open to let Rhys in. He stole all of Jeremy’s memorabilia collection, and left.”
Arla lifted a hand and intervened. “Rhys actually left through the nursery window, didn’t he? That’s why there was the boot print on the flat roof landing, just below the nursery window as well. You left the door of your annex apartment open, and that’s how he got in.”
Miss Mason nodded. “Yes, he disabled the Wi-Fi so the CCTV wouldn’t work while he stole the memorabilia. It was his way of getting back at Jeremy, and Grant Stone. The nursery window was larger, and I opened it for him to escape, then shut it, as it was shut before. I helped him to escape via the rear, then brushed away his footprints, so no marks were left in the snow.”
“Most importantly,” Arla said, “when you let Rhys into the house, Rebecca was still out walking with her son.”
“Yes.” Ms Mason nodded. “It was the best time. I knew Jeremy would stay in his room, busy with work. But if Rebecca and the baby were around, I couldn’t let Rhys in. He would be caught.”
Abruptly, Rebecca stood. Her face was bleached bone white, and she was shaking like a leaf in a storm. She raised a trembling finger towards Ms Mason. “I trusted you. And you. . . .”
Ms Mason showed no outward emotion. She didn’t move a muscle, apart from her lips. Her words were like arrows, slicing through the air towards Rebecca.<
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“I betrayed you because I wanted to hurt you, like Grant hurt my son. I could sense something strange was happening. I didn’t know what you had in the bag you took to Rhys’s house, but I did have my suspicions.” She shook her head. “I know I’m not a saint, and my son was a twisted and damaged individual, but for you I have no words.” She held Rebecca’s eyes.
“You’re evil,” Miss Mason whispered.
CHAPTER 54
Rebecca threw her head back and laughed. It was a high-pitched, cackling sound. She turned and shifted her attention to Arla.
“You trust this scheming, lying nobody over me?” She pointed a finger to Ms Mason. “I am a well-known public figure and she’s already admitted that she changed her identity. For heaven’s sake, she just told you she let Rhys Mason into my house.”
“And she will be charged for being an accomplice to burglary,” Arla said firmly. “But Rhys Mason did not kill your baby, Rebecca. You did.”
Rebecca remained standing and put both hands on her waist. “Really? Tell me, Detective Baker, if I did such a ghastly thing, then why would I leave the body in a public place for someone to find?”
Arla shrugged. “Only you can explain what happens in your mind, Rebecca. But if I had to guess, maybe you wished to implicate Rhys Mason. If you could cast enough suspicion on him, then he would be behind bars for the rest of his life.”
Arla kept her eyes on Rebecca and reached inside her coat pocket. She pulled out a small, green, rectangular piece of folded paper. It was a doctor’s prescription. She said softly, “Or it could be some other reason.” She held up the prescription, so Rebecca could see it clearly. Christine sat stock-still. Jeremy leaned in, frowning as he stared at the prescription.
“This is a prescription in your name, Rebecca, by your doctor. The tablet is called olanzapine. It is commonly prescribed for psychosis.” Arla settled back on the sofa again. “We spoke to your doctor, and also the psychiatrist he referred you to. You have a condition called puerperal psychosis. It’s rare, but it can be a severe form of psychosis, where a woman starts to feel her baby is her mortal enemy.”
There was pin-drop silence in the room again, punctuated by heavy breathing. Rebecca was slumped backwards, her mouth open, eyes downcast. Only Christine leaned forward, hands clasped over her knees, glaring at Arla.
She continued. “It was your psychosis that made you kill your son. Then, you tried to frame Rhys for it. With his history of stalking you, both physically and online, he was the perfect suspect. But it doesn’t end there. You murdered Martha Smith as well, didn’t you, Rebecca? And then stole her baby.”
Jeremy gasped. “What?”
There was no comment from either Rebecca or her mother. Arla continued. “The morning Martha was murdered, you said you went to see the doctor. It’s true that you did. You registered your name at reception, picked up your prescription, and then left. That gave you enough time to take the bus to Martha’s house. There, you killed her with a kitchen knife.”
Christine was shaking her head. Her cheeks were sunken, and she breathed heavily. “This is ridiculous, detective. These allegations have no basis whatsoever. I would like you to leave.” Christine rose. “Right now.”
Harry said, “Please sit down, Mrs Walton. We are not leaving without searching these premises, and the outbuildings.”
Rebecca stirred, her eyes sliding over to Harry. He continued. “The CCTV cameras didn’t pick up anyone entering Martha Smith’s house. The intruder came in through the back—that was you, Rebecca. You put the baby in a bag, suitable for the purpose, I presume. Then you left through the back as well. We didn’t find your car on CCTV. But when we searched for your mother’s car, we found it on a road leading to Martha Smith’s house.”
Harry glanced at Arla, who nodded imperceptibly, giving him the go-ahead. He continued, addressing Christine. “You deliberately parked on a road that didn’t have cameras. Your daughter joined you, after a short walk, and both of you, with the baby, came back to this house. That return journey, we do have on CCTV.”
Arla said, “And we have the footage on the laptop now, if you wish to see.”
Neither Rebecca nor Christine moved. The silence stretched on.
Harry spread his hands. “Therefore, we would like to conduct a search now, if you don’t mind.”
Jeremy stood. “Is this true?” he asked his wife, then his mother-in-law. His lips were trembling and sweat rolled down his forehead. He raised his voice. “Is this actually true?”
The front door opened, and footsteps marched down the hallway. Mr Walton appeared, wearing cords and a heavy farmer’s anorak, with a flat peaked cap on his head. He looked bewildered as he pointed to the door. “There’s a police van outside, and they want to come in.” He stopped, his eyes taking in everyone in the room, coming to a rest at Ms Mason. He came farther in, then frowned at his wife. “What’s going on, Christine?”
Arla answered for him. “Your wife and daughter are being charged with murder and also the abduction of an unborn infant. It is our belief, if the baby is alive, he or she is hidden somewhere in this house. Is there an outbuilding that the women use?”
Mr Walton’s jaw almost hit the floor as he leaned forward, holding on to the edge of the sofa for support. “What are you talking about?”
Arla said, “Could you please answer the question. Is there a building on the premises that Rebecca frequents?”
Mr Walton nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said as if in a daze. “The barn. I built her a room there, and recently she had it cleaned out.”
“Does it have electricity, running water, and heating?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Rebecca stood abruptly and pushed her father to one side. She charged out of the room, only to be tackled at the door by a uniformed officer. She slammed into him, pushing him back to the wall. She was as tall as him and the man was taken by surprise. Two more officers piled in, and it took three of them to restrain Rebecca in the hallway.
Arla glanced at Christine. The older woman sat with her spine ramrod straight, wide fixed eyes staring into nothingness. Her shoulders were pinched, neck muscles taut as she shivered once.
Arla leaned towards her. Rebecca was screaming outside, shouting curses and thrashing around, even after she had been handcuffed. “You knew your daughter was in a desperate state of mind,” Arla said softly. “But you still helped her. Why?”
Christine didn’t answer for several seconds. Arla repeated her question.
Christine slowly turned her face towards Arla. Her voice was a dry whisper. “I thought she would get better if she had another baby.”
Arla shook her head. “And you didn’t know she would have to murder another woman to get that baby?”
Christine said nothing, averting her eyes. Arla asked, “Did Rebecca follow me to the antenatal clinic? Is that how she found Martha Smith?”
Christine was silent, head bowed for several seconds. Without lifting her head, she nodded.
Arla asked, “Did she choose Martha because her husband was gone for several days in a row with his work? Martha was alone, and therefore an easier target than some of the other women, who had family around them.”
Christine lifted her head. She wouldn’t look at Arla, but nodded again in silence, eyes fixed on the floor.
Arla stood. “Christine Walton, I am arresting you on charge of being an accomplice to murder and abduction of an infant.”
Harry stepped forward and handcuffed Christine, then handed her over to a uniformed officer. Mother and daughter were taken out to the police van. Ms Mason also left with them.
Lisa Moran appeared, holding a portable baby cot in her hand, the type that fits into a car seat. She was smiling. She lifted the cot on the table and pushed back the hood. A baby lay sleeping peacefully inside, little fingers curled around its face in perfect repose.
Arla’s heart lifted in a shining halo of sunlight. All the police officers in the room crowded round the
cot, wide smiles on their faces.
The only exceptions were Mr Walton and Jeremy, who sat on the sofa, a distance apart from each other, too shocked to speak.
CHAPTER 55
Arla had never felt pain like this. She had known it was coming, but never imagined it would be this bad. She’d had an epidural, but still the waves of white-hot agony lashed against her lower belly.
She could see the midwife, positioned between her legs, fingers reaching inside her. “Push, push, almost there. Go on, push!”
Arla closed her eyes and summoned her inner strength. She cried out as she pushed down with all her might, focusing on the weight between her legs.
“That’s it, again! Again!”
Her head fell back on the cushion, and she panted. Sweat caked her entire body, and she was exhausted. She heard Harry’s voice. “You can do this, darling. I know you can.” He gripped her hand and squeezed it. “Take a deep breath and try again.”
A low wail escaped Arla’s lips as the pain hit her again. There was only one way to get rid of the pain, and that was to push harder. She just wished she had more strength to do it. She grunted again as she bore down on her lower abdomen as hard as she could. It felt like she was pushing her intestines out along with the baby.
“The head is almost here,” the midwife said in a perfectly normal, almost bored voice. “Do that once again, go on.”
Arla increased her grip on Harry’s hand, almost pulling him down to the bed. She screamed out as she heaved downward. This time she felt something dislodge and move, and all of a sudden the weight seemed to pass out from her, flowing out. Tears erupted from her eyes as she saw the scrawny, shrivelled pink figure appear on the bed.
The midwife picked the baby up by the legs and smacked its bottom. The door opened and a doctor rushed in. He took the baby from the midwife and put it in an incubator. A suction machine was placed around baby’s mouth, clearing out the airways. Then the lusty cries began, and the doctor’s shoulders relaxed. The baby was wrapped up in a towel again and handed to Arla.
