by M. A. Hunter
The front desk was closed to the public, but the shutters had yet to be lowered for the evening. Mike thanked the young uniformed officer who had escorted them from the custody suite and was now unlocking the front door for Jess and Dr Savage to leave through.
Mike started as a woman’s head poked through the door when the young officer opened it.
‘I want to report a crime,’ the woman said, with a strong Highland accent, but then she seemed to stop herself as her eyes fell on Jess in the wheelchair.
Jess raised her head at the sound of the woman’s voice, and an ear-splitting scream emanated from her mouth. ‘It’s all your fault. You did this!’
The Scottish woman grew deathly pale, and backed away from the door, as Jess continued to scream.
Mike pushed past the wheelchair and hurried out into the cool night air, spotting the woman in the waxed coat hurrying down the steps and into the darkness. ‘Hey, wait,’ he called, chasing after her. ‘Hey, stop.’ The woman didn’t break stride, but Mike soon caught up with her. ‘Hey, listen, what were you saying at the door? You said something about wanting to report a crime.’
The woman looked back up to the front door, where Jess Donoghue’s screaming continued to echo. ‘No, I made a mistake,’ she said quickly. Too quickly for Mike’s liking.
‘You know that woman?’ Mike asked, blocking her path. ‘She seemed to recognise you.’
‘Morag!’ Jess screamed from behind them, and the woman’s eyes widened at the mention of the name.
‘I think you’d better come with me,’ Mike said, indicating for her to return to the station, remembering what Nazia had told him about the neighbour’s description of the people who had been renting the property in Northwood: it was occupied by an older Scottish couple and a little girl.
‘Mrs Kilbride?’ he checked, and her panicked stare was all the confirmation he needed. He offered a thankful nod skywards; it seemed the gods were finally smiling down on him. He was willing to bet this woman’s prints would be a match to the unidentified pair on the blade’s handle. It was almost worth calling the Chief Super to gloat, but he wasn’t a poor winner, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much more he didn’t yet know.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Before – Jess
I can’t tell you how tired I suddenly feel. The adrenalin was pumping as I hurried to the school, but I’m running on fumes now, having not eaten since breakfast. That’s my fault, I know, but this lethargy is not how I wanted the day to finish. I still haven’t done anything specific with Grace, and despite promising to cook her pancakes tonight, I’m not sure I have the energy.
It’s a surprise to find Charlie’s car already parked on the driveway, as it’s not even three o’clock yet. He must hear us coming, as the front door opens a moment later and he appears, looking so full of life that I hate how much I envy him. He pushes me up the ramp and into our home, before lifting Grace from my lap.
‘Grandma!’ she squeals, as Charlie carries her to the living room, before gently lowering her to the floor.
‘Surprise!’ Charlie yells, for both our benefits. ‘If Mohamed won’t go to the mountain…’ He is grinning like a Cheshire cat, and it suddenly clicks into place.
It’s such a typical Charlie move. Clearly our argument yesterday morning about me going to visit my mum in Southampton has played on his mind, and he has come up with the best compromise he can think of. I do admire his pragmatism at times, and although I don’t appreciate the secrecy of him talking to my mum behind my back, I know his heart is in the right place.
He wheels me into the room, and my mum springs from her seat, comes over and hugs me, the familiar scent of her rose-petal perfume filling my nose. She kisses me on both cheeks, before stepping back and telling me how well I look, and how she’s able to stay for as long as I need to help with the transition of Grace starting school.
A lump forms in my throat, and my eyes sting as tears threaten to break free. I hadn’t realised how much I needed to see and hear from her. There’s something different about her today though. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but she looks… full of life. Her hair has been coloured in rich mahogany hues, neatly cut and curled beneath her ears; she’s not wearing her usual dowdy pastel shades, instead donning a vibrant blouse with large flowers, and a pair of skinny jeans I’d expect on someone half her age. In a line-up I’d argue she looked younger than Morag, even though I know Mum is several years senior.
Grace holds out her arms and Mum bathes her in kisses and a big hug. Charlie leaves the room, offering to make tea for everyone, and I just soak up the interaction between the two most important females in my life.
An hour later, Charlie has taken Grace upstairs for a bath, leaving Mum and me alone in the lounge. Tea has been replaced by sherry for Mum, and I now have a glass of water, conscious that I’m due my painkillers, but seeing how long I can last without them. All the mishaps of today – forgetting the appointment with Dr Tegan and the school meeting – have left me pondering whether I’ve made a mistake in stopping my antidepressants. I will make an appointment with Dr Savage to see if there is an alternative to what she’s prescribed, but in the meantime I don’t want to forget anything else.
Morag had waved to me at the school after my conspicuous arrival, but I had pretended not to notice, keen to avoid any further awkward confrontation. Thankfully she didn’t stick around at the end to try and corner me. I spotted Ava’s mum Nadine near her as well, and the last thing I needed was to hear her telling me how well I look considering, especially when she’s clearly spent hours and a bucket of money perfecting her ‘look’.
‘You should have told me you weren’t coping,’ Mum says, catching my gaze.
Who said I wasn’t coping? I want to fire back, but I let it pass. Presumably Charlie has told her my suspicions about Morag, and that’s why she’s offered to come and stay for a few days. If I’d known Charlie was going into London to collect her from Waterloo, I would have suggested Grace and I tag along, as I’ve been meaning to take her up to the Natural History Museum all summer. Of course that would have meant missing the school meeting and the appointment with Dr Tegan, but quite frankly I don’t think either has taught me anything new.
‘When Charlie phoned and said you could do with a hand for a few days,’ Mum continues, ‘I didn’t think twice before booking my train ticket.’
That’s twice now she’s said that Charlie intimated I wasn’t coping, and I’m a little hurt if that’s what he really thinks. I know I’m dreading Grace starting school on Wednesday, but I think I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping my emotions off display. I’d rather he weren’t telling people I’m losing my mind, least of all my own mother.
‘Are you okay, sweetie?’ she asks, tilting her head to the side. ‘You look troubled.’
I take a deep breath. ‘There was something I wanted to ask you about, but I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.’
Her brow wrinkles. ‘It takes a lot to offend me. Go ahead and ask.’
My palms are clammy, and my pulse quickens as I will the words from my mouth. ‘It’s about my adoption.’
Her eyes droop slightly at the mention of the word. ‘What do you want to know?’
My pounding heart feels like it will explode out of my chest at any second. ‘I suppose I want to understand what the process was like. You know, like how did you choose me, or were you chosen for me? What kind of checks were run against you, and that kind of thing?’
She fixes me with a concerned look. ‘Why now?’
I can’t be certain how much Charlie has told her about my interactions with Morag, so I need to tread carefully.
‘I’m just curious about how long it all took, I suppose.’
Her eyes suddenly widen. ‘Are you and Charlie thinking about…?’
‘No,’ I say quickly. Maybe too quickly.
‘After everything you’ve been through, I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised
,’ she says as a wistful look passes over her face. ‘It’s none of my business, Jess, but is it not a tad early to be thinking about things like that? There’s still a chance the feeling will return to your legs and that you may be able to conceive naturally again. Don’t rule anything out until you know more.’
I’m about to correct her and assure her that Charlie and I aren’t contemplating adopting a child, when Charlie bursts in through the door, delicately carrying Grace, who is wrapped in a dressing gown, a towel wound tightly around her head to dry her hair. He lowers her to the sofa next to me.
‘Who’s up for takeaway pizza tonight?’ he practically shouts.
‘Me!’ Grace calls, thrusting her hand into the air.
‘That okay with you?’ he asks. ‘Thought it would be easier, and allow you and your mum more time to talk. I can collect it, maybe get some garlic bread on the side. What do you say?’
I nod, and force a smile. When I turn back to look at Mum, she’s busy nattering to Grace, and I know my chance to question her further has gone for now. I reach for the home phone as it bursts into life, the display identifying the caller as from a withheld number.
I answer, ready to disconnect at the first hint that it’s a nuisance sales call, but what I’m not expecting is to hear Charlie’s sister Rosie’s anxious voice. ‘I need to see you urgently. It’s about that missing girl you mentioned on Sunday.’
I feel terrible for lying to Charlie and Mum, but Rosie made it perfectly clear that she needed to meet me tonight, and I don’t want either of them to know that I mentioned the Morag–Daisy situation to the police, even if Rosie is family. I push my chair down the road to the small parade of shops, under the guise of buying salad to go with tonight’s pizza. The small grocers probably won’t have anything resembling fresh produce, but I’m not worried about returning empty-handed. Charlie always describes lettuce and salad vegetables as rabbit food, and the expression he pulled when I suggested this trip out tells me that he’ll probably be relieved if I fail in my mission.
Rosie is sitting on a public bench outside the hair salon, two doors down from the grocers. I roll over, out of breath from the exertion of the journey. I’m surprised to see a cigarette between her lips, which she quickly stubs out, before averting her eyes in shame.
‘I know, I know,’ she says, fanning away the exhaled smoke, ‘but sometimes I just need something to balance my mood. Don’t tell Charlie. You know how he feels about smoking after Dad passed of lung cancer.’
I wave away her concern; I’m the last person who wants Charlie to know about this rendezvous. ‘What was so urgent? Did you find out something about Daisy? Was I right that she was abducted?’
Rosie’s blonde ponytail swishes against the suit jacket she’s wearing as she looks around, as if suspecting we are being watched and listened to. The charcoal-coloured business suit flatters her complexion, and covers her muscly arms, lending her a more feminine appearance than I’m used to seeing.
‘I can’t say too much,’ she begins, occasionally glancing around us, ‘but I had a look at our caseload for any missing children called Daisy.’
The suspense is killing me. I don’t know why we’ve had to meet in such a clandestine way. ‘And?’
‘And there are no reported missing children from the area called Daisy. You said she was five, right?’
‘Nearly,’ I confirm, remembering Morag had said it was Daisy’s birthday this Friday.
‘Well, I went back over cases from the last five years, and nothing came up. I’m sorry.’
I don’t understand why I feel so disappointed. I suppose if Rosie had managed to uncover Daisy’s true identity, Morag and Angus would be arrested and Daisy returned to her frantic parents. I’m also even more confused about why Rosie felt she couldn’t deliver this message over the phone.
‘Who is this girl?’ Rosie continues, leaning closer towards me. ‘You were vague on Sunday, and I sense there is more you’re not telling me.’
The tar on her breath is off-putting, but I focus on breathing through my mouth so I won’t have to smell it. This is a crucial moment; I feel it in my bones. If I come clean and tell Rosie everything – albeit very little – that I know, it could lead to her digging further into Morag and Angus’s backstory. However, it could also lead to her reaching the same conclusion as Charlie; that I am delusional.
She’s not my mum.
The memory of that first encounter is enough to encourage my choice. ‘Daisy is a girl Grace and I met at the park on Thursday afternoon. She walked right up to me, looking absolutely petrified – like she’d just seen a ghost – and told me that the woman she was with wasn’t her mother. The woman – Morag – is in her mid to late fifties, and I spoke to her afterwards, but she was very evasive about her past. She said she’s a nurse, and her husband Angus is in logistics or something. He’s the same age as her, and something has just felt off about them ever since we met. You know when you just get a vibe, and you can’t put your finger on exactly why you don’t trust someone? It’s like that.’
‘Did you confront her about what Daisy said?’
‘How could I? You don’t just come out with something like that when meeting someone new. Charlie suggested they could have adopted Daisy, but it just doesn’t fit in my mind.’
‘You said this Morag and Angus are in their mid to late fifties?’
‘Yes, exactly!’ I practically yelp. ‘They wouldn’t allow such a mature couple to adopt, would they? I mean, they’ll be in their sixties when she hits puberty.’
‘I don’t think there’s an official upper age limit for adoption,’ Rosie corrects. ‘If you have a look on the government website, all it states is you must be aged over twenty-one.’
I hadn’t expected this, and make a mental note to double-check the site when I get home. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘Go back a bit,’ Rosie says, ‘what else can you tell me about them?’
‘Both have broad Scottish accents, and she said they’d met and lived in Aberdeen for most of their lives, but had spent some time in Wolverhampton for Angus’s job.’
A frown catches Rosie’s hairline.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Well, the cases I reviewed are local to the borough. If Daisy wasn’t taken from this area, she wouldn’t appear in my search. Do you know how long they’ve been in London?’
I can’t recall whether Morag actually said when they’d moved south. ‘Fairly recently, I think,’ I tell Rosie, confirming the address so she can check records to verify the exact date. ‘Oh, and Daisy doesn’t sound anything like Morag or Angus. I’ve barely heard her speak apart from what she told me in the playground, but her accent isn’t Scottish.’
Doubt grips Rosie’s features, and I’m almost certain she thinks I’ve lost the plot.
‘This isn’t like the last time,’ I urge. ‘I know that in the past… but I’m telling the truth. I am almost certain that Morag is not Daisy’s mother, and that they’re holding her against her will.’
‘I don’t think you’re making any of this up,’ she says, looking away, ‘but even you must see how far-fetched all this sounds.’
‘I searched for them – Morag and Angus, I mean – online,’ I continue, ‘but I couldn’t find their names on any kind of social media. You have to admit that’s a bit weird, no?’
Rosie shrugs. ‘Not necessarily, given their age. What’s the surname?’
‘Charlie saw an envelope addressed to Mr and Mrs A Kilbride. That’s what I searched for and drew a blank.’
Rosie looks so serene, but remains quiet, and I can almost hear her mind whirring as she searches for the words to let me down gently. It’s funny, but Charlie pulls the same face when he knows he’s going to disappoint me, like when he has to cancel plans because of one of Doug’s last-minute meetings.
‘I’m sorry, Jess, but there isn’t enough here for me to start investigating this family. If there was something more, something I could show my DCI that warr
ants further digging, but four little words in a park just isn’t enough. Do you realise how many children are reported missing every day in the UK? Those not found usually wind up on the missingpeople.org website, but few of those stories end well.’
She must realise how crestfallen I am at the news, as she puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes the top of my arm. ‘I do wonder whether all this – your feelings about this little girl – is serving as a distraction from an underlying problem. Charlie said on Sunday you’ve stopped seeing your psychiatrist.’
Is there anyone Charlie isn’t discussing me with behind my back? I grind my teeth to maintain my composure. ‘I didn’t see the point any more. No amount of talking is going to bring’—it takes all my strength to say his name—‘Luke back.’ My eyes ache with tears, but I refuse to wipe them away. ‘That isn’t what this is about. If you’d seen how scared Daisy looked, you’d want to find out the truth. I know I don’t have any solid evidence, but I am certain there is more to that family than Morag is telling me.’
Rosie passes me a tissue from a packet that appears from her pocket. ‘It’s okay for you to be upset about losing Luke. I still think about him every day, and I only met him that one time and for a few minutes. You didn’t deserve what happened to you – none of you did. I can’t begin to imagine what you went through. To carry a baby full-term and then have his life ripped from you, and then to top it all off, the epidural procedure going wrong and stealing your mobility. God knows, I’d be livid with the world if I went through that kind of pain. Nobody blames you for what happened, Jess, and I know how worried Charlie is about you.’
I finally dab the corners of my eyes. ‘Thank you for looking,’ I whisper.
The relief is clear on her face as we move away from the bench, and although she offers me a lift home, I tell her that I’m fine to make my own way, as it will keep Charlie from suspecting the ulterior motive for my trip out. I watch as she gets into her car and drives away. Her intention this evening was to discourage my attempts to find out the truth about Daisy, but all she’s done is made me more determined. I won’t let anything hold me back now.
