by M. A. Hunter
That’s easier said than done, I don’t say.
Angus shows Mitch to the door, as I clear away the empty mugs. For some reason I can’t escape the fear that tomorrow is going to be a huge day for all of us, and I can’t shake the feeling that not all of us will live to see it through.
Chapter Forty-One
Now
Mike stretched his arms over his head as the video recording ended. ‘Well?’
‘I never took her for a shoplifter,’ Polly admitted, ‘but then that’s probably just my prejudices. Definitely our girl though. Did you see how uncomfortable she looked when questioned?’
‘Did you believe her story?’ Mike asked PC Carla Anderson, who’d watched the interview with the two of them. ‘You really think she was racing after a friend and forgot the item was in her lap?’
‘I’ve seen the security footage, and there is a woman who rushes out of the shop moments before Jess does, but the angle of the camera means we only got to see the back of her head. And given how grainy the footage was, I couldn’t say for certain that the figure in the coat was definitely a woman. Probably, but not definitely.’
‘Possible decoy?’ Mike asked, considering whether shoplifter Jess had a partner.
‘To be honest, sir – and call me naïve if you want – but I believed her story on Tuesday, and having just watched the performance for a second time, I’m even more inclined to believe it. I don’t think she meant to take the ornament.’
Mike closed the lid of the laptop. ‘Did you run a background check on her finances? The poverty line is rising in the UK, and you know as well as I that petty theft is rising at the same rate.’
‘We were about to pull her credit history when the sister-in-law rocked up and told us we’d made a big mistake.’
‘What did you say her name was again?’
‘Rosie Donoghue. I can check what shift she’s on if you want to speak to her?’
Mike nodded. ‘Thanks, yes. I’d like to hear from someone that knows the couple better, and might have insight into how things were on the home front.’
Carla stood and left the room. Mike nodded to two members of the team who’d arrived while they’d been watching the interview. Almost all the team were in, and he wanted to start the team brief as soon as possible. It felt like the more questions he asked, the more questions he was uncovering in response. What he needed was answers, and sooner rather than later.
‘What was your take on the interview?’ Mike asked Polly, leaning closer, and resting his hands between his legs.
Polly thought for a moment. ‘Forgetfulness sounds like a legitimate enough excuse. I’ve nearly done it myself, wandering out of a shop, not realising I still have something in my hand I haven’t paid for. Plus, if she’s been off her medication for as long as Dr Savage claimed, then who knows what kind of state her mind was in the day before last? Have you had any kind of update from Dr Savage yet?’
Mike shook his head while double-checking his emails. ‘I’ll chase her up after the team brief. Still waiting to hear back from the techies upstairs on whether the prints lifted from Morag Kilbride’s plastic cup are a match for those on the blade.’
Polly lowered her voice. ‘Then I think you should cancel that request before it’s too late. You realise that what you did’—she lowered her voice further—‘is a huge violation of PACE? Given the inquiry you just survived, do you really want to bring Professional Standards to your door?’
Mike understood her concern came from the heart. ‘I marked it for my eyes only. I don’t intend to use it for anything but my own peace of mind.’
‘Mike?’ Nazia called over from her desk. ‘Supe wants to see you in her office.’
Mike did his best not to roll his eyes. It didn’t feel all that long since she’d dragged him upstairs late last night. Did she really expect that the picture would have changed so soon? The day had hardly started.
‘Can you start the team brief?’ Mike asked Polly, ‘and I’ll catch up when I come back down. You know where this thing needs to go today.’
‘No worries,’ she said, standing and moving towards the front of the room to gather the others. ‘Good luck.’
Mike listened for the first minute as Polly updated everyone on last night’s incident. A few of the team had already been at home when the 999 call had been received, and so this was news to them. Mike felt confident that with more eager minds on the case, they’d definitely make progress today.
Catching the lift up, he was planning what he was going to say when the Chief Super’s door opened at the end of the corridor, and she glared out at him, her flushed cheeks and angry scowl making him want to turn back and run away. He fought the urge, and as she closed the door behind him, he sensed this impromptu meeting wasn’t going to run as smoothly as last night’s.
‘You let your chief suspect leave the station?’ she began evenly, standing against the window with the backdrop of the town’s skyline in full frame.
Mike was about to respond, and explain that he’d had no choice but to release Jess Donoghue into Dr Savage’s care, but the Chief Super raised her hand to cut him off. She wasn’t finished.
‘Then you interview a second possible suspect or witness, before allowing her to also leave, but only after you stole her fingerprints and sent them upstairs to be processed. Am I missing anything else, DI Ferry?’
Mike gulped audibly, wishing he’d heeded Polly’s warning last night.
‘You can imagine my shock to receive a call from Dr Emily Towser early this morning advising that you’d requested an eyes-only print processing, and asking for me to corroborate that it was in fact part of the investigation, and not some personal errand you were wasting our resources on. I told her I had to check, and when I saw no record of Morag Kilbride granting permission for her fingerprints to be taken, I realised what a terrible mistake I’d made in appointing you as SIO.’
‘Ma’am, please, with all due respect,’ Mike began, but she cut him off with a sharp hand again. She hadn’t invited him up to hear his side of the story.
‘Did you learn nothing from that fiasco last year? I’m not condoning the behaviour of the organised crime unit you were seconded to, but braver and smarter detectives lost their jobs, pensions, and freedom for taking the law into their own hands. I warned you last night that I would do anything to prevent Professional Standards from crawling all over this nick.’
Mike wanted to shout back that it was the pressure she was putting him under to deliver a result that had led to his lapse of judgement, but in truth he knew he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for bagging up Morag Kilbride’s cup. It had been done with the best of intentions, but both the Chief Super and Polly were right; he’d crossed the line.
‘Replacing me as SIO now will set the investigation back by days,’ he argued, desperate to cling on to the chance to finish the job the right way. ‘I’m sorry for what I did – I really am – and I know I’ve let you and the team down. You can take whatever action you want with me when the case is closed, but in the meantime, there are two women out there who know exactly what happened in that house last night. Let me bring them in and deliver justice for our victim.’
He was convinced she would kick him out of her office, demanding his warrant card, but instead she balled her fist and slammed it hard against her desk, causing the precariously balanced framed picture of her daughter to topple against the open laptop. ‘You have twenty-four hours. If you don’t have a suspect in custody by this time tomorrow, you’re off the case and out of my nick. Do you understand?’
Mike held in the sigh of relief that desperately wanted to escape. He nodded, and left the room before she had chance to change her mind.
He had only just returned to the office when Nazia hurried over. ‘There’s a woman downstairs you’re going to want to meet,’ she said excitedly. ‘She’s a former work colleague of Jess Donoghue, and she claims to know exactly why Jess was at the Kilbride residence yesterday. Wait f
or it; apparently, Jess was convinced that Morag had abducted the child she’s claiming to be her daughter, and what’s more, she has proof.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Before – Jess
She’s clearly excited. Grace has always been a chatterbox – an accusation she fiercely denies – but this morning it’s like the chatter has found a new level of intensity.
‘And I need my hair to look just right, because you never get a second chance to make a good impression. That’s what Daddy was telling me, anyway. So how should I have my hair, Mummy? In a bun? Plaited? Pigtails, or just one long ponytail?’
She pauses to shovel a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, the milk splashing onto her chin, which she quickly wipes away with the back of her hand.
I’m exhausted just trying to keep up with the explosion of thoughts flowing through her mind. I’ve never been great at sculpting my daughter’s hair. I can only plait badly, but we certainly don’t have time for that now.
‘I think you should just go for the single ponytail.’ If only to save me time and effort, I don’t add.
‘Like Auntie Rosie, you mean?’
She drops the spoon into the bowl with a clang, and fixes me with a sincere look. ‘You should do something different with your hair, Mummy. Maybe you could change the colour, or have it cut differently.’
My hand shoots up to the mound of split ends near my cheek. How bad must my hair look for my four year-old to call me out on it? I make a mental note to use some dry shampoo and give it a good brush before we leave. The last thing I want is for all the judgemental mothers to encourage their children to steer clear of the girl whose mum clearly doesn’t know how to look after herself properly.
‘You’d better go and brush your teeth, and then we’ll fix your hair,’ I promise, reaching for her bowl and carrying it to the countertop next to the sink. A mound of plates and glasses are neatly stacked there from last night’s barbecue.
‘Do you want me to drop Grace at school?’ Mum says, as she enters the room, wearing a pretty summer dress I don’t recognise.
I’m dreading the blubbing mess I’ll be by the time we reach the school gates, but this is the day I’ve been fearing for months, and I know I must face it.
‘Thank you for the offer, but I want to be the one who takes her for her first day. Like a rite of passage or something.’
Mum leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘I understand. Do you want some company?’
She’s only trying to be supportive, but selfishly I don’t want to share this experience with anyone. I’ve spent months picturing what it will be like to lead Grace into this next chapter of her life, and as painful as it’s going to be, I want to be the only one she remembers in the experience.
‘That’s okay, I’ve got this. Maybe you can come with me and collect her from school later instead.’
She smiles through the disappointment. ‘Of course.’
Grace bounds back into the room, and my thoughts return to sorting out her hair. She hands me a brush and hair tie and I can smell toothpaste on her breath as she busily tells me how she can’t wait to see her teacher again. Before the summer holidays, all the children were invited in to the school to meet their teachers and classmates, and then the school sent photographs of the teachers and teaching assistants home so the children could memorise their names and faces. Grace’s teacher is Miss Danvers, a Canadian woman in her late twenties, who seemed very enthusiastic when I met her.
‘Miss Danvers said she loves reading stories too, just like me, Mummy. I like Miss Danvers. Do you think I should take one of my stories in for her to read?’
I tell Grace I will pack her exercise book of stories in her school bag, so that she can share it with her teacher. With shoes fastened, hair tied, and teeth clean, we head out of the door, down the ramp, and along the road. School is just over a mile walk from our house, and I know we have left too early really, but I want us to take our time so I can cling to those final few moments with my little girl.
It’s a cliché to say that they grow up too quickly, but the last four and a bit years have flown by. I still remember the first moment I laid eyes on her, when I didn’t know how she would grow, how her face would totally change shape, hair would lengthen, and what kinds of activities would interest her. That first day was so scary, not knowing what the future held, but I can’t say I regret a single moment of Grace’s life. She gives my life meaning. From the moment she was born, I stopped being Jess Donoghue, and became Grace’s mum. For some that isn’t enough, but for me it’s everything.
After a few moments of nonstop chatter, Grace falls silent.
‘What’s wrong, darling?’ I ask, slowing, and reaching for her hand so she will stop walking.
She looks down at her feet, and her lips droop sullenly, but she doesn’t answer. A woman with two children in uniform, and one in a pushchair, darts around us, and I’m suddenly conscious of the wheelchair. As far as I’m aware, all the other parents with children starting at the school today are able-bodied. Although Grace has never mentioned worries about my chair, I can’t stop thinking that she’s worried about how the other children will react to her because I’m different to the other mums and dads. Maybe I should have allowed Mum to come with us, so that she could lead Grace through the gates while I waited and watched.
I look back along the road. We probably still have time to return and ask Mum to come with us if that will make Grace feel more comfortable.
‘Talk to me, sweetie,’ I say, fighting the growing ache in my heart. ‘What is it that’s troubling you? You can tell me anything, you know. I won’t be upset.’
She slowly looks up at me, her lips now quivering, and a watery glow in her eyes. ‘It’s just…’
I wait patiently, not wanting to interrupt, but conscious that the seconds are passing so quickly.
‘It’s just…’ she tries again, this time a tear escaping and rolling delicately down her warm cheek.
Suddenly she throws her arms around me and presses her face into my shoulder. It’s all I can do to keep my own emotions in check.
‘What is it, darling? Please tell Mummy what is upsetting you, so I can fix it.’
A dad in long shorts and a T-shirt passes, berating his son for an unfastened shoe lace.
I rub my hand over Grace’s back, and I’m about to tell her I understand her concern about my chair and that we can go home to collect Mum, when she whispers in my ear.
‘I wish you could come to school with me.’
The breath catches in my throat. I’ve been so focused on how much I’m going to miss being Grace’s world that I haven’t even considered that she might miss me just as much. Happy tears fill my eyes, and I don’t care when I feel my cheeks moisten. She’s been so giddy with excitement this morning that I missed the probability that the chatter was masking her own insecurities. I give her an extra squeeze, inhaling the strawberry scent of shampoo on her hair, before separating us, so I can look into her beautiful blue eyes.
‘I wish I could come in with you too, my beautiful girl, but this adventure is one for you to take on alone. It’s an important stage in your life, and I have no doubt in my mind that you will be a huge success in school. I’ve never met someone so sweet-natured, tender, funny, and bright. There is no challenge you cannot overcome, and I am so proud of everything you’ve already achieved. You are the best person I know, Grace Donoghue, and I will be waiting in the playground when you come out, so you can tell me about everything you’ve done and learned today. Okay?’
She is smiling through her tears, and it’s almost too much for my heart to take. She hugs me again, her shoulders relax as she lets out a sigh, and tells me we should hurry up, because she doesn’t want to be late on her first day.
The playground is already filling up as we arrive. I’ve allowed her to travel the rest of the journey on my lap, and she only stops hugging me as we pass through the school gates.
‘Are you going to be okay?’
I ask, as she clambers off me, and reaches for her school bags on the handles of my chair.
She nods, with an assured smile.
‘I love you, Grace, and I meant what I said. I want to hear about absolutely everything you do today, okay?’
She nods again, kisses my cheek, and hurries off to a group of three girls I recognise from her pre-school classes. I’ve never felt so proud and nervous, but she captures their attention immediately, and I can see the other girls hanging on her every word until the bell sounds and they hurry off towards the old brown building. She pauses only once to turn and wave in my direction, and then she is gone.
Chapter Forty-Three
Before – Morag
The sound of the school bell somewhere close by tells me I’ve managed to hold onto Daisy for as long as I can. I deliberately picked a scenic route to the school, different to the one I’d rehearsed taking, just in case Tommy and his people were there waiting for us.
I hardly slept a wink last night, and the lack of Angus’ snoring echoing off the walls of our bedroom tells me he didn’t fare much better. I just wish all of this could be over. The constant looking over our shoulders; the fear that he’s always watching, waiting to strike; the inability to properly trust any other human being for fear they will let out our sordid secret. I will never willingly give Daisy back to Tommy. He isn’t her father, not really. It may have been his sperm that fertilised her mother, but that is where his paternal responsibility began and ended.
There is a cool wind blowing this morning, and the sky overhead is grey with cloud, and it’s giving me such a sense of foreboding. I had considered keeping Daisy off school – phoning in to say she’d picked up a stomach bug – but I don’t want her being prejudged by her teachers or children in her class.
She is squeezing my hand tightly as we head in through the entrance, and although she’s hardly spoken a word all morning, I can tell she is anxious. I’m hoping it’s just first-day nerves, and that yesterday’s incident isn’t playing on her mind. She officially should have experienced her first day at school a year ago, but we made the conscious decision to hold her back. A doctored birth certificate means everyone – including Daisy – believes she is about to turn five, when in fact it was her birthday ten months ago. All it means is she’ll be one of the oldest children in her year group, and will probably develop quicker both academically and physically, but it is the only way we could think to keep Tommy and his network from her trail. He knows when she was born, but that information won’t help him trace her through the education system.
