by Linda Coles
Jack rapped his knuckles on the open door and, without looking up, Morton said, “Come in, Jack.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I’m a detective, not a fool. Plus, I saw you approach, so seeing you kind of gave the game away.” He spoke in a monotone, as he always did. There was never any energy in the man, and Jack often wondered if anything ever got Morton excited, anything at all. He pitied Mrs Morton.
“Right, yes. I can see how seeing me might help,” he said drily. “Anyway, I need your signature on something, if I may. It’s for the abandoned baby case. I’m hoping to find the mother, make sure she’s okay too.”
“You are aware abandoning your baby is a custodial offence, aren’t you, Jack?” Morton still hadn’t lifted his head from the racing post.
“That I am, sir, but in extenuating circumstances, like other crimes, we have some discretion, and that’s why I want to take it further. If she’s a young lass, she may be scared. She may have come from a broken home or worse, so until we see, my concern is merely to find out what happened. So I need your signature for a new kind of test.”
Finally, Morton looked up. “What is this test?”
“Glad you asked. It’s called familial DNA testing, and rather than checking for an exact match, it checks for close family member matches. It’s based on the assumption that people who share a large number of genetic markers are likely to be closely related, so if we have either parent already in the system, it could throw out some possibilities. Or even their parents could give us something, another generation of DNA. It’s brand new, sir. Janine heard about it on a news story on the radio, and I spoke to one of the researchers earlier.”
“Well, if it’s so new, does it stand up in court?”
“Doubt it at this stage, but at least it could help with the first aspect of finding Mum, eh? Do I have your permission?”
Morton wiped the yellow pickle stain away with his handkerchief. He sat up properly, looking at Jack.
“Why the interest in this case, Jack? Haven’t you got enough to be doing with two missing children out there only days before Christmas? Don’t you want them home opening their presents on Christmas morning, all nice and safe and snug? Because I know I do.” Morton’s face resembled that of a maths teacher quizzing a student who didn’t know the answer to a basic problem. He was going a bit pink around the edges. Undeterred, Jack stood his ground.
“I do, of course, but this child also deserves to be safe and snug on Christmas Day with someone who loves her. I’ll do it in my own time, if that’s what you want. I’m intent on helping her any way I can, so please, will you sign this form to allow the test to go through or not?” Jack could hear his tone change and he corrected himself quickly, not wanting Morton to get uptight about it. He needed his signature, after all.
“Let me look, then,” Morton conceded, and Jack passed the document over, waiting nervously for Morton to take his pen and sign. After a heavy sigh, Morton scrawled his name across the signature section, handed it back, and stuck his nose back in the racing post.
“Keep me updated.”
Jack was dismissed, it seemed. Containing his desire to smile until he’d left the room, Jack went straight to the fax machine and dug in his pocket for the yellow note that he’d written the number on. The familiar dialing tone sounded as he waited for the machine to connect, then he watched as the page was slowly sucked through the machine. In a matter of moments, his message would be on Dr Winstanley’s desk. Now all he had to do was get the child’s DNA on a swab and get it off to the lab, and that meant getting back to baby Mary before 4 pm when she would be taken into care. He checked his watch: plenty of time, but still, he’d go now and get it done. No sense leaving it until the eleventh hour.
Grabbing his coat, he headed out, shouting over his shoulder to Eddie that he’d be back in an hour.
Chapter Nineteen
Sister Monica Johnson was waiting for him when he arrived on the ward.
“What’s going on? Have you found something?”
“Not quite, but I’m hopeful of a bit more to go on soon. In the meantime, I need a swab from baby Mary, from inside her mouth. Are you able to do it for me, please?”
Jack was almost breathless with excitement, and Monica picked up on his vibe. “Er, yes. Do you have the kit with you?”
Jack removed it from his coat pocket. It was nothing more than a long cotton bud enclosed in a plastic tube with a lid and label on it. He’d already filled the details out, though without a surname.
“I’ll only be a minute. Please wait here.” Jack watched as Monica made her way to back to Mary’s cot at the end of the ward. A moment later he had the sample in his hands.
“Still no news since you were last here? Nothing from the security cameras, I’m guessing?” she asked him.
“Unfortunately, that’s correct, but now I have this.” He raised the thin tube in his hand. “I’m hoping the gods are smiling on us and we start to get somewhere.” He gave her his brightest, most encouraging smile, thanked her again and turned to leave the hospital once more.
By the end of the day baby Mary would be taken by yet another stranger and placed with a foster parent until her future could be decided up. It was probably a good thing the poor little mite knew little of how much her life was being directed from behind closed doors by yet more complete strangers. It wasn’t the best start to life, but as a foundling, she had little choice. Someone had to make the decisions.
Jack hurried to his car, pulling up his collar against the sleet. He needed to get the tube over to the lab so they could start work on it, and with Christmas holidays about to start, he didn’t want to waste another precious moment. He was hoping someone might take pity on the case and bump the job up the queue. Unlike Eddie, Jack relied on good manners and conscience to get what he wanted. He was hoping Dr Barbara Winstanley would appreciate his way of doing things.
He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. He’d felt on the edge of a cold for a couple of days and was anxious to keep it at bay and enjoy Christmas without being ill. Perhaps a hot toddy and a soak in a hot bath later would help. At the lab, he braced himself against the icy air as he dashed across the wet tarmac towards the front entrance. The glass doors opened automatically and he gathered himself in the lobby. The receptionist at the solitary desk looked bored.
“Soon be Christmas,” he said, smiling at her, but she didn’t look convinced that it would change anything.
“Who are you here to see?”
“Dr Winstanley, but I’m happy to go up to her. She doesn’t need to be bothered coming down,” he said, giving her another winning smile.
“Sorry. Can’t do that, since we’re a lab and all.”
Jack was tempted to exclaim ‘No shit,’ but refrained, again. Manners.
“Who shall I tell her is here?”
“DC Jack Rutherford.”
He waited while she made the call.
“I have a DC Jack Rutherford here to see you.” Try as he might, he couldn’t tell what was being said at the other end. After a moment, she rang off and glanced back up at him. “She’ll be right down. Please take a seat.”
Jack smiled at her again, but declined the seat offer and instead leaned against the wall by the lift, supposing Dr Winstanley would make her entrance from there. He wasn’t disappointed. The lift pinged its arrival; she must have come straight down after she’d gotten off the phone.
As the doors opened, Jack did a double take. The woman in front of him nothing like what he’d been expecting, but he instinctively knew it was her. She held her outstretched hand in front of her as she stepped into the foyer.
“We meet at last, Detective Rutherford. Nice to make your acquaintance.”
Nice, and articulate too, thought Jack.
“Indeed, and yours too. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
Her bright-blue eyes twinkled as he spoke, and Jack idly wondered if she was wearing coloured c
ontact lenses, but since the rest of her was equally as beautiful, he figured not. Her hair was styled in a short blonde bob that accentuated her fine features, and her pale pink lips were almost as mesmerizing as her eyes. In short, she was a natural beauty, which confirmed in his mind that those blue eyes were for real. Jack dragged his mind back to more important thoughts and stuttered for a moment, words jostling for order before he spoke again.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about baby Mary on the news?”
“I have.”
“Well, this is her DNA,” he said, holding the tube out, “and about all we have to go on. I’m hoping this will work.” Jack flashed his best smile yet again, and Dr Winstanley returned one of her own.
Then, tilting her head to one side she asked, “She’s special to you somehow, isn’t she?”
Taken aback, he replied, “Um, yes, I suppose she is. It’s obvious, then, is it? I must try harder.”
“Yes, and no. I mean yes, I can see it, but no, don’t try harder. You shouldn’t have to hide it. The little one has you on her side trying to help her, and while she doesn’t know it yet, I’m sure she’ll appreciate your effort and involvement when she’s older.”
Jack nodded and looked at the floor. He felt a blush rise and hoped it didn’t show.
“I can see I’ve embarrassed you.” She put her hand on his arm and added, “I’ll get this going right away, Jack. Let’s see if we can get a result before Santa comes down the chimney, give her a special Christmas present.”
Recovering, he said, “That would be perfect if you can. I really can’t thank you enough. Here’s my mobile number, day or night. As soon as you have a result I’ll call in and get it.” He handed his card over and she slipped it into her lab coat pocket.
Smiling in his direction for the last time, she said, “I’d better get to work then,” and pressed the button to call the lift, leaving Jack to exit with a grateful wave and venture back outside into the freezing cold.
Again.
Good manners and humanity generally worked in his favour. He must tell Eddie.
Chapter Twenty
Eddie looked pleased about something when Jack returned to the office. He walked back to his desk, wringing his hands animatedly to get some warmth back into them after the short trip in from his car.
“What’s up, Eddie? You look pleased about something.”
“Finally, we have something to work with. The tyre tracks at the end of Sparrows Lane near the drag marks or skid marks or whatever they were – the tyres are Continentals, which are used mainly on Transit vans, and given the depth of tread, they’re probably new ones. They got some good casts of them with the wet weather – the mud was good and soft. I have a uniform checking if any of the residents down there have a van like that, which I’m suspecting not, then I’ve organized with traffic to filter out van drivers travelling that road for the next twenty-four hours to pull them over and see whether they were on it when the girls disappeared. If we get lucky, we can look inside a few of them at the same time. Long shot, I know, but it’s something.”
“Have the press been told yet?”
“No. I don’t want to spook the actual culprits until we’ve done some checks, then we’ll go to the press. Those vans are ten a penny, predominantly white, and sold all over the UK and beyond. But we’ll need the public’s help. Someone may remember seeing a van as they drove by but didn’t realize its relevance at the time to come forward with it. No doubt we’ll get the usual red herrings when we’ve put the press release out – everyone knows a man with a van these days, and some folks are happy to dob someone in, particularly an ex.”
Jack nodded unhappily in agreement. The press was a help to get the word out, but the majority of the responses would end in wild goose chases, he knew.
“Let’s hope it throws us a bone to worry, then,” he said.
A call across the squad room interrupted their conversation, Clarke stood at her desk, telephone in her hand.
“Boss, you’ll want to hear this,” she said, and both men walked over to her. “Uniform reckon one of the residents saw a dark-coloured van; the mention of one must have jogged his memory. He was nearly back at his place after taking his dog out and saw it at the end of the lane, though from quite a distance. He said he knew it wasn’t a car – the headlights were all wrong and it was virtually dark – but he’s sure it wasn’t a white one. Nothing else to report other than it was only there a moment or two.”
“Well, that’s something at least. We can narrow it down. Thanks, Clarke. Let traffic know what we’re looking for, will you? No point in stopping the white ones at this point.”
“Right. Will do, Sarge.”
Jack checked his watch. It would be dark again in another hour, making van sightings even more difficult; a set of headlights approaching made it hard to see the vehicle they were attached to. But time was marching on and they needed to do something.
Eddie must have read his mind. “I know, Jack,” he said, “but it’s the same time of day and if it’s a local driver, we could be in luck. Best we go out there, too, and give them a hand. Grab your scarf. It’s bitter cold.”
Jack wondered if it was a day for stating the obvious, and once again he refrained from adding ‘No shit.’ “I’ll be right there,” he said. Manners and all.
After two hours of sitting in their tin can half a mile north of the checkpoint, they had spotted precisely two dark-coloured Transit vans and radioed ahead. Neither had resulted in anything. Neither was from around these parts, and neither of them had passed by on the day of the abductions. And more importantly, neither of them had Continental tyres with the same tread pattern.
It was almost 6 pm, and Jack was ready for his dinner. He called ahead to Janine to let her know he’d be home later and tell her not to wait for him. After ten years of marriage, she was used to his last-minute plan changes and told him to keep warm. It was freezing out there.
Was there no escaping it?
“Here’s another,” Eddie said, and did the necessary, radioing to the boys ahead. They both watched as the van’s red tail-lights went on and the driver pulled over.
“Please let us catch a break. Please,” Jack muttered under his breath.
But after a few moments, they watched in dismay as the van drove off again. The radio crackled and, sighing, Jack picked it up.
“Better luck that time,” said the constable. “Same tyres.”
Jack and Eddie looked at one another and grinned.
“Great!” said Jack. “We can follow that one up at least. Were they locals, by chance?”
“Negative. From out Tilbury way. So still not that far.”
“Worth looking at in more detail, though. Tilbury Docks springs to mind straight away when you mention Tilbury. And the things that go on in containers. But let’s not jump to conclusions yet. It’s the first of many more we’ll come across, I expect.”
“I agree. We’ll keep on, and you do what you need to do to follow up,” the PC said. They rang off and Jack hung the mic back on its hook. He looked across at Eddie.
“At least it had the same tyres. It’s a start,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-One
She’d shivered most of the night under her thin blanket and had barely slept at all. The man’s visit had scared her, sending her emotions spiralling, the tears streaming until she had no more left to give. Her face had stopped stinging from his slap some time back, but her face was red and swollen anyway from crying so hard. Leanne wasn’t stupid, and while the sting from his hand had gone, she could still feel the sting of his words.
“Relax, you’re not my type. Too big, too old.”
Was the other girl in the van more his desire? Was she here in the same building, or had they moved her? Disposed of her, even? But a more urgent question was what had she found herself mixed up in if she wasn’t what he wanted? And furthermore, did that make her surplus, put her in even more danger? She’d seen his face and knew from movies a
nd crime shows that that was never a good thing – she’d be able to identify him.
The sound of a key in the lock again startled her. What could they want this time?
Leanne hoped it was only someone else bringing food.
The overhead light bulb went on and she struggled to focus after the darkness even though it wasn’t particularly bright. But it wasn’t the man; it was the woman from yesterday, the same dank hair half covering her petite face, grubby clothes, and she was carrying a tray. She thanked her lucky stars it wasn’t the fat repulsive man from yesterday – was it yesterday? As the woman made towards her, Leanne heard the lock being fastened again. Someone was guarding outside her door, though guarding who against what she’d no idea. Was the woman a prisoner too?
“Food. Eat. No more,” the woman said to her now, her eyes staying low. In the crook of her elbow hung a plastic shopping bag and as she put the tray down, she handed Leanne the bag. “Warmer clothes. Put on. Cold.”
“Thank you. Toilet, please?”
“No toilet. Bucket.”
“Please, I need the toilet,” Leanne said, her voice rising in frustration. She shuddered at the thought of her own waste building up inside the small room. It smelt bad enough as it was; the tatty carpet in the corner already soaked with her urine, and hers wasn’t the first to have been deposited there, she was sure.
“No toilet. Bag,” the woman said, her voice rising a notch in reply, eyes darting rapidly to anywhere but Leanne’s own.
Leanne spoke to the woman again, deciding on a softer approach. If she was a prisoner too, maybe Leanne could befriend her for her own needs, as a way of escape. “Do you live here too?” she asked with a small smile. The woman shook her head slowly, choosing to answer without actual words. Leanne watched her as she picked up the tray from yesterday and made her way back to the door. Hurriedly she said, “Thank you,” hoping her gentler demeanour would encourage the woman to talk on her next visit. Being locked in a room all day and not knowing where or why she was there was distressing enough; she had to figure a way out. There was a click of the lock turning and the door opened briefly, allowing the skinny woman to slip through the door. Then it was relocked. Was there someone stationed outside the door all the time, she wondered? She doubted it. Probably the guard was there only for when the woman entered in case Leanne tried anything on.
