“Who was that?”
“Alicia Kelley,” I said absently, before clarifying, “Lawrence’s aunt.”
“Oh,” Stephen said. “We’re off to see her?”
I nodded, tucking my phone into my pocket and grabbing my coat. “Come on, Huxley,” I said, switching off my computer and patting my coat to check my keys were there. “Time’s of the essence.”
“When are you planning to fill me in?”
“In the car,” I said, already walking towards the stairs. “Chop chop.”
“God, you’re demanding,” Stephen huffed as he was forced to do a little jog to catch up with me.
We got settled into a car, Stephen in the driver’s seat. “I’ll get us there in half the time you will,” he said.
“Yeah, but at what cost?” I muttered. “Your driving ruins my blood pressure.”
He snorted. “Your blood pressure is better than a teenager’s, I bet.”
“Thanks a lot.” I shook my head. “This is what we’ve got, then,” I said, switching back to business. “Alicia said that Lawrence’s mum dropped by just now.”
“What?” Stephen said, taking a corner sharply enough to make my stomach flip.
“Aye, apparently so. And she didn’t sound so thrilled about it, either.”
“Weird,” he said. “I guess she’s definitely alive, then.”
“Seems so. So why didn’t she hang around, stay with her son?”
Stephen shook his head. “Beats me. We’ll have to ask the kid what she said.”
I nodded. “Let’s hope he can clear things up for us.”
I directed Stephen to the private hospital, and we easily found a parking space near the building. After we climbed out, Stephen and I walked inside and were shown upstairs and to Lawrence’s room by a nurse.
“Here we are,” he said, giving us a smile and a nod before he left us to it.
I knocked on the door and waited for Alicia to call us in. When she did, I stepped in first, waving a hand towards Stephen.
“This is DI Stephen Huxley,” I said. Alicia looked slightly intimidated by Stephen’s big bulk but relaxed when he gave her a friendly smile.
“Nice to meet you both,” he said, looking over at Lawrence, who gave a stiff nod.
We took seats beside Lawrence’s bed. “Can you fill us in on what happened?” I asked, looking between the aunt and nephew.
When Lawrence didn’t speak up, Alicia sighed. “I wasn’t actually here,” she said tightly, looking guilty. “Work held me up, and I only arrived an hour or so ago.”
I made a note of that in my notebook, wondering whether Lawrence’s mum had deliberately chosen to visit when her sister wouldn’t be there, or if that had been a lucky, or unlucky, coincidence.
“So she only spoke to you, Lawrence?” I asked the teenager.
“Obviously,” he muttered.
I held back a sigh. “What did she say?”
“Not really any of your business.”
I raised my eyebrows. This wasn’t a side of Lawrence I’d seen yet, and I hoped it at least meant that he was feeling better. Alicia looked slightly flustered, her cheeks going red.
“Lawrence,” she said softly.
“Was it private, then?” I asked Lawrence.
He hesitated. “No.”
“Did she seem well?”
“Fine.”
“And did she say why she’s been missing for a month?” I asked, my voice perhaps sharper than it should have been.
Lawrence clenched his jaw. “She’s been busy,” he said, twisting the last word in a way that made it obvious he didn’t believe it. He was angry at her, understandably so.
I hesitated, wondering how might be best to approach this. Stephen stepped in to ask, “She must have a good reason to stay away.” His voice was gentler than mine had been, and I glanced at him. He gave me a look which said ‘trust me’, and I did, staying quiet.
Lawrence’s face flickered between several emotions, too quickly to read. “I guess.”
Stephen and I glanced at each other when Lawrence didn’t say anymore. I wondered whether Lawrence’s mum hadn’t told him much at all.
“What about your dad? Did she say where he is?” I asked cautiously, remembering how Lawrence had asked for his father when we’d last talked.
All of a sudden, Lawrence’s face crumpled. He was fighting it, but there was grief written all over him. I exhaled heavily, already knowing the answer.
“She said he’s dead,” he said brokenly. I glanced over to Alicia and found her looking drained and pained, but not surprised. Either Lawrence had already told her this, when she’d turned up, or else she’d already guessed.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, Lawrence.”
He turned to glare at me. “You swore you wouldn’t give up looking for him,” he snapped. “Maybe my mum’s wrong. Maybe he’s fine. So you’ll keep looking, won’t you?” Anger and vulnerability warred in his face.
I nodded. “Yes, we’ll keep looking. I keep my promises.”
He exhaled heavily and fell back against his pillows, looking exhausted. “She said she wanted revenge for his death,” he said flatly, staring into the middle distance. “That’s why she couldn’t stay.” He swallowed. “I don’t believe her, though.”
“No?” I said, looking up from my notebook.
His lips twisted. “She doesn’t care that much.”
I kept still, processing that. “People can seem like they don’t-” I started carefully.
He cut me off, “You didn’t live there, you don’t know anything about it.”
“Alright,” I agreed. “Why do you think your mum’s staying away, if you don’t believe-?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped, angry again. “She treats me like a kid, doesn’t tell me anything.”
There was a heavy beat of silence, before Stephen leaned forwards. In any other situation, it might have been comical how big he looked sitting on the plastic hospital chair.
“Did she say how she planned to get this revenge?” Stephen asked quietly. “Does she know who did it?”
Lawrence shrugged his narrow shoulders. “If she does, she didn’t tell me.”
“Okay.” I sat back, turning over what he’d told us. It certainly further complicated the figure of Ellie Wooding in my mind, and I felt like I couldn’t quite get a pin on her. I would’ve dearly liked to get her in one of our interview rooms and ask her some searching questions. “And she didn’t say where she was-”
“No.” Lawrence’s face was set with anger, and I could tell that he was done.
“Just one last question,” I said apologetically. “Can you tell me what she was wearing? What she looked like?”
Lawrence clenched his jaw again. “You’ve seen pictures of her, haven’t you? Check the bloody cameras or-”
“Lawrence,” Alicia said, quiet but firm. He looked over at her. “The sooner you answer, the sooner they’re done here, okay?”
He rolled his eyes, releasing a heavy breath. But he did respond to what I’d asked, “She was in jeans and this, ugly, dark hoodie,” he said. “Her hair was shorter. All cut off. Blond like usual.” He shrugged.
“Thank you,” I said, and after a glance over at Stephen to check that he didn’t have any burning questions of his own, I stood up. Alicia stepped out with us as we left Lawrence’s room. I was glad, because I appreciated the chance to talk to her without Lawrence’s listening ears.
“Thank you for your help,” I told her.
She gave a small nod. “I had no idea she was visiting,” she said immediately, a frown at her forehead.
“You don’t seem as… pleased by the news,” I noted, hoping I wasn’t too insensitive.
But she just looked tired. “I was convinced she was fine as soon as I saw that video of yours,” she said. “But her being fine and dropping by like this for no more than twenty minutes?” She shook her head, looking almost as angry as her nephew. “How can she do that to him?
He was kidnapped for a month, a month. And, if she really is off on some revenge mission, does she really think that’s more important than her son? He needs her, Christ’s sake.”
She took a breath and met my eyes, looking pained. “Especially if his father is dead,” she added quietly. “They were close, you know? How she could have told him that and then… left. It’s cruel.”
“People act badly when they’re grieving,” I said quietly.
Alicia nodded. “I know.” She pressed her lips together, looking upset, confused, and angry all at once.
“You’ll let us know if she comes back again?” I said, wanting to be certain. “Or if she tries to contact you? She’s not in trouble,” I added, “we just need to talk to her.”
She nodded. “Of course. Thanks for coming by.”
We bid her goodbye and left her to return to her nephew. Stephen’s brow was furrowed, and I knew that he was thinking like a parent, unable to understand how Ellie Wooding could have left her son.
“Everyone’s different,” I reminded him. “It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s, like, evil, or doesn’t love Lawrence.”
“It’s cold, though,” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It is. I’m glad he’s got his aunt and uncle, at least.”
We walked the rest of the way to reception in silence, where I paused, waiting until a receptionist was free to talk to me.
“Hi,” I said, pulling out my badge and introducing Stephen and me. “A patient staying here is involved in a case,” I told her. “And a woman visited him today, his mother.”
The receptionist’s eyebrows rose. “And how can I help?” she asked, uncertain.
“We need to ask her a few questions.” I pulled out my phone and found a picture of her on the web, standing next to her husband for a charity gala. I’d already looked at the picture several times, and read the article, when I’d been reading up on her, and showed the receptionist the picture now. “This is her. Her name is Ellie Wooding, have you got a record of her signing in today?”
The hospital required visits to sign a book before they were shown up by a nurse. The receptionist obligingly fetched the book from under her desk and opened it on the counter to today’s date.
I ran my finger down the page, looking for Mrs Wooding’s name and then, when I couldn’t find it, a woman’s name around the time that Lawrence had said his mother visited.
“Now you mention it,” the receptionist said thoughtfully. I’d put my phone down on the counter, and she was looking at it. “I do remember her.”
I looked up. “Yeah? Do you remember what name she used?”
The woman wrinkled her nose. “You know what? I think I do.” She took the book back and ran her eyes over the pages. “Here, this one. Livia Small.”
“Did she stand out in some way?” I asked, curious that the receptionist had remembered one woman amongst the many that had already gone through reception today.
“Yes,” she said decisively. “She held herself proudly, you know, and her accent was precise, upper class. But she was wearing a jacket with a hood, like the ones from Primark.” I could tell what she thought of that from the tone of her voice, but kept my opinion to myself. “People who come here tend to dress better than that, you understand?”
I nodded. This place was expensive and attracted clientele who were wealthy enough to have personal shoppers.
“Thank you for that,” I said. I’d made a note of the name and time Mrs Wooding had visited. “You’ll tell the other staff and be sure to call us if she turns up again?” I pulled out a card from my dwindling supply and handed it over.
“Absolutely, officer.”
A thought occurred to me. “Do you have cameras covering the car park?”
She hesitated. “I expect so, but I couldn’t say for sure.”
“Could you bring someone here who would know? Security?”
She did so, and Stephen and I ended up there another twenty minutes or so as we waited for the security officer to show up, and then asked him about the camera footage. He promised to send it over to the station email, and I thanked him.
Finally, Stephen and I were free to head out into the fresh air, which the spring sunshine had warmed pleasantly.
“Nice to be out of there,” Stephen said quietly.
I glanced over to him. It struck me why he might’ve been a bit quiet when we were speaking to Lawrence.
“Hell, Stephen, sorry, I didn’t think.”
He gave me a smile. “It’s fine. I’m not fragile.”
“I know you’re not fragile,” I said, “you’re built like a tank. But you’re allowed to not fancy going to a hospital ‘cus of,” I sighed, “everything.”
“I know,” he said. “And I could’ve said I wanted to stay at the station, but I chose to come. Chill out, okay?”
“Alright, alright.” We climbed back into the car, me driving this time. “Back to the station, then,” I said, more to myself than Stephen, and pulled out of the car park and onto the road back into York’s centre, which was busy with commuters beginning to head off home.
“Nice night for a run,” Stephen commented.
I sent him a look of surprise. “You’re planning on running? And you expect me to believe you’re okay?”
He cracked up. “Don’t be daft,” he laughed. “I meant nice weather for you, you twit.”
I huffed. “Got my hopes up there.”
“Aw, man, you badly need a running partner so you’ll give up on me joining you.”
I squeezed the steering wheel, my smile slipping away at that. I was silent for long enough that Stephen sent me a confused look.
“What did I say?”
“Nothing,” I sighed. “It’s in the past.” My last case at my old station in Lockdale had involved investigating the violent and unnatural death of my running partner, and I had no desire to drag up painful memories today.
The car radio buzzed, saving me from a further grilling from Stephen, and he sent a final glance in my direction before he picked up. The traffic got suddenly busy, and I had to focus on the road as I worked the car around the busy roundabout and winding streets.
By the time the road had cleared up again, Stephen was done on the radio, and I turned to look at him. “What was that?” I asked. “I didn’t catch it.”
“Gaskell wants us back,” he said. “Any idea what that’s about.”
I hummed. “That’ll be the postmortem, I reckon,” I said grimly.
Stephen was silent for a long moment. “It’s going to be Lawrence’s dad, isn’t it?”
I sighed. “I hope not.” I didn’t sound remotely convinced of that, even to my own ears.
Pulling up outside Hewford, we didn’t talk as we headed directly over to Gaskell’s office. Stephen knocked on the door, and I followed him in when Gaskell called us in.
He took one look at our serious faces and gave us a nod. “You’ve guessed what this is about.”
“Reckon so, sir,” I said.
He gestured for us to sit down and pushed a folder towards us. I flipped it open and instinctively winced at the pictures there. They showed a semi-decomposed corpse lying on a white table. Further pictures showed close-ups of different body parts, but I skipped past them for now and skimmed the report with Stephen leaning over to read along with me.
My stomach sunk when I got to the body’s ID, even as I’d been expecting it, and Stephen sat back in his chair.
“The husband’s dead, the kid was kidnapped for a month, and the wife’s missing,” Gaskell said, as I continued to read the report. “And now I hear that there’s the possibility of another kid having been taken?”
I nodded distractedly, before I pulled my attention away from the report and back to Gaskell.
“Actually, sir, Mrs Wooding isn’t exactly missing. She visited her son today at the hospital, but didn’t hang around.”
Gaskell’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Yeah. So she’s ali
ve, but God knows where, right now. We’re trying to track her down.”
Gaskell released a breath. “Well,” he said heavily, “you’ve got my support, and other officers at your disposal, if you need it.”
“Thanks, sir,” I said, my head whirring with thoughts. “We’ll get Mr Wooding’s sister-in-law to confirm the ID formally.”
“Good.” Gaskell nodded in approval, before he looked over at Stephen. “And you, Huxley, will we be expecting you in tomorrow?”
Stephen pulled an apologetic expression. “I’m not entirely sure, I’m sorry, sir. I haven’t discussed it with my wife yet.” He glanced over at me. “It might be a half-day, or I might be staying at the hospital.”
Gaskell looked understanding. “Let me know, then. We wish the best for her, of course.”
Stephen nodded, a little awkward. “Appreciate that, sir.”
We headed out soon after and flopped down into our chairs. “Feels like it’s been a long day,” Stephen said.
“Ain’t over yet,” I pointed out. I pulled myself up and reluctantly picked up the phone.
“You want me to do that?” Stephen said, giving me a sympathetic look.
“I’ve got it,” I said, though I appreciated his offer. No officer enjoyed asking a grieving relative or friend to identify the body of someone they’d known, especially when the body was in a state like Mr Wooding’s. I knew the staff at the morgue would make the process as humane as possible, but it was still difficult. It was part of the necessary process, though, and something that had to be done, so I picked up the phone and called Alicia. At least it wouldn’t be Lawrence who had to see it, I thought. At least there was that.
Thirteen
Despite the interviews they’d already given, I wanted the chance to speak to the missing girl’s parents myself. Their contact details were already in the system, and I called them almost as soon as I arrived at the station, still warm from my post-run shower.
They picked up almost immediately, and the sound of Mrs Brown’s worried voice sent a pang through my heart. They were clearly hoping for good news, but I had none to give them.
The Stolen Children Page 11
