by Jane Isaac
A sandwich board at the side of the road titled Northants News caught his eye. The headline, Is it Alicia?
The sound of his brakes squeaking filled the air as he pulled onto the curb and climbed out.
A bell rang over the door as he entered the shop. A bored-looking assistant behind the counter flipped through a magazine while twiddling strands of burgundy hair between the thumb and forefinger of her free hand. An Asian man was on his knees at the end of an aisle, filling shelves. The voices of Bon Jovi sang merrily in the background, a song he couldn’t place.
He wandered past the assistant to the other side of the counter. Ignored the lines of chocolate and confectionary and made for the news stand.
The shop’s fluorescent lighting bounced off the glossy magazines. He bypassed the covers featuring celebrity photos, Royals on engagements and brushed the newspapers, flicking across the headlines until he found the pile of Northants News, and then pulled out a copy.
The page was creased, the corners dog-eared where it had been bunched up in the middle of a pile. He smoothed out the front page and stared at a black and white photo of an empty pram beside another picture of a forensic tent, close to the edge of the building site where he had been yesterday.
The line beneath it read, Have they found baby Alicia?
Blood fizzed in his veins.
Yesterday, the remains of a young child were found on the building site at the end of Boughton Green Road. Detective Chief Inspector Lee Freeman confirmed they are of a young child, possibly a baby.
Forty-three-year-old builder Aaron Dawson was working on the building site yesterday morning when he noticed an arm among the rubble…
Engrossed in the article, he didn’t see the man approach. Didn’t hear him speak. A prod on his shoulder made him start.
‘Are you going to buy that?’ It was the Asian man who’d been re-stocking the shelves when he walked in.
He glared down at his skinny frame, unspeaking. How dare he?
The shop assistant shrunk back at the intensity of his gaze.
The bell over the door tinkled. A shopper entered, her eyes falling straight on them. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene. Not yet. The timing wasn’t right.
He pushed past the assistant, approached the till, pulled a few pound coins out of his pocket and dropped them onto the counter.
He was out of the store and back in his car, making a U-turn in the road, before they could offer him change.
15
The grey mood of the garden crept into the cinema room.
‘Before we start, can I ask you to close your eyes?’ Beth asked.
Marie stiffened. It was one thing, talking through the account of losing her daughter, reiterating her story, but quite another doing it with her eyes closed. With her eyes closed she couldn’t gauge the reaction of her interviewer and she felt bare, vulnerable.
The detective seemed to sense her uneasiness. ‘I know this might seem unusual but it blocks out distractions, helps to concentrate the mind. It can sharpen the memory too, especially when an incident happened some time ago.’
Marie squirmed. The sofa suddenly felt uncomfortable. ‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘The beginning of the day would be useful.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She wriggled again. Reluctantly closing her eyes, tucking her hands in her lap. ‘The morning was quiet. Vic came round to deliver some new hubcaps for Daniel’s car.’
‘Vic?’
‘Yes. He used to deliver car parts for a living. That was his first job from school.’ She pictured a younger skinnier version of her husband, the slick dark hair, the bony face. ‘He moved through the business. Now owns a company supplying car parts.’
‘What time did he arrive?’
Marie could see the grandfather clock in her late gran’s front room, with the chime that no longer worked. ‘Around eleven. He didn’t stay long. Dropped them off and left almost immediately. I was just putting Alicia down.’
‘What about afterwards?’
Marie’s heart pitted. It wasn’t as if she had to dig deep. She’d relived this day, over and over, so many times in her mind. ‘I walked up to the bank of shops on Link Road and stopped at the butcher’s to get some gammon. Gammon was Daniel’s favourite.’ She could see it all now. The empty street, the warmth of the sun on her arms. It was all uphill, she was out of breath by the time she got there. ‘Alicia was quiet in her car seat when we arrived.’
‘Fixed to the pram,’ Beth checked.
‘Yes. I didn’t want to disturb her, she looked peaceful. So, I left her outside asleep. I could easily see the pram from the counter, was only gone for a minute. It was the middle of August, the school opposite the shops was on holiday and the whole place was sleepy.’
‘What happened next?’
Marie placed a hand to her forehead. The heat of her skin soothed her tense muscles and shielding her closed eyes somehow made her feel less exposed. ‘I left the butcher’s, wandered further along to the supermarket at the end. Inside the door they had a bucket of Jersey new potatoes. Daniel liked new potatoes, especially when they were in season.’ The bucket was green, inviting. She’d wrestled with her conscience. ‘Alicia was still asleep. I thought about snapping the car seat off, taking her inside, but she was getting heavy and I’d struggle with a basket and the seat. And there was no one around.’ A blanket of sadness wrapped itself around her at the memory of Alicia’s pink face, her pursed lips. This was the last time she’d seen her baby, the last time she’d stroked her soft cheek. ‘I figured I’d only be gone for a couple of minutes.’
Tears burned her eyes, forcing them open. She dropped her hand to her lap. ‘I shovelled the potatoes into a bag, looking back towards the door, checking on the pram. Checking again from the next aisle. It was one of those shops with adverts across the windows, I had to peer around the edge to see her clearly. When I reached the till, my view of the street outside was obscured by a stand filled with greetings cards. The assistant was struggling with a new receipt roll. I stepped back, looked around the end of the stand. The sun was strong that day. I’d pulled up the hood on the car seat. I remember thinking I must bring out the parasol next time.’
She recalled a brief discussion with a shop assistant called Carol about the fresh flavour of produce in season. One of those fleeting moments you share with strangers, a pleasantry to make you smile, quickly forgotten. Only this time it wasn’t forgotten. She could still repeat every word of the exchange, feel every beat of the seconds that passed.
‘When did you discover the pram was missing?’ Beth asked.
‘After I paid, I went straight outside.’ She met Beth’s gaze. ‘I couldn’t believe it. Questioned myself at first. Thought maybe I’d parked her around the corner or wheeled her into the shop. Or that someone had moved her out of the sun.’
Heat rose in her chest, creeping up her neck as she was transported back. Running up and down like a screaming banshee. Frantically checking the other shops. Assistants spilling out of the stores. A few residents emerging from houses nearby. It was like a whirlwind, a swirling vortex of voices and bodies charging about, merging together in din.
The uniformed officer arriving. The discovery of the pram. And then she knew. She knew she’d lost her.
Tears dripped down Marie’s face. She grabbed another tissue, pressed it to her cheeks. ‘It’s not true what they said, you know, in the papers. About me not bonding with Alicia, not wanting her. It was tough, a difficult time. But I didn’t neglect Alicia. If anything, I neglected myself.’
Marie wiped her face, her chest tensing. This wasn’t only about her and her family. There was someone else involved. Someone who’d been searching, seeking answers from the day Alicia disappeared. ‘Have you spoken with Daniel yet?’ His name stuck like a fish bone in the back of her throat. So many years had passed since they’d spoken, so much heartache.
‘I saw him yesterday evening,’ the detective said. ‘Explained t
he situation and took a DNA sample.’
Marie’s heart thumped. ‘Why did you need his sample if you already have mine?’
‘It’s routine, in cases such as these, to take a sample from both parents.’
‘How was he?’
‘As well as can be expected. Cara was with him.’
An engine pulled up on the drive, a car door banged shut.
Marie wiped her face again and sniffed, shoving the damp tissue up her sleeve. By the time Vic marched into the room, she seemed brighter.
‘Those journalists have got a bloody death wish,’ he said as he collected their empty mugs. ‘Nearly knocked one of them over as I pulled onto the drive.’ He stopped in his tracks and passed suspicious glances between the two women. ‘What’s going on? Is there some news?’
‘No,’ Beth said. ‘We’ve been talking things through.’ She snapped her notebook shut and stood. ‘I need to get back and check on the press conference,’ she said to Marie. ‘Thank you for your help. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have more information.’
She gave Vic a swift smile as she passed and looked back at Marie. ‘Call me if you need anything. I’m always at the end of the phone.’
*
The reporters lurched forward as the detective emerged from 146 Redland Drive. Shouting questions, holding out microphones in the hope for a snippet of information, a sound bite for their next news piece. Camera flashes filled the air.
He stayed at the back of the crowd and watched the woman take her time on the doorstep, scrolling through her phone, ignoring the voices at the end of the driveway, the pushes and shoves in her peripheral vision. She wore a black suit. A crisp white shirt stretched across her chest. Wispy dark curls escaped from the hair tie at the nape of her neck, fluttering around a petite face with razor-sharp cheekbones. Everything about her – her composure, her calm demeanour, the way she stood, military-style – screamed of police.
As soon as he’d read the article earlier, he’d about-turned and headed to the Russells’, guessing this would be the central focus of the enquiry for now. And he’d been right. It had been so easy to trace their address online. Everything was out there these days, if you knew where to look for it.
He watched her hold out her phone at an angle, as if she was struggling to get signal, and a smile curled the edge of his lip.
It was common practice for the police to photograph crowds gathered at crime scenes, and people outside addresses of interest. Photos would be taken at the building site too and, since this was an old crime, a cold case now re-ignited, they’d feel the need to record who was nearby at every stage of the investigation. Compare the crowds, check to see if any faces without a professional interest cropped up.
Did they really think he was stupid enough to get caught in a photo?
He ducked down, just before the click.
As usual, he was one step ahead.
16
The bank of shops was ghostly quiet that morning. They were situated on a slope, rising up Link Road. Acre Lane with its boxes of 1970s-style semi-detached houses ran along the bottom. Whitehills residential estate, with its mix of terraced housing and bungalows at the top. Set back from the road with a car park out front, the shops faced the playground of Whitehills Primary School opposite. A row of flats above was accessed by a stone staircase at the side. It was in the well of this staircase that Alicia Owen’s pram had been found.
Beth took in the Chinese takeaway, the beauty salon, the pizzeria and grill, the supermarket at the bottom, on the corner. A small arrangement of stores to provide essentials to the nearby houses, saving them from travelling out to the larger shops in Kingsthorpe centre, or beyond. The name over the door of the supermarket had changed, the staff inside were different, but the shop was still located in the same place where Marie claimed her baby, Alicia, had been left on the day she was taken.
Apart from a white van, the car park outside the front of the shops was empty. Beth left her car and wandered across the tarmac. Suddenly her ears were assaulted by the shrieking sounds of children. She turned and watched a group of infants spilling out of the school opposite, gearing up for playtime. She tore her gaze away. The incident happened in August; there wouldn’t have been any children around because the school was closed for the holidays.
Ash Grove, a small side close, led off Link Road along the top end of the shops, a cul-de-sac of modern terraces and semi-detached houses, the end dwellings having a clear view of the car park. The bottom of Link Road fed into Acre Lane, a horseshoe-shaped thoroughfare, running through the estate and linking it with the A5199 at the bottom. Once again, Acre Lane was lined with houses, yet door-to-door questioning had yielded no witnesses to the event. Perhaps they were out at work or away on holiday when Alicia disappeared. The area was practically deserted today; a sleepy bank of shops nestled in the centre of a housing estate.
Beth walked towards the supermarket on the end and imagined Marie arriving, pressing her foot on the pram’s brake and wandering inside. She hovered outside the entrance for several seconds, then walked along the front of the shops towards Ash Grove, taking the route it was assumed Alicia’s abductor had taken.
This exercise had been done countless times before: when the case first broke and when a review team arrived to re-examine the evidence, not to mention at the official reconstruction. But, after poring over the case file and listening to Marie Russell’s account, Beth felt compelled to start from scratch. This was a part of Kingsthorpe she didn’t know well. She’d grown up on the other side of the suburb, and she wanted to get a feel for the area and piece it together with Marie’s account.
The other stores looked empty as she wandered past. At the end, she turned the corner and paused beneath the winding stone staircase leading to the flats above. This is where the pram was found, tucked in the stairwell beneath, out of view of the shopfronts. A stray crisp packet in the corner crackled in the light breeze.
Where did her abductor go next?
She climbed the stairs. A landing at the top ran along the front of the flats. It wouldn’t have been difficult to wheel the pram to the bottom of the staircase and carry the child upstairs. Though there was only one way in, one out. It would have been too risky to take the child there and, anyway, according to the file, every resident of the flats had substantiated alibis for the morning Alicia disappeared.
Beth wandered back downstairs. There was another short series of steps at the bottom, the pedestrian access to Ash Grove. She navigated them. At the top, a Volvo, a Fiesta and a BMW were parked kerbside. She worked through the offender’s potential escape routes.
Turn right at the end of Ash Grove and you’d head through the residential estate of Whitehills towards the A508, which presented the choice of driving into or out of town. Turn left and Acre Lane at the bottom reached down to the A5199 which again offered the same options. Both directions were close to the country and both routes could feasibly be taken to Boughton Green Road. Beth narrowed her eyes. To take a child in broad daylight seemed a drastic move. The car seat, with the child sleeping inside, had been lifted off the pram, taken with her and never been found, along with Alicia’s changing bag. Keeping her would have been a huge risk too. Within hours of her disappearance, photos of the child appeared on every news channel. Everyone was on hyper alert. Anyone noticing a neighbour or someone nearby suddenly acquiring a young child would be suspicious. Which meant they had to kill her and dispose of the body quickly.
She couldn’t imagine anyone carrying a child in a car seat along any of those routes on foot. No, the risk of being seen by a passing motorist or resident would be too high. The original investigation worked on the assumption that the abductor had a motor vehicle, parked nearby, and made off with the child in the car. Ash Grove was where detectives hypothesised Alicia’s abductor had parked. It made sense really. It would have taken seconds to wheel the pram away, tuck it beneath the stairwell, snap off the car seat and climb the steps to a car at the top
.
The incident occurred at 11.30 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, only an hour or so later than today. A car whizzed past, along Acre Lane at the bottom. But apart from that, and the sound of the children playing which had merged into a dull chatter, all was quiet. A couple of drivers at the time, who’d seen the pram parked outside the supermarket, had come forward reporting a fleeting glance; they hadn’t spotted anyone moving the child though.
Beth looked up at the CCTV cameras, beacons above the shop entrances. The advent of cameras made police work so much easier. They didn’t lie, were free from emotion in the midst of a melee, a third eye capturing the scene with remarkable accuracy: the edge of a number plate nearby, the man at the back of the crowd. All potential evidence passing witnesses might miss.
If only there’d been cameras there fifteen years ago.
The investigation team had interviewed witnesses who’d seen Marie Russell with the pram, walking up to the shops, yet none of them had spoken to her. She was another mother out doing her shopping, part of the street scene of the morning. Nobody noticed anyone acting suspiciously nearby.
Marie Russell claimed she hadn’t planned to walk out that morning and visit those shops. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, not even her husband, because she wanted to cook him a surprise dinner. Unless somebody had been watching her for days and weeks, following her movements, it made a planned abduction unlikely.
The dearth of information and witness statements in the file troubled Beth. It seemed the only person in their sights so far with means to kill Alicia was the child’s mother. But, after hearing her account, something about Marie killing her daughter didn’t quite sit with Beth. She switched back to their conversation earlier. This was a painful case, spanning several years. Marie’s initial reluctance to talk about it, to dredge up the painful details was to be expected. Though there was – Beth couldn’t put her finger on it – a strange uneasiness about her. Was she uneasy about going through the details again, the wider effect on her family, or was there something else bothering her?
