Hush Little Baby (DC Beth Chamberlain)

by Jane Isaac

  ‘This runs alongside the rugby ground to Windmill Avenue,’ he said as they climbed out of Beth’s car. ‘People use it to walk their dogs.’

  She followed him along a tarmacked pathway that punctuated the scrubland. Through gaps in the branches she could see the rugby ground to her left. Bare tree branches reached across and entwined at the top and Beth could see it would make for a pleasant walk, especially in summer. The wire fencing around the ground was broken in places and Martin led her in and out of it, checking for sightings of anyone sleeping rough on the bank, but the area was empty and surprisingly clear of litter.

  Martin walked up a little further. They were fifty yards or so from the road, when he nudged Beth and pointed. She squinted through the scrub to see a tiny brown tent pitched in a clearing, beneath a circle of sycamores and oaks.

  An icy gust of wind hit them as they approached, taking Beth’s breath away. She shivered. It was hard to imagine how people managed to live under a thin piece of canvas, with no bricks and mortar for shelter, in these wintry temperatures.

  The tent was zipped to the floor.

  ‘Scott!’ Martin called. He waited a couple of seconds. There was a rustle inside and then it went quiet. ‘Scott, it’s Martin here, PC Callaghan. I know you’re in there. I need to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Not interested,’ a voice croaked.

  ‘At least he’s compos mentis,’ Martin said in a low voice. ‘Always a good start.’

  ‘Don’t make me come in there.’

  With the stench of urine and whisky emitting from the tent, Beth was hoping he was coming out because there was no way she fancied going in.

  Martin reached forward, about to tug the zip when it was pulled down and a pair of eyes looked out. Thick wedges of dark hair poked out of the sides of a navy beanie hat. He blinked at the daylight, still covering his mouth with the tent. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half ten, give or take.’

  Another groan.

  ‘How long have you been here, Scott?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Is that what you came to ask?’

  ‘No, we have some questions.’

  ‘Are you Scott Owen?’ Beth said.

  The man looked across at her shiftily. ‘Why? Who wants to know?’

  ‘Because if you are, we have some news about your family.’

  ‘Oh, not this again. I already told that bloody journo. I’m nothing to do with Alicia Owen.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘He thinks I’m the uncle of the kid that went missing. Keeps tracking me down, offering me money to answer questions for his damn book.’

  ‘Did you take his money?’ Martin asked.

  ‘I might have done. The first time. Biggest mistake I ever made, mind you. Can’t get rid of the bugger now.’

  ‘But you are Scott Owen?’

  The man rolled his eyes. ‘It’s the name I’ve been using for a few years, yeah. The second biggest mistake.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means, I don’t give out my real name. Look, I chose this life. I don’t claim benefits, don’t bother anyone. Why can’t you all leave me alone?’

  ‘What’s your date of birth?’ Beth asked.

  ‘I’m not giving it to you. And, since I’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve no reason to ask for it.’ He glared across at her defiantly.

  ‘Scott, I understand you don’t want to be found,’ Beth said. ‘If you are related to Alicia though, we need to talk to you about the case. It’s important.’

  ‘I just told you, didn’t I? It’s not me.’ At that moment, he shifted position and the zip slipped down a few inches, exposing more of his face

  Beth stared at his upper lip. It was bare, the beard and moustache recently removed. There was a little regrowth, but certainly no sign of the harelip scar. It couldn’t be the same guy.

  ‘Now, I’d like to get some kip,’ he said. And with that he zipped up his tent.

  *

  Beth and Martin were quiet on the way back up the track. Could this be a coincidence? That this man had taken Scott’s name to protect his own identity? And, if that was the case, where was the real Scott Owen? Beth was pondering this, and almost at the car when Nick called. He didn’t bother with preamble. ‘The labs have got the DNA report on the test with Marie Russell,’ he said. ‘They’ve had it since yesterday. Apparently, it’s been sitting on someone’s desk.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s a match. Looks like our child belonged to Marie Russell.’

  ‘Right,’ Beth said. She passed along her search results. ‘I’m heading back now,’ she said. ‘I might as well call in and see the Russells on my way. I’ll call you when I’m done.’

  *

  He listened to the rain drops pitter patter on the roof. Watched them gather on the portholes and trail down the glass, harmonising with the trickling notes of Wagner playing in the background.

  The boat rocked gently as it pulled and tugged on the mooring ropes.

  He’d sat back and watched the police investigation unfurl, following their movements. Giving them a chance to interview witnesses, review the old file, do their legwork. Once again, the police were losing touch, letting it slip through their fingers.

  The leather sofa squeaked as he rested back, took a sip of whisky and surveyed his surroundings. It was nice here. Not a sound apart from the occasional boat passing, the rain, the crows cawing above. He had food, shelter: a bedroom and a separate bathroom, his own kitchen, a comfortable lounge area. More than he’d ever had. It was the kind of home he’d choose. Transient, mobile. Different views every day. Shame things were about to change.

  The music rose to a crescendo, filling the boat in a dramatic tidal wave of instruments. He drew a deep breath and swirled the whisky in his glass. Twisted his neck out to the side until the cartilage gave a loud crack. He needed to relish his final days of luxury. Because very soon it would be time to shake things up. And shake things up he would. Good and proper.

  36

  Marie was in the kitchen, scrubbing the red wine stain out of her white shirt when the doorbell sounded. She glanced at the clock. Almost 2 p.m. Vic was at the school with Zac. She’d considered keeping her son at home today, to give the gossip a chance to die down, but Zac insisted on going. He was playing football against Brixworth School, a special seasonal match this afternoon he’d been looking forward to for ages. The altercation yesterday, long since forgotten in his youthful mind. Vic was vehement in his support and this was one issue on which Marie didn’t have the strength to argue. ‘Kids have arguments,’ he’d said. ‘Zac’s not one for grudges. The longer he leaves it, the worse it’ll be.’ She’d reluctantly acquiesced, but it didn’t stop her worrying about how her son’s day was going. Ordinarily, she’d be there too, cheering Zac on from the sideline, but after the events of the past few days they’d agreed it would be better if she stayed home.

  The doorbell sounded again. She dried her hands, desperately hoping this wasn’t another problem at school. She was surprised to find the detective at the door – she hadn’t phoned to say she was coming.

  Beth gave her a gentle smile as she invited her in and enquired how she was feeling today. Her cheeks were reddened from the wind that had picked up outside and was now whistling down the side of the house. She took off her jacket, followed Marie through to the kitchen. ‘Is Vic home?’ she asked, her eyes darting to the ceiling.

  ‘No, he’s watching Zac play football.’ Marie held her gaze. She seemed more formal this afternoon. None of the easy warmth she usually exuded. ‘There’s some news, isn’t there?’ she asked.

  ‘I do have something to tell you. I’d rather wait until your husband’s home.’

  Apprehension gripped Marie. ‘Tell me now.’

  ‘I think it would be better—’

  ‘Please?’ The word escaped breathlessly. She’d waited so long for this moment, there was no sense in prolonging the agony.

  The detective gestu
red towards the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Shall we sit down?’

  Marie sunk into the chair opposite. The cold wood seeped through her denims. ‘What is it?’

  ‘We’ve received the results of the DNA test. I can confirm that there is a match between the baby and your sample.’

  ‘It’s definitely Alicia?’

  ‘It certainly appears so.’

  A sharp intake of breath. The room blurred around her. She blinked twice, steadying her vision. For so many years she’d longed for news and now it came, now she had confirmation, her brain refused to process the words. It was as if they’d been spoken in a foreign language. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. I’m sorry.’

  She covered her face, shoulders trembling as the tears came, bleeding through her fingers, spotting the table in front. An arm was placed around her shoulder. Soothing words uttered. But she couldn’t decipher them, drowned out as they were by the intermittent hum of a drill nearby. The drill continued, the sound rising and falling as she wept. It wasn’t until she removed her hands from her face and paused that she realised it wasn’t a drill at all; the hum was coming from her.

  Running water. A glass placed on the table in front of her. She gulped it down, the cold liquid cascading through Marie’s insides, sharpening her senses. Grabbed a tissue from the box that appeared in front of her and blew her nose. For so many years she’d been on tenterhooks, awaiting news of her baby. Speculated over how she would feel – if Alicia was still alive; if they found her dead. Relief? Anger at what her child had been through? Yet, right now all she felt was a displacement in her chest, as if something had chipped off inside.

  ‘What about Daniel’s results?’ she asked tentatively.

  The detective gave her an odd look. ‘They’re not through yet. We’ll speak with him later. What time is Vic due back?’

  ‘Not for a while.’ She dabbed her eyes with the tissue.

  ‘I’ll stay with you until he gets here.’

  *

  Beth switched on the light. Half an hour had passed since she’d delivered the news to Marie. The room was dimming, the murky clouds outside making for a gloomy afternoon. She needed to get back and check on things at the office, but Marie was in no condition to be left alone. She was just thinking about asking if there was anyone else who could sit with her, her neighbour maybe – she had mentioned an elderly neighbour once or twice, they sounded close – when her phone rang. It was Nick.

  ‘Do you mind if I take this?’ she asked, angling her head towards the back door. Marie gave a nod of approval and Beth slung her jacket over her shoulders, moved outside and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Everything okay?’ she said to Nick in a low voice. ‘I’m with Marie Russell.’

  ‘How did she take the news?’

  Beth glanced through the window at the woman’s hunched frame, elbows on the table, staring at the fresh tissue in her hands. ‘I think she’ll be okay. I’m waiting for her husband to come home, then I’ll head back to the office.’

  ‘We’ve received Daniel Owen’s DNA results.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Beth took another look through the window. Marie was wringing the tissue in her hands, over and over. She didn’t want to leave her for long.

  ‘There’s no match.’

  ‘What?’ She dragged her gaze away.

  ‘The DNA doesn’t match.’

  ‘Could there be a mistake?’

  ‘I’m told not. Daniel Owen isn’t Alicia’s father.’ She could hear a distant voice calling him. ‘Listen, I have to go. See what you can find out from Marie Russell, and tread carefully. This opens up a whole new line of enquiry.’

  Beth ended the call and shivered. The temperature was dropping rapidly, mirroring the ailing light. She stared down the bare garden. If Daniel Owen wasn’t Alicia’s father, then who was? There was never any question over paternity in the original investigation, although that was before they had a body to test against. She ran through her early conversations with Marie. The fidgets. The unease. The way she’d pressed for someone to look out for Daniel. She’d assumed she was concerned for her family, her former partner. And she was, but for a whole different reason. No wonder she’d been jittery. No wonder she’d shown so much interest in Daniel’s DNA results. If she’d slept with someone else around the time the twins were conceived, she must have had doubts about paternity. Why hadn’t she mentioned it earlier?

  Back in the kitchen, Marie was still at the table. Her face was puffy, eyes fixed in space.

  Beth slipped off her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. Gently does it. She needed to play this one carefully. Even if Marie knew or suspected Daniel wasn’t the twins’ father, she’d kept it to herself and let everybody assume he was.

  ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee?’ Beth asked.

  Marie shook her head. The glass in front of her was empty. Beth refilled it, placed it back on the table and slid into the seat opposite.

  ‘Do you feel up to talking?’ Beth asked. ‘I have some more questions for you.’

  Marie stared ahead and said nothing.

  ‘As you are aware, we took a DNA sample from Daniel the other day, to test against Alicia,’ Beth said slowly. Marie froze.

  She knows, thought Beth. ‘The results have just come back. And they didn’t match with the child.’

  Marie’s eyes widened. She looked like she was going to be sick. ‘What?’

  ‘There was a direct match with your DNA. This is your baby. But it isn’t Daniel’s. Daniel isn’t the child’s father.’

  Her eyes bulged, though her gaze was still averted. She wouldn’t meet Beth’s eye. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes. He’s a twin. She’s a twin. I don’t have any twins in my family.’

  ‘That doesn’t prove paternity. I’m sorry, Marie, I have to ask you who Alicia’s biological father is?’

  Marie’s jaw tightened. There were so many parts of this case, tiny areas, that couldn’t be explained or didn’t make sense. Like the ease with which a stranger had clicked the car seat off the pram. Surely, you’d only attempt something like that if you had a pretty good idea how it worked. Which raised the dirty question again: had she killed her own daughter and tried to cover her tracks and, if so, who helped her? Who hid the pram that day while she was in the supermarket? Had she been play acting all along, fooling them?

  ‘Who else did you have relations with when Liam and Alicia were conceived?’ Beth asked.

  The silence lingered long enough for a cloud to flicker over Marie’s face. A hint of terror behind her eyes. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said eventually.

  ‘What is it?’ Beth wasn’t leaving until she had an answer to her question. ‘Was it Vic?’

  ‘No! I told you, we didn’t have an affair. Not while I was still with Daniel.’

  ‘I’ll need to take down names,’ Beth said. ‘Contact details of everyone you had sex with around the time the twins were conceived.

  Tears glazed Marie’s eyes. ‘There’s only one.’

  37

  Marie struggled to control the tremor in her hands as she lifted the mug. After all these years, she should feel relieved that she had some answers. But instead her worst fears were being fired at her, one by one, and she had no idea how to deal with them. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  She’d felt faint after the DNA revelation, her head woozy and the tea the detective had made her did nothing to calm her shattered nerves. How could this come back to haunt her after all this time?

  ‘Why don’t you start by telling me how you met?’ Beth asked.

  Tea sloshed around in the mug, her hands continuing to shake as she took another sip and placed it back down, casting her mind back. ‘Daniel and I got married before Mum left for Australia, while all the family were still together, and Daniel moved into Gran’s with me. Somewhere to stay while we saved for a house.’ A brief smile touched her lip as she pictu
red her gran, tiny and mouse-like, white hair clipped back from her face, making them eggs and bacon before work. She loved having them there: laundering their clothes, cooking them a meal when they came home from work.

  ‘Gran was a staunch Catholic. I was raised as a Catholic, but Mum wasn’t really interested. We only went to services at Christmas, Easter; the occasional wedding. Gran went to church every Sunday; Father Bryan, the priest, was like family to her. He often came for dinner, much to Daniel’s annoyance – he wasn’t particularly religious back then, it was difficult enough for him to suffer a full Catholic wedding ceremony.’ A cold stone wedged itself in her chest. ‘Father Bryan was charismatic and loyal to his parishioners. Always on the end of the phone. Popped around at the drop of a hat if they needed him. Gran and he, they were always trying to encourage me to “join the church family”. Daniel played football on a Sunday morning, so I started going along with Gran during that last year of her life.’ She could almost feel her gran’s arm slip through hers as they walked up the pathway to the church, see her chest puffed with pride. ‘It made her happy, showing me off to all her friends.’

  She paused, the memories dislodging the lid on her well of grief.

  ‘Gran died eighteen months after we married.’ Marie met Beth’s gaze. ‘I remember it like it was yesterday: her standing in the hallway on the phone, talking to Mum, their usual weekly catch up. We didn’t do FaceTime back then and she refused to have “one of those hands-free instruments”, as she called them, convinced that others would be able to listen to her conversations. Daniel was watching television in the front room. I was in kitchen, making coffee. One minute she was standing there, chatting about Mrs Gibbs from over the road and her new granddaughter, the next I heard a thud, rushed into the hall and she was on the floor.’

  Sadness trickled through her afresh. ‘“A massive heart attack,” the doctors said.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was awful afterwards. There was so much to sort out. Daniel and me, we were just kids. Gran had taken us under her wing. She left us the house, so we had somewhere to live. I struggled though, what with all the paperwork and organising the funeral… Mum was an only child and with her being so far away, it was difficult.