Deadly Revenge

by Leigh Russell

  ‘None of this establishes who took the baby, or why,’ Eileen pointed out irascibly. ‘We can theorise until we’re all blue in the face, but we need evidence to show us what happened.’

  The most credible explanation was still that the baby’s biological father had found out about his daughter and had come to the house to claim her, and Jason had then been killed trying to stop the real father from taking Daisy away.

  ‘That makes a kind of sense, but where’s the evidence to support it?’ Eileen repeated, sounding anything but pleased about the way the discussion was going. ‘From no leads at all, we’re suddenly swamped with theories, and awash with a variety of vaguely plausible suspects. We need to know what happened to that baby. We need proof of what went on. And we need to find her soon.’

  David and Jason appeared to have been killed by different people, which meant that, although the victims were closely related, their murders could have been carried out independently of each other. The situation was further complicated by Jason having been killed at around the time Daisy had gone missing.

  ‘We’re going to have to treat these three cases as separate crimes and look into each one rigorously and quite independently. If in the course of our investigations we discover a link between them, so much the better. But let’s not assume anything, please. Evidence before speculation. And Daisy’s disappearance must take precedence over everything else,’ Eileen concluded. ‘To that end, we need to do everything possible to find out the identity of her father, and we need to speak to him urgently.’

  She didn’t add that perhaps Daisy was alive and well and being cared for by her biological father, although everyone in the room must have been nursing that hope.

  As soon as the briefing finished, Geraldine went to speak to Anne who, predictably enough, denied knowing that Jason was not Daisy’s father.

  ‘That’s a preposterous suggestion,’ Anne replied indignantly on being told the truth.

  Sloppily dressed in a faded tracksuit, her hair greasy, she was mourning for her husband, or else pining for her granddaughter. Perhaps both. Geraldine couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, despite her attempts to retain professional distance from Anne’s circumstances.

  ‘I’m not saying Jason wasn’t a good father,’ Geraldine said hurriedly. ‘But we have to pursue every possible avenue in our efforts to find Daisy, and DNA evidence proves that Jason wasn’t your granddaughter’s biological parent.’

  Anne glared at her. ‘Well, I think you should concentrate on looking for whoever killed my husband and not start fabricating nasty stories about my daughter. I’d like you to leave now, please.’

  ‘I’m only telling you the situation –’

  ‘Please leave my house.’

  Annoyed with herself for having mishandled the interview, Geraldine returned to the police station. Somehow, since Ian had come back to live with her, she seemed to be losing her grip at work. Resolving to be more careful, she sat down at her desk.

  ‘You’re looking cheerful,’ Ariadne said. ‘Do you fancy having lunch later?’

  ‘Sure,’ Geraldine replied, although she would have preferred to eat with Ian.

  As it happened, Ian came over as Geraldine and Ariadne sat down together in the canteen.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Ariadne said, moving her tray aside to make room for him at the table.

  Geraldine nodded and smiled happily at him.

  ‘So,’ Ian said, as he stabbed at his food, ‘I read your report, Geraldine. You didn’t get very far with Anne Armstrong, did you?’

  Geraldine shook her head. ‘I’m inclined to think Jessica believed Jason was Daisy’s father. There was no reason why either of her parents would have suspected otherwise. Anne did seem genuinely shocked when I told her Jason wasn’t Daisy’s father.’

  They chatted about the case, but until they came up with some new leads, there was nothing much more to say. Back at her desk, Geraldine scanned through some reports of women Jessica might have encountered. There was a list of women who had attended the same antenatal class as her. All of them had been questioned, but not one had kept in touch with her. Geraldine glanced through a list of mother and baby classes in the area. Jessica’s name did not appear on any of the lists. She looked at the names of women who were looked after by the same health visitor. Without holding out much hope of learning anything new, she decided to speak to her the next day. But first, she had an evening with Ian to enjoy. The aroma from the kitchen was making her mouth water and she realised she was ravenous.

  ‘This must be how normal people live,’ she said, when Ian served her a steak he had cooked.

  He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Normal people? What the hell does that mean?’

  She laughed, embarrassed to admit that she had always felt isolated from other people. The sensation of living behind a glass wall probably had something to do with her subconscious sense of distance from her mother. Growing up, she had been aware that her fair-haired sister closely resembled their mother, while she herself had looked and felt different to them. Learning of her adoption had helped to explain her feelings of alienation from her mother, but she had discovered the truth too late to try to change their relationship. Since her mother’s death, Geraldine had at least been able to strengthen her bond with her adopted sister, Celia, but she felt closer to Ian than she had ever done with anyone else. The feeling was almost too precious, so that sometimes she woke in the night, caught up in her terror of his leaving her again.

  ‘I don’t know what I mean by normal,’ she prevaricated. ‘But I can tell you this steak looks perfect.’

  42

  Geraldine was determined to investigate Jessica’s contacts further, so with that in mind she went to see the health visitor again. Mary Spinner was at home that evening, and she invited Geraldine into her house and offered her some tea.

  ‘Do you know whether Jessica was close to any other young mothers?’ Geraldine asked when they were seated on chintz armchairs in Mary’s neat little front room.

  ‘No one that I was aware of,’ the health visitor replied stiffly. ‘She seemed to want to keep herself very much to herself. She was a strange girl, really.’

  This sounded promising, but when Geraldine pressed her for an explanation of her remark, Mary just repeated that Jessica kept to herself.

  ‘She was only interested in her baby,’ she added. ‘In fact, I’d say she was quite obsessed with her baby. Of course, that’s not uncommon in first time mothers. But –’ she hesitated. ‘She didn’t appear to have anything else in her life. I mean, she had a husband, and she saw a lot of her parents, although it didn’t sound as though they got on that well. She was very introverted; I suppose that’s what I’m trying to say. Introverted to an unusual degree.’

  ‘Would you say she was depressed?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t say so. Not that I was aware of, anyway. But I did encourage her to get out and about and meet other mothers. It’s never a good idea to be isolated with a new baby, especially a first one. I suggested several groups to her, but she seemed very resistant to socialising.’ Mary frowned and fiddled with a button on her pale blue cardigan. ‘I tried more than once to persuade her to go to a mother and baby group. It would have been good for the baby as well as for her. But she simply wasn’t interested. She told me she had friends, but –’ she sniffed, ‘I didn’t altogether believe her. So I persisted and eventually she told me she had joined a group in a local church, but I think she said that just to placate me. Anyway, I decided it was best to leave her to sort herself out. Not everyone wants to be helped,’ she added sourly.

  ‘What church was it?’ Geraldine asked.

  Mary shook her head. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You said she joined a group in a local church. Did she mention which church she went to?’

  ‘I really can�
�t remember. There are so many. I don’t think she told me which one it was.’

  ‘Are you sure? Please, try to remember.’

  But the health visitor shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry. I have an excellent memory for these things, but I really don’t think she gave me the name. She was very private like that.’

  Geraldine spent the next day researching churches in the locality. Starting with the one closest to Jessica’s house, she worked her way through the websites until she found one that ran a weekly mother and baby group. It was within easy walking distance of Jessica’s house. Next she tracked down the organiser, who agreed to meet her at the church that afternoon. There was a sign outside the church: ‘Parent and baby drop-in session with toys and tea in a welcoming, safe environment. Come in and chat to other parents every Tuesday 11am-1pm’.

  The organiser of the group was called Mandy. A confident, well turned-out woman in her twenties, she had a shrill voice and a forceful manner. Geraldine noticed she was holding a folder under her arm.

  ‘Yes, I run the mother and baby group,’ Mandy said. ‘Is there a problem? Only any complaints should strictly speaking come to me in the first instance, and I’m not aware of anything that could require police intervention. We’re all volunteers running the group –’

  ‘No, no, there’s been no complaint. Nothing like that,’ Geraldine hastened to reassure her. ‘We’re interested in having a word with a woman we believe came to your gathering here, at least once. We’re having difficulty tracing her, and we’re hoping you might be able to point us in the right direction.’

  Mandy frowned, but she didn’t remonstrate. ‘Well, come in, and I’ll show you the hall where we hold our meetings. But I’m not sure I can do more than that.’

  Once they were inside, Geraldine showed her a photograph of Jessica.

  ‘Do you recognise her?’

  Mandy frowned. ‘Yes, I think I may have seen her here a couple of times, but I never spoke to her. She wasn’t exactly sociable.’

  That sounded like Jessica.

  ‘She was with another oddball – sorry, another mother who didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. Why would they come here if they didn’t want to join in? We’re a very friendly group of women, and we’re all in the same boat, stuck at home a lot of the time with our babies. Who wouldn’t welcome the chance of a friendly chat?’

  Geraldine felt a frisson of excitement, wondering who the other oddball was, and how well she had known Jessica. She kept her expression impassive as she asked for the other mother’s name.

  Mandy shook her head. ‘Sorry, I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you keep a record of the people who come along?’

  ‘No, only if they are regulars and want to be on our mailing list for notification about dates of meetings, and we have an online second-hand toy exchange. No one makes any money out of it,’ she added quickly. ‘Jessica and her friend didn’t come often enough for me to ask if they wanted to be on the mailing list.’

  Geraldine hid her disappointment.

  ‘Can you describe her?’

  ‘I can do more than that,’ Mandy answered with a bright smile, clearly pleased that she was finally able to help.

  Opening her phone, she scrolled through a long series of photographs until she found the one she was searching for.

  ‘I’ve only got this one of them.’

  Studying the screen, Geraldine saw an image of a group of smiling women. Two women were sitting to one side of the group, away from the others. One of the pair was Jessica. The other was a skinny blonde girl with a frightened expression.

  ‘Can you send me a copy of this?’

  Mandy hesitated.

  ‘I only need the image of those two women.’

  ‘I suppose I could crop it –’

  ‘No, please don’t alter the image in any way. There’s a chance we may be able to isolate one section and enhance it sufficiently, if you send it in its original format.’

  When Mandy continued to hesitate, Geraldine added, ‘If you don’t feel comfortable sending me the image, I can take your phone and –’

  ‘You can’t take my phone!’

  ‘Or you can bring it to the police station yourself. My car’s outside and I can drive you there right away. This needs to be done as soon as possible,’ she added. ‘A child’s welfare could be at stake,’ she added vaguely, ‘so we do need to have that image from you, one way or another.’

  With a sniff, Mandy asked for the address where she could email the photo. With the image safely on her phone and forwarded to the Visual Images, Identifications and Detections Office, with instructions about what she wanted, Geraldine thanked Mandy for her help and took her leave.

  ‘Wait,’ Mandy detained her at the door. ‘What’s this about? It’s not got anything to do with that missing baby, has it?’

  ‘No,’ Geraldine lied.

  It was the quickest way to extricate herself and she was in a hurry to track down Jessica’s companion. The simplest course would have been to ask Jessica directly for details of the unknown woman, but some instinct warned Geraldine to pursue this without telling anyone outside the police team.

  As soon as she was back in her car, she spoke to an officer in the Visual Images, Identifications and Detections Office. ‘I just sent you an image. Are you clear about what I want? I’m interested in the two women sitting on the extreme right of the picture. There are two women sitting apart from the group, and it’s the one on the very end of the row that I need to see more clearly. Can you do something with the image? I know it’s a bit blurred. It was taken on a phone.’

  ‘Leave it with us,’ her colleague replied. ‘I’m sure we can enhance it so you can see her clearly; enough to identify her anyway.’

  43

  The team at the Visual Images, Identifications and Detections Office were as good as their word. Soon after Geraldine arrived back at her desk, they sent her an image of Jessica and another woman seated beside her. Neither of the two women in the picture appeared to be talking, they both looked fairly glum and they were holding babies who looked around the same age. Geraldine studied the image of Jessica’s companion, an emaciated girl with lank blonde hair which she had probably dyed herself, because the dark roots were uneven. She looked fragile, and could have been anorexic, with her stick-like limbs and painfully thin body. Her face was covered in pimples and she had an unhealthy appearance. Geraldine wondered whether she might be a drug addict. Her large pale eyes were her only attractive feature. At a first glance it was difficult to see what smartly-dressed Jessica might have in common with the thin girl, other than their babies possibly being the same age, and the fact that they were both somehow isolated from the group of women who were chatting a few seats away.

  Geraldine wasted no time in organising a team to question every midwife, hospital and local doctor’s surgery in the vicinity, hoping to discover details of Jessica’s companion. Armed with the photograph, Geraldine set off to speak to some local gynaecologists herself. She showed the photograph to every member of the team attached to the maternity unit at the hospital in York, explaining that she was looking for a young woman who had given birth around six or seven months earlier.

  Whoever she asked returned the same answer. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t recognise her.’

  ‘Mothers do sometimes look a bit different when we see them in here,’ one of the gynaecologists added, with an apologetic smile. ‘They’re not always at their best, in terms of grooming.’

  The other members of Geraldine’s team had similar responses to their enquiries. It seemed that Jessica’s friend had not given birth in York. They would have to widen the net if they were going to find the unknown woman who had befriended Jessica. But when Geraldine showed the photograph to Jessica’s health visitor, she finally received a positive response.

  ‘Oh yes, I know who that is,’
Mary said at once. ‘It’s –’ she broke off and paused, frowning.

  Geraldine waited, hiding her impatience.

  ‘Yes, it’s coming back to me. Her name’s Ella,’ the health visitor said at last.

  ‘Ella?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s her other name?’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  Mary went and fetched her laptop.

  ‘Ella Wilson.’ She read out an address. ‘I never forget a face, but names do sometimes escape me. I see so many of these young mothers,’ she explained apologetically. ‘And when I haven’t seen them for a while, it’s easy to forget their names.’

  ‘When did you last see Ella?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her for at least three months.’

  ‘Why not? Has she moved?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that, because I haven’t seen her.’

  ‘But why not?’

  Mary gazed at her solemnly. ‘I haven’t seen her since her baby died. It was a terrible tragedy. A cot death. There was nothing anyone could have done. These things happen – rarely, thank goodness. Of course, the poor woman was in a state. I tried to arrange some support for her, but she didn’t want to know. She sent us away with very firm instructions not to bother her again. I tried a couple of times, but she always turned me away. I had to accept there was nothing more I could do for her, and I haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘Are you sure she lost her baby?’

  Mary gave her a strange look. ‘Of course I’m sure. It’s not the kind of thing you can forget. The poor woman was distraught. But, like I said, she didn’t want any help, at least not from me or any bereavement counsellor. I did try. Such a tragedy.’

  ‘A cot death?’ Geraldine repeated.

  ‘Yes, although Ella wasn’t exactly what you might call a fit mother,’ Mary replied. ‘She refused home visits and she smoked, although she emphatically denied it, and I’m sure she drank, and the baby was small for her age, and always sickly looking without actually being ill.’