by Amy Cross
Figuring she must have been mistaken, she headed back over to the kitchen counter and grabbed the kettle, meaning to fill it so she could have one more cup of tea before bed. To her surprise, however, she found that it was already half-full of water, which made little sense since she knew she'd emptied it just half an hour earlier. She removed the lid and peered inside, and sure enough there was enough water for several more cups, and now she realized the kettle was quite warm too. She found it hard to believe that either her brother or her sister-in-law might have made a cup of tea rather than demanding that one be taken to them, but she supposed that was the only possible explanation.
Setting the kettle back down, she flicked it on and looked at the window, where she saw her reflection.
And then a dark figure moved briefly behind her, reflected in the glass as it stepped into the doorway.
Startled, Margaret turned and looked once again over her shoulder, but the doorway was empty. She waited, convinced that this time she really had spotted someone. She replayed the moment over and over in her mind, and the more she did so, the more she felt certain that the figure had been too thin and small to be Herbert. She also knew that it couldn't have been Diana, either, since the piano-playing hadn't stopped. She remained frozen in place, her mind racing as she thought back to the open door, and slowly a sense of unease began to creep up through her chest.
A burglar.
What if someone had broken into the house?
A moment later, she heard footsteps in the distance. Clear, unambiguous footsteps, followed by the sound of a door slamming. While the kettle began to boil, she headed back to the doorway and peered out once more, and this time she stood for a few seconds and listened to the sounds of the house. And then, as she did so, she glanced down at the stone floor and saw another set of muddy marks. This time she made her way closer and crouched down, examining the marks properly, and she saw that they certainly could be a set of footprints. Reaching down, she brushed a fingertip against the mud and found that it was fresh and wet, as if it had only recently been tracked into the house from somewhere outside in the storm.
With a growing sense of fear, Margaret looked both ways along the dark, empty corridor. And then her heart skipped a beat as she saw that the doll had been moved from the table and was now sitting on a chair.
“Stop that bloody racket!” Herbert shouted suddenly, breaking the silence, and a moment later the piano-playing came to an abrupt halt. “How can I think properly,” he continued, “when I have to deal with this infernal noise? For God's sake, can't a man get some peace in his own home?”
A moment later, there was a loud bumping sound from one of the other rooms, followed by a muffled cry.
Getting to her feet, Margaret hurried along the corridor and through to the conservatory, where she saw to her horror that Herbert had grabbed Diana's arms and was trying to physically haul her off the piano stool. Diana, for her part, was fighting back, desperately trying to twist free while muttering all sorts of curses under her breath, and for a moment the pair of them seemed locked in some hopeless, drunken tussle.
“Seriously?” Margaret asked. “Are you two going to start fighting now?”
“She wouldn't cease this awful noise!” Herbert roared, still trying to drag his wife away from the piano. “And then she was banging about in the study!”
“I never went near your bloody study!” Diana hissed.
“I heard you!”
“I found footprints,” Margaret told them. “I'm worried that -”
“How could I have been in the study,” Diana told Herbert, “if you could hear me playing the piano the whole time? Think about it, you fat-headed pig! How -”
Before she could finish, Herbert succeeded in dragging her off the edge of the stool, and she bumped down onto the rug. As she let out a cry of pain, her husband reached over and slammed the lid down to cover the piano's keys.
“And there'll be no more of that tonight!” he said breathlessly, before spotting the framed photo of the baby and immediately picking it up. “Oh, I should have know this'd be on your mind,” he continued, tilting the photo down on its front. “Maudlin, sentimental clap-trap of the highest order.”
“Give that to me!” Diana sobbed, reaching up to snatch the photo, only for Herbert to slide it out of her reach. “I want it right now!”
“It's not good for you!” he said firmly. “It's not good for anyone.”
“Please,” Margaret said from the doorway, before making her way over to help Diana up from the floor, “let's not have another night like this. Can't the pair of you just go to bed and try to be civilized in the morning? Can't you just stop fighting for one night?”
“I've not the one who needs a lecture,” Herbert replied.
“You're as bad as each other,” Margaret told him. “This whole evening, you've been -”
“Oh, damn it to hell!” he shouted suddenly, turning and throwing the photo across the room until it hit the door-jamb and the glass shattered. The frame clattered to the floor along with hundreds of small shards. “Damn this whole thing!” he continued, pacing over to the cupboard in the corner and pulling the door open. “Don't we keep wine in here too? I thought we kept wine in here. I need to drink. I can't think if I don't. Damn it, sometimes I can't remember how we ended up like this.”
“I'm not cleaning that mess up for you,” Margaret said firmly.
“Oh, you can do it in the morning.”
She glanced at the broken glass and the damaged frame, and she knew he was right. Nobody else would clean up the mess, and even if she tried to make a point by leaving it overnight, she'd only end up doing the job early the next day. Feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion, she headed over to one of the armchairs and took a seat, and for a moment she felt as if she might never again have the strength to get up.
Diana, meanwhile, was in the process of hauling herself up from the floor. Settling on the piano stool, she took a moment to collect herself, before opening the lid as if she meant to play again.
“Don't you bloody dare,” Herbert spat from the corner, all red-faced and blustery as he turned to her. “I mean it, woman. Don't try my patience. Not tonight of all nights.”
Diana stared at him for a moment, before reaching out and hitting a single key on the piano.
“Don't!” Herbert snarled. “I'm warning you, I -”
She hit another key, and this time she grinned from ear to ear.
“If you press one more of those things,” Herbert continued, staring at her with a hint of utter fury in his eyes, “I shall not be responsible for my -”
She hit yet another key, and then she giggled.
“I'm warning you, woman!”
“I know you are.”
With that, she hit another key, then another.
“Don't you two ever get tired of this constant fighting?” Margaret asked. “Don't you ever want to do anything else with your time?”
“But look at his face,” Diana replied, still smiling, still watching Herbert. She hit another key. “Each note makes him turn a slightly deeper shade of red. Why, I'm starting to wonder whether I might be able to make him explode.” Another note. “Really, this is something of a scientific experiment. Maybe I should say his name, too, just to really annoy him. Herbert. Herbert. Oh, dear old Herbert...”
“I am warning you now,” Herbert said firmly, “and I am asking you in a civilized manner, woman, to please consider the needs of other people and refrain from causing a disturbance. Nobody wants to hear your drunken, badly-trained attempt to play that instrument.”
“And what will you do if I continue, Herbert?” she asked, as her smile grew and she hit another key. “Will you drag me onto the floor again, Herbert? Will you hit me, Herbert? Will you beat me to within an inch of my life, Herbert? Or will you just threaten me, Herbert? Is that all you really have? Empty threats? Empty old Herbert?” She paused, with her eyes fixed on him as if she expected him to strike at any moment. And
then she hit two more keys close together. “Go on. Do something, dear husband. You've threatened so many times over the years to beat me black and blue. Are you ever, ever going to actually do it? Herbert?”
Margaret put her head in her hands.
“Or are you just full of -”
Suddenly there was a sound nearby, from the doorway, as if pieces of broken glass were being gathered from the floor.
Diana and Herbert turned to look, while Margaret lowered her hands and gasped as she turned to see that someone was picking up the damaged photo. Standing in the doorway, a girl wearing scruffy, torn old clothes turned the photo around so that she could get a proper look at the picture of the baby. Seemingly in no hurry to explain her sudden intrusion, the girl stared at the photo for several seconds before finally turning and looking first at Diana, then at Herbert, and finally at Margaret, all of whom stared back at her with expressions of utter shock.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Herbert asked finally.
“Well,” the girl said with a faint, knowing smile, “I suppose I shouldn't be too offended, although I'd have thought some kind of instinct might kick in. Hello Mummy. Daddy. Auntie Margaret.” She paused, before holding the broken photo frame up so they could see the picture of the baby. “What's wrong? Don't you recognize me?”
Chapter One
One month later
“Her name is Rachel Stone. Does that ring any bells?”
Jo Mason started down at the set of old newspaper cuttings that had been placed in front of her, before glancing across the table and seeing the hint of concern in Bradley's eyes.
“Rachel Stone went missing,” she replied. “Early 2000's, wasn't it?”
“2002, to be precise.” He reached over and rearranged some of the cuttings, bringing to the top a photocopy of a newspaper headline about a missing baby. “Rachel Stone was five weeks old when she vanished from the family home. It was a big, big news story for weeks. I mean, it had everything the papers loved. A photogenic baby, a rich and slightly aloof family, hints of drama and intrigue. It was the perfect storm. The Stones were hounded by the media so much, they eventually had to hire their own private security team to patrol the grounds of their mansion. Until it all blew over, at least.”
She sipped at her coffee. “And how long did that take?”
“Six months or so. And then there were occasional revivals of interest every few years.”
“But no leads?”
He shook his head. “The police never figured out what happened. Of course, the media started throwing up all sorts of theories. Child-trafficking. Darknet rings. A family cover-up. If you go online, you'll find forums where people still discuss the Rachel Stone disappearance to this day. There are plenty of anonymous out there who think the baby was killed accidentally and that the family covered the death up. There are even calls to boycott the Stone family's business interests and... Well, you know what people can be like online. Some of the comments are utterly vicious.”
“I can imagine.” She looked down at some more of the cuttings for a moment. “So is that why you wanted to meet me? I've never really done a cold case investigation before, but -”
“Rachel Stone is back.”
She glanced at him. “I'm sorry?”
“Or at least, someone claiming to be Rachel Stone is back.”
“I didn't see anything about that in the news.”
“That's because the Stones have gone to great lengths to avoid another media freak-show.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if he was worried that someone else in the tea-room might overhear them, and then he turned back to her. “Four weeks ago, a girl in her mid teens showed up at the Stone family house late one night and claimed to be Rachel. By all accounts, she just appeared suddenly in a doorway and announced herself.”
“And is she Rachel?”
“That's what we need to find out.”
“So order a DNA test.”
“That's... not an option right now.”
“If the girl refuses to take a test,” Jo replied, “then I think that's a pretty big red flag.”
“The girl is happy to take a test,” Bradley explained. “It's the parents, Herbert and Diana Stone, who aren't willing. As far as they're concerned, they've got their perfect daughter back, and life is good again. It's Margaret who has doubts. She's a friend of mine, and she's been confiding in me. Finally I told her that I'd make some discreet inquiries about hiring someone to dig into the whole situation. I asked around, and your name kept coming up as someone reliable.”
“If Margaret Stone is the girl's aunt, then she can arrange for a DNA test herself.”
“Margaret Stone is adopted.”
Jo hesitated, before sighing.
“Complicated family,” Bradley continued. “Believe me, that's only scratching the surface. Margaret isn't related to her brother Herbert by blood, and there's no-one else left who can be called in to provide a sample.”
“And Margaret thinks that this girl isn't really Rachel Stone?”
“Margaret thinks there are questions to be answered. She's not quite so ready, so desperate, to believe. She still has questions about where Rachel has been. About what she's been doing. About why she walked back through the door four weeks ago.” He paused. “I've seen the girl with my own eyes. Briefly. I was over at the house a short while ago, although as you can imagine the place is like Fort Knox at the moment. The Stones really don't want news of Rachel's return getting out, so they've basically sealed the place shut. I only managed to get inside after Margaret got me to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Technically, if I'm found to have breathed a word about this to anyone, I'm liable for a ten million pound payment.”
“Seriously?” Jo raised a skeptical eyebrow. “These people seem a little... intense.”
“Margaret is going out of her mind with worry,” he continued. “That's why I came to meet you. Until we can somehow get a DNA test arranged, isn't there any way you can look into this girl's claims and figure out whether she's the real Rachel Stone?”
“Has she been talking much? About where she's been for a decade and a half?”
“That's one of the things that concerns Margaret. The girl is being quite vague. She metes out information a little at a time, almost as if she's enjoying herself. Herbert and Diana are just overjoyed to have her back, so they don't really pry, but Margaret has experienced some push-back. I can fill you in on what we've been told so far, but it's not exactly a goldmine of detail.”
“Have you actually met her?”
He shook his head. “I was only at the house for half an hour. I wasn't allowed to stay any longer. And the whole time I was there, the girl was kept upstairs and out of view. I spotted her very briefly, but only for a fraction of a second. Herbert and Diana quickly ushered her back up to her room.”
“Are they holding her against her will?”
“No, I think she'd happy to go along with it all.”
“Maybe she's just shy.”
He shook his head. “This was a military-style operation, carried out at the behest of the parents. I've been to that house a lot of times over the years, but this time everything was different. They were polite, but it was clear they wanted me to leave. I took Margaret out to lunch and she told me all about her concerns. That was when I realized something had to be done.”
“She doesn't think this girl is Rachel?”
“If Rachel Stone really came back, she'd be in line to inherit her parents' fortune. We're talking in excess of fifty million pounds.”
“Are there any other children?”
“Only Rachel.”
“Who stands to inherit the money if Rachel isn't around?”
“According to Reginald Stone's will, the company can only go to a blood relative. Without Rachel, the whole thing will be turned over to the shareholders. The adopted Stones, Margaret and her other brother Jack, would be left penniless. So as you can imagine, there's a lot at stake.”
J
o looked back down at the clippings for a moment. Old headlines screamed about the child's disappearance, and she spotted several opinion columns making veiled insinuations about the Stone family. Without wading through the walls of text, she already remembered the media circus that had surrounded the case, and she recalled feeling sorry for the Stone family when they'd gone through year after year of intrusion. She also knew that people could be cruel, and she could only imagine some of the theories that had probably been thrown around.
“It doesn't sound,” she said finally, “as if I'll be able to just walk into the house and meet Rachel face to face.”
“Margaret and I are trying to arrange something, but it's tricky. Herbert and Diana have made their minds up, they're sure that it's really her. For now, you'll be lucky to even set eyes on her.”
“And if she isn't really talking about where she's been, then -”
“She says she was homeless in London for the past few years.”
“But before that? Who took her from her parents?”
“That's one of the things she seems to be holding back. But Margaret's convinced she's playing some kind of game.”
“You're not giving me much to work with.”
“I know, but I heard you're the best so I'm hoping you can come up with something. Money isn't really an issue, I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I'm just worried that someone is preying on the family's grief and manipulating them. Herbert and Diana never got over the loss of Rachel. If this is a trick or a scam, it's the cruelest one I could possibly imagine.”
Jo picked up one of the cuttings and saw that it was from the weeks immediately following the baby's disappearance.
“Remind me,” she said finally. “How exactly did Rachel Stone go missing?”
Chapter Two
15 years ago
“Coochy coo,” Diana said, grinning as she held Rachel high up above her head and gently spun her around. “Who's my little princess? Who's my precious little darling?”
