Hey You, Pretty Face - A baby left for dead. Three girls stolen in the night. A Psychological Thriller. (DC Jack Rutherford Book 1)

by Linda Coles

  “Steady on! Here, I’ve got it.” A pair of hands took the box from the top and nimbly prevented things from crashing down. Jack looked up and was surprised to see a face he’d seen before, and only recently.

  It was the young boy he’d seen begging, the Monty Python fan. Billy.

  “Hello again,” Billy said, his smile as bright as mirror glinting in the sunshine. When it registered who was back, Jack returned the smile. “Thanks for saving that lot. I was in a bit of strife there for a moment. I’m taking them to the charity shop. Had a bit of a clear-out last night and thought someone could make use of them over Christmas.”

  Billy took a look in the top box and noticed the game of Scrabble in its dented box.

  “You’re giving your Scrabble away? How come? It’s a classic.”

  “Ah, it’s not much fun when you know which of the two of you always wins. Seems pointless in some respects. Plus, she cheats, makes words up.”

  Billy laughed out loud and added, “That’s all part of playing it. My gran always cheated. Said it kept her imagination alive. I’ll give you a hand inside with the boxes. Lead the way.” Billy held on to the box with the Scrabble on top and followed Jack the few doors down to the shop. They both put a box each on the counter and waited for one of the volunteers that staffed the shop to come over.

  While they waited, Jack enquired, “Did you get the toothpaste and brush?” It seemed the thing to ask, though he wasn’t sure why. Did it matter if the lad had spent the money on cigarettes?

  “Of course I did. I said I would. She was delighted. A girl needs her little creature comforts, even in this life, on the street. Thanks again, by the way.”

  “Glad I could help.” There was a pause while they waited. The volunteer was busy helping someone choose a coat close by. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but you seem a decent kind. Why do you live on the streets?”

  Billy’s face dropped and Jack immediately regretted asking such a personal question.

  “Oh, listen to me. I’m sorry. It’s not my or anyone else’s business. Sorry, lad.”

  “Most people don’t understand, think we’re vermin and should go and get a job. But it’s a long story and not one for today.” Billy gave a tight smile before adding, “I’ll leave you to it, then. Nice to see you again.” He headed towards the door.

  At the last minute, Jack grabbed the Scrabble and went after him, leaving the rest of the two boxes on the counter. The volunteer would get to them eventually.

  “Hang on a minute,” he said as he arrived alongside. “This might give you both some amusement – if you want it, that is. And once again, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s no problem, and thanks. It will be fun on Christmas Day.”

  Jack’s heart pulled a little, wondering where the young man and his girl would be sat when they played it; certainly not in a warm living room with leftovers for tea, he was sure. He reached inside his coat pocket for his wallet and pulled out a £20 note and a business card.

  “Look, buy yourselves something nice to eat when you play, and here’s my card.” He could see that the lad was desperate to take the money but resisting the urge. “Take it. I know it will come in handy. And if you get stuck, in any way, here’s my number. Just in case you ever need help, okay?” Their eyes met and Jack nodded, urging Billy to reach out to take it. They were both stood outside the shop on the pavement now. Shoppers bustled by in a continual stream, stuffed bags in their hands. The boy put the money in his trouser pocket, along with the card, then lifted his hand to shake Jack’s.

  “It’s super kind of you. Thank you. I’m Billy, by the way.”

  Jack took his hand and they shook. “And I’m Jack, nice to meet you, Billy.”

  “Well, you have a good Christmas if I don’t see you again,” Billy said, and waved as he moved of into the throng of pedestrians, leaving Jack to add a simple wave of his hand and set off in the opposite direction.

  Now all he had to do was collect Janine’s present, which seemed overly lavish now after meeting Billy again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jack couldn’t get Billy out of his mind. After driving back to the station, he’d forgotten all about his sausage sandwich, which meant something was seriously taking up his headspace. The kid seemed so cheery, as well as well-mannered, and he wondered idly as he parked up what his circumstances were, why he was living on the streets of south London and begging. He couldn’t have been more than about seventeen, Jack deduced; the kid had a youthful face behind the wispy hairs that would one day go on to be a beard. He was lucky he didn’t have to bother shaving every day yet, Jack thought ruefully, never mind the expense for someone with so little income. And he had a girl too, a friend, some company to go ‘home’ to, wherever home was. Maybe under a flyover, in a derelict building, a hostel even? What did he have in the way of comfort, of possessions, apart from a second-hand box of Scrabble?

  Jack had given him his number in case he needed anything, but he doubted the kid would ever call. More than likely he was too proud to ask for help – and certainly not from a copper – and he hoped the £20 note would buy Billy and his girl a bit of festive cheer, wherever they holed up. They’d both be freezing, surely; the weather hadn’t been on bright side of the homeless for some weeks, and worse was yet to come.

  Jack’s mind turned now to thoughts of another homeless soul, baby Mary. She’d have been picked up by her foster parents by now, and safe in a warm crib with a bottle of milk. Jack was glad of that, but what of her future? Would she be adopted anytime soon? He doubted there would be much of a wait for a newborn; the list of hopeful parents far exceeded demand. He thought about his and Janine’s anguish about adoption some years back. They would both have made wonderful parents, given the chance. Strange how anyone in any circumstance – rich, poor or destitute – could bring a child into the world and nobody batted an eyelid, yet apply to give a child a good home, and the hoops to jump through were endless, usually ending in being told by some bitter social worker that you weren’t quite suitable because they said so.

  After more than twelve months of interviews, scrutiny of their financial records and being vetted in every area imaginable, the process had come to a screeching halt. Their social worker had been suddenly taken off their case without explanation and they were asked to start to the whole process all over again. But neither of them had the emotional currency left to spend. The whole process had left them emotionally raw, totally despondent and almost broken. So, they’d decided to take a break from the process and retry a little later on, in the hope that the adoption process would have relaxed a little during that time. It never did, though, and they’d ended up withdrawing completely, feeling that’s exactly what the social worker and selection panel had wanted to hear. It had made no sense.

  Jack was aware of his name being called and he tuned back in to his surroundings. He was back in the squad room.

  “Something the matter, Jack? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” It was Eddie, back in and looking like he’d scrubbed up and had a shot of something energetic – like intravenous caffeine. Maybe he had; Jack wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Sorry, miles away.” Jack shook his head a little to rearrange his thoughts, like bringing the nuts to the surface in a packet of muesli.

  “Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking all over for you?”

  That’s rich. I’ve been the one covering for you.

  “I had an errand to run. Couldn’t wait. But I’m here now. What’s up?” Jack smiled to diffuse any tension from Eddie with his sudden change back into boss mode. The man was either all in or all out. It seemed he was back to all in.

  “We’ve got a name to work with. Martin Coffey. He’s been inside for—”

  Jack interrupted him. “I know. Mo informed us at the team briefing earlier, after you’d left. They are following up, looking for that reg plate with the private cameras along the main trunk road to see if we can trace the van’s journey, s
ee where it came from, where it went on to. Have they found anything?”

  Eddie looked deflated. “Not yet, but it’ll take time. There’s a lot to find and search through. Still, it’s a lead.”

  Jack hung his coat on the back of his chair and sat down. Eddie remained standing by his desk. Jack sighed. “Best tell me which cameras I need to sift through then and I’ll get onto it.” It was Jack’s way of saying ‘yes boss, now leave me alone’ without actually saying it; he knew which battles not to bother fighting, even if Eddie owed him big time. Jack needed to be left alone. He had some thinking to do.

  It was nearly five o’clock before he came back up for air; there had not been a single sighting of the van in question. Sitting back and rubbing his tired eyes, he noticed the Tupperware box that had contained his cheese roll from earlier, the roll he’d moaned at, had wished was sausage and ketchup. Immediately he wondered what Billy would be tucking into this evening. Had he been serious about living on bread alone?

  Then an idea came to him. But would Janine go along with it?

  He’d ask her over dinner later.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Janine was a good sort and had readily agreed to Jack’s idea of having a guest or two at their Christmas table. Jack had explained that Billy seemed a sensible lad, and that he thought it fit to help where he could – if the young couple wanted his help, of course. Not everyone on the streets wanted off; some enjoyed the lifestyle, the freedom they got, though Jack couldn’t see why. Freedom could be found living in a proper warm home, surely? But each to their own. It was not Jack’s or anyone else’s place to dictate otherwise.

  “Now all I’ve got to do is find him and ask him,” said Jack, finishing his porridge and pushing the bowl away. “You make the best porridge, Mrs Rutherford,” he said, rubbing his satisfied stomach and reaching for his coffee.

  “You need a warm start from the inside on cold mornings like this. See you through till lunchtime, hopefully,” she said, gathering their bowls up and rinsing them in the sink. “And how do you think you’ll find him again? Billy, I mean.”

  “I’m a detective, remember? I find people. It’s what I do, and I dare say I’ll find him again. He’ll more likely be begging where I first saw him, so it’s as good a place to start as any. The hard part might be persuading them both to join us. But if they refuse, why don’t we send a couple of plates to their digs if I can wheedle the address out of him? That way, they can enjoy dinner, but without the stress of being at a stranger’s table and feeling they have to be on their best behaviour or whatever.”

  “Good idea. They win either way.”

  “Precisely. Well, I’d better get off,” he said, draining his coffee mug. “I’ll see you later, love.” He bent to peck her on the cheek before grabbing his coat and scarf and setting out.

  He was sat in his car waiting for his windscreen to defrost, the heaters inside on full blow and sounding like an aircraft engine warming up, when his phone rang.

  “DC Rutherford.”

  “Jack? It’s Dr Barbara Winstanley. From the lab.”

  “Morning Doc. I hope you’ve got your thermals on today. It’s a frosty one.” He smiled as he said it but wondered if he’d overstepped the mark as his quip went unanswered and nothing filled the air. He was about to apologise when she filled the space anyway.

  “Can you call in by chance? I have something to share with you and I’d rather explain it in person.” Jack detected the seriousness in her voice and doubted it was at his earlier comment. She sounded all business and it sounded important.

  “Right. Why don’t I come over now, then? I can be there in twenty minutes, if that suits?”

  “Perfect. See you then,” she said quickly and hung up, leaving Jack wondering what on earth she needed to talk to him about in person. Still, he’d find out soon enough.

  She was waiting in reception as he entered the building and Jack tilted his head in a questioning look. He tried not to notice how lovely she looked again, though her eyes were not dancing with the same energy as they had at their last meeting. Something was up.

  “Let’s go to my office,” she said quietly and pushed the buzzer. The lift doors opened and they both stepped inside. Lifts were never meant for small talk, even when the occupants knew one another even a little, and they stood in silence until they reached her floor. Jack followed to her lab. The sterile environment was cool but not cold as they passed through and headed to a small room off to one side. She closed the door behind them and offered him coffee from a small machine behind her desk. He assumed she must drink quite a bit of it to have her own fresh jug. He added milk and sugar to his mug and settled back, waiting for her to fill him in.

  “As you know, you gave me a DNA sample from baby Mary. I’ve run the test, giving it priority, and well, we have a result.” She didn’t sound too happy.

  “I sense something is wrong.”

  “You could say that. As you also know, the familial testing aspect is so new it’s only just officially possible. Well, we got a hit after I submitted the result into the database. And not quite the result I was expecting, if we got a match at all. Only about ten per cent of the population is in there, maybe less, and most if not all have been involved in a crime in some way.”

  Jack was starting to get frustrated. How long would she take to give him the answer before he had to physically drag it out of her? He knew all this so far. He nodded, urging her on.

  “The test we ran looks for family members through bloodline and gives us several results – again, only if they are all in the system. Well, in Mary’s case we got two results.”

  Jack felt like he was about to burst. “And what did the results tell you?”

  “They gave us a female and a male. The male was in the system from a while back, to do with a bar fight up north. Things had got ugly and a man got a bottle in his face. This male was involved somehow. You’ll have to dig out the details.”

  “And the female?”

  “Well, here’s the interesting thing. There’s an extremely strong match to your missing girl, Leanne Meadows. We have her DNA in the system from her hairbrush. So strong is the link, in fact, that she’s very likely the mother.” Dr Winstanley let that sink in.

  “So, you’re saying our missing fifteen-year-old cyclist is a perfect match to baby Mary’s mother, a girl that has since gone missing?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “I’m struggling to get my head around this, Doc. Her parents would have told us if she’d been pregnant, and since she was last seen out on her road bike on her way home from working at the garden centre, she can’t have just given birth the day before, surely? With nobody knowing?”

  “I can only tell you what the results say, and the profile matches in so many ways.” She paused. “Though there is one anomaly.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “It’s where the male comes in. It seems he’s the father.”

  “Great! We’ve found one of them at least.”

  “Not so fast, Jack.”

  “Oh?”

  “The male is now forty years old. If your missing girl Leanne is the mother at fifteen . . .”

  “Oh, shit. I need to find him, then.”

  “You’ll not need to go too far to do that.”

  “Oh? And why’s that?”

  “Because the owner of that particular DNA is Leanne’s dad, one Dave Meadows, the man in the bar fight.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter Thirty

  It didn’t make any sense to Jack. A cyclist training hard for the champs, a girl missing since the day after baby Mary had been found, a girl showing no sign of being pregnant – there must be some mistake. There had to be something seriously adrift with the test; that was the only explanation. How could Jack go and question Leanne’s father about him being the father of an abandoned baby and his own daughter the mother, when she clearly wasn’t the mother? Meadows would
think he’d gone mad, and would definitely not appreciate the accusation at a time like this. This type of DNA testing was so new; perhaps it had been read wrong, or had been contaminated somehow. But Dr Winstanley had been adamant – data don’t lie. There had to be another explanation. In the meantime, he had to be doubly sure about Leanne’s pregnancy and then take it from there. He was now on his way over to the Meadows’ house and hoped he found his tactful side before he opened his mouth with questions for them both. That was the reason he’d decided not to take Eddie along with him. The man had as much tact as a mosquito so had said he’d fill him in later. Mercifully, Eddie had agreed.

  With windscreen wipers working double time clearing the sleet away, he pulled up outside the Meadows’ home on Cedar Road and sat for a moment, engine running, hoping the weather would ease enough for him to get out. A twitch of a curtain in the front window told him he’d been seen, so he had no choice but to make a dash for it. He pulled his coat collar up and legged it, careful not to slip. The front door opened as if by magic.

  “Thank you,” he said to Mrs Meadows as she closed the door behind him and the warmth from the house touched his face.

  “Come through, Detective,” she said, and he followed her back into the familiar lounge where Mr Meadows was stood ready to greet him. He was holding one side of his face a little and Jack enquired if he was okay.

  “It’s nothing that a new filling won’t sort out,” he said brightly. “I can’t get in until after Christmas. I keep catching cold air in it.”

  “A toothache can be nasty. I find whiskey helps,” Jack replied, smiling, keeping the conversation light before he killed it with his questions to come.

  “Take a seat. Can I get you some tea?” Mrs Meadows asked.

  “No, thank you,” he said, sitting on the edge of the sofa and making the cushion sag awkwardly. “I have a couple of questions for you that I didn’t want to ask over the telephone, if I may. A little sensitive, actually.”