Jason thinks.
“Not sure. It might be a small village, but we get a lot of passing trade. Hard to remember much.”
I look around. He’s got a comfy chair in here and a laptop. A used coffee cup, still steaming, and a packet of biscuits. A little footstool with heel indents. I get the feeling that he’s not in the shop much.
“What about the other staff?”
“You’re out of luck there. Simon works nights, and Juliet left on Saturday. Fiona’s only been here a couple of days.”
He stares at me.
“So do you think that’s her? Is that the mother?”
Is it? There’s no sign of a pram. The camera outside the shop showed that there’s no baby left outside.
“Not conclusive, Mr. Ellis. I’d be grateful if you could have a look back at the footage, maybe a month or so, see if you can find any more footage of her farther back.”
He frowns and sighs.
“Or I can send some officers up here to do it.”
He nods.
“It might take a while.”
I look at his little setup.
“Give you something to do, won’t it? Oh, and your cameras are set at the wrong angle. I couldn’t see her face. It might be better if you change the angles.”
I leave the stockroom and walk through the shop, noticing that they sell baby products, and Elise’s mother would have everything she needs right here. So why was she in Ashton?
When I get back to the car, Damien’s fiddling with his phone.
“Lorraine’s shared the playlist with me. I’ve been giving it a listen. The girl’s got some problems.”
“I saw her on the CCTV.”
He nods.
“Late teens?”
“Yeah.”
“I can tell from the music. But she’s in a lot of pain. A lot of pain. More than the normal pain of a relationship breakup. If you give me your Spotify user name I’ll share it with you.”
I snort.
“Oh yes. Just what I need, more depressing music. It’s JanetP.”
He doesn’t reply, but my phone beeps and the playlist appears in a message. He’s listening to the playlist, and when we get to the station, he gets out of the car and follows me to the ops room. Stan meets me.
“Any news on forensics, Stan?”
He looks at me, puzzled.
“You do know what day it is, Jan?”
I look at him. It takes me a minute to realize that I don’t actually know what day it is. Since I came back to work, I haven’t stopped. I haven’t been able to. Because stopping means I have to think about the dead boys from the previous case and my own son. How much he saw. What he knew. I’ve worked every single day to block out what had happened. Stan helps me out.
“It’s Sunday, Jan. You and Dr. Booth, here, have had the assessment center opening on a Sunday. Got Lorraine in to work. Forensics runs a skeleton staff on Sunday. Most people have a weekend, you know.”
“But if it’s Sunday, why did we have the team meeting this morning?”
Stan shakes his head.
“Because of tonight.”
Damien pulls his earphones out.
“Sorry. My fault. I insisted on us looking at the little girl today. Before someone whisks her away.”
I sit down at my desk and look at my phone. I check the date and the day and wonder how that happened. I’d almost missed the weekend. Stan circles me looking perplexed.
“What Stan? Is there something else? About the case? And what about tonight?”
He shakes his head.
“No. But the thing is . . .”
He licks his lips and wipes his hands on his trousers.
“It’s the Prophesy wrap-up tonight, and I just thought I’d remind you. Mike was here earlier, and he said to remind you that it’s tonight. When I say tonight, I mean four o’clock. They’re starting it off at the Red Lion at four o’clock, and Jim and Mike both asked if you were going. That’s why everyone was in this morning. Because they’re all going to the wrap-up.”
I wasn’t going to go. I hadn’t been anywhere socially for a long time, and I really want to give this a miss. But Mike asked. I need to speak to him. I just need to see him. And someone there might have been working on the Connelly case. It’s the only way. I’m never going to get the information I need from official sources. Damien’s listening to the playlist again, and I make my decision.
“OK. I’ll be there. It doesn’t leave me much time, but I think I can manage it.”
Stan retreats, and I rustle around in my desk and find some makeup. I’ve got my Monday morning suit on, but I can look like Sunday if I untuck my blouse and tie it in a knot. And put my hair up. Just then, my mobile rings. It’s an unidentified number, and my heart jumps. Aiden? Could it be? I rush to answer it, but it stops ringing. I ring the number, but it rings out. When I look around Damien’s gone.
An hour later I take a taxi and I’m soon in the Red Lion wearing red lipstick. I still can’t believe that all my days have merged into one. I move a date and time app onto the front of my phone, so I can tell at a glance what day it is, and turn the volume up in case it rings again. Could it have been Aiden? I daren’t hope. How ludicrous that I have to, but this is what my life has become now. A ribbon of time with a small period of sleep every now and again.
I get a drink and go over to Jim.
“All right, sir. No news about the little girl. Elise. Nothing as yet.”
He’s out of his suit and in jeans and a jumper. He turns around and smiles.
“All work and no play makes Jan a dull girl.”
It’s a joke, and he’s laughing. I turn around and see Della Waring looking my way. Her eyes are spiteful, and she nudges her friend Elaine. Mike’s drinking his pint and turns around to see what Della’s looking at. I go over and sit next to Mike. Della blinks at me, sipping her cocktail through a straw.
“Made it then, did you? Mike wasn’t sure you’d turn up.”
I look at Mike, and he smiles.
“Good to see you, Jan. How’s the case going? Found the mum yet?”
I shake my head. Della swings into full thrust.
“Wouldn’t have thought she’d be put on a kiddies case. Not with, you know . . .”
I sigh.
“Knock it off, Della. You know full well it’s Sal who’s the criminal. Nothing to do with me.”
She laughs.
“Mmm. Speaking of Salvador, I saw him about a month ago in Pizza Hut. Weekend dadding it, he was, with your Aidy. Looked like they’d all been buying holiday clothes. All three of them.”
I stare at her. Mike shakes his head.
“Del . . .”
“Yeah. Him and his Selena. A bit younger than you, I’d say.”
I nod.
“Yeah. She’ll be like all his friends, a flash in the pan. He slept with half of Greater Manchester, so he’s no prize, is he Della? And now, with Interpol looking for him . . .”
Della laughs with Elaine and takes another sip.
“That’s what I thought. You have to wonder if Aidy has heard about all this, wherever he is?”
I’m very good at poker. I can keep my face completely straight even when I’m dying inside. I’ve been in some terrifying situations, but I’ve kept my calm. And I do now. Della’s firmly in the teenage runaway camp when it comes to theories about Aiden. Running away from me specifically. I cross my legs and drink my vodka and lemonade in a tall glass with ice. I grip onto it because out of everything that’s spinning in my world, it’s something constant. Something that hasn’t changed. I might not know it’s Sunday, but I still drink vodka and lemonade.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll find out at some point.”
She looks at Mike and holds out her empty glass.
“We’ll see. After all, what has he to come back to? Not you, that’s for sure. Because you’re always stalking my husband. Even now, when you’re off his case, you’re still here.”
Mike
gets up and goes to the bar, and I get up and pretend to follow him, ever so close, then I break away and go to the toilets, all the time smiling at Della. But inside I’m screaming.
I get my phone out and log into Aiden’s Facebook. There are no new pictures, just old ones with Aiden tagged taken by Sal and uploaded to his account. I study them closely to make sure that they are pre-Prophesy. They are. They’re from a holiday six months ago. To Italy, Sal’s family. So I’d barely glanced at them. But I scrutinize them now. Aiden in the pool on holiday, Aiden at the dinner table with Sal’s family. Aiden playing football in the orchard. I’d been there myself, and I knew all these places like the back of my hand. Could they be there now? In Sicily?
And then there it is. Aiden with his cousin at a family party, and Sal in the background, holding hands with a woman. Thin and dark, smiling. Her hand on his shoulder. Then Aiden dancing, with them in the background. Then her helping sleepy Aiden into his coat. My head is spinning, and I feel sick. She’s me. She’s just stepped right into my shoes. So, to make matters worse, my son is on the run with not only his psychotic father, but with a substitute mother as well. Obviously, I have no way of knowing that she is with them now, but if I know Sal, she will be.
How could that happen? Someone stepping into a me-shaped gap in my life, leaving me hovering around on the outskirts looking in? I carefully wipe around my eyes with some toilet paper and look at my expressionless face in the mirror. I need to stay a few more minutes, then I can make an escape.
I open the toilet door and see Damien at the bar. The mood seems to have changed, but Della and Elaine are obviously discussing Damien, so I go and stand beside him.
“Hi. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He smiles at me.
“Hi, Jan. Can I get you a drink?”
I smile back, knowing Della will be watching. At least she’ll stop accusing me of stealing Mike.
“Vodka and lemonade, please. Had any more thoughts on the case?”
He turns to me and grins.
“I was hoping we could . . .”
Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and expect to see Della, four cocktails later, picking her usual fight. But it’s Jim Stewart.
“Jan. I thought you’d gone.”
He looks shocked and I move closer.
“What is it, sir? What’s wrong?”
“We’ve had a call to tell us that a little girl’s been abducted. Two years old. Taken from her bedroom midafternoon, we think. The father’s kicked off, we’ve got him at headquarters under caution, and he’s asking to see someone senior.”
I’m unsure at first if he means me or him, but he sips more of his pint and I realize he’s conceding that I am a senior person. Grudgingly, by his expression.
“Location, sir? Where has she been taken from?”
“Greenfield. Same area as the girl yesterday found in Ashton.”
“But we don’t know that for sure, sir. We only had the receipt to go on.”
He takes his mobile out and faces me with a CCTV still, which plays as he turns his phone.
“The guy from the co-op dropped a DVD with the footage of the woman on it, the one you saw earlier. Surveillance looked for her at the traffic junction at the bottom of the road, ran it through four days last week, and saw her three times in the same area. So she must live round there. They’re working on finding out where. No sign of the kid, though. She looks young, could be an older sister? Anyway. It might not be connected, but I’m not taking any chances. Can you and Damien go and see what the father has to say? I’ve got SOCOs there, see what you can do to calm it down. And keep things under wraps for now.”
Chapter 8
The children must be sent away, we will take them farther into the wood, so that they will not find their way out again. . . early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their beds.
I can’t find a taxi. I can’t even see through my tears my hair that the wind is blowing into my face. I rush across the crowded market bumping into people. Through the billowing net curtains hung over the stalls, through the hung-up hoodies and onesies. I’m at the side of the main road, but I can see it’s closed at the other end. My phone is ringing constantly, and I ignore it as I sprint up the pavement and toward the top of the hill. Finally, I flag a black cab.
“Greenfield, please, at the junction. Thanks, mate.”
He pulls away, and I check my phone. Jameson’s still calling. I remove the back of the phone, take out the battery, and remove the SIM card. Peace, just for a minute. On the outside, anyway. Inside, I’m in turmoil, feeling physically sick with mounting worry. I have to keep myself safe now. I have to make it through this and find her again.
In ten minutes we’re pulling up outside the gated entrance to my flat. I jump out of the cab, expecting to see Jameson sitting in his car waiting, silently thunderous. But there’s no one in the car. I rush over and see the door is wide open. I go inside, and he’s in there, going through my things. Underwear spilling from the bed, and all her clothes from the washing bin strewn across the floor.
“Oh. Right. Decided to make an appearance, have you?”
I nod as two men I’ve never seen before come out of my bedroom. Jameson looks around. Then he moves closer to me. The door’s behind me, and I consider running but there are three of them. And one of them is holding my fake ID and passport. Jameson points to the toys the other man is holding.
“What the absolute fuck is this? You said it was your friend’s kid. So what is all this stuff doing here? This place is a fucking tip.”
I try to think straight, but all I can think about is her. My Elise. How I’ve just left her, and now how I’m going to have to deny her.
“She was just staying here for a few days. I’ve taken her to the station.”
He erupts.
“You’re a liar. A fucking liar. I’ve got other people in these flats, and they’ve seen you going out with a kid in a pram. But they’ve not seen no one else coming in and out. So where is it? Where’s the fucking kid, Lisa? Eh?”
He’s holding my arm tightly, and I lose it.
“Gone. With my friend. She’s hers, not mine. I was just doing someone a favor, Brian. Being nice. Not that you’d know what that fucking means.”
It’s quiet. The other men stop what they were doing and look at Jameson. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and I stare deep into his eyes. He holds the key to me escaping this, and I’d do anything to get it. Anything. Anything.
His fist makes contact with my stomach, and I double over. He kicks me hard as I go down, creased in two with pain, and he reigns blows onto my arms and legs. Never the head. I’d heard other girls say that. He never touches the head.
I’m lying on the floor, holding my breath for the next blow, but it doesn’t come.
“Right. Get her in the car. Ring Pete. Change of plan. Take them to the Charleston House, we’ll do it there. Pack some of her stuff in a bag, and take her up there. Dump the rest of this shit, and get Hannah’s team in to clean up after this dirty little bitch.”
He grabs my hair.
“Didn’t your mother teach you anything? You’re a slut. But where you’re going it won’t matter.”
He kicks one of Elise’s dolls over to me. It’s the one with the smiley face and the long red plaits. He stamps on her head so hard that some of the pieces hit me in the face.
“Get her out of here, and get this place ready for the next one. No skanky teenager next time, they’re always the same.”
Then he’s gone. I hear his footsteps farther and farther away, and I lie in a ball on the floor, staring at the glass eye of the doll, and it stares back. The two men are pushing Elise’s clothes into a bin liner, and I wait, shaking, wondering all the time what’s going to happen next. I hear a car start outside and I know Jameson’s gone.
They empty drawers into the middle of the bed and draw a sheet up around everything I own. Which isn’t much. I hope that t
hey are going to bring the sheet with them, but they don’t, they put it in another bin liner and throw it out in the trash.
Then they grab my arms and pull me up. I’m still in pain, and I can see a huge bruise forming on my forearm, and I feel one on my back. My legs are shaky, but I walk to the car, and one of them puts my pull-along suitcase beside me as I climb in slowly.
We drive out of the gated area, and I wonder if this is one of the places Elise would ever come looking for me when she grows up. Would she remember? Or is she too young?
We drive out toward the junction, then up the hill toward the reservoir. Crossing the road, the car takes a right, and we go into a concealed entrance. In the distance is a detached house, grey stone, imposing on the bleak moorland backdrop.
When we pull up to the door, the men get out and open the door for me. They’ve both been silent so far, but now the taller man speaks with a thick Manchester accent.
“Phone.”
I look at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Give me your phone. No phones in here.”
I hesitate. I haven’t told anyone that I’m not coming back for Elise, not even myself, really. I could go back for her. Phone. Find her. I remember I’d taken the SIM card out of my phone and I panic.
But now I won’t get the chance. The smaller of the men is patting me down and finds my phone. He throws it down onto the gravel driveway and stamps on it until it smashes into small pieces. He looks at me and he has the beginnings of a smile on his face.
“You’d better get inside and tidy yourself up. Mr. Jameson’s got some guests coming round tonight, and you don’t want anyone seeing you like that, do you?”
He throws the suitcase at me, and they lead me inside. It’s a beautiful building, all tastefully decorated in pastel colors. Very quiet and very, very warm. We walk through a wide hallway and through a sitting room with a long table at the back. It’s laden with fruit and booze, and behind it on a dresser are lots of crystal glassware and decanters with more alcohol. On the far side a huge TV is fixed to the wall.
They lead me up the stairs and along a corridor. The third door along is open, and they go in and put my case on the bed. There’s a dressing table and a small sofa with two chairs. They open an adjoining door to reveal a bathroom with a shower, bath, sink, and toilet. A selection of toiletries is on the side. The tall guy speaks again.
Playlist for a Paper Angel (DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series Book 3) Page 6
