by Bo Brennan
Alan raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, and craned his neck to quiz the neighbour. “This week you say?”
“Tuesday night,” the neighbour said. “Made a right commotion too, half her stuff was left on the pavement when the van sped away.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“Baby stuff mainly,” the neighbour sighed. “No resale value I'm afraid. It was all a bit ropey, love. The bin men took it yesterday.”
Alan screwed his face up. The notes said she was still smoking, not coping, and couldn’t wait for the baby to be born so she could ‘get back to partying hard and getting laid.’ Brian's notes were quite detailed. Apparently, it was impossible to pull when you looked like a ‘duffed up heffer.’ It made no sense that she was accumulating baby stuff. That was a clear sign of nesting. He didn't like the sound of this at all. “Are you sure she went willingly?”
The neighbour thought about it for a while before answering. “Well, I suppose so,” she said. “I can’t think why anyone else would want a little slapper with a bun in the oven, can you?”
New Scotland Yard, London.
Elizabeth Cordwell spotted the revolving sign in the distance and refolded her tourist map with relief. The sign was smaller than she'd imagined, it seemed out of proportion to the sheer vastness of the building. She'd already walked the entire length of two sides and couldn't find a way in.
Rounding the corner she was relieved to see uniforms stationed half way down the street. As she hurried towards them, she wondered whether the crime rate was really dropping or if it was simply becoming harder to report.
“Thank goodness,” she panted as she reached the officer at the armoured entrance. “Could you tell me where to go to report a missing person please?”
“You need to file a report at your local station, Ma'am,” the officer said.
“No, you don't understand.” Elizabeth pulled Penny's note from her bag and thrust it towards him as she caught her breath. “It's my daughter, Penny. We live in Winchester but she's here in London. She used my credit card in Kensington, so I figured this was the best place to start.”
The officer reluctantly took the note from her, unfolding it as he spoke. “This isn't that sort of police station, Ma'am. We’re not open to the public.”
“But this is New Scotland Yard,” Elizabeth spluttered. “It's the only police station I know in London.”
The officer raised his brows as he read. “You're daughter isn't actually missing. She clearly states where she's gone, the reason why, and that she intends to come back.”
“Yes, but she's a child,” Elizabeth reasoned.
“Ma'am, her note states she is three months away from her eighteenth birthday. That makes her an adult.”
“But she's diabetic,” Elizabeth said. “She only took enough insulin with her to last a couple of days.”
The police officer sighed as he handed back the note. “There are three stations within a mile of here - Charing Cross, Belgravia, and Kennington. I will happily point them out on your map, but I wouldn't hold out much hope of any of them taking the report. Personally, I think you're wasting your time.”
Elizabeth’s face flushed with anger. “Wasting my time? My daughter is missing and you think trying to find her is a waste of time?”
“I've told you I'll direct you to the stations,” he said. “But that's all I can do.”
“I don't want you to send me on a wild goose chase,” she cried waving the map in the air. “I want you to help me find my bloody daughter!”
The officer set his jaw and took a step towards her. “Ma'am, you need to be on your way now. You're causing an obstruction.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard and took a step backwards. She wasn't one for confrontations, and she certainly wasn't one for getting arrested. “I'm sorry,” she murmured.
“Move along now please,” the officer said brushing her up the road with his hand.
Elizabeth slowly walked a few feet, and unfurled the map in her clenched palm. It was crumpled and torn, a complete mess. She felt her eyes begin to sting as she knelt on the pavement and attempted to smooth it out. The only name she could remember was Charing Cross. She had to find it.
“Watching the match this weekend, Chief?” the officer on the gate called out behind her.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder.
“Nope, too much work on, Tone,” the giant of a man dressed in a dapper three piece suit said. “But I'll be recording it so keep the score to yourself.”
The giant looked familiar. The officer on the gate had addressed him as ‘Chief,’ that meant he must be important, higher up at least. Elizabeth couldn’t afford to waste a second. She clambered off the floor and hurried towards him. “Excuse me, Sir,” she said tugging his arm. “Can you help me?”
“I've already warned you once,” the uniformed officer said grabbing her wrists and pulling out his handcuffs. “Now I'm arresting you for assaulting a Detective Chief Inspector.”
Elizabeth burst into tears. “I just want to find my daughter,” she cried.
“It's all right, Tony,” the Detective Chief Inspector said brushing him aside. “I'll deal with this.”
Elizabeth drew a deep breath and rubbed at her wrists as the officer reluctantly released her.
“DCI Colt,” he said smiling and extending his hand. “What's the problem?”
Elizabeth shakily gripped his giant palm. His hand was warm and his presence comforting. “My daughter's missing,” she spluttered, spilling the contents of her bag at his feet as she tried to find Penny's note. “I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to grab you like that. I don't know what came over me,” she said scrabbling around on the pavement trying to collect her things.
DCI Colt knelt beside her. “Don't worry about me you've got enough on your plate,” he said helping to gather her things. “Is this her?” he asked holding up a photograph of Penny. Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “She’s a pretty girl,” he said handing it to her.
Elizabeth stared at the picture. “She’s my world.”
When he looked at his watch, Elizabeth's shoulders slumped. She'd had a golden opportunity for someone high up to hear her out and take her seriously, and she'd wasted it by being an emotional wreck.
“I don't have much time,” he said. “I only popped out to grab some lunch.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said wiping her eyes. “I'm sorry for interrupting your day.”
DCI Colt smiled and helped her to her feet. “You look like you could do with a cup of tea yourself,” he said. “I’m going to the Bistro across the street. Why don't you join me?”
Chapter 10
The High Court, London.
Felicity Firman was deep in discussion with her attentive pupil, Leon, as they left the court. She enjoyed tutoring him. He was eager to learn and absorbed information like a sponge. It wasn't his handwriting, rather a lingering Bourbon brain haze that had led to him holding the reins today. He'd done well - won, obviously. Had achieved just the right balance of calm and confident authority without appearing arrogant. That was quite a feat.
“You fucking bitch!” a voice screamed behind her.
Flick spun on her heels to see the woman lurching towards her, the man in hot pursuit grabbing at her back. She stood motionless, holding both her ground and her breath. Thankfully, the man wrapped his arms around the screeching banshee’s waist just feet away from her. “Don't make it any worse, love,” he pleaded.
A panicked Leon dropped the case file and stepped in between them as the woman made a final bid for freedom. “It's all right, Leon,” Flick said stepping around him. “Let her say her piece.”
“Are you proud of yourself?” the woman screamed. “How can you sleep at night?” Flick stared at her contorted, tear stained face. Up close she was easily ten years younger than she appeared across the courtroom. “You took my fucking babies!”
“This isn't the way to get them back,” Flick said calmly.
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The woman's eyes flashed with fury. Her nostrils flared as she drew in a deep nasally breath. She threw her head back and gobbed a mouthful of phlegm in Flick's face.
Flick recoiled and turned away, bracing her hands on her knees as she began gagging on the busy street. Suddenly a protective arm was around her shoulders, a wad of tissues in her hand. Shakily she wiped the muck from her eyes as she retched in the gutter.
“Jesus Christ, are you okay?” the voice assisting asked.
Grimacing, she looked up, only to be blinded by a strobe of camera flashes. Of all the bloody people to rush to her aid, why the hell did it have to be him? “I'm fine,” she said shrugging his arm from her shoulder and picking the phlegm from her hair. “Thank you for the tissues, Mr Reynolds.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Firman,” he said picking up the file and reading the name emblazoned across it. “Care to give me a quote on why the Crossleys just attacked you?”
Flick glared at him. “No comment.”
She thrust the dirty tissues into his hand and stormed up The Strand, rubbing at her head with her sleeve. She could feel the disgusting mucus from that vile woman's nasal cavity clinging to her hair. Don't think about it Flick, she warned herself. Don't give the bastard the money shot by throwing your guts up too.
She cautiously glanced back over her shoulder to see Leon brushing dust from the heavy file and almost running to catch her up. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Ryan Reynolds, and his cameraman, chasing the offending couple in the opposite direction.
St James’s Psychiatric Hospital, Hampshire.
“Lisa Lewis is a very dangerous woman,” the psychiatrist said. “She's already attacked three of our staff since she came in.”
India could understand why if they were all as pompous as this prick. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a woman who alleges her baby has been stolen.”
The psychiatrist gave a sympathetic smile and steepled his fingers. “There is no baby, Detective, just the ramblings of a mentally unstable, deluded woman.”
“Her eleven year old daughter says there's a baby.” India inclined her head. “Is she mentally unstable and deluded too doctor?”
“Munchausen by Proxy,” the psychiatrist said matter-of-factly. “It's a form of extreme child abuse. The parent believes that there is something seriously wrong with their healthy child, even going as far as inducing the illness themselves. In this case the mother has projected her delusions onto the daughter, making her believe the lie.”
India raised her brows. “Have you met her daughter Sasha?” He stared at her and cocked his jaw. “No? Well, I have, and I can assure you the only thing wrong with her is being separated from her mother.”
The psychiatrist frowned. “With all due respect, Detective, you're hardly qualified to diagnose a child at risk from emotional harm.” He waved a blasé hand in the direction of his office wall, impressively plastered with framed bits of paper. “Those degrees and certificates didn't come free with a packet of breakfast cereal. They came from years of studying mental illness. My work has been reported in the Lancet. I’m renowned in my field.”
“Good for you,” India said. “With the same due respect, Doc, I'm not here to stroke your ego, I'm here to take a statement from Lisa Lewis. Now, could you show her in please?”
New Scotland Yard, London.
“Cheers, Boss,” Maggie said taking the bag of doughnuts as Colt got comfortable in his office chair. “You missed the Commander's briefing.”
“Yes I did,” he said surveying the new piles of paperwork all over his desk. “But the big bucks question is - did he miss me?”
Maggie rocked her head from side to side. “Hmm, you’re kind of hard not to, Boss.”
Colt smiled. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
“What took you so long anyway? I thought you were only going across the street.”
“I've been at Charing Cross,” he murmured, reading the two post it note messages stuck to his computer screen from Inspector Pauline Slater. 'Call me ASAP re tomorrow,' followed by, 'Switch your phone on or I'll shoot Big Boy.'
“I hope you’re up to date with your vaccinations if you’ve been slumming it,” Maggie snapped. “Was she there?”
“I didn't see her,” Colt said absently fiddling with his phone, and glanced up when Maggie huffed and crossed her arms smarting. He knew who she was talking about; her husband's midlife crisis was the talk of the force. He leant back in his seat and clasped his hands behind his head, placating her with a change of subject. “I was helping a woman from Winchester file a MISPER on her daughter.”
“Not another bloody kid who thinks the streets are paved with gold.” Maggie sighed. “It’s about time one of the runaway campaigns pointed out the streets of London are paved with dog shit, dealers, and chewing gum, the same as everywhere else.”
Colt chuckled. “This one's diabetic, adopted, and too impatient to wait another three months until she can access her birth records.”
“Almost eighteen?” Maggie said raising her brows. “I'm surprised they took the report at all. Usually they just send the parents packing with a list of hostels and soup kitchens.”
“The mother got the list,” Colt said. “And Charing Cross got four VIP tickets to the rugby for the first person who finds her.”
Maggie pursed her lips and inclined her head. “If you're not careful you'll be getting done for corruption in public office as well as a reputation for being a soft touch.”
Colt interlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “The kid’s vulnerable, Mags. There's no shortage of scumbags around to take advantage of a young girl like that. The mother's sensible, supportive, and I happen to agree with her. If her daughter wants to meet her birth family, the safest place for her to do that is at home.”
“She’ll come home when she’s stepped on a turd or two,” Maggie said patting his shoulder. “I’ve done your budget costing for the Commander. Go find him, before he finds you.”
St James’s Psychiatric Hospital, Hampshire.
India propped the door open with her foot as the psychiatrist shuffled a zombified woman into the room. “Take a seat,” she said to the tiny hunched figure, swamped by an oversized hospital gown.
The psychiatrist made for his desk. “Not you, Doc,” India said beckoning him with her finger. “You can wait outside.”
He froze mid-air - half in, half out of his chair - and hesitated before he spoke. “This is my office, Detective.”
“And I really appreciate the use of it,” India said.
He cleared his throat. “The patient is...”
“Not going to give me any trouble,” India finished for him, looking Lisa Lewis up and down. She was drugged up to the eyeballs and lucky if she made a hundred pounds soaked wet through. “Isn't that right, Lisa?”
Lisa Lewis gave a tight nod of her head.
The psychiatrist took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down his tie. “I'll be outside if you need me.”
India closed the door behind him and sat in the chair next to Lisa. “You can quit with the dribbling now,” she said. “I have it on very good authority that all this loony tunes crap is out of character.”
Lisa straightened up in her seat and rolled her bloodshot eyes in India's general direction.
“You left this at Royal South Hants.” India held her handbag out to her. Lisa Lewis gave a weak smile as she silently took it. “Dr Johnson won't be pressing charges.”
“Charges?” Lisa slurred, her eyes roaming randomly in their sockets. “He stole my baby.” India grimaced as she covered her face with both hands and released a keening animalistic wail. The cheap handbag forgotten, it slid from her lap, barely registering a sound as it met the plush carpeted floor.
While Lisa's body wracked with sobs, India snatched the box of fancy tissues off the desk and placed them in her lap. The sleeves of her hospital gown were already specked with blood and dubious stains; she didn't want snot added to the mix
. “Tell me about the baby, Lisa.”
Her body stilled, and her glassy wet eyes met India's. India stared at her and waited.
Lisa Lewis blew her nose. “Where's Sasha?” she murmured.
“Being looked after,” India said. “Tell me about Billy.”
Lisa Lewis swallowed hard and glanced towards the door. “I can't,” she hissed. “Every time I talk about him they give me more drugs.”
India raised her brows. She wouldn't mind getting her hands on whatever shit they were pumping into this woman. “Well they're not here, and I’m asking,” she said. “I want to know what happened to Billy, Lisa.”
Lisa wrung her hands together and narrowed her eyes. “How do I know I can trust you?” she mumbled. “You could be one of them.”
India raised a shoulder. “You don't. But you trust my sister, Terri Davies, to look after Sasha at school. She's the one who sent me.”
Lisa's eyes widened and brightened, like a light bulb had gone on in her skull. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “He was hot and wouldn't settle. When I changed him he had a rash on his little tummy. You hear all this stuff about meningitis, so I panicked and took him to the hospital. The doctor said he'd take care of him and told me to go home and get some rest.”
“Which doctor?”
Lisa frowned hard. “Johnson,” she said fiercely. “He's the one who took him.”
“And when was this?”
Lisa's eyes rolled back in her head as she twisted her bottom lip. “What day is it today?”
“Thursday. All day.”
“Monday night. He's been missing for three days,” she said counting them out on her fingers. “He'll be twelve days old now. Please, you've got to get me out of here so I can find him.”
