The Babysitter

by Sheryl Browne

  This was fucking nuts. Mark counted silently to five, lest he was tempted to give in to his urge to wipe the supercilious smirk off Cummings’ face, and then did as bid, where he waited, infuriatingly, while Edwards finished writing up whatever was so uber-fucking-important he felt obliged to ignore him.

  Finally, Edwards downed his pen, leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his chest. ‘Well?’ he said, his expression impassive as he looked at Mark.

  ‘Well, what?’ Mark asked agitatedly. Did the man not realise what Cummings was up to? Looking for any and every opportunity to undermine him in front of Edwards. Obviously he didn’t, because Mark hadn’t yet filed his concerns about Cummings. Something he intended to rectify as soon as was humanly possible.

  Edwards leaned forwards to eyeball Mark meaningfully. ‘Don’t be insubordinate, Detective,’ he warned him quietly. ‘I’d like details, please, of what you were doing driving through Farley Village in the early hours of the morning on three separate occasions.’

  Tugging in a long breath, Mark curtailed his temper. ‘I was trying to get Evie to sleep,’ he said, locking eyes with Edwards and making damn sure to hold his gaze.

  ‘Well, it’s different,’ Cummings sneered, ‘I’ll give you that. Definitely a new one on—’ he stopped as Edwards glared in his direction.

  ‘Would you like to elaborate?’ Edwards asked, turning back to Mark.

  Not really, no, Mark thought. But he had no choice, he supposed, galling though it was to talk about this in front of someone as contemptuous of marriage and children as Cummings was. ‘Evie went through a phase of not sleeping between her three thirty and six thirty feed,’ he explained, reluctantly. ‘Mel needed to sleep. She was exhausted. Evie tends to nod off in the car, so I drove around with her.’

  ‘Obviously going for father of the year award,’ Cummings drawled sarcastically. ‘In the habit of negotiating hairpin bends in the dark with your baby daughter in the car, are you?’

  ‘I play music. Classical,’ Mark answered tightly. ‘It lulls her to sleep.’

  ‘Right. No doubt while being filmed. Pay you well, do they, Audi, for starring in their smoother ride advert?’

  Mark clamped his jaw tight, and didn’t retaliate. Cummings would just love that.

  Edwards picked his pen up, his forehead creased thoughtfully as he tapped it on his desk. ‘And your wife will corroborate this, will she?’

  ‘Bound to, isn’t she?’ Cummings muttered. ‘May I suggest we get the video enhanced, sir,’ he suggested, turning to Edwards. ‘Just to confirm that the child was actually in—’

  ‘No, you may not,’ Edwards cut in bluntly.

  Cummings stared at him, confounded. ‘But surely you’re—’

  ‘That will be all, DS Cummings. Thank you.’ Edwards turned back to Mark, something resembling a smile flitting across his face. ‘Mark, get Melissa to give me a call, will you?’

  Mark was taken aback for a second. ‘Er, yes, no problem,’ he said, watching bemused as Edwards went back to his paperwork. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘For now, yes,’ Edwards confirmed.

  Cummings glanced between them, shaking his head scornfully. ‘I don’t bloody believe this.’

  ‘Dismissed, DS Cummings,’ Edwards said, without looking up.

  ‘What a fucking joke,’ Cummings griped behind him, as Mark headed for the door to get on with what he was supposed to be doing – finding a missing child.

  ‘Oh, that you definitely are, Cummings,’ Mark grated, heading for his own office.

  Lisa looked Cummings disparagingly over as she walked across to join Mark. ‘Someone piss on your firework, did they, Cummings?’

  ‘Just doing my job,’ Cummings said, veering off towards his desk. ‘I doubt DI Cain would have hesitated if the shoe were on the other foot.’

  ‘Not for a second,’ Mark assured him, wondering whether it might be worth an official warning in exchange for wiping the floor with the bastard.

  * * *

  Deciding positive action might be more productive than volatile reaction, Mark begged the use of a PC’s personal vehicle that evening. He knew he should be using the time before the forensic specialist’s report came back to be with his family, especially after the catastrophe that morning, but the cocky expression on Cummings’ face as he’d sauntered out of the office had only made Mark more determined to catch the bastard in the act. Did the man really think that his car being picked up on CCTV amounted to anything? That he’d find anything in Mark’s life or career – apart from the fact that Cummings’ own repugnant activities had pushed him to the limit – that would make him a subject of investigation? Cummings had miscalculated, badly, if he’d imagined Mark would back off rather than risk being accused of pursuing a personal vendetta.

  Following him at a discreet distance, Mark drove on by as Cummings parked up outside a 1960s high-rise, the seventh floor of which, Mark knew, was home to Tanya Stevens. Located just off the M5 into Birmingham on a notorious overspill estate, the decaying block of flats should have been demolished years ago, in Mark’s opinion. Cummings wasn’t paying Tanya a social visit, that was for sure. Normally to be found working the inner-city streets, Tanya only ever entertained her regular clients at home. Was Cummings one of them?

  Driving around the block to allow Cummings time to go in, Mark planned to wait until someone turned up to allow him access into the foyer, but was surprised to find Cummings still parked up outside. So now what? Mark debated and then pulled into the car park of the adjoining block. There was a chance Cummings might have spotted him, but noting the open driver’s side window and the billowing cloud of cigarette smoke, Mark thought not. The cocky bastard was clearly quite comfortable waiting there, for reasons which were pretty obvious in Mark’s mind.

  Sure enough, after a minute or so, Tanya appeared. She obviously didn’t consider Cummings a regular, or else didn’t trust him enough to allow him access to her flat. As a sex worker, Tanya was street savvy and choosy. Clearly, she had standards that excluded slimy, chauvinistic pricks like Cummings. Would she offer up any information about him, he wondered, given the right incentive? Mark doubted it. He’d first made her acquaintance after a girl who’d worked the patch next to her had gone missing, as, sadly, they sometimes did. Some of them had moved on, or more likely been moved on by their pimps. Some succumbed to drug abuse. Occasionally, missing girls would turn up having been hospitalised by their charming employers, or by the equally charming clients they hadn’t been so streetwise about. Mark had a hard time convincing the girls he was more concerned for their welfare than how they earned a living. Realising he was on the level had earned him a grudging respect, and one or two informants. Not Tanya, unfortunately, who’d told him that, unless he could guarantee twenty-four-hour protection for her kid, she’d rather not piss off her pimp.

  Watching as Tanya spoke briefly to Cummings through his window and then went around to the passenger side, Mark considered his next move. He had no wish to resort to taking snapshots of Cummings’ nefarious sexual activities, but the fact was, if the man was passing drugs here, then he needed evidence of it.

  Realising that Cummings had started his engine, probably to avoid whatever activities were about to go on in the vehicle being caught on CCTV, Mark did likewise. He doubted Cummings’ ‘liaison’ with Tanya would be a long one. She’d want to be in and out of that car ASAP. Then Mark would need to talk to her – buy some of her time, if necessary.

  Surprised when Cummings’ car slowed again as it hit the street, Mark idled behind him. Either that was the shortest hand job in history or there was some negotiation going on. Serious negotiation, from the look of it. Mark narrowed his eyes, reaching to unfasten his seatbelt as he noted the animated body language inside the vehicle.

  What the—? He watched as Cummings turned to Tanya, his hand shooting out to clutch her by the throat and force her head back against the passenger-side window. Mark was out of his door in a second flat.


  He was almost upon the car when the door flew open and Tanya spilled from it to hit the kerb hard. Bastard. Hearing the rev of the engine, and guessing Cummings was about to step on the accelerator, Mark deliberated, and then, noticing Tanya wasn’t moving, he went instinctively to her.

  She was out cold. ‘Tanya? Seeing a trickle of blood on the road, Mark crouched down and quickly attempted to assess the damage before moving the girl. He blew out a sigh of relief as her eyelids flickered open.

  ‘Hi. How’re you doing?’

  Tanya blinked, disorientated for a second, and then clearly registered who he was. ‘Fuckin’ marvellous,’ she grumbled, her face creasing into a scowl. ‘How do you think I— Ouch!’

  ‘Don’t move,’ Mark said, as she tried to lift her head. ‘You might need an ambulance.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Blinding idea, Detective Cain. I’m lying in the gutter with me fanny on show and he says don’t move.’ Eyeing the sky, she heaved herself up regardless, amid much wincing and cursing.

  Mark smiled, embarrassed, despite his years on the force. He debated whether to help her with the very short skirt she was tugging down, decided against, and offered her some assistance up instead. ‘You’ve had a nasty blow to the back of your head, Tanya,’ he pointed out, as she hung onto his arm, attempting to right herself on the pavement. ‘You could be concussed.’

  ‘Well, I never. I wondered why I was bleeding. It’s no wonder you’re a detective.’ Sighing, Tanya rolled heavily made-up eyes, and then looked around for her missing stiletto, without which she was decidedly lopsided. ‘Do us a favour, will ya?’ she said, nodding towards it.

  Dutifully, Mark obliged, offering his arm again as she wobbled while stuffing her foot into the shoe. ‘I’ll help you home,’ he said. He guessed he’d probably get a load of verbal for his efforts, but he wasn’t about to let her make her own way like this.

  ‘Thank God for the freakin’ cavalry,’ Tanya muttered, as he steered her in the direction of his car. ‘Wanker…’ she added disdainfully.

  Mildly surprised – he wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn that – Mark glanced at her, and then followed her gaze to where Cummings was cruising slowly by.

  ‘Fuck!’ Mark swore, noting the quick flash of a camera and the smile on Cummings’ face as he drove away.

  Fifteen

  MARK

  Pulling up on his drive, Mark sighed wearily. Tanya had wavered, just for a second, obviously tempted to shaft Cummings and give evidence about how he was passing drugs… ‘Yer living in la-la land,’ she’d told him outright. ‘What d’you think Eric’ll have to say about me talking to the law, hey?’

  Eric, the oily bastard that pimped her out, and had probably pumped her full of drugs in the first place, was highly unlikely to say anything, preferring to do his talking with his fists, or worse. It had been a non-starter. Cummings must have known he was behind him, and he’d played right into his hands. He’d obviously promised Tanya drugs as payment and then, knowing Mark wouldn’t walk away, he’d decided to have fun of a different kind.

  Idiot. Cursing his stupidity, Mark climbed out of the car and headed for his front door, trying to shake off the day as he did so. Mel really didn’t need this – him miles away, contemplating where the missing girl might be, what Cummings might be up to. She needed him on board when he was home, focused on his family.

  Wondering how the land lay, he let himself through his front door with a degree of trepidation. He’d checked in earlier, learning from Jade that Hercules was okay. He’d left a message for Mel, but she hadn’t rung back, which was worrying.

  ‘Daddeee!’ Poppy, already in her pyjamas, immediately charged through to greet him from the lounge.

  ‘Hi, Poppet,’ he said, sweeping her up into his arms. ‘How’s my favourite seven-year old?’

  ‘Shhh.’ Poppy pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Hercules is sleeping.’

  ‘Is she?’ Mark matched her serious look with one of his own. ‘In which case, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse, I promise,’ he whispered, looking past her to Mel, who was smiling uncertainly in his direction.

  Relieved, Mark walked towards her to offer a more affectionate kiss than he had this morning, although a rather awkward one, with Poppy sandwiched between them.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked softly, easing away.

  ‘Good. She lost a lot a blood, but the vet thinks she’ll be back to her old self in a day or two.’

  ‘She has to have lots of rest for the first twenty-five hours, though,’ Poppy informed him, with an important little nod.

  ‘Twenty-five, hey?’ Mark tried not to laugh, furrowing his brow thoughtfully instead. ‘In which case, we’d better tiptoe upstairs and read our story very quietly. I think it’s past a certain young lady’s bedtime, don’t you?’

  Poppy immediately scowled at that, and then brightened as Jade came down the stairs. ‘I’ll take her,’ she said. Poppy whooped, then clamped a hand to her mouth, lest she wake the dog. ‘You look exhausted.’ Jade smiled sympathetically at Mark.

  ‘Are you sure, Jade?’ Mel asked. ‘You’ve already done more than your fair share today.’

  ‘Always happy to help out in a crisis,’ Jade assured her. ‘Plus, it will give you two time to catch up.’

  ‘Looks like we’re outvoted,’ Mark said, as Poppy reached out, clearly quite happy to latch herself onto Jade in lieu of Daddy. ‘Night, Poppet,’ he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he passed her over. ‘Sleep tight.’

  ‘Night, Daddy.’ Poppy waved vaguely in his direction and then leaned back to study Jade’s face as they mounted the stairs. ‘Will you tuck me in, Jade?’ she asked her.

  ‘But of course.’ Jade nodded reassuringly. ‘I’m an expert tucker-in.’

  ‘And Bedtime Peppa?’

  ‘Well Bedtime Peppa might cry if I didn’t,’ Jade answered seriously.

  ‘And will you check the bug monster’s not there?’

  ‘It wouldn’t dare come near the place with me around. I’ve got my babysitter’s bug-slayer badge. But, yes, I’ll check anyway, just to make sure he hasn’t snuck in.’

  ‘I love you, Jade.’ Poppy’s voice drifted affectionately down from the landing.

  Mark and Mel swapped amused glances. ‘Looks like I might be surplus to requirements,’ Mark said, loosening his collar as he headed for the lounge to check on Hercules, and actually feeling hugely grateful that Jade had volunteered after the day he’d had.

  ‘Don’t bank on it.’ Mel pinched his backside as he walked past her, and then yawned widely.

  ‘I don’t think you’re up to the job, Mrs Cain,’ Mark observed, smiling over his shoulder.

  ‘I won’t be after a glass of wine, which I think we’ve both earned,’ Mel assured him. ‘In which case, you’ll have to do all the work. But you’ll have to do it quietly.’ She lowered her voice as they walked into the lounge, where Hercules was snoring noisily on the sofa.

  ‘Hmm?’ Mark considered. ‘Could be an interesting challenge.’

  Sixteen

  JADE

  Poppy and Bedtime Peppa duly tucked in, Jade checked all was quiet in the nursery and then crept downstairs. She guessed they were in the kitchen, discussing their respective days over dinner together. How cosy.

  Passing the lounge door, where the dog was still sleeping, which meant it at least wouldn’t growl at her, Jade paused in the hall and listened.

  ‘I really am sorry about losing the key,’ she heard Melissa say. God, why didn’t the silly cow just grow a pair and stop apologising, especially for something she didn’t do? It was no wonder Mark despaired of her. Well, the woman could forget offering him her body by way of recompense for her sins. She was going to be asleep before her head touched the pillow.

  ‘It’s me who should be apologising,’ Mark said, clearly about to take the blame. ‘I could have behaved a little less like an arsehole and slightly more sympathetically. I’m so sorry about the sculpture, Mel. I don’t suppose it was salv
ageable, was it? As a cast, I mean?’

  He was obviously interested enough in her arty-farty endeavours to know something about the process then. Jade scowled, not sure she was very pleased about that. But then, he would be, she supposed. He had such a caring personality. He couldn’t change that about himself and nor would Jade want him to.

  ‘No.’ Melissa sighed. ‘But I’ve started another. Jade was great, looking after Poppy and Evie while I was in the workshop.’

  Jade smiled to herself. She was all for Melissa singing her praises.

  ‘I’ve been thinking though,’ Melissa went on, ‘maybe I should give up working. For a while, at least.’

  Oh please. Jade rolled her eyes sky-high at that blatant play of the sympathy card.

  ‘What?’ She heard Mark choke on his wine. And no wonder.

  ‘I mean, it’s not important, is it?’ Melissa continued, nauseatingly selflessly. ‘Well, obviously it is to me, but it’s not as if I couldn’t put it on hold. Devote more time to the children.’

  There was a pause. Clearly Melissa was waiting for Mark to give the right response, which, Mark being Mark, of course he did.

  ‘It’s important to me, too, Mel,’ he said, with feeling. ‘Your art is who you are. You shouldn’t give up a fundamental part of yourself out of guilt. You’re a fantastic mother. Poppy’s a shining example of that. And apart from the blip when Evie wouldn’t settle into her routine, she’s about as content as a baby can be. This morning was nobody’s fault. Shit happens sometimes.’

  Melissa drew in a breath – and yawned. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m just tired, I suppose.’

  ‘Looks like we’ve both had a shitty sort of day,’ Mark empathised.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Mark,’ said Melissa – apologising, again. ‘I’m so busy thinking about me, I forgot to ask about how things went with you.’

  ‘Not great,’ Mark said.

  Hearing him scrape his chair back, Jade was primed to bolt for the stairs, but relaxed when she heard him walk in the other direction. He must be fetching more wine from the fridge.