The Babysitter

by Sheryl Browne

  Mark narrowed his eyes. Where was this shit coming from?

  ‘So why rape the babysitter?’ Cummings asked, goading him on. Just couldn’t resist, could he, the arrogant prick. ‘I’d have thought she wouldn’t do it for you, given she’s over the age of consent?’

  ‘Does it for you though, doesn’t she, Cummings? Did she make this allegation before or after you two had had sex, I wonder?’ Mark put two and two together and presumably got a correct four, judging by the now smug look on the other man’s face. ‘You really are a gullible git, Cummings. She’s been using you, feeding you information. Wrong information. Do you honestly think she wanted you for your sexual prowess?’

  Cummings smiled languidly, still every inch the cocky bastard he was. ‘At least I don’t have to resort to raping women and kids.’

  Mark clenched his jaw. ‘You’ll get yours, Cummings. It’s only a matter of time before someone realises you’re lifting drugs from the evidence room.’

  Cummings shrugged indifferently. ‘Nothing major. No one’s likely to miss it. I must admit you did put the wind up me a couple of times. You got way too close to catching me in the act when I picked up Tanya Stevens.’

  ‘Which is why you assaulted her presumably?’ Mark asked casually. ‘Distraction technique?’

  Cummings smirked. ‘Worked, didn’t it?’

  ‘It might have done, Cummings,’ DCI Edwards said calmly behind him. ‘If you hadn’t got quite so cocky with it.’

  Paling, Cummings shot around to face him. ‘It was self-defence, sir,’ he said quickly. ‘I had to use force to restrain her. She—’

  ‘Out!’ Edwards ordered him.

  Cummings hesitated for a second, then, noting the livid look in Edwards’ eye, stepped past him and walked apprehensively towards the door.

  ‘Mark.’ Edwards looked at him, his expression not quite so openly scathing as it had been. ‘The doctor’s arrived.’ He glanced awkwardly away again. ‘If you’re ready?’

  ‘Would it make any difference if I wasn’t?’ Mark asked him disappointedly.

  There was definitely sympathy in the man’s eyes now, probably because he was about to undergo the humiliation of being swabbed, prodded and poked. But when Edwards turned to the door, it was to find a uniform barrelling into him from the other side.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ the man said quickly. ‘Moyes called in. DS Moyes. The call was cut short, but she said something about a babysitter? There’s also been an emergency call. A little girl. We managed to keep her on the line for a while. Looks like she was calling from the same location.’

  His house. Mark’s blood froze in his veins.

  Seventy-Seven

  JADE

  ‘There you are.’ Jade smiled down at Poppy, crouched behind the chair, her knees tucked up to her chin. ‘My, you were hard to find,’ Jade said kindly, moving to heave the armchair away from the corner and flush the little brat out.

  Extending her hand, her smile frozen on her face, Jade waited.

  Obviously realising there was no way to hide, Poppy reluctantly emerged, plugging her thumb into her mouth and nervously taking Jade’s hand. Was the poor little mite worried about her mum, Jade wondered, or her soon-to-be-boiled goldfish? Her goldfish, more than likely. The child was just like Melissa, self-centred, no thought for anyone but herself.

  ‘Good girl.’ Squeezing her hand, Jade led her across to the sofa, where she could keep an eye on her while she attended to the business of cleaning up. ‘Now, you stay there while I get a nice warm fire going, and then we can go for a little walk in the fresh air. How does that sound?’

  Poppy didn’t answer. Jade let it pass. She was obviously tired. It was way past her bedtime.

  ‘She really is a careless cow, your mum, leaving all these hazardous materials lying around in her workshop.’ Jade chatted companionably to the girl, sprinkling liberally as she did. ‘Lord knows what she was thinking. I mean, white spirits, on a low shelf? Honestly, it’s a wonder social services didn’t cart you off years ago. Being a drink-addled druggy’s no excuse for child abuse, is it?’

  The first armchair thoroughly doused, Jade walked across to the other, smiling reassuringly at Poppy as she went. ‘You’re better off without her, my love, and that deceitful father of yours. Trust me, having no parents is better than having abusive parents. They scar you for life.’

  The second armchair wet enough for purpose, Jade ditched the bottle, picked up another containing heating oil, and headed for the sofa. ‘Almost done,’ she said cheerily, unscrewing the top, and then pausing. Cocking her head to one side, she looked the quaking girl over. No, she decided. It was tempting, but she needed the brat for insurance purposes, at least for now.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she said, offering Poppy her hand. ‘Let’s get you out in the fresh air. These fumes really aren’t any good for you.’ Tsk-ing at the irresponsibility of a mother who would expose a child to this, let alone the clay and glaze dusts, which must surely be highly toxic, Jade poured out the last of the oil and led the little girl to the safety of the hall.

  ‘Stay,’ she ordered. ‘If you move, I’ll saw your feet off.’

  The girl let out a ragged sob. Jade sighed, pulled her matches from her jeans pocket, and held onto her patience. It wasn’t her fault she was the product of her dysfunctional parents, she supposed.

  ‘Here we go,’ she said, bending as she struck the match, watching the flame dancing in the little girl’s watery eyes.

  Mesmerised for a second, Jade jumped to her feet before the match burned down, and then, tingling with anticipation, she tossed it into the lounge. ‘Whoosh,’ she whispered, closing her eyes, a thrill rushing through her as it caught.

  Jade hesitated, making sure the flames leapt and furled before pulling the door to. ‘It’s going to be the most beautiful bonfire ever. Much bigger than the others I made. There’s lots of wood in your house, you see,’ she confided conspiratorially to Poppy, taking her hand firmly in her own. ‘I’ll let you get closer to the next one,’ she promised.

  The girl was crying in earnest now, gulping back huge snotty sobs as Jade led her to the front door.

  She’d feel better after a good cry. Not that Jade ever had. She’d stopped crying once she’d realised tears were pointless when there was no one who cared enough to hear them.

  ‘You really need to feel the heat of the fire on your face to realise the true cleansing beauty of it,’ she said, attempting to mollify the child as she pulled the front door open – and then stopped, fury uncoiling inside her as she saw several blue lights rotating outside. The interfering bitch upstairs had got her call through.

  Jade’s faced darkened as she watched another squad car screeching towards the house, her supposed hero spilling from the passenger door as it careered to a halt halfway across the lawn.

  ‘Too late, copper,’ Jade spat, clutching Poppy’s hand tighter and stepping back.

  Seventy-Eight

  MARK

  Undiluted terror gripped Mark’s stomach as he took in the scene before him in surreal slow motion. Splintering wood. He could hear beams falling. Hear his house burning.

  Windows shattering. Flames crackling. People shouting. Sirens screaming. His daughter’s cries – he sucked in a breath, couldn’t breathe out – they reached inside him and ripped his heart right out of his chest.

  He tumbled forwards, his emotions colliding, his world exploding.

  And then he ran.

  Wrestling free of the arms that tried to hold him back, ignoring his DCI yelling behind him, he ran.

  He kicked at the door, ramming his shoulder, his whole body weight against it – ‘Give, you fucking thing!’ – and then he was in. Falling into the hall, choking back the fumes that seared the back of his throat, he righted himself, pressing his arm to his mouth as he made his way through the smoke to the stairs.

  Noting the open doors on the landing, he didn’t pause, but he prayed, a prayer that came from his soul, as he crashed int
o the main bedroom, his lungs raw from the effort of trying to breathe. Needing to assess the situation, to think strategically through the debilitating panic, Mark closed the door to buy some time, and registered the horror in front of him.

  Lisa, face down on the floor, bleeding from a head wound, unconscious at best.

  Poppy… alive. Mark silently thanked God. She was sobbing, tugging hard on Mel’s arm. ‘Mummy, please, you have to get out of bed.’

  Mel was barely responsive.

  A potent mixture of fear and fury raging inside him, Mark snapped his gaze to the tall casement window where, standing precariously on the ledge, her back to the concrete drive twenty long feet below, was Jade. The smile on her face was triumphant, her movements controlled. She knew that Mark knew he had a decision to make: her or his wife? If she fell, if she died, his baby’s whereabouts would die with her.

  Mark took a faltering step forwards. She edged dangerously back.

  ‘Don’t do this, Jade,’ Mark begged her, his voice hoarse. ‘Please, don’t do this.’

  ‘Why?’ she snarled. Her face, illuminated by the sweeping blue lights outside, was twisted with rage. ‘Because you care?’

  ‘I care.’ Marked took another cautious step. ‘I care very much. You need help, Jade. Please, let me—’

  ‘Liar! You pretended you did, but you didn’t! You promised me you’d always be there. Made me an absolute promise. And you weren’t!’

  ‘When? Talk to me, Jade.’ Mark moved closer. ‘Tell me, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, here we go.’ Jade laughed. ‘The “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you” crap.’

  ‘I am sorry!’ Mark said, fear slicing through him afresh as she teetered. ‘If I did something—’

  ‘I’d lost everything! My whole life burned to ashes! You told me it was going to be all right. You held me and you told me, and it wasn’t! You lied to me! You left me. You left me to be with that slut of a wife because she was pregnant!’

  Mark stopped, bewildered. There was no reasoning with her, no talking to her. She was utterly insane.

  ‘I was pregnant! Made pregnant by him!’

  ‘Who?’ Mark shouted, groping desperately for some comprehension, some inkling of what she was talking about.

  ‘It was her fault! That spoiled brat of a sister, always whining and seeking attention.’

  Mark ran a hand over his face. No idea what to say. What to do.

  ‘It was only a blister from a sparkler, and she screamed like she was being murdered!’ she ranted on, sounding more insane by the second. ‘She asked for one, over and over, she kept whining: I want to play sparklers. I want to play sparklers. I only gave it to her to shut her up, stop her moaning and tittle-tattling, telling tales. She told them I’d given it to her. She knew I’d get in trouble. She was always getting me into trouble. She told them I burned her, so I fucking well did!’

  ‘Your sister?’ She…? Mark reeled incredulously, as the horrific implication of her disjointed ramblings became clearer to him.

  ‘Yes, my sister,’ she spat. ‘Their perfect little princess, who could do no wrong. All of them! Tucked up in their beds, snoring away like they hadn’t got a care in the world: her, Miss Goody-two-shoes, lying there with her pathetic thumb stuck in her mouth, looking like butter wouldn’t melt. And her, that bitch-mother. She knew! She knew what he was doing. Every time she left me he did it, touching me, hurting me, grunting and thrusting and apologising – and that whore of a mother just let him! She took that snivelling little brat to the hospital with a tiny little blister, and she let him.’

  Oh, Jesus. Mark was beginning to see… the images from his dreams, recollections from a call-out he could never quite forget. A little girl curled into a foetal ball in her child-sized bed, her one-eyed Pooh Bear clutched close to her chest. Her older sister, still dressed in her unicorn-print pyjamas when they’d found her, had been shaking from head to foot. Her cheeks, smeared in soot from the fire, had been tear-stained, her cognac-coloured eyes wide and utterly petrified.

  Mark swallowed hard. Grace.

  ‘You burned them alive?’ Astounded, he searched her face, looking for some shred of conscience, some indication she understood the horrendous thing she’d done, was doing.

  ‘I hurt them like they hurt me! I went to the kitchen, and I struck the match and I killed them. And you said it would be all right. You pretended you cared. But you didn’t! You’re all the same, liars! Users and abusers.’ she screamed, over a deafening crash from the landing.

  The stairs going? Mark kept his gaze on hers, prayed it wasn’t. Sweat wetting his eyelashes, pooling at the base of his neck, he tried to focus as the light bulbs popped. His heart was thundering so loudly he could almost hear it above the cacophony of sirens outside. He risked another step towards her.

  Jade twisted around, ready to jump.

  ‘Jade, wait! What happened to her?’ Mark shouted urgently. ‘Your baby. What happened to her? Tell me. Make me understand.’

  ‘Hah!’ Jade laughed cynically. ‘As if you could.’

  ‘Try me.’ Mark begged.

  Jade didn’t speak for a second. ‘I thought she was an alien growing inside me,’ she said quietly. ‘But she wasn’t. She was beautiful. So tiny. Blue. Her skin was tinged blue.’

  Premature? Oxygen starvation? Mark felt another violent twist in his chest.

  ‘I knew God would take her for an angel when she died. I sang to her when her eyes closed… Hush, little baby, don't you cry… She smiled at me. I’m sure she did. My perfect little Angel. I knew she’d come back to me.’

  ‘Evie.’ Full realisation finally dawning, Mark almost choked the word out.

  ‘Angel!’ Jade glared back at him, her eyes smouldering with hatred. ‘You abandoned me. Tried to take her away from me. I have nothing to live for without her. Now she’ll die too. And when she does, remember it was you who killed her, Mark Cain.’

  Mark didn’t dare move, other than to brace himself and pray harder as she moved closer to the edge.

  ‘I’ll see you in hell,’ she snarled.

  Intent on her aim, she didn’t notice the hand snaking around her ankle, her calf.

  The woman whose child she’d stolen wasn’t about to let her go.

  ‘Hell can wait for you, Jade.’

  Seventy-Nine

  JADE

  He’d grabbed her. Wrapped his hand around the waist and yanked her away from the window. He’d hurt her. Curled into a ball in the corner where he’d flung her, Jade watched as he handed the brat down through the window. He didn’t even glance in her direction as he helped needy Melissa out. She was protesting, of course, whingeing, always whingeing, wanting her precious little baby.

  Jade couldn’t believe it when he walked past her to gather the policewoman from the floor, the scheming cow who wouldn’t have hesitated to steal him from her. Carefully, he carried her to the window, searching her face, as if he was already in love with her, the bastard. It was she who needed him. She was choking to death. Couldn’t he hear her?

  Finally, he turned his attention to her, and Jade shrank back. His breathing laboured, his expression pure thunder, he simply stared at her. There was no compassion in his eyes, nothing. He didn’t move to help her when she coughed again – so hard, she was sure her lungs would turn inside out. He barely flinched when the door cracked, and thick grey smoke furled further into the room.

  Jade looked frantically towards it. She was going to burn. He was going to let her. Her skin would be blackened and blistered, her eyes would pop. Oh God… ‘Mark?’ she croaked, her throat parched and sore from the fumes.

  ‘Where is she?’ Mark spoke quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Evie, where is she?’

  Jade looked at him, pleadingly, beseechingly. She couldn’t tell. He must know that. If she did, he would have no reason to save her.

  Jade’s thoughts were cut short as the door blew. ‘Mark!’ she screamed, as hungry flames rushed petrifyingly towards h
er.

  Eighty

  MARK

  She was barely recognisable as the young girl he’d met eight long years before. An innocent young girl, Mark had thought, and one he’d inadvertently sent out the wrong signals to. She’d obviously had cosmetic surgery as she grew older. Disguised her striking cognac-coloured eyes with blue lenses. She’d been beautiful – on the outside. Broken on the inside. Whether from birth? No one would ever know the workings of a mind that had compelled a young girl to burn her family alive.

  There was nothing for him here. The doctors had confirmed cerebral hypoxia from the fire, meaning that, if she survived, lack of oxygen to the brain would result in severe and permanent damage. Despite the full-scale investigation now underway, with absolutely nothing to go on, they weren’t likely to find Evie. Mark knew it, but he hadn’t said so to Mel. He’d hardly spoken to her, desperate though he was to hear her voice, which had always seemed to anchor him in his darkest moments. He’d been too scared to, knowing it would be a conversation he couldn’t bear. She was never likely to forgive him for doubting her, judging her, readily accepting a diagnosis that was wrong. Being involved, albeit unknowingly, in a plan to drive her steadily out of her mind. Accusing her, and then getting so paralytic himself he’d allowed a woman to take advantage of him, manipulating him to the point where he was the accused, locked up like the worst kind of criminal while… He didn’t dare imagine what might be happening to Evie. Melissa could never forgive him that. He would never forgive himself.

  Swallowing back the grief and guilt weighing too heavily in his chest, Mark turned away from Grace’s hospital bed. He didn’t really know why he’d come. To see with his own eyes, he supposed. He’d tried to save her, blistering his hands and his arms dragging her out, but it had been too late. He’d gone over that until he’d driven himself almost out of his mind. Lisa had tried to reassure him, telling him she could never have been truly saved. It didn’t help. The fact was, crucial seconds had sealed her fate. Sealed his baby’s fate.