by Susan Lewis
Erica rounded on him. ‘Get away,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t you dare come near us.’
‘You’re terrifying her,’ he shouted.
For an instant Erica appeared astonished, then her head went back as she laughed.
He grabbed her hand, but she snatched it away. ‘I’m terrifying her,’ she cried, her eyes glittering wildly. ‘I’m terrifying her.’
‘Look at her,’ he challenged.
Ottilie was cowering even further behind the bed, her hands covering her head, blood trickling down one leg.
‘I didn’t do that to her,’ Erica snarled. ‘You did that to her, you fucking pervert ...’ The punch to her jaw silenced her.
‘Get a grip on yourself,’ he growled.
Erica laughed again, loudly and shrilly.
Shoving her on to the landing, he dragged her to her own room and pushed her inside. ‘Just remember,’ he said, his face an inch from hers, ‘if it weren’t for Ottilie you’d be in prison now, so stay out of my business. Do you hear me? Keep taking your drugs, do as you’re told and stay out of my business.’
Going back to Ottilie’s room he scooped her into his arms and held her close. Her limbs trembled against him, sending tremors to every part of him. ‘Ssh, ssh,’ he soothed, stroking her hair. ‘Everything’s going to be all right. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
Ottilie continued to shake and shudder.
‘I showed you on the computer how the other girls do it,’ he said kindly, ‘and they didn’t make a fuss, did they?’
Ottilie kept her face averted as more tears streamed down her cheeks.
‘I expect it hurt them the first time too, but you saw how much they like it now. You’re going to like it too, my angel, I promise you. And it makes Daddy happy. You do want to make me happy, don’t you?’
Ottilie couldn’t answer. She didn’t understand.
‘There’s a good girl,’ he murmured. ‘Now we’ll go and put you in the bath shall we, get you nice and clean, and then you can come and sleep in my bed tonight. That’ll be nice, won’t it? You can bring Boots too, if you like, because I don’t expect he’ll want to be left on his own, will he?’
Chapter Five
ALEX WINCED AT the noise that assailed her as she pushed through the swing doors into the office. Everyone was talking at once, and apart from those tied up on phones, it didn’t take long to work out that the others were all jabbering about the same thing. A rumour had reached their shores that Dean Valley Council was planning to merge the Kesterly hubs, thereby creating one supercentre for the area’s social services, to be based in the southern district – and up to twenty jobs would go.
Hearing the news Alex felt a judder of nerves go through her. Though the new location would be good for her, in that it was closer to home, it wasn’t going to mean very much if she ended up as one of the twenty. God, what a horrible thought. She loved her job, in many ways she was her job, so it would be like a character amputation if it were taken away. She couldn’t imagine doing anything else, and certainly didn’t want to; even less did she want to abandon any of her kids. It was unthinkable, simply undoable, especially when some of them had already been abandoned once, even several times, in their tragic little lives. Then there was the question of how she’d earn a living if she was forced to go. Social work was all she was qualified for, so she’d have to seek a place with another council, somewhere else in the country. But what about Jason? He wouldn’t want to leave his kids, or his clients, and no way could she go without him.
Typical, Alex, get yourself all wound up about something you don’t even know is true.
‘There’s a union meeting the Saturday after next,’ someone shouted from the back of the room. ‘We’ll have to go.’
Dumping her bag on her desk, Alex was about to ask where the meeting was when the doors to the office banged open and an incandescent woman with wild red hair and even wilder eyes began ranting at Tamsin Green.
‘If you think you can do so much fucking better,’ she raged, shoving two grubby boys forward, ‘then be my guest. Here they are. I’m sick to fucking death of you lot coming round my house, criticising everything I do, sticking your fucking noses in where they’re not wanted, and I’m sick of these little bastards too.’
Clearly enjoying the moment, the boys began pulling faces and making gestures to say she was off her head.
Tamsin was rushing towards them, trying to calm the woman down and ushering her into a meeting room, while grabbing the boys too, and ignoring the V signs they were making behind their mother’s back.
‘Nothing like a soothing ease into the day,’ someone quipped, making everyone laugh.
Finding she was still worked up about the possible loss of her job, Alex quickly reminded herself again that absolutely nothing had been confirmed yet, and anyway, even if it was true, she might not be amongst those chosen to go, so best to come down from the ceiling. She was good at what she did, was dedicated, and hardly anyone ever complained about her – apart from Wendy, who complained about everyone. No, she would be fine, she felt sure of it, especially when there were some in this hub who were known by everyone to be in the wrong job – which reminded her she was supposed to be covering for Ben today. What a joy!
Picking up her bag she carried it over to his desk and dumped it down again. Whatever new cases came in during this spell on duty, she’d already made up her mind that they could not be added to her caseload. She just didn’t have the time to take on any more, so they’d have to go to someone else. Though she knew she’d stand more chance of offloading if Tommy was around, she was fully prepared to fight Wendy if she had to, in fact she might just enjoy it. On the other hand, if redundancies were in the offing, there was every chance Wendy would be involved in deciding who had to go, so it might be a good idea to try the impossible and stay on the right side of her.
Did Wendy actually have a right side?
After settling herself between the two other duty workers, Carmel and Janet, she was about to fire up the computer in front of her when the phone started to ring. Somehow, mysteriously, the other two managed to disappear, leaving her to deal with whatever fresh problem was waiting to cough itself down the line and into her world.
‘Hello, children’s services,’ she sighed into the phone. She hadn’t even had a coffee yet, so one of the absconders had better bring her one or this would be the last call she was taking.
There was a moment’s silence, giving her hope that it might be a telemarketer with a stammer who she could simply hang up on, but then a woman’s gravelly voice came down the line. ‘I’m trying to find out if anyone’s been to check on the little girl on North Hill yet. I rang before, and I spoke to the police yesterday. They said they were going to pass it on to you.’
Immediately feeling guilty for having forgotten all about Neil Osmond’s call last evening, Alex said, ‘Can you tell me who you are, please?’
‘It don’t matter who I am. I just wants you to make sure someone’s going to check on that kiddie, because I’m telling you, something’s not right in that house, and if the kind of thing that’s going on there is what I think it is, then it’s up to you lot to get her out of there.’
Digging into her bag for a pen (wasn’t it just like Ben to go off leaving his desk locked?) Alex said, ‘Can you tell me what you think is going on?’
‘You know what I’m talking about, I don’t want to have to put it into words.’
Understanding as much as she needed to from that, Alex said, ‘So what evidence do you have to suggest that something’s not right?’
‘I just know. I can see it, feel it, every time I go there.’
‘So you know the child, and the family?’
‘No, I don’t, but I can tell you their name’s Wade and they live at number forty-two North Hill. I’ve seen the kiddie, and like I said, something’s not right with her. She don’t speak, for one thing, and the mother’s strange. I’ve never seen the father, so I can’t tell
you nothing about him, but I think he lives there.’
Though the woman didn’t sound like the kind of anonymous caller who was out to make mischief for an ex-spouse, or neighbour they’d fallen out with, it was never that easy to tell, so Alex said, ‘It would help a lot if you’d give me your name. I realise that ...’
‘It’s not going to happen. People get funny about those what call in social services and I got enough crap going on in my life without adding to it. I just want to know that little girl’s safe, that’s all.’
‘But why exactly do you think she might not be?’ Alex pressed.
‘I told you, it’s just a feeling I get when I go there.’
Waving out to Saffy as she left the office, Alex said, ‘Do you go there often? How well do you actually know the family?’
‘I already said, not at all. I just makes deliveries now and again and that woman what lives there, she’s not normal – or she isn’t in my book, anyway. Listen, I told you all this before when I rang. I spoke to a bloke the last couple of times, he said he’d look into it, but I don’t reckon anything’s happened, that’s why I called the police, but they told me I had to call you.’
The pieces were starting to fall into place now: Ben complaining about an anonymous caller who’d rung up about a kid on North Hill; Ben saying he’d made all the follow-up calls and there was no need to take it any further. Ben describing this woman as a nutter. Though she didn’t sound like a nutter to Alex, maybe she’d said something while talking to Ben to tip him off in that direction. Or something had come to light during his follow-up calls. Hadn’t he said that the father worked at Kesterly Rise Primary? She could easily check, and would, once this call was over. ‘Do you know the little girl’s name?’ she asked the woman.
‘No, I told you, she don’t speak, and the mother never says much either.’
‘Have you ever seen any injuries on the child?’
‘Well, no, not so’s you’d notice, anyway.’
‘Does she look undernourished or uncared for, maybe unwashed, messy hair, dirty clothes, that sort of thing?’
‘No, in that respect she seems quite normal. Maybe she is. I’m just telling you what my gut is telling me. Something’s not right in that house and I reckon it ought to be looked into.’
‘OK. Would you happen to have a telephone number for the family?’
‘As a matter of fact I have, not that they ever answer it.’
After jotting it down, Alex said, ‘And is there a number I can call you on if ...’
‘No, I already said, I don’t want to get involved. Just go and see the girl, prove me wrong if you like, I’d be happier if you did than if you didn’t,’ and the line went dead.
Immediately trying 1471, Alex wasn’t surprised to find that the woman had withheld her number, so turning on the computer she brought up the duty log for the past couple of weeks.
It didn’t take long to find Ben’s notes for both calls, and details of the background checks he’d carried out. From these Alex quickly learned that Ottilie (sweet name) Wade was three and a half years old, and that the family had moved to Kesterly from Northumbria just over a year ago to make a new start after the loss of their son, Jonathan, to an asthma attack.
Ben’s notes went on to detail a phone conversation he’d had with Brian Wade, the deputy head of Kesterly Rise Primary, during which Wade had told him of accusations that had been made against him, back in Northumbria, following his son’s death. An anonymous caller – female – had rung the headmaster of the school where Wade was teaching to warn him that Wade was dangerous, shouldn’t be around children, and that his new baby (presumably Ottilie) was now at risk. The school hadn’t contacted their local social services over this, or the police, the reason being that the caller – according to Mr Wade – was known to be a paranoid schizophrenic. Apparently she’d targeted several other teachers over the years, accusing them of anything from theft, to child abuse, to attempted murder. In Wade’s case she’d gone a step further in accusing him of killing his own son.
Clicking on to the next page of Ben’s report, Alex read that the schizophrenic woman, whose name she hadn’t yet come across, had apparently managed to track Wade down to Kesterly Rise where he was now employed, and had once again begun her campaign of harassment. ‘Mr Wade is extremely keen for us NOT to contact his wife about this,’ Ben had written, ‘as it’s likely to cause her a great deal of unnecessary distress at a time when she’s finally managing to get over the loss of their son.’
So that would be the reason no one had gone to the house, or tried to speak to the mother. Wade had convinced Ben that he was the victim of a deranged woman, and that his wife was as fragile as an egg.
Sitting back in her chair, Alex let out a long breath as she looked at the child’s name scribbled on a pad beside the computer, and waited for her mind to clear in order to start this over again. The thing that was bothering her the most for the moment was the fact that the woman who’d just rung in had had a local accent. Of course, this didn’t preclude her living in Northumbria, it just didn’t seem all that likely, especially when she made deliveries to the house.
Setting that aside for now, she began going through the database to find out the name of Ottilie Wade’s health visitor. To her surprise, Ottilie’s name brought up no results. (Hadn’t Ben noticed this?) However, the child was registered with a GP in Kesterly South, Dr Timothy Aiden, who Alex didn’t know, but had heard of. After leaving a message with the receptionist for the doctor to call when he’d finished surgery, she dialled the number the anonymous caller had given her for the Wades’ home.
After letting the phone ring for some time she was on the point of hanging up when it stopped. She waited for someone to say hello, but nothing happened, so she said it herself.
There was no response, but she felt certain someone was there. Guessing from the faint sounds of breathing that it was a child, she said, very gently, ‘Is that Ottilie?’
Again no response, but she could still hear the breathing.
‘If that’s Ottilie,’ Alex said, ‘can you go and get your mummy please? I’d like to speak to her.’
More silence, but Alex could sense the child still listening. ‘Ottilie, who’s at home with you?’ she asked, concerned now that the child might be alone.
No reply.
‘Is someone else there? A grown-up?’
At last someone spoke, but the woman’s voice was distant and cross as she said, ‘Ottilie, stop playing with the phone,’ and a moment later there was the clatter of the receiver going down.
Immediately Alex dialled the number again, but this time it was busy, and it stayed that way for the next several minutes, until on the last attempt it simply rang and rang with no one picking up.
Digging out the number of Kesterly Rise Primary, she went through to the office and asked to speak to Brian Wade.
‘Hang on,’ the voice said at the other end, ‘I’ll see if I can find him. Can I ask who’s calling please?’
Alex told her, and propped the phone under her chin to carry on working as she waited.
Brian Wade was in a first-floor classroom, overlooking the playground. He was perched on a small desk with his laptop on the windowsill in front of him showing images of the children below playing. Using the mousepad he zoomed and panned, clicked to capture or record, then moved on.
As a founding member of the exclusive Internet service he and two other like-minded individuals had formed a few years ago, he’d quickly learned the vital techniques of online security. Having a partner who was chief executive of a global enterprise that specialised in identity and access management, virtual copyright protection and video surveillance, obviously helped. This partner regularly advised all new members on how to make their online activities as secure as the most sophisticated software would allow, and ultimately all but untraceable to their identities in the real world.
For the site, each member had a virtual name. Brian’s was Tiger.
As Tiger he was a frequent contributor to his own site. In fact, he had enjoyed some considerable success with the sale of the videos and photographs he had posted. Having such ready access to children put him at an advantage, of course. Even so, it was his submissions of Ottilie that had made his teaser links the most viewed – and the full material the most expensive to download.
She was such a pretty girl, he couldn’t be prouder of her if he tried – and it was no surprise at all that she’d found so many fans.
She’d soon have many more, once he got round to shooting the footage his eager members were waiting for, the footage he’d already titled Riding the Tiger. In truth, he wasn’t particularly interested in the money, at least not for himself. All proceeds went into Ottilie’s savings account; after all, it was only right that they should be hers.
Shooting the video of the next time wasn’t going to be easy. However, it would help, he felt sure, if he kept showing her how good other little girls were who made movies with their daddies. It had worked a dream with the photographs; she’d become much more compliant after that, almost competitive he thought, if she were capable of such a feeling at such a tender age. She’d certainly seemed to understand how important it was to be a good girl for Daddy and make him happy. Soon she would learn other ways of winning his favour, and in no time at all he was sure she would become very good at it indeed.
It was a pity these early attempts were making her cry and unsettling her mother, but at least there had been no blood last night, and the bruising and swelling from the first time were already going down. It was true what they said of little girls, they were very spongy at that age, far more malleable – and adaptable – than most would imagine.
Continuing to watch the screen, he felt the jolts of pleasure inside him building towards a feverish pitch. There were so many fresh, uninhibited little souls tearing about the nets and hoops in the playground, swinging from bars and tumbling into tangled heaps, that it was almost too much to bear. He shut his eyes and allowed himself the indulgence of a blessed few moments. The whistle would sound soon and the children would return inside; before that he needed to secure his computer and avail himself of the staff facilities.
