by Michael Wood
‘Doesn’t that sound odd to you?’
‘No. She helped him get a job. There’s nothing wrong with using a parent’s connections.’
‘That’s not what he says. He says thank you for giving me the job, not getting me the job.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘His mother gave him the job because she was in a position to do so. And who does the employing at Mary Croft Primary School?’
‘I don’t know, the head teacher presumably.’
‘Exactly. Sheila Croft. Making her Sebastian’s mother.’
Chapter 46
Ellen Devonport slept in until almost lunchtime. After emailing her daily report to DCI Darke, she’d had a late night during which she’d watched Graham Norton then the late film and eventually nodded off in an armchair. She woke up with a crick in her neck and a hangover. She knew never to drink a full bottle of red wine, as the after effects were lethal, but she could never resist a Merlot, especially when it was on special offer at Tesco.
She showered, forced herself to eat a two-day-old croissant and headed for the gym. If half an hour on a treadmill didn’t sober her up, nothing would.
Unfortunately, Ellen only managed twenty minutes. Her legs felt heavy. She hadn’t exercised all week, apart from rushing up and down stairs to take Linda Armitage a cup of tea while she wallowed in her own bed. She felt sluggish. Maybe once this job was over with, she should have a word with her line sergeant about moving away from the whole FLO thing. It wasn’t for her.
A bottle of ice-cold water and a quinoa salad in the canteen of the gym and Ellen was feeling something close to human once again. She scrolled through her phone and replied to a few texts she’d received overnight, one of which was from DC Kesinka Rani who asked if she was still coming over this afternoon for a visit. She’d completely forgotten all about that. Ellen wasn’t overly fond of children, and never understood why people cooed over babies. They didn’t do anything except lie there eating, screaming, and crapping. Where was the joy in that? However, a couple of hours with Kesinka and the baby (whose name she’d forgotten) would take her mind off the Armitage family.
Ellen had left the car at home, not trusting herself to be fully sober to drive, and popped in to the supermarket on the way to Heeley where Kesinka and Ranjeet now lived with baby whatshisname. She bought a couple of bottles of wine, a tub of mini muffins and, from the baby section, she found an adorable onesie and a little teddy bear for the child.
***
‘Oh my goodness, Kes, I can’t believe how much he looks like Ranjeet,’ Ellen said as she bent over the carry cot in the living room of their two-bedroom house.
‘It’s frightening, isn’t it? He really is a mini version of his father,’ she replied.
Kesinka had conceived on her honeymoon. There was nothing else to do on a long weekend in the Lake District when it did nothing but rain for four days solid. She worried about giving up work and being a stay-at-home mum, but she’d been adamant from the start that she would returning to work the moment her maternity leave was finished.
‘Where is Ranjeet today?’ Ellen asked.
‘He’s at his father’s.’
‘Why didn’t you go?’
‘It’s a long story,’ she said, slumping into the armchair. ‘Basically, he thinks we should have named the baby after him, but I wanted to name him after my father who died a couple of years ago. Ranjeet’s dad has shot me daggers ever since.’
‘That’s childish. Maybe you can name your second son after him.’
‘You’ve never given birth, have you?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Trust me, there’ll be no second child.’
‘That painful?’
‘Like you wouldn’t believe. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I’d prefer a glass of this if you want to join me?’ Ellen said, pulling a bottle of Chardonnay out of her bag.
‘I can’t. Not while I’m breastfeeding,’ she said.
‘Oh. Another reason to add to the list for not having kids.’
While Kesinka went to make a cup of tea, and pour a glass of wine for Ellen, she went to the mantelpiece and looked at all the cards of congratulations that were still there. She smiled as she read the good wishes and tried to submit the name Hemant to memory. She went back to the cot.
‘Hello baby Hemant,’ she said in a light voice.
He looked up at her with wide brown eyes and a cute smile on his face. He wriggled his legs and made a gurgling sound. He really was incredibly cute. Maybe the sacrifices of no alcohol and a painful birth were worth it when you had something so adorable to take care of.
‘I’ve bought you a little present,’ she said, taking the small bear out of her bag. She waved it at him, and he smiled. ‘Do you like him? What shall we call him?’ She frowned as her mind went blank. ‘How about … Ted?’
‘Not very original,’ Kesinka said from the doorway.
Ellen laughed. ‘I’m not that great with kids.’
‘Neither am I. When my mum came round to visit when I came home, she told me she spent the first week crying her eyes out because she’d forgotten everything she’d been taught and was worried she’d drop me.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘I haven’t dropped him yet, but the responsibility is weighing on me, especially with Ranjeet telling me about that girl who was abducted. Everything seems scary once you’re a mum.’
Ellen picked up her glass of wine and sat down beside Kesinka on the sofa. ‘It’s horrible, Kes. I’ve been FLO before, but never on anything like this. I feel like I’m way out of my depth,’ she said, taking a large sip.
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know what to do. I’ve offered advice and a shoulder to cry on, but there’s such an atmosphere there. And then, last night … No, you don’t want to hear this.’
‘Go on.’
‘No. It’s not fair. You’ve got enough on your plate with … erm … Hemant.’
‘Ellen, my days are spent listening to nursery rhymes and changing nappies. I’d love some grown-up conversation.’
Ellen leaned forward and refilled her glass. ‘The father, Craig, he threw me out last night.’
‘What? Why?’
Ellen told Kesinka the story of Craig’s outburst. ‘I don’t know what to do. I felt genuinely frightened. I told Matilda, but she’s not going to send a different FLO. I suppose I should cut the bloke some slack; he’s lost his daughter. He’s going through all kinds of things.’
‘Ellen, if you’re uncomfortable, you shouldn’t be there, especially not on your own. If he’s as volatile at you say, maybe he had something to do with Keeley dying. Don’t forget, whoever did it faked a kidnapping; they’re obviously sneaky and dangerous. You shouldn’t be alone in that house, Ellen.’
‘I know,’ she said, taking another long drink of wine. She sighed and leaned back in the sofa.
Hemant started crying. ‘He’s as regular as clockwork when it comes to feeding. I’ll be back in a bit.’ She picked up the baby and went upstairs.
Ellen remained motionless on the sofa. Her eyes travelled around the room, landing on Ranjeet and Kesinka’s wedding photo and the smiling faces enjoying themselves. There was a picture of the new parents holding the baby. She had never seen such huge natural grins on anyone before. This was what life should be like for a family – happy, enjoying being together. Was it possible Craig could have killed his daughter? Could Linda have caused Riley’s brain damage? What kind of people do that to their own children? Looking at Hemant, Ellen couldn’t understand why or how someone could harm something so precious.
***
When Kesinka returned and Hemant was placed on the floor to play, Ellen watched through sad eyes. Maybe it was the case, maybe it was the alcohol, but she could feel the tears rising within.
‘I think I’m going to get off,’ she eventually said.
‘Are you sure? Ranjeet should be home soon. I could cook u
s something.’
‘No. You want to spend the evening as a family.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she wiped her eyes as tears started to fall. ‘Sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.’
‘Oh, Ellen,’ Kesinka stepped forward and hugged her colleague and friend. ‘It’s this bloody case you’re working on. They always get to me when it’s to do with kids. Why don’t you take some time off?
‘I’ve got some days left but I don’t know what to do with them.’
‘Just spend them at home, have a few late nights and lie-ins in the morning. Come here and we can take Hemant to the park and have lunch.’
Ellen stepped back and wiped her eyes. ‘I will,’ she smiled.
‘Are you all right to drive?’
‘I left the car at home. I’ll walk back.’
‘Are you sure? It’s a long way and the sky’s gone dark. They’ve forecast more rain for tonight. Did you hear it last night?’
She didn’t tell Kesinka that she’d passed out in a drunken stupor. ‘The walk might sober me up a bit,’ she smiled painfully. ‘I should probably cut back on the wine anyway.’
‘Ok. Well, it was lovely to see you, and thanks for the gifts. You’re welcome any time. Text me when you get home.’
‘I will.’
Ellen kissed Kesinka on the cheek and left the house quickly. She was worried more tears would fall.
She zipped her coat up and looked up at the sky. It was grey and the clouds looked heavy. It wouldn’t be long before they opened and a huge downpour fell. She checked in her handbag that she had her umbrella with her, just in case; luckily she did. If it did rain, she’d be able to cry and the tears would mix with the rain drops.
Ellen walked down Well Road, under Ponsford’s Jubilee Bridge and turned right onto Chesterfield Road South.
Saturday evening traffic was a nightmare. Fortunately, Sheffield United were playing away or it would have been at a standstill. The road was busy with people heading home after a day at work or shopping in town. Ellen walked quickly, head down, under the railway bridge that was splattered with bird shit and dodged the traffic to cross the road. In the distance, she could see the towers of the Islamic Centre on Wolseley Road. She needed to head up there, turn left, and she’d be home. It sounded like a short journey, but Wolseley Road was misleading when you were in a car.
She hurried past the garage that always looked closed and was about to go over Heeley Bridge when she heard her name called out. She turned around.
‘Hello. What are you doing here?’
It all happened so fast. She was hit over the head with something heavy. As she staggered backwards, she felt someone grab hold of her. The background of heavy traffic and horns beeping mingled together. Suddenly, she was no longer standing on the pavement, she was airborne and then she landed with a splash in the swollen River Sheaf below.
Her vision blurred. She could taste blood. She reached out aimlessly for something to hold on to, to give her balance, but there was nothing but water crashing around her, over her, in her mouth, nose and ears. Then everything went dark and she succumbed to the flow of the river as it carried her out to God only knows where.
Chapter 47
Matilda Darke ran to her car as the heavens opened and the rain began to fall. She hadn’t been able to go through with it. Try as she might, she just wasn’t the type of person to throw good, decent people to a parasite like Danny Hanson. He’d sent her a text telling her he was stuck in traffic, leaving her standing outside The Cavendish on West Street with her mind whirling. She felt sick and could feel her stomach somersaulting. In the end, she decided to leave and let Danny print what he liked. She felt sorry for Aaron and hoped he’d be able to repair the damage the story would cause, but it was of his own making, and she was going to have to break Sally and Philip’s heart without adding the pain of a scandalous and fictitious newspaper report.
As Matilda drove down the road, windscreen wipers working hard to clear the rain, she glanced at the pub and saw Danny standing in the doorway, sheltering from the downpour. She took some pleasure in seeing him soaked and shivering in just a thin jacket, but not much.
‘I’m sorry, Aaron,’ she said. ‘You’re on your own.’
***
Sheila Croft lived on Keswick Close in Loxley, not a million miles away from Mary Croft Primary School and had to pass close to the Armitage house on her way to and from work every morning.
Once Christian and Scott had established who she was in relation to Sebastian Page, they obtained her address, and despite the lateness of the evening, they decided to pay her a visit.
From the front passenger seat, Christian tried to call Matilda, but his call went unanswered as the voicemail kicked in straight away.
‘It seems like she’s turned her phone off,’ he said as they pulled up outside the semi-detached house.
‘That’s not like her,’ Scott said. The rain was coming down hard and he kept the windscreen wipers on full so he could see out into the quiet cul-de-sac.
They stepped out of the car and ran quickly down Sheila’s drive. Thankfully, she had a small awning over the front door so they sheltered under that, though they were still getting wet by the stiff breeze blowing the rain at them.
‘I’ve not seen rain like this for a while,’ Scott said.
‘Remember that case at Starling House? It was like this then,’ Christian recalled.
‘You don’t have to remind me. I ruined a good suit in that bloody storm.’
The front door opened, bathing both detectives in a warm glow from the hallway.
‘Sheila Croft?’ Christian asked. She nodded. ‘I’m DI Brady from South Yorkshire Police, this is DC Andrews. Any chance we can come in for a quick word?’ he asked, holding out his ID with a shaking cold, wet hand.
‘Of course, come on in,’ she stepped to one side and ushered both detectives in.
They vigorously wiped their feet on the mat before moving on to the laminate flooring.
‘Stay there, I’ll get you a couple of towels.’ She went into the kitchen and returned quickly, handing them both a white towel each. ‘Shocking weather, isn’t it?’ She tried to smile, to be polite, but there was a heavy sadness in her eyes.
‘Tell me about it. I always seem to get called out when the weather turns,’ Christian smiled.
‘So, what can I do for you? More questions about Keeley Armitage?’
Christian dried his hair then glanced in the mirror as he fingered it into place, taking care to hide his rapidly increasing bald spot.
‘No. I’m afraid something else has come up. Is there any chance we can sit down?’
Sheila quickly glanced down at their feet.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll take our shoes off,’ Christian said, kicking off his scuffed black shoes.
‘Thanks. I’m not usually so fussy, but it’s a new carpet in the living room. It was only laid on Wednesday.’
The living room was neat and tidy, bright and warm, but it wasn’t homely. The smell of the new carpet mixed with artificial air freshener and furniture polish gave a sense that everything had a place. Ornaments on the wall unit were perfectly aligned. Magazines were neatly stacked on the coffee table. Intricate antimacassars adorned every arm and head rest of the sofa and armchairs. This was a house so anally clean the slightest imperfection would be spotted immediately, which was why Christian tucked his feet beneath him as much as he could so his odd socks (one black, one navy) wouldn’t be noticed.
‘Do you live here alone, Mrs Croft?’ Christian asked.
‘Yes. I’m widowed.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
She waved his apology away. ‘There’s no need. It happened a long time ago.’
Christian looked over to the marble mantelpiece at the framed wedding photo of a much thinner Sheila in a beautiful white gown standing beside a tall, solid man in an army dress uniform. Sheila followed his gaze.
‘He went through the Gulf War, saw things in Kosovo nobody should witness, and got killed by a drunk driver on Bocham Parkway.’
‘Oh,’ Christian said. ‘That must have been devastating, I’m sorry.’
‘It was. I spent years worrying every night while he was away,’ she said wistfully, not taking her eyes from the wedding picture. ‘Every time the phone rang, or a knock came on the door I expected someone telling me he’d been blown up or shot down. And he ends up getting killed on his own doorstep.’
‘Was the drunk driver caught?’ Scott asked.
Her face soured. ‘Not that it did much good. Three years for causing death by dangerous driving and a two-year ban.’
Christian didn’t know what to say. He felt another apology was inadequate. The silence grew.
‘Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t come around here in this bad weather to make idle chit-chat.’
‘No,’ Christian cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the sofa. He always felt uncomfortable delivering the death message. ‘Mrs Croft, why didn’t you tell us you were Sebastian’s mother?’
She let out an audible sigh and crumbled in the armchair. ‘I wondered how long we’d be able to keep it a secret.’ Her bottom lip quivered. The pain was etched on her lined face as she struggled to find the words without a torrent of emotion coming out. ‘I’m guessing Sebastian told you.’
Neither Christian nor Scott replied. As always in these kinds of situations it was best to allow the witness to talk. Who knew what gems she would reveal?
‘I knew Sebastian would crack first, bless him. Would you two like a drink? I think we’re going to need one.’
‘I’ll have a whiskey if there’s one going; I’m not driving,’ Christian said. Despite the old adage of ‘not while I’m on duty’, plain-clothed detectives were allowed a drink, though never to excess. The majority never did, however.
Sheila smiled, eased herself out of the armchair and headed over to the wall unit. She pulled down a door which revealed an array of different types of whiskeys.
