Again it was Acantha who answered for her friend. ‘Probably. Everyone does these days, don’t they? But I don’t know the number. Alice,’ she said, ‘do you?’
‘Yes,’ Alice answered politely, ‘I’ve got it written down by the telephone in the kitchen but I’m only supposed to ring it in an emergency.’
Talith felt stunned. What on earth constituted an emergency in the mad Sedgewick household?
It struck him then that Alice Sedgewick was bobbing in and out of reality like a boat whose tether is loosened by a gentle but insistent current. At some point she might well drift all the way downstream.
FOUR
Sunday afternoon
Martha had solved the problem of what to do. The day was bitingly cold but bright and the weather quite beautiful. She was fond of photography and Bobby needed a good long walk. She chose her favourite route, knowing that plenty of people would be sledging on Lyth Hill this afternoon. Mary Webb had had a house there and she was one of Martha’s favourite authors. She had studied Precious Bane and had loved the book ever since.
They set out, well wrapped up in gloves, scarves and anoraks, laughing in the sparkling air and the challenging cold and Bobby straining on his lead, barking and panting. Martha had thought they might take their sledge but Sam was worried about making his injury worse and Agnetha and Sukey said they preferred to walk and chat in their easy, friendly way. Martha decided she would cut a lone figure. One needed a child present to justify this juvenile sport. And there was always the chance that she would bump, either literally or metaphorically, into someone she knew professionally. The thought of the coroner whooping with joy and exhilaration as she sledged down Lyth Hill was perhaps not quite ‘the thing’, so reluctantly she’d slammed the garage door on the red plastic sledge.
Talith also had worked out what to do with his afternoon. He decided to visit the staff nurse who had been on duty the previous evening and take a proper statement from her. It would be less traumatic, he had decided, if he went to her house rather than summoning her to the station and he wanted to minimize the impact of the events of last night. She’d had a late night as well as a shock.
Lucy Ramshaw lived with her boyfriend on the Gains Park Estate. It was an area popular with the nurses because it was so close to the hospital – within walking distance. That meant they didn’t even have to battle over the scarce parking spaces and run the gauntlet of the vigilant and quite merciless parking attendants who slapped their fines and warnings on anyone, whether staff or patient. Lucy answered the door herself, looking very different to the harassed and upset nurse he had encountered the night before. She was wearing tight jeans and a low-cut blue sweater, which showed a neat, strong, slim figure, Paul Talith noted approvingly.
She recognized him at once and showed him into a small dining room, passing the sitting from where he could hear football on the television. He wished he could have been watching the Premier League game instead of working.
Lucy made them both a coffee and they sat around the small dining table.
‘I don’t think I’ve anything to add really,’ she said. ‘I mean I saw the woman but she didn’t seem to want anything. We were really busy what with the snow and everything. She just sat there. I mean she could have been waiting for a relative or someone,’ she finished lamely. ‘I didn’t realize she was holding a baby. It just looked like a blanket. If I’d known it was a baby obviously we would have dealt with her much quicker. But she just sat there,’ she repeated.
Talith knew she felt guilty. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, really.’
The nurse nodded. ‘I know that but I still feel bad that I didn’t at least go over to her and speak. To tell you the truth I was relieved she wasn’t one of the more demanding patients. Some of them can be quite difficult.’
Talith looked at the nurse. She had one of those open faces, honest and true. ‘It really wouldn’t have made any difference, I promise.’
She looked mollified at that.
‘Now then. At what time did you first notice her?’
‘Eight, I think.’ She looked uncertain. ‘I can’t be sure.’
‘And she was simply sitting quietly in the corner?’
‘Sort of crooning. She was looking down at her lap, tucking the blanket round her. She looked sort of…’ Lucy fumbled for the word and found it: ‘Serene. Contented.’
‘And when you spoke to her, later?’
‘She seemed startled, a bit shy.’ Lucy Ramshaw thought for a moment. ‘As though she didn’t want anyone to bother with her.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Nearer ten thirty. Things were beginning to quieten down and I wondered about her.’
‘OK,’ Talith said. ‘Did you notice anything else?’
‘Well – she was dressed fairly shabbily.’ Lucy frowned. ‘There was paint on her jeans.’
‘She said she’d been doing some decorating – well – more investigating a proposed loft conversion.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Right – well – she was one of those people who faded into the background. I think she would have sat there all night if I hadn’t gone over to her.’
‘And when you did?’
‘She was in a sort of trance. She appeared vague. When I spoke to her she seemed startled almost as though she didn’t quite know where she was.’
‘And she let you take the baby from her?’
Lucy looked distressed. ‘Not at first. I didn’t realize what it was.’ She closed her eyes against the creeping horror she had felt when she had realized that in the blanket was an infant who had not moved or cried in the entire time it had been in the department. ‘When I realized it was a baby I asked her to hand it to me and she did. Then I looked…’ She was stricken at the memory. ‘It was horrible. Those eye sockets. That blackened, papery skin. Awful. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It felt so light in my arms. Then I saw what it was and – I almost dropped it.’ She went pale.
‘Then what?’
‘I must have shouted out. People came running.’ She fixed a pair of large blue-grey eyes on him. ‘I’m a bit hazy. It all happened so quickly. Someone must have taken the baby from me because I wasn’t holding it. That’s about all I remember.’
‘Thanks,’ Talith said. ‘I’m sorry to have to question you like this but I thought better here than in the station or at work.’
Lucy Ramshaw gave a deep sigh. ‘Thanks. I suppose there’ll be an enquiry at the hospital,’ she said gloomily. ‘Just what I need with my wedding coming up.’
‘That’s up to the hospital,’ Talith said. ‘Not us. I would imagine they’ll want to play it down rather than make a big issue of it.’
‘I hope so,’ Lucy said, with feeling. Then: ‘Do you know anything about the circumstances? Was the baby hers? She looked a bit old for that. A grandparent?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘Or did she just find it?’
‘I can’t really discuss the case with you,’ Talith said kindly, ‘but don’t worry about it. No one blames you for anything. Anything at all. You acted just fine.’
Lucy smiled then, a broad, wonderful smile which made Talith warm to her even more. ‘Would you like another coffee,’ she offered.
‘Thanks.’
The walk was brisk which kept them warm. They parked at the bottom and threaded up the hill, passing Spring Cottage, which had been Mary Webb’s home, Bobby, their Welsh Border Collie, giving little yaps of delight and straining on his lead. They climbed until they could see the Stretton Hills, Stiperstones and the distinctive, conical shape of the Wrekin. As she had anticipated Lyth Hill was full of sledgers and she watched them whoop and scream with a tinge of envy. Oh, for just one trip down the hill. They walked for a couple of hours, Sam striding ahead, Agnetha and Sukey arm in arm, chatting so vivaciously they hardly noticed where they were going, even taking a wrong turn a couple of times until Martha and Sam shouted them back. Martha took a few photographs, both o
f the snow scenes and her family and then they all trooped home to a Sunday roast, Sam sitting at the table, extolling the virtues of football and bemoaning all the games cancelled because of the freezing weather, Sukey and Agnetha being more useful, helping to peel the potatoes, lay the table and open a bottle of wine. It was a warm family day, always with that one person missing, but Martha was finishing with regrets now. It had taken her a long time but she was very much back to her old self.
Talith detoured on the way back to the station to inspect the hospital car park. Alice was the owner of a Vauxhall Zafira. He’d checked the number plate on the PNC and drove towards the back of the hospital to the A &E entrance, easy to spot because of its red signs. Alice’s car was also easy to spot. Slewed across two parking spaces and with a ticket already on the screen, warning that the car must be removed – or else. Talith added one of his own: ‘Police Aware’. He’d get it taken in to forensics although he doubted they’d find much there. He tried the door. The car was unlocked, the keys still in the ignition. Lucky it was the Shrewsbury Hospital. Had it been Telford it would have been gone by now. He pocketed the keys and peered in. As he’d thought it was neat and tidy and there was nothing on the floor except…
He slipped a glove on and picked up a child’s plastic rattle. The colours were pale and slightly faded. It didn’t look new. He shook it and heard little bells jingle.
Jingle all the way, he thought, before replacing the rattle on the floor and locking the door. He had the feeling that no child had played with this for a while. It would have to be officially found – again – by the SOCOs but it posed another question. Had the rattle been found with the child? Or was it a contribution from Alice? Talith realized that in his mind he had all but solved the case. However long the child had been dead for, the estate agents could let them know who had lived there then and, ‘Bob’s your uncle, Talith,’ he muttered to himself.
He made a quick call to the station to organize removal of the car and climbed back into his own. Talith was not normally a reflective man but this case was a learning curve for him. As he leaned forward and started the engine he mused that most cases were reduced to a random collection of odd, unconnected objects.
Like the rattle.
He returned to the station in time to see the recovery lorry setting out and gave them the keys.
Wheels in motion, he thought with satisfaction.
Two hours later he had finished his reports and was ready to go home to his own Sunday meal and put his feet up in front of the television.
In the Palk household Justin and Acantha were finding it hard not to talk to their house guest about the subject which was occupying their minds.
The trouble was that Acantha couldn’t seem to find a neutral subject. All topics led straight back to the one the three of them were struggling to avoid. Even if she asked a polite, innocuous question, like what exactly her daughter was doing these days, it always seemed to lead back to ‘Don’t tell her, Acantha. Don’t tell her.’
In the end Acantha gave in. ‘Then tell me what happened.’
‘You already know what happened,’ Alice insisted plaintively. ‘I went up into the loft to see about the conversion that Aaron wants to do.’
‘Yes?’
‘I wondered about moving the hot water tank. Then I noticed…’
‘What?’
‘I saw what I thought was a bit of old blanket stuffing up a hole. I thought there might be mice – rats even – so I pulled it out and it came out as well.’
‘That isn’t quite the story you gave the police,’ Acantha said.
Justin, very wisely, was saying nothing.
‘I’ve had time to think about it.’ Alice was more rational, defiant even. ‘Remember it properly.’ Acantha couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that her friend was defending something.
‘You must have realized there was no point in taking it to a hospital.’
‘I didn’t know where else to take her.’
‘How did you know she was called Poppy? Was her name stitched on the blanket?’
‘I don’t remember. There’s no point you pushing me. I don’t remember everything.’
‘OK,’ Acantha said resignedly. ‘But when you got to the hospital you simply sat there?’
‘I didn’t know the system.’ Alice was sounding aggressive now.
Her friend could have pointed out that she had had a broken night’s sleep as well as acting as both her lawyer and her guarantor so the least she owed her was a truthful explanation, but she had the feeling that if pressed Alice would hide behind the ‘I don’t remember’ explanation. It could be a very convenient way of avoiding the truth.
Acantha watched her drink her coffee, butter her toast, spread the marmalade. On the one hand she realized her friend was stressed and she must allow her some leeway. On the other hand she had been a solicitor long enough to know that when criminals couldn’t conjure up an explanation they frequently hid behind the excuse of a poor memory or amnesia.
Alice burst out suddenly, ‘Why do you keep asking? Why do you keep pressing me for answers, answers I don’t have. I don’t have the answers,’ she repeated. ‘You know that I was trying to work out the loft conversion and I came across…’
‘Yes, yes,’ Acantha prompted impatiently. ‘I know that but I don’t understand when you found the body why didn’t you just ring the police? And you -’ she looked directly at her friend – ‘haven’t even come near giving me a good reason.’
Alice looked confused and a little vulnerable. ‘There’s a lot I don’t remember and a lot I don’t know. I…’ It was as though the spark of an idea came to her. ‘I suppose,’ she said brightly, ‘I was temporarily insane.’
It all seemed a little too convenient. Acantha bit her lip, gave her husband a swift look across the table and knew his thoughts were very close to hers.
So she decided to press Alice. ‘Look, Alice,’ she said, ‘you may as well try and think up some answers other than that you don’t know, because at some point you’re going to have to answer all these questions to the police satisfactorily and if you can’t do that it may well be that they charge you.’
Alice looked alarmed. ‘What with? What on earth could they possibly charge me with? I haven’t done anything.’
‘I don’t know but I do know what the police are like. I’ve worked with them for enough years,’ Acantha said dryly. ‘They like answers, Alice, to their questions. Answers that make sense. And if they don’t get the right answers they get suspicious. It’ll be the worse for you, I can promise you, so you’d better start thinking and remembering.’
Her friend looked at her with dismay. ‘But I can’t remember.’
‘Can’t you?’
‘No.’ The two friends looked at each other and Acantha suddenly thought that though she would have called Alice Sedgewick one of her best friends she was realizing now that she didn’t really know her at all. She looked at her friend through new eyes. Her lawyer’s instinct was whispering to her that there was much more to this episode than met the eye. To her the entire story was unconvincing. Alice Sedgewick was holding something back. She could read it in her eyes.
Monday morning, 7 a.m .
Martha was woken by the alarm radio. She stretched out her hand to still it. She couldn’t cope with the news at this hour. She ought to retune it really so she was wakened by Classic FM or Radio Two but somehow she never quite got around to it. She had enough to think about. Work. Sukey to school. Another couple of days and Sam would be returning to Liverpool for a medical examination by the team’s doctor. Agnetha had offered to drive him back which suited Martha. She anticipated a busy week ahead with the poor weather. She expected plenty of slips and spills which in the elderly or vulnerable could so easily prove fatal. As a coroner she could never forecast what the week would hold and sometimes, on a Monday morning, she lay in bed for ten minutes and wondered, even sometimes tried to see into the near future. Hers was an interesting r
ole, her job to tidy up after death. It wasn’t always possible and that was where her work could become difficult. But when she did ease suffering for the bereaved she could honestly say it fulfilled her.
Detective Inspector Alex Randall was at his desk by eight thirty a.m. A tall, spare man with a craggy face and deeply penetrating hazel eyes which normally were grave and serious, sometimes even a little sad. But occasionally they could light up with amusement and transform him into an attractive man in his early forties. He spent half an hour reading through Talith’s preliminary reports then put in a call to the coroner’s office.
Martha arrived at her office at a little after nine. And the first thing she noticed was that Jericho Palfreyman, her assistant, was waiting to ambush her, wearing what she called ‘that look’ on his face. A sort of suppressed excitement which told her some drama was afoot. He was a grizzle-haired man, Dickensian both in his looks and demeanour, even down to the habit he had of rubbing his dry palms together when intrigued. Jericho was one of those souls who had probably looked old from the age of thirty and hadn’t aged for the last twenty-five years. Martha simply couldn’t imagine him as anything but grey-haired, with slightly bowed shoulders which meant he usually looked up into people’s faces, giving him a slightly creepy look. He took a ghoulish delight in his job and squeezed out every last detail of sensational cases. His pleasure was exponentially increased if he learned of them before Martha so he was the one to inform her .
And this was just such a case.
‘Good morning, Jericho,’ she said and waited, deliberately not prompting him.
Jericho rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ve just had a call from Detective Inspector Randall, ma’am,’ he began then paused, wanting her to ask him what the inspector had wanted. It was a sort of cat and mouse game, a procedure he wanted to follow.
Martha sighed. ‘Yes, Jericho?’
‘He’s investigating a most strange and mysterious case,’ he said, pausing for a fraction of a second to extract the maximum satisfaction before he spilled the beans. As usual he spared Martha no detail, adding a few extra twirls of his own. ‘She’d wrapped the little girl in a pretty little pink blanket and then drove all the way to the hospital with it on her lap.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘On her lap, mind.’
Frozen Charlotte Page 6
