‘Oh yes you do. What was it Holmes said?’ She smiled. ‘I don’t mean PC Shotton’s sniffer dog but the real McCoy. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”.’
‘Go on, Martha,’ Alex prompted steadily.
‘Put it like this. It was never going to be anything to do with the Isaac family, was it? Apart from one tenuous connection. They already had their own children and didn’t live in The Mount anyway. They were on the edge of this but never part of it. I have a feeling that if you really delve into them money will be at their hearts. They strike me as avaricious people. You will find them guilty of some crime. They took their wealthy mother to live with them. No.’ She held up her hand. ‘I don’t think they would murder. It isn’t their style. It’ll be something maybe to do with duties or property. There will be some irregularity which your WPC picked up on, clever girl. Besides, look at it from another angle. An undertaker would never leave a body in an attic. Particularly such a tiny body. He would have ample opportunity for concealing a child in, say, a coffin due for cremation. It can’t be them and it isn’t them. The baby is not Poppy. Neither is it anything to do with the Isaacs.’
‘I agree.’
‘And now we know all about Alice and why she behaved as she did. Her mind was not robust after she was forced into having a termination when she had already built a bond with the child. It must have been terrible for her.’
Alex Randall looked at her intently. ‘What exactly are you saying, Martha?’
‘It’s a class thing,’ she said cryptically. ‘Now who was it who said that? It struck me as an interesting comment at the time. Now I see they couldn’t have been more right. It is a class thing.’
Alex was getting irritated. ‘You’re being just a mite too mysterious, Martha. I’m simply not with you.’
‘We took that comment the wrong way, didn’t we?’
DI Randall continued to be mystified.
‘It’s a little like when you look down the wrong end of a telescope. Instead of things appearing larger, they appear smaller. That’s what’s happened here. We were looking at the discovery of an infant’s body from the wrong end. Our little baby was not an unwanted infant. He was a very much wanted infant. But he wasn’t perfect so he died, probably very soon after birth. There was ignorance here, yes. But it came about through callous and cynical exploitation. Put it all together, Alex,’ she urged, ‘and you will have arrived at the truth. And by the way,’ she added, ‘when Mark Sullivan rang me with the findings of the post-mortem on Alice Sedgewick I did ask him if he would look up something else on the hospital computer.’
‘Anything I should know about?’
‘I think so.’
Baldly she related dates, times, details.
Alex took it all in without comment. Then he cleared his throat. ‘You mentioned I should have a holiday,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I should go to Spain – again?’
‘Sounds like a good idea to me,’ Martha said.
He grinned at her, looking like a hopeful monkey. ‘I don’t suppose we could stretch the rules and you join me?’
‘Not this time,’ Martha said. ‘But perhaps before you go to Spain you might want to send someone round to pay a visit on… Now what was her name?’
Alex smiled.
As Alex had expected Petula Godfrey was not in the least bit pleased to hear that he had a few more questions to ask her.
‘What sort of questions? I’ve answered enough already,’ she grumbled.
‘I prefer to meet up with you face-to-face,’ he said calmly.
‘Look mate,’ she said tightly and now he could hear, almost taste, the panic in her voice, ‘this dead baby thing, it ain’t nothin’ to do with us. I haven’t got any kids. I have nothin’ to do with them. I hate the bloody things. I don’t like kids.’
‘We’ve been assuming, Mrs Godfrey, that the person who hid the baby’s body, also “didn’t like kids”.’ Alex remarked drily.
She came back quickly then. ‘When I say I don’t like ’em I don’t mean I’d bloody kill ’em. I know what’s legal, you know.’
‘Do you?’
There was silence from the other end of the phone. It was left to Alex Randall to wind up the conversation. ‘Well, thank you, Mrs Godfrey,’ he said. ‘We’ll be over some time tomorrow morning. Would you like to attend at Malaga police station or shall we come up to the house?’
‘The house,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not going to some ruddy Spanish cop shop.’
‘Till tomorrow then,’ Alex said politely.
When he got back to the station he spoke to WPC Delia Shaw. ‘I have a job for you,’ he said. She listened carefully, her eyes intelligent and understanding. ‘Yes, sir. And then…’
This time DI Randall did not take Gethin Roberts with him but Sergeant Paul Talith. He needed his thoughtful intelligence rather than Roberts’ obvious distraction with the flight delays, the poor accommodation and late food. Besides PC Gethin Roberts had an important job to do.
On the way over Talith was curious. ‘So why are you going over again, sir?’
‘Well,’ Randall said, stretching out his legs as far as he could. ‘We’ve excluded the Isaacs and Mrs Sedgewick is now dead which leaves Mr and Mrs Godfrey. They fit the time zone best anyway so we’ll focus our investigation with them.’
Talith thought for a moment then said, ‘I just don’t see how they can possibly fit in,’ he said. ‘They don’t fit the profile at all.’
‘And what is the profile?’
‘I don’t know.’ Talith frowned. ‘Some ignorant young girl, I suppose. I mean from what you said Petula Godfrey’s streetwise. She’s the sort who’d have an abortion in her lunch break and get back to work in the afternoon without giving a backward glance. That’s the sort of woman she is, sir.’
Alex said nothing but remained silent and thoughtful.
The phone call couldn’t have been better timed. Delia Shaw rang just as Alex switched his phone on at the luggage carousel at Malaga airport. Randall listened then gave out some more instructions.
Chez Godfrey looked just as opulent this time around as it had a fortnight ago but this time Alex Randall thought it looked a bit tacky. Talith was well impressed though. He whistled through his teeth as they approached the tall gates. ‘Must be worth a packet,’ he observed, ‘especially over here.’
Petula was distinctly on edge to see them for the second time. Wearing skintight jeans, spiky heels and a pink sweater she met them at the foot of the stairs and gave Alex a hard, hostile stare. ‘I don’t know why you’ve come back,’ she said. ‘You’re wastin’ your bloody time. I would have thought you would have realized you’ll get no help from us. We don’t know nothin’ about no dead baby.’
‘I think you do,’ Alex said steadily, ‘and that’s why we’ve come back.’
Petula Godfrey wobbled on the steps and clutched at the handrail but she had lost none of her fighting spirit. ‘You better watch what you’re sayin’,’ she said. ‘My husband has an evil ’abit of takin’ people to court if he thinks they’re spreadin’ rumours.’
‘It’s only rumours if it isn’t the truth,’ Alex said mildly. ‘You may not like it, but the truth is the truth, isn’t it?’
Vince Godfrey was standing in the doorway, his face thunderous. He must have been a very scary guy in the school playground, Talith thought, as they reached him.
‘What’s goin’ on here,’ Godfrey said, bunching up his fists, ready for a sparring match. ‘Why have you come troublin’ us innocent people?’
‘I simply want some answers,’ Alex said, deliberately low key.
‘What kind of answers? How can we answer stuff we don’t know nothin’ about? It’s so obvious, plod,’
Godfrey continued. ‘This ain’t somethin’ we know anythin’ about.’ He gave a heavy, theatrical sigh.
‘Just answer my questions.’
‘Well keep it clean then. Don’t go makin’ wild accusations un
less you can prove them.’ Vince couldn’t resist tacking on a threat: ‘Or you’ll regret it.’
This time Randall and Talith were shown into a more formal sitting room, carpeted and plush with two large red sofas facing each other.
The Godfreys sat very close together on one, the two police officers a little less close on the other.
‘Graciela,’ Petula screamed. The maid scuttled in.
Randall took a good look. It was more obvious on this visit.
Petula rapped out some orders to the maid who scuttled back across the passageway. ‘Right, fire away,’ Vince Godfrey said, ‘and as I said, watch what you’re sayin’.’
Alex reflected that litigation had made policing twenty times more difficult.
‘Now what’s all this about?’ Godfrey was suddenly urbane.
‘Children,’ Alex said without preamble or explanation. ‘It’s about children.’
‘We haven’t got any,’ Vince replied truculently.
‘Why not?’ Alex asked mildly.
‘’Cos we don’t bloody well want ’em.’ It was Petula who had supplied the answer. She leaned forward, lit a cigarette and blinked.
‘You don’t want them or you don’t have them?’
‘We don’t want them.’
The maid came in, carrying a tray of cups and saucers, a big round teapot.
‘And yet,’ Alex said heavily, ‘you went to great trouble and expense in a clinic to have multiple courses of IVF which failed and also other procedures, I believe.’ He did not look at either of the Godfreys.
Vince Godfrey was quick off the mark. ‘Where do you get your information from?’
Alex didn’t answer.
Petula pinned him with a stare.
Graciela poured out the tea, her face wooden and impassive.
Alex drew in a deep sigh. ‘From 1994 to 2001 you underwent extensive investigations and procedures because you badly wanted a family,’ he said. ‘But the treatments were unsuccessful and in the end the doctors advised you to consider adoption which can take a long time.’
Vince Godfrey cleared his throat noisily.
‘Shall I continue?’
Petula Godfrey was watching his face, mesmerized, as she lifted the teacup to her lips.
‘How am I doing?’
The question remained unanswered so Alex continued, ‘In 2002 in response to an advertisement you placed on the Internet a young lady from Poland came to live with you. Her name is Celestyna Zawadzki. She was seventeen years old.’ Alex kept his eyes on Petula Godfrey. She had gone chalk-white. In contrast her husband, he noticed with interest, had gone a deep, dusky red.
‘The reason that you couldn’t have children was to do with your wife, wasn’t it? You were OK. You’d been told that.’ Randall made an inspired guess. ‘You have a child from another relationship, don’t you?’
Without looking at his wife Vince gave a heavy nod.
Randall continued. ‘So you impregnated Celestyna Zawadzki; she bore your child. You were to pay her money.’
Vince had almost shrunk into his chair.
‘The trouble was that you were worried the authorities would home in on you, accuse you of coercion and so you neglected to take Celestyna to antenatal clinics or for any medical check-ups at all. But even there you struck lucky, didn’t you? You’d kept on Maisie Stokes who had nursed the old Mrs Isaac and Maisie Stokes had worked for a few years as a midwife. For a small consideration she was perfectly happy to supervise Celestyna’s antenatal care and perform the delivery. Celestyna was an ignorant girl. As far as she was concerned she was getting Rolls Royce treatment.’ He looked at Petula. ‘One of my WPCs has taken a statement from Maisie Stokes this very day, Mrs Godfrey. There isn’t any point you denying it. We knew someone like that had to be the mother of that little boy. What we didn’t understand was that there was also exploitation of the most wicked and callous kind.’
‘I don’t…’ Vince started and stopped abruptly, seeing the disgust on the detective’s face.
‘You kept Celestyna a virtual prisoner at your house and when she went into labour you gave her no medical attention. Unfortunately for you – and for her finances – the baby was not perfect.’ He gave Petula a quick glance. ‘I can’t see you pushing a Silver Cross pram around with the baby inside who had a harelip.’ He gave her a straight stare. ‘And so the baby died, didn’t it?’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’,’ Vince said.
Graciela scuttled in with a second pot of tea. Alex gave her a sharp scrutiny.
‘Now you were left in a dilemma, weren’t you? You had a dead baby, a boy whom you just wanted to get rid of and still no child of your own. And of course Petula likes to get her own way. She still wanted a baby. So you sent Celestyna Zawadzki back to Poland, telling her she hadn’t fulfilled her end of the bargain. You paid her fare and you hid the body of the baby upstairs, in the loft.’
Vince and Petula watched, frozen.
‘And then,’ Alex said, ‘you came to Spain.’
SEVENTEEN
He rang Martha from the airport. ‘We got the name of the girl from Maisie Stokes,’ he said. ‘Celestyna Zawadzki. But all she could tell us was that she was from Poland. Tracking Celestyna down might be a little more difficult.’ He chuckled. ‘This is turning into an international affair,’ he said. ‘I just might get a trip to Poland out of it too.’
‘Good luck,’ she said. She didn’t dare add, So what now?
Interpol agreed to help search for Celestyna and using passport controls and work permits they finally found her living in a small town just north of Krakow. Initially Alex rang her up. Her English was good but she wanted nothing to do with what had been an unhappy episode in her life. ‘They told me the child would not live,’ she said, ‘that it’s mouth was somehow not normal and it would not be able to feed. They told me this.’
Who knew what the truth was.
‘I am married now with a child of my own. My husband knows nothing of my past or of my baby who died.’
‘He was born alive?’
‘With a weak cry. I knew at once that something was wrong.’
Alex related the conversation back to Martha. ‘I feel I should speak to her myself,’ she said.
Celestyna was a little more amenable to Martha once she had explained who she was and why she was ringing.
‘We’ll be holding an inquest on your son.’
‘I would prefer not to attend,’ Celestyna said quickly. ‘I do not want to return to England, ever. I did not like it there – or the people.’
‘That’s all right,’ Martha said. ‘You do not have to attend but sometimes people want to. Would you like to give your child a name rather than the inquest be held on an anonymous infant?’
Celestyna was horrified. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It will make him a real person. Please no.’
‘Did you have an idea of a name?’
‘Of course not,’ Celestyna said bluntly. ‘He could never have been my child. There was no point in my thinking of a name for him.’
‘I would like to call him something,’ Martha said. ‘What is the name of your father?’
‘Martyn,’ the girl said. ‘We spell it with a “y” in Polish.’
‘Then he shall be called Martyn Zawadzki.’
It was three weeks later that Alex arrived at her office to talk. The inquest on Alice Sedgewick had been held the week before. Martha had returned a verdict of suicide and had read out the letter. It had been her revenge on Aaron Sedgewick. She had enjoyed watching him squirm right through the slow, deliberate reading which Jericho Palfreyman had elected to do. Somehow his ponderous voice, combined with his lank grey locks had seemed appropriately grave.
And though the forensic evidence was not strong enough to return anything but an open verdict the inquest was held on Martyn Zawadzki and in a rare gesture of generosity Aaron Sedgewick offered to have the baby cremated with his wife. Maisie Stokes gave her evidence. They would have struck her off the
midwives’ register but she had long since retired so Martha merely admonished her.
‘So, Alex.’ Martha wondered what had brought him to her office on this clear, cold February day. ‘I thought you’d want to know,’ he said, ‘The Birmingham police have found out something about the Isaacs.’
‘Ah,’ Martha said wisely.
‘It’s to do with inheritance, as you thought. Mrs Isaac had a large and very valuable collection of Chinese porcelain. We looked into her old house contents insurance at The Mount. The collection was worth in excess of half a million pounds.’
‘Good gracious,’ Martha said.
‘The money they gave to the charlady was, in fact, hush money,’ Alex said. ‘When Mrs Isaac’s estate was valued for probate-’
‘It had disappeared?’
‘Correct.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘It was sold – for cash – to a Dutch dealer. Isaac has been busily laundering the money ever since, with little buys here and there.’
Martha nodded.
‘We’ve made a charge against them and the Inland Revenue will be sending them a not-so-small bill,’ Alex said with satisfaction. ‘They’re lucky to have escaped prosecution. Inland Revenue can be quite ruthless at pursuing their debtors.’
‘And the Godfreys?’
‘It’s going to be difficult to know what charge we can make stick without a statement from either Maisie Stokes or Miss Zawadzki. And she’s not going to play ball, I can promise you. She wants nothing to do with us.’ He paused. ‘Which would have left us with concealment of a body except…’
She waited.
‘Their present maid, Graciela, is four months pregnant. They were trying the same thing again.’
Martha frowned. ‘There’s been quite a gap.’
‘After what happened they didn’t dare try anything again in the UK so they lay low in Spain. It’s more difficult now to recruit a surrogate mother via the Internet. There are stops put on it so they had to wait for a suitable Spanish girl, someone from the villages.’
‘And now?’
‘Graciela seems to want to go through with it,’ Alex said. ‘It isn’t illegal for money to change hands along with a child. Their suitability as parents might be called into question but as Vince Godfrey is the biological father it rather looks as though the child might end up with them anyway. They’re desperate to have a child, Martha.’
Frozen Charlotte Page 23
