by Delaney, JP
I was still twenty yards off when the car reached the exit. As he passed, Miles turned and looked at me, his face expressionless. From the back, carefully strapped into a booster seat, Theo waved cheerfully.
104
PETE
I WAS TERRIFIED, OBVIOUSLY. But there was also a part of me that was thinking, Right, you’ve done it now. Because now I could tell the police that Theo had just been abducted in direct defiance of a court order. Now it would be Miles’s turn to explain himself to social workers and detectives and lawyers. And in all likelihood, to a judge as well.
Finally, he’d gone too far. I had right on my side, and I was going to make sure the full might of the law came crashing down on him.
I pulled out my phone. Then I hesitated. If I called the police straightaway, they’d tell me to wait where I was until they could get someone out to me. Once they realized it related to an existing custody case, they might even decide it wasn’t urgent. And my priority had to be making sure Theo was safe.
I’d call them from outside the Lamberts’ house, I decided. That way the police would show up right on Miles’s doorstep.
I ran to my car and drove to Highgate, breaking the speed limit all the way.
I got to the Lamberts’ house, but the BMW wasn’t outside. For a moment I thought I’d simply beaten him to it. But then I realized that was unlikely. Miles must have taken Theo somewhere else.
A shiver ran down my spine. Miles loved his son—adored him. Surely Theo couldn’t actually be in danger?
I stabbed the entry buzzer, then impatiently ran up the steps to the front door. It seemed to take an age for anyone to come. When the door finally opened, I saw why: Lucy was on crutches. One foot was bandaged.
It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. Miles must have blamed her for their defeat in court. But right at that moment, I had little sympathy for her.
“Oh, Pete,” Lucy began. “How lovely—”
I cut across her. “Where’s Miles?”
“Miles?” She stared at me, confused. “He’s at work.”
“He’s got Theo. In the car.” I gestured at the empty driveway. “He doesn’t usually take the car to work, does he? Think, Lucy. Where could he have taken him?”
She still looked blank. “I don’t know.”
I must have clenched my hands with impatience, because she flinched and said quickly, “They sometimes go to the Heath. To the boating pond. Theo loves the ponds. And the rugby pitches, of course.”
“Thank you.” I ran to my car and started it. Just as I was about to drive off, my phone pinged. I looked down at the screen and saw the name. MILES LAMBERT.
And a message.
But the other one said, Let it be neither mine nor thine, but divide it.
105
PETE
I RECOGNIZED IT INSTANTLY, of course. It was from the Old Testament. The woman who said she’d rather go along with Solomon’s judgment, and see the disputed child killed, than give up her claim to it.
The police would never understand what it meant, not without knowing the whole background. But I did. It was a death threat. Perhaps not even a threat—this might be Miles’s way of telling me what he’d already done.
I felt my bones turn to icy water at the realization that Theo could be dying at that very moment.
I don’t know how I drove to the car park beside the Heath. From there you could see how Highgate got its name. Below me, all of London was spread out in one huge, overwhelming vista, from Canary Wharf in the east to Paddington in the west, with St. Paul’s and the Shard in the middle. It was a view that had featured in at least a dozen sappy romantic comedies, and I was desperately scouring it for just one thing.
A tiny person in jeans and a red hoodie. Perhaps with a tall man in a well-cut suit by his side.
There was nothing. No one on the rugby pitches. And no one at the boating pond. Just a few dog walkers and joggers, braving a blustery wind.
Then I spotted a black BMW in the car park, right at the end of a row. Empty, but it proved they were here.
Think, Pete. Lucy said, “Theo loves the ponds.” Ponds, plural. There were more than half a dozen of them on this side of Hampstead Heath, following the course of some ancient river.
Run, Pete. I set off at a fast pace, but the Heath was vast and I was soon agonizingly short of breath. At the men’s swimming pond I drew a blank. The duck pond and the women’s pond, ditto. Then came a succession of smaller ponds whose names I didn’t know, each one ringed with trees, their surfaces green and shiny with duckweed.
And then, in the smallest pond, right in the middle, so small and still I only just glimpsed it through the trees, I saw a splash of red.
A child’s hoodie.
I hurtled through the soggy, squelching mud toward it.
It was Theo. He was floating facedown in the water. The hood was pulled up over his head, his legs sunk under the mat of green duckweed. I ran into the water, almost tripping as the mud gripped my calves, slowing me further even as I desperately tried to reach him. I knew infant CPR—we’d been trained in it at the NICU. If there was a chance, any chance at all, of pummeling the water and weed out of his lungs and breathing life back into him, I could do it. But every second would be vital.
Please don’t let him be dead. Anything, anything but that.
But in my heart I knew it was useless. He was motionless, his head bobbing only from the ripples caused by me crashing toward him, making the duckweed undulate and break up. He’d clearly been there for some time.
Under the fluorescent green weed the water was black and noxious, my legs sinking deeper into the silty mud with every yard. I felt breathless, my ears ringing as if I was about to pass out, lactic acid burning in my muscles, my heart thudding in my chest. I was up to my thighs, then my waist, then at last I was close enough to reach out and flip him over—
It was a rugby ball. Inside the red hood, a rugby ball had been placed where Theo’s head would be. A stick, jammed in with it, had kept the rest of the hoodie from sinking. The green weed, obscuring where his legs would be, had done the rest.
I stood there, gulping air, a mixture of relief and fear coursing through me. Relief it wasn’t Theo. And fear, that Miles still had him.
“I wanted you to know.”
I swung around. Miles was standing twenty feet away in the trees, watching me. His face was blank, his tone matter-of-fact.
Of Theo, there was still no sign.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move, in fact, the mud gripping my burning calves like shackles.
“To know what it feels like to lose your son,” Miles continued. “What it’s been like for me, these last weeks. What it’ll be like for you, too, when he dies.”
Theo’s alive. I focused on that, managed to pant, “Where is he? What have you done with him?”
“And die he will,” Miles went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Next time, it’ll be for real, Pete. Gone forever. No third chances. So that’s the deal I’m offering you.”
“What deal? What are you talking about?”
“Remember how the Bible story goes? Just before the bit I texted you? The real mother says to Solomon, ‘Give her the living child, instead of killing it.’ She’d rather her son was handed to her deadliest rival, the woman she’d dragged through the courts for justice, than see him die. That’s real parenthood, Pete. Putting your own desires second. Sacrificing everything to keep your child safe. Even your own happiness.”
He looked at me, considering. “But are you really that person, Pete? I mean, you appear to be. You love playing the part, that’s for sure. Doting dad, decent bloke. Unselfish. Principled. Loving. But how genuine is all that, I wonder? Could you really be as self-sacrificing as that mother in the Bible? You should thank me, Pete. I’m giving you a chance to prove you could.”
Miles folded his arms. “Give him up voluntarily, or he dies. Don’t doubt me, Pete. Don’t think I couldn’t do it.”
“Oh, I know what you’re capable of,” I said harshly. “I spoke to Murdo McAllister.”
For a moment a frown touched Miles’s eyes, then cleared again. “Well, then. You know I mean it. After all, look at this from my perspective. What do I have to lose?”
“I’m going straight to the police.”
“Yes? To tell them what—that you abandoned your child in a supermarket? It was a good thing I was there, frankly, or anything might have happened. Luckily, Theo saw a familiar adult face and made contact to say he was lost.”
I stared at him. He was completely serious, I saw. He really thought this crazy plan of his was going to work. “And David? What about him?”
“David…” Miles considered. “The runt dies, too. Not on the same day, obviously, or in exactly the same way. But if you force me to kill my son, I’ll kill yours, too, for good measure. Oh, and so you don’t delay any longer than necessary, I’ll make him suffer in the meantime. Every twenty-four hours until you decide, Pete, I’ll make sure David has a little episode.” He turned, and his voice changed. “Theo, my man. What did you decide, in the end? It’s a tough decision, after all. Magnum or Solero?”
Behind him, Theo was approaching, an ice lolly in each hand. “Twisters,” he said happily. “I chose Twisters. Green for you and yellow for me.” He looked at me curiously. “Why’s Daddy in the water?”
“He went to get your rugby ball back,” Miles said, taking the lolly Theo offered him. “Silly Pete couldn’t catch it, and now he’s all covered in slime. That’s going to make your car a bit stinky on the way home, isn’t it?”
106
PETE
“WHAT ARE WE GOING to do?” Maddie whispered.
We were lying in the darkness. Theo was asleep. We hadn’t been able to talk about it before, not properly—I’d had to tell her everything Miles had said piecemeal, in frantic whispered conversations between tea and bath and story, so Theo wouldn’t overhear.
“Our only option is the police,” I said. “Tell them what he’s threatened to do.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But do you think they’ll take it seriously? Our word against his? In the wake of a custody battle, too?”
“We can get a restraining order.”
“We’d have to get the police to prosecute him first. Besides, do we really think Miles Lambert would stick to the terms of a restraining order? By the time the law catches up with him, it could be too late.”
“What, then?”
Maddie said slowly, “I suppose the first question is, do we think he’s bluffing?”
In my mind I could picture Miles reaching down to take the lolly from Theo, the coldness in his eyes when he spoke to me. I exhaled. “No, I think he really means it. I think he’s prepared to kill Theo if he can’t have him.” At the thought of that tiny breathing body just ten feet away suddenly being extinguished, my throat caught. “Theo. Oh God. What are we going to do?”
“Pete…” she began, and I knew that what she was about to say was serious. “Perhaps the time for playing by the rules is over. Perhaps we need to fight dirty. The way Miles has always fought.”
“If we only had some evidence,” I said doggedly. “Something we could show the police that would prove he’s killed before.”
“We’ve already looked for that,” she said gently. “We talked to everyone we could. And no one had a smoking gun, did they? No one ever realized what Miles was like until it was too late.”
“Yes. And for whatever reason, even his wife seems incapable of seeing him for what he really is.” I shuddered in the darkness. “When I saw her today, she was on crutches. And when I happened to clench my fists, she flinched.”
“That’s what happens, though, isn’t it? Annette said women like that simply lose the confidence to leave their abuser.” Suddenly Maddie gasped. “Oh my God. I’ve just realized something.”
“What is it?”
“I think we need to talk to Lucy,” she said slowly. “I think there’s something we’ve been missing in all this.”
107
Case no. 12675/PU78B65, Exhibit 54: Messenger communication (a) from Madelyn Wilson to Tania Lefebvre, and (b) from Tania Lefebvre to Madelyn Wilson.
Tania, it’s Maddie Wilson again. I just want to thank you for sending that video to the CAFCASS adviser—it made a huge difference. Can we talk on the phone?
I’m sorry Maddie, what video? And who is CAFCASS? We can speak if you like but I don’t think I can help you.
108
MADDIE
IT’S SURPRISINGLY HARD TO get Lucy on her own. Speaking to her at her house is out of the question, of course—there’s one camera that we know of, but I’m fairly sure there’ll be others.
Because they’re not really for checking on the nanny, I’ve realized. Or not only that.
They’re for checking on her.
To make sure she’s carrying out his instructions. Coaching Theo, for example—that almost certainly came from Miles. But even when he hasn’t given her a specific task to do, just knowing he might be watching—storing up his criticisms for his return each evening—would be enough to undermine anyone’s self-confidence.
He’s been controlling her from the day they married. I’m sure of it. And now it’s time to see if I’m right.
So we wait for Lucy to leave the house, and eventually she does. She’s still on crutches, but she manages to get to the newsagent around the corner, and that’s where I tap her on the shoulder.
Despite the crutches, she jumps.
“Oh! Maddie,” she says, recovering. “And Pete, too. How nice to see you. Is Theo with you?”
I shake my head. “With a friend. Can we get a coffee?”
“A coffee?” she repeats anxiously. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Not just at the moment. Miles…” Her voice trails off.
“Miles won’t know. And we need to talk,” I say firmly. “There’s a café right next door.” I look her in the eye. “You see, we know it was you who sent that footage to the CAFCASS adviser.”
* * *
—
SHE DOESN’T ADMIT IT. But she does allow herself to be taken to the café, where we find an empty table among all the young mummies with their buggies and lattes.
“I contacted Tania,” I tell her. “At first I thought it must have been her who sent it. So this morning I messaged her. She told me she’d had nothing to do with it. I’d already had my suspicions, but that’s when everything fell into place.”
“But why would it be me?” Lucy’s hand has gone to her collar to tug out her pearls. “Of course I wouldn’t do a thing like that. That day was horrible for me, absolutely horrible. Miles said I was lucky not to be charged with contempt of court.”
“But that was a risk you were prepared to take, wasn’t it?” I reach across the table for her free hand, but she flinches away at the movement. “As for why you did it, that’s simple. You did it to protect Theo. You did it because you wanted to lose.”
* * *
—
THERE’S A LONG SILENCE. Lucy sits absolutely still, her eyes wide. “You can’t prove that,” she whispers.
“I don’t need to,” I say gently. “Don’t you see—I’m not accusing you of anything except loving your son. And wanting him to grow up in the best place possible. With the best father.” I indicate Pete, sitting quietly beside us. “Not Miles. Everyone at this table knows what Miles is, Lucy. You wanted Theo brought up by Pete and me. So he’d be safe.”
Her silence tells me I’m right.
“After all,” I add, “it’s not the first time,
is it? You’ve done it before. You did it two years ago, when you swapped them in the hospital.”
109
MADDIE
SHE CRIES THEN. BUT it seems to me they’re tears of relief, at least partly. Relief she has someone to share the secret with at last.
“You must think I’m so stupid,” she says, drying her eyes on a paper napkin from the jam jar on the table. “Not to have realized before I married him that he has a…that he can be quite demanding. But it was all so quick, you see, and I was head-over-heels in love.”
She describes those early days to us, and it’s almost exactly what Annette predicted. The love-bombing that swept her off her feet—showering her with attention, with compliments, with charm. The proposal of marriage that came within weeks; the wedding that took place within months; the pregnancy that started soon after. The private maternity hospital, because nothing was too good for their child. And then the shock of premature birth—going into labor at twenty-nine weeks, as she did Pilates one morning.
“The obstetrician diagnosed something called cervical incompetence. It was rather unfortunate it was called that, actually. Because it made it clear that even the doctors thought it was my fault. I mean, not deliberately, nobody accused me of that. But it was my body that had been so useless. And there was absolutely nothing that could be done—the baby was on its way, and it couldn’t go back in. And Miles…” She hesitates, then says quietly, “I’ll never forget that moment. He took my hand and bent down so he could whisper in my ear. I expect the nurses thought he was saying something encouraging, to help with the contractions. But his voice—well, he just went still. That’s what I call them—Miles’s stillnesses. I’m used to them now, of course, as much as anyone can be, but that was the first time. He said…” She blinks back tears and swallows hard. “He said, ‘If you’ve killed my son, I swear I’ll kill you.’ ”
