Endangering Innocents

by Priscilla Masters

  “With Baldwin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?” She hardly dared voice the question.

  “Nothing. She isn’t with him.” She let out a breath, not sure whether she was relieved or not.

  “Don’t let him out of your sight. I don’t suppose she’s turned up?”

  “No such luck. But we’ve only spoken to one or two of the parents.”

  “Put it out on the local radio. Stoke and Signal. In the meantime contact the remaining parents as quickly as you can. She might simply have gone out for tea.”

  “It’s proving a bit difficult,” King answered. “Quite a few of the families seem to be out. It’s possible they’ve gone away on holiday or for the weekend.”

  “Well - do your best.”

  “Will do.”

  She eyed the empty flat. “It’s only four-fifteen. Surely he hasn’t had time to bring her back here and …”

  Mike said nothing.

  “How long does it take?”

  “To do what?”

  “Abduct a child, hide her?” She didn’t want to say anything more.

  “Where?”

  “Here. We’re going in, Mike.”

  Korpanski touched her arm. “You know it’ll unleash some of the…”

  “I know exactly what it’ll unleash but he wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t had a predilection for hanging around outside a primary school and watching little children. It’s his own fault. If there was a possibility it was your daughter in there …?”

  She only had to watch Korpanski’s face redden to know his answer. “You think he’s guilty?”

  She stared through the windscreen for a minute or two before answering. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “He could be innocent. But if I turned out to be wrong and he had abducted Madeline Wiltshaw and she was sitting inside and you and I were sitting outside, we would have a large smear of egg on our faces.”

  Quite apart from a troublesome conscience to live with - for the rest of their lives.

  “So?”

  “We go in.”

  Chapter Six

  It was never as dramatic as it looked on the TV soaps. There was no need for Korpanski to kick the door panel through. A simple flick of a credit card got you into most places these days. Yale locks were instantly obedient to Joanna’s Connect card.

  The door swung open.

  The flat was small and dingy, the air stale and silent. All the interior doors were closed. They were standing in a small, square hall lined with flowered, 70s wallpaper, the door swinging behind them. Joanna pulled on a latex glove and, with Korpanski breathing down her neck, she threw open each door in turn. Minutes later they knew wherever Madeline was she was not here. There was no space to hide her in the one bedroom, tiny sitting room/kitchen or the bathroom. They must move on and leave Haig Road to the SOCOs to search for trace evidence. It was both a relief and a disappointment, and their return to the school was slower.

  Horton Primary was as full of activity as a beehive in the height of summer. Officers were standing outside, alert and watchful, talking to one another.

  They straightened as Joanna approached.

  “Who’s co-ordinating you?”

  “Sergeant Farthing, Ma’am.”

  “And he’s …?”

  “In the classroom.”

  She and Mike walked quickly along the corridor to see the tall figure of Will Farthing bending down to pick something off one of the child-sized worktables. At any other time she would have laughed because he looked so hugely out of proportion to the tiny tables and chairs. Farthing looked relieved to see her. He hadn’t long had his extra pips and this was his first major investigation. He would be anxious to get it right. “We’ve made a swift search of the school, Ma’am,” he reported. “She isn’t here. We’ve circulated a description to all officers. I understand Baldwin’s turned up. D.C. King’s dragged him off to the station. The child’s parents have been taken home and a WPC is with them. We’ve taken statements from the two teachers and someone’s gone round to Mrs Parson’s house - the classroom assistant,” he answered her blank look. “We’ve contacted 60-70% of the parents of the other children in Madeline’s class. So far none of them remembers seeing the little girl actually walk out of the school. They were all busy doing something, distracted by a stampede of children excited to be off for the holidays. There was a bit of rough play between a couple of the kids. Baldwin’s van was spotted at the end of the road at about a quarter past three by a Neil Platt, the dad of one of the little girls in the reception class. He took the number and said he’d been planning to ring you when he’d got home.”

  “So Baldwin came back,” Joanna mused. “He just couldn’t keep away, could he?” Korpanski looked grim.

  “OK, Farthing.” She flashed him a smile. “Thanks. Well done. And now I think I’d better go down the station and have a word with Colclough.”

  Colclough was the Chief Superintendant, a paternalistic man who liked to be kept informed of all developments. So far he’d always backed Joanna. She knew he believed in her - which would make it worse if she ever failed.

  She was soon back at the station.

  It took her no more than a few minutes to fill him in on all the details. And she knew his thoughts would be moving alongside hers. What should she have done after speaking to Baldwin on Monday afternoon? Sat outside the school every day? Taken more notice? This was the line the local newspapers would probably take.

  “What do you think, Sir?”

  Colclough’s eyebrows always met in the middle. Now they overlapped, the wiry, greying hairs tangling. And recently he’d put on weight. The number of chins had multiplied. Nevertheless he fixed her with a pair of very perceptive blue eyes. “I think under the circumstances, Piercy, your actions after the original alert were reasonable. But this - development - is unfortunate. Very unfortunate. And you say you’ve got the man downstairs?”

  She nodded.

  “And you’ve already searched his flat.”

  “Yes, Sir. She isn’t there. There’s no sign of her having been there but we’ll hand over to the SOCOs for a proper search.”

  He nodded. “Sensitive business this, Piercy.”

  She could not disagree.

  “A word of advice.”

  She waited.

  “Just because you’ve got a hot suspect doesn’t mean you can afford to ignore alternatives. Your man looks suspicious. But …”

  She nodded. As usual Colclough was offering sound advice.

  “We’d better set up an incident room,” she said. “And as it’s school holidays we may as well use the empty buildings. We can soon set things up there. We were called in quickly. She can’t be far away.”

  “Horton’s a remote, unpopulated area,” Colclough said. “Not that far from Rudyard Lake. If Baldwin’s your man he really hasn’t had much time to dispose of … “Even he baulked at the phrase. “To do anything. If on the other hand the little girl wandered that way. Well - get officers to comb the entire area. Draft in extra men. I’ll speak to the Chief Constable. One thing you won’t be short of will be manpower. If necessary we can rope in the general public to help with a fingertip search. This will be given absolute top priority. Cancel leave and put everyone on overtime.”

  Colcough had two granddaughters, four and six years old. His decisions were as much emotive as professional. Our values reflect our lives.

  “There’s just one problem, Sir. Farmland. Foot and Mouth. Limited access.”

  Colclough withered her with his look. “For goodness sake, Piercy. A child’s life is more important than cattle.”

  “Farmers are defending their fields with force, Sir. They might accept police correctly garbed up in paper suits and responsible about dipping their boots in disinfectant but they’re not going to accept the general public wandering willy nilly all over their fields.”

  “Then get them to search their own farms. Buildings, barns, byres, wells.
Anywhere that a child might be.” His eyes looked wrinkled, hooded, tired. “Is it possible? Was she that sort of child? Could she have wandered off? When her mother and stepfather were sitting outside in a car ready to take her home? What were her home circumstances?”

  “I don’t know, Sir.”

  “The teachers will.”

  “But even if her home life was less than idyllic, surely a five-year-old wouldn’t try to run away?”

  “Kids are funny.” Colcough’s bulldog features softened. “Start off thinking they’re heading somewhere. Then get lost. You never can tell with little ones. My little Catherine … Well - never mind. You’ve got work ahead of you. It’ll be a long night. Better ring Levin.”

  It was the first time she had been reminded of Matthew. She would ring him after speaking to Baldwin.

  Hide me, keep me safe. Work your magic on me and make me - invisible. Don’t let them find me.

  She observed Baldwin through the two-way mirror. He was sitting quite calmly, shuffling playing cards with a certain competence that surprised Joanna and reminded her of something - someone - too long ago to recall clearly. It was nothing more than a fuzzy image of deft hands flicking cards in a similar way. No person. Just the hands. Baldwin was absorbed. He had no idea he was being watched.

  She pushed open the door.

  He looked up, stared, unsmiling.

  She knew he recognised her.

  The officer announced her arrival into the tape recorder. She sat down opposite Baldwin and he stared deep into her eyes without fear, apprehension or emotion.

  “So we meet again, Mr Baldwin.”

  He nodded and Joanna had a vague feeling he was the one in control. Not her.

  “Why have you brought me here?”

  “A little girl has gone missing from Horton Primary.” Joanna flicked the picture of Madeline Wiltshaw across the table. The child stared, unemotionally, into the camera. Pudding face, pudding haircut, solemn, almost adult expression in Italianate black eyes.

  Baldwin recognised her too.

  “I did warn you how it would be,” Joanna said slowly, her eyes still fixed on the photograph. “A child goes missing from outside the very school you’ve been haunting. I never knew why you were there. Now I wonder. And, being a policewoman, my thoughts are not very pleasant. Where is she, Baldwin, the little girl you were so keen on defending?”

  Baldwin’s eyes were green flecked with yellow.

  Goat eyes.

  His tongue flicked over his lips. “I don’t know.”

  It was a lousy defence.

  “You were there today,” Joanna said. “Outside the school.”

  “Who saw me?”

  “That is so irrelevant, Mr Baldwin. You were seen. It doesn’t matter who saw you. We can, if necessary, get a sworn statement from a reliable witness, that you were outside Horton Primary School at the very time that the gates were opened and the children let out. Early for the Easter holidays. Now don’t play with me, Baldwin. You can have a solicitor if you like but I want to know where Madeline is.”

  He must have sensed her temper was rising. He scraped his chair back a few inches. He stopped staring so boldly. Goat eyes changed to something almost apologetic. Something a little nearer an appeal. Dominance had shifted from him to her. “I don’t know.”

  His appeal was for her to believe him.

  “Where have you put her?”

  “I haven’t touched her. But I’m sure she’s all right.”

  Joanna was taken aback by his faith. Something was not quite right here. Baldwin’s reactions were strange. She glanced down to his deck of cards neatly stacked, hands either side, steady and still.

  “Mr Baldwin. How can you say that you think she is all right? Madeline Wiltshaw is five years old. She is far too small to be making her way the four miles across open country from Horton to Leek. And there are people who would harm such a small child, unprotected. If you are sure that this little girl is all right then you must know something I do not.” Now it was she who was making the appeal. “Please. We want to find her. Alive and well. Please. Help us.”

  Baldwin shook his head. “I can’t.”

  She leaned forward across the table. “You know we can keep you here for twenty-four hours? Maybe longer.”

  He nodded.

  “You know you have the right to a solicitor - when one can be found?”

  Again he nodded.

  “And we’ve already applied for a warrant to search your flat.”

  That was when the yellow flecks in his eyes flickered and died.

  She joined Korpanski in the corridor.

  “Two bits of news. One, the SOCOs are working inside the flat. She definitely isn’t there, Jo. What’s more - they haven’t found any evidence yet that she ever has been there.”

  Joanna felt a mixture of emotion. To have found the child, alive, untouched, would have been a relief to them all. But the beginning of awkward questions which would have ended in criticism at the way she had handled the school complaint.

  To have found Madeline in Baldwin’s flat would have opened a huge can of worms - even if she was unharmed. Joanna’s head could still have rolled in the fallout, her integrity be called to question, her judgement criticised. Let alone the damage done to her own conscience knowing she could have made a different decision and prevented the crime. Balance that against infringement of human rights. Arresting a man for loitering in the wrong place at the wrong time with questionable intent? What could she have charged Baldwin with?

  However, this was all moot argument. The child was not at Haig Road. Whatever the explanation for her disappearance she was not there.

  “Any sign of her? Anything?”

  “They’re doing a thorough search right now,” Korpanski said. “They’ll be in touch again.”

  He paused. There was more.

  “And?”

  “Not so good.” Korpanski looked uncomfortable. He hated it when things went wrong. “We’re having a bloody awful job gaining access to the surrounding countryside. The farmers won’t let police cross the fields. And you know that Horton’s surrounded by fields. All of them with herds of cows waiting to be let out of the cowsheds. DS Beardmore’s been threatened with a pitchfork. The farmers aren’t joking. They don’t want us on.”

  “Colcough suggests we ask the farmers to search their own land and outbuildings,” she said. “They’ve got kids of their own, most of them. They’ll do it. But we’ll have to fall in with them or if Foot and Mouth makes the jump from Uttoxeter to the Staffordshire Moorlands we’ll be held responsible.” She clapped his shoulder. “You know the old rule, Korpanski, heads the police are incompetent, tails the police are fascist bullies infringing human rights. Britain is a police state in which we do nothing right.”

  Korpanski took a long hard look at her. “I didn’t think you’d turn into a cynic so quickly, Jo.”

  “Well this, Korpanski, has to be any copper’s nightmare.” She peered out of the window. “We question a man on the Monday with suspicion that he’s paying too much attention to the children at a Primary School. And on the Friday a child goes missing.” The light was fading fast. A little girl was out there - somewhere.

  Korpanski jerked his head.

  “And I’d better ring Matthew and let him know I’ll be home sometime.”

  In an ideal world simply filling Matthew in with the details would bring understanding, some sympathy and absolution from cooking the tea. In the days before they had lived together there would have been no need for any explanation to anyone. But now was different. And Joanna caught the petulance in his voice. “So when will you be home?”

  “Matt - I don’t know.” This was the relationship destroyer - the reason police scored high on the divorce stakes - this unpredictability of the job which led to difficulty in planning. “Darling, there’s stuff in the freezer. Or you could pick up a takeaway.”

  “Fine.” She could hear the tight note in his voice and wanted
to speak out.

  For goodness sake. A child is out there. She’s five years old. At best she’s lost, stuck in some darkening cowshed, terrified out of her wits. She might still be alive, with who knows, while he is committing God knows what indecency. She might already be dead. And our search may go on for hours. Days. Weeks. We may question ten suspects or a hundred or a thousand. We may find Madeline. We may not. We may find a pile of bones sometime in the future. So don’t be so selfish.

  And at the same time she knew this was unfair. Relationships brought commitment. She could not have one without the other.

  Baldwin was still flicking through the cards, dropping them from one hand to the other, shooting up one card then losing it in the pack again. His hands were amazingly supple. Joanna watched the fingers bend, as pliable as willow twigs and again she felt the tug of some faroff memory. She brushed it aside for the memory brought in its wake a sudden, sharp pain.

  She and Mike entered. “Welcome back, Inspector,” he said, without even glancing her way.

  She wanted to grab the cards from him. The restless fingers were irritating her.

  Instead she sat down. “Why did you watch the school, Baldwin?”

  He put the cards down, neatly, deliberately, in two identical-sized packs. “You’re wasting your time being here with me, asking me questions. It’s them you should be asking.”

  “Who?”

  “Her mother. The thug who poses as her father. Ask him what he does to little girls.”

  Joanna went cold. “What do you mean, Baldwin? Counter accusations aren’t going to take the heat off you, you know.”

  “That little girl. Madeline. She was cruelly used.”

  For some reason Joanna recalled the strange, enigmatic conversation with Gloria Parsons that she had had at the christening.

  If you suspect a child is being badly treated?

  “What do you know?”

  Baldwin’s eyes flicked down towards the twin decks and he put his hands down to cover both of them. He knew he wasn’t going to say anything yet.