Tightrope

by Andrea Frazer

  Hardy couldn’t help herself, and when they got out of the car, she said, ‘Is this area really suitable for a young baby?’

  ‘We can’t afford anything bigger or better, OK?’ Carole was obviously stung by the thoughtless comment, and Hardy was moved to add, ‘We all have to start somewhere,’ before buttoning her lip before she did any further damage to their relations with the girl.

  ‘I’ll have to go in and let Baz – Barry, that is – know that you’re here,’ she said with a confrontational air.

  ‘Is that Stacey’s father?’

  ‘Oh, he ain’t here,’ was their only answer, as she disappeared through the door and poked her head round an adjacent door. ‘He never told me he was going out.’ She then turned and invited them in. ‘We ain’t got much, but at least what we’ve got is clean.’

  And it was. There was a tiny living room which seemed to be acting as somewhere to eat as well, a minute kitchen and shower room, and a rather undersized bedroom into which a second-hand Moses basket had been squeezed, perched on an old chest of drawers.

  ‘Let me make us all some tea. There’s no need to show me, I think I can find everything,’ chirped Terry Friend, disappearing through a bead curtain into the kitchenette.

  ‘Do you have photographs of Stacey that we could look at? We’ll need to take one with us, of course, but you can have it back when we’ve finished with it.’ Lauren got straight down to business after a signal from Hardy. Olivia was worried that her comment on arriving at the flat may have soured the poor girl’s attitude towards her.

  ‘I’ve only got one that me mum took of her at the hospital,’ she said sadly, reaching for a cheap frame on a small coffee table, ‘But me mum’s got a computer, and she took some others on her phone and said she’d transfer them and print them for me.’

  ‘And how can we get in touch with your mum?’

  ‘She’s on holiday.’

  ‘Do you want to tell her what’s happened?’

  ‘Not really. We don’t get on that well. She doesn’t approve of Baz.’

  ‘Is there any way we can get a key to her place to access the other photographs. Babies change quite a lot between birth and six weeks.’

  ‘I think her next door neighbour’s got a key, but she won’t let me have one. She doesn’t trust Baz not to rob her when she’s out.’

  ‘I think you ought to phone her and ask her permission for us to enter the house for the photographs. This is your daughter’s life we’re talking about here,’ said Lauren with a little more drama than was necessary.

  ‘She doesn’t like me disturbing her.’

  ‘Would you like us to get in touch with her to try to emphasize how important it is? Then we can ask her to phone her next door neighbour and warn her that someone will be coming round.’

  ‘Yes, please. She hates me living here, and she doesn’t think Baz is good enough for me.’ As she eased the sleeves of her long-sleeved T-shirt up her arms a bit in the heat, the edges of bruises began to come in to view. There were a couple of yellowing ones and a fresh, blue one on the other arm. She glanced down to where Olivia was staring and hurriedly pulled her sleeves down again.

  ‘I fell down,’ she hurried to explain, then blushed, and Olivia wondered how falling down could give you bruises that looked like fingermarks.

  ‘We’ll take the photograph because there’ll have to be a television appeal, but we promise we’ll copy it and return it to you as soon as possible,’ Lauren assured her, holding out a hand for the precious snapshot.

  She handed it over reluctantly, as they promised to speak to her mother as soon as they got round to the office. ‘All we need now is your mother’s mobile number and her address, if you wouldn’t mind.’ The girl gave an address in a rather upmarket part of the town, and all three of the police personnel understood why her mother didn’t like her living where she did. They hadn’t met Baz yet, but they would all have put money on him not speaking with an RP accent.

  At a quelling look from the inspector, they all got up to leave, not having said a word about the place having to be searched as part of standard procedure, and it was only when they were back in the car, her in the driving seat this time, that she explained.

  ‘When we were going round that tiny flat, I saw some discarded pieces of tinfoil, just peeking out from under the bed, and I’m sure I could smell cannabis as well – not really recent, but not dispersed. I reckon a surprise visit to Baz’s drum might turn up a few interesting things. And, if that girl’s not got a social worker, she obviously needs one. Did you see those bruises on her arm? No wonder she wears a T-shirt with sleeves in this unseasonably hot weather.’

  ‘Who are you going to send round to search and to get copies of the photographs from the mother’s house?’

  ‘Westbrook and O’Brien, I think, so long as Buller the bully’s not got them in detention for not handing over their dinner money.’ Terry Friend let out a little giggle at this, but Lauren’s face remained serious. She didn’t like Buller, and she thought he was dangerous.

  At five o’clock, a police car came to pick up Carole Shillington to make the appeal, which was going to be filmed in the conference room at the police station. The filming team wanted to get it in the can a little before its scheduled broadcast, so that it could be suitably edited.

  Baz was nowhere to be found when the mother was collected, but this was no surprise, as his partner had predicted that he was a little publicity-shy. She showed her youth in that she seemed quite excited at the thought of being on ‘the telly’, and had evidently made an effort with her appearance.

  She took her place at the long table at the front of the room and beside Devenish with an air of quiet excitement, her eyes agog at the technicians preparing to record the event, but reality caught up with her as the cameras started rolling and the superintendent began to narrate the tale of the child’s disappearance.

  As he began his appeal to members of the public for any information they might have that would assist the police in tracing this young, vulnerable child, tears filled her eyes, and her shoulders began to shake. It was as if she suddenly realised that all of this was actually happening. She wasn’t just getting herself on ‘the telly’; she had been deprived of her beloved daughter, and she wanted her back with all her heart.

  Devenish was a firm believer that tears from a parent or partner pulled on the heartstrings and made the public more vigilant; more likely to remember something that they might not have thought important, and he silently applauded Carole’s sense of the theatrical, although he would not have expressed this opinion so bluntly. Quietly though, he was of the opinion that he couldn’t’ have asked for a better performance than she had given. When there was a final call of ‘cut’, he smiled as he rose to go back to his office, finished with his tiny part in the drama, and oblivious to the fact that all the work was still ahead of his officers. He’d done his bit. What more could be asked of him? This should raise his profile with the top brass, he thought smugly as he trotted back to his eyrie on the second floor.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Buller had reported that at an evening visit to those in the vicinity of number three Gooding Avenue, any who had not been at home during the day had been spoken to, and the daughter of the Dennings at number five had admitted to seeing someone go into the house during the night.

  ‘She said she had been unable to sleep, and went out into the porch for a cigarette – a habit she was supposed to have given up, and didn’t want her parents smelling. Silly bitch!’ It was Lenny Franklin who had made the visit, but Buller had wanted the glory of announcing it. Magnanimously, he nodded to Lenny to take up the story. ‘But don’t make a meal of it,’ he warned him.

  Lenny raised a cynical eyebrow and took up the tale. ‘She was in her nightie, so she stayed at the back of the porch, not wanting any neighbours to see her. You get some right chancers in those flats.’

  ‘Get on with it!’

&
nbsp; ‘She was looking down the road, away from this end of it, and she saw this guy sort of slouching along it. Even though it was warm, he had a hoodie on, but as he was approaching a lamp-post, she caught a glimpse of him, and he pulled the hood back as he let himself in. She said he had red curly hair and freckles.’

  ‘That’s a bit conspicuous, isn’t it?’ asked Desai.

  ‘That’s what I thought. Can any of you think of someone who looks like that on our radar?’ There was a negative murmur from the members of the team, and the shaking of heads.

  ‘Right, well, keep your eyes peeled,’ Buller ordered. ‘I’ve spoken to her this morning and asked her to come in and see if we can’t get a likeness of this mysterious ginger.’ This last word he pronounced with hard ‘g’s. ‘I’ve also got a handler with a sniffer dog going round that place a bit later, now that everything’s been taken out of it. Yeah, it’ll go ape if it’s let up to the second floor, but we need to be absolutely sure about the ground and the first floors. Now, I’ve got your tasks for this morning here …’

  When they began to disperse, Buller made himself scarce, hinting that he had more important matters to deal with. DS Jenner stayed behind with the two DCs who were last to leave. Lenny Franklin had been paired with Daz Westwood, and they had, unspoken, decided to see what they could get out of the Drugs sergeant.

  ‘Hard man, is he, your guv’nor?’ asked Daz, somewhat impertinently.

  ‘Harder than you could imagine.’

  ‘Tell us,’ Lenny urged him.

  ‘I’ll not go into detail,’ responded Jenner coyly, ‘but he’s been shot twice: once in the shoulder and once in the thigh.’

  ‘Sounds dodgy.’ – Daz was so called because he was easily dazzled, and not because his name was Darren.

  ‘It was. A couple of inches higher and he would’ve been singing with the sopranos. He’s had quite a few beatings, a fractured skull and God knows how many drug dealers have threatened to kill him.’ Jenner fell silent.

  ‘Is that it?’ Daz asked in disappointment.

  ‘That’s all you’re getting from me. Oh, and I’d advise you never to cross him. That would be most unfortunate, and rather unpleasant for you,’ said the sergeant, heading out of the office.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Just heed my words, or you could be very sorry.’

  ‘Bloody party-pooper,’ muttered Westbrook, and Lenny Franklin raised an eyebrow once more.

  They were primed with the best photographs that could be provided of the victims – in the woman’s case, an artist’s impression – and had been instructed to go round all the supermarkets. As Buller had stated logically, they had to go out sometime just to buy food, even if they went out in the wee small hours to shops that were open twenty-four hours – and they might have gone with a third party if spoken English was a problem.

  When Olivia and Lauren got back, the office was eerily empty and Olivia’s phone was trilling urgently. Just her luck. It was the superintendent, wanting to be brought up to date on the missing baby case, and she was summoned in no uncertain terms. She might have been frightened of no one, but there was something about Devenish that made her knees shake and the only conclusion she could come to on this one was that she loved her job and didn’t want to lose it.

  ‘So, give me an update, Inspector,’ he snapped, spearing her with his eyes. ‘Have we had any responses to the appeal yet?’

  ‘All the usual nutters have rung in, and the baby has been spotted in Brighton, Norwich, Birmingham and Inverness to name but a few. I know everything needs checking out, however insane, but I don’t think we have got anything concrete yet; nothing that will actually help us locate the baby.’

  ‘Not good enough,’ barked Devenish, ‘you need to find that baby safe and well, and more to the point, quickly, Hardy! And where the hell was the father during that appeal, or isn’t there one?’

  ‘There is, but he’s proving hard to pin down.’

  ‘Then make like a lepidopterist and get out your box of pins. This is a specimen we need to capture.’

  ‘Sir!’ A heartbeat of a pause and then she continued, ‘And what about the two people from yesterday?’

  ‘Media silence on that one until we’ve got more information. Dismissed.’

  She certainly felt it.

  Hardy returned to her office and made the phone call she needed to make to Carole Shillington’s holidaying mother. Mrs Shillington was much more concerned for her granddaughter’s safety than she was about her daughter’s emotional state, and immediately gave permission for the photographs to be copied from her computer, readily submitting her password and agreeing to phone the keyholder next door. ‘But do excuse any mess,’ she concluded. ‘I went off on holiday in a bit of a hurry.’

  She must have used the last number dialled in, because she was back on Hardy’s phone in a few minutes. ‘I rang my neighbour on her mobile, and she’s just gone off on an overnight trip, so you can’t have the keys until tomorrow, although she’ll be back quite early.’

  ‘How early?’ She didn’t consider it was as vital as she’d made out to the mother, because she didn’t reckon that babies changed that much in six weeks. She thought a baby was a baby was a baby, if it weren’t your own. The things that should help to trace her were the pink romper suit and the flowered mob cap.

  ‘About nine. She’s got her daughter dropping her off around half past.’

  That was all right, then. She’d get someone out there in the morning, and if the kid had changed that much, she could give the photos to the Super so that he could make another appearance on television. That should please him. The only other options open to her were finding a keyholder for the keyholder’s property, or actually breaking into it, which would not go down at all well with the brass.

  That lunchtime, Lauren left the station before Olivia could ask her if she wanted to go for something to eat with her. That was unusual, and she realised that the sergeant had moved slightly away in their friendship. It was weeks since they had shared a musical evening together, or even mentioned the possibility of one.

  She supposed it was just a symptom of getting her social life back together after the break-up of her marriage but she, nevertheless, felt slightly snubbed. She had to take into account that she didn’t have a built-in babysitter any more, now that that hussy Gerda had cleared off with Kenneth, but that wouldn’t stop her from asking Hardy over to her place. Maybe it was having the children at home now, and not at boarding school. Perhaps she just didn’t have the time or the energy with her new responsibilities.

  She was still not back in the office by mid-afternoon when DCI Buller came charging in with a face that looked like he’d won the lottery. ‘How’s your luck?’ asked the DI, chancing her arm, as he seemed to be in such a good mood.

  ‘Couldn’t be better,’ he almost chirped back. ‘That sniffer dog really came up trumps. I don’t know where the press got their information from yesterday, but it certainly wasn’t from us.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The dog only turned up cocaine and heroin underneath a couple of floorboards: brilliantly fitted back into place, but no match for a trained dog’s nose.’

  ‘How come the media knew and we didn’t?’ asked Hardy, very surprised.

  ‘That’s what I intend to find out. It wouldn’t be from whoever feels they own the drugs so, somewhere out there in that crumbling mass of housing, there’s someone who knows full well what’s been going on.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’m going to start with leaning on the local press, then I’m going to dig a bit further afield. It’ll no doubt be what they will refer to as an “anonymous tip-off”, but we can only hope.’ Then he was gone, his eyes sparkling at the thought of a bit of freelance bullying and leaning on people.

  But she had some leaning on to do herself, with a few hooky characters who had been brought in that morning: known users who were willi
ng to let out the odd bit of information about their suppliers, provided it paid for a few more wraps or spliffs and it couldn’t be traced back to them.

  She eventually spotted Lauren at the end of the corridor, in what looked like earnest conversation with Daz Westbrook. Without a second thought, she called, ‘Put the boy down, Sergeant. I have urgent need of your services,’ and was surprised when her partner jumped as if she’d been caught out in something irregular.

  ‘Just coming,’ called Groves, turning on her heel and walking away with a look of innocence on her face.

  ‘What was all that about, then?’

  ‘Nothing important. Just general chit-chat about the case. You just made me jump, that’s all.’

  ‘And why are you so sensitive all of a sudden?’

  ‘I guess the way that woman was injured has given me the creeps. What an evil thing to do, take out her eyes like that. Whoever did it is an animal.’

  ‘Agreed. That’s why it’s so important that we find out who’s responsible as quickly as possible. Come on, we’ve got some guests in our private suites to have a word with and, doubtless, as we’re doing it, there’ll be a new list being drawn up to include heroin and cocaine users.’

  ‘Did the dog get a hit then?’

  ‘From what I hear, he’ll be chewing on treats for the rest of the day. Let’s get to it.’

  While they asked up close and personal questions, Lenny Franklin and Terry Friend went back to the Shillingtons’ flat. Hardy hadn’t managed to secure the officers she’d wanted, so they had been dispatched on a lesser mission. There had been no luck on the baby’s whereabouts, and they’d need something either for dogs searching for her, or for Forensics, should the worst happen, and she turn up as a tiny corpse.

  As Carole Shillington let them in, they could see through the back window the figure of a man shinning over the fence. ‘Hey!’ yelled Lenny, and then, ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘It’s all right, it’s only me boyfriend, Baz.’