by Sarah Hilary
‘Play with him. You’re the big one. You’re in charge.’
Carmen crawled across to where Baggy had landed, stroking his ears. ‘There, there, Baggy, honey-bee, s’all fine now.’
She pulled one of her plaits to her mouth and sucked on it, even though she wasn’t supposed to because you could choke on hair. It wasn’t safe.
Maybe when Tommy woke they would bounce on the bed.
There was no one here to tell them to stop.
5
‘Holy rolling Christ.’ Tim Welland washed at his face with his hands. ‘Run that past me again. We’ve got a schizophrenic child killer with a new identity, and three missing kids, one of them an angry teenage boy. Which red-top’s wet dream are we trapped inside, exactly?’
‘Not schizophrenic,’ Marnie said. ‘Lyn Birch was insistent on that score.’
‘You’re not telling me you believe in Esther’s reincarnation as Alison Oliver?’ Welland eyed her and Noah. ‘I’ve heard more convincing miracles coming out of Mormons.’
‘Her psychiatric assessments say she distanced herself from what she did as Esther. She talks about her as a separate person, someone other. Calling her a child killer isn’t helpful.’
‘I wasn’t trying to be helpful,’ Welland said. ‘I was pointing out – and correct me if I’m wrong here – that they let Esther out of prison when they released Alison Oliver.’
‘Yes, they did.’
‘So it could be Esther who left the peaches outside our crime scene. And Esther who’s taken these children.’
‘Yes,’ Marnie agreed, ‘it could.’
‘We have to operate on that principle. You can bet your life the press will. Bad enough when they thought she’d put her kids into the Thames. When they find out she buried two of them alive, and lied through her teeth about it? Tricked them into dreaming up headlines about drowning when they should’ve been writing about underground torture chambers? If you think they were tough on her five years ago, wait until they get started on this new story.’
Marnie and Noah accepted this in silence. Wherever she was – whoever she was now – Esther Reid was going to wish she’d stayed hidden, lost in the system.
‘She’s not with her mum, I take it.’ Welland studied the photograph that Ron had unearthed. ‘At this travellers’ ground in Slough?’
‘We sent a team to look. No sign of Esther or Connie. Her neighbours didn’t know she had a daughter, that’s what they’re saying. No one was prepared to tell us when they last saw Connie. Local police are keeping an eye on the place.’
‘So the mum could be in on this?’ Welland pulled at his lip. ‘Two kidnappers? Plenty of places they could hide kids on a travellers’ ground …’
‘We’ll need a warrant,’ Marnie said, ‘and the press will be all over it. We’d better have a good reason for thinking Carmen and Tommy are there, before we move in. We’re looking at CCTV in Slough. Nothing so far. It’s a long way to take two small children without help, or a car. Neither Connie nor Esther can drive.’
‘How about the place she was living when she killed them?’
‘Alperton, the other side of London. If she’s gone there, that’s another breach of parole. But I can’t imagine she’d go back. The house was sold, her husband hasn’t lived there in five years. We sent a team, on the off-chance, and we’re checking CCTV. No sightings so far.’
‘What about this boy Clancy? Where does he fit in?’
‘It’s unclear. We’re asking Foster Services for anything that might shed light on why he’d abscond with the children. Beth says he’s angry, but she trusted him with Carmen and Tommy. I don’t think she’d do that without good reason, and from what I saw of Carmen, she wouldn’t have gone quietly with someone she didn’t trust.’ Marnie stopped.
‘Spit it out,’ Welland said.
‘Beth saw Clancy with two women on the housing estate. Old-fashioned clothes, odd-looking, one of them about Esther’s age. The three of them were smoking together.’
‘When was this?’
‘Two weeks ago. Around the time Esther was paroled. And more recently, a day or so before Terry found the bunker.’
‘In other words, Esther could have made contact with Clancy?’
‘In theory. It’s possible, yes.’
‘No other sightings of her since she was paroled?’
‘None so far.’
‘So all we’ve got right now is this bad photofit.’ Welland tossed the picture on to his desk. ‘Which could be any-one …’
It was a photograph of Esther Reid, but Welland had a point. Grief or pills had stripped the colour and features from her face, dulling her eyes and drawing her mouth as a crooked line, faltering, above her chin. It wasn’t a face you’d remember, even if you concentrated. Out of focus, as if someone had used a soiled cloth to rub her out.
‘Why did she leave the peaches?’ Welland said. ‘I don’t like that, makes her look like all sorts of a loony from where I’m sitting.’
‘If she left them,’ Marnie said. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she meant well, maybe she was trying to be kind, or it was penance of some description. I can’t imagine what’s going on inside the head of someone who’s been through what she has.’
Nor could Noah. A child killer and a bereaved mother, perpetrator and victim rolled into one. How would you begin to unravel the pain and punishment, loss and loathing?
‘She’s broken the terms of her parole,’ Welland said, ‘by going back to the crime scene. Not to mention the perjury from five years ago. So we find her and arrest her. Hopefully before the press launch in. We’ve got all the crap-quagmire we can wade through right now.’
Noah checked his watch. ‘It’s not been four hours since the children went missing. If they’re with Clancy, he might bring them back.’
He shook his head as he said it, because they had to prepare for the worst. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst: that Esther had gone back to the place where she’d buried her boys and taken two other children as replacements of some kind. What was the word Marnie had used?
Sacrifices.
Welland tapped the photo with his thumb. ‘You’ll need a better picture than this to show to the public. I don’t like using prison mugshots for that, but …’
‘Ron sent the photo to Debbie’s phone,’ Marnie said. ‘You’re right, it’s not a great picture, but the Doyles didn’t recognise her. Beth’s adamant she wasn’t either of the women she saw smoking with Clancy on the estate, so that could be a false lead. House-to-house is ongoing. We’re checking all the places Terry told us Clancy liked to go. We could use extra hands …’
‘You’ve got them.’ Welland nodded. ‘I’ll sort out the warrant for Slough. I want these children found, and soon.’
• • •
‘What’ve we got?’ Marnie asked the team.
‘Paperwork coming out of our arses.’ Ron gestured at a pile of printouts. ‘No sightings of Clancy or the kids. Debbie says the Doyles are going spare.’
He was at the whiteboard, marking the names of the missing children, pinning pictures of Carmen and Tommy, and Clancy Brand.
‘What’s the paperwork?’ Marnie asked.
‘Merrick Homes. Places they developed, land they bought, planning permissions, you name it.’ Ron smoothed his thumb over the photos of the missing children, making sure they were secure on the board. ‘Not sure it’s relevant any longer.’
Marnie’s phone rang and she took the call. ‘Ed. How’s it going?’
‘Have you got a minute to talk?’
She knew he wouldn’t ask unless it was important. ‘Yes.’ She carried the call away from the whiteboard where the team was gathered. ‘You’re with Terry and Beth?’
‘Out of earshot, but yes. Beth’s sleeping, or trying to. DC Tanner’s keeping an eye on her.’ Ed paused. ‘I’m more worried about Terry.’
‘It’s why I wanted you there,’ Marnie agreed. ‘I’m not sure he’s recovered from seeing the de
ad boys, and now this.’
‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone this stressed. Given what I do for a living, that’s … not good.’
‘Does he need a doctor?’
‘He says not. I backed off from suggesting it, because it wasn’t helping. He’s making the kids’ supper, cleaning the kitchen, washing windows … I can’t get him to stop. It doesn’t sound like the end of the world, I know, but I’m usually pretty good at getting them to stop.’
She hadn’t heard this level of worry in Ed’s voice since they were driving back from Sommerville. ‘Do you need backup?’
‘No. I think that might make it worse. I’m going to stay with him for a bit, see what I can do. I’m guessing there’s no news about the kids?’
‘Nothing yet. We’re looking for Esther Reid.’
‘Debbie showed me the photo,’ Ed said. ‘Poor woman.’
Where Welland had seen a bad photofit, Ed had seen a woman in pain.
‘Debbie says Beth and Terry are sure they haven’t seen her on Blackthorn Road,’ Marnie told him. ‘We didn’t tell them who she was, or what she’d done. I don’t want them thinking the worst. We need a better photograph, I do know that.’
She looked across at the whiteboard, to the faces of Terry’s children. ‘Ed … have we got this wrong? Something doesn’t feel right. What if the kids were with Clancy …’
A beat of silence in her ear, before Ed said, ‘I can’t get Terry to talk about Clancy. He keeps saying Clancy wouldn’t hurt them, but the way he says it …’
It took a lot to unnerve Ed, she knew that from personal experience. But his voice was worn with worry for Terry Doyle.
‘I’ll come over,’ she decided. ‘Maybe he’ll tell me what’s going on with Clancy. If we’ve got this thing wrong, I want to know what we’re up against. Can you stay with them? I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Of course.’ Ed rang off as Ron and Noah came across to where Marnie was standing.
She read their faces. ‘You’ve got something. On Esther?’
‘On Clancy,’ Noah said. ‘But you’re not going to like it.’
6
‘The Foster Service,’ Noah said, ‘has no record of Clancy Brand.’
‘No record,’ Marnie repeated. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’
‘It means the Doyles aren’t fostering him. They can’t be. Plus we found this, in the paperwork that came through.’ He handed her a sheet of paper. ‘Merrick built a panic room for a couple in South Kensington. The planning must’ve been a nightmare because we’re talking about a listed house, so I’m guessing Merrick cut corners, or bribed someone. The couple who wanted the panic room? Scott and Christina Brand.’
‘Clancy’s parents?’
Ron nodded. ‘Don’t ask us why he ended up with the Doyles instead of at home with his parents. Unless there wasn’t enough space in the panic room for a moody teenager …’
‘You didn’t find a link between the Doyles and Clancy’s parents?’
‘Other than Ian Merrick?’ Ron shook his head. ‘Nothing. We’re still looking.’
Noah said, ‘I don’t understand why Clancy would take the children. If he did. They’re hard work, apart from anything else. If he’s not even their foster brother, if the Doyles lied about that … why was he looking after them in the first place? Why were they letting him look after them? It doesn’t make sense.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t feel like we have a handle on who Clancy really is, do you?’
‘No,’ Marnie said. ‘But I know a man who thinks he has.’
She nodded at Noah. ‘Call DC Tanner, and tell her we need to interview the Doyles. Send a car for them. Ed’s there too. Bring everyone back here.’
7
Adam Fletcher stretched his feet under the interview table. ‘So he’s taken them. Clancy Brand.’ Anger lifted off him in a solid wave. ‘He’s taken those little kids. Your lot were all over the estate, asking questions …’
‘If you have information that would help the police,’ Marnie told him, ‘this is your last chance to give it up.’
‘They’re not on the estate. I looked.’
‘You looked.’
‘I’ve been watching him. You know that.’
‘A shame you weren’t watching him four hours ago, when it’s possible he went to the park with Carmen and Tommy Doyle.’
‘Yeah, well there’s only so much hanging around playgrounds you can do before someone reports a pervert to the police … He’s not on the estate. Who told you he was?’
‘Terry Doyle. He’s been living with Clancy for months. What’s your qualification?’
A flash of something – the truth; was he about to tell her the truth? It was gone so fast she might have imagined it, his blue stare coming up like shutters.
‘What do you know about the Doyles? I don’t mean the kids. I mean Terry and Beth.’
‘I know they took a huge fucking risk having that psycho under their roof, as witnessed by this shitstorm.’
‘You could’ve warned them. Why didn’t you?’
‘I warned you.’
‘Not really. You pussy-footed around, pretending you had evidence that patently you don’t or you’d have handed it over. Now that Tommy and Carmen are missing, I mean. I appreciate you had to honour your bullshit code of silence earlier on—’
Adam kicked the leg of the table so hard it shook. ‘You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’
‘And you wouldn’t know the truth if it was standing in front of you wearing a shiny hat and waving pom-poms.’
His eyes gleamed appreciatively. ‘Good to see you showing your true colours.’
‘Yes? Unless black and blue are the colours you have in mind, you’ll stop kicking the furniture and start answering my questions.’
‘Police brutality?’ He nodded at the tape recorder, then scrubbed at his scalp suddenly, as if he’d had enough of the game.
Marnie looked at him sitting there smelling of cigarettes, smelling of her. All the rotten ripeness of her teenage derailment, her mistakes and cravings, self-loathing and hard-snatched happiness. God help me, she thought, I was happy. Causing them hurt, staying out all hours, making them sick with worry – I was happy, hating them.
‘Where on the estate did you look for Clancy Brand?’ she demanded.
‘Everywhere the kids hang out. I’ve seen him there before. I know the places he goes.’
‘You can’t possibly have been watching him twenty-four hours a day.’ She thought of something. ‘Did you have anyone else keeping an eye on him? Women. Smokers, like you.’
The women Beth had seen with Clancy, up on the estate.
Marnie had been afraid one of them was Esther Reid, but now she was remembering the easy way Adam had flirted with Debbie Tanner, and Julie Lowry.
‘You have mates on the estate keeping an eye on Clancy. That’s right, isn’t it?’
The flicker in Adam’s eyes said she’d guessed correctly. He didn’t answer right away, looking at the tape recorder. Finally he said, ‘People get worried when there’s a dangerous kid around. Parents get worried. Even the police give a shit, eventually.’
‘So you had people watching Clancy. Watching where he went.’
‘Just a couple of drinking friends. Women, like you said. He’s not on the estate. We looked.’
‘Terry made him promise to stay away.’
Adam scoffed through his teeth. ‘Doyle couldn’t extract a promise from a politician. I suppose you think he’s a hero for taking in a kid like that.’
‘You clearly don’t. Why not?’
‘Doyle’s the last person a kid like Clancy would trust.’
‘The last person … Why?’
‘He’s too straight for one thing, too decent. Mister green-fingered salt of the earth … I’ll bet he’s never lost his temper with anyone. A kid like Clancy needs someone who won’t take his shit at face value. He won’t have told Doyle the truth about anything th
at mattered.’
Marnie thought of the boy’s eyes thumping at her face – He’s not my fucking dad – so full of hate she’d wanted to take a step wide of his rage.
‘So what’s this about?’ Adam asked. ‘Really?’
‘The Doyles aren’t fostering Clancy. But you knew that, didn’t you?’ Marnie met his stare head-on. ‘You know about Clancy’s parents and the panic room that Ian Merrick built. You know why he isn’t living at home, why the Doyles took him in. All of it. You know.’
Adam looked at her for a long moment before he nodded.
‘For the tape,’ Marnie said inflexibly.
He moved his mouth as if it hurt. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I know.’
8
‘Have you spoken with the travellers?’ Adam asked Marnie. ‘They’ll tell you about Ian Merrick. “He hasn’t got a heart, he’s got a swinging brick,” that’s what they told me back before they found out I was a scumbag journalist.’
‘What did they think you were?’
‘A traveller. I told you, I was chasing a story. Undercover. I talked with everyone who lived on the site before Merrick bulldozed them out. Not just Beech Rise. He’s got sites right across London. Always places with a history, when you start digging. And I started digging. My editor wanted a story about travellers, but I found something better. I found preppers.’ He said it like an obscenity. ‘Merrick specialises in safety, and storage. He finds disused tunnels, bunkers, abandoned drainage plants, septic tanks, you name it. Subterranea, he calls it. The kind of unfilled landfill that no one’ll touch because it’s a planning nightmare. Health and safety have a fit if they get within fifty feet of it, but Merrick makes money out of it.’
Adam curled his mouth. ‘According to Merrick, you used to be able to make money from architecture, spectacle. Now it’s all about the buildings you can’t see, rather than the ones you can.’
‘Subterranea,’ Marnie repeated. ‘Like the bunkers on Blackthorn Road.’
