Safe Home (ARC)

by Kerry Watts

  ‘Well, you can keep me company for a few moments then, and you can watch me drink mine.’ Benito gave a gentle smile, his large brown eyes soothing her aching heart a little.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  Her legs continued to tremble the entire way back down the woodland track to Benito’s car. She was relieved to see it parked at the entrance to the wood, because she wasn’t sure how much longer they would support her. Once inside, Jessie sipped the hot sweet coffee, surprised by how comforting the warmth trickling down her throat felt. Benito’s Italian roots certainly came out in his coffee-brewing skills. She swallowed down one last sip and handed him the cup.

  ‘Thank you. That was incredibly kind of you, Ben.’

  ‘You remembered.’

  Jessie allowed the ghost of a smile to spread across her lips when she recalled him telling her his friends call him Ben, the day they met. ‘I remembered, and I owe you one.’

  She got out and walked towards the team planning the fingertip search. She heard Ben call gently after her: ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

  Jessie glanced back down the short path towards him, and saw a private ambulance arrive at the small car park. She watched the driver move to the back of the vehicle, remove a trolley and begin to wheel it along the snow-covered woodland path. Jessie nodded at him as he passed her.

  When the driver returned, the body bag that Finlay lay in was too big. No child should ever be inside one of those. Now it was Jessie’s job to find out why Finlay Lucas had ended up there, and she would stop at nothing to find out. There was no doubt about that. Claire’s apparent confession. Theresa’s mental health breakdown. Bridget’s reluctance to talk. The McCabes’ van seen close to the house. She had lots of pieces, but how did they fit? That was the question.

  Forty-Four

  Darren couldn’t think straight. He told the officer watching Claire that he was going to the gents’ but instead continued past it and outside into the hospital car park. He needed air. There had been a few police officers stationed at the hospital, but most had left suddenly a little while ago. Why had they raced off like that? He walked towards a young woman who had just lit a cigarette.

  ‘Any chance I could have one of those?’ he asked. His head spun with so many different scenarios. He couldn’t focus on what the truth might be. Claire didn’t know what she was saying. The seizure must have caused her mind to get into a muddle, giving her memories that weren’t real. He desperately hoped that was the case.

  The woman turned, surprised by Darren’s question, then tucked her hand into her pocket.

  ‘Yes, sure, here.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Darren’s head buzzed with his first draw. It had been a long time. Smoking was just another memory of his misspent youth.

  Jessie and Dylan drove in silence from the site where Finlay’s body had been found to the hospital, each of them locked in their own thoughts. Part of Dylan had been clinging to the hope that Dianne really had kidnapped the boy, and had hidden him with the help of an accomplice. He had wondered, too, if perhaps Colin was in on it.

  They spotted Darren at the entrance to accident and emergency. It irked Jessie that he had been allowed to leave the building, but that was something she would deal with later.

  ‘Detectives,’ Darren squashed the cigarette under his trainer and stood up from the bench to greet them. His eyes narrowed then widened as he searched their faces. ‘W-what?’ he stuttered. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Darren, let’s go inside so we can talk.’ Jessie moved closer and reached out for Darren’s arm but it was snatched away.

  ‘No, no, God, no,’ he mumbled. His legs became weak under him and he flopped back down on the bench, next to the woman who had given him a cigarette. He dropped his head in his hands. ‘No, no, no.’

  Jessie asked the young woman to leave and took a seat next to him.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that the body of a baby boy has been found.’

  Jessie heard the words coming out of her mouth and hated saying every single one of them.

  ‘God no, no, no, this isn’t happening.’ Darren squeezed his head. ‘There has to be some kind of mistake. Not Finlay.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Jessie responded, and watched a broken man crack a little more.

  ‘Where is he?’ Darren asked through his tears. ‘I want to see him. I need to see my son.’

  Dylan kneeled in front of Darren. ‘Finlay is with the pathologist. He will let us know when you can see him. We will take good care of him, I promise, and I’ll take you to him when it’s time.’

  Dylan’s compassion almost broke Jessie’s composure. Darren’s face twitched in confusion, seeking out answers before digesting Dylan’s words. He acknowledged him with a nod.

  Jessie left Dylan sitting in silence, close to Darren, and made her way to Claire’s hospital room. She looked in at the person who may have left her six-month-old son battered and broken, in a rucksack in Moncreiffe Wood. But when, and how? It didn’t make any sense.

  ‘DI Blake,’ the uniformed officer stood as Jessie walked into the room.

  Claire turned and sat bolt upright at the sound of his voice. ‘Detective? Have you found him? Have you found my baby?’

  ‘We have. I’m sorry to have to inform you that the body of a baby boy was found earlier this evening in Moncreiffe Wood.’ Jessie paused, and steeled herself for what she had to say next. ‘Claire Lucas, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Finlay Lucas. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence… Do you understand?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Claire shouted. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘As you have not been discharged yet, an officer will stay with you until such time as we can transfer you to Perth Police Station for further questioning. Do you understand?’

  ‘Darren? Where’s Darren? He will tell you I didn’t do this. Where’s Finlay? I want to see my son!’ Claire screamed, before crashing back down onto her pillow, thrashing and twisting with white foam frothing at the edges of her lips.

  ‘I’ll get help.’ The uniformed officer rushed out of the room, leaving Jessie with more questions than answers as she looked on helplessly at her murder suspect having another massive seizure. A mass of bodies gathered round the bed and Jessie watched doctors administer diazepam to help bring an end to the thrashing and twitching. This was awful. Claire was clearly unwell, but Finlay was dead and Claire said she couldn’t be sure, but that she might have done something to him. Jessie shivered. Having a suspect would normally help, but not this time.

  The drugs took effect, and a few minutes later Claire came round. ‘Where am I?’ she asked, cradling her head in her hands. She glanced at Jessie. ‘Who are you? Where’s Darren?’

  ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ the doctor told her. ‘Claire needs to rest.’

  Jessie knew he was right, but there was no way her suspect was being left alone.

  ‘That’s fine, but my officer stays.’ Jessie took the doctor aside. ‘This woman is in custody, and does not leave this room without this man.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can agree to that, Detective.’

  ‘Would you rather we handcuffed her?’ Jessie’s gaze was firmly fixed, and the doctor blinked first. ‘Not only that, but Darren Lucas does not enter this room. Is that clear?’

  Forty-Five

  Jessie was so glad to kick off her boots – they’d been pinching her little toes all day. She was also relieved to feel the blast of heat from the hall radiator. Her boiler had evidently lived to fight another day. She grabbed the pile of post that had gathered on her doormat and flicked through it quickly before tossing it onto the hall table. Nothing that couldn’t wait. No more unsolicited post from Dan, at least. The more she thought about that birthday card the angrier it made her. She dropped her bag onto the floor nearby and wandered barefoot into the kitchen, Smokey’s body curling around her ankles as she moved. It was a
miracle Jessie didn’t trip over him more often, the way he weaved and clung close to her legs. His purring vibrated up her calf, soothing away the ache.

  She wished he could calm the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought of Finlay’s broken body. The team at the scene – Benito Capello and David Lyndhurst in particular – had been so tender, despite the unpleasant task they had to do. Respectful. The pathologist had already called her to confirm the time of the post-mortem the following morning.

  Jessie needed a drink. She poured the last of a bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge into her wine glass, which never moved further than her draining board. She opened the drawer next to the fridge and pulled out two white envelopes, taking a large swig of her wine before putting the glass down and opening one of them. Slowly, she slid out the small square photo and laid it next to her glass. The tear that she’d allowed to build escaped and trickled down her cheek onto her jaw, before dripping onto her chest. She rubbed her thumb over her wet face, then sipped from her glass again. She kissed the tips of two fingers and pressed them against the image of an infant who looked like he was sleeping. The hospital had dressed him in a tiny white robe and taken this photo for Jessie to keep. She tidied the photo away and thought again of the scene.

  Why had Finlay been dumped there? What had happened to him? Jessie just couldn’t get her head around it. She would have to wait until the post-mortem results before forming too many theories. She also still had to figure out what Bridget Moran was hiding, because she was definitely hiding something. And what about Claire’s pseudo-confession?

  Smokey’s cries for his supper briefly interrupted Jessie’s train of thought. Swallowing down a large gulp of wine, she picked him up so that she could nuzzle his soft fur close to her cheek. His gentle purr made her cheekbone vibrate, and he drooled a little as he moved. Jessie could smell that he had been to her next-door neighbour’s flat recently. Dave’s flat smelled very feminine, even floral, for a man close to fifty years old who lived alone. She pulled a pouch of cat food from the cupboard above her microwave and bent down so that Smokey could jump out of her arms before she squeezed the contents into his dish.

  ‘Here you go, greedy guts,’ she said, placing his bowl on the floor, Smokey’s face already in it before she could lift her hand away. She pressed the empty packet down into the already full bin, then tugged the bag out and tied it tight. ‘Back in a minute, wee man.’

  She stepped into her pumps and headed outside to her wheelie bin. She tutted at the blinking street light at the end of her drive. As she turned to go back inside, a sound made her stop and spin round. Not quite a crunch or a rustle. Just a sound that shouldn’t be there, in the empty street. Her eyes scanned up and down the deserted road. Traffic in the distance briefly broke the silence, followed by the horn of a train crossing the bridge at the other end of town, echoing in the stillness of the late hour. The noise was closer. There it was again. She scurried quickly back up the stairs and into her flat, locking the door and snatching the chain across. Probably just your imagination, she tried to tell herself. Dan wouldn’t, would he? Not really?

  Dan’s calves ached from crouching. He’d dared not breathe as he’d watched Jessie move so close to the conifer hedge he was hiding behind. Now wasn’t the right time, but it was so good to see her again. She hadn’t changed. She was so close he could almost touch her, but he didn’t dare; not yet.

  He peered up at Jessie’s living room window, unable to decide what his overriding feeling really was. He still missed her, and he knew he’d done wrong. There was no doubt about that fact. But Dan had been punished. Surely everybody deserves a second chance, although it looked like it was going to take more decisive action to get her to listen. A cruel necessity, perhaps. She had ignored the birthday card, but he tried not to get too upset about that. Perhaps she wasn’t ready. This was going to take time. Little steps start a great journey. One day he would win her back again.

  What they had in the beginning was so good. They had passion. They shared a closeness Dan had never experienced until Jessie Blake crashed into his life. The beautiful Scots lass had brought light into his dark world when she’d joined the Met. He’d been so nervous about asking her out. Before Jessie, he’d had a reputation as a bit of a lady’s man, flirting and leaving a string of one-night stands in his wake, but she was different. Their impulsive wedding in Las Vegas was the happiest day of Dan’s life. Jessie had looked so beautiful, standing there next to him. He’d felt like the luckiest man alive. He had promised to take care of her, but he’d let her down.

  Now, he planned to give it everything he had to make it up to her and win her back. If that meant playing a little dirty, then so be it. It would hopefully only take one firm nudge in the right direction to make Jessie listen, but Dan was sure that once they had opened up a dialogue she would finally understand. Finally appreciate how much he was hurting.

  The echo of screeching laughter drifted towards him as he made his way down the street to the bike. He started up the engine and grabbed his helmet from the back. He smiled at two barely dressed teenage girls, who giggled at him as they passed. Dan watched them for a moment then became angry with himself for it. If he was going to show Jessie he had changed, then eyeing other women, fantasising about what he wanted to do to them, would have to stop. But that was going to prove difficult if young women made themselves so available to him like that. Didn’t they realise what men like him were capable of? Didn’t they care, or was it an invitation to play?

  Forty-Six

  Jessie edged closer to the mortuary door, wishing that something would happen to pull her back. Anything at all. She would be happy to believe in miracles right now. Perhaps some kind of natural disaster, maybe? She had appreciated David’s call all the same. They had spoken after she’d left the hospital the night before, and the pathologist had sounded tired as he’d arranged for her to attend the post-mortem. The sooner she found out what had happened to Finlay would clearly be the best thing; for everyone. She took a deep breath and nudged the double doors open with her shoulder, but was surprised to see Benito waiting to greet her.

  ‘Hello, is David around?’

  Benito frowned. ‘You haven’t heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’ Jessie glanced around the room, thick with the smell of disinfectant and other assorted chemicals.

  ‘David was admitted to hospital late last night with chest pains. I have been carrying out Finlay’s post-mortem this morning. He didn’t want it to wait, so he asked me to do it. He knew how important it was.’ Benito was a qualified medical examiner, working with David for more experience.

  Jessie clasped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, is he OK? Has he had a heart attack? What ward have they admitted him to?’

  Benito shrugged. ‘I’m not sure right now, but he’s OK, yes. He called me about half an hour ago to tell me to tell you not to worry.’

  A soft smile crept across Jessie’s lips. ‘Typical David. Worrying about other people first. I’ll give his wife a call after.’ Jessie hesitated, thinking again of the task at hand.

  Benito read her thoughts. ‘I know.’ He reassured her with a nod. ‘Shall we get started?’

  Jessie blew out the large breath that had stalked her throat. ‘Yes.’

  Benito handed her a suit and mask, then pinched a pair of gloves from the box before backing through the inner double doors. ‘I’ll see you in there.’

  Jessie stared at Finlay’s twisted body, illuminated by the harsh bright lights above the cold steel table. Again, Ryan’s face flashed into her mind. His life had been stolen, too. By someone who was supposed to protect him. Jessie realised long ago that the pain of losing a child never leaves you. You just adapt and survive until moments like these remind you what you’ve lost. Then the agony threatens to overwhelm you again. She listened to Benito speak into his tape recorder, describing what she saw in front of her. The only things he couldn’t capture were the emotion of it and the smell or, more
accurately, the lack of that distinctive baby smell that all infants have. That was long gone. His physical description of broken, twisted limbs was painfully accurate. The first cut had been horrific, and it took everything Jessie had to control her urge to run from it. She couldn’t let Finlay down. She had to put her own feelings to one side. He needed her to be strong. She had to endure. She swallowed back every urge to run out of there and never go back.

  Benito raised Finlay’s right leg slightly. ‘You see the edge of this bone? Where it’s fracture is brittle and crumbly, you could say, rather than a clean cut.’

  Jessie glanced down at it and nodded. ‘Yes.’ She barely managed the whisper before coughing to clear her throat.

  ‘The fact that the bone looks crumbly indicates this fracture occurred after death.’

  Jessie’s head snapped up. ‘After death?’

  Benito nodded. ‘The bones become brittle post-mortem, so yes, all these breaks happened after his death.’

  Jessie was perplexed. ‘Have you ever seen anything like this before? So many fractures, I mean, caused after death?’ Jessie couldn’t take her eyes off the tiny body. So many thoughts were spinning in her mind.

  Benito nodded again. ‘Once before. Many years ago.’

  ‘How, and why?’

  ‘It was a baby who’d passed away from sudden infant death syndrome, or cot death, as it’s more commonly known. The father shook his daughter so hard, trying to rouse her in his panic, that the little bones broke under the pressure.’ His sombre face held hers. ‘She looked a lot like Finlay.’

  ‘So is that what’s happened here?’

  ‘I can’t be certain how the post-mortem injuries occurred, and I’ll have to wait for some test results, but yes – I think Finlay died as a result of sudden infant death syndrome.’