The Sleeping Season

by Kelly Creighton

  ‘It’s a wonder Sandy remembers it,’ I said. ‘Maybe because of the name – Pottinger, like the Pottinger’s Entry.’

  ‘Certain cases stick in people’s minds,’ said Linskey. ‘You know, I still get people mention Brody to me. But we did a good job to keep Verda Dolan’s problems out of it. I always had a soft spot for Brody – with all them brothers and sisters sure he hardly got a look-in. Could you blame Verda for giving them the odd smack or two?’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘I remember her now. She should have spent ten minutes getting an IUD and less time on her back.’

  ‘Jesus, Harry!’

  ‘How many kids did she have?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘How many men?’

  ‘Fair play to her.’

  ‘Where did she find them? Specsavers?’

  ‘That’s awful,’ said Linskey.

  Verda Dolan – her face came back to me all right. Hammitt had a point. She had looked like she was acting at that press conference. She was as false and insecure a person as I’d ever seen, and believe me, I knew what to look for. I sometimes wished I’d been assigned that case instead of Linskey. I remembered that long face of Verda’s, her pea-green eyes and her furry voice. She’d worn the same maroon jumper day in, day out, carelessly rolled up at the elbows. Her family tree was more like a map of the London Underground.

  ‘Fancies himself as a bit of a detective – Sandy Hammitt,’ I said.

  ‘Did you see the books?’ asked Linskey. ‘The crime books?’

  ‘No. Did you see the DVDs? All crime too,’ I said. ‘Was he in the constabulary? Is that how he knew about Verda’s conviction? Surely he would have said.’

  As we pulled into Shane’s street Linskey took a card from her pocket, handed it to me.

  Alexander Hammitt, Senior Engineer. Shorts Bombardier.

  ‘He gave me this at the park yesterday,’ said Linskey. ‘They let him go a few years back – Sandy and ninety-nine others. Now his job is sunning himself in Marbella, by all accounts.’

  ‘Jammy git,’ I said.

  Brandon Terrace was a short street, one side of it terraces, the other side the backs of apartment blocks, and bookended by two busier streets. Shane’s house was dilapidated, a fact the landlord had tried to conceal with white paint that had turned pinkish and was flaking off the pebble-dash finish like dried camomile lotion on an angry dose of the pox. There was a wall around the yard, the top bricks missing alternately as if purposefully arranged like that.

  I knocked on Shane’s door, looked in his windows at the browning, wrecked louvres. We walked down the grassy entry behind his house, through his yard and peeked in the back window. Planes were returning to City Airport, humming overhead. His house was deserted, and his car nowhere to be seen.

  I contacted the station, asking someone to get in touch with the DVLA and check what car Shane was driving at the moment and run the plates. The Chief informed us of a new development: a dead dog had been found in the water at Shaw’s Bridge.

  ‘A fresh death,’ he said. ‘With weights tied around its paws.’

  ‘A spaniel?’ I asked him.

  ‘No. Think the opposite of spaniel and you’re in the right ballpark.’

  ‘What in the world does that mean?’ Linskey asked me as we drove to River’s preschool.

  ‘Not cute and cuddly?’ I guessed.

  ‘Glad someone speaks his language! I suppose we’ll have to get onto Sandy again and ask him if he remembers seeing a stray going about.’

  ‘Any excuse to get talking to your number one fan,’ I teased her.

  Chapter 10

  Strandtown Preschool was in an old church on the Belmont Road with an ornamental bell-tower and a car park housed behind verdigris spiked railings. Three huge trees dripped leaves onto the road.

  The playgroup leader was Miss Olivia Sands. When Linskey called her that morning, Miss Sands had asked that we wait until noon before coming over. The children would have left by then; she didn’t want them getting more worried about River than they already were.

  When we arrived Olivia was standing huddled by the palm tree at the door, a modern double-glazed version of the traditional windows, right down to the arched shape and the leaded panes. With her long, straight, black hair swishing against her back, Olivia took us through the main hall with its freshly painted magnolia walls and scuffed wooden floorboards where two childcare assistants were finishing up for the day, one stacking chairs, the other tossing toys into plastic boxes, the sounds echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

  In the kitchen, we would have refused Olivia’s teas and coffees had we been offered but we weren’t. We sat facing her, but Olivia Sands didn’t sit down. She bounced about, boiled the kettle, saying she was gasping, that she needed caffeine, after the morning she’d had and all the questions she’d had to answer.

  ‘I’m happy to help you, of course,’ she said, ‘but what do you tell kids? Plus I don’t think it’s my place.’

  She bent down to a low shelf in the cupboard, chimed the cups until she found one she was pleased with. She leaned back against the counter, her hands by her hips, flexing her fingers. She stood still for a second to answer a question I asked: ‘Do you have any concerns about River?’

  ‘Plenty,’ Olivia announced, then started to busy herself with milk and sugar and boiling water. She threw a teaspoon into the sink and finally sat down. At last we were able to get her full attention.

  ‘I never slept all night,’ she said, closing her eyes like she was miming part of a children’s story. She had thick eyeliner on her top lids, licked up towards her brows.

  ‘I don’t think many people slept last night,’ Linskey replied.

  ‘Like I said on the phone,’ Olivia resumed, ‘River’s a lovely wee boy and I just hope he gets home soon. I’m not religious’ – she lowered her voice – ‘I shouldn’t say this here, really, but I prayed last night, really prayed that I would … I don’t know, be a better person, nicer to people I can’t stand – not that I’m not nice – if he would just come home safe. I should shut up. It just sounds daft now.’ She took a sip from her cup of thick rusty-looking coffee.

  ‘So what are your concerns about River? What stands out?’

  ‘It’s his mum,’ she said. ‘He’s only been here a few weeks, but sometimes I think it would be easier if she’d just take him out of the nursery and go somewhere else.’

  I sat forward and squinted at her.

  ‘It’s not River,’ Olivia continued. ‘Not his fault. It’s his mum, as I say. She makes things difficult. River’s a lovely child.’

  ‘In what way is River’s mother difficult?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s never happy with his care provision. I’ve worked in lots of different nurseries and I know what I’m doing, but she questions everything.’

  Olivia looked like a child herself. I understood Zara’s logic instantly.

  ‘Is this your first management job, Miss Sands?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes, but I know what I’m doing. Most parents love it that I’m young and have new ideas and the kids, they say, can relate to me. That’s not Mrs Reede’s issue.’

  ‘What do you think her issue is?’ asked Linskey.

  ‘It’s a personality clash. It’s that she knows she can say anything and I have to be professional – that’s all it is.’ Olivia pulled her hair into two tails over her shoulders, then carried out a concise scan for split ends.

  ‘Are you aware of any health problems River might have?’ Linskey asked.

  ‘Oh, his ADHD – is that what you mean?’

  ‘ADHD?’ I repeated. ‘No. It was more along the lines of epilepsy my colleague was asking about.’

  ‘Epilepsy? I haven’t heard anything about epilepsy. Not at all.’

  ‘What is this you were saying about ADHD?’

  Olivia looked as though she had been lured back to some memory or other. She took another sip of coffee. ‘River has trouble standing still,’ she said.


  ‘Does he have a diagnosis?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know how much you know about ADHD.’ Olivia examined our blank faces. ‘It’s almost impossible to diagnose before the age of four.’

  ‘But River is four.’

  ‘Yes, he is – a July birthday. One of the oldest here, so he should be more competent at certain things. River has the signs of it, from my experience. He’s a good boy, just has a short attention span.’

  ‘Is that all ADHD is? So, he’s like any other four-year-old boy?’

  Olivia laughed. ‘I had all this with Mrs Reede. She’s in denial about him.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well, I said to her that I recommended testing and she went ape. Absolutely crazy. It wasn’t just me – it was the other staff in the nursery too. We’ve been doing this for years. River fidgets. He has no patience. You can’t read him a story, he has no interest – I mean none at all. He’s very talkative and a real climber.’

  Linskey looked at me. ‘Does he climb here?’ she asked Olivia.

  ‘Yes, he does,’ she replied, smiling a slow sad smile, fluffing her hair at the roots. ‘Bless him, I feel bad talking about him like this. He’s a little devil with the face of an angel. Really, he can’t help it. We have another boy with ADHD here and one with an ASD – autism, like. We had behaviour specialists out for them and both specialists picked up on River. It’s just that the earlier the intervention, the better the help. It’s for him. I’m not trying to make life easier for me, but for his mum – for Zara. She thought I was trying to point the finger at her. She was livid. Obviously I couldn’t say he had already been observed. He has little spells when he stares at the wall and it’s like he can’t see you. He doesn’t respond to his name.’

  ‘Those spells are his epilepsy, apparently,’ said Linskey.

  ‘I said to Zara that he seemed absent and she told me he was a daydreamer.’

  ‘River is receiving medication for his epilepsy,’ I said. ‘The doctor has already diagnosed him.’

  ‘I should’ve been made aware of that.’

  ‘Is it possible that you wouldn’t have accepted River to the nursery if Zara had told you about the epilepsy?’ asked Linskey.

  ‘We haven’t had a child with epilepsy yet, but … maybe we could have had training. I’m not sure.’ Olivia frowned.

  Zara knew fine rightly, I thought. She wanted River in mainstream education, even if it meant sending him to school without the right provisions and awareness. I had a feeling that the same thought was dawning on us all.

  ‘The climbing frame outside,’ Linskey said, pointing out of the window. ‘I’m sure River must love that.’

  ‘He did,’ said Olivia. ‘Zara doesn’t want him on it any more. I may as well tell you this, in case she does first and it looks as though I’m hiding something. We were playing capture the flag with little pirate flags on the frame outside when River climbed up and tried to take it down. I believe in letting children explore, letting them climb. They need to burn themselves out. It’s gone now, but there used to be a flag with a little skull and crossbones on it. We took it down after he fell and broke his front teeth.’ Olivia sucked in her lips as if she was expecting judgement.

  ‘How did Zara take that?’

  ‘Obviously she wasn’t happy. She talked about changing nurseries, so if you’re telling her that you came here, I’m sure she’ll mention that we had words. She had words. She said she was going to home-school him if she couldn’t find somewhere that wasn’t going to victimise him.’ Olivia’s chin tremored with emotion.

  ‘What about River’s dad? Shane Reede?’ Linskey asked.

  ‘Zara does all the paperwork – the lifting and laying. Sometimes the big man’s in the car waiting.’

  ‘Have you noticed if he walks with a limp?’ I asked.

  Olivia was looking at a point just past me. I turned to see what it was. There was a quote from the Bible inscribed on a framed mirror; she was trying to check herself out in the margin.

  ‘I never noticed that,’ she said. ‘He’s older than Zara. He’s a bit … of a funny one.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I don’t know. No reason, really. I thought he was the grandad.’

  ‘That’s Raymond,’ I said. ‘Is there another man that comes – maybe on a Friday, Miss Sands? River’s biological father?’

  ‘I thought he was the dad,’ she said. ‘He was with River and Zara at the open day.’

  I got a call then through my earpiece to say that Zara’s hospital records had been checked.

  ‘I have to nip out for a minute,’ I said.

  I got into the car and spoke to Sarge Simon on the radio.

  ‘The doctors have no record that Zara Reede has had any pregnancy other than when she was pregnant with River,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ I said, feeling somehow like I was betraying Zara by checking up on her. People knew that their medical records could be used against them. It often stopped them seeking help when they most needed it.

  I looked at the climbing frame; it wasn’t tall at all. There was a flag holder at the top; the children could easily have been reached by an adult. Suddenly the game didn’t seem like the bad idea it had when Olivia told us about it.

  Linskey came to join me in the car.

  ‘It was all about her, wasn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘Ah c’mon, she’s Miss Honey from that kids’ book Matilda – too sweet for her own good.’

  ‘Bet Zara had a field day with her.’

  A rap landed on the window. Olivia was peering in, winding her hand, miming at us to roll down the window.

  ‘I started to tell you,’ she said, crouching down, holding onto the slim spine of glass. ‘It’s the climbing frame. The park, I mean. I heard on the news that the police are checking the park at Shaw’s Bridge, but he wouldn’t have been there.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘After River broke his teeth, Mrs Reede said: “Any wonder I don’t take him to the playground. He hasn’t been since he was two”.’ Linskey and I must have been looking at her without conviction, because she added, ‘River took a little boy’s glasses off him and snapped them in half. Mrs Reede said there were loads of people in the playground and all the parents turned on her, so she never took him anywhere for ages after that because people were so cruel. She said they were bullies.’

  ‘Thanks for telling us,’ Linskey said.

  Olivia gave us a blazing smile.

  ‘Do you use behaviour charts?’ I felt compelled to ask before we left.

  ‘We don’t, but a lot of the parents do. I suggested it for home, but that was another thing that riled Mrs Reede.’

  ‘Okay, that’s great. Thanks,’ I said.

  Olivia stood up and headed back towards the church.

  I thought about charts and meds, how Zara seemed to be like a sponge who took advice but never gave credit. She was stubborn and pig-headed, but she did what was best for her boy, at least that’s how I felt right at that moment. But my mind, it changed with every word and in every breath.

  *

  Another photo was released to the public, the one Sandy Hammitt had been talking about. In this one River was smiling. He was at the seaside at Portrush, hunching down to look at a sandcastle. There were sandworms noodling beside his bare toes. He looked proud.

  It sparked renewed interest, this photo, and the phone lines began to purr, one on top of the other.

  Chapter 11

  In the lab, River’s green coat was suspended inside a glass cabinet like an exhibit at the Ulster Museum. Forensic scientist Kate Stile, a tall, young woman with a doughy face, explained her findings to Linskey and me.

  ‘First let me tell you both about the DNA we found on the coat. Someone has coughed on the fabric and the DNA is unknown.’

  Linskey walked around the cabinet to see the back of the coat where I met her coming from the other direction. Three dark fingermarks
scarred the fabric.

  ‘That fingermark.’ Kate pointed at one on the far left.

  ‘Whose is it?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s small. A bloody smear. More than likely it will be a match for River himself,’ she said. ‘Boys cut their knees, hands, elbows all the time.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Check everything, accept nothing.’

  ‘And there are two more fingermarks here and here,’ said Kate, pointing. ‘Bigger ones, caused by adults this time. They also look like blood. The fingermarks have been run through the Ident1 database and come back as belonging to two separate individuals. One, in fact, matches a set of prints collected after a house break-in Donegal at the start of this year’ – she looked at her notes – ‘on 6 January 2016. I had a colleague look at the results to corroborate, and she confirmed what I thought. Based on the minutiae it’s likely – same pattern of pores and whorls, double loops, same friction ridges.’

  ‘And they were never caught, the person who committed the break-in?’ asked Linskey.

  ‘No, they weren’t. A car was also stolen from the garage of the house, the keys taken from the hooks in the kitchen. The car was found burnt out three miles away. So whoever did that is one of our guys.’

  ‘He’s been keeping his nose reasonably clean, then, if he isn’t on the system,’ I said.

  ‘Stealing a car doesn’t come out of the blue. There’ll have been a build-up of petty crimes,’ said Linskey.

  ‘Nothing serious enough to make its way into the system though,’ I said.

  ‘Or he just hasn’t been caught yet,’ said Kate.

  ‘Then another unknown who’s not in the system?’ Linskey asked for clarification.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate. She pointed at the third fingermark at the base of the coat. ‘This one hasn’t got a match.’

  ‘Could any of it be old blood?’ I asked her.

  ‘No. I’d say more recent.’

  ‘We have to eliminate everyone who’d help River with his coat,’ said Linskey.