BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense (17 page)

‘That we don’t know. Perhaps it was a stillbirth or something went wrong, with no medical help. Only Sheila can say. Teddy probably knew.’ Swift suspected there might be a darker explanation, thinking of Teddy’s note and the dead baby at the party. If Sheila had killed her baby and Teddy knew, there would be a strong motive for her to want rid of him too.

‘My God. What was happening in this house?’ Bartlett sat back, shoulders slumping. ‘How could Sheila have been pregnant without her mother knowing? How could Tessa not have noticed a baby being born in her own home? What kind of mother was she?’

Swift noted Bartlett’s usual willingness to shift blame on to anyone but himself. He didn’t respond but listened as Bartlett carried on, listing again the reasons he had left his wife and her failings as a mother, complaining at length that she had allowed the family to fall to pieces.

Sheila was at the top of the ladder before they realised she had come home. She was still in her belted raincoat and sturdy shoes. She stepped in to the loft and stood in silence, staring at the opened box.

Her father looked at her. ‘Sheila, what has been going on here? Can you explain this? Mr Swift thinks this is the skeleton of your baby.’

She said nothing. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. Her hair was lank and her skin shiny with grease. A crop of tiny spots had sprouted on her chin. She took her inhaler from a pocket and drew in medication. Swift stood, watching her. He wondered how long she had been at the ladder, listening.

‘This is your baby, isn’t it, Sheila?’

‘Yes. My baby. My business.
My
baby was resting nice and peacefully. Now look. People gawping.’

Bartlett put his hands out. ‘Sheila, you must have known that this child would be found sometime.’

‘I kept him so safe from everyone for so long. Safe and warm and cosy, all tucked away.’

Swift said quietly, ‘I’m going to go downstairs and call the police. You might want to talk to your father. Please don’t touch the skeleton, either of you.’

She said, as if to herself, ‘They’ll take my baby away.’

‘They will have to, to start with. But they will return him or her to you for a funeral.’

‘Him. His name was Ambrose.’

‘My father’s name,’ Bartlett whispered.

Sheila waited until Swift had crossed to the loft opening, then stepped quickly behind her father. She slipped a small screwdriver from her pocket and held it to the front of his throat, clamping her other hand hard on the top of his head as he tried to get up.

‘I’ll stick this in you, I will. Tim’s right. You’re a joke of a father.’

Swift stood still. Bartlett turned his eyes towards him, blinking rapidly.

‘Don’t you move,’ Sheila told her father. ‘I’d love to stick this in you. Bringing that slut back here, lying to me, slagging off our mother.’ She looked at Swift. ‘You want to know what was happening in this house, do you? You’re Mr Know-it-all, how come you can’t tell him?’

Swift kept his voice neutral. ‘If you were listening to us, you’ll know that I did make some observations to your father. You must have gone through a terrible time. Hurting your father won’t solve anything.’

‘Oh, it might. It might make me feel better.’

‘I don’t think so, Sheila, not in the long run. Surely your family has had enough sadness.’

‘All caused by him.’ She angled the screwdriver, prodding it against her father’s throat, and he gasped.

‘Your father had nothing to do with your baby being born or dying. Did Ambrose die soon after he was born?’ He thought it was best to distract her, get her talking about herself.

‘A couple of days. I was all on my own.’ She fixed her gaze on the box.

‘Teddy was with you though. Teddy helped you.’

‘Oh yes, Teddy helped me. Teddy knew all about it. We read what to do in one of my textbooks. But then when Ambrose died he said we ought to tell someone.’

‘And you didn’t want that.’

‘No.’ She shook her head violently. ‘I wanted to keep my boy. People would have been all over us, asking questions. They’d have taken my baby. I wanted to keep him safe by me. And I did.’

‘Yes you did, Sheila. You kept him and looked after him, giving him new flowers and blankets. You kept him close by you and safe. You did everything you could.’ Swift took a step nearer as he talked.

She noticed. ‘Don’t move. If you come any nearer, I’ll stick this in his throat. I know where to aim.’

‘Sheila . . .’ Bartlett whispered.

‘Okay, Sheila, okay, I won’t move. Did you argue with Teddy?’

‘A bit. Then he went quiet, wouldn’t talk about it. I came home that day and he’d taken off. Even he left me. In the end, they all left me.’ She tugged her father’s hair. ‘You started it, all the rot.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He had turned a waxy colour.

‘And you brought that bastard detective here,’ she continued. ‘I told you not to. All he’s done is cause trouble. I’d like to stick this screwdriver in him when I’ve finished with you.’ She rolled her tongue and spat at Swift. ‘You had no right going into my room, you fucking bastard, no right coming up here. You’ve been a thorn in my side since the first day you came here, with your poking and prying. And what’s it all been for? I bet you still don’t know who bashed Teddy’s head in!’

‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I know you’ve been having a hard time. If you put the screwdriver down, we can talk. I’m sure we can help you.’

She looked around and smiled. ‘Help! No one has helped me for a long time. The police will question me, won’t they? There’ll be hours of questions, raking it all up and pretending they care.’ She clenched her free hand into a fist and wheezed, banging the fist against her chest.

‘The police will ask you questions, yes. Sheila, you might find it helps to talk about it. Police have special training now. They’ll be sympathetic and careful when they discuss it with you.’ She seemed to be listening. He decided to try playing to her self-importance. ‘The police will understand that they’re dealing with a fellow professional who has a good reputation. They’ll know that you have a very responsible job, with colleagues and patients depending on you. They’ll know how valued you are at work.’

‘It’s true. I do have a good reputation. Workhorse, that’s me. Good old Sheila, she’ll stay late and do the weekend shifts, she’s got no other life going on! Pathetic, fat old Sheila, no husband or boyfriend! I see the glances when they’re chatting about parties and family events. Sad old Sheila, that’s who I am. Now I’ll be mad old Sheila with the dead baby.’

She smiled at Swift, a deranged grin, and suddenly shoved her father to one side. As he tumbled from the chair, she stabbed the screwdriver into her own stomach and fell to the floor with a scream. Blood spurted. Bartlett shouted her name and scrambled up. Then he was beside her, fumbling with her belt and tearing open her coat and uniform. Swift dialled 999 and requested an ambulance, describing the wound. Bartlett was pressing down on the area around the screwdriver’s hilt. Sheila groaned softly.

‘Has she cut an artery?’ Swift asked. The blood wasn’t pumping.

‘No. But the blade’s in deep and her pulse is weak. She’s conscious, which is good. This is all I can do for now. Can you get something to keep her warm?’ He seemed calm, in control.

Swift opened the nearest box and took out a bedspread, tucking it gently over Sheila’s legs.

‘I’ll go down and let the paramedics in. They’re going to struggle getting up and down from here.’

Bartlett nodded. He spoke gently to his daughter, repeating the words reassuringly. ‘Sheila, it’s all right, we’ve got help coming. Everything will be all right. I know you can hear me. You’re going to be okay.’

Swift called the police as he opened the front door, and waited. The ambulance crew had Sheila strapped to a stretcher and lowered down in record time. One of the crew kept her hand on the screwdriver, ensuring it didn’t move. Bartlett insisted on going with her in the ambulance and climbed in, his hands and shirt blood-soaked. Someone draped a blanket around him. Swift told him he would speak to the police and explain what had happened. He nodded, distracted, and asked a paramedic to check Sheila’s blood pressure again.

Swift closed the door and went through to the kitchen. Dirty crockery was piled in the sink and cluttering the work surfaces. He rinsed a glass and filled it with water, then drank another. He didn’t want to return to the loft. He would leave that to the police. He looked around but there was no dishwasher. He thought he might as well make himself useful until they arrived and took the dishes from the sink, stacking them on the drainer. He filled the sink with hot water and started scrubbing plates and saucepans. It was a useful process, imposing some order on the chaos and he felt his own heart rate quieten. The sky outside was turning a bruised violet as dusk approached. He had always found it a melancholy time of day. He pulled the window blind down and concentrated on his repetitive task.

It was almost eight by the time the police had finished examining the loft and questioning him. A DI Archie Lorrimer listened to his explanation of his involvement with the family, over a cup of tea in the kitchen. Lorrimer knew of Nora Morrow and gave her a quick ring to check Swift out.

‘I have wondered if Sheila attacked Teddy and if she was responsible for the death of that other baby,’ Swift told him. ‘Up in the loft, she said nothing that indicated she did harm Teddy, although she acknowledged that she argued with him about Ambrose.’

‘What kind of woman is she? As chaotic as her bedroom indicates?’

‘Self-important, angry, damaged, food-obsessed, jealous, frightened, a liar, sad and lost. The keeper of a dead baby. She has a nasty temper. I think she’ll need psychiatric help.’

Lorrimer finished his tea. He was a small, sharp-eyed man, watchful but pleasant. Swift had heard him instruct a constable to tuck the covering blanket over the skeleton before the box was taken away.

‘She might have killed Ambrose,’ he said, rinsing his cup in the sink. ‘I don’t know if a pathologist will be able to determine that. Hopefully she’ll survive and we can talk to her.’

‘Can I head off soon? I’d like to ring the hospital, see how she is.’

‘Yeah. I’ll need you to come and make a statement in the next few days. We’ll secure the house before we leave.’

* * *

Back home, Swift opened a bottle of wine. The hospital had told him that Sheila had been operated on and was expected to recover. He ran pictures of that summer of 2000 in his head: Sheila carrying her growing secret, Teddy knowing about the pregnancy, their mother hiding away, Tim unaware. He poured a second glass. His phone rang. It was Tim Christie.

‘What’s going on? My father just rang me from a hospital to say Sheila had stabbed herself. Bastard. I cut him off.’ His speech was slow and slurred. Swift assumed he was on something.

‘That’s right. Sheila stabbed herself in the stomach. She’s okay, as far as I know.’

‘What’s going on? Why’d she do that?’

‘Look, Tim, you’d better speak to your father tomorrow. A lot has happened in your family recently and he’ll need to talk to you about it.’

‘Oh yeah? Well, I don’t want to talk to him. You tell me.’

Swift felt weary. The last thing he wanted was to start explaining a dead baby to a drugged-up sibling.

‘I can’t do that. It’s not for me to discuss. Either talk to your father or don’t. Or maybe just go and see Sheila and when she’s able to, she can tell you.’

‘You know how I feel about those two, they do my head in. I can’t face them and I can talk to you, you treat me like—’

Swift interrupted. ‘Tim, I’m not your parent. I have to go now, I’ve had a long day. Sheila’s okay. Go to bed and sleep off whatever you’ve taken.’

He stepped out into the garden and breathed in the cold air, trying to clear his head of other people’s secrets and torments. His next task was to confront Dorcas Saltby with her lies.

Chapter 13

She came out of her office at the same time, head down, scarf tied tightly. There was a strong wind and she swayed slightly, buffeted. Swift had decided not to bring the car and offer her a secure environment. Let her feel the pressure. He crossed the busy road and fell into step beside her.

‘Mrs Saltby, you lied to me about Teddy Bartlett,’ he said conversationally. ‘Your son told me you knew all about him.’

She stopped, looked around, peered at him. There was shock in her eyes and a cold hostility. An angry-looking cold sore had appeared on her lip, cracked and peeling.

‘You’ve spoken to my son?’

‘Twice now. Didn’t he mention it?’

‘No.’ She moved in to the side of the pavement, up against the window of a launderette.

‘Joshua lied to me the first time. When I saw him again he told me the truth, all about finding Teddy in your house with Judith and about the dressing up and the Internet café.’

She leaned against the window. She flicked her tongue on the cold sore and winced.

‘I can’t talk to you,’ she said hopelessly.

‘You have to. Otherwise I’ll come to your home. I am going to find out what happened to Teddy.’

‘I can’t tell you anything about what happened to him.’

‘Can’t as in won’t?’

She was silent, fiddling with the handles of her shopping bag.

‘You know something. I will come to your home if you won’t talk to me. I don’t think your husband would like that. There’s a café along here. It’s cold in the wind. Let’s sit down.’

She glanced around again. ‘I can’t stay long.’

She walked on with him, shrinking into herself. In the café she insisted they sit right at the back, away from the window, and found a table tucked into an alcove. He ordered coffee for himself and still water at her request. She poured it into the glass, spilling it and dabbing the puddle fussily with a paper napkin. He saw that she bit her nails, the skin rough and torn around the cuticles.

‘So stupid of me,’ she said. ‘Look at this mess.’

He suspected she was often told that she was stupid, but he thought otherwise. It seemed to him that she had hidden reserves to draw on. ‘It’s only water, Mrs Saltby. Let me take you back to the summer of 2000. You came home and found Joshua dressed in women’s clothes and he confessed to you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Was that the first you knew of Teddy’s visits to your home?’

‘Yes.’ She drank and patted at her lips.

‘So how did you feel when you found this out?’

She pressed her lips together. ‘I felt ashamed and frightened.’

‘Angry, too?’

‘I suppose. It was all Judith’s fault. She encouraged wickedness into our home. She showed Joshua her sin and he was tempted.’

‘Did you tell your husband about Joshua and Teddy?’

‘No.’

He stirred his coffee. ‘Why not?’

She pulled her chair in, crouching over the table. Oddly, she seemed happier to talk about Steven Saltby. He was clearly in some ways a safer subject.

‘My husband didn’t need to be burdened with such unnatural behaviour. There would have been dreadful trouble in our home. Also, he had important church responsibilities at the time. He needed to concentrate on those. It was my duty to deal with it.’ She linked her fingers and intoned: “
Older women are to be reverent in behaviour, to teach what is good, to be self-controlled, pure, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.”
It was my error that our children had strayed and mine to put right.’

‘You told Joshua that you would speak to Judith but she says you didn’t. She still has no idea that you knew about Teddy. Why didn’t you deal with Judith? She was breaking all your rules as well.’

She took another drink. She was all sepia tones, her clothing and scarf, her skin, her hair. Her voice was muted, her movements sluggish. Everything about her spoke of a subservient, downtrodden woman. Yet he sensed an adversary in her. Now and again antagonism flashed across her face. She gripped her glass so tightly he thought it might break.

‘I was going to. My daughter was always more questioning than Joshua and harder to talk to. She was wilful. I had to build up my resolve through prayer. Then she came home and said that the boy had been attacked.’

‘A handy solution to all your problems.’

‘I prayed for the boy. His sin had found him out but I prayed that God would guide him.’ She nibbled at a ragged thumb nail.

‘Did you tell anyone else about this, at any time?’

‘Never. I spoke only to the Lord. He answered my prayers by raising Joshua to pastor some years later.’ Her voice had grown stronger, her son’s status evidently gave her satisfaction. ‘You’ve spoken again to my daughter?’

‘Yes. I told her that you know she’s back in the UK and has a baby.’

She blinked and shook her head. ‘I tried to steer her on the right path but she chose the road to damnation. I don’t want you troubling my son again. He has fought his demons. He has won the battle with my help and redeemed himself in the Lord’s eyes. Leave us alone now. There’s nothing more we can tell you.’ She looked at him and her eyes were suddenly lit up with animosity. ‘He was wearing a pink lacy dress with bows. My son,
my
son. That sight was an outrage. I burned those dresses, all four of them. They were like something a fallen woman of the streets might wear. Thankfully the Lord called Joshua back.’ She lifted her bag. ‘I have to go back to work. I hope you too can find the Lord, Mr Swift.’

‘How do you know I haven’t?’

She made no reply but walked away, checking the street from the café door before slipping out to the pavement.

He felt frustrated at the blank wall she had presented to him. He was convinced she knew more, he could sense it. Back in 2000, she must have felt desperate. She had believed that she had failed in her responsibilities as a mother. She had let down her children and had to make amends, restore her family. If they had been exposed, Joshua’s and Judith’s exploits would have brought terrible shame within the closed world of The Select Flock. Steven Saltby’s position in the church would have been undermined and he would have turned his anger on her. She had favoured her son, loved him the most, and invested the most in him. Had she resorted to violence to shield him? Had she attacked Teddy to protect her family? He turned over the theory. She was a tall woman, she could have, especially armed with anger and an element of surprise. Then maybe she had paid twenty thousand in guilty-conscience money from her husband’s compensation. But how did she get Teddy to Epping Forest or know that he would be there? Teddy would hardly have agreed to meet Dorcas. He thought he was going to join someone who shared his beliefs. Swift tapped his spoon on the table in annoyance, trying to think of another lever to use on her. He wrapped his scarf around his neck. As he stood, he saw Graham Manchester outside, seated on an old-fashioned bike. He was wearing the same dark grey suit, with a quilted body warmer and bicycle clips. He was turning to look at the traffic before he pedalled away. It was hard to tell if he had been out there, observing the meeting inside. Perhaps it was just coincidence that Dorcas’s cousin had materialised, but Swift didn’t believe in coincidence.

* * *

Rowan Bartlett phoned Swift later in the day. He was on his way with Cedric to Saffron House, the wedding venue in Kew, for a run-through. Cedric was driving in the erratic fashion of a motorist who rarely takes to the road. He seemed to have forgotten that he should give way to the right at roundabouts. Swift was gripping the edge of his seat with his left hand.

‘The police have spoken to Sheila,’ Bartlett told him. ‘She’s recovering now. A psychiatrist saw her and said the police could conduct a brief interview. They allowed me to sit in.’ He sounded exhausted.

‘I’m glad she’s going to be all right.’

‘Depends on what “all right” means. I’m going to talk to her about booking into a private clinic for further psychiatric help when she has recovered physically. I’ll be happy to pay. I hope you don’t mind me phoning you about this. I know it isn’t strictly to do with Teddy but I have no one else to talk to. Annabelle’s not answering my calls.’

Swift thought that Bartlett would be happy to palm off the problem of his daughter elsewhere. He would probably sell the house while she was out of the way. He put a hand on Cedric’s arm to stop him pulling out in front of a bus at a junction.

‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘At this stage, all information from Sheila might be relevant to what happened to Teddy.’

‘About the baby . . .’ Bartlett coughed drily. ‘He was born on August eighth. Initial results indicate that he died from sepsis. If he had been taken to hospital and treated with antibiotics, he might have survived. It’s hard to say.’

Swift felt deeply relieved that Sheila hadn’t killed the child. ‘That’s very sad. What did Sheila tell the police?’

‘Ahm, let me see . . . well, the main topic was the baby of course. They told her about the sepsis. She said that he died at two days old. She found him dead in her bed. She had noticed nothing untoward. He had been snuffling but not in a way to worry her. Sepsis can be very sudden and rapid, of course.’

‘Did she say who the father was?’

‘No. She wouldn’t speak about that and they didn’t press her. She’s very tearful and of course in pain from the wound, although that’s quite well controlled. She said that she told Teddy as soon as she knew she was pregnant and they agreed to keep it a secret. By the time she realised what was wrong with her, it was too late to have an abortion. She worried that she would be expelled from her nursing training. She managed to hide the pregnancy by talking about the weight she kept gaining, and luckily she was healthy throughout. Some larger women are able to conceal the fact that they’re expecting. She took the last weeks before the birth off work, saying she was anaemic. Teddy helped her with the birth. She had spent some time on a maternity ward and instructed him.’

‘But what was she planning to do with the baby? She could hardly keep him a secret for long once he was born.’

Bartlett heaved a heavy sigh. ‘She was going to leave him at a hospital during that first week, somewhere he would be found quickly. When he died, Teddy said they had to tell someone but Sheila refused. I think that Sheila has been unwell ever since then, very unwell.’

‘And Teddy? What did she tell the police about him?’

‘They called a halt then, as she was getting tired. They’re going to see her again when the doctors give permission. They want to ask her about that other child as well, the one who died at the party. However, when we spoke alone she assured me that what happened to Teddy was nothing to do with her. She swore on her dead child that she had no part in that and I believe her.’

Swift could imagine the drama of the scene at the hospital bed. ‘Has Tim seen Sheila?’

‘He came to the hospital, yes. He wouldn’t speak to me. I believe he didn’t stay long.’

‘Well, that’s something.’

‘I suppose.’

‘I’m following other enquiries about Teddy at the moment.’

‘Very well. Frankly, he’s the one child I’m not actively concerned about right now. I have to go, I have a doctor’s appointment myself. I need something to help me sleep.’

Cedric swerved into the car park of Saffron House as the conversation ended, narrowly avoiding a low wall.

‘That sounded interesting,’ he said. ‘Was it about the Druid boy who was attacked?’

‘It was. Interesting doesn’t start to cover it, my friend.’ He ticked off on his fingers. ‘Father leaves family for sister-in-law; abandoned wife sinks into medicated depression; eldest daughter rules house and conceals a pregnancy; brother Teddy is coerced into assisting her with giving birth; baby dies and she keeps it in a box in the loft; sister and brother argue about revealing the death; the gender-uncertain, Druidically inclined Teddy ends up brain-damaged in Epping Forest; youngest son takes to anger and drugs; throw another bizarre family belonging to a strict religious sect into the mix and stir.’

Cedric scratched his head. ‘Do you ever wish you’d become a librarian, dear boy?’

Swift laughed. ‘Only occasionally, in the early hours. I believe I am about to find out who attacked Teddy. There’s a gut feeling a detective gets when a case is coming together, however slowly. Untying knots is a satisfying activity.’

‘Well, all I can say is that it makes my little difficulties with Oliver seem like small potatoes. Look, we’re early and Kris is already here!’

She was waving to them from inside the porch, a cup of coffee in her hand. She came out and greeted them on the steps.

‘You see, I made a very special effort not to be late because I know how much you don’t approve of tardiness. That’s a new word in my vocabulary by the way, and I like it.’

She wore a half cap, shaped like a crescent and made of black and white fabric and netting. Swift adjusted it and kissed her.

‘I appreciate the lack of tardiness and I admire the hat/cap/creation on your head.’

Mary and Simone arrived with the registrar who was to conduct the service, a woman called Debbie. Over coffee, they ran through the order of events. Debbie explained some of the phrases that had to be included in the ceremony to satisfy legal requirements. Mary had a copy of the service they had chosen. There was going to be a male pianist and female vocalist who would play the couple in with
Your Song
and finish with
All
You Need Is Love
. For readings, Simone had chosen
Love and Friendship
by Emily Bronte and Mary had selected
Scaffolding
by Seamus Heaney. Harvey, Simone’s brother, emerged from the kitchen to confirm that the meal would be a mixture of canapes and crostini, followed by mustard-glazed roast beef or asparagus, lemon and ricotta tart with a cupcakes assortment to finish. Cedric had a long-standing acquaintance with a jazz quartet called The Mouldy Figs, who had played for his eightieth birthday. He explained that their name was a term used in some quarters to deride those who liked traditional jazz. They were going to do a set after the meal.