Authors: Lee Weeks
‘Doggy.’
‘Yes. Do you think this doggy is like Scruffy?’
‘Yes. Scruffy.’
‘And who is this then?’ Jeanie held up a little boy doll with short blond hair. Jackson shook his head.
‘This is Jackson.’ Jeanie galloped along with a toy in each hand. She pretended to have the dog jump all over the little boy and lick him furiously. Jackson laughed and said:
‘
No, Scruffy. Don’t even think about it
.’
Jeanie smiled at him.
‘Is that what Mummy says to Scruffy? “
Don’t even think about it
?”’ Jackson nodded. Jackson picked up the dog toy and galloped across the table with it in
the same way Jeanie had.
‘Clever boy. That’s right. Now, Jackson . . .’ Jeanie pulled out another doll from the bag and she held it up. ‘Who do you think this is?’
He looked at the blue-eyed doll with its brown hair: ‘Mummy.’
‘So this is Jackson and Mummy and Scruffy.’ Jeanie held the three puppets and placed them on the table in front of Jackson.
Jeanie pulled out two different puppets. One was black, one was white.
‘Which one of these looks like the man with Mummy, Jackson?’ He took a good look at the puppets and touched the white one.
‘What colour hair has this man got?’ She took out a bald puppet, one with black, one with brown and one with blond hair and held them out one by one and then laid them in a row on
the table. Jackson picked up the brown-haired puppet. Then he picked up the puppet representing himself and held it up to show it to Tracy.
‘Yes, that’s Jackson, isn’t it?’ He was losing concentration; Jeanie knew the session was coming to a close.
‘Shall we find the one of Nanny?’ Jeanie looked back inside the bag and pulled out the Nanny puppet again.
‘There, Jackson, this one is Nanny, isn’t it?’
Jeanie packed away the puppets.
‘All right, Jackson. I think that’s enough for today. He’s getting tired. We’ll do some more tomorrow.’ Jeanie started packing the crayons away; she left them in a tub on the corner of the table. ‘It’s a good start
though.’ Tracy didn’t say anything. She was in shock. ‘Tracy, let’s get Jackson some tea and the bath and bed. Tracy?’
Tracy nodded.
‘Yes.’ Jackson looked up at her. He looked as if he were about to cry.
‘Jackson needs a cuddle, Tracy.’
‘Of course. Come here, Jackson. Nanny loves you such a lot. Shall we see what Scruffy’s doing?’ She led him into the kitchen. Jeanie gathered up the drawings and numbered them.
She finished up her notes and closed her pad.
Tracy gave Jackson his tea and bathed him and left Jeanie reading a book about Spot the Dog to him whilst she went into the kitchen to tidy.
‘It’s late, Jackson.’ Tracy heard Jeanie’s words as she stood in the kitchen staring out at the dark. She was wondering what she’d say to Steve. Jeanie checked her
watch; she’d promised Peter she’d be back an hour ago. She had lost all track of the time. It was gone eight o’clock. She had promised to make it home in time to read to her own
daughter Christa. She would have missed bathtime now. She’d have missed playing with Christa. She must try and get back to put her to bed. ‘Spot is getting very tired. I think
it’s time for Spot and Jackson to go to bed.’ Jackson watched Jeanie’s face for a few seconds before he nodded and jumped down off the sofa. Jeanie looked up at Tracy as she came
in from the kitchen. Tracy nodded.
‘Come with Nanny and I’ll tuck you in.’
Tracy took his hand. ‘Say goodnight to Jeanie.’ Jeanie bent down for him to give her a kiss.
Jackson went across to Scruffy and hugged his neck. He kissed him and wiped his face in Scruffy’s fur. ‘Night night.’ Jackson was looking for something. He went to the table
where he’d sat with Jeanie and the puppets and he climbed up on the chair and leant his weight across the table.
‘Careful Jackson.’ Tracy rushed towards him.
Jeanie held up her hand for her to take her time. Jackson looked back from Tracy to the table and he found what he was looking for, he kissed the Mummy puppet. Then he got down from the chair
and came towards Tracy.
‘Night. See you in the morning.’ She looked up at Tracy as she came back out of the bedroom having settled Jackson down.
‘I’m going home now, Tracy.’ Tracy nodded and smiled. She sympathized with Jeanie – she could see she wanted to be going – but she needed to clarify something
first:
‘What Jackson said about there only being one man in the flat when Danielle left, could that be his dad?’
‘I think he would have said so if it was,’ Jeanie answered.
‘But I know it’s been a long time since he saw him.’
Jeanie shook her head. ‘Nothing is certain, Tracy.’ She smiled kindly. ‘We’re bringing in Niall Manson and we’ll start from there. You must be shattered.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Please get some sleep and let’s hope it all gets resolved in the morning. I’ve left my number on the kitchen worktop. You call me if you need anything and I’ll bring
more things for Jackson tomorrow.’
Tracy watched through the lounge window and saw Jeanie’s car tail-lights disappear down the road.
Jeanie tried Carter’s phone but it was busy. She rang Robbo.
‘The child has Down’s syndrome, right?’ asked Robbo.
‘Yes, but I think we have a bright child, despite that. He is perfectly able to count, to recognize colours. He draws to a good ability for his years.’
‘Have you been able to interview him?’
‘I’ve made a start. I think we can be sure that someone took her out of that flat in full view of her little boy. From what Jackson has said, I feel that she must have known her
abductor. She must have known enough to trust that if he said he wouldn’t harm Jackson then he wouldn’t. She felt secure enough to think the best option was to go. Seems like there was
just one man in the flat with him and his mother. I have a description of sorts: white, brown hair. I’ll keep chipping away.’
Tracy went to lie in bed next to Jackson and listened to his breathing.
She had given him a penguin toy she had got from the women working on the nail bar. It was being given away free with a Christmas manicure. She lay there listening to him and felt such a deep
panic that she couldn’t have closed her eyes if she wanted. Only the sound of his rhythmical breathing calmed her.
She went over what Jeanie had said and what had happened with the puppets and drawings. If it was Niall Manson who was in that flat then Tracy felt sure things would be sorted out and he
wouldn’t harm the mother of his child. Fingers crossed, Danielle would come back tomorrow. Jackson’s face was turned towards her. With Jeanie’s help she’d pushed her bed up
against the wall to make sure he couldn’t fall out and she’d put a rubber sheet beneath his side of the bed. She’d found it in the spare-room cupboard, kept from when
Steve’s niece and nephew used to come and stay when they were young.
Tracy watched Jackson as he slept, his eyelids pink and paper-thin. He was dreaming. She dreaded what he might say when he woke up. What questions would he ask her? He’d never said a whole
sentence to her yet. She had no idea what he was capable of. All she could think was that something awful must have happened to Danielle for her to leave her little boy.
She didn’t remember falling asleep but she awoke when she heard people outside on the street warming their car engines ready to go to work. She heard a whine coming from the kitchen. She
got up, agitated; she’d forgotten all about Scruffy, who she’d bedded down on an old duvet on the kitchen floor and now he was whining for something. She thought about calling Steve
– he’d be getting ready for work now – but decided against it. She would get everything organized so that when he came home later he wouldn’t notice a thing out of place. If
she told him the truth about what was happening she would have one more problem to deal with. She’d tell him when and if she had to. After all, Danielle might appear at any moment.
She pulled on her dressing gown over her pyjamas and opened the bedroom door, leaving it slightly ajar as she padded softly out into the kitchen. As she opened the kitchen door Scruffy went
ballistic with happiness.
Tracy unlocked the back door to their patio garden, which had half a dozen tubs, a gazebo and a barbecue. The patio furniture was all covered up for the winter outside. There was no lawn, just
pots, mostly emptied now till spring when they would be planted up with geraniums. But some of her pots had herbs in all year. She had brushed the snow from them. The purple sage was still usable,
the rosemary a great asset to her culinary skills.
Scruffy went bounding outside and cocked his leg against the herbs.
‘
Oh God
,’ Tracy moaned.
She watched him nose around the rest of the garden until he was satisfied that he was master of the territory and then he leapt up onto the shrubs in a small bed at the end of the garden and
crapped.
She let Scruffy back in and then crept back into the bedroom. Jackson was still asleep but he looked like he’d moved slightly. He was frowning, cross. He was fighting something in his
sleep.
She tried hard not to feel despondent when she walked out of the bedroom and back into the lounge and saw Scruffy on the couch.
‘Down. Get down,’ she hissed. Scruffy didn’t move. Tracy marched over and pushed him off the sofa. She heard her phone ring from the kitchen. A sense of relief came over her.
It would be Danielle. She would be phoning to tell Tracy she was all right, she was coming home. She walked towards the phone with a calm breathy smile on her face.
Stay calm. If I’m calm
then so will everyone else be.
She answered it before she realized it was a withheld number. She heard the delay between her answering the phone and someone speaking and knew what that meant.
Oh God! Even on a day like today, even with every trouble in the world heaped on her shoulders, they were going to ring her about double-glazing or accident compensation.
‘Tracy Collins?’
Tracy was instantly annoyed. They didn’t usually get her name right. They usually called her Mrs Smith or Mrs Jones. They just picked any common name and pretended they weren’t
cold-calling She listened hard. The line wasn’t good. Now she was doubly irritated: not only was it an unwanted call but she could hardly make out what the person was saying, it was so quiet
and muffled.
‘Yes. Who’s calling? What’s it about?’
The voice, so dark and low, rolled out the words: ‘It’s about your daughter.’
‘Niall Manson’s in the police cells next door, Guv.’ Ebony came into Carter’s office. She’d been at work since seven. Carter had arrived a short
time later. He had managed to get home for a few hours’ sleep after they left Sandford. He had a feeling they had better grab sleep whilst they could.
‘Where’s he living at the moment?’
‘No fixed abode. He was picked up at a friend’s home last night.’
Carter and Ebony crossed over from ‘The Dark Side’ into Archway Police Station next door – a door was all that separated them.
‘I’ll catch you up, Ebb.’
Carter went to talk to another inspector for a few minutes. Ebony’s friend Zoe was waiting outside the interview room.
‘Hi, Ebb.’
‘How’s he been, Zoe?’
‘He’s calm; the lawyer’s arrived now. Don’t think Manson knows what he’s been brought in for.’
Carter joined them and Zoe blushed. Carter was the station’s pin-up boy.
‘Can we go in, Detective?’ Zoe smiled, standing tall. ‘Just taken my detective exams, Sir, not sure if I’ve passed yet.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He winked at her; his hand was on the door. Ebony followed him inside the interview room and sat down across from Niall Manson. Carter sat next to her,
opposite the lawyer.
Manson sat back arrogantly and stared at them. He played with the fingers of his left hand: tapping the tip of his index finger against the pad on his thumb. A nervous habit like someone playing
with a rosary. His lawyer sat beside him, tired, yawning.
Carter switched on the recording machine and read Manson his rights. Then he sat back a little in his chair and studied Manson. Carter was good at interviewing. He was good at establishing a
baseline. Seeing what was normal for the person and then knowing when something he said created a reaction in their habits, in their voice pitch, control, in the way they breathed – the
tell-tale signs that the answer they had just given had been a lie.
‘Can you confirm your name and address for me please?’
Manson sat back and stared around the room.
‘Could you answer please.’
Manson looked across at his lawyer, who nodded, more irritated by his client than Carter was.
Manson’s voice was deep. He had a habit of nodding, breathing in through his nose loudly as if he were bored.
‘Niall Manson.’
‘Address?’
‘Don’t have one.’
Carter spoke into the machine. ‘Address given as “No fixed abode”. Mr Manson, do you understand why we’ve asked you to come in today?’
Manson blew out his cheeks, breathed in, answered,
‘No.’
‘It’s concerning the disappearance of Danielle Foster.’
‘Where’s the bitch run off to?’
Carter smiled; he made sure his eyes stayed on Manson. ‘When was the last time you saw Danielle?’
‘Three weeks ago.’
‘Can you tell me about that time?’
‘It was Jackson’s birthday. She wanted money. If she’s gone missing you better ask one of her dyke friends.’
‘What about when you sent some of your mates around to her flat on Monday night?’ Manson looked at his lawyer, who was busy making notes.
Manson looked disgusted. ‘Yeah – that’s really my style?’ His voice had risen a little.
‘Who were they? They asked for you by name. They definitely knew who you were.’
‘Business acquaintances. I owed them some money is all it is. Nothing more.’
‘You used Danielle’s address to make your deals?’ He shrugged his answer. The finger-tapping had disappeared. ‘How do we know they didn’t just come back and decide
to take things further for themselves?’