‘I suppose so,’ says Ruth, her heart sinking. Her parents spend part of every summer at a Christian camp but they’re sure to have plenty of time free to nag Ruth about her sinful (i.e. unmarried) lifestyle. ‘I haven’t fixed a date yet though.’
‘The thing is, Ruth …’ Shuffle, shuffle. ‘I wondered if I could come and see you.’
‘Come and see me?’
‘You know, for a bit of a holiday. Me and the boys.’
Simon’s children – Jack and George – must be about ten and twelve. Ruth sees them at Christmas and the family gatherings that she can’t avoid and, by and large, she gets on well with them. Better than she does with her sister-in-law at any rate.
‘Is Cathy coming too?’ she asks.
‘No, just me and the boys. We could bring a tent, camp out in the garden. It’ll be fun.’
‘Fun,’ echoes Ruth rather doubtfully. She can’t really remember ever having fun with Simon. Two years older,
Simon seemed to exist on a different planet. He liked football and other sports and, unlike Ruth, he was also willing to attend church youth club and summer camps. They did go on a family caravanning holiday every year and that’s where Ruth remembers playing Monopoly and sometimes card games, sitting at the pull-out table while the rain thundered against the roof. Apart from that Ruth seems to have spent most of her childhood reading, devouring H. Rider Haggard while Simon played outside in the street with his friends. She doesn’t dislike her brother but she can’t recall having a single serious conversation with him. Simon left school to work in a building society and married Cathy when he was twenty-three. Ruth, lost in the world of university and archaeology, barely gave him a second thought. When she had Kate, Simon was supportive in a passive way. He didn’t argue her case with their parents, but he did at least seem to acknowledge that childbirth was generally considered a positive life event. Ruth remembers being touched when he sent a present before Kate was born – it seemed to imply that he, unlike their parents, was actually looking forward to the new arrival. For that alone, she supposes that she owes him something.
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘I’ve got a spare room as well. I’m sure there’ll be space.’
‘And it’ll be nice for the boys to see something of Katie.’
‘Yes,’ says Ruth, thinking that Kate will love having the boys in the house. She adores older children. It makes Ruth sad sometimes.
‘Great. Can I come on Tuesday?’
Now Ruth really is taken aback. She had assumed that Simon was talking about some vague date later in the summer. But today is Saturday, he’s proposing to arrive in three days’ time. It makes her wonder how long Simon has been thinking about this holiday. But, then again, she’s got nothing special planned.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Tuesday’s fine.’
‘See you then, Ruth.’
‘Bye Simon.’
*
Judy drives home through the rain. She’s at the wheel because Darren had a drink in the pub with his dad. She doesn’t mind. She prefers to drive; it gives her an excuse for not talking. There is something soothing too about the rain, the windscreen wipers moving to and fro, Michael asleep in the back seat. After a while, Darren’s head drops and Judy feels as if she really is alone in the world, the captain at the helm of the
Titanic
, steering ahead through the ice floes. Back and forth go the wipers, the water washing against the windows, car headlights glowing in the half-dark. Judy wishes that she could drive on forever, that her husband and son would remain in an enchanted sleep, that she could keep going until the landscape grew wilder and the Pendle hills surrounded them and she was outside Cathbad’s cottage, the sinister witch’s dwelling that she has never seen.
But, all too soon, she sees the signs for King’s Lynn and Castle Rising. By the time they get home it’s ten o’clock
and the rain is heavier than ever. Judy carries Michael straight up to bed while Darren gets the bags out of the car. How can they have so much stuff just for a day out? Darren’s mother has given her some clothes for Michael and Darren’s dad insisted on presenting them with six bottles of his home-made wine. Judy likes Darren’s parents – she has known them since she was a teenager – but sometimes their anxious solicitude is just too much. Why does her mother-in-law always have to say that she’s looking tired? Why does her father-in-law always have to make the same jokes about the police force? ‘She’s got you bang to rights, son.’
‘Cup of tea, love?’ asks Darren as she comes downstairs.
‘Thanks.’
Her phone rings just as she’s sitting down in front of the television. The boss. Work.
‘Leave it,’ says Darren.
‘I can’t. It might be important.’
‘Johnson.’ Nelson’s voice has an edge that she has only heard on one other occasion. ‘Come quickly. We’ve got a child abduction.’
‘Where?’
‘Here. At Lynn. It’s Poppy Granger. The family where Justine Thomas is a nanny.’
By the time Judy arrives at The Rectory there are already three police cars in the drive. She sees sniffer dogs disappearing into the shrubbery, and the SOCO team is hard at work erecting an awning over the front door so that there is only one way in and one way out. These preparations confirm what Judy already knows: the odds are that Poppy is somewhere in the house. When a child disappears two things are always in the minds of the investigating officers – the child is usually still nearby and the perpetrators are probably members of the family.
The rain batters against the temporary plastic sheeting. The uniformed policeman at the door greets Judy with a nod. ‘The boss is through there.’ Nelson is in the sitting room with two people who must be Poppy’s parents. Tim is also there, a fact that fills Judy with fleeting, though quite violent, resentment. She left the house the moment she got Nelson’s call. She knows that she lives nearer to Chapel Road than Tim does. His presence can only mean one thing. Nelson called him first.
‘Johnson,’ says Nelson with obvious relief. ‘This is Donna and Patrick, Poppy’s parents. Donna, do you feel up to telling Judy what happened?’
Judy notes the use of her first name. Nelson is trying to be sensitive with the family, no easy matter when the house is swarming with policemen who obviously believe that your child is secreted somewhere on the premises. Donna, a tall thin woman in an incongruously short night dress, is clutching a child of about three. Another, older, child sits solemnly on the sofa between his parents. Of course, the uproar must have woken the whole family. The father, Patrick, is fully dressed, holding his iphone as if it’s a security blanket.
‘I went to check on Poppy before I went to bed,’ says Donna. ‘Her cot was empty. I thought at first that Patrick must have got her up, but when I went down to the study he was still at the computer, working. I ran back upstairs and then I saw that the window was open. It was raining and the wind was blowing the curtains in.’
‘What time was this?’ asks Judy.
‘About nine. I was having an early night.’
Judy looks at her watch. Ten forty-five. Poppy has been missing for less than two hours. There’s still hope.
‘Did you search the house?’
‘Yes. I went into the boys’ room, just to see if they’d taken Poppy for some reason, but they were both asleep. Patrick searched downstairs. When we couldn’t find her, we called the police.’
‘Were the doors locked?’ asks Judy.
Donna and Patrick look at each other. ‘No,’ says Patrick. ‘But that’s not unusual. I was still up. I always lock all the doors when I go to bed.’
‘Back door and French windows were open,’ says Tim. ‘SOCO are looking at them now.’
Judy looks at the little family on the sofa. She’d like to talk to them separately but knows that’s not possible yet. She takes a seat next to Donna and leans forward, wanting to establish some sort of connection.
‘Donna, can you talk us through this evening? What happened when you gave the children their tea, put them to bed. Try to tell us everything, however trivial.’
Donna looks away. For a moment she appears almost embarrassed.
‘Well, Justine was here. The nanny, you know. I don’t normally have her on a Saturday but it was a bit hectic and Patrick was working and …’ Her voice trails away.
‘It’s OK,’ says Judy. ‘So Justine was here?’ (In the background, she can hear Nelson saying to Tim, ‘Justine Thomas. Get hold of her.’ Tim leaves the room.)
‘Yes, Justine made tea for the kids and she played with the little ones. I helped Bailey with his homework.’ Judy looks at the older boy. Surely he isn’t old enough to have homework? ‘Then Justine bathed Poppy and put her to bed. I watched TV with the boys.
Total Wipeout
.’
Judy smiles. ‘My son loves that.’ This is patently untrue – Michael is far too young for
Total Wipeout
– she’s just desperate to create a bond with Donna.
It works because Donna smiles wanly. ‘Then the boys
had their bath and I put them to bed. Poppy was already asleep when we got upstairs.’
‘When did Justine leave?’
‘About half past seven.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘I said goodnight to the boys, then I had a bath and got into my night things. I was so tired. I went downstairs to watch some TV.’
‘What did you watch?’
‘
The Wire
. We get it in box sets.’
Of course they do. Families like the Grangers don’t watch TV with everyone else, they have box sets.
‘But I was falling asleep in front of the TV so I decided to go to bed. I looked in on the boys and Bailey was still awake, so I told him to go to sleep and then I looked in on Poppy and …’ Without warning her face crumples and she starts sobbing violently. The child on her lap – Scooter, Judy supposes – slides off and goes to play with some bricks on the floor. Patrick reaches over and starts patting his wife’s shoulder. Ineffectual, thinks Judy. She notes that Patrick Granger took no part in the bedtime routine.
‘It’s OK,’ says Judy. ‘It’s OK. We’ll find her.’
There’s a timid knock on the door and a young policeman appears. Judy knows him by sight, she thinks he might be from the Norwich station. Where is Clough, she wonders. She suspects that he’s hard to track down on a Saturday night.
‘We’ve found something, Boss.’
The constable tries to keep his voice down but his
words electrify everyone in the room. Patrick jumps to his feet, Donna lets out a cry that’s almost a groan.
The policeman is handing Nelson a piece of paper in a plastic folder.
‘We found it pinned to the Wendy House.’
Wordlessly, Nelson shows the paper to Judy and the Grangers.
She’s safe with me. The Childminder
.
Donna slumps forward as if she’s about to be sick, Bailey and Scooter both start to cry. Judy and Nelson stare at each other as the door opens again to admit Clough, panting and tucking in his shirt.
*
‘
The Childminder
. Bloody hell, what’s all that about?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, Cloughie.’
The boss sounds tired, thinks Judy. It’s two o’clock in the morning and they’re back at the station. The streets around The Rectory are closed off and sniffer dogs are due to search the house and grounds again at dawn. ‘Try to get some sleep,’ Judy said to Donna and Patrick, knowing that this would be impossible. When she left the Grangers, Scooter and Bailey were both asleep on the floor but the parents looked as if they would never sleep again. ‘What did you think of the parents?’ asks Nelson now.
‘I think they’re in shock,’ says Judy. ‘I can’t believe that they’re involved in any way.’
Nelson looks as if he’s about to remind her of the statistics but thinks better of it.
‘What about the actual childminder,’ asks Clough, ‘Justine Thomas. Anything on her?’
A voice from the door says, ‘She’s got an alibi.’ They look up to see Tim with a tray of coffees from the machine. He’s brought chocolate too.
‘Have you spoken to her?’ asks Nelson.
‘Tracked her down at a nightclub in Lynn. She’s got an alibi for the whole evening.’ He looks at Nelson and then away again. ‘She was with Maddie Henderson.’
‘Maddie?’ Nelson sounds shocked.
‘She still staying with you, Boss?’ asks Clough, unwrapping a Mars bar.
‘No. She said she was going to friends.’
‘Well, apparently she’s been staying with Justine,’ says Tim. ‘She says she was with her from the moment that she got back from the Grangers.’
‘Do you really suspect Justine?’ asks Judy. ‘I thought she was meant to be the perfect nanny.’
‘I don’t know,’ says Nelson wearily. He rubs his hand over his eyes. ‘It’s just … when we spoke to her, Cloughie, do you remember what she said about David, Liz Donaldson’s baby? “
He was a sweetie, not a grizzler like Scooter here. But then he had his mummy at home with him. He had nothing to grizzle about
.” There was real bitterness in her voice, as if she hated her employers for not staying at home with their children. I wondered if she could have taken Poppy to teach them a lesson.’
‘But then where is Poppy now?’ asks Tim.
‘I don’t know,’ says Nelson. ‘But I think we should get a search warrant for Justine’s flat.’
‘Do you really think that she’d leave the baby there and go out clubbing?’ asks Clough.
Nobody says anything but they’re all thinking the same thing – if Poppy’s dead she can be left alone with impunity. And, if she’s not dead, where is she?
‘It’s a classic locked house situation,’ says Tim, taking a swig of coffee.
‘What the bloody hell does that mean?’ asks Clough.
‘I was thinking of that famous Victorian case,’ says Tim. He never seems to get wound up, which irritates Clough even more. ‘The Road Hill House murder. Little boy taken from his bed in the middle of the night. Everyone in the house, all the family and servants, were under suspicion.’
Judy knows the case he means. She read a book about it,
The Suspicions of Mr Whicher
. Thinking of how the book ended, she voices something that has been in the back of her mind ever since she saw Donna, Patrick and their sons sitting on the sofa.
‘The baby in the Road Hill House case was murdered,’ she says. ‘They found his body in an outhouse. And his sister did it.’