The Winter Foundlings (35 page)

Footsteps thundered down the stairs and I tried to prepare myself. My vision was still blurred, but I recognised Tom’s white-blond hair immediately and shut my eyes, unwilling to meet his frost-coloured stare. But when I looked up again, the man leaning over me was Chris Steadman, peroxide hair sticking up in messy spikes. His eyes were stretched a centimetre too wide, muscles twitching like he’d overdosed on cocaine.

‘Where’s Ella?’ he hissed.

‘She escaped, Chris, the police are on their way. It’s time to stop this.’

His jaw clenched as he stared at me. ‘It’s your fault Ella’s gone. She wanted to stay with me.’ He was already setting up the equipment, pointing a camera directly at my face. My only chance was to keep him talking.

‘You could leave now, get a head start. How did Kinsella contact you, anyway?’

His hands shook with fury. ‘My master key opens every door. We talk every day.’

‘But you can’t follow through, can you? He told you to mess up the girls’ faces.’

‘Shut up,’ he muttered, colour draining from his cheeks. ‘I promised to do this for him.’

‘Without his blessing you’d be too weak to hurt anyone.’

He grabbed a knife from the floor. ‘Carry on talking and I’ll slit your throat.’

A green light flashed on the camera, and I made one last effort to move. My arm flopped onto the mattress, completely useless. But I forced myself to hold his gaze. Instinct told me that it would be hard to blind someone who was staring straight at you. I kept willing myself not to pass out as Kinsella’s message rattled around my head: pain and release, purity and despair. There was no way to silence it, even though the tape had stopped. The kitchen knife in his hand was poised inches above my right eye, light glinting from the steel.

‘I can help you, Chris. You don’t have to do this.’

A flicker of doubt crossed his face, then the knife lurched towards me. There was a tearing sound as the blade sliced the fabric of my dress, snagging the skin on my breastbone. He started to force me into the foundling costume, yanking my rigid arms through the sleeves.

‘It won’t fit,’ I hissed. ‘I’m not a child.’

He paid no attention as the fabric tightened round my shoulders. He’d begun his killing ritual, eyes set in a hypnotic stare. It wouldn’t matter how hard I screamed. Only Kinsella could reach him now.

‘Ignore him,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t let him control you.’

The knife flew at me again, grazing my scalp. There was a sickening noise as it carved into the pillow, and when I looked up again, he was weeping uncontrollably. It took a herculean effort, but I managed to reach out and touch his hand.

‘I’ll take care of you now, Chris. You’re a foundling, aren’t you? That’s what this is about.’ A muscle jumped in his cheek and I was terrified he’d attack me again. ‘Where did your mother leave you?’

Tears spilled from his eyes. ‘In a phone box when I was two days old; that’s how I met Louis. He gave me extra lessons at Orchard House.’

‘And he showed you his pictures.’

He nodded slowly. ‘He made me feel special. That’s why I followed him.’

‘Did you stay at the home your whole childhood?’

‘I was fostered, but the families always sent me back.’

‘Because you cut yourself, didn’t you?’ I studied the thin scars on his cheek. ‘You hurt anything you could find: insects, animals, other kids. You wanted them to feel the same pain as you.’

A car was pulling up outside, then the loud slam of a door.

‘They’re here now, Chris. Go out the back way. Ella’s waiting for you.’

‘Do you think so?’ Hope lit up his face.

‘I’m sure of it.’

The tension in his face eased, and when I opened my eyes again, the room was empty.

65

Ella’s sitting on the back seat of the patrol car, and at first the policewoman doesn’t seem to be listening, then she leans closer and talks very slowly.

‘It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now, we’ll take care of you.’

An ambulance pulls up on the other side of the road, blue lights whirring.

‘I don’t want to go to hospital,’ Ella pleads, ‘just take me home.’

‘You’ll be there soon, love, but you’ve hurt your foot, haven’t you? The doctor can bandage it.’

Her hand reaches out, and Ella shrinks from her touch. It crosses her mind to open the door and run, but she knows she wouldn’t get far. Blood from the cut on her heel has soaked through the towel the woman gave her, and suddenly it’s hard to tell where the pain begins and ends. Ella’s mind explodes with memories: Sarah lying on the metal floor, staring at invisible stars, Amita’s head resting on her shoulder. All the empty smiles she gave, to stop the man hurting her. When the policewoman speaks again her voice is gentle.

‘That’s right, love. You have a good cry.’

Ella scrubs the tears away with the ball of her hand. ‘Can I use your phone?’

The woman looks startled. ‘Of course you can.’

When someone finally picks up, there’s no sound at all, but Ella knows who it is immediately. She recognises the pulse of her breathing.

‘It’s me, Suze.’

Suzanne makes a strange yelping noise, then Ella hears her screaming for granddad to come to the phone. When she closes her eyes, her breathing steadies. She can picture her sister in the hallway, pacing on the spot, clutching the receiver with both hands.

66

I was terrified that Steadman might come back to finish what he’d started. If he did, I wouldn’t stand a prayer; I could still hardly move. When the police battered the door down I tried to yell for help, but they were with me in seconds. Burns arrived first, followed by Tania and three uniforms. The relief that washed through me was as potent as the anaesthetic still circulating round my veins.

‘He went out the back, it’s Chris Steadman. Check the house first.’ My speech was breathless and too fast, but at least it had impact. The uniforms scattered immediately, racing up the stairs.

Burns looked horrified, and the reason was obvious. The nick from Steadman’s knife had bled copiously, a six-inch circle of blood drenching my white foundling’s dress. Tania leant down and squeezed my shoulder.

‘Keep your eyes open, Alice. That’s it, try and stay awake. The paramedics are on their way. Do you know what he’s given you?’

‘Some kind of muscle relaxant.’

She turned away, bawling commands into her phone. My head swam, as if my thoughts had been soaking too long in hot water. When Burns crouched beside me, the urge to touch him was stronger than ever. The shadows under his eyes looked like they’d been sketched with charcoal.

‘You look terrible, Don. You should take better care of yourself.’

He choked out a laugh. ‘Did that bastard hurt you?’

‘He bottled out. You can watch the movie.’ I gave a weak nod towards the camera.

‘Jesus,’ Burns muttered, rushing over to switch it off.

Elation was giving way to cold. Suddenly my feet felt icy, my whole body shaking as though I’d spent a night lying in the snow. The paramedics swaddled me in blankets but it made no difference. The ride to hospital felt like rattling around inside a fridge, an oxygen mask choking each breath.

A doctor confirmed that Chris had spiked my drinks at the party, then a nurse came and advised me to get some sleep, but the chance never arrived. When I opened my eyes again, the room smelled of smoke, and an old man was sitting beside my bed. Ella’s grandfather looked older than before. The lines under his eyes were grooved more deeply, his skin grey as cigarette ash. Even his quiff was unravelling, but his expression was transformed. His eyes were bright as a child’s.

‘I had to come and thank you,’ he said.

‘There’s no need. Ella’s the hero. She got me out of there alive.’

His smile trembled. ‘She’s not saying much yet. The lass won’t let anyone near except me and Suzanne.’

‘Give her time. She’s been incredibly brave.’

A deep frown appeared on his face. ‘None of this should have happened to her.’

The old man’s head bowed, as if his thoughts were too heavy to carry. I couldn’t think of anything comforting to say, so I reached out to him. His skin felt dry and papery, and I don’t know how long we sat there in silence, hands entwined, because I must have drifted back into sleep.

When I woke again, Mr Williams had been replaced by Judith. She gave me her calmest smile but I could tell she’d been crying.

‘Your friend Lola’s downstairs. She says she’s not leaving till she can take you home.’

I smiled weakly and pitied the nurses. Lola’s protests are always high volume, and she never backs down.

‘I feel terrible, Alice. I couldn’t even keep you safe in my own home.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

She shook her head. ‘Of course it’s my bloody fault.’

The next statement emerged from my mouth without any conscious thought. ‘You should destroy Kinsella’s letters, Judith. Put them through a shredder.’

‘They’re clinical evidence, Alice. Someone might want to study them one day.’

‘Alan Nash will publish them when he recovers, and the victims’ families will suffer all over again.’

She looked uncertain. ‘Let’s talk about it when you’re better.’

‘Does Kinsella know his plan backfired?’

Judith nodded. ‘He hasn’t got cardiac problems at all. Chris gave him amphetamines to make his heart race. He’s still in the infirmary, refusing food. They’ll have to intubate him if he keeps it up.’

I tried to imagine Kinsella’s state of mind. From now on his privileges would end. There would be no more trips to the library to escape the barrage of noise, and all his opportunities to manipulate people would be removed. Without his
raison d’être,
it didn’t surprise me that he wanted to die. Oddly enough, the idea didn’t fill me with jubilation. Five girls had lost their lives because of his brainwashing, and there was no way of knowing how many more children he’d groomed. But at least Ella was safe; my promise to her sister had been fulfilled.

67

No one bothered me again until the next morning, which was just as well, because Steadman’s poison had given me an appalling headache. I tried to tidy myself up, but combing my hair was a step too far. My scalp felt like it was being attacked by red-hot needles. Someone had made a mercy mission to the hotel – a fresh set of clothes lay on the chair, beside a bar of chocolate. The prospect of food tempted me, but I gave up after a couple of squares, because it tasted bitter instead of sweet. By the time Burns arrived I was fully dressed, although my hair was a mess of ugly tangles. He stood by the window blocking out the light.

‘They say you can leave, provided you’re supervised.’

‘Who’s supervising me?’

‘Yours truly. I’ll drive you to the hotel.’

‘No way.’ A stab of pain jerked through my temple. ‘I’m going back to the cottage.’

‘You’re kidding. That place is in the middle of nowhere.’

‘I’ll get a taxi if need be, on my own.’

‘God almighty,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Stubborn as a mule.’

Burns didn’t say much on the drive to Charndale, which gave me time to look through the window. Nothing seemed to be moving. The sky was still loaded with snow, and the landscape looked like it had been whitewashed, no fences visible between the fields.

‘This place is freezing,’ Burns grumbled, when we reached the cottage.

‘Light the fire then. There’s plenty of wood.’

The journey from the hospital had exhausted me. All I could do was sit and watch him struggle with the matches. When the fire finally lit, I could tell he was dying to ask questions, so I made a pre-emptive strike.

‘Have you caught him yet?’

Burns’s face darkened. ‘He was spotted twice yesterday, on the M4, then we found his bike near Reading Station last night. He walked in front of an express train, killed outright.’

A picture of Chris appeared in front of me, smiling as he offered his keys on the palm of his hand. ‘Did you know he was a foundling?’

‘He changed his name by deed poll; he didn’t like the one the nurses gave him when he was found. Apparently he was abused at Orchard House. The only thing he had to look forward to was Kinsella making a fuss of him.’

‘Was he there when Pru and Denise arrived?’

‘He’d already left. We found a load of stuff at his house this morning: he was on the Foundling Museum’s mailing list, so he got Brian Knowles’s newsletter every month. I bet he showed it to Kinsella, so he could choose the victims. And he’d hacked into the local authority’s website, to get the girls’ addresses and find out which ones were fostered or adopted. He had a load of foundling dresses at the house, and there’s a chest freezer in the garage. Forensics think he kept the first girls’ bodies there.’

I shook my head in disbelief. ‘How did he get me out of Judith’s?’

‘After he spiked your drink, he waited till everyone was asleep then got on his motorbike and went back to Charndale to collect his van. He left Judith’s door on the latch so he could get back inside. He must have carried you down to the van.’

‘Is Ella okay?’

‘She’s talking more. The trauma counsellor’s pleased, but she’s refusing to be examined.’

‘That’s not surprising.’

‘We still don’t know if she was abused.’

‘She was the only survivor, Don. There has to be a reason.’

‘Let’s hope we’re wrong.’ He kept his eyes fixed on the fire. ‘She’s got more guts than my whole team combined.’

‘When can I visit her?’

‘Next week probably. The counsellor says she needs time with her family, before she sees anyone else.’

Burns told me the whole story over the course of the day. Steadman’s job as IT guru had given him the perfect camouflage. If he carried his toolkit he could access every room in the building. Staff assumed he was fixing something, because the IT system was always breaking down. His colleagues saw him as a hard worker, highly committed to his job, which left him free to roam the infirmary, stealing handfuls of drugs. All he had to do was re-programme the passwords on the electronic locks.

‘Higham’s been filling in some of the gaps,’ Burns murmured. ‘Apparently Kinsella told the boys he groomed to follow him, like the Pied Piper. Get as close as they could and wait for his instructions. Chris is the only one who actually followed through.’