Hushabye Page 14

“I just know,” she said, praying he wouldn’t ask for more details. “I can’t go into it now but I know it, I know it was the logo of a private adoption agency. Just take it from me.”

  Olbeck nodded.

  “Theo pulled up the info. Managing Director is a Graham Winterdown. He pulled the old ‘that’s highly confidential card’ when I spoke to him, until I told him it was a double murder enquiry.”

  “So he knows we’re coming?”

  “He does. Come on, I’m driving.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Graham Winterdown was a small, neat man, with a fussy beard and smooth, long-fingered hands. Kate disliked him on sight. Walking through the reception area, she was transported back twelve years, when she’d come here once before to sign the papers. To sign over her boy. She clenched her fists and then consciously forced herself to relax them. She’d made two visits here, one for the paper signing and one more, to meet the prospective parents. The people who would be raising her child. Kate caught her breath in a gasp of pain and then stopped, struck by something that had just occurred to her. The adoptive parents... the woman’s face... her train of thought was derailed as they were ushered into the managing director’s office.

  “This is very irregular,” said Winterdown disapprovingly as they sat down in chairs opposite his desk. “I appreciate that you need the information but I’m very worried about the security of our clients’ details.”

  “Any information will be safe with us,” said Kate. She took in the luxurious fittings of his office: the mahogany desk, the crystal carafe of water perched on top. On the far wall was a large, black and white photograph of a smiling baby dressed in a pair of striped dungarees.

  “What was it you wanted to know?” asked Winterdown after offering refreshments and having them refused.

  Olbeck had explained the purpose of their visit during his telephone call. He repeated as much to Winterdown.

  “Ah, yes.” Winterdown extracted a file from the drawer of his desk. “I just wanted to be sure that I had the facts right, as it were.”

  Kate longed to arrest him for being a smug, sanctimonious git.

  “You’ve been in correspondence with Rebecca D’Arcy-Warner,” she said, sharply. “We need to know why.”

  Winterdown raised his eyebrows at her tone but didn’t comment. He offered the file in his hand to her.

  “We did indeed have some correspondence with a Ms D’Arcy-Warner,” he said, as Kate took the file. “All of the paperwork relating to the lady is in that file. She applied to us to become an adoptive parent two years ago now.”

  “And did she become one? An adoptive parent?”

  “She did not.”

  Olbeck and Kate exchanged glances.

  “Why not?” said Olbeck.

  Winterdown moved a pen into alignment with the edge of his desk.

  “There are many reasons someone wouldn’t make a suitable adoptive parent,” he said, after a moment. “We have very stringent criteria before people are approved to adopt. It’s all in the best interests of the children.”

  “Of course,” said Kate. “But can you be more specific? Why was Rebecca turned down? Or did she change her mind?”

  “No, she didn’t change her mind.”

  “So you turned her down?”

  “We did.” He clearly realised he was expected to elaborate. “There were certain…pointers, shall we say, that led us to believe that she was not entirely a – stable person. Not suitable for adopting a child.”

  “She had a history of mental illness?”

  Winterdown looked shocked.

  “My goodness me, no, nothing like that. Under interview though, she made several comments that in the light of day seemed inappropriate in an adoptive parent. Anyone who wants to adopt must realise that the whole thing must proceed with regard to what’s best for the child. Not what’s best for themselves.”

  “She was eager to adopt, though?”

  “Very much so.”

  Kate was riffling through the papers in the file.

  “We must take these, Mr Winterdown.” Had he overseen her son’s adoption? “How long have you worked here?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “How long have you been Managing Director here?”

  His eyebrows went up again.

  “For the last – let me see – six years? Yes, I think it must be six years.”

  Olbeck was giving her an odd look. She closed the file.

  “We’ll take this, Mr Winterdown. I’ll give you a receipt for it, and you can be assured that we’ll be very careful with it.”

  “You all right?” said Olbeck when they were back in the car.

  Kate nodded, brushing at her eyes. She sniffed.

  “Still got that cold, I see,” he said, in a neutral tone.

  They drove for a moment in silence.

  “We need to get a warrant to search her house,” said Kate. “The mansion and Rebecca’s own house.”

  “Do we have the grounds?”

  “I think so. For a start, she’s lied to us. You heard her tell us she wasn’t maternal yourself. She said children weren’t in her game plan, or something like that. And yet, two years ago, she’s trying to adopt a child.”

  “Perhaps that’s why she told us that. You know, she gets turned down for adoption and decides that she isn’t ever going to be a parent and pretends that’s been her plan all along. Protesting too much, you know.”

  “It’s still a lie.”

  “I know,” said Olbeck, indicating to turn off the main road. “I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

  “I never did check her alibi for the night of Gemma’s death. We need to question her.”

  “I know. Let’s go there now.”

  He pulled the car over and called the station, asking Theo for her home address and punching it into the sat nav.

  While this was happening, Kate was thinking hard. There was something nagging at her, something that was important. Something to do with Gemma. What was it? She scrolled back through her memories, thinking back to the last time she was at Gemma’s house. Oh yes, there it was. She opened her mouth to tell Olbeck and shut it again. Tell him and you’ll have to tell him why you know what you do... Kate battled with herself. Tell Olbeck and you’ll have to tell him everything. Could she bear for anyone else to know? Anderton knowing was bad enough. But it was important. Kate knew it was important. She made up her mind.

  “There’s something else,” she said, reluctantly, as the car began moving again.

  Olbeck glanced over at her.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “There’s a photograph of Rebecca D’Arcy-Warner at Gemma Phillips’ house. In that weird photo album full of photos of Nick Fullman.”

  “Yes?” said Olbeck, clearly expecting more.

  “It’s of the three of them together. I’m not sure where it was taken. Rebecca has this look on her face, a very intense expression. It bothered me because I knew I’d seen that exact type of look before, but I couldn’t remember where.”

  “Right,” said Olbeck. “And?”

  Kate knew she was dragging this out because she didn’t want to tell him. Come on, get a grip. She took another deep breath. She was trembling.

  “When I was seventeen,” she began. For a moment, her voice failed. “When I was seventeen, I had a baby adopted.”

  There it was, the bald statement. Olbeck said nothing but he gave a little whistle of surprise.

  “Okay,” he said, eventually. They were both looking straight ahead, Olbeck out of necessity, Kate because she didn’t want to look at him. She swallowed.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Olbeck. “That must have been really hard.”

  Kate tried to say “it was.” For a moment, the tears threatened to overcome her. She swallowed again and again.

  “It was,” she said, when she could trust her voice. “But I’m telling you this for a reason, I don’t want
to go into too much detail. But the look on Rebecca’s face in the picture, it’s the same look as the one on the face of the adoptive parents that I met. The woman – the mother – when – when I had my son adopted. She looked just like that. ”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “You’re sure?” said Olbeck. He glanced over at her. “I’m really sorry about that, Kate.”

  “S’okay,” said Kate, in a watery voice. She concentrated on breathing in and out. “I am sure, though. I couldn’t forget it. The look on her face – the woman’s – when she saw the picture of my son.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Believe me, it’s the same look.”

  “I believe you. I can’t see it helping us much though. I mean, a look is not evidence.”

  “I know that,” snapped Kate, taking emotional refuge in anger. “It’s another reason why we have to interview her now, today.”

  Olbeck checked the sat nav.

  “We’re almost there. Hold tight.”

  No one came to answer the door, even after repeated pealing of the doorbell. The house was a semi-detached Edwardian building, handsome and well-kept. Kate peered through the front bay window at a pleasant, tidy sitting room.

  “Are you looking for someone?” asked a woman who was walking up the path of the house next door. She was a middle-aged lady with greyish-blonde hair, clothes and accent impeccable.

  “Rebecca D’Arcy-Warner,” said Kate. “Have you seen her recently?”

  “Not for weeks,” said the neighbour. “It’s funny you ask because I was thinking to myself it’s ages since I’ve seen Rebecca, and I was almost wondering whether she’d moved. Not that she’d have gone without saying goodbye, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you, Mrs – ?”

  “Mrs Smithson, Barbara Smithson.” She looked startled at the production of their warrant cards. “Oh dear, there isn’t any trouble is there?”

  Kate hastened to reassure her. “We’re just anxious to have a chat with Ms D’Arcy-Warner,” she said. “Are you close friends with her?”

  “Well, not especially close, I suppose. We’re friendly. Well, you have to be, being neighbours, don’t you?”

  Olbeck stepped forward.

  “May we have a word with you, Mrs Smithson? Me and my colleague would like to talk to someone who knows Rebecca, even if it is on a casual basis.”

  “Rebecca’s a very nice person. She would always sign for any parcels if they came while I was out, and when my husband and I went away on holiday last year, she kept an eye on the house for us, watered the plants, that sort of thing.”

  “So she was a good neighbour?” asked Olbeck, nursing a mug of weak coffee.

  “Yes. I mean, I don’t know her well or anything like that, but she is certainly a very pleasant person.”

  Kate sat still with difficulty. She felt fizzy with energy, itching to do something. What she didn’t want to do was sit around drinking yet another hot drink and listening to the meaningless pleasantries of this neighbour. She forced herself to sit still.

  “Rebecca’s not married, is she?” said Olbeck.

  Mrs Smithson shook her head. “No, she’s not.”

  “Does she have a boyfriend? A partner?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I don’t think so. I’ve not seen her with anyone here.”

  “Has she had many visitors in the last few weeks that you’re aware of?”

  Mrs Smithson sat, twisting her hands. “I’m not sure,” she said, nervously. “I haven’t noticed anyone in particular.”

  This was useless. Kate tried to beam her thoughts into Olbeck’s head. If he wasn’t going to make a move soon, she would do it for him. “Well, that’s–” she began, standing up, when Mrs Smithson exclaimed.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I took in a parcel for Rebecca myself, not that long ago. That one up there.” She indicated a box on the kitchen dresser. “I expected she’d call round for it, but I haven’t seen her for so long, I quite forgot about it.”

  “May I have a look?” said Kate, not waiting for an answer. She lifted the box, shook it and then opened it. Mrs Smithson made a small noise of protest, but by that time, both Olbeck and Kate could see what the parcel contained. It was a baby monitor.

  Kate called Anderton as they drove to Cudston Magna. She appraised him of the situation in a few short sentences.

  “Good, do just that,” he said after she stopped speaking. “Don’t go in hard, though. This could be very tricky.”

  “But I can arrest?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sending Theo and Jerry over as well for back up.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty

  She and Olbeck didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. He was concentrating on driving, and she held onto her knees, gripping tightly to stop her fingers shaking. At last, they were turning down the driveway of the manor house, the gravel making a rushing noise under the wheels. The house looked peaceful, its many windows glittering in the weak spring sunlight.

  No one came to the door. Kate tried it and rattled the door handle.

  “Locked,” she said to Olbeck.

  “Let’s walk around, there must be another way.”

  “We could break it down.”

  Olbeck hesitated. “Let’s–” The door began to open, slowly and creakily.

  The Brigadier stood on the threshold, blinking at them. “Yes?” he said, screwing up his eyes against the brightness of the day after the dimness of the hallway.

  Kate held up her warrant card.

  “Police, sir. We urgently need to speak to your daughter.”

  “Yes?”

  He hadn’t moved. Kate made a noise of impatience and pushed past him into the house. She looked up at the staircase and there, frozen on the top step, was Rebecca D’Arcy-Warner. Their eyes locked.

  “Rebecca–” Kate began and then the woman on the stairs whirled around and ran.

  Kate didn’t stop to think. She let her legs carry her up the staircase, her arms pumping, heart racing. She heard Olbeck shout something, but by that time she was up on the landing. A door slammed at the far end of the corridor.

  Kate ran quickly down the hall and wrenched open the door. Inside was a bedroom, with the unlived stillness of a guest room. Rebecca appeared to have disappeared into thin air. Kate bent down and checked under the bed. Against the far wall was another door. Bracing herself, Kate yanked it open.

  Another staircase, a plain wooden one this time. How big was this house? Kate’s heart was thumping. She knew she should wait for Olbeck, the two of them should go together, but she couldn’t. She ran up the stairs, past a large window. Outside, she could see Theo’s car drawing to a halt, scattering gravel. She ran on, through another door and into another corridor. She seemed to be in the upper stories of the house now. She stopped for a second, holding her breath and trying to listen above the rushing of blood in her ears. Above her head, a floorboard creaked.

  She opened a door to an empty room, save for a drift of cardboard boxes in the corner. She tried another door which led to a small and shabby bathroom. This was hopeless. Rebecca could be anywhere. Her radio crackled, making her jump.

  “Where the hell are you?” Olbeck hissed at her over the airwaves.

  “Don’t know. Have you spotted her?”

  “The Major says there’s an attic, a big one. We’re coming up. Wait for–”

  “I don’t have time to wait!”

  “Kate–”

  She’d turned and started running again.

  She found another corridor after the third door she tried opened. This was a smaller hallway, uncarpeted and ending in a small, steep flight of steps. Kate pattered along. The stairs ended in yet another door. Kate went through it and stopped dead.

  She was standing in a small, white-painted room with a cream carpet. There was a cot. There was a Moses basket. There was a white-painted chest of drawers, with baby clothes stacked along the top. There was Rebecca D’Arc
y-Warner standing at the far end of the room, a sleeping baby in her arms.

  Kate stood stock still. She breathed out slowly.

  “Charlie,” she said.

  Rebecca’s eyes were fixed on her face. She was standing by another door, a small one, barely half the size of a normal door. Keeping her eyes on Kate, Rebecca extended a free hand and turned the handle of the door.

  “Rebecca,” said Kate. “I can help you. Please give Charlie to me.”

  Rebecca said nothing. Her face was a curious, blank mask, devoid of expression. She stooped, never taking her eyes off Kate and bent to get through the small doorway.

  “Wait–” said Kate, moving forward, but Rebecca and the baby were gone.

  Kate rushed forward and crouched, pushing herself through the doorway. She straightened up and realised she was on the roof of the house. This part was flat, covered with some sort of tarred covering. The wind hit her, whipping her ponytail up. She looked around wildly. Rebecca and Charlie were standing by the edge of the roof, where a tiny iron balustrade provided no stability at all against the long drop. Rebecca’s red hair swirled around her face, and Charlie’s blanket fluttered in the wind.

  Kate inched forward. Rebecca took a step nearer the edge of the roof.

  “Wait,” said Kate. Her voice was shaking. “Just wait. I can help you.”

  Rebecca said nothing.

  “Look,” said Kate. “I’m stopping right here. I won’t come any closer. Why don’t you come over here a bit and we can talk? We can talk about anything you want to talk about.”

  Rebecca remained silent.

  “We can talk about Charlie, if you like. Or Nick. Or anything. Why not just come over here a bit and I can help you with whatever it is you need help with.”

  “Nick,” said Rebecca suddenly. Her arms tightened about Charlie. “Nick.”

  “You must be very angry with him.”

  Rebecca made a gasping noise, air rushing inwards.

  “Angry? Angry doesn’t even come close to it. Do you know what it feels like to lose the chance of having a child? To wait and wait for your partner to grow up and want to be a father?”