Creeping Ivy (34 page)
Charlotte’s face was stained with dirt and tears, and she was crying and clutching a large stuffed green fish. When she saw Antonia she dropped the toy and ran full-tilt at her, to press her messy face into Antonia’s short, red skirt, sobbing, ‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy. I was lost. In the park. I was lost.’
Antonia could not quite prevent the triumphant smile that flashed across her face. Trish saw it for an instant before it changed into a mask of sympathy as Antonia swung her daughter up in her arms until their faces were on a level.
‘But you’ve been found,’ said Antonia, sounding completely genuine. Constable Derring had to get out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes.
‘You’ve been found now, Charlotte. And you’re safe. Really, really safe. For ever.’
Charlotte laid her face against Antonia’s neck and sobbed her heart out. Trish was so angry that she would not have dared to speak. She was as certain as she could be that Antonia had orchestrated Charlotte’s disappearance.
She could have forgiven it if she had thought Antonia had done it to get Charlotte away from danger while she investigated the source of the threat. But if that had been her motive, she would never have tried to deny what the camera in Nicky’s bedroom had shown her. The whole operation must have been driven by spite.
What Robert and Nicky had done would have made anyone in Antonia’s position angry, but the idea that she had even considered using Charlotte as a weapon against them filled Trish with disgust.
Just as Bella had suggested, confronted with a challenge from someone she had thought was too weak to harm her, Antonia had lost her temper and all sense of proportion. Although Nicky and Robert had suffered – and a lot of other people too – it was clearly Charlotte who had come to most harm.
One of the women said something Trish could not hear to Sergeant Lacie, who answered quietly, ‘Not yet. There’s time for that. She needs her mother now.’
As though picking up the cue, Antonia said over Charlotte’s shoulder, ‘May I take her home? She needs to be at home with me just now.’
‘Ms Weblock,’ said the woman who had spoken to Lacie, ‘I’m a doctor, a paediatrician. I have been asked to examine Charlotte.’
The little girl’s arms tightened round Antonia’s neck and her sobs turned to howls.
‘I think she ought to come home now. Can’t you do it in a day or two, when she feels more certain of her safety?’
‘I’ll have a word with the superintendent,’ said Kath Lacie. ‘I’m sure we can arrange something.’
Trish heard a familiar singing in her ears.
‘Sergeant Lacie, could I have a word outside?’
‘Of course, Ms Maguire. Come along.’
‘Trish,’ said Antonia over Charlotte’s head. Trish waited. ‘Charlotte needs me.’
Looking at the child pressed against her mother, Trish realised that for once Antonia had told the truth. She remembered Nicky’s despairing outbursts about how much Charlotte loved her mother. Whatever happened later, at that moment, Charlotte probably did need to be with Antonia.
‘Ms Maguire?’
‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. It’s all right. I … There isn’t anything that needs saying now. Do you want me for anything, Antonia?’
‘Nothing at all, Trish,’ she said, a hint of the triumphant smile flashing in her eyes again. ‘I’ll ring you in a day or two when Charlotte and I’ve had some time together.’
‘Goodbye, Charlotte,’ said Trish, gently touching the child’s head. She let enough of her face slide away from Antonia’s shoulder to look at Trish out of one eye. She almost smiled.
‘Can I come and see you soon?’ asked Trish, fairly sure that Antonia would never let her in the house again. Charlotte nodded her head up and down against Antonia’s once-pristine silk shirt. Her thumb slid into her mouth. Antonia staggered slightly and Lacie quickly brought a chair for her. The other women clustered round.
‘Well, that’s that,’ said the superintendent, slapping the file down on his desk three weeks later. ‘Nothing from the child except talk of swimming and ice cream and hamburgers and a nice time with nice people called Sue and Sammy and lots of songs and games. No sign of any physical harm done to her. No evidence whatsoever as to who Sue and Sammy are. Nothing on the couple who found Charlotte lost and howling in the park and brought her to us. Plenty of assurances from Charlotte that they weren’t Sue and Sammy. No idea where the house was where she was held, except that it was in a field. Who’s been making monkeys of us, John?’
There was a pause. Blake, furious himself at the wasted time, money, manpower – and anguish – of the five days of Charlotte’s absence, did not want to add to the superintendent’s rage by any unconsidered accusations.
‘Come on, come on. You must have some idea, John. You’ve been talking to all these people for weeks now. And you’re not stupid.’
‘I think … What I think is that Antonia Weblock paid a ransom,’ Blake said reluctantly.
‘Without any of us getting any idea she was negotiating all that time? We had a phone tap from day one, before she even got back from the States. How could we not have known what was going on?’
‘I don’t know how they communicated,’ said Blake unhappily. He was so angry with Antonia that he could not trust himself to admit it. Kath had told him a bit about what it felt like to be pregnant and lose the child, and he had enough imagination to translate that into what the mother of a living child might feel in Antonia’s position. But she should have told him what she was doing. He’d gone through hell for her. One day he might be able to forgive her. But he was damned if he was going to let the Super know how he felt.
‘We don’t know how many mobiles she’s had access to, sir. Or how she put the ransom together or got it into their hands. I’ve asked her over and over again, but she’s sticking to her story that she didn’t pay anyone anything and that the child’s return was an inexplicable miracle. That’s what she always calls it. But there’s no other explanation that fits. She must have paid a ransom. After all, she’s better placed than most to shuffle money inconspicuously about the world – and lay her hands on big amounts. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’
‘What about Maguire? It’s not so long since you were telling me you were sure there was something fishy about her. You think she could have had a hand in keeping communication going between Weblock and the kidnappers?’
‘I don’t think so. And …’ Blake hesitated, once again wanting to keep his feelings to himself. This case had stirred him up good and proper, and it was going to take him a long time to get himself back in order. Thank God for Kath. At least the thought of her would keep him sane, unlike the pompous heartless fart in front of him.
‘Come on. Spit it out, John. Don’t forget I’ve got to answer for all this higher up – and to the media.’
‘Forget the media, sir. They’ve had their fun with all those terrific pictures and stories about Charlotte’s return. So long as there’s no scandal they’ll forget the mystery pretty soon. I’m surprised they’re still running the story at all, but it’s been off the front pages for more than a week now and it can’t last much longer. All I was going to say is that I don’t think Maguire would have gone behind our backs to help pay a ransom. She’s too straight; too devoted to the law.’
‘You’ve changed your tune. What happened?’
‘A bit more research into her background,’ Blake said slowly. It had shocked him to discover how much respect Trish Maguire aroused in people he knew he could trust. ‘I’ve been talking to some of the blokes who’ve worked with her – some of our people, too – and they don’t share any of Antonia’s views about her character, her sexuality or her interests.’
‘D’you think Antonia’s views were genuine?’
Blake had to admit the man wasn’t quite as stupid as he sometimes seemed, even if he was a pain in the arse.
‘Probably not. I suspect we were round at her house too much and getting too close so that she had to shove us off onto another track before we found out she was negotiating with the kidnappers. I think she decided to sacrifice Maguire. I’m not sure that in her position I wouldn’t have done the same. Can we really blame her for doing everything in her power to save her child?’
‘I can. Maybe we should do her for wasting police time,’ said the Super, banging his papers irritably into line.
‘D’you think the CPS would wear that, sir – with the child safe? I’d have thought there’d be a hell of a lot of sympathy for a mother with the means to ransom her child doing so as discreetly as possible. Even if the CPS went for it, I can’t see any jury convicting. Can you?’
‘Maybe not. But it sticks in the craw, John.’
‘I know. But I can’t help admiring her – in a way.’
‘I can,’ said the Super again, even more sharply. ‘We’ll have to see if we can’t do her for money-laundering in a month or two. If she’s really been shovelling cash off-shore to buy her kid back, there’s probably something there. I’ll look into it.’
Blake hesitated.
‘What is it now?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘OK. Oh yes, by the way – I’m having Lacie transferred. Eye off the ball, John, and all that. Get on with it.’
Blake wondered how many other people had felt like strangling the superintendent. He went in search of Kath.
At least, he thought, if we’re not working in the same nick we won’t have to be quite so scrupulous about what we say to each other. Say and maybe even do. Every cloud and all that. Onward and upward.
‘Why can’t you tell me?’ asked Stephen. ‘Are you afraid whoever he is may not be able to keep you in the style I have all this time? Or put up with your peccadilloes? Is that it?’
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Mike through his teeth.
‘No new admirer at all? Really? I find that hard to believe.’
‘I hate it when you’re sarcastic. I’ve told you. Why won’t you believe me?’
‘Because I know how easily you lie. And how much you like having new admirers, the ones who don’t know as much about you as I do. New admirers and nice new things. Nice new cashmere sweaters. And nice new expensive shoes. Come on, Mike, you might as well tell me. You know I’ll find out who he is in the end.’
‘There isn’t anyone. Oh, why won’t you believe me? You know I love you.’
‘You’ve never said that before. Isn’t that interesting? Withheld and withheld, until I no longer have the slightest feeling for you. An admirer I might have forgiven in the end, but not the alternative.’
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Mike drearily, hardly even able to hear the words, let alone work out what they meant.
‘You’ve got too much money. There’s no getting away from that. If it’s not a rich new admirer – and I suppose I can just about believe that – then you’ve been dealing again down at your wretched gym. That’s it, isn’t it? Didn’t the police crawling all over this place and the club and the gym frighten you out of that sort of idiocy for ever? Don’t you remember enough of Feltham to save you from that?’
‘Stop it.
Stop it!
I told you I’m not dealing and I’m not even using. The police arrested all the ones who were. They cleared me. I said I wouldn’t and I haven’t.’
‘I don’t believe you. You’ve got too much money,’ Stephen repeated, almost shouting. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times and more what would happen if you got back into drugs. Look – you’d better go and pack. I do not want to have anything more to do with you. Go on. Get out.’
Stephen sat at the perfectly set dinner table, smelling the food Mike had been cooking as the scent turned gradually from savoury fragrance to harsh burning. He let it burn, filling the flat with acrid charcoal smoke and no doubt ruining the expensive Cuisinox pan. As he waited, he heard the sounds of Mike scuffling in the wardrobes and drawers in their bedroom next door.
He knew that his father’s watch and his own cufflinks were probably at risk, as well as the reserve cash he always kept at the back of the top left-hand drawer. But he did not care. All his emotions were gelid. One day they might thaw, but then again, perhaps they would not. Perhaps he would always be as he was at that moment, frozen by hurt and disillusion into uncaring.
He had loved Mike, and for a time he had thought it might be possible to arouse genuine, un-selfregarding love in the boy. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. When would he learn? Well, one thing was for certain. He was not going to make that mistake again.
Half an hour after he had sent Mike to pack, the burning smell had changed. Stephen was still sitting at the table, his hands clasped together and numb on the antique Wedgwood plate in front of him.
‘I really loved you, you know.’ Mike’s voice was full of petulant and childish spite. ‘And you’ll never find anyone else like me again.’
Stephen looked up and saw his erstwhile lover standing in the doorway with the two Gucci grips at his feet. His face was as perfectly beautiful as ever.
‘I would have done anything for you, Steve. I gave up drugs for you. I gave up all my friends for you. But you’re a cold, hardhearted, cruel, cruel man. And you wouldn’t understand love if it stood up and bit your prick. I’m sorry for you. Very sorry. And I hope the flat burns down.’
He picked up the overstuffed and heavy-looking grips as though they were full of nothing but feathers and left the flat.
Stephen took his tinglingly sore hands off the plate and got up to deal with the burnt saucepans.
‘Still no answers in Charlotte Weblock mystery,’ read Renie Brooks as she straightened up with the
Daily Mercury
in her right hand. The left one was clasped over her hip, where the pain was getting worse every day. Soon she was going to have to see the doctor about it, but she didn’t like him and was putting it off for as long as she could. The aspirin helped sometimes and a hot water bottle did, too. She’d be able to cope a bit longer.
‘What’s that?’ Harold said from the passage outside.
‘It’s the child. The one Nicolette’s been looking after that was lost. They still don’t know what happened to her. Five days it was.’
‘Rubbish!’
‘That’s what it says in the paper,’ she said, giving it to him so that she did not have to argue with him. She went to the cooker to start the bacon while he read it.