Secret Sins: A Callie Anson (43 page)

Sid Cowley rang Neville to say that the solicitor had conferred with his client, who was now prepared to make a statement. ‘A bit late for that, sunshine,’ Neville muttered.

On his way back to the interview rooms, he looked at the clock. It was nearly half-past six, which meant that Alex’s photo would have appeared on the six o’clock news by now. He decided that a detour to check on phone calls to the hot line might be in order.

‘Not a great deal that seems promising,’ admitted the man who was now staffing the phone. ‘The only plausible one was a woman who works at St. John’s Wood tube station. Says she sold a ticket to a little girl on her own who looked like Alex. Maybe half-past four yesterday afternoon.’

‘Thanks,’ said Neville, disappointed.

Yes, it was good to know that Alex had, as they suspected, taken the tube to Paddington. What he really wanted, he
admitted
to himself, was to hear from someone who had seen Alex after, say, quarter-past five. After she had run from Jack—Lee Bicknell. Someone who could confirm that she had escaped from him. That—to put it bluntly—she was still alive. Until they’d seen something from the CCTV, that was the best they could hope for.

Well, if Bicknell was ready to talk, all might soon become clear.

The interview room had been set up and everything was in readiness. Neville nodded at the solicitor, a pale middle-aged man with a badly-fitting set of dentures.

‘My client is ready to make a statement,’ he told Neville.

‘All right. Let’s hear what he has to say.’ Neville turned to Lee Bicknell.

Bicknell had a sheen of sweat on his forehead and he focussed his eyes on a point somewhere over Neville’s shoulder. ‘Okay. I admit that I didn’t tell you the whole truth before. I…um, yes. I arranged to meet Sasha. At Paddington Station. Just to have a chat, like.’

Sure, thought Neville, but he didn’t interrupt.

‘I saw her. But she ran away from me. Maybe because…I didn’t look exactly like the photo I’d sent her. A bit older.’ He stopped.

‘And?’ said Neville. ‘What then?’

Bicknell spread his hands. ‘Nothing. She ran away. I ran after her for a bit, but I didn’t get very far. I’m not as fit as I used to be,’ he admitted.

Neville just looked at him. It was plausible; he hoped it was true.

‘I’m telling the truth. I’ll sign a statement, then I’d like to go home.’

‘Not so fast, sunshine,’ Neville said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘What do you mean?’

‘My client has been fully co-operative and has made a
statement
,’ the solicitor interposed. ‘His presence here has been on a purely voluntary basis. You can’t force him to stay if he wants to go home.’

‘Well, let’s change that, shall we?’ Neville looked at Cowley, then at Bicknell, ignoring the solicitor. ‘Mr. Bicknell, I’m arresting you and holding you on a charge of possession of indecent images of children. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. And that,’ he added, ‘ought to do for starters.’

Yolanda’s home had been restored to order; she’d prepared an extravagant supper for Eli on his return from work. They’d enjoyed the first part of the evening lingering over the meal with a bottle of wine. Now they were snuggled up together on the sofa, watching a DVD of an old film, allowing the anticipation to build for the next stage of the evening.

The phone rang. ‘Can you leave it?’ Eli suggested, tightening his arm round Yolanda’s shoulder.

‘It could be important,’ Yolanda reminded him. She pulled away from him with some reluctance and reached for the phone.

‘Hello?’ Yolanda recognised Rachel’s voice.

‘Lovie! Are you all right?’

‘Fine. I’m feeling fine. A bit sore, but…’

‘And the baby?’

There was a noticeable softening of her voice. ‘Oh, she’s lovely. Just gorgeous.’ Rachel paused. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

‘Yes? I’ll do anything I can, of course.’ Yolanda turned her head to avoid Eli’s accusing glare.

Rachel went on to explain that she and the baby were to be sent home from hospital the next day, and she’d come away in such a hurry that she didn’t have any warm things for her daughter: the fleecy baby-gro with the hood, the warm blanket. ‘Do you think you could get them and bring them to me?’ she
requested. ‘You have a key, and you know where to find the things. I know it’s a lot to ask…’

‘Not a problem,’ said Yolanda. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

‘Have you forgotten,’ Eli said, scowling, as she put the phone down, ‘the things that woman said about you? That you never left her alone? She’s abused your good nature for a week, and now you’re going to let her take advantage of you some more. Are you crazy, woman?’

‘It’s for the baby’s sake,’ Yolanda said. She was already
putting
on her coat.

Callie and Morag had played Scrabble for the better part of the afternoon, with Bella snuggled up next to Morag in her armchair as if she knew she needed the comfort of a warm body. It had been a real struggle on Callie’s part to keep Morag’s mind off the matter closest to her heart; deliberately she avoided suggesting that they turn on the radio or the television. If and when Alex was found, Marco would ring them—of that Callie was certain. For now, she was doing her bit to provide a distraction.

Inevitably, though, Morag kept returning to the subject. ‘Poor wee Alex,’ she would sigh. ‘I wish I knew where she was.’

‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ Callie reassured her, though she was by no means certain of the fact. ‘If she had a row with Jilly, she probably wouldn’t want to go back home very soon.’

‘She should have come to me,’ Morag stated. ‘I just don’t know where else she might have gone.’

Bella stirred, then jumped down and trotted over to Callie, looking up at her with a supplicating gaze.

‘I think she wants to go outside,’ Callie guessed.

‘That’s right,’ said Morag, more to the dog than to Callie. ‘Go to your mummy. She’ll look after you, lassie.’

Then Morag’s eyes widened; her mouth went into a round O.

‘That’s it,’ said Morag, her voice strong with conviction. ‘Alex will have gone to Scotland. To look for her mother.’

Eli had offered to come with her, but Yolanda preferred to go to Rachel’s house on her own. She let herself in with the key, then went straight upstairs to the nursery and fetched the baby’s warm things from the chest of drawers.

The black-haired baby.

Yolanda knew that there was a photo of Trevor and Rachel’s wedding hanging on the wall in the master bedroom. To refresh her memory, she went through and looked at it.

Yes, Trevor was every bit as fair as Rachel. If anything, his hair was lighter than hers, an almost Scandinavian blond.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking.

Biology hadn’t really been her best subject at school, but in her years as a midwife she had learned a good deal about genetics in action. And she didn’t recall that she had ever, with all of the infants she’d delivered, seen two blond parents with a black-haired baby.

The baby-gro slid off her lap onto the floor. Yolanda leaned down to retrieve it, and saw the corner of a laptop computer protruding from under the bed.

A laptop?

Yolanda had stayed in the house for a week, and didn’t remember having seen a laptop. Surely if there had been one, DI Stewart would have taken it away to be looked at in the lab? By Danny Duffy and the computer whizz kids?

Her mind flashed back to just a couple of days before, when Rachel had been surprised by her sudden entrance into the bedroom, and had shoved something under the bed.

It was none of her business, Yolanda told herself. Not her job. She should go to the hospital, as she’d promised Rachel, and deliver the baby’s things.

‘I’m certain of it,’ Morag stated. ‘Sure as sure. Alex has gone to look for her mum. For Harriet.’

‘But how would she know where to go?’ Callie asked. ‘She doesn’t know where Harriet is, does she?’

‘Weeeell…’ Morag got up and went to the array of photos on the piano; she picked up one of Alex and caressed the frame abstractedly. ‘I don’t think I told you. I spoke to wee Alex on the phone a few days ago.’

‘You said she’d rung and left a message,’ Callie recalled.

‘It was after that. She rang again. She asked me about her mother—asked me if her mother was dead.’

Callie was startled. ‘Dead?’

‘That’s what she thought, apparently. She was terrified that her mother was dead. So I told her…’ Morag looked off into the distance.

‘What did you tell her?’ Callie prompted after a moment of silence.

Morag gave a sharp shake of her head, as if recalling herself to the present. ‘I told her that her mother wasn’t well. That she was in a care home in the Borders area. I didn’t give her the address.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that much. If I was even a wee bit responsible for her running away from home…oh, Callie. I’d not forgive myself. Not ever.’

‘I’ll ring Marco,’ Callie decided. ‘If you have her mother’s address…’

‘Oh, no.’ Morag shook her head. ‘No, I can’t let Angus know that I told Alex anything. He’d blame me. I blame
myself
.’

Callie hadn’t met Angus Hamilton, but she’d heard enough about him to believe that Morag was probably accurate in her assessment of his reactions. ‘If she’s looking for her mother, though, surely the police need to know that.’

Morag narrowed her eyes and her face took on an expression which told Callie that, stubborn as Angus Hamilton was, he had in some measure come by that stubbornness honestly. ‘No,’ Morag said. ‘No police, and no Angus. I’m going to find her myself.’