Stolen (23 page)
Chapter Fifty-Five
Abby had barely said a word since Gardner had given her the news. She left the house early in the morning, telling Simon she needed time alone, and returned hours later, red-eyed and mute. She knew Simon had guessed she’d been to see Casey again.
The deal they’d made hadn’t been mentioned. She didn’t know where things stood. The deal was if Simon didn’t agree the little girl was Beth then she would give it up. As things stood though, Simon
had
agreed with her. It was only Gardner that disagreed and it was possible Gardner was wrong. Still, the deal wasn’t mentioned so she continued.
Simon wasn’t there when she’d come home. He hadn’t left a note saying where he’d gone or what time he’d be back. For all she knew he’d gone away on one of his trips.
The front door opened and Abby caught a glimpse of Simon before he disappeared up the stairs. She found him in the back bedroom pulling down a box from the top of the shelves, rummaging through photos and papers. Abby stood in the doorway watching.
‘I remembered,’ he said, not looking up. ‘I remembered who she is.’
Abby stood up straight, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Who is she?’ she asked. Simon pulled out a tatty book and furiously flipped through the pages. ‘Simon?’ she said.
He looked up from the book. ‘Her name’s Helen. Helen something. I took her photo.’
Abby frowned and crouched down beside him. He was checking an appointment book from 2005 – the year Beth disappeared.
‘I remember her now. She came and had portraits done. She came twice, I think,’ he said, his finger tracing down the page. He stood up and looked over the shelves to the photo albums. He kept copies of lots of the photos he took, samples of what he could do for potential customers.
Abby watched him and felt her heart beating hard against her chest. If Simon could prove he knew this woman, that she had some connection to him, then surely the police would have to look more deeply into her.
Simon pulled an album off the shelf and flicked through it. When he reached the end he tossed it aside and pulled another one out. Halfway through he stopped.
‘That’s her,’ he said.
Abby took the album from him and stared at the picture. That was her alright. The woman who drove away with her daughter. The woman who stole her daughter. Abby’s fists curled into the plastic album cover.
‘I remember her now,’ Simon said and Abby looked up at him. ‘She was really demanding, a total pain in the arse, insisted on this and that, wanted everything exactly how she said.’ He took the album back from Abby and stared at the picture. ‘She was weird. She asked loads of questions. She told me about her kid...’ Simon closed his eyes. ‘Shit,’ he said.
‘What?’ Abby asked. ‘She
does
have a daughter?’ Abby felt her heart sink.
‘No,’ Simon shook his head. ‘She had one. She told me her daughter died.’
Abby felt a chill run down her spine. ‘What? When?’ she asked.
Simon checked the appointments book again. ‘Her appointment was in February 2005. I can’t remember when she said. Maybe a few months earlier. She just kind of blurted it out. She seemed, I don’t know, shocked that she’d said it. Like she wasn’t used to talking about it. She’d been asking about Beth.’
‘Wait,’ Abby said. ‘You told her about Beth?’
Simon nodded. ‘I’d just seen my daughter for the first time; I was desperate to tell someone about her.’
Abby felt sick. Was that why she’d taken Beth? She’d lost her own daughter and wanted a replacement?
‘I didn’t think it’d matter telling a stranger,’ Simon said. ‘She didn’t know us, didn’t know about you being married.’ Simon staggered back. ‘Is this is my fault?’
Chapter Fifty-Six
Gardner sat at his desk, scribbling on the same patch of his notebook until the paper wore through. Chelsea Davies was still missing and he had absolutely no leads. One neighbour remembered seeing a car outside Jill Hoffman’s house the afternoon Chelsea went missing but was only partly sure of the colour and had no idea of the make. She was positive that it’d been there from about lunchtime until possibly around the time Chelsea disappeared. Jill Hoffman confirmed that it’d been a friend visiting but she had left long before Chelsea came home from the park with her brother. The friend, Louise Cotton, confirmed this and a search of her house had come up empty. The girl had just vanished.
Five grand had been raised by the local community and one of the national papers had whipped up its readers into a frenzy and got the reward to thirty thousand. It had also made it clear that the police were not doing their jobs. Gardner wondered if they were right. Was he doing his job? By rights he should’ve been concentrating fully on the Davies case but his mind kept slipping into thoughts of Abby and the woman she believed had her daughter. Something was niggling him. Something about the woman. Simon Abbott thought he knew her but couldn’t remember how. Was that it?
He tried to focus on Chelsea Davies. There had to be something he was missing.
He checked his watch and decided to pay Jill Hoffman another visit. Plenty of time to get there and speak to her again before having to face his boss. And maybe then he’d actually have something to tell him.
Simon had gone out, Abby didn’t ask where. He obviously needed space. So did she. She’d dialled Gardner’s number with the intention of passing on the information about Helen but had hung up before he could answer. She checked Simon’s appointment book after he’d left and discovered the woman’s full name. Helen Deal. Something clicked in her mind when she read it but she didn’t know what. Maybe she could find a number for her, or an address. She’d gone through the phone book but the number wasn’t listed. She’d tried Googling her but came up empty. She could go back to the street where she’d seen Beth and the nanny. Maybe she’d see them again, follow them home.
Gardner said he’d seen evidence that Casey was Helen’s child. He’d seen pictures of her holding the baby just after she’d been born, he’d seen a birth certificate. That didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean that the girl she had now was the girl in the pictures. Abby dragged her handbag across the floor and pulled out her purse. Inside was a frayed picture of Abby holding Beth minutes after she was born. Abby stroked the picture. What if she was wrong? Simon was sure about this woman; sure she’d said her daughter had died but was it possible she’d had another daughter since and this was all coincidence? That she was seeing links because she wanted to see them? Had she been mistaken again? She’d been so sure the little girl was hers. Was it just desperation?
But Simon had agreed with her, hadn’t he? Could she have convinced him somehow with her own insistence?
Abby reached for the phone again and called Gardner.
Gardner pulled into the station car park and watched as the wipers tried to keep up with the rain. Turning off the engine, he sat in the car listening to the rain pelt against the windows. The visit to see Jill Hoffman had been a waste of time. He’d arrived to find her watching some American reality TV show and she’d barely taken her eyes off the screen long enough to acknowledge his presence, never mind answer any questions. He’d asked how she was coping and she’d turned and said, ‘I can’t talk about it. It’s too hard,’ and then refused to answer anything else. One of the smaller kids had come in and asked where Chelsea was and Jill looked at him, shrugged and said ‘We don’t know,’ before looking back to the TV. The boy waddled back outside and Gardner found him playing alone in front of the house as he left. So much for having something to tell the boss.
Gardner checked his phone and discovered a message from Abby. He sighed and the phone rang, still in his hand, and he answered his boss straightaway. The meeting he was meant to be in was about to start. Gardner promised DCI Atherton he’d be there in ten minutes and hung up. He climbed out of the car and ran towards the building as the raindrops fell, fat and grey. Moving into the cigarette-littered doorway of the police station he listened to Abby’s message.
‘Hi, it’s Abby. I’m sorry to keep hassling you about this but Simon remembered who the woman was. Her name’s Helen Deal. Simon took her photograph not long before Beth was taken.’ She sighed. ‘He said she asked him about Beth, and she told him she’d lost her daughter. Her daughter died.’ She paused again. ‘And I know that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have had another baby but... But I thought you should know. Anyway. I guess that’s it. See you...’ The message cut off.
Gardner leaned against the wall and stared out across the car park. The blackening clouds moved quickly as the wind gathered speed. Plastic bottles and wrappers spun around in circles, debris forming miniature tornadoes.
‘Shit,’ he said and pushed himself upright. Simon had been right. He did know Helen Deal. Obviously not well but still, it could be relevant. He looked at his watch and attempted to clear all thoughts of Abby and Simon from his head. He could always go back to Helen Deal’s house later. But for now he had to keep his mind focused on other things. Keeping his job for one.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Helen gathered up her things and put them in a bag. Casey was busy deciding which shoes to take with her, Sara patiently letting her try each pair.
Since Sara had told her what had happened the other day Helen hadn’t been able to settle. So now she was going to have to leave for a while until things blew over. She couldn’t risk someone coming after Casey, couldn’t risk losing another child. The story all over the news about the Davies girl was getting to her. You couldn’t turn on the TV or look at a newspaper without seeing her face. And that it happened here, in Redcar, just made it worse. Is that what had started all this? Is that why that woman had suddenly come after Casey after all this time?
She went out into Casey’s room and took the small suitcase from Sara’s hand. Casey twirled around in front of them, giggling and holding her fairy tiara in place.
‘You can go now,’ Helen said to Sara. ‘I’ll take over with the packing.’
Sara looked at Helen, surprised. ‘I don’t mind staying.’
‘That’s okay,’ Helen said. ‘My things are packed. I just need to sort this little monster.’ She tickled Casey, causing her to squeal, and then she walked towards the door. ‘Casey, say goodbye to Sara and then choose your clothes. Don’t pack too much,’ she said.
Casey ran to Sara and hugged her. ‘Bye, Sara,’ she said and then turned to look at her wardrobe again.
‘Bye, Case,’ Sara said and followed Helen downstairs. ‘I really don’t mind staying to help.’
Helen ignored her and took some money out of her purse. ‘We’ll be fine,’ she said, handing Sara the money. ‘That’s for this week and next. If you could come by and water the plants, pick up the post, and so forth.’
Sara put the money in her pocket. ‘When will you be back?’ she asked.
‘Oh, probably a week,’ Helen said. ‘Depends when we outstay our welcome.’
Sara nodded. ‘Well, just ring me and let me know.’ She put on her jacket and walked to the door.
‘I’ll see you next week.’
‘Okay. Have a good time,’ Sara said and stepped outside. ‘You too, Case,’ she shouted up the stairs.
‘Thank you, Sara,’ Helen said and closed the door. She watched Sara disappear down the street and then checked in on Casey, telling her to choose a couple of toys to take. Leaving Casey to make a decision she carried her bag downstairs and put it by the door.
‘Don’t be long, Casey,’ she shouted up to her daughter as she climbed the stairs. ‘We’re going to see Daddy.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Gardner stopped outside Helen Deal’s house and checked his watch. It wasn’t too late to visit, though she would probably disagree. Anytime was probably a bad time for him to call again, but he needed to know if she remembered Simon. Not that that would prove anything. But Abby said that her daughter had died. It was all he’d been thinking about during the meeting. Helen’s daughter had died. Yes, she’d probably had another baby, like Abby said, but wouldn’t she have mentioned it when they talked about losing a child? He’d tried contacting the registry office but, of course, they were closed by the time he’d come out of the meeting with Atherton and he didn’t have the energy to argue with the jobsworth on the emergency service line. He’d have to check first thing in the morning.
Gardner got out of the car and ran up the steps. There was no sound coming from the house. He knocked and waited. Leaning back he looked up at the windows. No lights were on upstairs but then it was barely dark yet. He wondered what time Casey would go to bed, what was normal for a kid that age, and looked at the window next to him. Curtains were drawn but he couldn’t see any light peeking out. He knocked again, harder.
Gardner checked his watch once more, before leaning impatiently, with his hands on either side of the door. He went to knock one more time but thought better of it. There was no one home. He sighed and walked back to his car. He’d try in the morning. He was too exhausted now. Some reporter had ambushed him on his way out of the station asking him pretty much the same questions as his boss had. He’d been slightly less polite in his responses to the reporter. But he didn’t care about that right now. He just wanted to go home and sleep and try not to think about Abby or Helen Deal or his boss or Chelsea Davies. He needed a full six hours and maybe then he’d be able to think straight and even come up with some answers.
As he pulled up outside his flat he glanced down at his phone, wondering why Abby hadn’t checked in with him. Usually she would’ve been chomping at the bit, urgently needing to know what had happened, what had been said. Climbing out of the car he decided that he should enjoy the silence and take the opportunity to kick back with a much-needed beer and a proper night’s rest.
Gardner chucked his jacket on the back of the settee and watched as it slid off onto the floor. He left the old files from Abby’s case on the table, too tired to start looking through them tonight. He opened the fridge and ignored the unopened food, instead pulling out a bottle of beer. Opening it on the edge of the table he walked into the living room, turned on the TV and collapsed onto the settee. Too tired to reach for the remote, he let some bad sitcom play, leaned back and took a long sip. He looked around the flat. There wasn’t a single photograph up in there. No family snaps from good times. He laughed to himself. What good times? He didn’t have anyone in his life that he wanted on his mantelpiece. He had a few prints that could go on the walls but he’d been in the flat for almost six years now and he still hadn’t finished decorating, never mind putting pictures up. He closed his eyes and listened to the TV talking to itself.