Baby Love (30 page)

“It’s all there,” Natalie drawled. “How many times you need telling?”

“Till it adds up.”

The teenager glared, sullen, hard-faced. A tiny muscle twitched in her left eyelid like a burrowing tick.

Bev leaned back, hands on head. “I’ve got all the time in the world, Natalie.”

The teenager’s exasperated sigh stirred papers on the table. “Listen up, then.”

Bev watched closely as Natalie ran through it again, picking at her non-existent nails throughout. It tallied almost word for word with the previous account. Which meant either she was telling it straight or she’d learned lies by heart.

“Nice try, love.”

“Meaning?”

“Yesterday. I wasn’t born.” However much she might want to believe it, it was too neat, too pat. Bev rose, circled the room. She could go along with Roper being behind the cash-for-baby scam. No doubt the slimy bastard was evil. But
he wasn’t thick. Why leave a bank statement lying around that house? Crime scenes had unearthed it, along with a supermarket receipt that showed a stack of baby items. Convenient or what?

“Why’d Sally Barnes change her mind all of a sudden, Natalie?”

She shrugged. “Said Terry had gone too far. Nicking the other baby.”

Bev stopped pacing, zeroed in on the girl, waited till she looked her in the eye. “Are you saying Roper took Jessica Carver?” It was the big one. Sally Barnes was beyond help but the Carver baby was still missing. Was there another
desperate woman out there? Another deluded dupe with more money than moral sense?

“Ask him.” The girl broke eye contact. “Bastard’ll deny it like everything else.”

Bev balled her fists. Couldn’t ask Roper his name till he was out of danger. Three heads turned as a uniformed constable came in carrying a sheet of A4. “Ta, mate. Can you bring us some tea, a few sarnies?”

Bev took her seat at the desk, her mouth tight as she read the few lines of type, passed the paper to Carol Mansfield. “You sure you don’t want a solicitor, Natalie?”

“Yeah. Ally McBeal.”

“I’m serious.” She paused. “OK. Let’s go through it again. What happened when you arrived at the house?”

“He was standing over her with a knife. Then he come at me.”

“How’d you get in?”

Split-second hesitation. “Door was open.”

Bev nodded. “You saw him stab Sally Barnes?”

“Yeah. Horrible, it was.” The shudder was a nice touch.

“Had two blades, did he? One in each hand?”

Natalie frowned, played for a little time. A shrugged
dunno
was all she came up with.

Bev leaned forward, deliberately invading the girl’s space. “Was Sally Barnes still alive when you kicked her teeth in?”

The girl jerked her head away, but not before Bev glimpsed a flash of fear in her eyes. “What you on about?”

She waved the sheet of A4 at the girl. “Chips of bone embedded in the toe of your boot, Natalie.”

“I didn’t kill her. He come in and finished her off. Then he turns on me.” She grabbed Bev’s arm. “You’ve got to believe me.”

Bev looked down until the girl removed her hand. “It’s not going to happen, Natalie. There’ll be phone records, fingerprints...” Not to mention the blood-stained rainbow they’d found in the teenager’s pocket. Along
with a crock of bullshit.

“No.” Natalie shook her head vehemently. “There ain’t no prints.”

“Wiped them, did you?” That’d explain the damp duster under the sink. What do they say about a little knowledge? She snorted. Watching a few episodes of CSI doesn’t make anyone a forensic hotshot. “It’ll be better
for everyone if you tell the truth, love.”

Natalie slumped, the image of truculent teenager made flesh. “Not till I see my kid.”

“Carry on like this, and she’ll be older than you before you set eyes on her.” Bev paused. “Except for prison visits.”

“Fuck you.” She dashed an angry hand at specks of saliva on her mouth.

“Whatever.” Bev looked away, made a few notes, affected complete indifference. The silence was uneasy, unnerving. Like watching a bad actor dry on stage. When Bev glanced up, Natalie’s face was wet with tears, her bony shoulders
hunched and shaking as she fought for composure. Bev made no move to comfort her.

Eventually Natalie spoke. “Let me see her, Bev, please.” She wiped slime from her nose with a sleeve. “I might remember more once I’ve seen Zo.”

“More lies?”

She spread her hands. “Please, Bev. I’m begging.”

“No.”

Carol Mansfield passed Natalie a bunch of tissues. “Sarge?”

Bev gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. She watched as Natalie sat up straight and tightened her pony-tail. Holding Bev’s gaze, she said, “OK, then.”

Bev gave an encouraging smile. Thank God for that. For a minute she thought she’d lost her touch.

“If I can’t see my baby – go fuck yourself.”

At that, Bev almost lost it. She itched to give the girl a good slapping. Instead, she took a deep breath, her voice blasé. “Callum Gould killed himself. Know that?” The teacher’s suicide still hadn’t made the papers as
far as Bev was aware.

The colour drained from Natalie’s already pasty face. “So?” The tone was uncertain this time, not insolent.

“So.” Bev rose, slowly approached Natalie, leaned over and for the first time in the interview – any interview – she screamed at the top of her voice. “A man’s dead because of your fucking lies! If you don’t
level with me now, I’ll see it’s laid at your door!”

It would never happen, of course. No one – as the guv put it – had forced the tablets down the guy’s throat. But Natalie was already in emotional overload. Gould’s untimely death was one more shock to her already creaking
system. Cruel but fair. Bev backed off, headed for the door.

“Wait!” Natalie yelled. “I’ll talk.”

Bev locked glances with the girl before slowly resuming her seat. “This had better be good.”

Natalie pointed at the tape. “Turn that off, then.”

Bev considered the offer before reaching for the switch.

“Sarge?” Carol didn’t add further protest. One word said it all.

Bev changed the subject without looking round. “Chase the tea, Carol.”

The DC rose, stood in front of Bev. “Sarge.”

Bev tilted her head at the door. When they were alone, she told Natalie she had two minutes. She listened as the teenager gave another version of events; this one rang truer. She’d kicked Sally Barnes down the stairs but only after the woman had
spoken the fatal words: ‘I’ll give her a better life’. Prior to that, Natalie had meant her no harm. Unlike her intentions towards Roper. Framing him for the murder was Natalie’s warped way of seeking revenge. She’d not
stabbed Roper. It was a genuine accident. She wanted him alive, so he could pay for what he’d done.

A part of Bev understood the girl’s actions. Roper had stolen her baby, then a sick woman had told her she wasn’t a fit mother. Extenuating circumstances, a sympathetic jury – Natalie might get out after twelve years or so.

“Fix it for me?” Bev drew back as Natalie made another grab for her arm, wide eyes pleading. “You can fix it, Bev. Terry deserves everything that’s coming. He torched Blake Way as well. Wanted us both dead.”

Maxine Beck: another sorry victim in all this. Bev shook her head. “I can’t...”

“’Course you can. It’s his word against mine. I can lie for England.”

As Callum Gould discovered. “Not against evidence, love.”

Tears welled in the girl’s bloodshot eyes. “But I’ll lose her.”

Bev looked away, saw the baby in her mind’s eye, recalled the warmth of that tiny body as she cradled it against her own. With Maxine on another planet, Zoë would go into care.

“Please, Bev. You know how the system works. Get me out of here.” The girl was on her knees, huge tears rolling down blotchy cheeks. “Please, Bev. Do it for Zoë.”

She put her arms round Natalie’s quaking shoulders, tasted blood as she bit her lip. Did she seriously consider it? Just for a second? Afterwards, Bev often asked herself the same question. Always came back with the same answer. No. Not for an
instant.

She was an even better liar than Natalie Beck.

Highgate. Bev squatted on her office floor, back against the radiator, head in hands. It was coming up to six o’clock and minus five outside. Bitter, like her. This had turned into one of the blackest days of her life. And it
wasn’t over yet. She was steeling herself to pay a house call: the Carvers.

“Fucking job. Hate it.”

“You do?”

She peered through her fingers. Byford hovered in the doorway, coat on, hat in hand. She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt and grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk. Through a watery smile she managed a weak quip. “Talking to myself
again, guv.”

He came in, stood by her, fiddled with the fedora. “Everyone does, you know.”

“You said it. Must be mad to work here.”

“Don’t be obtuse, you know what I mean.” The right eyebrow formed an arch. “We all hate the job. From time to time.”

Yeah, but she really really loathed it. That afternoon, she’d watched a sixteen-year-old kid, who’d not started out with a lot, lose what little she had. An inconsolable Natalie Beck was banged up in a police cell. She’d appear in
court first thing, when she’d almost certainly be remanded in custody. Even if the magistrates took pity on her, she had nowhere to go. And no idea when she’d see Zoë again. The baby was in emergency foster care.

Byford strolled to his preferred spot on the windowsill. “The girl stabbed a woman through the heart, Bev.” He must’ve read her report. As well as her mind.

“Yeah, I know...”

“But?”

“Nothing’s ever black and white, is it?”

“Mostly it’s all a mess.”

She tugged at her fringe. “The kid’ll end up adopted. Natalie’ll spend the best years of her life behind bars. And Maxine... God knows what’ll happen there.”

“You’re a cop, Bev. You haven’t got a magic wand.”

Just as well. Or Terry Roper would be slug turd. Cancel that. He already was. They’d not been allowed near the shit-for-brains so far. They only had Natalie’s word that he was involved in the Carver baby’s abduction. Like that was
worth a bunch.

She blew out her cheeks. “Mums are supposed to tell you.”

“What?”

“There’d be days like this.” She gave a lop-sided smile at the thought of a bad day in Emmy’s book: an unfinished crossword. “Come on, guv.” She grabbed her coat from the hook. “I’m out of
here.”

Byford held the door. “Have you spoken to Larry yet?”

Was he avoiding her gaze? Had he only dropped by to check up on her? Larry Drake was the main man in personal protection. “Sure have. One of his guys has already checked the house.” Baldwin Street’s new locks and alarm were up to
scratch.

As they crossed the car park she started whistling the
Minder
theme tune. He didn’t say a word but she caught a fleeting grin on his face. “Sorry, guv, couldn’t resist.”

She scanned the car park, searching for the MG, then remembered it was in the garage having major surgery. She’d been allocated an unmarked Peugeot, so uncool.

At the motor, Byford reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. The gesture caught her off guard. The silence lasted a second or two longer than it should. Had he crossed a line? And would she welcome that?

He smiled, tapped the brim of his hat, headed for his wheels, then turned back. “You never said.”

“Guv?” She paused, key in lock.

“What you’d do if you weren’t a cop.”

She turned down her mouth, waggled a hand. “Lap dancer?”

Even at the best of times, Bev hated mirrors in lifts. The ones in Windsor Place were wall-to-wall and the last twenty-four hours had been a bugger. Not to mention the last two weeks. They’d certainly left a mark or two. She
lifted a hand to her cheek: flaky skin, suitcase eyes. Early night after this, girl.

Shouldn’t take long. The Carvers knew the score: uniform had kept them up to date. But as officer in charge, Bev felt duty-bound to show her face. Not that they were answering. She frowned, rang the bell again, held her breath as she pressed an
ear against the door, straining to identify the faint sounds emanating.

A woman’s voice, in the cadences of prayer.

Bev had God-bothered enough in her Catholic schoolgirl days to recognise a Hail Mary or four. If the Carvers could talk to the Big Man, they could give her a hearing. She hammered the wood with the flat of her hand.

She barely recognised Veronica Carver. The lines on the old woman’s face were so deep they looked felt-tipped. The grey hair swung like steel cable.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I was about to call.” After communing with Our Lady? The rosary in her fingers was a giveaway.

“Right. Great. Come in, shall I?” Bev rubbed her hands together. “Parky out here.”

The woman moved aside, led the way into the large sitting room. Helen Carver lay asleep on the sofa. There was no sign of David. Veronica drifted over to a wing chair by the open fire.

Bev glanced through the window, glimpsed a dumb show of revellers geared up for a night on the town. Wouldn’t say no to a drink herself. Might pop into the Boat for a quickie after this. The old woman was waiting. Bev hesitated. Made more sense
if the Carver women heard it together. Wasn’t exactly good news, but it was better than nothing. It was just possible Natalie wasn’t lying through her teeth and Roper knew Jessica’s whereabouts. Bev glanced at the sofa, raised a
querying eyebrow. Veronica shook her head.

Bev shrugged. “Just want you to know, we’ll be talking to a suspect first thing. It’s possible he can tell us where Jessica is. It’s important not to get your hopes up, though.”

“Thank you.” She smoothed a crease from her skirt. “As I said, I was about to call.” She tilted her head towards the sofa. “I found her a few moments ago.”

“Found her?” Bev froze, stunned.

“I’m afraid I was too late.”

Bev raced over, knelt at Helen’s side. Surely she was asleep? Hair tousled, make-up smudged, warm to the touch... Bev felt for a pulse. Nothing. It had to be another overdose.

Veronica sat stiff-backed, rosary in her lap. The old lady must be in shock. Christ, Bev was in shock.