Endangering Innocents (17 page)

So back to Baldwin. And in the mood she was in she was relishing the thought of the combat ahead. While her own problem festered at the back of her mind making her extra tetchy, like a bear with a nagging tooth she was spoiling for a fight.

She had no pity any more. It had drained out of her. The SOCOs were still searching the farm leaving the farmer blustering from an armchair. He might - just might - have saved Madeline’s life if he’d simply talked. But he hadn’t. He’d buried his head in the sand and concerned himself with his own problems. This is what the human race did, Joanna thought bitterly. Huke and Carly were being held until the very last second before she was forced to either charge them or release them. If she let them go they would all know she would simply be playing the game by the rules. She would be rearresting them. And charging them. And convicting them. Of cruelty.

And Baldwin? She knew the C.P.S. well enough to know that they might allow a conviction of concealment of a body. But his life would not return to normal. He had been labelled.

She sat opposite him, eyeballing him silently for a while before putting her face very close to his. “I hope you’re ready to talk,” she said softly. “And I hope you’ve got the dates and times as clear as polished glass in your mind when you had any contact at all with Madeline Wiltshaw.”

Baldwin nodded quickly, his head jerking up and down. He was anxious to oblige.

Like Carly Wiltshaw he had been on the end of an over-stretched tether for the past few weeks. In common with many men who are overfond of children, Baldwin was a cowardly, gentle soul in some ways. And Huke’s attack plus Madeline’s death had made him even more vulnerable.

Joanna watched him and judged him. Not evil. Something else.

He had enjoyed impressing children, deceiving them, teasing them, watching their eyes grow round with amazement and shock when he pulled off some ‘impossible’, ‘magic’ trick.

Joanna allowed her mind to drift for one split second. Once, as a child, long ago, she too had believed in luck, in magic, in impossible things happening provided you crossed your fingers or didn’t walk on the cracks on the pavement or some other nonsensical action. But she had grown up. Madeline never would.

“Tell me about the time you first met Madeline.”

“It was a Christmas party,” Baldwin said falteringly. “The kids were messing around. I did one of my shows.”

He gave a self-conscious little laugh. “I was dressed up as a clown. You know - baggy suit. Big trousers. Huge shoes. I kept fallin’ over. It made them laugh. But my little girl. She looked sad for me. That made me sad.”

“So?”

“Some of the boys were takin’ the piss. Laughin’ at my jokes. But she just sat there as though she really believed I was good. And that I really was doing magic. It made me feel special.”

“Your tricks?” Joanna prompted.

“The usual stuff.” Baldwin’s gaze veered off to the left. “Dice and things hid under glasses, coloured
handkerchiefs up my sleeve. I made an egg disappear out of my hand and come back in her ear, Alice’s Magic Mirror …” His voice tailed off. His upper lip was beaded with sweat. He gave a long blink and when he opened his eyes Joanna read fright.

“Look at it from my point of view, Inspector,” Baldwin pleaded. “How could I have known? Look at it this way. If it hadn’t ‘ave been for you I’d have got back to her and that child would have been all right. It isn’t just me that’s guilty. You play some part too.”

“But you put her in the box.”

“She asked me.”

“And then you found her dead.”

“The mirror was meant for birds,” he said again. “Not for little girls.”

“And you buried her.”

“It seemed right. It seemed proper. I couldn’t leave her there.”

“What about her clothes? You stripped her.”

“They had blood on them. I couldn’t bury her like that. Her face. She’d been hurt. He’d hurt her. Like he went for me. There was blood on her leg and on her socks. Even her pants. Even her vest.”

“You washed them.”

“I thought her mum would want them back. But not with …”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because, Inspector Piercy.” For one brief moment he was the one in command, drawing himself up and meeting her eyes without fear, “because I believed you’d have arrested me. And the evidence would have followed. I didn’t trust you any more than I trusted Mr Huke.”

The dart hit home. Joanna held her breath.

She didn’t trust herself either.

And now she must concentrate on her own problems.

It was almost midnight when she let herself through the front door of Waterfall Cottage. The house was ablaze with every light on. Matthew was sitting in the sitting room, a few letters scattered across the pine table. He looked up she walked in. Waited until she’d sat down before they both spoke simultaneously.

“It was an accident,” she said wearily. “An accident waiting to happen.”

His green eyes were fixed on her. He cleared his throat. She knew he wanted to speak but began first. “I can hardly bear to imagine the last twenty-four hours - or the entire life - of that child. She was being so cruelly treated by Huke, and Carly allowed it to happen without lifting a finger to protect her daughter. Maybe that’s the bit I find hardest.”

Matthew made as though to speak then pressed his lips together again.

She pressed on. “Baldwin was kind, I think. And she believed he could hide her from Huke. Through magic. Making her invisible. Who knows.” She ran her fingers through her hair. Matthew still waited.

“She missed Baldwin that day. And ran to the farm where the dog gave her a welcome,” she said wryly. “So she ran again. Huke picked her up. And being Huke, thinking she was being naughty, he ‘punished’ her. So she ran again. And found Baldwin. He was probably genuinely moved by her plight. He was crying when he described how her clothes were blood-stained.”

“I thought the forensics on the car was clear.”

“She probably was sitting on the cloth she was found with. So she hid. And died. Frightened, alone.”

Suddenly she burst into tears and put her head on Matthew’s lap.

He knew there was more.

He waited for her to lift her head.

Then he must have read something - God knows what - in her face.

And waited.

“I’m pregnant.”

His face was alight with joy for one brief second. Before he read properly the expression on her face.

Then he stared at her. When he spoke his voice was hard and hostile. “You’re not glad, are you?”

She could not lie. She shook her head.

“In fact,” some edge crept into his tone, “you’re not pleased at all to be carrying our baby.”

She winced at the phrase, ‘our baby’ but she’d always known it would end like this. “It’s a mistake,” she said harshly. “An awful accident. A nasty trick of nature. It’s not a baby yet, Matthew. It’s just a few cells. I think I puked up the pill. After the christening. Bloody Sarah and her vol-au-vents,” she finished viciously.

Matthew stood up, the letters scattering across the floor. “And bloody me,” he said, “for making love to you.”

She sat with her back against the sofa, hugging her knees, knowing whatever she said he would sense a lie.

There was nothing she could say to rescue the situation. It was beyond redemption. She was beyond redemption.

Matthew towered over her. “Well done you,” he said bitterly, “for solving your case.”

She didn’t know where she could look to escape the accusation, the dislike, in his face.

Even if she didn’t look his voice was saturated with it. Coldness. Detachment.

She hugged her knees harder and rocked to and fro. Unable to find the right words. Any words.

Unlike Matthew.

“I’m a bit mystified, Jo, as to what you expect me to do now. Are you seriously suggesting you have an abortion to which I agree?”

“I never wanted a baby,” she said.

“Hang on a minute, Jo.” His eyes were gleaming with anger. “What exactly
are
you saying?”

She stared at him. Having formed the words the act seemed too enormous.

Matthew sat back in the armchair and said nothing.

She had said it all.

For two days the subject lay like an iceberg between them. Then three nights later he brought home a takeaway and when they had eaten and parcelled up the papers he broached the subject again, sitting on the opposite side of the room, on the sofa, while she sat, bolt upright and alert in the armchair.

His eyes fixed on his fingers fiddling with the stem of his wineglass. “I can’t persuade you to go ahead with something which feels so very wrong for you,” he said, sounding every inch the kindly, understanding doctor. “I’ve been a medic long enough, Jo, to know that nature is nature and I’ve always known you would not welcome a family.”

She tried to explain. “Matthew - to have a child would mean the end of my lifestyle, my career. My life.” She could hear the panic making her voice shrill. “I can’t do it. It wouldn’t be me.”

“No.” He smiled. Still the same, kindly, detached smile.
“You’re right. It wouldn’t. You’re Joanna Piercy, Detective Inspector, and that’s why I feel you have to make your own decision. In law,” he continued, “you have that right. It would be very hard - if not impossible - to compel you to go through with the pregnancy. Try and force you to love a child you never wanted in the first place.” His eyes flickered away from the wineglass, searching the room for something else to fix on. He found it with a deep sigh, the picture of himself holding Eloise, the baby. “In a way,” he said, “this makes something easier.”

“What easier?”

He was staring at the picture as though seeing something he had never seen before. She felt her frustration rising. Look at me. Not her.

“I haven’t known what to do. I didn’t want to leave you. But I was tempted.”

“To do what?”

He didn’t answer her question. Not immediately. The room was silent while she waited.

“And then I thought - well - Joanna’s work comes first, last, and all through the middle. Like the resort on a stick of rock. So why not mine? If this was
her
opportunity she would pursue it.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was drained of all confidence.

At last he looked at her. “Us, Joanna. What’s been the point of all this? My divorce - why did I bother? You’re never going to marry me. You wouldn’t commit. You and Eloise skirt round each other like a couple of wrestlers in the ring. You’ve
never
wanted a family. You can’t hide it. You’re not pleased about the baby. My baby.
My
child.
Our
child.” Now he was staring at her.

She tried to retrieve something. Explain her behaviour. “It’s partly a shock reaction.”

Matthew ignored the excuse. “You call it a few cells.”

“That’s what it is now. Not a person.”

His eyes were cold. “It is a person. Partly you. Partly me. And notice I haven’t paid you the insult of asking whether you’re sure you are pregnant. You’re too intelligent. And precise, Inspector. Too aware of points of the law. Like Korpanski.”

She gaped.
What had he got to do with it?

He put the wineglass down and his hands together. Palm to palm. “Well, I have a career opportunity too. I’ve been invited to Washington DC for a month to learn about gunshot wounds. I’ve been toying with the idea - of going, of not going. Thinking a lot about you and me. I have to let them know soon. Tonight I really couldn’t decide what to do so I thought I’d let you. Well, Joanna, you have decided for me. Thank you very much. It’s only for a month. Initially. I plan to go.”

She was stunned. Matthew - who was always there. “But you haven’t even discussed it with me.”

“I don’t need to. I know enough to know that you need some breathing space. To make this decision about our future you should be left alone.”

And she knew enough about him to know he would not change his mind. Matthew could be the most stubborn of men. “When do you go?”

“I was going to go at the end of the month but I think I’ll go out early to do some sightseeing. I have friends over there.”

“Matthew,” she pleaded. “Help me in this. Help me decide. You owe it to me.” Anger was bubbling up inside her.

He shook his head sadly. “Oh no,” he said slowly. “This is a decision you have to make alone, Joanna. If you think I’m going to force you into motherhood and
then stand by and feel guilty every time the child was ‘inconvenient’ or ‘difficult’ you’ve another think coming. You should understand, Jo, I’m in a cleft stick. Between a rock and a hard place. You have to want to be a mother. You have to decide. All by yourself. You already know what my decision would be.”

She protested. “It should be a joint decision.”

He smiled. “For most couples, yes. But we aren’t most couples. We never have been. You’re too strong to be half of a ‘couple’. If I thought you really wanted input in this decision, Jo, I’d be there for you. But knowing you as well as I do I know you must decide alone. And take the consequences.”

He leaned back heavily in the sofa and looked across at her with a sad face. “I just want you to know this, Jo. No man has ever loved a woman more than I love you.”

She took some pleasure in the fact that he was still using the present tense.

“But I’m afraid you may not find it in you to nurture and cherish our child. Jo,” his eyes were losing that terrible coldness, “if this dreadful case has taught you anything, I would have thought it would have taught you of the dangers of bringing a child into this world, as Madeline’s mother did, and failing in that duty to love and defend it all its life. If you can’t do that I don’t think I can love you. You may call our child nothing but a collection of cells, but to me it is an innocent being, formed by love, so much an inherent part of that love that if you destroy it you destroy our love.”

“What are you saying?” Her voice was lost.

He leaned towards her, his face very close. “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

She sank back against the cushion. It felt like the end of the world.

Matthew slipped away a few days later, a taxi calling for him at four am to get him to the airport in time. Joanna heard the door of the spare room open and close, soft footsteps down the stairs, the rasp of a heavy suitcase being pulled across the rush matting in the hall and finally the front door open and shut and the car pull away into the distance.

She lay, staring up at the dark ceiling.

She was alone.

Again.