Ann Cleeves - The Baby-Snatcher

‘Did you think you’d talk him into it? There’s plenty of time, after all. You’re very young.’

‘I wasn’t sure.’ She looked up bleakly. ‘He can be stubborn when he wants to be. And he’s not so young.’

‘But you thought that with Kath out of the way there’d be more chance he’d change his mind?’

She nodded enthusiastically and they realized again that she was hardly more than a child herself. ‘I thought he’d see how well I’m running the house. How cosy and cheerful everything is. And he’d see that if I can manage to hold everything together when I’m working, a baby wouldn’t need to get in the way.’

‘He didn’t see it like that though, did he, Claire? Bernard wants you all to himself. He doesn’t understand how important it is to you to have children. How can he?’

‘I tried to make him understand!’ she cried. ‘I arranged for us to be on our own this evening so we could discuss it, but he wouldn’t listen.’

‘What a terrible waste!’ Ramsay said. ‘After you’d made the plans. Bernard will never know what you went through, what courage it must have taken. You knew Kath didn’t go to Otterbridge. You said you needed to talk to her about Bernard and arranged to meet her at the jetty at lunchtime. No one could see you in all the sleet and the rain but still it must have taken some nerve. To stab her, push her into the water. Throw the knife after her then walk back to the house as if nothing had happened. Poor Claire. You killed your sister and it was all for nothing.’

But while he was speaking he knew it couldn’t have happened that way. Because at lunchtime the tide was out and he couldn’t believe a body could lie, unnoticed, on the shore all afternoon.

She looked at him, open-mouthed.

‘Or did it happen later?’ he asked. ‘ You slipped out of the Coastguard House while the party was in full swing and killed her then.’

‘No,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I didn’t kill Kath. How could you think that? I lost my father and my mother. She was the only relation I had left.’

He regarded her gently, with pity.

‘Then it was Bernard,’ he said. ‘Bernard killed her. For you. And that’s why you didn’t tell us about your affair.’

‘No,’ she said again, more firmly. She had quite regained her composure. ‘Neither of us killed her. And there’s no way that you’ll be able to prove that we did.’

Without asking his permission she stood up and walked out. The exam was over.

Ramsay had come in his own car, which he had parked in the alley at the back of the houses to avoid the impression of a police raid. Bernard showed him out through the kitchen door into the yard. The others had left already. Ramsay switched on his torch to light his way through the debris. There was an old tin bath with a pile of clothes pegs lying in the bottom, a wheelie bin and a ceramic tub which looked as if it had been newly planted with seedlings. Perhaps Claire was trying to extend her civilizing influence to the yard as well as the house.

As the torch beam flashed past the shed which had once been the outside lavatory, he saw that the door was closed with a heavy padlock. What did Bernard own that was of sufficient value to be locked away? His bike, but that was still propped against the wall in the corridor inside. He thought again that he had grounds for a thorough search of the house and the yard, but imagined the effect on the family of a team ripping the place apart and put off the decision again.

A splintered wooden gate led from the yard to the alley beyond. Ramsay stood there for a moment and looked through the uncurtained window into the house. Bernard and Claire stood in the kitchen facing each other. She put her hands on his shoulders. He pulled her awkwardly towards him so her head rested on the pink and lilac sweater. He stroked her hair.

Ramsay was moved by this sentimental gesture, then thought his sergeant would think him a sentimental fool. Although Bernard Howe’s domestic situation obviously fascinated Hunter, he would sneer at it. How could anyone take that relationship seriously? Ramsay imagined that the information was already being passed on to the other members of the team. ‘He had a bloody harem I tell you, the paunchy fat bastard. Two women and one of them young enough to be his daughter.’ He’d try to keep the envy from his voice but he’d probably not manage it.

He felt a voyeur, that by standing there, looking in, he was sharing Hunter’s salacious interest in the family. He unhooked the latch and moved into the alley. From his car he could see up the Headland to the Coastguard House, lit by a security light, gleaming white through the greyness and the drizzle. A beacon, he thought. Metaphorically at least. What most of the families in Cotter’s Row aspired to. A BMW in the garage. A machine to wash dishes. A nanny to mind the children. Comfort and security. Wasn’t that why so many people played the lottery every week?

He had climbed into the car and begun the slow drive down the narrow alley when it came to him that the situations between the Coulthards at the top of the hill and the Howes at the bottom might be very similar. Bernard had managed his compliant ménage à trois without disturbance or conscience. Why should Emma Coulthard not be doing the same thing? He had assumed that if she were sleeping with Mark Taverner she would want to keep the fact secret from her husband. But the two men were friends. Friends who shared everything. Perhaps they were sharing Emma too.

It was Friday night. At the club Les had hired a stripper and for once the place was full. There were cars parked all along the jetty. When Emma left the house to fetch a bucket of logs she could hear the music, a thumping insistent bass.

Kim Houghton could hear the music even inside the house. It taunted her. A night at the club wasn’t her idea of a thrilling evening, but it was better than staying in on her own. She’d asked Claire if she’d like to babysit but Claire had refused. Which was pretty snotty of her, considering the fiasco which had happened during the week. Kim had almost said to her, ‘Hey lady, I think you owe me an evening. At the very least. How do you think I felt being dragged out of the club by two police officers? In front of all those people?’

But Kim hadn’t said that. You could never tell how Claire would react and if she’d decided to take offence, Kim could have lost a regular sitter. And a cheap one.

She was tempted to wait until Kirsty was asleep and go out anyway. Kirsty hardly ever woke up once you put her to bed and even if she did she was a sensible kid. She wouldn’t do anything silly or make a fuss. The club was only just down the road, so she could pop back every hour or two to check everything was OK. Once she got there she was bound to meet someone she knew. Some bloke who’d buy her a few drinks for the pleasure of her company.

Then she thought she’d better not risk it in case the cops were still lurking on the Headland.

There wasn’t any police presence on the Headland that night. Ramsay had sent the team home.

‘We could all do with some time away from the case,’ he’d said. ‘Put it in perspective. Come back with some fresh ideas.’

Hunter thought it wasn’t perspective they needed but proof. Evidence. He was quite clear in his own mind that Bernie Howe and Claire Irvine had worked together to kill Kath Howe, had plotted it in advance. He understood Ramsay’s caution. Blow your nose at the wrong time and the CPS would refuse to take a case, but that didn’t mean the pair weren’t guilty.

He left his car at home and walked to his local. His mam was still out with the girls from her work. Fridays they stopped for a pizza and a few glasses of Spanish wine on their way home. She’d be back later to cook his supper.