Ann Cleeves - The Baby-Snatcher

‘If you’re there, Mark, please pickup the phone.’

The barmaid who had seen her speak, but had been unable to hear the words over the music, smiled.

‘A mix up over times, was it?’ she asked, as Emma returned her glass to the bar.

‘That’s right,’ Emma said.

‘Men! What are they like?’

She sat in her car deciding she would give him ten more minutes. When the time was over she considered driving to his house. Despite everything, she felt concerned for him, responsible even. Then she thought that with three kids, not to mention Brian, she did enough of the mothering thing. She didn’t need Mark as well. She switched on the engine and drove back to the Headland and her children, thinking that perhaps she’d had a lucky escape.

The level crossing was down. The train moved so slowly that Marilyn Howe on full power would have been able to overtake it. At last the lights stopped flashing and she pulled away. In Cotter’s Row an old man was washing his car and she had to sound her horn to make him move his bucket from the middle of the road. He seemed oblivious to everything except the shine of the chrome on his Escort.

She had expected Claire and the children still to be inside. Claire was stubborn and Emma wouldn’t have put it past her to find an excuse not to fly the kites. But as she approached the Coastguard House she saw Owen racing across the grass. The kite was in the air behind him, its tails twisting crazily in the wind. She stopped the car and got out to watch.

‘Having a good time?’ she shouted.

He noticed her for the first time, lost his concentration and stumbled. The kite plummeted to the ground. ‘ Brill,’ he said. She pulled him to his feet.

‘Where’s Claire?’

‘She took Helen into the house. She needed changing.’

‘Is David with her?’

‘I suppose so.’

He began to wind the string clumsily round his fist.

‘We’d better go into find them.’ She didn’t really like Owen being beyond the safety of the Coastguard House wall. ‘Did Claire play with you?’

‘Yeah. She’s not as fit as you, though. She got all red and hot and she only had one go.’

‘Perhaps she needs more exercise.’ Emma felt a superior amusement. She did step aerobics twice a week in Otterbridge Church Hall. ‘Hop in and I’ll drive you the last little way.’

Claire was in the kitchen. She was still flushed and slightly out of breath. She was fastening Helen’s dungarees.

‘You’re back early,’ she said, more peeved than grateful for Emma’s arrival.

‘I said I wouldn’t be late.’

Claire looked at Owen. ‘Where’s David?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I asked you to keep an eye on him while I changed Helen.’

Owen was unconcerned. ‘I know, but he came up with you. For a wee.’

‘Get Owen some juice,’ Emma said to Claire. ‘I’ll see to him.’

They had built a downstairs bathroom next to the utility room so the boys could come in from the garden without carrying mud to the rest of the house.

‘David,’ Emma called. ‘What are you doing?’

There was no lock on the door and she pushed it open. The plastic step which David used to reach the toilet was in its place but there was no sign of the boy.

She told herself to stay calm. She shouldn’t overreact. She went back to the kitchen, then shouted his name up the stairs. There was no reply.

‘When did you last see him?’ she demanded of Claire.

‘About ten minutes ago. Helen was grizzling. I could tell she needed changing. I asked the boys to come in with me but they wouldn’t. I warned you I wouldn’t be able to cope with them all outside.’

Emma knelt down. She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke to her son.

‘Are you sure David came into the house?’

‘Not really.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was flying the kite. I was the only one who could really make it work. It went really high. All the string was unwound. I thought David might like to hold it. He could, if I helped him. But when I turned round he wasn’t there so I thought he must have gone in with Claire.’

Emma stood up and took the baby from Claire. She held Helen tight, trying to control her temper. She didn’t want a scene in front of Owen.

‘Go and look for him outside,’ she said tightly. ‘There’s an old man washing his car in Cotter’s Row. He might have seen something. I’ll search in here.’

For a moment Claire didn’t respond. She went to the fridge and poured Owen a glass of juice. She handed it to him.

‘I expect he’s in the house somewhere, hiding,’ she said. ‘I was in the bathroom, changing the baby. I wouldn’t have heard.’

‘All the same. I’d like you to look outside. Now.’ She couldn’t believe that Claire was being so obstructive. ‘ Please.’

‘All right. I’m going.’ Claire stamped out sulkily.

Emma began her search of the house. There was no immediate sign that David had returned there. His coat had not been thrown on the floor. He had not been rooting through the kitchen cupboards for crisps or chocolate. She moved methodically from room to room, praying for an explosion of sound, an upturned chair, a cry of boo. Owen followed her. They walked in silence. Emma opened cupboard doors and looked under beds. When she was convinced David wasn’t in the house she returned to the kitchen. She sat Owen on her lap.

‘Can you remember anything which might help?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice normal, unflurried.

He shook his head and began to cry.

Until now Emma had been able to believe that this was one of the regular scares she inflicted on herself. If she lost sight of Owen for a moment in a supermarket or he was the last to come out of playgroup she convinced herself that some harm had come to him. It had become an automatic anxiety, a superstitious way of warding off danger. Now she knew that the danger was real. When Claire appeared back at the kitchen door Emma looked up at her without hope.

‘You didn’t see him?’

‘No,’ Claire said. ‘No one’s seen him.’

‘I’ll phone the police, then.’ It was a relief to have something to do. She dialled 999. Later she phoned Brian at the office but there was no reply.

The police set up a roadblock just beyond the level crossing. Brian Coulthard saw it on his way home but nobody stopped him. The two officers standing in the sun weren’t interested in cars coming on to the Headland, only those on their way off.

Ramsay sent Sally Wedderburn to wait with Emma Coulthard at the Coastguard House. At first she’d objected.

‘I’ve had nothing to do with the child abductions since I joined the murder team.’

‘Don’t you think this is connected with the murder?’ he asked, as if he were surprised she’d not worked it out for herself. She hadn’t liked to ask what he meant.

Still she’d been reluctant to go. She and Emma Coulthard hadn’t exactly hit it off when they first met and this support role wasn’t really her thing. She wasn’t much good at comforting conversation and endless cups of tea, letting the kids play with her radio and climb all over her lap. All the same she supposed it was an opportunity of a sort.

When she got there Emma Coulthard hardly seemed to recognize her. The woman was sitting on a stool in the kitchen. She was very upright and her face had a hard, sculpted look caused by all the muscles tensing through an effort of will. Sally realized she was afraid that if she relaxed for a minute she’d break down. She had the other children to think of. Sally admired that.

‘Is there any news?’ Her voice was controlled too.

Sally shook her head. ‘Not yet. They’ve put a road block down by the level crossing. They’re stopping all the cars.’