Ann Cleeves - The Baby-Snatcher

‘When did you start to worry about your mother?’

‘Soon after Dad left to go to the party. Even if she’d left just before I’d got home she should have been back from Heppleburn by then. She’s a fast walker.’

Ramsay gave a brief smile. ‘I know.’

‘I didn’t want to panic or make a fool of myself like last time. I told myself she’d soon be home. I looked to see what she’d taken with her, to try to work out where she might be. Then I knew something was wrong. Her coat was still here and her shopping bag and her purse. She wouldn’t have gone to Heppleburn without them.’

Her face crumpled and Ramsay was afraid she would cry. He felt a stab of anger because she was being put through this anxiety. Parents should be the ones to worry. It was part of the job description. But she hadn’t asked to be responsible for two middle-aged eccentrics whose thoughtlessness had caused this panic.

He gave her a moment to compose herself then asked, ‘Has your mother ever been ill?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Has she ever had any nervous trouble, suffered from stress or depression, anything like that?’

‘No,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Who’s your GP?’

‘Dr Lattimer in Heppleburn.’ She looked up at him and he saw that despite her sheltered life she could be mature and perceptive. ‘You think she’s had a sort of breakdown?’

‘It’s one possibility.’

‘She wouldn’t have committed suicide,’ Marilyn said, and again he was surprised at her ability to follow his train of thought. ‘Absolutely not. She wouldn’t want to leave me alone.’

‘No.’ He saw what she meant. ‘But the breakdown? She did seem rather tense when I came here last September. Did she ever really explain what happened that afternoon?’

‘Not to me.’ It was said too quickly but he didn’t feel it was the time to push her.

They waited for a moment in silence.

‘I’m not doing much good here,’ Ramsay said, ‘but I don’t want to leave you alone. Can we get your aunt to stay with you? I could talk to her employer. Explain. Where does she work?’

‘She’s a nanny to the kids in the Coastguard House. Don’t go up there. They think I’m daft enough already. That’s where Dad was working yesterday and I burst in and made a scene. Claire will be home soon. She’s only gone in for a couple of hours to help clear up after the party. Anyway, I don’t mind being on my own.’

‘Well,’ Ramsay said. ‘If you’re sure…’ She had, after all, been on her own when he found her. ‘Perhaps I’ll have a walk around the Headland. See if your dad’s come back.’

Outside it seemed very cold and the mist was thicker than ever. Ramsay carried on up the track until he arrived at the high, whitewashed wall which surrounded the Coastguard House. To the south a fog-horn belched, marking the mouth of the Tyne.

He called tentatively, ‘Mr Howe,’ then decided that only a maniac would be wandering along the cliff tops in fog. Besides, if Kath Howe’s husband had returned to the Headland he would surely have called home. Ramsay supposed he was still searching the footpaths in the dene.

He walked back between the double row of houses towards the club and the jetty. It was only eleven o’clock but there were lights on in the front rooms. In one a pretty little girl was playing at dressing up. She wore a frilly white garment which might once have been her mother’s night-dress, and twirled round and round so the skirt spun away from her body.

The club was still shut. The door was covered by a grille, the windows by steel shutters. The tide was well on its way in and the gully which had been cut through the rock to let out the coal boats was nearly full.

Four children were playing on the jetty. They were rowdy, foul-mouthed, cocksure. Future customers, he thought. The oldest had probably already been up before the Juvenile Bench and he’d guess they were all on some register or another. They were throwing rocks at a target floating in the water, swearing indiscriminately whether they hit or missed.

Ramsay approached them and shouted. They stopped briefly and looked at him, then continued their game, deciding he was nothing to be scared of.

‘Hey!’ he called again. ‘Come here.’

‘Sod off!’ one of the boys shouted, not taking his eyes off the target. ‘We’re allowed. It’s not private.’

‘I was looking for someone. Mrs Howe. Do you know her?’

They didn’t answer immediately but they did stop throwing stones. They turned and gave him their attention.

‘Why?’

‘I’m a policeman,’ Ramsay said.

‘Na!’ The boy was probably too young for school. ‘ We know the copper round here. PC Whelan. He’s not on duty today though. Weekend off.’

Ramsay thought that crime prevention couldn’t be best served if a gang of bad boys knew the rota of the only local policeman. Then the target the lads had been aiming at drifted into his field of view. A dead animal, he thought at first. Not a dog. Something with long, grey hair floating on the surface like fine seaweed. The position of the animal shifted as it was buffeted by a wave and he saw that it was wearing clothes.

‘Do you know where PC Whelan lives?’ he asked.

‘Heppleburn Village.’ The answer was grudging but they were bored and curious.

‘I suppose that’s too far for you to go on your own.’

‘Don’t be dumb!’ They were scornful.

‘Would you be able to go and fetch him? Tell him that Inspector Ramsay is on the Headland and needs him urgently. If you can remember that.’

It was enough of a dare to send them running across the railway line and up the short cut through the dene. That was all Ramsay wanted. To be rid of them before they realized what was floating in the cut. He used his mobile phone to call Otterbridge Station. He talked to Sally Wedderburn.

‘You’ll set it all up then. I’ll wait here.’

‘Sure.’

‘And get here as soon as you can, Sal. I’m going to need you.’

She was ambitious and he heard her resistance.

‘For an accidental death?’ The child abductions were far more glamorous.

‘For a suspicious death.’ He didn’t want to be on his own when he told Marilyn Howe that her mother was dead.

‘She was dead before she reached the water.’

It was Monday morning. Hunter was so excited that he was almost drooling. He stood at the entrance to Ramsay’s office. In the room beyond a phone was ringing. Members of the public were still calling to report the sighting of a single man with a young boy.

‘How did she die?’ Ramsay hadn’t waited on the jetty to see the body lifted out of the water. He couldn’t bear the idea of the gang of kids or an excited neighbour telling Marilyn that a woman had been found in the cut. Especially if Marilyn were still alone. Later the doctor had refused to commit himself over the phone.

‘She was stabbed. A violent attack, the pathologist said.’

Ramsay wondered briefly how stabbing could be anything other than violent.

In fact when he and Sally had arrived at the house at Cotter’s Row, Bernard Howe was already there. He was sitting at the table in the back room, his hair still wet, his face red and blotchy through coming into the heat from the cold. In front of him was a foil container on a plate and he forked an unappetizing ready-cooked shepherd’s pie into his mouth. There was a recent gravy stain on his sweater. Marilyn opened the door to them and it seemed to Ramsay that she had already prepared herself for bad news. It was Bernard who was shocked. He was the one who couldn’t take it in. He sat with his fork halfway to his mouth while the food dripped on to the oilskin tablecloth.