Deadly Revenge E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 464

Beschreibung

A missing child, an absent father, a race against time. When a distraught mother reports her baby's sudden disappearance, taken from her cot in the middle of the night, the finger of suspicion immediately points towards her absent husband. But Detective Geraldine Steel senses that there's more to this case than meets the eye. As the investigation unfolds, a tangled web starts to unravel, exposing hidden secrets within the mother's life. The spotlight falls on her tumultuous relationship with her controlling father, a controversial figure in the political arena. With each passing moment, the hunt to find the missing infant becomes more urgent and increasingly perplexing. Detective Steel is left with no choice but to cast suspicion upon everyone connected to the family. But just as the truth seems within reach, a shocking discovery turns the case into a dangerous game of Deadly Revenge. Prepare for heart-stopping twists and a race against time as Geraldine Steel navigates a maze of deception and betrayal. As the body count rises, she must unravel the truth before more lives are lost. Deadly Revenge is a gripping and suspenseful thriller that will leave you breathless. Leigh Russell's masterful storytelling will captivate fans of Angela Marsons, Mel Sherratt, and Karin Slaughter.

Leseprobe

Contents

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

Glossary of acronyms

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

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25

26

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31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

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42

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44

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46

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48

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50

51

52

53

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55

56

Acknowledgements

Landmarks

Cover

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR LEIGH RUSSELL

‘A million readers can’t be wrong! Loyal fans of Geraldine Steel will be thrilled with this latest compelling story from Leigh Russell. New readers will discover a terrific crime series to get their teeth into. Clear some time in your day, sit back and enjoy a bloody good read’ – Howard Linskey

‘Taut and compelling’ – Peter James

‘Leigh Russell is one to watch’ – Lee Child

‘Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural’ – Marcel Berlins, Times

‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’ – Jeffery Deaver

‘Death Rope is another cracking addition to the series which has just left me wanting to read more’ – Jen Med’s Book Reviews

‘The story keeps you guessing until the end. I would highly recommend this series’ – A Crime Reader’s Blog

‘A great plot that keeps you guessing right until the very end, some subtle subplots, brilliant characters both old and new and as ever a completely gripping read’ – Life of Crime

‘Russell at her very best and Steel crying out to be turned into a TV series’ – The Mole, Our Book Reviews Online

‘This is an absorbing and compelling serial killer read that explores the mind and motive of a killer, and how the police work to track down that killer’ – Jo Worgan, Brew & Books Review

‘An absolute delight’ – The Literary Shed

‘I simply couldn’t put it down’ – Shell Baker, Chelle’s Book Reviews

‘Highly engaging’ – Jacob Collins, Hooked From Page One

‘If you love a good action-packed crime novel, full of complex characters and unexpected twists this is one for you’ – Rachel Emms, Chillers, Killers and Thrillers

‘I chased the pages in love with the narrative and style… You have all you need within Class Murder for the perfect crime story’ – Francesca Wright, Cesca Lizzie Reads

‘All the things a mystery should be, intriguing, enthralling, tense and utterly absorbing’ – Best Crime Books

‘A series that can rival other major crime writers out there…’ – Best Books to Read

‘Sharp, intelligent and well plotted’ – Crime Fiction Lover

‘Another corker of a book from Leigh Russell… Russell’s talent for writing top-quality crime fiction just keeps on growing…’ – Euro Crime

‘A definite must read for crime thriller fans everywhere’ – Newbooks Magazine

‘For lovers of crime fiction this is a brilliant, not-to-be missed, novel’ – Fiction Is Stranger Than Fact

‘An innovative and refreshing take on the psychological thriller’ – Books Plus Food

‘Russell’s strength as a writer is her ability to portray believable characters’ – Crime Squad

‘A well-written, well-plotted crime novel with fantastic pace and lots of intrigue’ – Bookersatz

‘An encounter that will take readers into the darkest recesses of the human psyche’ – Crime Time

‘Well written and chock full of surprises, this hard-hitting, edge-of-the-seat instalment is yet another treat… Geraldine Steel looks set to become a household name. Highly recommended’ – Euro Crime

‘Good, old-fashioned, heart-hammering police thriller… a no-frills delivery of pure excitement’ –SAGA Magazine

‘Cut Short is not a comfortable read, but it is a compelling and important one. Highly recommended’ – Mystery Women

‘A gritty and totally addictive novel’ – New York Journal of Books

To Michael, Jo, Phillipa, Phil, Rian, and Kezia

With my love

Glossary of acronyms

DCI – Detective Chief Inspector (senior officer on case)

DI – Detective Inspector

DS – Detective Sergeant

SOCO – scene of crime officer (collects forensic evidence at scene)

PM – Post Mortem or Autopsy (examination of dead body to establish cause of death)

CCTV – Closed Circuit Television (security cameras)

VIIDO – Visual Images, Identification and Detections Office

MIT – Murder Investigation Team

Prologue

‘A lot of men would have given up on you a long time ago, the way you carry on,’ he told her. ‘You don’t appreciate how lucky you are.’

‘Lucky?’ she retorted before she could stop herself.

She bit her tongue and lowered her gaze, but it was too late.

‘It’s all just one big game to you, isn’t it?’ he replied, his voice rising as his anger escalated. ‘You like to see how far you can go before I snap. What about my feelings? You don’t care about me, do you? Do you? Answer me, you stupid bitch.’

She shook her head, struggling to control her trembling. He had that effect on her. However hard she tried to hide her fear, he could see it in the craven drooping of her head, and the way her legs shook.

‘Take your clothes off,’ he commanded, stepping back to watch her as she stripped.

He sat on the bed and waited until she was naked. She could feel his eyes crawling over her skin, from the top of her head to her bony feet, lingering on the small mounds of her breasts and the darkness between her thighs. She clutched her shoulders, hiding her breasts behind her crossed forearms.

‘Drop your arms,’ he snarled.

‘I’m cold,’ she whimpered.

‘Did you hear me?’ he demanded. ‘I want to see the whole of your body, not just your scrawny arms.’

Shaking violently now, she let her arms fall to her sides. He pounced like a panther then, teeth bared in a grin as the soft flesh of her belly gave way beneath his weight, and she cried out in pain.

‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ he hissed, his breath hot against her ear.

‘What did I do?’ she whimpered. ‘What did I do?’

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere far away.

When he had finished, he strode away leaving her sprawled on the bed. She waited until the door closed behind him before bursting into tears. For now, all she could do was suffer. He had drawn all the strength out of her, and now even the sound of his breathing in bed beside her at night was enough to shatter her will. But one day she would summon the strength to resist him. She made that promise to herself. Only when she was out at the shops, or walking along the street, did her terror abate. She never felt safe inside the house.

1

Geraldine wasn’t currently involved in a murder investigation, where her position as a detective sergeant working in serious crime often placed her. There was still plenty for her to do, like questioning a young delinquent who had threatened an elderly man with a knife. Geraldine adopted a friendly tone. The boy was less likely to talk freely if he felt intimidated. He looked several years younger than his nineteen years, was articulate, and seemed intelligent enough to know what he was doing. After questioning him for some time, Geraldine finally worked out that his victim had berated the youngster for spraying graffiti.

‘He was bang out of order calling the cops on me. I got every right to express myself.’

‘By threatening a stranger with a knife? How is that expressing yourself?’

‘I know my rights,’ the youngster insisted.

Geraldine dropped her relaxed approach and spoke severely. ‘Everyone has the right to walk along the street without being attacked.’

‘But he wasn’t just walking along the street. He was interfering with my right to express myself.’

‘Your right to express yourself doesn’t stretch to vandalising property and threatening to stab someone, and your victim wasn’t trying to suppress your right to free speech,’ Geraldine said. ‘He was protecting his property from your graffiti.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with free speech,’ the youth persisted. ‘I should be able to say whatever I want to anyone I like.’

‘You know perfectly well that you’re missing the point,’ Geraldine said.

‘But how else am I going to get them to listen?’ the youth burst out angrily.

‘Who?’

He shrugged. ‘I dunno. The government, the council, everyone in power. They don’t do anything to help us.’ He leaned forward. ‘My mother and her boyfriend threw me out on the street the day I turned sixteen and left me to fend for myself. I’d be dead now if a homeless shelter hadn’t taken me in and given me somewhere to stay. And now the council want to cut their funding.’ He was nearly in tears. ‘The council are the ones who should be arrested, not victims of their cutbacks like me.’

That evening, over supper, Geraldine discussed her day with her boyfriend and senior officer, Ian.

‘Are you defending what he did?’ Ian asked.

‘Of course not. But no one should find themselves homeless in a civilised society.’

‘Granted he didn’t have much of a start in life, but he’s hardly helping himself, is he? Sooner or later he’s going to end up in the nick, no matter how much help is thrown at him. Some people are too damaged to become functional adults.’

‘So we just wash our hands of them and lock them up?’ Geraldine replied angrily.

Ian shrugged. ‘Of course that’s not what anyone would want. All I’m saying is that there’s nothing we can do. We’re not social workers, Geraldine, and our job is to keep our streets safe so people can walk around without fear of being attacked. This boy threatened an old man with a knife. Members of the public should be able to feel safe anywhere, not just in their own homes.’

Geraldine sighed. Ian was right when he said there was nothing the police could do about the young man’s situation but pass him on to overstretched social services. It was a pity the council were cutting their funding for homeless shelters.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Ian grumbled later that evening, returning from the bathroom, a bottle of aftershave in his hand.

Geraldine looked at him, hiding her dismay behind a smile.

‘What is?’

‘This.’ He gesticulated, waving the bottle in front of his face.

‘What’s wrong with it? Haven’t you always used it?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my aftershave. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m complaining about living in two places at once. I can never remember where anything is. Now this bottle’s empty and I’ve not got any more here.’

Geraldine smiled. ‘I’m sure you can manage for today.’

‘For today?’ he repeated quizzically. ‘What about tomorrow? Or are you throwing me out?’

Geraldine frowned. She had been in love with her colleague, Ian, for years without disclosing her feelings. Now that Ian and his wife were finally getting divorced, and he had revealed that he reciprocated Geraldine’s feelings, he had begun spending the night at her flat. There was nothing stopping him from moving in with her, other than her reluctance to share her private space. She had not lived with anyone else since her early twenties, and was not sure how she would cope with having him there all the time.

‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ she replied. ‘I couldn’t throw you out.’

Ian tossed his empty bottle on to the bed and raised his hands, his fists clenched in an exaggerated boxing pose.

‘I’d like to see you try.’ He glared at her from beneath his lowered brows.

Geraldine laughed and he grunted in response.

‘What does that inarticulate noise mean?’ she demanded.

‘It means: “Do I really have to go through the motions of telling you how wonderful this all is, and how you are the most beautiful woman in the world, and I’m the luckiest man in the world to be here with you,” and so on and so on. I went through all that bullshit with my wife and look where that got me. You know how I feel about you, and if you don’t then you’re not the brilliant, intelligent, sensitive woman I’m in love with, and this is all a mistake.’

He leaned over and kissed her on the nose and she laughed.

‘I’ll settle for that,’ she said.

‘What? A peck on the nose?’

‘For you saying you’re in love with me.’

They smiled at one another, a comfortable, affectionate smile.

‘All I’m saying is that living like this in two places is driving me nuts,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, the parking is terrible.’

It was true; he was rarely able to park close by. Geraldine had a reserved space in the underground car park beneath the block of flats where she lived, but Ian had to cruise around looking for a space on the street, and it wasn’t always easy to find one. She felt guilty about refusing to drive him to the police station where they both worked, he as a detective inspector, she as a detective sergeant, but she wasn’t ready to announce their relationship to their colleagues. Not yet. She was still wondering whether it was unfair of her to insist they keep their relationship a secret when she left for work the next morning. But at least Ian had his own flat to go to. Her thoughts strayed to the young man who had been thrown out by his mother, and was now losing his place in a homeless shelter thanks to council cutbacks.

2

She recoiled, shocked into silence.

‘Well?’ he demanded, taking a step towards her, his fists clenched but not yet raised. ‘Well?’

On his lips the innocuous word sounded charged with malevolent power, forcing her to edge away until she felt the wall pressing against her back.

‘Well? Have you lost your tongue, you stupid bitch?’

‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘You didn’t mean, you didn’t mean,’ he sneered.

His fists rose and she winced, waiting for him to hit her. Instead, he spat in her face with such violence she felt the impact of the saliva as it struck her cheek, warm for an instant, then cooling as it dribbled down her face towards her jaw bone. She didn’t dare move.

‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘How long are you going to stand there staring at me like an idiot?’

She shook her head. Her tears mingled with his saliva as her trembling fingers reached up to wipe her cheek.

‘I won’t do it again, I promise. I didn’t think it would matter… I thought you wouldn’t mind – I should have asked you – I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Once she began, she couldn’t stop babbling. ‘I won’t see her again without asking you first, I promise. It won’t happen again. I should have asked you first…’

‘You’re not to speak to that witch again. Not for any reason. I won’t have it, do you hear me? I won’t have it.’

His voice rose as he lowered his fists and she breathed more easily. She tried to explain that she felt sorry for his mother, but he interrupted her.

‘I won’t have you listening to her lies, spreading her poison about me, behind my back. If she’s all on her own, she’s no one to blame but herself. I won’t have you drawn into her toxic games. You’re my wife. My wife! She drove my first wife away with her filthy lies. She’s not going to do the same to you.’

‘She never breathed a word against you – I wouldn’t have let her –it’s not like that…’

‘I’ve said all there is to say on the subject. If she calls here again, hang up. I won’t have you talking to her. Not a word. As soon as you hear her voice, hang up. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, yes, I understand. I understand. I was wrong. I’m sorry.’

They both knew that she would never have capitulated so readily if he hadn’t threatened her with his fists. He glared at her and she lowered her eyes, terrified of infuriating him even more while he was in such a temper. He must have moved silently because a moment later she heard the door close and looking up saw that she was alone in the room. Her legs buckled beneath her and she slumped to the floor, sobbing quietly.

With hindsight it was easy to see that she should have recognised the signs earlier, but the abuse had begun very gradually. Of course it had. Unless the victim was crazy, or a masochist, that must be how it always started, because no normal person would deliberately court pain. It had begun with the odd pinch, an occasional slap on the arm, nothing serious. He had been too circumspect to let himself go until he was confident of her collusion. She still found it hard to believe how easily she had allowed him to deceive her, but to begin with he had been relentlessly charming. He still could be, although the mask slipped more often the longer they were together. It maddened her to remember that she had been over the moon when he had asked her to marry him. For a while everything had seemed perfect – until the first time he had hit her.

After that, her life had been a sickening rollercoaster of pain and emotional torment. She had learned to recognise the threats: the heightened colour in his face, his sweaty forehead and flared nostrils, and the wild glare in his eyes, but sometimes she noticed these warnings too late to escape his punches. After a violent outburst he would treat her so kindly, it made her yearn for him. She wondered if it was his way of showing he felt contrite, because he never apologised for hurting her. To do so would have been an admission of his guilt. The really stupid part of it was that she had seen that kind of domination before; she, of all people, should have known better. For a while she had refused to acknowledge what was happening. Only when her mother had commented on her bruised wrist had she been forced to admit the truth to herself.

Even then she had done her best to shrug off her realisation. ‘Jason doesn’t know his own strength.’ Her words had sounded hollow to her own ears while she thought, ‘Oh my God, is it really possible that I’ve married a violent man?’

Her mother had given her a curious look and Jessica had let out a braying laugh, so loud it sounded forced. It had taken her another year to recognise that she was not only miserable, she was actually at risk, but by then it was too late for her to walk away. She was trapped.

‘That’s my baby you’re carrying,’ he said to her, ‘yours and mine. There’s no way you’re taking him away from me.’

Jason made it quite clear what he would do to her if she tried to leave him. On the few occasions she attempted to remonstrate with him, he lost his temper, although he never once hit her while she was pregnant with Daisy. In a way that made her feel worse than before, knowing that he could control his violent outbursts when he chose. In any case, it made no difference by then, because physical violence was only one of the methods he used to intimidate and control her. He had subtle ways to break her will, and she had learned to become complicit in tolerating his abuse.

What made the situation more difficult was that she had to conceal her injuries. In one of his fits of rage, he had clouted her so hard on the side of her head that the hearing in one of her ears was impaired. She dared not go to the doctor about it for fear they would discover the cause of her partial deafness. Of course she could have claimed she had fallen over, but somehow lying like that seemed complicated. And whatever happened, she couldn’t risk Jason finding out she had spoken about her injuries to a third party.

‘If you tell anyone,’ he had whispered in her undamaged ear, ‘I’ll make sure you never see Daisy again.’

With every small concession to his will, she surrendered a little more of her freedom, and lost another shred of her self-respect, until she no longer had the power to resist his bullying. Looking back, she could hardly believe how readily she had come to tolerate his domination, yet the truth was it had all come about so slowly she had scarcely noticed it happening. And now it was too late to leave him and start again. Life, with all its potential and its opportunities, had slipped from her grasp while she had been looking elsewhere. And still she could not leave him. Where would she go? Brought up by an overbearing father, she had never learned to fend for herself. The last thing she wanted to do was go crawling back to her parents. They had warned her that her marriage wouldn’t end well.

‘There’ll be tears before bedtime, you mark my words,’ her father had told her.

He had been too blinkered to realise that his opposition to her marriage only made her more determined to be Jason’s wife. In any case, she hadn’t wanted to stay and witness her parents’ tormented relationship any more than they wanted her there to see it. And then the baby had come along, and that changed everything. Although Jessica’s love for her baby was overwhelming, Daisy wasn’t exactly company. Jessica talked to her, but Daisy only cried and gurgled. Watching her lying in her cot, curling and spreading her tiny fingers in the air, Jessica wondered how she was going to protect her daughter from Jason. Since the birth he had become unapproachable, and she had learned it was best to avoid trying to start a conversation with him. Any communication other than his animal grunting in bed ended in an argument, and the likelihood of violence. Jessica’s only other adult human contact, apart from her parents, was with the health visitor, who encouraged Jessica to visit the local children’s centre.

Although she said she would definitely go along, Jessica rarely went out, existing in a state of exhaustion in a strange silent world punctuated only by the baby’s cries and brief exchanges with a cashier when she went to the supermarket. She could have been living on the moon with only a small dumb alien for company. But as long as Jason didn’t hit her, she was content to keep her head lowered and carry on. One day the baby would be old enough to talk, and they would become friends. Considering the future, Jessica resolved to make sure Jason never lifted his hand against their daughter.

‘I’ll kill him before I let him touch you,’ she whispered to the gurgling baby as she stroked the downy hair on her head. ‘I promise you, I’ll kill him.’

3

The mood in the room was volatile. Feeling threatened by the angry muttering, Anne watched her husband glare around at the assembled crowd. Balding and well built, his customary air of confidence had been torpedoed by the level of hostility he faced. Every time he wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve she winced, knowing he had been taken by surprise on seeing how many people had turned up for the council consultation meeting. The closure of a small library hardly warranted much fuss, yet the local community had turned out in force.

A tall man who had grumbled loudly all through David’s speech called out again. ‘Why can’t you be honest with us? The council could keep this library open if they wanted to. You’re just choosing to close it because you don’t give a toss about the needs of disadvantaged people.’

A small group of people standing with him mumbled their agreement.

‘This is just a cost-cutting exercise, isn’t it?’ the tall man went on in an unpleasantly nasal voice.

David raised a plump white hand for silence. ‘Unfortunately, you’ve hit the nail on the head, sir,’ he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Like everyone else, we’re having to cut costs.’

While David was speaking, the tall man leaned down to speak to a ginger-haired man beside him.

‘How much did it cost to produce this glossy questionnaire?’ the ginger-haired man shouted out, sounding excited.

The tall man flapped the brochure above his head and raised his voice. ‘Every question in this extravagantly produced leaflet is pushing us to provide evidence that the library is underused. There’s no space for comments, just a load of tick boxes which are all geared in one direction. Look at the last one: how would you feel if this branch library closed? And now look at the options we’re given: pleased, indifferent, or disappointed.’ He turned back to the councillor. ‘Why isn’t there an option to express outrage, which is what most of us are feeling right now? “Disappointed” doesn’t come anywhere near describing it. Disappointed?’ He let out a snort of derision. ‘We’re bloody livid!’

‘You all know that libraries up and down the length and breadth of the country are facing closure,’ David replied, wiping his brow on his shirt cuff. ‘Some people feel strongly enough about the closures to keep the facilities open as community libraries, run by volunteers, and there’s nothing to stop you from taking over this library and running it yourselves.’

‘While all the trained and experienced librarians who curate the stock are put out to grass,’ one of the librarians commented sourly.

‘And there won’t be any funding for purchasing new books,’ another librarian added. ‘Community libraries survive on volunteers to run them and books donated by readers.’

Anne listened with growing disquiet as local residents heckled her husband. Ranging from children to the elderly, all appeared passionate about keeping their library open.

‘I’m afraid these are the times we live in,’ David said, looking around with a bland smile. ‘I assure you I share your dismay and deeply regret that this is necessary.’

‘Oh, it’s “necessary”, is it? And you “share our dismay”? How very decent of you,’ the tall man retorted with a sneer.

Anne shuddered. These people were fuming about the threatened closure of their local library, and even she had to admit that David was behaving like a smarmy bureaucrat. His protestations of sympathy fooled no one.

‘Stop avoiding the issue!’ his tall antagonist countered. ‘You’re the people who are making this happen. You can pretend you’re helpless to prevent it, but we all know you’re the leader of the council. You have the power to keep this library open if you want to, along with all the other libraries in the borough. You have the funds; you’re just not releasing them.’

‘There are other priorities –’ David began.

‘Like your council dinners and your glossy brochures,’ the tall man replied, brandishing the questionnaire in the air again.

As a murmur of support for the complainant rumbled around the room, a small boy raised his hand.

‘If the library closes, what will happen to all the books?’ he asked, peering earnestly at David.

‘And where will Miss take us to get our library books?’ another pupil demanded shrilly. ‘We can’t get library books if there isn’t a library.’

‘We come here once a month, in term time,’ their teacher explained. ‘It’s a very important outing for the children. And a lot of our parents bring the children here for the story-time sessions in the summer.’

‘Who’s going to organise that if we have no librarians?’ someone else asked.

David nodded and forced a smile. ‘It’s admirable that you want to encourage children to visit the library. No one would want you to stop doing that, and you have the full support of the council in what you are doing. There are other libraries that would welcome your visits.’

‘Not within walking distance of the school,’ the teacher replied testily.

‘You won’t be the only school in York that doesn’t enjoy the luxury of having a public library near enough to walk to,’ David pointed out.

‘Which is surely a reason for opening more branch libraries,’ the tall man called out, with a note of triumph in his voice. ‘It’s hardly an argument for closing the ones we have.’

A lot of people began shouting their agreement, and the librarian who was chairing the meeting stepped forward.

‘We can’t all talk at once,’ she said, ‘or Mr Armstrong won’t be able to answer any of our questions.’

‘He’s not answering them when he can hear them,’ the tall man pointed out. ‘All he’s done is blame “the times”, and tell us this isn’t the only library that’s closing. He knows perfectly well he has no reason to close this library, none at all. It’s a shabby policy from an incompetent council, and we need to stop them before they do any more damage to our community.’

The listening audience cheered this statement. A few people stamped their feet. Anne had been nervously watching the tall man who was so strident in his attacks on her husband. She recognised him from other such meetings. With a long, thin nose and sunken cheeks, his eyes burned with a zeal that made him look positively evil, like a villain in a James Bond film.

‘I’m not here to listen to political haranguing,’ David announced. ‘But in any case, I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got time for. Thank you all for coming along today and making your views known. If you’d like to hand your completed questionnaires to the librarian before you leave, she’ll make sure they are delivered to the council offices and I assure you that all of your views will be taken into account when we reach a decision about the future of this library, along with all the other branch libraries currently under threat of closure. Rest assured, we pay close attention to the wishes of each and every one of you, but you must appreciate that the libraries can’t all remain open.’

‘No, we don’t appreciate that,’ the tall man shouted out angrily. ‘And no one here accepts your lies. This whole meeting has been a sham. You didn’t come here to listen to us; you’re just ticking the box so you can say the local community has been “consulted”. This wasn’t a consultation. It was a meeting to announce your decision.’

David picked up his coat and swept out of the room without deigning to respond, while the librarian trotted anxiously at his side, talking breathlessly. Anne hurried after them, buttoning up her coat as she walked.

‘And we really hope you will reconsider,’ she overheard the librarian saying as David left the building. ‘You’ve seen for yourself how strongly the local community feels about the proposed closure.’

Anne caught up with her husband in the car park. As they reached David’s black BMW, the tall man who had been so obstreperous at the meeting charged up to them, a couple of middle-aged women and his younger ginger-haired companion at his heels.

‘This isn’t over!’ he yelled at David, shaking his fist in the air. ‘If you think we’re going to take all your cutbacks lying down, you couldn’t be more wrong. You’ll see! You’re going to be sorry you ever tried to close this library! You think you’re going to get away with it, but you’re going to see how wrong you are. Someone’s going to call a halt to your interventions before it’s too late. You just wait and see. One way or another you’re going to be stopped before you do any more damage.’

He turned to his followers, still protesting loudly about what David and his Tory council were doing to the area.

Urging Anne to hurry, David climbed into the car. ‘I’ve heard enough of this nonsense,’ he muttered as he turned the key in the ignition.

‘They’re just passionate about the library,’ she replied nervously.

David scowled. ‘Repeat your defence of those scurrilous troublemakers when we get home and you’ll be the one who’s sorry.’

Anne shrank back against her seat and lowered her head, making herself as small as possible. She knew from experience that her husband was not a man to tolerate opposition.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean to question your decision. I know you must have very good reasons for what you’re doing. You always do. Those people just don’t understand the extent of your responsibilities. They’re only thinking about their own local interests, and you have the whole area to look after.’

Even as she spoke she despised herself for caving in, but she had no strong feelings about the proposed closure of a branch library and was anxious to placate her husband.

‘I’m sure you know best,’ she went on. ‘It’s only one library. There are plenty of others. And like you said, they can run it themselves if they’re so concerned to keep their library open. There are enough of them who seem interested in keeping it going.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ he snapped. ‘I’m sick and tired of talking about bloody libraries.’

4

On her way to the shops one morning Jessica spotted a sign pinned on a notice board outside a local church:

Parent and baby drop-in session with toys and tea in a welcoming, safe environment. Come in and chat to other parents every Tuesday 11am-1pm.

Although not a churchgoer, she went in, driven by loneliness and drawn by the promise of ‘safety’. A group of young women were seated together, seemingly all talking at once, their shrill chatter amplified by the dusty wooden floor and painted walls. Used to sitting at home with no one but a baby for company, Jessica was overwhelmed by the noise. She hesitated on the threshold, and was about to turn and leave when she noticed a thin blonde girl sitting apart from the rest of the women. Taking a deep breath, Jessica went and sat next to her, and the other girl looked up. Her greasy hair was dyed blonde, the roots dark against her pallid skin. She looked scraggy and she had a spotty face, her pimples poorly masked by cheap concealer that was too dark for her pale complexion. As she gazed at Jessica, her blue eyes softened in a smile. They both had young babies.

‘I wondered if Lily was too young for something like this,’ the other girl said, nodding towards her baby so that untidy wisps of hair flapped around her face. ‘It’s my first time here.’ She looked down at her bony fingers fidgeting in her lap.

‘Mine too. I’m not sure it’s my kind of thing.’

They were both silent for a moment and then the blonde girl looked up again.

‘My name’s Ella.’

She seemed anxious to be friendly, and Jessica had the impression that she too was unused to adult company.

‘I’m Jessica. And I know what you mean. It seems a bit cliquey, doesn’t it? It’s like they’re all ignoring us.’

‘I know. The sign said “welcome”, but you’re the only person here who seems to have noticed me. Until you turned up, I was just sitting here wondering how soon I could leave.’

Jessica glanced round at the group of chatting mothers who still all appeared to be talking at once. It didn’t look as though any of them would have noticed, let alone cared, if Ella stood up and scuttled out of the room. Jessica turned back to smile at her nervous companion.

‘Not exactly friendly, are they?’

Neither of them admitted they had gone there because they were lonely, but they recognised that unspoken need in one another. After a few minutes, her new acquaintance smiled at something Jessica said, and she felt her mood lift. No one had smiled freely at her like that in a very long time. Jason never smiled at all, and her mother’s expression was always tinged with anxiety. Even the health visitor was only doing her job, focusing on Daisy with brisk efficiency, paying scant attention to Jessica herself. She made only the most perfunctory enquiries about her, readily accepting Jessica’s assertions that she was fine without any question.

In the course of a stilted conversation, Jessica discovered that Ella was only nineteen, five years younger than her, and Lily was just a week older than Daisy.

‘I might come back next week if you’re going to be here,’ Ella said after they had sat in silence for a while, and Jessica felt an unexpected surge of happiness. She could not recall the last time anyone had expressed anything like pleasure in her company. She mentioned her husband, and Ella said she lived alone.

‘Apart from Lily, that is,’ she added with a shy smile.

‘What about her father?’

Ella shrugged. ‘Oh, he pissed off as soon as Lily was born. He wasn’t interested in her, or me.’

‘But he must still support you?’

Ella shook her head. ‘No chance. You’ve no idea what an evil bastard he was. I’m better off without him, even though I’m skint. It’s not easy trying to care for a baby with no money.’

Jessica gazed at Ella’s baby, noticing for the first time how puny and lethargic she looked compared to Daisy.

‘That’s wrong,’ she said. ‘You ought to chase him for child support, for Lily’s sake. He has a duty to pay maintenance. He can’t just walk away from his responsibilities.’

Despite her indignation, Jessica felt a twinge of envy on hearing about Ella’s untrammelled status.

‘You don’t understand,’ Ella muttered. ‘He’s not my husband. We weren’t married.’

‘That’s beside the point,’ Jessica said. ‘He’s still Lily’s father. She’s his child too, and he has a duty to pay towards her upkeep. You shouldn’t let him get away with it. The law is on your side. Go and see him and insist he helps you.’

‘I might try and chase him if I knew where he was, but he’d be more likely to kill me than part with any money,’ Ella replied, with an angry snort. ‘And anyway, it’s none of your business.’

Reluctant to antagonise her new friend, Jessica let the matter drop. Ella was right in saying it was not her business and even though she knew her advice was sound, Ella was clearly unwilling to follow it. Jessica smiled sadly. They had more in common than Ella realised, despite the difference in their circumstances. Jason was an evil bastard too. She fervently wished there was a way she could get rid of him. If she could have been certain he would never find her, she wouldn’t have hesitated to pack a bag, walk out and not look back. She would have gone anywhere to keep Daisy safe. But she was terrified of making the situation worse if she tried to run away. And in any case, with no money of her own and no friends, there was nowhere for her to go to be free of him. She did not want to end up penniless on the street, starving, with a baby as spindly as Lily.

She left the parent and baby drop-in session early, despite Ella’s request that she stay, and hurried home. Jason was at work, but occasionally he appeared in the middle of the day, purportedly to join her for lunch. She knew he was checking up on her. Before going home, she dashed into the corner shop and bought a few pieces of fruit and a bottle of milk, and filled another bag with nappies, although she had plenty. If Jason had come home, she had her excuse lined up for having gone out. He was not there, and he did not return until the evening, and she spent the afternoon comparing her own situation with that of the woman she had met for the first time that morning, the woman who was poor but free. Given the chance, she would swap places with Ella, whatever hardship she might have to endure as a result. At least she would be free of fear.

5

Geraldine frowned enquiringly at the constable. ‘And how is that my job, all of a sudden? I do have a workload of my own to get through.’

As a detective sergeant it was true there was always plenty for Geraldine to do, but nothing on her desk was currently urgent.

‘Please, Sarge,’ the constable wheedled, pressing his palms together in mock supplication. There was an edge of desperation behind the comical gesture. ‘I’m convinced that nothing short of your magic touch will be able to get any sense out of her, if there is any sense to be had.’

‘Oh, all right, I’ll speak to her.’ With a sigh, Geraldine stood up. ‘It’s not like I’m that busy right now, to be honest.’

She knew the constable had approached her for help not only because she was an experienced detective sergeant, but because she had a reputation for dealing effectively with hysterical women. It was not a reputation she relished.

‘I don’t know why he assumes I’ll be able to persuade her to talk,’ she muttered to Ariadne, the sergeant who sat opposite her.

‘It’s because you’re always so calm,’ Ariadne replied. ‘You make other people feel calm.’

‘Huh! I don’t know about that.’

‘Look how calm I am now that I know you’re going to deal with this, and I don’t have to worry about it,’ Ariadne grinned.

‘Wish me luck.’

Geraldine thought about Ariadne’s comment as she made her way to the interview room. Ariadne had spoken lightly, yet there was an element of truth in what she said. Geraldine had always regarded most of the people she met as moody and emotional. On reflection, she wondered whether she should look at things from a different perspective, and consider that she herself might be unusually phlegmatic. Certainly she had never regarded herself as especially placid by nature, yet she supposed she must be. It had taken a chance remark by a colleague to reveal that aspect of her own character to her. She had always assumed it was her training as a detective that had helped her to remain outwardly composed regardless of circumstances, but she now realised that it was in her nature to control her emotions. At forty years of age, it seemed she still didn’t know herself very well.

‘She’s distraught, Sarge,’ a female constable murmured as Geraldine entered the small interview room. ‘We can’t get any sense out of her.’

‘OK, leave her to me,’ Geraldine replied quietly. ‘Perhaps you could bring us some tea?’

The woman they were discussing was sobbing loudly. Thick shoulder-length blonde hair hung down like a veil, concealing one side of her face completely, and the other side was mostly hidden by a large white handkerchief. Geraldine spoke softly to her, and after a moment the woman blew her nose rather loudly, lowered the handkerchief and pushed her hair back off her flushed face. Her lips trembled as she gazed at Geraldine with frightened eyes, her make-up smudged and moist. Despite her strained expression, Geraldine could see she was beautiful, with large blue eyes, a small straight nose, slightly turned up at the end, and high cheekbones. If her looks hadn’t been marred by crying, she would have been exquisite.

‘I’m sorry,’ the blonde woman stammered, ‘it’s just that –’ she hiccuped, and then said in a rush, ‘my baby’s gone’. Emitting the final word in a low wail, she hid her face in her handkerchief again and sobbed.

Geraldine felt a stab of fear, but she kept her countenance steady as she responded, careful to divest her voice of any emotion.

‘You need to stop crying so you can help us to find him,’ she said briskly. ‘Please, pull yourself together. We can’t help you if you don’t give us any information.’

Her suspicion that sympathy would only prompt the woman to cry more seemed justified when, with a few loud sniffs, the woman put away her handkerchief and looked up.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Right, now, how old is the missing infant?’

‘She’s six months,’ the woman stammered.

‘And where did you last see her?’

‘I put her in her cot yesterday at about seven, as usual, and when I went in to her this morning, she was gone.’

Geraldine nodded. She had expected to hear that the baby had been asleep in her pram in the park, or at the shops, that the mother had turned away for only a few seconds, and in that short space of time a stranger had run off with the baby. Someone who had stolen the baby away from her home ought to be easier to trace. She relaxed slightly, while the mother hid her face in her handkerchief once more and wept.

‘Now, you need to tell me exactly what happened,’ Geraldine said firmly. ‘Let’s start with your name.’

‘Jessica Colman.’

The constable brought in a cup of tea and Jessica sipped it gratefully.

‘I’m sorry if it isn’t very hot,’ Geraldine apologised with a slight smile, maintaining her attempt to normalise the conversation, despite the circumstances that had brought Jessica to the police station. ‘Now, tell me everything that happened, and please be as detailed as you can.’

Jessica explained how she had woken up late that morning. ‘Usually Daisy wakes me really early. She’s a good sleeper but she’s only six months old.’ A tear slid down her cheek, but she retained enough self-control to continue cogently. ‘This morning I didn’t wake up till half past nine and she wasn’t crying, which was odd, but at the time I was pleased because it meant she was still asleep and not calling out to be fed. But when I went in to check on her, she wasn’t there.’

Jessica dropped her head in her hands and began to cry again. Through her sobs, Geraldine made out a few words: ‘disappeared’ and ‘so little’.

‘So she wasn’t in her cot?’ Geraldine repeated.

‘No. It was empty.’

Gradually Geraldine learned that Daisy was Jessica’s first baby. Her husband, Jason, was the baby’s father and the only other person living in the house.

‘My mother has a spare key,’ Jessica said in answer to a question about who else had access to the house.

‘And have you spoken to your husband and your mother?’

‘No. I came straight here. Jason’s away. He’s on a stag do this weekend.’

‘A stag do? Where is he? Can you call him?’

‘I don’t know where he is.’

‘Where does he work?’

Jessica mentioned the name of an estate agent in York. Geraldine sent the constable to contact his office to see if anyone there knew where he was, but all they could tell the police was that he had booked that Friday and Saturday off work and was due back early in the week. Meanwhile, Geraldine continued to question Jessica.

‘All I know is that he went away with a group of friends. I think they might have gone to Amsterdam but I’m not sure. He did tell me,’ she added quickly, as though realising her ignorance of her husband’s whereabouts might strike Geraldine as strange. ‘It’s just that, I don’t know, I’m in such a state, I don’t know what’s going on. My father’s David Armstrong, leader of the local council,’ she added, as though she thought that might be important.

Geraldine had heard of David Armstrong, a controversial councillor who was forcing through unpopular cutbacks in local services. He had been the subject of several virulent attacks in the local press for closing libraries and threatening the survival of a local school.

‘A lot of people hate him,’ Jessica said, her eyes wide with fear. ‘You don’t think…’ She broke off, unable to complete her sentence.

‘I doubt if the disappearance of your baby has anything to do with your father’s activities. Most people probably don’t know about your connection with him. The likelihood is that your husband has taken the baby and left her with someone. Does he have family living nearby?’

‘No. He doesn’t see his mother or his brother and his father’s dead.’

Geraldine spoke gently. ‘Jessica, I suggest you go home and wait there while we speak to your husband and your mother. You’re sure no one else had a key to your house?’

Jessica nodded. ‘I’m sure,’ she whispered. ‘No one.’

‘Well, you can go home now and leave this to us, and don’t worry. It’s unlikely anything has happened to your baby if only your husband and your mother could have had access to her. I expect we’ll find her very soon. This is probably all a misunderstanding.’

Geraldine spoke reassuringly, but Jessica’s account troubled her. The obvious explanation for the baby’s disappearance was that her father or grandmother had taken her out, and had not wanted to wake her sleeping mother. But if that was the case, they would surely have had the sense to leave a note, or at least have called Jessica by now. They must have realised she would worry. And Jessica not contacting her husband also struck her as slightly odd. Jason must have a mobile phone with him, even if Jessica wasn’t sure where he was, which in itself seemed strange, given they had a six-month-old baby. It was almost as though Jessica was keen to involve the police before approaching her family.

‘She’s probably annoyed with her husband or her mother for taking the baby out of the house without asking her permission, or at least informing her,’ Ian suggested, when Geraldine arrived home that evening and told him about the interview.

‘To be fair, there’s no way anyone should have removed the baby from the house like that without letting her mother know,’ she agreed. ‘It’s a cruel thing to do. But what I don’t understand is why she didn’t at least try to contact her family before coming to report the baby missing.’

Ian frowned. ‘If you ask me, the mother’s deliberately creating a fuss to make them feel guilty.’

‘That’s harsh,’ Geraldine replied. ‘But in any case, let’s hope you’re right and she’s panicking unnecessarily, and her baby will be found with the father or grandmother.’

‘And now, let’s forget about work and focus on what you’re going to make for my dinner tonight,’ Ian said, grinning.

‘I hadn’t thought about it.’

‘Well, why don’t you leave it to me?’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘I just need to pop out for a few things and then I’ll make you an unforgettable curry.’

‘Is it a threat or a promise?’

Geraldine sat on the sofa in her living room, and not long afterwards the front door closed and she heard Ian humming to himself in the kitchen. He brought her in a large glass of red wine.

‘All these years I’ve known you, and I had no idea you could make a curry,’ she said.

He smiled at her. ‘Bev was never happy to spend time in the kitchen unless we had guests,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why really, because when she did cook, when we had her friends or family over, she did a good job of it. But she never wanted to bother when it was just the two of us. So it was a case of necessity, really. If I wasn’t going to starve, and we weren’t going to cripple ourselves financially by eating out every night, which is what she would have preferred, one of us had to learn to cook, and she made it clear it wasn’t going to be her.’

‘Poor you.’

He shrugged. ‘On the contrary, I discovered I enjoy cooking.’

‘It’s a good way to relax and take your mind off things,’ she agreed.

‘Yes. And if it works, you get a decent meal out of it, which doesn’t happen with meditation. So she did me a favour, really.’

‘She certainly did me a favour,’ Geraldine grinned. ‘I don’t know exactly what you’re concocting in there, but it smells wonderful.’

Ian went back to the kitchen where she could hear him chopping and frying and, she suspected, experimenting. She loved Ian and he was happy and, for one evening at least, nothing else seemed to matter.

6

Anne and David Armstrong lived in a large detached house on the outskirts of the city, towards Driffield. Anne came to the door. Slim and middle-aged, she was expensively dressed in a cashmere sweater and pearls, and her short, fair hair was neatly cut. She looked faintly puzzled as Geraldine introduced herself, and smiled politely without inviting her into the house.

‘I take it this is about my husband? Did he ask you to call here? I know he’s had some problems recently with political extremists. It’s an unpleasant fuss over nothing, and it’s high time you put a stop to it.’

Quietly Geraldine explained that her visit had nothing to do with David. ‘But I am here in my professional capacity. Is there somewhere we can talk?’

‘What’s this about?’

‘Your daughter came to see us.’

‘My daughter?’ Anne echoed faintly, her air of slightly righteous outrage fading. ‘Has something happened to her? Is she all right?’

‘Your daughter is fine, but she’s very upset. Is there somewhere more comfortable we can talk?’

‘I’m sure this must be a mistake,’ Anne said. ‘Jessica would have come to me if there was anything wrong.’

Still remonstrating, she led Geraldine into a small study at the back of the house.

‘Do you know where your son-in-law is?’ Geraldine asked as soon as they were sitting down.

Anne scowled. ‘I might have known he would be at the bottom of this. What’s he gone and done? If he’s got himself in hot water, I’m afraid he’s going to have to face the consequences himself. My husband and I are not going to shoulder the responsibility for any trouble he’s got himself mixed up in.’

‘Jessica told us he’s away this weekend at a stag party, possibly in Amsterdam.’

She hesitated before adding that Jason had lied to his wife. A quick passport check had indicated that he had not left the country, and his car had been discovered abandoned not far outside the city. Wherever he had gone, he had not wanted to be followed.

‘So what you’re telling me is that he was off enjoying himself with his friends for the weekend, and he didn’t want Jessica to know where he was because he didn’t want to be interrupted at his stag party. I’m sorry to say this, Sergeant, but what you’re telling me doesn’t surprise me. Our son-in-law is a selfish man.’