A Question of Despair (18 page)

‘Do you have children, DI Quinn?'
Puh-leese. Not that line.
‘You maybe won't understand this.'
Yep. Same old same old.
‘I loved Karen. We were very close. I held her when she was born, heard her first words, watched her first steps, taught her to read.' An unwitting smile played at his lips. ‘Once I knew Deborah and I couldn't have more children she became – if possible – even more precious. Everything I did, I did for her.'

Sounded pretty self-serving to Sarah. ‘So what went wrong?'

‘My wife didn't like it, she resented the relationship, wanted to keep Karen to herself. Didn't even like her to have friends. She wouldn't let her go anywhere, do anything. It was sad really.'

Sarah pursed her lips, recalled her sympathy for the woman. ‘She loved her too.'

‘It wasn't healthy.'

‘Maybe your wife needed attention.'

‘Like I didn't try? She wouldn't let me near her. Then she started distancing me from Karen.' He rose, walked round the room. ‘I was spending more time away from home by then, building up the business. It was easy for Deborah to plant insidious seeds in Karen's head. And she did. She showered her with presents, bribed her with gifts, and eventually it worked.'

‘Worked?'

‘I couldn't take it any more. I felt like an unwelcome presence in my own home.'

‘So you left?'

He turned, facing her. ‘It didn't happen overnight, inspector. It built up over months.'

‘But not to see her again? Your only child?'

‘I did try early on. But it was too painful. In the end it was easier not to see her at all than go through the agony of partings and recriminations.'

‘Easier for who?'

‘For Karen!' He broke eye contact. ‘OK, for me too. I'm not proud of it. But I've always provided for them. They're my flesh and blood. I know my duties.' Bristling, he retook his seat.

‘And Evie? Have you spent time with her?'

‘Sadly not. I left it too late. I had this crazy idea that Evie would help heal the breach. That becoming a mother would soften Karen's feelings towards me, that she'd let me in to her world again.'

‘Did you try talking to her?'

‘I never quite got round to it.'

She suspected tears glittering in his eyes were for himself as much as the baby he'd never seen. He'd probably never opened up like this in his life, but she wasn't a therapist. And apart from background, it wasn't going anywhere. If he'd had no recent contact with Karen he couldn't bring anything new to the inquiry table. She thanked him for his time, asked for numbers where he could be reached.

Handing her a card, he said, ‘If you see Karen, tell her I asked after her.'

‘You could tell her yourself. She's probably in the building now.'

‘She won't see me, inspector. I know that.' At the door he turned. ‘Are you close to an arrest?'

She shook her head.

‘But you have leads?'

‘Several.'

His eyes lit up. ‘What about a reward? Whatever amount you think best? I'll happily put up.'

‘I don't think that's necessary, Mr Lowe.'

‘If you think again . . . the offer's on the table.'

TWENTY-NINE

S
arah found Karen Lowe in her office slumped alongside Jess Parry. The space stank of cheap perfume that did nothing to disguise the stale tobacco fumes coming off Karen. Sarah walked to the window, opened it wide, took in a couple of deep breaths. Turning, she perched on the sill. ‘I've just seen your father.'

Sullen silence.

Sarah sighed. The girl did herself no favours. She found it hard to believe Karen might have colluded in her baby's kidnap and felt the ordeal of being questioned so soon after Evie's death was asking a lot. But Karen should think herself lucky Baker wasn't in the chair. The old boy didn't do pulled punches. Sarah was happier conducting the interview herself and had opted to carry it out here rather than an interview room to make it less of an ordeal for Karen – it didn't make it any easier for Sarah. She knew she was playing for time because – rare admission – she was unsure how to open the questioning.

‘Did you not hear me, Karen?'

‘Sorry, did you say something?'

Wind-up mode, then. Sarah smiled. ‘He was telling me a little about your childhood.'

The girl opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it. Instead picked at a loose thread on her jeans then leaned down to re-tie already tight laces in Nike trainers; a grey hoodie completed the new look. Sarah wondered why she'd swapped the usual shift dresses for the uniform of the street. If it was an attempt to deflect the public's pointed fingers and whispered asides, she doubted it would work. Thanks to the media, Karen's face was instantly recognizable, even without the customary make-up. Shame she hadn't eschewed the scowl too.

‘He suggested the early years at home were happy.'

‘Really.' Biting a thumbnail.

‘That you and he were close.'

‘Can't remember.'

‘When was the last time you saw him?'

‘Can't remember.'

The indifference bordered on insolence. Her defensiveness was probably a coping mechanism but it made communication with Karen difficult, let alone connection.

Sarah let it go. ‘He asked after you.'

‘Look, what is this?' Snarling. Eyes flashing. ‘I'm not here to talk about him. You want to question me about Evie. That's why you brought me in, isn't it? Why the fuck don't you get on with it?'

Jess shifted in her seat, clearly uneasy with the acrimonious exchange. Sarah walked to the desk, picked up the phone. ‘DC Harries. My office please.'

‘What's that about?' Karen asked.

‘I want another officer present.' She sat down, reached for a slim file.

‘I can't believe I'm hearing this. You think I had something to do with it, don't you?' Karen leaned across the desk, her face inches from Sarah's. Shrugging off Jess's restraining arm, she yelled, ‘Well, don't you? Answer me you stuck-up bitch.'

‘Sit down.' Firm, calm. Sarah felt her pulse take a hike. Karen flopped back on the chair, spittle in the corners of her mouth. Sarah shoved a box of tissues across the desk. ‘I don't know who killed your baby, Karen. It's my job to find out. And I'll do whatever it takes.'

A tap at the door, Harries popped his head round. ‘DI Quinn. Miss Lowe.' It was Jess's cue to leave.

‘Where you going, Jess?' Plaintive.

‘I'll just be downstairs.'

‘Why can't she stay? I want her with me.'

‘That's not possible.'

‘Are you charging me?'

‘You're not under arrest. But if you want a lawyer . . .'

‘No, sooner I leave this shithole the better.'

Sarah placed a copy of the kidnapper's note in front of Karen:
Ask the mother
. ‘Why did he write that?'

Arms folded. ‘How the hell should I know?'

‘The implication is you know something about the kidnap.'

Rapid foot tapping. ‘Well, I don't. End of.'

Sarah leaned forward. ‘I have to ask, Karen. Were you involved in any way with Evie's abduction?'

‘What sort of stupid question's that?' Tossing hair over her shoulder.

The only theory Baker had come up with that made even the vaguest sense was that Karen and an accomplice had planned to sell the baby, split the proceeds. Little wonder Sarah was hesitating. It was a hell of a suggestion to make.

Playing a pen between her fingers, she said, ‘There are people out there who'll go to any lengths to get a child, pay any amount of money.'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You don't think?' Almost a whisper. The incredulity morphed in a heartbeat into blind rage. Launching herself out of the chair, she took a swing at Sarah. Harries grabbed the girl's arm, gently lowered her back in the seat. ‘Evie's dead for Christ's sake. Can't you understand? I'd never have harmed her. Not in a million years.'

Probably not. Deliberately, or directly. Sarah laid Todd Mellor's photograph next to the note. ‘Do you know this man?'

‘No.'

‘Look at it please, Karen.'

She glanced at the picture, sighing. ‘No.' Then picked it up, studied it properly. ‘Is he a suspect?'

Sarah shook her head.

‘Who is it then?'

‘Why did you break up with Michael Slater?'

The change of tack barely threw her. ‘I didn't. He chucked me.'

‘He says you met someone else, moved on.'

‘Yeah, well. He's talking through his bum.'

‘Did you have sex?'

‘What do you think?'

‘What I think isn't important. Is he Evie's father?'

‘Who knows?'

‘We can arrange a paternity test, Miss Lowe.' Obviously Harries was getting brassed off with the girl's attitude as well. He continued in a reasonable, level tone, ‘I can't understand why you're being like this. I'd have thought you'd want to move heaven and earth to help us find Evie's killer.'

‘Finding the killer isn't going to bring her back.' She sank into the chair, defences broken, fight gone. ‘All I know is she's dead.' Eyes brimming with tears. ‘And I've got nothing left to live for.'

THIRTY

‘
C
heers.' Sarah raised her glass, downed a mouthful of Sauvignon. She and Harries had nipped out for a swift one. A debrief in the Queen's Head was as good a place as any, and they'd earned a break. ‘Boy I needed that.' Sank another mouthful.

‘Hard going, isn't she?' Harries made inroads into half a Guinness.

‘Karen Lowe's her own worst enemy.' Sarah grimaced, recalled recent events. ‘Or maybe not.' Glancing round she half-expected to see more cops in the pub, though thinking on, it was half-two, late for lunch, even the working kind. The pub was the squad's local, all low ceilings, subdued lights, dark wood panelling, dimpled brass. The landlord had a collection of copper kettles. Could've been his idea of a joke.

‘Someone's certainly got it in for her.' Harries dipped a chip in a mound of mayonnaise on the side.

‘Probably not Todd Mellor though. D'you think she recognized him?' Sarah didn't; she'd spotted no reaction from Karen. She was eyeing Harries' egg and chips now. Why did she always want what someone else ordered? Her cheese sandwich had lost its appeal.

‘No, but she'll certainly know him again. Gave that mugshot a right going over, didn't she?'

Either way, Sarah reckoned Mellor would have to be released. The search had uncovered nothing further at the bedsit. If they were going to detain the guy, they needed evidence. Not Baker's personal conviction.

‘Well done, by the way, David. Finding the right button to push.' Credit where credit was due. Karen had more or less dropped the bolshie act after Harries' mild censure. The rest of the interview had passed without incident or – more's the pity – enlightenment.

‘Thanks, boss. Shame she didn't come up with anything new though. Think she's holding back?'

‘I did.' Sarah sighed. ‘And now I'm not sure. We might need to bring her in again. Why would she though, David?'

‘Survival instinct? If she knows who the kidnapper is she's probably scared he'll go after her if she opens her mouth.'

‘Not sure she holds life that dear at the moment. What was it she said? With Evie dead she's got nothing to live for?' Sarah shoved the plate to one side. ‘If she has got information, I can't see why she doesn't give it up. Publish and damn – rather than be damned.'

‘Unless she was going for the sympathy vote?'

A file landed with a thwack on the table. ‘Read that, Quinn.' Baker's face was sterner than she'd seen it, his mouth a tight line.

‘Can I get you anything, sir?' Harries was half out of his chair.

‘Some of us are working, lad.' Put in his place, Harries sat back. Not that Baker noticed. His glare was fixed exclusively on Sarah.

‘That's out of line, sir.' Calmly, she reached for the file, damned if she was going to grovel, she rarely took time out for a bite. As for Baker's bark, she was pretty sure it was down to where he'd just come from. Attending post-mortems on adults was arduous enough, seeing a baby's body on the slab was the emotional pits.

‘It's out of this sodding world, Quinn.' He watched as she skimmed the report. Richard Patten's initial findings reflected Adam's thinking on the phone the night before. Closer examination had revealed no signs of violence, excessive or not. The pathologist had gone further, suggesting the red pin pricks could have been caused by a rough blanket or clothing, even someone unwittingly holding the baby too tightly. Hand on hip, toe-tapping, Baker said, ‘We're treating as murder what Patten reckons could be accidental death. Even natural causes. Makes us look a bunch of clowns.'

‘Natural causes?' Harries frowned.

Baker flapped a hand. ‘Fever. Cot death. Christ knows.' Baker was still staring at Sarah. ‘The markings aren't enough to prove she was smothered. There could be any number of explanations, all a damn sight less sinister.'

‘It's not like she died in her own bed, sir,' Sarah said. Unlike Baker, she'd had more time to consider possibilities. And unlike Baker, the findings' impact on police image wasn't something she'd lose sleep over. ‘No one in their right mind's going to dump her like that if they weren't responsible for her death.'