No Child of Mine (13 page)

‘You know what I’m talking about, I don’t want to have to put it into words.’

Understanding as much as she needed to from that, Alex said, ‘So what evidence do you have to suggest that something’s not right?’

‘I just know. I can see it, feel it, every time I go there.’

‘So you know the child, and the family?’

‘No, I don’t, but I can tell you their name’s Wade and they live at number forty-two North Hill. I’ve seen the
kiddie, and like I said, something’s not right with her. She don’t speak, for one thing, and the mother’s strange. I’ve never seen the father, so I can’t tell you nothing about him, but I think he lives there.’

Though the woman didn’t sound like the kind of anonymous caller who was out to make mischief for an ex-spouse, or neighbour they’d fallen out with, it was never that easy to tell, so Alex said, ‘It would help a lot if you’d give me your name. I realise that ...’

‘It’s not going to happen. People get funny about those what call in social services and I got enough crap going on in my life without adding to it. I just want to know that little girl’s safe, that’s all.’

‘But why exactly do you think she might not be?’ Alex pressed.

‘I told you, it’s just a feeling I get when I go there.’

Waving out to Saffy as she left the office, Alex said, ‘Do you go there often? How well do you actually know the family?’

‘I already said, not at all. I just makes deliveries now and again and that woman what lives there, she’s not normal – or she isn’t in my book, anyway. Listen, I told you all this before when I rang. I spoke to a bloke the last couple of times, he said he’d look into it, but I don’t reckon anything’s happened, that’s why I called the police, but they told me I had to call you.’

The pieces were starting to fall into place now: Ben complaining about an anonymous caller who’d rung up about a kid on North Hill; Ben saying he’d made all the follow-up calls and there was no need to take it any further. Ben describing this woman as a nutter. Though she didn’t sound like a nutter to Alex, maybe she’d said something while talking to Ben to tip him off in that direction. Or something had come to light during his follow-up calls. Hadn’t he said that the father worked at Kesterly Rise Primary? She could easily check, and would, once this call was over. ‘Do you know the little girl’s name?’ she asked the woman.

‘No, I told you, she don’t speak, and the mother never says much either.’

‘Have you ever seen any injuries on the child?’

‘Well, no, not so’s you’d notice, anyway.’

‘Does she look undernourished or uncared for, maybe unwashed, messy hair, dirty clothes, that sort of thing?’

‘No, in that respect she seems quite normal. Maybe she is. I’m just telling you what my gut is telling me. Something’s not right in that house and I reckon it ought to be looked into.’

‘OK. Would you happen to have a telephone number for the family?’

‘As a matter of fact I have, not that they ever answer it.’

After jotting it down, Alex said, ‘And is there a number I can call you on if ...’

‘No, I already said, I don’t want to get involved. Just go and see the girl, prove me wrong if you like, I’d be happier if you did than if you didn’t,’ and the line went dead.

Immediately trying 1471, Alex wasn’t surprised to find that the woman had withheld her number, so turning on the computer she brought up the duty log for the past couple of weeks.

It didn’t take long to find Ben’s notes for both calls, and details of the background checks he’d carried out. From these Alex quickly learned that Ottilie (sweet name) Wade was three and a half years old, and that the family had moved to Kesterly from Northumbria just over a year ago to make a new start after the loss of their son, Jonathan, to an asthma attack.

Ben’s notes went on to detail a phone conversation he’d had with Brian Wade, the deputy head of Kesterly Rise Primary, during which Wade had told him of accusations that had been made against him, back in Northumbria, following his son’s death. An anonymous caller – female – had rung the headmaster of the school where Wade was teaching to warn him that Wade was dangerous, shouldn’t be around children, and that his new baby (presumably Ottilie) was now at risk. The school hadn’t contacted their local social services over this, or the police, the reason being that the caller – according to Mr Wade – was known to be a paranoid schizophrenic. Apparently she’d targeted several other teachers over the years, accusing them of anything
from theft, to child abuse, to attempted murder. In Wade’s case she’d gone a step further in accusing him of killing his own son.

Clicking on to the next page of Ben’s report, Alex read that the schizophrenic woman, whose name she hadn’t yet come across, had apparently managed to track Wade down to Kesterly Rise where he was now employed, and had once again begun her campaign of harassment. ‘Mr Wade is extremely keen for us NOT to contact his wife about this,’ Ben had written, ‘as it’s likely to cause her a great deal of unnecessary distress at a time when she’s finally managing to get over the loss of their son.’

So that would be the reason no one had gone to the house, or tried to speak to the mother. Wade had convinced Ben that he was the victim of a deranged woman, and that his wife was as fragile as an egg.

Sitting back in her chair, Alex let out a long breath as she looked at the child’s name scribbled on a pad beside the computer, and waited for her mind to clear in order to start this over again. The thing that was bothering her the most for the moment was the fact that the woman who’d just rung in had had a local accent. Of course, this didn’t preclude her living in Northumbria, it just didn’t seem all that likely, especially when she made deliveries to the house.

Setting that aside for now, she began going through the database to find out the name of Ottilie Wade’s health visitor. To her surprise, Ottilie’s name brought up no results. (Hadn’t Ben noticed this?) However, the child was registered with a GP in Kesterly South, Dr Timothy Aiden, who Alex didn’t know, but had heard of. After leaving a message with the receptionist for the doctor to call when he’d finished surgery, she dialled the number the anonymous caller had given her for the Wades’ home.

After letting the phone ring for some time she was on the point of hanging up when it stopped. She waited for someone to say hello, but nothing happened, so she said it herself.

There was no response, but she felt certain someone was there. Guessing from the faint sounds of breathing that it was a child, she said, very gently, ‘Is that Ottilie?’

Again no response, but she could still hear the breathing.

‘If that’s Ottilie,’ Alex said, ‘can you go and get your mummy please? I’d like to speak to her.’

More silence, but Alex could sense the child still listening. ‘Ottilie, who’s at home with you?’ she asked, concerned now that the child might be alone.

No reply.

‘Is someone else there? A grown-up?’

At last someone spoke, but the woman’s voice was distant and cross as she said, ‘Ottilie, stop playing with the phone,’ and a moment later there was the clatter of the receiver going down.

Immediately Alex dialled the number again, but this time it was busy, and it stayed that way for the next several minutes, until on the last attempt it simply rang and rang with no one picking up.

Digging out the number of Kesterly Rise Primary, she went through to the office and asked to speak to Brian Wade.

‘Hang on,’ the voice said at the other end, ‘I’ll see if I can find him. Can I ask who’s calling please?’

Alex told her, and propped the phone under her chin to carry on working as she waited.

Brian Wade was in a first-floor classroom, overlooking the playground. He was perched on a small desk with his laptop on the windowsill in front of him showing images of the children below playing. Using the mousepad he zoomed and panned, clicked to capture or record, then moved on.

As a founding member of the exclusive Internet service he and two other like-minded individuals had formed a few years ago, he’d quickly learned the vital techniques of online security. Having a partner who was chief executive of a global enterprise that specialised in identity and access management, virtual copyright protection and video surveillance, obviously helped. This partner regularly advised all new members on how to make their online activities as secure as the most sophisticated software would allow, and ultimately all but untraceable to their identities in the real world.

For the site, each member had a virtual name. Brian’s was Tiger.

As Tiger he was a frequent contributor to his own site. In fact, he had enjoyed some considerable success with the sale of the videos and photographs he had posted. Having such ready access to children put him at an advantage, of course. Even so, it was his submissions of Ottilie that had made his teaser links the most viewed – and the full material the most expensive to download.

She was such a pretty girl, he couldn’t be prouder of her if he tried – and it was no surprise at all that she’d found so many fans.

She’d soon have many more, once he got round to shooting the footage his eager members were waiting for, the footage he’d already titled
Riding the Tiger
. In truth, he wasn’t particularly interested in the money, at least not for himself. All proceeds went into Ottilie’s savings account; after all, it was only right that they should be hers.

Shooting the video of the next time wasn’t going to be easy. However, it would help, he felt sure, if he kept showing her how good other little girls were who made movies with their daddies. It had worked a dream with the photographs; she’d become much more compliant after that, almost competitive he thought, if she were capable of such a feeling at such a tender age. She’d certainly seemed to understand how important it was to be a good girl for Daddy and make him happy. Soon she would learn other ways of winning his favour, and in no time at all he was sure she would become very good at it indeed.

It was a pity these early attempts were making her cry and unsettling her mother, but at least there had been no blood last night, and the bruising and swelling from the first time were already going down. It was true what they said of little girls, they were very spongy at that age, far more malleable – and adaptable – than most would imagine.

Continuing to watch the screen, he felt the jolts of pleasure inside him building towards a feverish pitch. There were so many fresh, uninhibited little souls tearing about the nets and hoops in the playground, swinging from bars and tumbling into tangled heaps, that it was almost too
much to bear. He shut his eyes and allowed himself the indulgence of a blessed few moments. The whistle would sound soon and the children would return inside; before that he needed to secure his computer and avail himself of the staff facilities.

He was on his way back to his office, laptop tucked under his arm, hands still damp from being washed, when the school secretary called out to him.

‘There you are,’ she declared, catching up with him. ‘There’s someone on the line for you. Alex Lake, from social services. She didn’t say what it was about.’

Feeling a prickle of unease grazing over his skin, he quickly reminded himself that it could be about any one of the children at the school, and even if it wasn’t, he simply needed to behave as he had before, with calm and composure, and be in no particular hurry to take the call. Haste could be interpreted as anxiety or worse, panic, and he really didn’t want that. On the other hand, he didn’t want to appear indifferent either. ‘Thank you,’ he said pleasantly to the secretary, ‘could you tell her I’ll call back at the end of the school day?’

He’d probably be too busy by then to remember, and being as frantic as social workers always were these days, she might just forget she’d even asked him to be in touch. Like everyone else, she’d probably be getting ready for her weekend, and given what an exhausting job she had, he could imagine that she was very much looking forward to having a couple of days off.

He had to admit, he was looking forward to it himself.

‘Bugger!’ Alex swore as she looked at her watch. It was already five o’clock, and being POETS day – piss off early tomorrow’s Saturday – she didn’t imagine there’d be much chance of finding the deputy head of Kesterly Rise still at his desk. However, it was always worth trying, and as she punched the number into the phone she began clearing up her desk.

Either the secretary hadn’t passed her message on, or Mr Wade had been too busy (or reluctant) to return her call. While she, being so tied up with other things, had let
the time tick on well past four, when she’d intended to try again if she hadn’t heard anything from him by then.

As the line clicked through to the school’s answering service, she decided not to leave a message and carried on stuffing things into her bag. She needed to get out of here fast now, or she’d end up being the only one left with Wendy, who, irritating person that she was, was refusing to be drawn on the rumours of a merger with the southerly hub and subsequent job losses.

Wouldn’t it be great if Wendy turned out to be one of the twenty to go and Tommy was promoted in her place? Actually, Alex didn’t really want to see anyone out of work, even Wendy, so she was going to hold out for the next best thing, which would be for Wendy to be hauled even higher up the ladder in order to make room for Tommy to become overall manager.

Though there was a rehearsal scheduled for this evening, it wasn’t due to start until eight, so deciding she had time to make a detour over to North Hill, she turned her car in that direction as she left the business park. For some reason it was irking her that Brian Wade hadn’t bothered to ring back, so if it achieved nothing else, an unscheduled drop-in would remind him that even busy men in his position needed to respond to social services. After all, she might not have been calling about his personal issues, which he no doubt felt he’d already adequately dealt with when talking to Ben (though not to her satisfaction, it had to be said). She could have been trying to talk to him about one of his pupils, so for that reason alone he should have found time to pick up the phone.