No Child of Mine (57 page)

Alex couldn’t think about that, she just couldn’t.

She wanted to imagine Ottilie safely asleep with no awareness of all the terrible things that had happened to her. She wanted her to feel sure that she would go to nursery tomorrow. She wanted her to have all the right kind of love in her life.

As Alex got into her car she vaguely registered the sound of an email dropping into her phone shortly followed by another. It was Sunday, so they could wait until she got home, or even until tomorrow. So reversing out of her space she turned in the direction of North Hill.

This wasn’t really on her way home, but for some reason she was feeling the need to drive past the Wades. She wished Ottilie could know that she was close by and that she was doing everything she could to make her safe. It wasn’t enough though, was it? How much more neglect and abuse would that sweet little soul have to suffer before all the official channels had been gone through and her father had been proved a liar – before she, Alex, had the right to take her out of there? The answer should have been none at all, but it wasn’t the answer she could give.

She had no idea what she was expecting to find when she got to the Wades; she wasn’t even sure she was expecting anything at all, apart, perhaps, from a little glimpse of Ottilie’s face at the window. What never entered her mind, even for a moment, was that she’d find every light in the house blazing. Something else she’d never seen at the Wades before was a silver Renault. It was coming out of the drive and turning down the hill, so perhaps it was simply someone who’d lost his way and used the open gate to turn round. It was too dark to see who was behind the wheel, but she felt sure it was a man.

Pulling into the drive, she got out of the car, and on reaching the front door she felt another bolt of unease to find it open. She stepped gingerly into the hall and called out, ‘Hello? Is anyone here?’

As her voice faded into the silence she moved along to the sitting room. The squeal of the hinge grazed her nerves
as she pushed the door open. With her heart in her mouth she peered inside.

Finding the room empty, she turned back to the hall and called out again. ‘Mrs Wade? Ottilie, are you here?’

Still no reply.

‘Oh God,’ she murmured to herself. Something awful had happened, she just knew it.

Pushing herself on, she reached the kitchen and paused on the threshold. The back door was open and rocking gently back and forth in the breeze. It felt so eerie that she almost baulked at going any further. However, she wasn’t giving up until she’d found Ottilie, and it seemed someone was outside in the shed, because there was a large yellow light glowing under the trees.

Going past the kitchen table she stepped out of the door and moved quietly across the garden. She could see the back of Brian Wade’s head now, at a level that told her he must be sitting down. If he had Ottilie in there and was doing things to her ... The surge of violence that charged through her spurred her recklessly on. She was at the window now. There was no glass; if she reached out a hand she could almost touch him. If he turned around he’d see her straight away, but he was too absorbed in whatever he was doing on the computer to register that he was no longer alone.

She looked quickly around the shed’s interior, and felt a moment’s relief to find no sign of Ottilie. She must be somewhere in the house, with her mother, or in her room. Why hadn’t she shown herself when Alex had called her name?

Perhaps her TV was on.

Alex hadn’t heard one, but maybe the door was closed.

Going back to the kitchen, she stepped inside and was about to make for the hall when she caught something at the corner of her eye. She looked down, and realising what it was she gave a gasp of pure horror.

Blood. A thick dark pool of it, seeping across the tiles from behind the table.

Starting to shake she took a step towards it, and then another. Suddenly she was sobbing with shock. Erica Wade
was slumped on her back, glassy eyes wide open and a knife jutting from between her ribs.

Choking back the bile that rushed to her mouth, Alex tore out to the hall. ‘Ottilie,’ she gasped as she raced up the stairs. ‘Ottilie!
OTTILIE
!’

Chapter Twenty-Four

MAGGIE FENN WAS
standing beside the table in her kitchen, eyes fixed on the TV screen where live pictures were being broadcast from outside Alex Lake’s home in the village of Mulgrove.

‘... the social worker in the case of missing Ottilie Wade,’ the reporter was saying, ‘is expected back here at her home any minute now. She’s been at police headquarters again today, helping police with their inquiries, but so far there is still no sign of the little girl at the heart of the investigation. Naturally, three days into the search, the authorities are gravely concerned for her safety. As we saw earlier there’s a forensic team currently at the Wades’ home in Kesterly-on-Sea ... In fact, I’m being told that we can go over there now ...’

The picture switched to a shot of the sombre house on North Hill whose lower floors were clad in white tents, a bit like stiff petticoats, with a small number of police officers and blue-overalled forensics coming and going. ‘Larry, what’s happening over there at the moment?’ the reporter asked.

Another voice began explaining as his face came into the edge of shot. ‘It’s very tense here at the moment, Andy,’ he announced, keeping his voice low. ‘As we know, all the activity is taking place at the back of the house, which for obvious reasons we’re unable to gain access to ... I think we can probably go to a helicopter shot ... Yes, we can ...’

At that point an overhead view of the Wades’ back garden came on to the screen, though there wasn’t much to see since a tent had been erected over most of it. ‘The small
building there to the left of the screen,’ the reporter continued, ‘is believed to be the shed, or studio, where Brian Wade allegedly carried out most of his atrocities.’

Maggie’s hand was pressed tightly to her mouth.

Sophie, thinking of Alex and remembering her kindness, was sitting at the table in front of Maggie, every bit as riveted – and horrified and fearful for what the police were going to find in the shallow grave they were apparently in the process of uncovering.

‘Do we know where Alex is at the moment?’ Anthony, Maggie’s brother asked, as he joined them.

‘They showed her being taken into the police station again about an hour ago,’ Maggie answered, ‘but they said just now that she’s on her way home.’

‘Still no word from her?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘I’ve left so many messages ...’ She broke off as the reporter said, ‘We’re just getting word through that a discovery has been made in the garden ...’

‘Oh my God,’ Maggie murmured, not sure she wanted to hear any more. ‘That poor, poor little girl.’

From the studio the presenter said, ‘Larry, are you able to confirm what has been found?’

‘Not yet, Erin, but as you can see, there’s a lot of activity now ... We’re being asked to push back even further and at least half a dozen or more detectives have just gone in.’

‘No, no, no,’ Maggie muttered, knowing that probably half the nation was sharing her dread. ‘Don’t let it be her, please, please don’t let it be her.’

As Anthony slipped an arm around her the reporter said, ‘The coroner’s already here, at the scene, which more or less confirms they’ve been expecting the worst. It’s going to be a sad day for everyone if that little girl does turn out to be in the grave we suspect was dug by her father.’

‘Do we know where Brian Wade is now?’ the presenter asked over a static shot of the front of the house, where a small clutch of uniformed officers were keeping the press at bay.

‘I believe he’s still at Dean Valley Police Headquarters here in Kesterly,’ came the reply. ‘As we know he was charged on Monday with the murder of his wife, Erica,
and remanded in custody following his appearance yesterday at the magistrates’ court. Ordinarily he would have then been transported to the nearest high-security prison, but with the search for Ottilie still ongoing ... One minute, Erin, something seems to be happening ...’

The camera zoomed in tighter on the house as Detective Chief Inspector Terence Gould came out of the front door to speak to the press liaison officer.

‘It would appear that some sort of statement is about to be made,’ the reporter declared. ‘Yes, I’m getting confirmation of that now. DCI Gould, who’s leading this investigation, will be making an announcement in the next few minutes.’

‘Larry, do we know if Brian Wade has been brought back to the house at all, since his arrest?’ the presenter asked.

‘No, I don’t believe he has.’

‘And no charges have yet been made against him concerning the disappearance of his daughter?’

‘Not about the disappearance, but as we know several charges have been brought under the Sexual Offences Act as a result of information that came to light the day his wife’s body was found at the house. We’re also told that several more arrests are imminent in various parts of the country apparently directly related to this information.’

‘Do we have any details yet on what the information is?’

‘Only that it came in email form and that it suggests the existence of a nationwide paedophile ring of which Brian Wade is believed to be a member. There are rumours, and I have to stress that they are only rumours at this stage, that there was some footage contained in those emails showing pupils from Kesterly Rise Primary School at play. This is where Wade was deputy headmaster. Naturally, the parents and pupils of the school are being spoken to by police and counsellors. However, I’m told that no abuse was taking place in this footage.’

‘And what about Ottilie? Is she shown at all in this footage?’

‘We’ve been told that she is, and that the images are extremely graphic. The police have given no more detail than that.’

‘It’s probably the kind of detail most of us would rather never have to hear,’ the presenter commented, grimly.

‘I think that goes without saying ... OK, it looks as though DCI Gould is ready to speak.’

The shot abruptly switched to show a large, grey-haired man in his early fifties with shrewd, close-set eyes, pugnacious cheekbones and a voice that conveyed assured authority. ‘I can tell you, with a mixture of regret and relief,’ he began, ‘that what we have unearthed here today is a quantity of what appears to be wilfully damaged computer and photographic equipment. This means that our search for Ottilie Wade continues, both here at these premises and in various further locations around the region.’

‘What can you tell us about the driver of the silver Renault that was seen leaving the house on Sunday night?’ someone shouted.

‘We’re still hoping someone will come forward,’ Gould replied.

‘Is it true,’ another voice shouted, ‘that the social worker involved in Ottilie’s case has been suspended from duty?’

‘Yes, I believe she has, but it’s a matter for social services, not the police.’

‘You are questioning her though?’

‘Of course, and she is being most helpful. Now, if you’ll excuse me ...’ And ignoring the barrage of questions that crowded in after him, he followed the liaison officer back inside the house and closed the door.

Maggie heaved a tremulous sigh. ‘Well, at least they didn’t find a body,’ she said, ‘though what that actually means for the poor little mite ...’

‘I still reckon he’s offed her,’ Sophie declared rashly. ‘Have you seen the pictures of him? He looks dead creepy and like he’d definitely do something like that.’

‘Question is, where’s he hidden her?’ Maggie said quietly.

‘They’re about to go to Alex,’ Anthony informed them.

On the screen a reporter was saying, ‘... this looks like it’s probably her returning home now ... Yes, it is ...’

The camera started to jerk and jump as a horde of reporters surged towards a dark grey BMW coming up the hill from Mulgrove village. As it pulled to a stop
outside the Vicarage a handful of uniformed officers closed in to force the press back while a tall, navy-suited female detective with cropped dark hair and an unsmiling face stepped out of a rear passenger door. A moment later Alex emerged, looking haunted and scared and as though she might stagger under the weight of questions being loaded upon her.

‘Do you hold yourself responsible for what’s happened?’

‘Could you have prevented it?’

‘Did you know about the abuse?’

‘Is it true you’ve been suspended?’

‘Why are social services refusing to comment?’

‘Poor lamb,’ Maggie murmured with so much feeling that Sophie clung to her hand.

Flanked by the detective and a uniformed officer, Alex was ushered through the melee to her front door where she hunched away from the cameras as she fumbled with her keys.

In voice-over a reporter was saying, ‘This is the third time in as many days that Alex Lake has been taken in for questioning, but whatever the outcome it’s becoming increasingly clear that we’re looking at another catastrophic failure on the part of social services, and perhaps in particular of the young woman we’re seeing here.’

‘How can he say that?’ Maggie cried in outrage.

‘He’s a fucking jerk,’ Sophie spluttered. ‘She’s brilliant. The best social worker I ever had and I’ve had loads.’

‘Ssh,’ Anthony cautioned.

Alex was disappearing inside the house now as the detective made her way back to the car and the presenter in the studio asked the reporter, ‘Is it possible that Alex Lake might find herself charged with some kind of an offence too?’

‘No!’ Maggie gasped.

‘I’m going to get all the kids she’s cared for to tell those stupid bastards just how fantastic she is,’ Sophie shouted.

Maggie put a comforting hand on her shoulder as they continued to watch. Sophie was missing Britney since Britney had gone to stay with an aunt, and now this with Alex ... Sophie took things hard.

‘... heard nothing from the police at this stage to suggest that they are intending to press charges,’ the reporter was saying, ‘but anything could happen in the next few days, or even hours.’