Stolen (15 page)

Gardner shifted his attention back to the door as he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door opened a crack to reveal Simon in his boxers, squinting out at the daylight.

‘Mr Abbott,’ Gardner said. ‘Can I come in?’

Simon covered his eyes with his hand. ‘Sure.’ He rubbed his eyes and moved back, pulling the door wide open. As Gardner stepped into the hallway, Simon suddenly came to life. ‘What’s going on? Has something happened? Have you got the results?’

Gardner stood in the doorway and glanced around, listening for any sign that Beth was there. He turned back to Simon and his gut told him that he was looking at an innocent man. For starters, most kidnappers didn’t answer the door half asleep and in their underwear. Simon crossed his arms across his naked chest. When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to close the door and let him in properly until he knew what was going on, Gardner started to talk.

‘No, there’s no news yet. I just wanted to ask you a few more questions,’ he said.

Simon nodded and closed the door. ‘I’ll just get dressed. Go through,’ he said and pointed to the living room.

‘You mind if I look around?’ Gardner asked and Simon shrugged.

‘Feel free,’ he said and went back upstairs.

Gardner glanced around the hallway before following Simon. Each wall held dozens of framed photographs and Gardner wondered if they were Simon’s own work or someone else’s.  At the top of the stairs there was one Gardner recognised, an arty picture of a street in Venice that an ex-girlfriend used to have in her bedroom. He wondered if that was an Abbott original.

The first door he came to led into the bathroom and it had no signs of a baby ever having been there; there were barely signs of anyone at all. Gardner wondered how much stuff babies would even have in the bathroom; he had no idea what they needed. He moved on to the back bedroom, which was being used as a studio. Innumerable pictures graced the walls and stood on and up against every available surface.

He was about to leave when one photo caught his eye. Abby and Beth smiled up at him from a beautifully framed picture. Beth looked maybe a couple of months old; he never could tell a baby’s age. Abby looked happy; completely different to the Abby Henshaw he had seen. They say women glow when they’re pregnant; he wouldn’t know himself, but from the look of it they glowed afterwards too. Gardner heard Simon moving behind him and put down the photograph and left the room.

At the front of the house were two more bedrooms. In the bigger, darker room, its curtains closed to the light of the day, Simon pulled on his trousers. Gardner headed for the smaller room. The walls were painted a soft yellow, with outlines of ducks and rabbits stencilled around the tops of them. An empty cot sat in the centre of the room beneath the mobile he had seen from outside. Dozens of toys were piled up against the wall in one corner and a small set of drawers held several tiny items of clothes. Gardner wondered how often Beth stayed with Simon, how Abby would’ve explained it to Paul, and how Simon really felt about it. How would
he
feel if he had to step back and watch someone else bring up his child? If he had to wait weeks until he could see her? He doubted he’d feel very good about it.

He left the nursery and stood in the doorway of Simon’s room. As Simon pulled back the curtains, he caught Gardner’s eye.

‘You manage to get any sleep?’ Gardner asked.

‘Couple of hours,’ Simon said.

‘Sorry. I should’ve thought. Come later in the day.’

Simon nodded and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his socks. Gardner took the opportunity to look around. This bedroom was much sparser, less personal than the other rooms. A bed with a cabinet on each side, a narrow wardrobe, a chair by the window with clothes thrown across it, and a bookcase whose shelves bent under the weight of too many books, placed haphazardly with no regard to order. Maybe that was the common link between him and Paul.

On the bedside cabinet closest to the door was a lamp with a Polaroid photo leaning against its base. Gardner leaned forward for a better look. A tired and sweaty-looking Abby held a red and wrinkled Beth. Gardner guessed that wasn’t an Abbott original but would bet his life that it was one of his favourites. Simon caught him looking and picked up the photo.

‘Less than an hour old,’ he said, staring down at the picture. ‘I didn’t get to see her in person until she was nearly three weeks.’ He looked back at Gardner and something flashed across his face. Gardner felt a sting of sympathy for the man and wondered just how much he regretted his decision to let Beth go.

Almost half an hour later Gardner left the house. He’d asked Simon more about his relationship with Abby and Beth and been told it was great. What Simon knew about Paul, which was the same as the day before: very little. What he knew about Jen, which was even less.  He’d seen her for the first time the night before but they hadn’t spoken.

And as he walked back to the car thinking that maybe his best lead was a dead end his phone rang. The results of the DNA test were back.

‘I know, babe,’ Jen said. ‘Is he still there?’

‘Paul?’ Abby said.

‘No, Simon. That was him, right?’

‘Yes,’ Abby said. ‘He left. I fucked that up too. I basically accused him of taking Beth.’

‘You think he did?’

‘No,’ Abby said. ‘No. He wouldn’t.’

‘You want me to come over?’

Abby paused. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m okay.’

She looked outside. Everything seemed so still. The clouds appeared to be frozen in time and Abby was sure she was dead and sitting in a strange, empty Hell until the doorbell rang and brought her back to reality.

Abby ran downstairs hoping whoever was on the other side of the door would be the one to save her from this torture.

Abby opened the door to find Gardner standing there, looking tired, as if he hadn’t shaved in days and slept in less. She let him in and hugged her arms tightly to her body as she waited for him to speak.  A second, a lifetime, later, he spoke.

‘We got the results back,’ he said.

DI Gardner was also in charge of the Beth Henshaw case in 2005. Beth, also from Redcar, was just eight months old when she went missing. She was never found.

Abby tossed the newspaper back where she found it on the cold stone wall. The image of Chelsea Davies was burned into her mind; she’d seen it so much over the past few days. You couldn’t turn on the TV or look at a newspaper without seeing her face. When a reporter called her earlier for a comment, Abby’s first reaction had been to hang up. They weren’t interested in Beth; they wanted a quote about Gardner. And she wouldn’t play that game. But then again... maybe they could help her. They could remind the world that her little girl existed.

She looked out across the beach at the groups of people; couples holding hands, teenagers daring each other to brave the cold North Sea; children chasing dogs chasing balls.

The sun, such as it was, was getting ready to give up for the day, along with the mums packing up the blankets and buckets and spades. She was starving, almost tempted to buy a burger from the van in the car park, but she didn’t want to move until the beach had cleared. Until every face has been scanned she would keep her place and keep watching.

Abby reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the envelopes. She didn’t need to look inside them anymore to know what they said. Not that it’d take much to memorise them anyway. They were brief, always the same. Three notes, one a year after Beth had gone, and then nothing. They stopped just like that. She didn’t know what that meant.

Pulling her jacket a little tighter against the wind she squinted into the slight sandstorm. A family came towards her, the children charging ahead despite their mother’s warning. Abby took in their faces, quickly dismissing the boy. His sister struggled to keep up. Abby leant back, sighing. Too old, she thought. As the boy passed Abby, the little girl cried out as she lost her balance. Hitting the ground she started to cry but her brother kept on running. Abby slid off the wall to the girl’s side, pulling her up and inspecting her grazed knee.

‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Abby said and pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe sand away from the wound.

‘Lauren,’ the girl’s mother said, coming up behind Abby. She took hold of the girl’s arm and pulled her towards the car park, glancing at Abby before doing a double-take. ‘I told you not to run,’ the woman said and rounded up the boy, corralling them back to the car park.

Abby stood up and watched as the woman packed up her car before she and the bickering children disappeared from view. Abby turned back to the wall and pulled herself up onto it. The beach was clearing quickly. Dark clouds started to form out at sea and Abby knew there was a storm brewing.

When the last of the stragglers had gone Abby hopped down and started to walk away. About halfway home the rain started. Big, fat drops quickly formed deep puddles on the pavement. Cars splashed the dirty water from the gutter onto Abby’s legs as she walked on, the hard drops stinging her face. She wiped her sleeve over her eyes uselessly, feeling desperately lonely, unable to tell if she was crying beneath the rain. She tried to remember the last time she had cried. It had been a while now. Relatively.

Turning the final corner she noticed his car outside the house. She didn’t expect him to be there but part of her was glad she wouldn’t have to spend another night alone. Though maybe she deserved to. She knew she was terrible company. She couldn’t face the accusatory looks, the unasked questions about where she’d been and what she was thinking. Stopping, she stared down at the house that she didn’t belong in. She didn’t really live there. Not really. It wasn’t a home. She couldn’t remember feeling at home anywhere. The house she’d shared – shared happily – with her family seemed like such a distant memory she sometimes wondered if she’d imagined it. 

Abby contemplated turning and walking away, finding a bed and breakfast for the night, but that wasn’t a solution, not long term. Money was too tight and she knew she’d just have to come back tomorrow. After she’d sold the house to fund her campaign, he’d been there for her, offering a place to stay. At first she rented a small flat in town but barely used the place. Then came the bed-sits, B&Bs, and increasingly, his settee. Now it was home. Or as close as she was going to get. True, from time to time she needed the company of someone real but, more pragmatically, she needed a place for Beth to stay when she finally came home. 

Across the street a car started, its grumbling engine shaking her from her thoughts. The car screeched as it pulled away on the wet road. Abby took a deep breath and as the rain dripped from her nose she walked towards the house.

She saw him through the window, sitting with his arm across the back of the settee. He turned and looked at her. Gave her
that
look and stood up. She walked up to the door and before she could get the key out he’d opened it. He stood and gave her an appraising look before stepping aside and letting her in.

‘Hang on,’ he said and ran into the kitchen before returning holding a towel. He tossed it at Abby and she dried her face and kicked off her trainers.

‘Thanks,’ she said. He leaned against the banister as she peeled off her jacket and jeans and dropped them in a pile on the floor by the door.

‘Hi.’

Abby looked behind Simon and saw Jen standing there, a cup of coffee in her hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ Abby asked her.

‘Well, you don’t write, you don’t call...’ Jen smiled. ‘Just thought I’d come and say hi.’

Abby looked at Simon who was staring at the floor. She suddenly felt exposed. ‘I need to get a shower,’ Abby said and started up the stairs.

‘Wait.’ Simon put his hand on hers before turning to Jen who nodded and looked for somewhere to leave her cup.

‘I should be getting back,’ Jen said. ‘I should’ve called ahead.’ She slipped her coat on and stood in front of Abby. ‘Give me a call. We’ll do something.’