Frozen Charlotte

Keep calm, she lectured herself. Keep calm.

It helped that she knew exactly what Martin would have done in this situation. He had been tolerant, happy to allow life – his own and that of his wife and children – to work itself out. Whenever he had been faced with a conflict he had invariably chosen the easiest way out. So she followed this maxim.

‘You must do as you wish,’ she said. ‘It’s your life – not mine – but find out a little about the real acting world before you embark on that as a career. Don’t believe all you hear in the tabloids and glossy magazines. As I understand it most actresses spend a lot of time waitressing or scrubbing floors because-’

‘I know,’ Sukey interrupted impatiently, ‘but I was good in the school play last year, wasn’t I?’

The school had put on Abigail’s Party the previous year. Sukey had played the part of Abigail and yes, even allowing for maternal pride, Martha had thought she had been good. Very good. Her daughter was very determined. There was no point in opposing her but Martha had a feeling of dread. It wasn’t what she wanted. She gave the softest of sighs. Neither had she wanted Sam to become a footballer. She had hoped they would go into a profession. Medicine, the law, teaching…

Dream on, she said to herself.

She looked at her daughter’s anxious face. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘as long as you know what you’re letting yourself in for.’

Sukey gave her a cheeky grin, bounced out of her seat and was gone, leaving Martha alone again, unable to resist humming Noel Coward’s, ‘Don’t put your daughter on the stage’, substituting Mrs Gunn for Mrs Worthington.

She drew in a deep breath and felt powerless to influence her children’s lives any further. But now her daughter had skipped out of the room Martha’s mind returned to the anonymous phone call.

Alex Randall had told her if she received any more obscure contacts from the ‘Message to Martha’ person to inform him and he would investigate. She decided then that she would – if only for Sukey’s safety and her own peace of mind.

She would speak to him tomorrow.

Tuesday morning

And now it was time for Alex Randall to speak to Alice Sedgewick himself – with her solicitor present. After Talith’s descriptions he was curious to meet both of them and determine in his own mind what part Mrs Sedgewick had played in the fate of the infant. He spent the first hour of the day reading through Gethin Roberts’s initial statement and the notes made by his sergeant. He read through Talith’s comments with approval. He’d wondered about him when he had first joined the force. He had seemed abrasive, not good with the general public. He’d ruffled a few feathers with his lack of subtlety. But every now and again an officer learned his job, acquired unexpectedly good skills and changed to become something of real value to the force. This new sergeant would go far. He had become intelligent and perceptive, had matured as a police officer. Randall noticed as he read through Talith’s report that he had a great eye for detail, mentioning the fact that even in her confusion Mrs Sedgewick had remembered to turn the attic light switch off even though she must have left the loft in something of a panic. He smiled as he read through PC Roberts’s report. The poor lad had had a shock – not the first – and with a long career ahead of him in the police force it wouldn’t be the last either.

The two women arrived promptly at ten. Quite a contrast was DI Randall’s first impression. The large, overpowering Mrs Palk and the mouse-like Alice Sedgewick, who looked frankly terrified.

He led them into an interview room and sent for coffee.

‘You do understand,’ he said, addressing them both, ‘that I shall be recording this interview?’

‘Yes.’ As he had expected Acantha Palk answered for both of them, tossing her thick hair around as she spoke.

The detective studied Alice Sedgewick very carefully while handing them both their coffee, switching the tape on and introducing the ‘persons present’. Alice, he decided, was rather a colourless woman. With mouse-brown hair streaked with grey she was neatly and soberly dressed in a dark suit which looked suspiciously like it came from M &S. Her face lacked expression except a certain apprehension in the grey eyes. Her mouth, carelessly outlined in a nasty pink lipstick, which didn’t suit her otherwise pale visage, stayed firmly pressed shut whenever she was not speaking as though she was worried what words would escape through them. Her eyes seemed drawn to him but whenever he looked straight at her they quickly flickered away as though she was frightened if they connected for too long he would read something deep within them that she was anxious to keep secret. He found her a disturbing woman.

He glanced at Acantha and again reflected on the sheer contrast between the friends. She was magnetic, her face full of colour, her hair dyed very dark for a woman of her age but it did not make her look haggard or a witch, but merely emphasized her latent power. Had Alice opened up to her or not? How much did she really know about her friend’s current predicament?

He glanced again at Alice and fishlike she opened her mouth, as though she wanted to say something but before even a sound was uttered she snapped it closed again. Clamped it shut. He watched her curiously and worked out his line of questioning.

‘Right,’ he said now the introductions were over. ‘Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what happened on Saturday evening – before you arrived at the hospital?’

Alice gave a swift, almost panicked, look at her friend but Acantha was not looking at her. She was watching him coolly. Alex Randall met her eyes without flinching and knew she would prove a worthy adversary as, he suspected, she could probably also be a staunch friend in a time of trouble. Staunch enough to lie and deceive for her client?

Possibly.

‘I was on my own,’ Alice said timidly. ‘My husband was away.’ She paused. ‘On business.’

Now would have been an ideal time to pursue the subject of the missing Mr Sedgewick but Alex let it roll, for now.

‘Aaron has been talking about doing a loft conversion so I thought I’d climb up, have a poke around and see what I thought.’ She was starting to relax. The muscles around her mouth were loosening and her voice was gaining confidence. ‘There are good lights up there but I thought the hot water tank was in the way. It would spoil things. I noticed it was sort of packed around so I started to pull the plaster board and the slats away. Then I saw a tiny bundle.’ Her voice was just starting to falter. ‘I thought it was some old cloth – wool, wadding or something. But something was in it. I shone the torch down and picked it up.’ She gave a convulsive shudder. Even her hands shook. Her friend noticed and covered them immediately with her own. ‘I knew it was a baby. I could tell that from the feel of it but it reminded me more of the mummies I’d seen in the museum in Cairo, all dried up, bones sticking out. I nearly dropped it. I didn’t know what to do with it. I decided I must bring it out of the loft.’ Her voice was quickening, the tone rising, threatening hysteria.

Alex prompted her delicately. ‘You wrapped it up in…?’

‘I had a blanket,’ Alice said. ‘A little baby’s blanket.’

‘Where did it come from?’

Alice’s face changed again to become secretive. ‘I just had it,’ she said baldly.

Oh, yes? Alex thought.

The change of tone affected Acantha too. She gave her client a long, questioning stare but said nothing.

Alex thought. Already he was tossing a few points around in his mind. He had seen the blanket. It was no more than a few years old. Alice’s children must be well into their twenties.

‘Have you grandchildren?’ he asked.

Alice shook her head.

So this blanket had not been bought new for them. So for whom? A friend’s child? Then why hadn’t she given it? He squirreled the questions away. Now was not the time to interrupt. He needed to let Alice Sedgewick roll on without working out too much detail. So he left the question of the blanket, knowing he would return to it later on in the investigation. In such a puzzle he needed an explanation for every single anomaly.

‘Do you know anything about the child, Mrs Sedgewick?’