wanted to put one of them up for adoption. We could jump the queue for fifty thousand pounds.”
“You knew it was against the law.”
“Mr. Shawcroft said that twins couldn’t legally be split. We had to do everything in secret.”
“You pretended to be pregnant.”
“There wasn’t time.”
I look at Molly who is playing with a box of shells, arranging them in patterns.
“Is Molly…?” I don’t finish the question.
“She’s mine,” she says fiercely. “I couldn’t have any more. There were complications. Medical problems. They told us we were too old to adopt. My husband is fifty-five, you see.” She wipes her eyes. “I should phone him.”
I hear my name being called from downstairs. “New Boy” must have witnessed the doorstep confrontation. He couldn’t stay put.
“Up here.”
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah.”
He appears at the door, taking in the scene. Mrs. Gallagher. Molly. The baby.
“It’s one of the twins,” I say.
“One?”
“The boy.”
He peers into the cot. “Are you sure?”
I follow his gaze. It’s amazing how much a newborn can change in under ten days, but I’m sure.
“What about the girl?” he asks.
“She’s not here.”
Shawcroft made
I can’t leave. I have to stay and talk to Forbes (and no doubt peel him off the ceiling).
“Can you check out the other address?”
Dave weighs up the implications and ramifications. He’s not worried about himself. I’m the one facing a disciplinary hearing. He kisses my cheek.
“You make it hard sometimes, you know that?”
“I know.”
11
DI Forbes storms through the house, his face hardened into a mask of fury and cold hatred. Ordering me into the rear garden, he ignores the muddy lawn and paces back and forth.
“You had no right!” he yells. “It was an illegal search.”
“I had reason to believe—”
“What reason?”
“I was following a lead.”
“Which you should have told
His rectangular glasses bobble on his nose. I wonder if it annoys him.
“In my professional judgment I made a necessary choice, sir.”
“You don’t even
“Mrs. Gallagher has confirmed that she is not the biological mother. The baby was delivered to her by a man matching Brendan Pearl’s description.”
“You should have waited.”
“With all due respect, sir, you were taking too long. Shawcroft is free. He’s shredding files, covering his tracks. You don’t
I think he might explode. His voice carries across the neighborhood gardens and mud sucks at his shoes.
“I should have reported you to the PCA when you went to Amsterdam. You have harassed witnesses, abused your authority and disobeyed the orders of a senior officer. You have failed at almost every opportunity to conduct yourself in a professional manner…”
His foot lifts and his shoe remains behind. A sock squelches into the mud up to his ankle. We both pretend it hasn’t happened.
“You’re suspended from duty. Do you understand me? I’m going to personally see that your career is over.”
Social Services have been summoned, a big woman with a backside so large that she appears to be wearing a bustle. Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher are talking to her in the sitting room. They look almost relieved that it’s over. The past few days must have been unbearable, wondering and waiting for a knock on the door. Being frightened of falling in love with a child that might never truly be theirs.
Molly is in her bedroom showing a policewoman how she paints flowers and rests them on the radiator to dry. The baby is sleeping. They called him Jasper. He has a name now.
Forbes has peeled off his sock and thrown it into the rubbish bin. Sitting on the back step, he uses a screwdriver to scrape mud from his shoes.
“How did you know?” he asks, having calmed down.
I explain about the phone calls from the golf club and cross-checking the numbers with the adoption files, looking for a match.
“That’s how I found the Gallaghers.”
“Did he make any other calls?”
“One.”
Forbes waits. “Have I got to
Any remaining vestiges of comradeship have gone. We’re no longer on the same team.
“I had an interesting conversation with a lawyer this morning,” he says. “He was representing Barnaby Elliot and he alleged that you had a conflict of interest concerning this case.”
“There’s no conflict, sir.”
“Mr. Elliot is contesting his late daughter’s will.”
“He has no legal claim over the twins.”
“And neither do you!”
“I know that, sir,” I whisper.
“If Samira Khan decides that she doesn’t want the babies, they will be taken into care and placed with foster parents.”
“I know. I’m not doing this for me.”
“Are you sure of that?”
It’s an accusation not a question. My motives are under fire again. Perhaps I’m deluding myself. I can’t afford to believe that. I won’t.
My mobile phone is vibrating in my pocket. I flip it open.
“I might have found her,” says Dave. “But there’s a problem.”
12
The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at Queen Charlotte’s Hospital is on the third floor above the delivery
