She looked up as he entered. He crossed to her.
‘I’m still on the team,’ he said to her unanswered question, taking in everyone within earshot as he spoke. ‘In fact I’m still your CIO.’
‘Glad to hear it, boss.’
‘So, what we got?’
She checked the computer in front of her. ‘Hillfield is owned by the Croft family. Smallholding.’ She looked up. ‘Farmer…’
‘Right,’ said Phil. He felt that familiar tingle when a case began to fall into place. ‘Fits the profile. Name?’
‘Last name on the deeds is Laurence Croft.’
‘The father?’
‘Looks like it, judging from the date of birth. No date of death, but he’s not listed as living there now. Just…’ She scrolled down the screen. ‘Hester Croft. One person. That’s all.’
‘Sex?’
‘Female.’ She looked down further. ‘The house is on a couple of acres of land. They own some cottages.’ She read on. ‘No they don’t, they were demolished a few years ago, land turned into a caravan park.’
‘And I’m assuming it’s in a suitably out-of-the way location?’
Anni gave a tight smile. ‘Well, it is in Wrabness.’
‘Right,’ he said. He looked at the rest of the assembled team.They stopped what they were doing, looked back at him. Expectant. Fired up. ‘We ready? Then let’s go.’
76
The baby was still crying. Hester was on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, as far away from it as possible. Her hands over her ears, her long, thick legs tucked underneath her body, she had tried to curl herself up as small as possible.
‘Ssh… ssh…’
But the baby kept on crying.
She had wanted to get rid of it but couldn’t bring herself to do it when it was awake. So she had waited for it to go to sleep. But it wouldn’t go to sleep, it just lay there, wailing.
The baby was bad enough, but something worse than that had happened. She had called out for her husband but he hadn’t appeared. She had closed her eyes, tried to will him to her. Nothing. No sound in the house, except her sobbing and the baby crying. She had to face it. She couldn’t hear his voice any more, couldn’t sense his presence. Could feel they were no longer joined. She was all alone.
Her husband had left her. He had gone.
She kept her eyes tight shut, tried to drown out the noise of the baby with her own crying. The baby. It was all the baby’s fault. If the baby hadn’t come along to disrupt things, then they would still be happy together, like they used to be. Just Hester and her husband. Alone and together. Their whole world each other. But no. They had to have a baby. It was supposed to make their lives complete. Instead it had forced them apart.
Hester felt impotent rage build up within her. Her body thrashed as she screamed, forcing it out of her.
‘No… no… no… no…’
She wanted it to be over. She wanted time to be rewound, things to go back to how they used to be. Just the two of them. She stopped screaming, and the sound withered and died in her throat. Hopeless. It was hopeless.
She didn’t know what to do. She knew that if her husband had gone, there was no point in her staying in the house with the baby. But she couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. He had to be there, had to be coming back.
Hester stood up. She would make one last attempt to find him, and if that failed then she knew that he was gone for good and she had to decide what to do next. She crossed the floor to the back door, closing her eyes as she passed the baby, not even wanting to see it, acknowledge its presence.
She opened the back door, stepped into the yard. Stood still, listening. The river was making its usual background sound, low static on an untuned TV. She found it comforting, usually, something that reminded her of home. Now it just sounded lonely, like a call for help or attention that would never be answered.
She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then looked round the yard. She knew all the shapes and the shadows of shapes. It was her home. She knew everything that was there. She scanned, checking. Saw nothing, no one. He wasn’t there.
But she wouldn’t give up. Not just yet. She would make one last attempt. She opened her mouth and screamed. No words came out, just inarticulate yearning and desire, loneliness and abandonment. She knew that would be enough to make him come calling if he was there. She
She stood still, listening. Nothing. Just the river.
Hester sighed and turned, going back into the house. The baby was still crying, and this time she didn’t bother to cover her ears or avert her eyes as she walked past. It was there and he wasn’t and that was that.
She went back to her place in the corner, staring at the baby. Making her mind up. She was thinking, trying to sort out in her mind what had happened. She came up with some things. Everything was fine before the baby arrived. Life was good. But now the baby was here and her husband was gone. So, she thought, if she got rid of the baby, her husband might come back…
She didn’t know if that was true, but it was worth a try. She had thought that earlier, though, and hadn’t been able to get rid of it while it was still awake. Now, however, with the constant screaming in her ears, she thought that didn’t matter. She could get rid of it. If it made her husband appear again, she could get rid of it.
She stood up.
Walked towards the cot.
77
A light went on. At first Marina thought she was imagining it. It was distant and weak, but it was still a light, nonetheless.
She sat up, focused her eyes, managed to assess her surroundings. Brick walls, dirt floor, overhead rafters. It confirmed her earlier impression. She was in a cellar or basement. But not just a square space; it was a room with alcoves and archways. Crouching, she slowly and silently made her way towards the light. Before her were other rooms, knocked through and interconnected with tunnels. Where it needed it, the ceiling was held in place by heavy wooden struts and supports. Electric cable was strung along it.
She shivered with the cold, looked at herself. She was filthy, her clothes black with dirt. There were cuts and bruises up her arms and legs.
She looked at the walls. There was a workbench set against one of them, huge and heavy-looking, with a scarred and pitted surface. There were tools nailed to a board above the bench, old and rusting but still workable. Marina looked round, tried to listen. She couldn’t hear anything, see anyone. But she knew someone was there. They must be. Moving slowly, she crept over to the workbench, looked at the tools hanging on the board. Hammers of varying sizes, chisels, a hand drill. Her eyes alighted on the screwdrivers. All different sizes, displayed in order from the smallest to the largest. She took the largest from its hook, looked at it. The wooden handle was worn, the paint flaking, but still solid. The metal shaft was rusted but intact. She checked the end. Flat and sharp. Used often. That would do.
She held it in her hand, clutching it hard. She looked round again. There was no way out from where she was; the only way forward was down the tunnel that the light was coming from.
Her heart was hammering in her chest. There were still pains in her stomach but she didn’t dare think about the baby, whether there was anything wrong with it. All she knew was that it needed protecting. And as a mother,
