She moved past him into the hallway and was enveloped in darkness as the door closed behind her, shutting out the sunlight. Though Burrows and his SOCO team had finished yesterday, the house still bore signs of the search. A fine dusting of fingerprint powder on the hall floor was slippery under her soles, and in the kitchen, to her left, a couple of drawers hung half open and more fingerprint dust – she could tell from the way the light from the overhead electric spots reflected back at her in sparkles – coated the table. All the blinds and curtains downstairs had been drawn. Outside, a bright summer’s day; inside, a chill winter’s evening. Her heart was beating too fast. She cleared her throat, trying to play her role.
‘Tell me about Carolynn and Zoe’s relationship.’
Crossing his arms over his chest, Reynolds leant back against the hall wall. He clearly wasn’t going to invite her to sit or offer her tea. Fine. She felt more secure staying where she was, a short dash to the front door, even if he was standing between her and escape. She could tell from his hesitation that he was contemplating telling her to shove her questions somewhere even narrower and darker than this hallway.
‘What are you going to do with the information?’ he asked finally.
‘Use it.’
‘Against my wife?’
‘Potentially. It depends what you tell me.’
‘I need to protect her.’
‘Like you protected your daughter?’ It was a cheap shot, a few centimetres below the belt and it hit home as she had intended it to.
His eyes gleamed angrily. ‘Carolynn didn’t kill Zoe.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘You’ve switched sides, Doctor. I was right when I accused you of being a poacher turned gamekeeper.’
‘The only side I’m on is that of the truth, whatever it turns out to be. I did defend Carolynn vehemently against DI Simmons’ accusation that she murdered your daughter and I’d hate to think that I was entirely wrong to have done so. So what is the truth?’
‘You probably know as much as I do,’ he muttered.
‘I doubt that very much.’
66Past
Queen Alexandra Hospital, Cosham, Portsmouth
Tears running down her face, the girl held out the doll she had bought for her baby. It was a cheap, plastic doll in a nasty, pink acrylic ballerina dress. It wasn’t worthy of her daughter, but it had been all she could afford.
‘It’s hers. It’s Anna’s.’ She felt desperate. Desperate that the woman, the social worker, understand her. ‘From me, from her mother. Something to remember me by.’
The blonde woman wouldn’t even look at the doll. Not one glance. With Anna cradled against her shoulder, she reached out and took the doll by its ankle, in pincer fingers. Holding it upside down, away from her body as if it was filthy, she turned and walked to the door. There was a metal flip-top bin by the door, and as she passed it the woman stepped on the pedal to flip the lid open and dropped the doll into the bin.
With a scream, the girl scrambled from the bed, only to double up as she felt the stabbing agony of her stitches ripping. She staggered, snatching at the bedside table for support, the pain intense, blood coursing down her legs. The policeman stepped forward, stretching out his arms, corralling her. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, but she sensed that his reasons were different from those of the blonde woman. She snatched at his arm, trying to pull him around, make him look her in the eye, engage with her. ‘Stop her, please.’
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do,’ he muttered. ‘Get back into bed. I’ll call a doctor.’
Methodically, his strong fingers unhooked hers, one by one. She wanted him to slap her, punch her, kick her, rape her like the other men had done. Nothing would hurt her more than separation from her daughter.
Beyond the policeman’s shoulder, her eyes locked with the blonde woman’s.
‘Please don’t take her. Please.’ The girl had begged before, when the men were raping her, and it had made no difference. If anything, it had made most of them crueller, made them revel in hurting her more, and she had promised herself then that she would never ever beg again. Begging made merciless people more savage. But that resolution meant nothing now. She would do anything to keep her baby.
‘Please let me keep her. I’ll be a good mother. She needs me. I promise, I’ll be a good mother. Please …’
Cool air from the corridor billowed into the room as the woman pulled the door open. As she stepped over the threshold, she glanced over her shoulder, and the cold, blank look in her eyes made Ruby shiver.
‘You’ll never see her again, so forget that she ever existed. Forget that you ever had a child.’
67
Marilyn glanced up at the sound of footsteps and rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’re making up for a lack of love in your childhood by carting that thing around with you.’
‘Afternoon, DI Simmons,’ Burrows said brightly. Pulling out a chair, he sat down across the desk from Marilyn. His moon face was sunburnt scarlet from his two days combing the beach and his bald patch was peeling. He resembled a particularly unattractive toddler with eczema.
‘I’ve had enough bad news,’ Marilyn said. ‘So if you’ve got more, you can keep it to yourself.’
Burrows shook his head. ‘I come bearing gifts,’ he said.
With a flourish, he laid the doll in its plastic evidence bag on Marilyn’s desk. Marilyn looked down at it, but didn’t touch. He felt damned enough without cursing himself further by touching that voodoo doll in its hermetically sealed shroud.
‘I can do without the gift of a juju curse, thanks, Tony. I seem more than capable
