While Debbie carefully questioned Hope, and wrote everything down in a special little notebook, Constable Taylor had a thorough poke around the flat. He would find nothing suspicious; Hope knew that. After all, the baby had only been there for a short time. There was no evidence of her.
Unbeknownst to Hope, and luckily for her, that very morning a family of Romanians had been visiting a new mother on the same floor. It was a big group, loud and unruly, and very happy to see their new addition.
Also luckily for Hope, the inherent prejudice of some of the Met police meant that the focus of the investigation was on this group of gypsy people. Inspector Thripshaw was convinced they were guilty of kidnapping Florence. All of his energies were there; he had only sent Debbie to talk to Hope as a matter of formality, process and straightforward elimination. There was no strong suspicion; the police were mopping up every single avenue as quickly as they could before moving on to hone in on the Romanians, who had gone now, and were spread far and wide around the city, as was their wont. These two facts meant that Debbie Cheese was already on a losing wicket with Hope.
Debbie was a solid police officer, however, and observant at all times, so she scanned everywhere as she spoke to Hope and she was on high alert for any clue Hope might reveal. The fact was there were no real clues; even the bag Florence had been carried in was seemingly perfectly normal and contained ordinary overnight stuff. Now, IF Debbie had decided to give that bag to a forensics team, she MIGHT’VE had a whole other DNA story … but she didn’t. She immediately warmed to and trusted Hope like everybody who met her, and she knew that Hope had been through an unthinkably terrible time losing her baby that very morning, so the last thing she wanted to do was add to that dreadful burden if she didn’t have to.
Hope gave an apparently full account of leaving the hospital after saying goodbye to Fatu, and travelling easily and innocently down to the car park where Isaac was waiting. There were car park attendants on the exit gates who would verify any story, Debbie reminded her, which only served to relax Hope since she absolutely knew that they would not have seen anything suspicious.
‘Thank you for your help, Ms Parker.’ Kind Debbie, solidly inhabiting her uniform, wrapped up her questioning as she flicked shut her little black book. ‘And do feel free to call us if you think you remember anything at all, however small or insignificant, especially if it struck you as unusual. It may help us to put a picture together …’
Constable Taylor had, meanwhile, looked in every room, in every cupboard and drawer; he’d even been down the fire escape where Isaac had fled with Minnie minutes before and he’d checked the yard, the bins, the old shed. Of course, he found absolutely nothing. He even poked his head into the dusty loft space. As he walked back into the kitchen, he gave Constable Debbie the nod that it was all checked, all clear, which she took as their cue to leave.
‘Will you be all right here on your own?’ she asked Hope.
‘Um, yes. Isaac will be back shortly, I’m sure. He won’t want to be long. We’re going to make soup and we have some people to call … Some of the family don’t even know yet … I can’t think of the right words …’
Constable Debbie reached out and touched Hope’s hand. She might’ve been a police officer, but she was still a human, and a female one at that, who could empathize with Hope’s tangible sorrow. When their eyes met, the sad Hope that Debbie saw wasn’t a fabrication. Hope genuinely was a woman who had, not more than a few hours before, experienced a despair that was hardly bearable. That was the part of Hope which Debbie connected with. Hope knew it too, and didn’t mind that Debbie’s good heart was baited in such a way, because it was the truth. A truth. Not the whole truth, obviously.
So it was that Constable Debbie Cheese left Hope’s flat convinced she had conducted a thorough check and consequently eliminated her from any ongoing investigation. Hope had never quite made it on to a list of suspects, and she certainly wouldn’t now.
Hope was off the hook.
It had been an Oscar-worthy performance.
She closed the door behind the police officers as they clumped down the poorly constructed stairs with the threadbare carpet. She rushed to the front room and, from behind the blind, watched them get in their car and go. She exhaled slowly.
Now …
Where was Isaac with her daughter?
Where was her daughter Minnie?
The Press
Julius wished he had better clothes with him. He was tempted to get his secretary to pop to their house on her way to the hospital to pick up his tailored Paul Smith deep purple double-breasted suit, but changed his mind when, on second thoughts (which he rarely had), he remembered it was really a knock-’em-dead party suit. Shame, he thought, this might turn out to be a huge audience. Yep. Massive. But the purple is wrong for this. Better to look a bit dishevelled actually. More authentic. Yeah …
With that thought, he pulled his shirt out of his trousers and undid a couple more buttons. He’d been in these same clothes since last night and he wasn’t the most fragrant he’d ever been. Still, more power to his elbow: it was definitely a credible look, and never before had Julius needed to appear as credible as at this very moment.
Anna had somehow dragged herself into the fresher clothes she had the foresight to pack,
