“I take it,” I said, lowering myself onto the chair beside her. “That you won’t be going to that auction after all.”
She laughed. “No. Screw “em. I know my priorities. Thank you, for this,” she nodded to the room. “Letting us do this here, I know you’ve got bigger things to do. Like find the mad bastard that hurt my big sister.”
“We know our priorities too,” I answered. “When there’s a child involved in any case, they come first.”
“That’s nice to know,” Paige answered. There came a knock at the door, and the constable from the reception desk stuck his head in, meeting my eyes and gave me a grim nod.
“Luke Campbell is here, sir,” he said, opening the door wide enough for a man to stroll through.
“Thank you,” I called after him as he slipped away, shutting the door with a firm click. The silence was heinous, the glare that Paige directed at him even more so. I stood up, made simple, quick introductions, and then we were all sat down, holding our mugs awkwardly.
“Hello Paige,” he said to her. He was tall, his skin tanned, and I recalled what Paige had told us, his research trip to South Africa. His hair, the same red as Grace’s, was bleached by the sun, so that it was hard to see too much resemblance. Grace looked just like her mother, and as Paige looked him over, she seemed glad to think so too.
“Luke,” she spat back. He looked around the room.
“Where is she?”
“You think I’d bring a four-year-old into all of this?” She asked him incredulously. “You’re mad. And selfish.”
“Selfish?” He asked, looked peeved.
“My sister was attacked,” she enunciated the words very carefully. “My niece’s mother is in a coma. And now you swarm in from nowhere, wanting to take her away from the only family she knows, from her home, to go with you,” she waved a hand at him. “A complete stranger! Four years olds don’t like strangers, Luke!”
“She’s my daughter,” he stated automatically.
Paige scoffed. “Your names not on her birth certificate,” she informed him. “And according to the law, and to Abbie, I am her legal guardian in such events. Plus,” she added with rising passion. “I know her. I know what food she likes, her favourite story, what to do when she gets sad. I’ve cleaned her nappies, her vomit, dealt with tantrums and wet beds, and you—you don’t even know her middle name. You don’t even know what she looks like. And Susanne here,” she pointed to Susanne, who sat rigidly in her chair, the picture of professionalism. “Will not allow a stranger to take a child away from her legal guardian, especially, when said legal guardian is competent and safe.” The words were rehearsed, learnt, and I imagined what sort of conversation the two of them had on their way over here. With a look at Susanne, it wasn’t hard to guess. She wasn’t letting that girl go anywhere.
“Competent?” He asked with a chuckle. “You? The girl who used to show up at her sisters” door every weekend in the middle of night drunk as all hell and throwing up?”
“I’ve changed,” Paige told him in a cold voice. “I have a niece now. And you can’t take her.”
“I can fight for custody.”
“With whom? A woman in a coma?” Paige practically yelled, and she looked ready to lob her tea at his head.
“Think about what you’re suggesting,” I said soothingly, looking at Luke. “Her mother is in hospital; she doesn’t know why. Life is strange enough for her living with her aunt, coming here,” I waved an arm around the station. “Without a strange man coming in and taking her away from that. You do have a right to fight for custody,” I spoke quickly as Paige riled up for another bout of attack. “But perhaps not when the mother of your child is the hospitalized victim of a current police investigation.”
Perhaps he didn’t care, I realised. Perhaps he was counting on her not being here to fight.
He sighed and gave a defeated nod. “But once this is over,”
Paige interrupted him with another scoff. “Like Abbie will want you anywhere near her. Can I take her home now?” She asked me. I looked to Susanne, who nodded and nodded myself. Paige stood up, and Susanne left with her, dropping her information card with Luke as they made their way over to Sharp.
“Since you’re here, Mr Campbell,” I called his attention. “Might we ask you a few questions about Abbie Whelan?”
Eleven
Mills
“Questions about Abbie?” The tall, tanned botanist that sat across from us looked confused. He’d relented, at long last, the business with Grace. Apparently, being in a police station with both Paige and Susanne and her barrel of legal papers that she had with her was enough to dissuade him for now.
“That’s right,” Thatcher said. “We have a few questions for you, if you’re willing to assist us with our investigation?”
Luke Campbell shifted in his seat and, by all accounts, looked ready to bolt. But then he glanced to the door where, from a text I had just received from Susanne, Paige and Grace had already walked from. He nodded, and I doubted it was less from concern for Abbie so much as it was gaining favour for the inevitable custody case he’d land at their feet. Thatcher stood up and opened the door,
“This way then, please, Mr Campbell.”
We led him down the hall to the interview room, taking a seat around the metal table, and Thatcher switched the recording device on, making the introductions, and then settled back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. Something was annoying him, I could tell. I wasn’t sure if it was the man sitting across from us trying to claim the daughter he’d never paid any interest to, or whatever it was that
