Gina wiped a crumb from the side of her mouth before taking a swig of coffee. ‘So we don’t really have a lot to go on as yet. Did you follow up at the hospital?’ she asked, looking at Wyre.
‘I did. I spoke to the consultant in charge, ma’am, a Dr Nowak,’ replied DC Paula Wyre in her usual soft tone. The petite woman cleared her throat and took a step forward, brushing her straight black hair off her shoulders. O’Connor held the packet of biscuits under her nose. ‘No, thank you,’ she replied before clearing her throat once again. ‘The five-pound female baby has mild hypothermia. Their initial assessment tells them she’s premature. She’d been fed within a couple of hours as she brought up a lot of milk on the way to the hospital. She is currently being hydrated and nourished through a nasal tube. They estimate her to be no more than a day old. The cord had been clumsily cut, definitely not by anyone who knew what they were doing.’ Wyre took a step back and nodded.
‘Thank you,’ said Gina. ‘What does that tell us, O’Connor?’
‘It tells us someone—’ O’Connor began to cough as he tried to dislodge a rogue crumb from his windpipe. Gina shook her head as he took a gulp of coffee.
‘It tells us,’ she said, ‘that we have a distressed parent out there. The fact that the mother and/or father kept her for a few hours says that there was some hesitancy. Did she consider keeping the baby? She must’ve fed the baby quite well before they parted.’ Gina stared as O’Connor continued to cough and splutter. ‘I can’t think with this racket going on.’ Rain bounced off the roof and she heard a distant rumble of thunder.
‘Sorry, ma’am. It’s all gone now,’ he said, and he clapped his hands and jumped off the desk, landing with a thud on the tiled floor. Gina flinched as a roll of thunder vibrated through the building. Her hammering heart almost made her gasp.
‘Are you alright, ma’am?’ Jacob asked.
She forced a smile and looked up. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, as she undid the top button of her shirt and stepped backwards towards her office. ‘Driscoll, chase up forensics on the items that were bagged – we need those analysed, see if they can tell us something. Wyre, I’ll pass the press release over to DCI Briggs when I’m done. Can you monitor the responses? I’m sure we’ll get a fair few. We need to continue with the door-to-doors, see what PC Smith comes back with. O’Connor, when you’ve tidied those biscuits away, investigate whether there’s any CCTV at any of the establishments along the high street? Try the chip shop. I doubt the person who left the baby would’ve gone that way as it’s so public, but you just never know,’ Gina said as she continued along the corridor and closed her office door.
She walked towards the window and shivered as the wind howled through the room. A line of water had gathered under the open window. The blinds rattled as the breeze whipped up. She pulled the window closed, fell into her chair and took a deep breath. Thunder clashed and the lights dipped then flickered. The combination of thunder and seeing the helpless baby had dug up her memories. Memories she’d rather forget.
Twenty years ago, it had been a thundery night, just like this. Her own child, Hannah, then only two years old, had been screaming. In darkness and half asleep she’d staggered from her bedroom to comfort her. As the toddler’s wailing continued, she’d hurried along the landing before colliding with her drunk husband, Terry, at the top of the stairs. Just like back then, her heart quickened and the walls seemed to be closing in, showing no mercy. She wanted to fall to the floor and curl up in a ball, closing her eyes until it was all over and she could breathe again.
* * *
There was a knock at the door, bringing her back into the moment. Jacob entered. She turned and took a few deep breaths as she wiped her watery eyes and massaged her throbbing head
‘The items have arrived at the lab. They’ll let us know when they have something for us,’ said Jacob. ‘Are you sure you’re alright, guv? You look a bit pale.’
‘I’m fine. Just a headache.’ She shook her head. ‘I think I’m coming down with a cold or something. Anyway, enough of me. We have a baby’s mother to find. The poor woman is probably feeling a lot worse than I am.’
‘Let’s hope the public don’t scare her away. There will be slagging off galore in the Facebook comments and Twitter feeds in the morning. Are you sure you’re alright? Is there anything I can get you?’
‘Bloody Facebook. Full of sanctimonious trolls. I’d love another coffee if you’re getting one, and then we can go over the case together. I’ll email DCI Briggs while you’re gone.’
‘On it like the proverbial car bonnet. Whoever came up with that pile of nonsense?’ Driscoll replied, tucking a section of overhanging shirt into his trousers as he left to get the drinks.
A combination of finding the baby, a thick head and the stormy weather had turned her into a wreck. She inhaled and exhaled slowly before straightening her jacket. She turned on her computer. Time to start writing the press release to send to Briggs. It needed to be done quickly if it were to make the morning news programmes. As she’d reminded Driscoll, they had a baby’s mother to find. Thunder clashed once again. She inhaled slowly and exhaled. She was in control. Nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix.
Five
Saturday, 2 December 2017
Debbie shivered as she pulled the coarse blankets over her shoulders. Lying on her side in a pool of sticky wetness, she thought of the small life she’d pushed from her body a day ago. The kettle whistled as he stomped across the wooden boards of the loft to the camping stove. As the kettle’s whistling stopped, his whistling began: ‘You Are My Sunshine’. That song that made her want to vomit. Tears trailed over her nose, down her cheek and gathered with the others on her lumpy pillow.
‘Tea, dear?’ he asked as he opened the door, flooding the room with battery-powered light. She flinched and cried. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry,’ he said, staring into her eyes.
She inhaled, held her breath and let it out slowly before forcing a smile.
‘When you smile, you make me the happiest man alive. Make me happy and I make you happy. Do you trust me?’ She nodded. ‘Good. Breakfast will be served in a minute.’ He pulled the door closed as he continued to whistle. She listened as he took the plates from the cupboard and slammed them onto the countertop. He then turned the portable television on and she heard the sound of a morning news show. As he turned up the volume, the cries she’d suppressed burst out. Sobbing, she clenched the blanket and silently screamed into it. As she drew her legs towards her chest, her body leaked more liquid. She lifted one leg off the other and yelped as pain seared through her body. The ankle chain clattered as she moved her other leg. Shivering, she curled into a ball, trying to warm up.
‘Here we are,’ he said as he burst through the door, smiling, wearing a chef’s apron. He placed the tray on the side table. ‘I’ve made your favourite, honey on toast. Are you happy?’
Through chattering teeth, she smiled.
‘Are you happy?’ he asked, as his smile turned into a frown.
‘I’m happy,’ Debbie stammered. She hated honey; she’d always hated honey. How he ever thought that honey on toast was her favourite thing to eat was beyond her. In the beginning, she’d rebelled, thrown the food against the wall and screamed, but she’d soon learned that no one was coming; she’d learned that she did love honey. And if loving honey kept her alive another day, she’d continue to love it.