“When? Where?”
“I’ve asked DCS MacAteer to go back over the files of past abductions as well as missing children and security breaches at hospitals and schools.”
I look at Jack, wondering if he’s getting the same message.
“There’s something else,” says Cyrus, choosing his words carefully. “I think we should consider the possibility that Ben was chosen.”
“What do you mean, chosen?” I ask.
“There were eighteen babies in the maternity ward that night. This woman walked past at least six mothers with newborn babies. Why didn’t she choose one of them?”
I am struggling with the notion. “So you think . . . ?”
“I’m trying to explain the inconsistencies.”
“Why would she choose Ben?” asks Jack.
“She may have seen Meg arriving at the hospital, or she may have recognized you from the TV; or she could have identified you earlier. Did you notice anyone following you in the weeks leading up to the birth? Any strange cars, or phone calls?”
I shake my head, less certain than before.
“How many other people knew when and where you were having your baby?”
I try to think. My mothers’ group, my hairdresser, my yoga instructress, the girls in the class, Lucy’s teacher, the staff from Lachlan’s preschool . . . My doctor knew, of course. My mother . . .
“What about your blog?” Jack asks.
Cyrus raises his eyes from the page. “What blog?”
“I write a mummy blog,” I explain. “It’s a hobby, I guess.”
“What do you write about?”
I shrug, feeling embarrassed. “About my life, the kids, Jack . . . but I never use our real names.”
“She has six thousand followers,” says Jack, trying to be helpful.
“Did you tell people when you were having your baby?”
My heart sinks. “I might have mentioned . . .”
“Did you give the date?”
I nod.
“Did you mention the hospital?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you corresponded with any of these women?”
“They comment on my posts or send me messages.”
“And you reply?”
“Not all the time.”
I know what he’s thinking. Some of these readers will be pregnant, or have young families, or might have lost babies.
“Any haters or trolls?” he asks.
“Maybe. Some. Very rarely. Hardly any. I have never posted where I live or mentioned the names of streets or schools.” I know I sound defensive.
“How do we get all that free stuff?” asks Jack.
“Companies know who writes these blogs,” I say. “And my friends know.”
I am digging myself into a hole, but this is not about protecting me. I try to think. Could someone have been stalking me? I rack my brain. A few weeks ago a BMW followed me through a changing light at Hammersmith. What about that creepy woman who hangs around the pond when I’m feeding the ducks with Lachlan? She’s always scratching at her arms and talking to herself. Once I start, I can’t stop. There’s a homeless man who sleeps in the doorway of the church. He sometimes knocks on people’s doors, asking for odd jobs. And a man at the library who tries to look up women’s skirts when they sit on beanbags to read stories to their children.
“Has anyone taken a special interest in your pregnancy?” asks Cyrus.
“I don’t think so. I know lots of pregnant women. I’ve been doing prenatal yoga classes at the fitness center and my blog gets lots of comments from new mums.”
“Has anyone stood out? They might have been particularly intense, or asked a lot of personal questions.”
“Not really.”
Jack interrupts. “What about the one whose husband is in the navy?”
“Agatha,” I say. “She’s not intense.”
“Who’s Agatha?” asks Cyrus.
“She does my yoga class.”
“How long have you known her?”
“A month or so. She works locally.”
“And she’s pregnant?”
“She had her baby before me.”
Cyrus is taking notes. “Do you have an address for Agatha?”
“I have her phone number and an email address.”
From outside I hear a commotion. Shouts. Scuffling. Annie opens the front door. Reporters are besieging DCS MacAteer as he steps from a police car. Chaperoned by his driver and another detective, he pushes his way through the media scrum, ignoring their questions.
I meet them in the hallway, which is suddenly very crowded. MacAteer glances at Cyrus, nods, no handshake.
He addresses me. “A newborn baby has been left outside a church in Little Drayton in Shropshire. It’s a baby boy, but we don’t know if it’s Ben,” he says.
I step back, swaying and reaching for the wall.
“The baby has been taken to the nearest hospital. I want to stress: we don’t know if it’s related to this case, but I thought you should hear about this from me and not from the rabble outside.”
A question gets stuck in my throat.
Jack speaks. “What do we know?”
“From the initial reports, the baby might only be a few hours old. He’s being examined by doctors.”
“It’s Ben!” I blurt. “It’s him.”
“We don’t know that,” says MacAteer. “We may have to do a DNA test.”
“Please let me see him. I could feed him. I’m still expressing.”
MacAteer exchanges a glance with Cyrus. They think I’m being irrational. I start to argue. Cyrus cuts me off. “Please, Mrs. Shaughnessy. Meghan. Don’t make this any harder.”
MacAteer takes out a small plastic test tube. “We want to take a DNA sample—a simple mouth swab.”
“Of course,” says Jack, reaching for the test tube.
“No, it should be me,” I blurt, aware of the dangers of DNA and the sins it could reveal.
“Mother or father, it makes no difference,” says MacAteer.
I take the tube from Jack and run the cotton swab around my cheek before dropping it into the tube. MacAteer seals the top and tucks it into his inner pocket. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have news,” he says. “In the meantime, PC Hipwell will stay here and handle the media. Until we know more, I recommend that you don’t make any public statements.”
The detectives leave the house, triggering another barrage of questions. Annie and Cyrus remain behind. He asks whether Jack or I have ever been to Little Drayton, or if we know anyone who lives there. We shake our heads.
Jack turns on the TV. We’re watching a female reporter outside the hospital in Stoke, struggling to hold down her hair in the wind.
“The infant boy, who weighs seven pounds, was found lying inside a cardboard box left next to the main doors of the hall. Paramedics transported him to Royal Stoke University Hospital, where a spokesman issued a brief update in the last half hour describing the baby as being dehydrated but generally in good condition.