Seven Days(44)

Forensics had examined it, but there was nothing useful. Standard ink and paper, LaserJet printer, no fingerprints or DNA. It could have come from anyone. The postmark was Manchester, but that meant nothing. Lots of people lived in, worked in or visited Manchester.

And then the second sentence.

YOU MISSED SOMETHING BACK THEN. THE CLUES WERE THERE. THEY STILL ARE.

And then the finale.

HERE’S TO ANOTHER YEAR. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, DETECTIVE INSPECTOR.

YOURS SINCERELY,

???

It was not unheard of for criminals – particularly serial criminals – to taunt the police like this. They liked to make it personal, which was why it was addressed to her. It made it a game of wits.

Either that, or it was a hoax, some idiot getting a kick out of causing trouble. That wasn’t unheard of, either.

She turned into Best’s street. She wanted to drive past and take a look, see if it jogged any memories. There was a car parked outside, with a man getting out.

It took her a second or two to recognize him, and another second or two to wonder why he was here, of all places.

She pulled up behind Martin Cooper’s car and got out.

‘Mr Cooper,’ she said. ‘Detective Inspector Wynne. I—’

‘I remember you.’ He didn’t seem pleased to see her. She couldn’t blame him.

‘How are you?’ she said.

‘Not too bad.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You decided to stop for a chat?’

‘No. Not exactly.’ She put a hand on her car roof. ‘I was wondering what you were doing here. At Best’s house.’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘No. I was wondering. That’s all.’

‘Well, nothing to wonder about. I’m picking up my son.’

‘Your son?’ Wynne said. ‘What’s he doing here?’

Martin looked at the front door. It was open and James and Mr Best were standing on the threshold.

‘Maths tuition,’ he said. ‘He was struggling a little and Mr Best offered to help. He used to teach Sandra.’

‘Is everything OK?’ Best called out. ‘Hello, Detective Inspector. Or is it something else? Maybe you’ve been promoted?’

‘No.’ Wynne’s skin prickled. She was sure he was mocking her. ‘Still the same rank.’

‘I’m sure it will come, in time.’

‘You know each other?’ Martin said.

‘Yes,’ Best said. ‘Our paths have crossed during the course of various civic duties I fulfil. Haven’t they, Detective Inspector?’

The implication was obvious: you can’t tell them about any unproven – Wynne preferred that to ‘false’ – allegations. If she did, Wynne had no doubt that a writ for something – defamation or slander – would be coming her way. A writ that would be successful.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s been nice to see you all. Give my regards to your wife.’

She got in the car and started the engine. As she pulled away she could see Best in her rear-view mirror. He was smiling, and she had to fight the urge to go back and wipe the smile from his face once and for all.





Eleven Years Earlier: Sunday Morning, 1 July 2007:


Maggie



1


Maggie was woken by a cry. It was high and faint and, for a moment, she thought that an animal – a cat, maybe – had broken into the room.

And then the cry came again, and she remembered.

It was a baby’s cry. Her baby.

She was no longer alone in the room. She had a son.

She was a mother.

He cried again and it tugged at her in a way she had never felt before. The thought that he was hungry or in pain or in distress of any sort was unbearable. Every instinct she had told her to help him, to stop whatever was upsetting him and make him happy.

She opened her eyes. He was lying next to her in a basket the man had brought.

‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘Hello, beautiful.’





2


Seb – she had named him immediately, had decided beforehand that if it was a boy it would be Seb – was lying in a wicker basket at the side of her bed. She stared at him in disbelief that he was hers, that she had a baby, a son, then turned and picked him up.

Pain tore through her abdomen and she felt a wetness between her legs. She looked down. It was blood. She clutched Seb to her chest and lowered herself back to the bed.

She groaned. He had been born an hour ago, an hour since she had held him up and used the scissors and clamp the man had left – she had not known why until she saw the cord connecting him to her and understood – and become a mother.

An hour of pain and bleeding and fatigue beyond anything she had ever dreamed possible.

An hour of disbelief and joy and love beyond anything she had ever dreamed possible.

‘Shhhh,’ she said. ‘Shhhh, Seb, shhhh.’

His cries grew louder and she felt her heart rate increase. One tiny hand fluttered against the skin of her neck. There’s something wrong with him, she thought. I’m doing something wrong. Maybe he’s hungry.

She pulled her T-shirt up and exposed her breasts. They were large and swollen. She tried to guide him to her nipple. His mouth opened and closed against it, but he couldn’t grip it. She tried again, chasing his mouth with her nipple. A bead of liquid formed and trickled down his cheek on to his lips.