The Babysitter(3)

Gulping a lungful of slightly less stifling air as he exited the house, he glanced around, assessing the location. An isolated country property located on the Worcester and Herefordshire border. He’d already noted the absence of a fence or gate dividing the land from the road.

Pondering options for a perimeter, he was gazing into the woodland on the opposite side of the road when DS Moyes joined him. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked her.

‘Slowly.’ Lisa sighed. ‘I sent one of the first attending officers to the local pub. The landlord was pissed off at being knocked up, but he confirmed he was here last night and that there hadn’t been any arguments or suspect incidents. Guests were mostly local apparently. He’s going to let us have some names.’

‘Right.’ Mark nodded. ‘I actually meant how’s it going with you?’

‘Good. I’m good,’ Moyes assured him, her gaze fixed to the front.

Mark noted the determined set of her jaw. ‘Bullshit.’

Lisa’s shoulders deflated. ‘Yeah,’ she said, running her hand through her short crop of hair. ‘Sorry about back there. It’s just… Cummings can be a right tactless twat sometimes.’

Mark sighed empathetically. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘I could imagine it’ – Lisa tugged in a tight breath – ‘how terrified that little girl must have been. I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost one of my children. I suppose the small plus is the parents won’t have to go through the grieving— Oh God.’ She squeezed her eyes closed. ‘Sorry, Mark. I wasn’t thinking. I—’

‘It’s fine,’ Mark said quickly.

Lisa obviously got the gist. ‘So, how’s Mel?’ she asked, her voice falsely bright.

‘Good,’ Mark assured her, happy to talk about his wife. ‘Throwing herself into her work. She’s managed to get a couple of commissions supplying local craft centres, so… Yup, she’s doing okay.’

Outwardly, Melissa and Lisa were as different as chalk and cheese. Taller than Lisa, with long, softly curled hair the colour of soft copper, Mel was meditative, rarely outspoken unless with good cause, caring. As was Lisa, but there the similarity ended. Lisa was definitely outspoken, and she could curse with the best of them. Inwardly, though, they were made of the same stuff, with a steely determination to keep going no matter what shit life dealt them. Having survived an abusive relationship, it was no wonder Lisa would have nil respect for a Neanderthal of Cummings ilk. Mark wouldn’t say it to her face, but having grown up in the midst of an abusive relationship himself, he had a profound respect for her. Lisa had been a friend to Mel when she’d needed one, and Mark had been grateful.

Mark smiled as his mind drifted to Mel, who of late could usually be found at her potter’s wheel. Somehow, she’d pulled herself out of the pit of despair she’d fallen into and built up a business, albeit a fledgling one, from scratch. Mark was in awe of her.

‘Excellent,’ Lisa said, looking pleased. ‘And are you two still… um… you know.’

Noting the insinuating arch of her eyebrows, Mark got the drift. ‘Yes, we’re still trying,’ he confided. And hoping, he added silently, that by some miracle that one day they would be blessed with the child they both desperately wanted.

‘You’re a handsome bastard.’ Lisa smirked. ‘Who could resist?’

Mark shook his head. ‘I could think of a few.’

‘And modest with it. Be still my beating heart.’ Lisa fluttered her eyelashes theatrically. ‘Well, you know what they say, practice makes perfect and all that. It’ll happen,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder as one of the first attending officers approached from the house. ‘Probably when you least expect it. Keep it up, Detective.’

Mark’s mouth twitched into a smile as she gave him a thumbs up and turned to liaise with the uniform. Praying it would happen, for both of their sakes, Mark pulled in a sigh and turned his attention back to the task of setting up the perimeter.

‘I’m heading back in,’ Lisa said. ‘They’re removing the bodies.’

Turning back, Mark arched an eyebrow, surprised she was so keen. He was all for facing fears head on – his biggest fear in his young life had been his own father, until he’d plucked up enough courage to confront him – but Lisa had been visibly upset in there. ‘You sure?’ he asked her. ‘You can always take over out here while I go in.’

Lisa nodded resolutely. ‘I’d like to be with her. Make sure she’s all right, if that makes any sense.’

‘Perfect sense.’ Mark smiled, understanding. It was pointless, the little girl was dead, but making sure she was treated gently might possibly lay a ghost for Lisa.

Gesturing her on, Mark made his way around the side of the house to liaise with the officers out back, plucking his ringing mobile from his pocket as he went. It would be DCI Edwards calling, he assumed, wanting a progress report – i.e., checking up on him, after his psych report had labelled him borderline fit for work. Yes, he’d lost it with Cummings, and flooring a fellow officer hadn’t been the proudest moment of his life, but the bastard had deserved it. And, yes, he might have been ‘borderline’ at the time – his emotional state hadn’t been great after the funeral – but he was fit for work now.