Blood Money (34 page)

‘But the babies had been changed.’

‘So without knowing it, she took the wrong baby. She and her husband did what they had planned and retreated with their baby to a holiday cottage. I didn’t manage to get hold of them until three days later, when we could arrange to swap the babies.’

‘How much have the Scanlons paid for Ellie?’

‘You make it sound so vulgar. The parents make a donation to cover our expenses. It’s entirely voluntary.’

‘How much?’ Mariner asked.

‘I really don’t remember. I’d have to check my records.’

‘Don’t worry, we’re already doing that for you,’ said Mariner. ‘And I’m sure the Inland Revenue will be interested in them too. And that’s quite apart from your involvement in the illegal sale of a child.’

‘We didn’t consider it—’

‘You consider it what you like,’ said Mariner. ‘I call it selling babies, and you’re in deep shit. Though it could be worse. Baby Ellie almost died.’

For the first time that day Trudy Barratt looked shaken. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Paula Scanlon tried to kill herself and the baby. Fortunately for you they both survived and baby Ellie will be reunited with her birth mother, so that’s one less tragedy on your conscience.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Tell us about this girl, Nadia,’ Mariner said, placing the photograph down on the table.

‘I’ve never seen her before. Really.’

Mariner felt sure she was telling the truth. ‘And where is Mr Zjalic now?’

‘I really have no idea.’

 

‘Know what the really fucking annoying thing is?’ said Mariner afterwards. ‘She’ll come over all philanthropic, helping all these poor childless couples and girls who can’t afford to keep their babies and probably get a suspended sentence.’

It was two days before they had further good news and Mariner came into Granville Lane to find a message waiting: Goran Zjalic had been picked up at Harwich, trying to board a ferry. He was being returned to them pronto.

When Zjalic arrived at Granville Lane the first thing Mariner arranged was for Valenka to come in and make a positive identification. DCI Sharp caught Mariner in the corridor. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Valenka is coming in to do an identity parade.’

‘Good. I’ve got that nasty little man Cahill coming in at ten. I’ll be able to tell him that we’re making progress.’

Afterwards Mariner couldn’t say what made him do it. It was just a hunch, pure and simple. He went down to reception to meet Valenka and Katarina, who had come in to translate for her friend. While he was down there he had a word with Delrose on reception. ‘Could you let me know when Mr Cahill arrives?’

The identity parade went smoothly and Valenka didn’t hesitate in her identification. Mariner was gathering further background from her, in one of the rape suites upstairs when he was paged. ‘Let’s take a break,’ he said. ‘Get some fresh air.’

The timing was perfect. As they got to the top of the stairs Mariner could see the carefully combed-over pate approaching from the floor below and was careful to position himself between the girls and the councillor. Within a few feet of him, Valenka gave a little involuntary cry of fear and, forgetting herself, clutched at Mariner’s arm. She retched. The exchanged glance lasted only seconds, but in that time Mariner could see the spark of mutual recognition, before Cahill hurried up the stairs to Sharp’s office. When they got back to the interview room Mariner asked Katarina: ‘Did she know that man?’ Valenka was silent, her eyes afraid.

‘It’s all right,’ Mariner soothed. ‘He’s not a policeman. He’s er, an official, someone who gives us a lot of trouble.’

‘He was one of her clients,’ Katarina said at last, and it was the first thing in days to make Mariner smile.

He lightly touched Valenka’s arm. ‘Yeah, he makes me sick, too,’ he murmured under his breath.

 

It was only as he was writing up statement notes later that Mariner noticed the date. It seemed significant for some reason but he couldn’t think why. Then he realised it was the day that Anna was moving out of her house. Rounding her street corner he saw with some relief that the removal van was still there. He parked up and went into the house. ‘Anna!’

He was greeted by a total stranger. ‘Hello, can I help you?’

‘I was looking for Anna Barham, she’s moving out today.’

‘She’s gone. We’re moving in.’

The man was happy to let Mariner look around, but none of his stuff was there. Mariner went back to the home on the canal and could hardly get in the door. Everything he owned from Anna’s house had been dumped in the hall.

Katarina was in the kitchen, stirring some kind of beef stew. ‘A woman brought it,’ she said. ‘She was upset, angry I think. She asks me to tell you: “I hope you will be happy.” But she’s not smiling when she said it.’

‘No. I don’t suppose she was.’

‘It’s your woman?’

‘Not any more. It’s finished.’

‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘I made stew. You want to have some?’

‘Why not?’

Later that evening Mariner was introducing Katarina to
Casablanca
when there was a rap on the door. He opened it to find Anna standing on the doorstep. ‘I let the van go down without me. I couldn’t just go, not without saying goodbye.’ She looked beyond him into the lounge where Katarina sat.

‘This isn’t what you think,’ Mariner said hastily. ‘I’m only putting her up until—’

She managed a smile. ‘I know. I talked to Tony a couple of days ago. It doesn’t make any difference though, does it?’

‘I suppose not. I hope you find what you want, Anna.’

‘You too.’ And with a soft kiss on his cheek she turned and walked back up the path.