Blood Money (8 page)

‘Ellie is staying late,’ Mariner said. ‘Shouldn’t her parents have collected her by now?’

Trudy Barratt remained loyal to her clientele. ‘We try to be flexible to accommodate parents’ needs,’ she said, tactfully.

‘It must make your life difficult.’

‘On the contrary, it’s what we’re here for.’ Trudy Barratt took the seat behind her desk.

Mariner sat down on one of the plastic chairs opposite. ‘Samantha told us about the arrangement that you have with the hospital regarding the crèche. How exactly does that work?’

‘It’s quite simple. We undertake to keep open a certain number of places on particular days, up to a maximum of eight, for children of visiting consultants and so on. The crèches are advertised through the hospital and parents ring us and book their child for as many days as they would like.’

‘And what do you get for offering this service?’

‘The hospital pays us for the nursery places taken.’

‘Do you have to submit some kind of records to the hospital?’

‘Oh yes. The Trust needs to know that the service is being used and I like to be as transparent as possible.’

‘What form do they take?’

‘They’re fairly basic, just details of the child, name, address, date of birth.’ She pulled open a drawer. ‘I have one here.’ She handed Mariner a pre-printed form with a pink carbon backing. ‘I send the top sheet up to the hospital, and keep a copy on file here.’

‘At what point do you send the originals up to the hospital? ’

‘On a weekly basis as the bookings come in.’

‘And when did Emma O’Brien book Jessica’s place?’

‘Oh several weeks ago I think, let me check.’ She reached up on to the shelf beside her and took down a blue lever-arch file, which contained a number of the pink carbons. ‘Let me see ...’ She rifled through them until she found the one she wanted. ‘Yes, Mrs O’Brien made the booking over the phone in the middle of August.’

‘Can I see?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She passed across the bulky file. From it Mariner learned that the baby’s name was Jessica Klinnemann, and that her father was Peter Klinnemann, it gave her date of birth, her home address and the date and times when Jessica was booked into the crèche. A circled ‘No’ at the top also told the reader that Jessica had never been placed there before. Information that would have been invaluable to someone planning an abduction. The form was completed on the eighth of August. A glance up at the wall planner behind Trudy Barratt’s desk told him that it had been a Tuesday.

‘So you would have sent Jessica’s form along with others up to the hospital some time ago?’

‘Yes. At the end of that week they would have gone to the main administration centre.’

‘How do you advertise the crèche?’ Mariner asked.

Trudy Barratt dug around among the piles of papers on her desk and came up with a glossy leaflet bearing the nursery logo, with photographs of various aspects. ‘This leaflet is on display on notice boards up at the hospital in the relevant departments. The hospital also sends them out routinely with their information for visiting lecturers and conference delegates. It has our phone number on the back so that parents can contact us directly. The conference that Mrs O’Brien was speaking at was advertised as having a crèche.’

‘Miss’, Mariner wanted to remind her, instead he said: ‘But anyone else visiting the hospital could also see them?’

‘Yes.’

‘So people outside the nursery would be aware of particular days when the crèche is being used?’

‘Yes.’

‘And anyone working in the hospital administration department could have known that Jessica Klinnemann would be here today.’

‘Yes, I suppose they could.’ That was bad news too.

The buzzer sounded and DCI Sharp’s face filled the CCTV. Trudy Barratt hesitated, her brow knitted to a frown.

‘It’s my gaffer,’ Mariner enlightened her. ‘She’s quite safe.’

Trudy Barratt followed him out into the hallway to meet DCI Sharp and Mariner made introductions. ‘Mrs Barratt was out of the nursery when the incident occurred,’ he said. After a pause of several seconds, Trudy Barratt took the hint. ‘I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ And she went back into her office and closed the door.

‘So what the hell is going on?’ Sharp asked, when she and Mariner were alone.

‘All we know so far is that at about two thirty a woman came into the nursery, collected a baby, Jessica O’Brien, and walked out with her.’

‘And no one stopped her?’

‘They had no reason to. The girls working in the room had never met Jessica’s mother, so assumed that it was her. Mrs Barratt seems to have been the only person who had met the mother, Emma O’Brien, and as I said, she was out of the nursery at the time.’

‘This woman just walked in off the street?’

‘Security’s there, but it’s not that great. It would be if it worked, but it’s a bit hit and miss. It’s not clear if this woman rang the bell and was buzzed in by one of the staff in the rooms, or if someone leaving the building let her in. There was no one in the office to challenge her, and the deputy manager was elsewhere in one of the other rooms. Added to that, the girls in the room where Jessica was are temporary, and one of them isn’t all that bright either.’

‘So we don’t know if she had the nerve to announce her arrival or if she sneaked in when no one was looking.’

‘Aside from the girl in the room we have another member of staff who encountered her in the hall. She’s given us an excellent description and says the woman was definitely edgy. The woman also checked whether Mrs Barratt was here.’

‘So she knew Mrs Barratt’s name?’

Mariner allowed his eyes to drift up to the wall behind where they were standing. ‘Not necessarily. It’s on the board outside as well as up there. When Christie explained that she wasn’t, the woman told her she had come for her baby, so Christie showed her through to the crèche. She reasonably assumed that the uncertainty was because the woman was unfamiliar with the nursery.’

‘So how does this crèche work?’

Mariner briefly outlined what he knew.

‘I’ve never come across that kind of set-up before,’ said Sharp. ‘But I suppose being so close to the hospital it makes sense.’

‘It’s the woman’s behaviour inside the room that starts to get interesting,’ Mariner said. ‘And I think might demonstrate a level of understanding about how the crèche works. If this had been just a chancer walking in off the street you would expect her to wait until the children were left unattended, and snatch one without being seen. But this woman went into the room when there was a member of staff present and just took the child right in front of her eyes. That was a huge risk, and depended on the girl working in the room not knowing what the mother of the child looked like. Had she been caught the woman would have no doubt claimed confusion, that she was in the wrong room or something, but everything played her way. She wasn’t afraid of being seen. Unless it was a professional disguise, she seems to have made no efforts to hide her appearance.’

‘That’s remarkable in itself, but all of this so far points to it being more than simply an opportunistic enterprise.’

‘Exactly,’ said Mariner. ‘This woman was a gambler. She must have known that there would be security procedures operating in the nursery, and that she could potentially have been challenged at any time. I don’t think this is your average baby snatch.’

‘The woman was on her own?’

‘She came into the nursery alone, but until we know what happened once she was outside again we’ve no way of knowing if she was working solo. There may have been an accomplice waiting in a vehicle to take them away. Leanne, the girl she met in the crèche itself, had an impression that she’d had to park some distance away, so she must have had transport.’

‘Buses pass right by the front door.’

‘But the timing would have had to be right. Once outside with the baby she wouldn’t have wanted to hang about, would she? As it was, no one realised Jessica was missing until her real mum came to collect her at four o’clock, but Mrs Barratt could have come back at any time and realised that something was wrong.’

‘It’s still a possibility.’

Mariner nodded agreement. ‘We’ve got someone talking to the drivers working the route this afternoon.’

‘Do you think it’s any coincidence that we’re very close to the maternity hospital?’

It had crossed Mariner’s mind. ‘In the past when babies have been snatched it’s generally been from maternity wards. But security has tightened considerably in the last few years, particularly after Naomi Carr was taken from Good Hope hospital. All newborns are tagged.’

‘Well it’s something we should consider. Someone should follow up with the hospital to check on any woman who’s recently lost a baby and who might need to counter that loss. It’s an unusual way of doing it, but if she could-n’t get hold of a newborn, maybe Jessica was the next best thing.’

‘There’s also a fertility clinic up at the hospital, so we could be looking at a woman who’s unable to conceive.’ Mariner explained about the marketing for the crèche. ‘It’ll be interesting to see exactly where the flyers are pinned up. They might have given someone the initial idea. I’ll find out if there have been any general enquiries about the crèche recently, someone who wanted the information but didn’t then go ahead and book in a child.’

‘So you’re thinking it’s pre-meditated?’

‘I think it has to be, at least to some degree. It would be a hell of a risk to just walk in off the street and take a child. All sorts of things could go wrong. And I think she has to have known about the crèche.’

‘Unless she was just incredibly lucky.’

It was the word ‘incredibly’ that Mariner found hard to disregard.

‘We are
sure
it’s a woman?’ Sharp said, suddenly.

‘Yes, ma’am. The description’s corroborated by both Leanne and Christie; a woman, white, middle-aged with short or probably tied-back brown hair. We also have a sound description of what she was wearing. Christie got a better look and seems to have more about her, so I’ve sent her back to Granville Lane with DS Knox to look at some mug-shots and to put together an efit, which we’ll get out to the media as soon as it’s ready.’

‘Good.’ Sharp seemed to drift off for a moment. ‘It’s your worst nightmare, isn’t it?’ It was spoken from the heart. ‘How’s the mother doing?’

‘About what you’d expect. Millie Khatoon is with her.’

‘Right, I should come and meet her.’

As she spoke, the buzzer sounded again, making them jump. Mrs Barratt appeared from her office, Ellie’s car seat in her hand. Mariner and Sharp stood back and watched as she opened the door on a young woman who, to Mariner, looked far too young to be a consultant in anything. There was no greeting exchanged and the young woman didn’t appear to have much interest in her child, nor Ellie in her, as the baby was handed over with no more sensibility than if she’d been a package. Mariner remarked on this as they watched the baby seat carried down the path and put into the back of the car parked right outside.

‘The au pair,’ said Mrs Barratt, anticipating Mariner’s next question. ‘Ellie’s mother called a little while ago to say that she’d been held up so would be sending her. I don’t suppose she speaks much English. Young, inexperienced and probably paid peanuts, poor girl.’

Poor girl? Mariner thought back to the girls who had travelled with Katarina, expecting to be employed looking after other people’s children. They’d have happily traded places with Ellie’s au pair. Compared with those girls her life was charmed, though she didn’t appear to appreciate her good fortune and her eyes seemed to carry that same haunted look. But maybe she was just homesick.

‘Is she working here legally?’ Mariner couldn’t help it.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Mrs Barratt, tightly. ‘That really is none of my business.’ Even DCI Sharp gave him a disapproving look.

‘At any rate she’s not very deserving of a car,’ Mariner observed, noting the elderly vehicle that pulled away. The wall clock said a little after twenty past six.

‘Ellie can’t see a lot of her mum,’ DCI Sharp remarked.

‘This government wants women back in the workplace,’ replied Mrs Barratt. ‘It keeps me in business, but the consequence, to be truthful, is that lots of children don’t see much of their parents.’ She didn’t indicate whether or not she agreed with the principle, but presumably she was complicit, as she was making her living from it.

‘How long have you been open?’ Davina Sharp asked, conversationally.

‘Nearly ten years.’

‘A lot must have changed in that time.’

‘There’s more paperwork, if that’s what you mean,’ said Trudy Barratt, with feeling. ‘Endless guidelines and regulations. ’

‘I was thinking more about the huge expansion in childcare provision. It must have created more competition. Any rivalry with other local nurseries?’

Mrs Barratt smiled. ‘In my view there’s nothing wrong with a little healthy competition. It helps to keep us on our toes. And there are plenty of children to go round.’

‘Your contract with the hospital must help,’ said Mariner.

‘It’s a useful cushion, yes.’

Nicely understated, thought Mariner. ‘There must be other nursery managers who would like that contract.’

‘I daresay there are, but they haven’t discussed it with me.’

‘Which other nurseries are closest to you, geographically? ’

Trudy Barratt gave them a couple of names, which Mariner mentally noted.

‘And they’re doing well?’

‘You’d have to ask them that.’

‘One of the things we must consider is whether this could be personal,’ DCI Sharp went on. ‘Can you think of any reason why someone might want to bring your nursery into disrepute?’

‘No.’

‘Anyone who might simply want to make life difficult for you? What about any staff who have recently left?’