No Child of Mine (58 page)

‘Indeed it could,’ the presenter responded gravely. ‘Meanwhile, we’re going over to our reporter, Emily Grint, who’s currently outside police headquarters in Kesterly. Emily, what have you got for us?’

‘Thanks Erin, well nothing new from the police at this stage, but I have someone here who works on the local paper and who’s known Alex Lake for several years. Thanks for joining us, Heather. I’m told you’ll be posting an interview on the
Kesterly Gazette
’s website later today that you did with a couple of Alex Lake’s colleagues. Perhaps you can give our viewers some idea of what to expect from this piece?’

Heather Hancock was smiling pleasantly as she tucked a handful of her wiry red hair behind one ear and said, ‘Well, basically, the social workers I spoke to, who are also from the Kesterly North hub where Alex Lake works, are claiming that she, Alex Lake, has always had an air about her as if she was too good for the job.’

Sophie cried, ‘That is such bullshit! She is so not like that.’

Heather Hancock was still speaking. ‘... she’s heavily involved in amateur dramatics in her home village, and so can’t be relied on to put in the kind of hours or commitment she should for her day job. In other words, it’s highly probable that some, if not all, of the children in her care are failing to get the attention they should.’

‘Fucking bollocks!’ Sophie spluttered.

‘There’s no way that’s true,’ Maggie murmured. ‘Absolutely no way.’

‘Tell me, is that the reporter who gave her play a bad review?’ Anthony asked curiously.

‘Yes, that’s her,’ Maggie confirmed, ‘and if you ask me, she’s got some personal axe she’s grinding over there.’

Anthony didn’t disagree.

‘Have you managed to get any statements from Alex Lake’s superiors at Dean Valley County Council?’ the reporter was asking Heather Hancock.

Heather’s eyes turned flinty, as though she’d just been accused of a dereliction of duty. ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. As I’m sure you know, there’s been a complete lockdown at the Kesterly North hub since it was discovered that Ottilie had gone missing. The people I’ve managed to speak to have come forward of their own accord, and off the record.’

Keeping her tone professionally neutral, the reporter said, ‘One of my colleagues, in her interviews with Alex Lake’s friends and neighbours, has found that everyone generally speaks very highly of her. But you’re saying that doesn’t seem to be the opinion of the people she works with.’

‘I’m sorry, was there a question there?’ Heather’s tone was frosty.

‘I’m simply wondering how you might account for this conflict of opinion,’ the reporter responded mildly.

‘I’m afraid I can’t account for it, except to say that perhaps it goes some way towards confirming that she is far more focused on what goes on closer to home than she is on the needs of her job, which, let’s never forget, involves some of the neediest and most vulnerable children in our society.’

‘What’s her problem?’ Maggie blurted angrily.

‘Indeed it does,’ the reporter agreed, and turning back to camera she said, ‘Just to recap, the interview can be viewed from four o’clock this afternoon on the
Kesterly Gazette
website.’

In the studio the presenter said, ‘Thanks Emily. We’ll come back to you if anything changes there at police HQ. Meanwhile we’re returning to the village of Mulgrove where Andy Besant is outside Alex Lake’s home, Alex Lake, of course, being the social worker at the centre of this investigation. Andy, tell me, are we likely to hear from Alex Lake herself at any point?’

‘I don’t think so, Erin,’ he replied. ‘As you can see, the curtains are closed to prevent anyone seeing inside the house, and so far she’s only opened the door to the police. I’m presuming they’ve given her a dedicated mobile in order to make contact with her, because she seems to know when they’re coming. Certainly she doesn’t open the door to anyone else, and there have been no signs of her speaking to anyone publicly yet. As you know, the director of Dean
Valley social services has only given a very brief statement himself, saying that it wouldn’t be appropriate for him, or any member of staff, to make a comment on the situation at this stage of the investigation.’

Going to switch off the TV Maggie turned to Anthony, her eyes burning with purpose as she said, ‘We have to try and help her. She’s all on her own over there ... OK, I know what you’re going to say, that we’re not certain about that, but the news crews have been outside her house virtually since it happened and have you seen anyone but the police coming and going, because I know I haven’t?’

‘Me neither,’ Sophie declared firmly.

Though Anthony hadn’t either, all he could say was, ‘We’ve left enough messages ...’

‘But she might not be listening to them,’ Maggie broke in heatedly. ‘I mean, imagine the kind of calls she must be getting, thanks to the way the press are trying to blame her. Poor thing must be terrified to pick up the phone, never mind speak to anyone.’

‘So what are you suggesting, that we go over there and knock on the door?’

‘Definitely,’ Sophie cried eagerly. ‘I’ll come too and if any of those reporters ask me what she’s like then I’ll tell them there’s no way she’d ever hurt anyone, not in a million years.’

Maggie smiled at her fondly. ‘You’re right, she wouldn’t,’ she agreed, ‘but no one’s actually accusing her of hurting the little girl, it’s neglect they’re trying to pin on her, or dereliction of duty, or whatever they want to call it, and I’m just not buying it. I’ve met her, I know how much you kids mean to her, so what we have here is one of those ghastly press witch hunts, trying to sensationalise everything to sell a few papers or get people tuning into their radio or television stations. In other words let’s blame the social worker, because they’re always the ones at fault and they’re usually the least well equipped to stand up for themselves. Anthony, as a lawyer, you must be able to do something.’

Though his eyes showed amusement at her faith in him, his tone was perfectly serious as he said, ‘Leave her another
message, and meantime I’ll try to find out what I can about this Heather Hancock and the social workers she claims to have interviewed. If I can knock some holes in that, it might at least help to relieve some of the pressure of responsibility the media is trying to pile on Alex.’

‘Good,’ Maggie stated approvingly, ‘very good, and I think I’ll try calling the police to see if they’ll get a message to her, because I’m sorry, but I just can’t bear to think of her being over there all on her own.’

Alex had unplugged the landline two days ago and switched off both her mobiles. The only phone she used now was the one DC Valerie Bingham had given her. Val was with CAIT – the Child Abuse Investigation Team – and was a detective Alex had worked with several times over the years. She’d always liked her, and nothing had happened so far to change her view.

Very few people had the number of this official mobile: Anna, Gabby and Tommy. They all rang regularly, but she’d soon found that the only person she really felt able to speak to was her mother. Anna had worried that she’d end up being hurt, but she could never have foreseen anything like this – and she’d come to love Ottilie too, so she understood, more than anyone, what all this was meaning for Alex.

So much, too much to bear.

Her mother would be coming soon. She’d already have been on her way if Alex hadn’t insisted she stay for Bob’s party. Even Bob wasn’t asking her to do that, but the arrangements had been made, people were due in from all over, Alex didn’t want everything to be spoiled because of her. But she really did want her mother here; so much that it was almost impossible to hold back the tears each time they connected on Skype and tried to make some reality out of the grainy, distorted images of each other. They only ever spoke briefly; Alex was afraid that the press might have a way of intercepting the calls.

They hadn’t left her alone for a minute. They were outside the house all day and all night, knocking on windows, doors, creeping across the garden, targeting her with powerful lenses.

Gabby wanted to come and stay and kept saying she would, but Alex was against the idea. ‘It’s crazy here, horrible, awful,’ she told her. ‘You don’t need to be a part of it.’

‘Nor do you,’ Gabby cried. ‘It’s not your fault. They can’t blame you for this, it was that monster who should be hanged, tortured ...’

‘Gabby, please, I’m trying not to think about him.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m so worried about you. Why don’t you come here? At least then I’ll know where you are and that you’re taking proper care of yourself.’

‘If I do they’ll find out where I am and then you’ll be bombarded too. Besides, I have to be on hand for the police – and my bosses when they finally decide to speak to me.’

‘You mean no one has yet?’

‘Only Tommy. He’s acting as a kind of go-between at the moment with my union rep, giving them all the information they need before they summon me in.’

‘But they’re going to stand by you? I mean, they know how good you are ...’

‘All they know is that a little girl who was under my care has gone missing after suffering the most appalling sexual abuse.’

‘Yes, but you were trying to help her ...’

‘They’re going to say I should have removed her from the home as soon as I had my suspicions, regardless of the fact that they know how difficult it is to prove something like this. They won’t want any blame attaching to them or the department; it’ll suit them quite well to lay it all on me if they can. Anyway, it isn’t about me, it’s about Ottilie.’

‘Of course, I understand that, and obviously I’m as worried about her as everyone else is, but you’re my sister so for me you come first.’

With a small smile Alex said, ‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’

It wasn’t true, because she was so far from fine that sometimes she felt she could be losing her mind. Every minute of every day was eating her up with so much fear, guilt and horror that sleep had become almost as impossible as rational thought.

‘Ottilie, Ottilie,’ she wept softly to herself now, her hands
clutched to her head as her heart tore in two. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.’ She took a breath, trying to make herself stop, but how could she when she was in the midst of such a terrible nightmare?

Her official mobile started to ring and seeing it was Val Bingham, she clicked on.

‘Hi, just checking to see how you’re holding up,’ Val said kindly.

Alex used the back of a hand to dash away her tears. ‘I’m OK.’

‘Mm, you don’t sound it. I hope you haven’t put the TV on in the last hour.’

Feeling her stomach wrench as terrible images flashed through her mind, Alex replied, ‘No, why?’

‘Sky News have just aired an interview with the Sainsbury’s delivery driver who first alerted your office to Ottilie.’

Since Alex herself had told the police that she suspected the driver of making the calls, the only surprise was that the press had taken this long to find her.

‘She’s claiming she called in three times before anything happened,’ Val continued, ‘and I’m afraid she – or they – have made it sound as though it was you she spoke to on each occasion.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Alex said flatly.

‘I know, I’ve seen the records, and once again I’m sorry the press are going after you like this.’

‘Maybe they’re right to. I mean, I should have got her out of there ...’

‘Alex, this is me you’re talking to. I understand what’s happened, I know how you were putting everything into place to rescue her, and that you didn’t actually know for certain until Monday that he really was sexually abusing the child.’

Alex flinched, and tried to block the sickening images from her mind, but it simply wasn’t possible. She’d seen them now and would never be able to forget the way Ottilie had been shaken about like a rag doll, begging, sobbing and screaming for him to stop ... They’d been linked from the emails Erica Wade had sent to her last Sunday, the
emails she’d heard dropping into her phone as she’d got into her car at the seafront. She hadn’t opened them until the following day, and had immediately sent them on to the police. Since then, Brian Wade had been charged under so many sections of the Sexual Offences Act that there couldn’t be many left that didn’t apply. How sick, depraved, monstrous he was that he could have filmed himself raping his own daughter; almost as bad was the fact that he’d then sold the footage on to others of his ilk.

‘Ottilie’s all I care about,’ Alex said quietly.

‘Of course, she’s all any of us care about and we’ll find her, I promise. Everyone’s out there looking. If I was allowing you to watch the news you’d know that hundreds of people have turned out this afternoon to help search Dillersby Park and nearby Moorland Heath.’

‘The park where I first saw her,’ Alex murmured, almost to herself.

‘That’s right.’

‘What about
him
? What kind of information is he giving you now?’

‘It hasn’t changed much. He’s still saying that his wife stabbed herself and that he has no idea where Ottilie is, or who the silver Renault might belong to. But the phone records are showing that he made several calls on Sunday, presumably to tip off his fellow lowlife – sorry, club members. Police from various forces around the country are following up on the calls, a few arrests have already been made, but one chap is proving more elusive than the rest. There’s a chance she’s with him, but we won’t know until we find him.’

Alex’s head went down as a thick, burning bile rose to her throat.

‘It turns out the hard drive of the computer we dug up from the garden yesterday is still pretty much intact,’ Val continued. ‘So we’ve got more details now of who was involved in this so-called club. If one of them has her, we’ll soon track her down.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sure you will,’ Alex said, having to swallow hard as more tears welled up from the fear and panic devastating her heart. If one of them did have Ottilie, what
was to stop him passing her on to someone else, and then someone else and before they knew it she’d be out of the country ...

Stop it, stop, stop! Don’t do this to yourself. It’s not real, nothing is, apart from the horror of it all
.