Baby Lies (Reissue) Read online

  ‘I’m sure she’d prefer to speak to you though, boss,’ Knox said, bringing him back to the present.

  Knox was right. He could snatch a couple of minutes now. But when Mariner stepped outside into the gathering dusk to try and ring Anna, he was side-tracked by the appearance of a tank-like four-by-four that bounced up onto the pavement drawing to a halt outside the nursery, completely disregarding the parking restrictions. The side window bore a sticker for Jack and the Beanstalk Day Nursery. A big busted woman, fiftyish in suit and heels, with glossy scarlet fingernails that perfectly matched her lipstick, climbed out and went round to the tailgate of the vehicle, from which she began to drag a huge cardboard box. As Mariner approached her, she eyed him with suspicion, a lone male prowling outside a children’s nursery.

  ‘Mrs Barratt?’ Mariner ventured a guess.

  ‘That’s right, I’m Trudy Barratt. Can I help you?’ She paid him scant attention, more concerned with the task at hand.

  Mariner took out his warrant card. ‘I’m here to help you,’ he said, reaching into the car and holding it out where she could see it. ‘One of your children has gone missing.’

  The box was teetering on the rim of the boot when he spoke and she almost let it drop. ‘That’s impossible.’ She was aghast, until pragmatism took over. ‘Someone’s made a mistake. The girls have got you here for nothing.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Mariner. ‘Jessica O’Brien has been taken from your nursery.’

  She froze, and pocketing his phone Mariner pulled the bulky cardboard carton from where it precariously rested on the lip of the boot. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, absently and slammed shut the tailgate — now intent on getting into the building as quickly as possible. She punched in the code and stepped aside to let Mariner through with his load, which he deposited in the now blissfully empty hallway. The full circumstances explained, Mrs Barratt’s response became somewhat repetitive. ‘I don’t understand how this can have happened,’ she kept saying. ‘I need to talk to the girls.’

  ‘We already have,’ said Mariner. ‘As far as we can ascertain a woman walked into the crèche unchallenged at two thirty this afternoon and took Jessica O’Brien, as if she were her own child.’

  ‘And they let her go?’

  ‘No one had any reason not to. Your staff didn’t know that the woman wasn’t Jessica’s mother. You were the only person who would have known that.’

  ‘And I wasn’t here.’ Mariner hadn’t intended his comment as a judgement but she’d clearly taken it that way. ‘Oh, my God.’

  Samantha appeared, hurrying down the stairs. ‘Have you heard what’s happened? A woman came into—’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’d like to have a few minutes . . .’

  The last was directed at Mariner and as he nodded affirmation the two women disappeared into the office and Trudy Barratt closed the door politely but firmly behind them. Raised voices followed, before finally Samantha emerged, shaken but still keeping it together.

  ‘I’ll go and check if all the other children have gone,’ she said, unnecessarily to Mariner as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. He watched as Mrs Barratt went to pick up her phone and spotted the recording device, her hand hovering in mid-air. He pushed open the door. ‘We have to track all the calls made from now on,’ he said.

  Mrs Barratt looked panicked. ‘Can I use my mobile?’

  ‘If you tell me who you’re calling.’

  ‘My husband.’

  Chapter Four

  Mariner allowed Trudy Barratt some privacy, and as he watched her through the window, pacing her office and jabbering into the phone, her expression grim, Charlie Glover appeared at his side.

  ‘She’s jittery,’ Glover observed.

  ‘Wouldn’t you be? She’s responsible for other people’s children and she’s just lost one of them. The publicity could ruin her. She’s scared. Her reputation, her business and her livelihood are on the line.’

  As they watched, Trudy Barratt became increasingly animated, the phone conversation becoming heated. ‘She told me she wanted to speak to her husband. Do you get the impression he’s not taking it well?’ Mariner wondered aloud. He turned to Glover. ‘What did you need?’

  ‘Some of the staff are asking how long we’ll be, sir,’ Charlie Glover said. ‘They’ve got families at home, and some have got their own kids to collect.’

  Mariner nodded. ‘As long as we’ve got statements and contact details from all of them, then you can let them go. Warn them that we may need to get in touch with them over the course of the weekend though.’ Glover went to pass on the good news. Mariner allowed Trudy Barratt a further couple of minutes then knocked lightly on the door and, without waiting for an invitation, walked in.

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ Trudy Barratt said, decisively, and ended the call.

  Mariner waited expectantly. ‘My husband,’ she said, eventually.

  ‘He’s a partner in the business?’

  ‘Oh, no. I just wanted him to know that I’d be late.’

  The call was clearly about more than that, but Mariner let it go.

  There was another knock on the door and one of the girls brought in a baby car seat. The baby he’d met earlier, Ellie, was, by now, sucking strenuously on a pink dummy, dark eyes surveying all around her. It was after six.

  ‘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 . . . unpredictable.’

  ‘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?’

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

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

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

  ‘A retainer then,’ Mariner concluded. ‘Do you have to submit some kind of records to the hospital?’

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

  ‘What form do these records 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, let me check.’ She reached up onto 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 actually Jessica Klinnemann, her name taken from her father, 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. It was information that would have been useful to someone planning an abduction. The form had been completed on 8 August. A glance up at the wall planner behind Trudy Barra
tt’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 the facilities on offer. ‘This leaflet is on display on notice boards up at the hospital in the relevant departments,’ she told Mariner. ‘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 screen. 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 the DCI and Mariner made introductions. After a short and expectant pause, 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 Klinnemann, and walked out with her.’

  ‘And no one stopped her?’

  ‘They had no reason to,’ said Mariner. ‘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 she was out of the building at the time.’

  ‘This woman just walked in off the street?’

  ‘Security exists here, but it’s not that great. That is, it would be fine 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, frankly, isn’t all that bright.’

  ‘So we don’t know if this woman 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 the abductor in the hall and has given us an excellent description. According to her, the woman was definitely edgy and wanted to know if Mrs Barratt was around.’

  ‘So she knew Mrs Barratt by 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 — the girl who actually spoke to her — explained that Mrs Barratt wasn’t here, 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 setup 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 it might demonstrate a level of understanding about how the crèche works. If this had just been a chancer walking in off the street you would expect her to have waited 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. If she’d been caught she would have no doubt claimed confusion, that she was in the wrong room, but everything played her way. She wasn’t afraid of being seen. Unless it was a professional disguise, she seems to have made no effort to hide her appearance.’

  ‘That’s remarkable in itself,’ said Sharp. ‘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 she did 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, got the impression that she’d had to park some distance away, so she must have had transport.’

  ‘Buses pass right by the front door,’ Sharp pointed out.

  ‘But the timing would have had to be right,’ said Mariner. ‘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. ‘I’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?’ asked Sharp.

  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. All newborns are tagged.’

  ‘Well, it can’t be ignored. Someone should follow up with the hospital to check on any women who might have recently lost a baby. It’s an unusual way of doing it, but if she couldn’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 premeditated?’

  ‘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 try to 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.

  ‘Absolutely. The description’s been corroborated by both Leanne and Christie: a woman, white, middle-aged with short or tied-back dark 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 put together an e-fit, which we’ll get out to the media as soon as it’s ready.’

  ‘Good.’ Sharp seemed to drift off for a moment. ‘This is
any mother’s worst nightmare.’ It was spoken from the heart. ‘How’s she doing, the mother?’

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

  ‘Right, I should come and meet her.’

  As she spoke, the buzzer sounded again, making them both jump. Mrs Barratt appeared from her office, Ellie’s car seat over her arm. Mariner and Sharp stood back and watched as she opened the door to a young woman who, to Mariner, looked far too young to be a consultant in anything. There was no greeting exchanged and there seemed to be a mutual lack of interest between her and the baby. The child was handed over with no more sensibility than if she’d been a package. Mariner remarked on this as they watched her carry the baby seat down the path and put it 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 think 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 but ask.

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