Her Missing Child Read online

  ‘Thanks babe,’ Darren took a huge swig from the mug of tea Claire had made for him while he showered. He’d been gasping for a brew and had quickly sunk more than half the mug in a couple of large gulps. He rubbed at his hair with his towel and sank the remainder of his tea before clicking the kettle on again.

  ‘How’s your day been?’ he asked his wife.

  ‘There’s more in the pot,’ she responded, deliberately avoiding his question.

  ‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Darren moved closer and reached out towards her cheek. He might have even dropped a gentle kiss on it, but she flinched as soon as he got too close. He settled for a smile instead. ‘Thanks.’

  Claire’s half-smile in return betrayed her discomfort.

  ‘Here you go.’ Claire handed him the milk.

  ‘Cheers, you want one?’ he asked as he poured.

  Claire scrunched up her nose and shook her head. ‘I’m fine. How was your day?’

  There was a time when all he had to do was brush past her or run his fingers through her hair and they would be in bed within minutes. Sometimes they didn’t even make it into the bedroom. Perhaps if that was still the case he wouldn’t have turned to Maggie. Post-natal depression had ended their sex life months ago. Not that Darren blamed Finlay. Not for one second would he blame his son. He just wished life was different.

  ‘Oh, you know, busy,’ he answered with a shrug. He yawned then glanced at the clock. ‘The wee man having a nap at this time?’ Darren did his best to conceal his frustration. ‘He won’t go down for ages now.’

  ‘Don’t have a go at me, Darren – you’re just in the door. I’m the one that’s been here with him all day. What if I wanted a bit of peace?’ Her defensive response was the default these days. ‘It’s OK for you. You have a life outside these four walls.’

  Darren turned away and rolled his eyes. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing the point. It wasn’t Claire that would have to deal with Finlay at midnight or worse tonight. She would have a headache, or she would be too tired. Darren did try to understand what she was going through, he really did. The health visitor had given him enough leaflets on post-natal depression that he could probably tell you everything there was to know about pregnancy and antidepressants and even therapy. He loved Claire and he absolutely worshipped his son, but Darren could do with a good night’s sleep, too. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept right through.

  ‘I’m not having a go, Claire, forget I said anything.’

  Claire shot him a glance of indignation before storming out of the kitchen. Darren tossed his mug into the sink, splashing himself with the last drops of tea. He stood by the sink and peered out through the blinds. He could see right into Dianne and Colin’s kitchen window. He could see them laughing together. They looked happy. Maybe one day he and Claire would be happy like that. Darren allowed the blind to fall. He needed a hug from his boy. Finlay should be wakened anyway, otherwise it really would be late before Darren could get to bed and he was already exhausted. He couldn’t just lie down whenever he pleased.

  Darren closed the living room door as he passed, leaving Claire sitting in front of the television. He shook his head gently and sighed as he scratched at his messy brown hair then pushed Finlay’s bedroom door open with one finger. He felt bad about waking him from his peaceful slumber, but sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want. He moved through the darkness to switch on Finlay’s Winnie-the-Pooh lamp on his bedside table. He flicked through a story book he didn’t recognise, figuring Dianne must have bought it for him. She was always buying Finlay books. He and Claire were damn lucky to have them around. Dianne had been a godsend when Claire’s depression was at its worst.

  Darren turned to Finlay’s cot and smiled. ‘Hey, wee man, Daddy’s home and needs a big hug from his baby boy. Time you were—’

  Darren’s heart thundered in his chest. He grabbed at the blanket and tossed it aside. His son was gone.

  Three

  ‘Claire!’ Darren screamed and raced into the living room. ‘Claire, where is he?’

  Claire frowned and sat bolt upright. ‘What? Where’s who?’

  ‘Who the hell do you think I mean?’ Darren growled. ‘Where’s Finlay?’

  Claire leaped up from the sofa and ran into Finlay’s room. She grabbed at the blanket, then threw it back into his cot.

  ‘Where is he?’ she roared at Darren.

  ‘I don’t bloody know! Is he with Dianne?’ He raced out the back door, skidding on the icy path, hopped the fence and hammered on the Davidsons’ back door. The support they’d received from Dianne could never be repaid, but it was unusual for her to have Finlay with her at this time of the day. She knew that Darren would be home to take care of him.

  Colin opened the door, still drying his hands on a tea towel. ‘Darren, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Is Finlay here?’ Darren shouted, trying to barge past him. ‘Has Dianne got him?’

  Dianne overheard Darren’s panicked voice. ‘What’s happened, Darren? Come in, come in, sit down.’

  ‘No, I just want to know if he’s here with you.’

  Dianne stared over Darren’s shoulder at the shell-shocked look on Claire’s face, the young mother having caught her husband up. Dianne clasped her hands to her mouth.

  ‘No, of course he’s not here,’ Colin said, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket. ‘Why would he be here?’

  ‘Then where is he?’ Darren shouted, panic now soaring round his blood. ‘Where the hell is he?’

  ‘I’m calling the police,’ Colin announced, trying to keep his voice level despite the horror on Darren’s face.

  Dianne pulled the back door behind her as the group headed back into Darren and Claire’s, past the chaos of unmatched shoes that littered the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Let’s not jump to conc—’ Dianne started.

  ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Darren blasted, his terror reaching fever pitch. ‘My little boy wasn’t in his cot where his mother left him!’

  ‘The police are coming,’ Colin told them. He glanced anxiously at Dianne, who avoided his gaze.

  Four

  Detective Inspector Jessie Blake wanted to put the card out of her mind and just enjoy her evening. It was her fortieth birthday after all, and her colleague Dylan and his wife Shelly had gone to so much trouble over this meal, despite the tiredness that plagued this stage of Shelly’s pregnancy. When Dylan’s suggestion of drinks didn’t suit, he insisted Jessie should at least come for dinner, that she had to celebrate such a landmark. Jessie told herself turning forty was just a number, but the reality was she’d always imagined herself settled with a couple of kids by now. She hadn’t dared tell anyone about the birthday card her ex-husband had sent her. She wanted to put Dan’s attempt at manipulation out of her mind tonight, because that’s all it was. Another way to control her. She was convinced of that.

  ‘Here we go,’ Shelly announced when she switched off the dining room light. ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Jessie, happy birthday to you.’

  She placed a delicious-looking chocolate sponge cake on the table with two candles shining on top.

  ‘Remember to make a wish.’ Dylan winked and grinned, then sipped from his glass.

  Jessie smiled and shook her head before blowing out her candles.

  ‘Thanks, guys, this is so sweet of you. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Shelly passed Jessie a plate with a large slice of cake and licked the chocolate frosting from her thumb. ‘You only turn forty once, don’t you?’

  Jessie shot an appreciative glance at Dylan.

  ‘Thank you, both of you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.’

  Jessie wondered if she should tell Dylan about the card.

  ‘Shall we take our cake and coffee to a soft seat?’ Shelly suggested. Her hand drifted to her heavily pregnant belly and she winced. �
��Ouch! Damn Braxton Hicks.’

  Jessie smiled, desperate to ask if she could feel their baby kicking, but resisted. That would be too weird, right? ‘Not long now, huh?’

  ‘Can’t come soon enough,’ Shelly announced as another kick hammered inside her. ‘I think this might be a footballer we’ve got cooking in here.’

  ‘I’ll start clearing these plates.’ Dylan kissed Shelly’s cheek. ‘Cracking meal, hon. Go through, Jess, and I’ll join you both in a minute.’

  Just as he said it, their toddler son Jack’s cry echoed from his bedroom at the top of the stairs.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Shelly said. ‘You two go and have your cake.’

  Dylan laid the plates in the sink, then joined Jessie in the living room.

  ‘It’s some view, isn’t it?’ he pointed out as he stood next to her by the large bay window.

  ‘Aye, you’re not wrong.’ Jessie looked out at the far-reaching view of the hills, silhouetted by the moonlight in the distance. The tops of the wind turbines seeming to touch the sky.

  ‘Worth every penny.’ He smiled. ‘We needed something with a decent garden for the wee man.’

  Jessie nodded. ‘Three bedrooms, too, for the increasing number of Logans.’

  A wry smile crept across Dylan’s lips before he sipped his coffee.

  In that moment, Jessie felt lonelier than she had for a long time. She was relieved to hear her phone ring in her bag on the sofa, but frowned as she checked the display.

  ‘It’s the station.’ She pursed her lips as she answered. ‘Hey, boss. What’s up?’

  Dylan sank the last of his coffee and laid his mug on the table, watching with concern the growing look of horror on Jessie’s face.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  Jessie held her hand up to silence him. ‘OK, text me the address. We’re on our way.’ She hung up and waited for the address, then thrust her phone into her trouser pocket. ‘A missing baby, Dylan. Come on. Uniform are already on the scene.’

  Dylan slipped into his heavy boots then grabbed his thick down jacket from the peg. It was freezing out there, and he didn’t know how long he would be gone. He peered round Jack’s bedroom door to see Shelly cradling their almost eighteen-month-old son in her arms in an attempt to rock him back to sleep. She lifted her finger to her lips.

  ‘Work – an urgent one. I love you, don’t wait up,’ Dylan whispered then blew them both a small kiss.

  ‘We’ll take my car,’ Jessie suggested as he joined her outside. ‘Six-month-old Finlay Lucas. Last seen when his mum Claire laid him down for a nap. Father Darren went to get him, and Finlay wasn’t in his cot. He went to his next-door neighbours to see if they had him.’

  Jessie tugged on her seat belt then started the engine.

  ‘Why would he think the neighbours had him?’ Dylan asked. ‘Sounds a bit weird.’

  ‘Neighbour helps out a lot, apparently. Takes Finlay out for walks to give the parents a break. Helps in the house. That kind of thing. Not sure, but she might even have a key.’ Jessie’s wheels spat up the gravel in Dylan’s drive before she turned towards the M90.

  ‘Where are we headed then, boss?’

  ‘Claire and Darren Lucas live in Bridge of Earn. Their house backs onto the burn.’

  ‘Shit, Shelly’s frae the Brig.’

  Jessie turned to face him and grinned. ‘The Brig? Since when did you become a yokel, Dylan Logan?’

  Five

  ‘Hello, Theresa. I’m Carol. I’ll be looking after you tonight.’

  The smiling face of the overweight, middle-aged nurse didn’t put Theresa at ease one bit. Neither did her neatly trimmed fringe and bob haircut. But her mum had said this would be best, under the circumstances. She fiddled with her knotted auburn hair and tucked her knees up to her chin as she shuffled as far back on the bed as she could. I’ve let everybody down, haven’t I? Her mum’s face as she marched up that hill through the woods towards her was terrifying, but Theresa had had no choice. Who else could she have called? There was nobody else she could have trusted. Not with that.

  Say nothing.

  ‘Hello,’ Theresa muttered with a fake smile, trying to ignore the voice in her head.

  It was always best to smile in these situations. Don’t ever give away what you’re really thinking. She didn’t want to risk having her medication increased by being honest about her thoughts.

  Her mum was right. A bit of rest was probably the best thing right now. At least until she could get her head straight. Her mum had promised she would help, and her mum always did as she said she would. She was a woman of her word.

  Bridget Moran straightened her skirt after getting up from the chair in the nurses’ office. She wiped what she thought were crumbs from the back of it. Disgusting, she thought. The doctor reached out his hand.

  ‘Once Theresa’s medication has been reviewed we’ll have her back to her normal self, don’t worry.’ He smiled with what Bridget figured was his attempt at sincerity.

  She accepted his offer of a handshake, wondering how a man with such a weak, wet grip could possibly have reached the role of consultant psychiatrist. She tried to wipe her hand on her shawl without him noticing. It wouldn’t do to be rude about it.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bridget answered as she lifted her brown leather handbag from the back of the chair, gripping it firmly to her before being led out by the staff nurse.

  ‘Come on, I’ll take you to Theresa’s room,’ the cheerful woman said.

  Bridget’s face was tired from all the grateful smiles she was giving, bags forming under her large hazel eyes. She’d been surprised and relieved to be able to get Theresa a bed so quickly. Her eldest daughter couldn’t be left alone in the state she was in. Bridget couldn’t help being angry with Theresa for stopping taking her medication again, but she also planned to complain to the staff at the day hospital’s therapy garden – they should have noticed the deterioration in her daughter’s condition before it came to this. They were supposed to be the professionals. But, under the circumstances, that was the least of the Morans’ problems. Bridget was just relieved it was she Theresa had called and not anyone else. Bridget shuddered at the thought of anybody else finding out.

  ‘Mum!’ Theresa sprang up from her bed and hugged her mother with a tight squeeze, then whispered in her ear.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Bridget patted her daughter’s back and withdrew. ‘Everything is sorted. Go to sleep now.’

  Six

  As soon as the uniformed officer had shown Jessie and Dylan into the Lucases’ bungalow, a frantic young man sprang towards them.

  ‘You have to help us!’ he exclaimed. ‘My son…’ He paced up and down the living room, rubbing his hand across his untidy brown hair. ‘Someone’s taken my son. I can’t believe this is happening.’

  Jessie glanced past him to the emotionless figure slumped on the sofa.

  ‘We’ll be next door, Darren.’ This from a man slim and balding, his arm around the shoulder of a haunted-looking woman, ushering her towards the door. Colin and Dianne Davidson, Jessie thought. The helpful neighbours.

  Dylan nodded to them. ‘Mr and Mrs Davidson, correct? I’ll be through in a bit to talk to you, so don’t go anywhere, will you?’

  Colin Davidson closed his eyes and nodded before leaving with Dianne. Jessie heard the back door shut behind them and strained to hear what their muffled voices were saying. She narrowed her eyes, struggling to take them off Claire Lucas. How can she be so calm? Her baby son is missing.

  Jessie turned to the young man pacing the room. ‘Mr Lucas, my name is Detective Inspector Jessie Blake and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Dylan Logan. Is it OK to call you Darren?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Darren’s fine. That’s my wife, Claire. Please, you have to help. We don’t know where Finlay is. I went to get him up and he wasn’t there.’ Darren was begging, his voice tormented by terror. ‘God, please, you have to do something.’

  ‘OK, OK, first things
first. Tell us exactly what happened.’ Jessie spoke quietly and calmly. She wasn’t going to get any facts from him until Darren was able to focus properly.

  ‘I’ve already told you!’ Darren roared. ‘My son’s gone!’

  Jessie wasn’t surprised by the panic he was showing but she needed more detail.

  ‘Darren, could you take me and DC Logan to your son’s room? Show us his cot. Could you do that for me?’ Her eyes drifted towards Dylan. ‘OK?’

  ‘Yes, sure, come on,’ Darren continued to nibble his thumbnail, which he’d been chewing since the two detectives arrived, as he led them along the short hallway. It was littered with shoes and bags of all kinds: carrier bags filled with what looked like clothes, an open, half-empty sports bag. There was even a tennis racquet leaning against the hall table. Dylan glanced momentarily at Jessie, raising his eyebrows at the mess.

  ‘There, see, empty.’ Darren moved to Finlay’s bedroom window and ripped open the curtains that Claire had closed for their son’s nap. He looked out into the darkness of the garden as the security light was triggered by the cat from the house three doors down. ‘I really can’t believe this is happening. This has to be some kind of horrible nightmare.’

  Dylan pulled plastic gloves from his jacket pocket and lifted Finlay’s blanket. He peeled back the mattress, then tucked both it and the blanket neatly back in place.

  ‘Is there anything missing that you can see? Anything out of place?’ he asked, moving to the fitted wardrobe. He slid open the mirrored door and flicked through the coat hangers – some held only one pair of tiny trousers; most were empty.