Her Missing Child Read online

  Ninety-Four

  Darren handed Claire the mug and hoped that she would end the horrible silence between them. He needed her, and was desperate for her to understand that he was grieving, too. He didn’t blame her for being angry and was relieved that she had agreed to stay, after initially packing her bags. Where can I go anyway? she’d blasted. She’d been betrayed by everyone she loved. Claire’s entire world was disintegrating around her. Her husband. Her best friend. Her sister and her parents. Every person she had ever trusted had let her down; badly. Well, not exactly everyone. Dianne Davidson. She’d been with Claire through it all. Like some kind of guardian angel. She was more of a mother to Claire than Bridget ever was. Claire knew how much she’d disappointed her good Christian mother by getting pregnant out of wedlock. But the police had even tried to blame Dianne.

  Claire took the mug of tea and moved away from Darren. She headed out of the kitchen into the living room, with Darren following close behind.

  ‘Claire, please. Can we talk?’ he begged. In truth, Darren would have done anything to stop her hurting.

  Instead of acknowledging his pleas, Claire turned and took her tea into the bedroom and shut the door in his face before he could join her.

  She perched on the edge of the bed and picked up the photo frame from her bedside table. Finlay was ten minutes old in the picture and the new parents looked so happy. It was the happiest day of her life. Post-natal depression had stolen those precious bonding moments not long after. She kissed the tips of two of her fingers and pressed them onto Finlay’s tiny body and sighed. They’d tried to convince her she had done that awful thing to her beautiful baby boy. Part of Claire had started to believe them, too. Her mind was so confused by grief but the fog was lifting, and she could see the reality of the situation. It wasn’t pretty. Now she would have to arrange Finlay’s funeral. He needed her, and Claire would do her best for her son.

  ‘Claire,’ Darren tapped on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

  Despite ignoring his request, Claire caught sight of the door opening slowly before his head poked round it.

  ‘We can’t go on like this,’ he whispered. ‘We need to talk about it.’

  Claire’s anger had turned to disgust in such a short time. It shocked her with its intensity. The idea that Darren would cheat on her hadn’t ever entered Claire’s head. Let alone with her best friend.

  ‘I’m not ready to talk to you yet,’ she said without looking up, because the sight of him made her sick. ‘Leave me alone. I can’t even look at you right now.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’ Darren stood his ground. ‘I can’t change what’s happened, but if we’re going to get through this we need to be there for each other.’

  Claire’s head snapped up.

  ‘Like you were there for me when I needed you? No, that’s right, you were screwing Maggie, my so-called best friend who, guess what, decided to kill our son,’ she screamed, causing Darren’s eyes to widen with fright. ‘What did she think was going to happen, Darren? I would go to prison for it and you would be free to be with her? I must have been mad to think I could stay here with you.’

  Claire shot up from the bed, spilling her tea over the bedside cabinet, and snatched at the bag she’d already packed. She grabbed Finlay’s photo and wiped the tea splashes from it before placing it in the bag. She slid the contents of her dressing table in after them, then shoved her way past Darren. He didn’t attempt to stop her. He knew when he was defeated. Claire forced her feet into her boots and lifted the car keys from the bowl. Her recent seizures meant she wasn’t allowed to drive for at least a year, but that couldn’t stop her. She grabbed her handbag from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and checked how much money she had. Ten pounds in cash wouldn’t get her far, but her debit card would get her a room in the Travelodge for tonight at least. That was if Darren hadn’t taken that from her too.

  Dianne looked up from rinsing her mug under the kitchen tap when she heard the Lucases’ back door slam shut. It was done with such force that even Benson jumped up from his bed and offered one long, deep bark at the noise. She watched Claire storm towards her car and drop her bag on the ground while she wrestled with the lock. She looked so sad, sitting there in the driver’s seat with tears streaming down her face. Dianne couldn’t leave her like that. She put down the mug she was rinsing and dried her hands.

  ‘You stay there, lad,’ she instructed Benson, who got up to follow her.

  Claire hadn’t heard Dianne’s footsteps on the gravel drive – she’d turned her radio up so loud she couldn’t hear the sound of her own tears. Dianne hunched her shoulders against the driving, freezing rain that had recently replaced the driving snow. She had to tap her knuckles on the window twice before Claire noticed her. The two women greeted each other with a gentle smile without saying a word. Claire switched off the engine and got out of the car. Dianne held out a hand to her, which Claire took, then the pair silently walked back into Dianne’s. If anyone understood Claire’s pain, it was Dianne.

  ‘Where were you going in such a hurry?’ Dianne asked while she filled the kettle. She smiled at Claire struggling to control Benson’s over-affectionate greeting. ‘Go on, you big oaf. Go to your bed.’

  ‘He’s fine.’ Claire answered and scratched him behind his ears. ‘He’s a lovely dog, isn’t he? It feels like such a long time since I’ve seen him. Since I’ve seen anyone or anything.’

  A tear slid down her cheek unhindered. Claire made no attempt to halt its progress. Instead, she permitted it to reach her chin then drip onto her T-shirt.

  ‘There you go.’ Dianne placed a mug of tea next to her on the kitchen table then took the seat opposite her. ‘You didn’t say where it was you were going.’

  The ghost of a smile grew on Claire’s lips. ‘Honestly, I have no idea. I just had to get out. Get away from Darren.’ She took a single sip. ‘I can’t look at him after what he’s done.’

  ‘This is a horrible time for the both of you, I know.’ Dianne tried to comfort her. ‘But you’ll get through it, together.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Claire sipped. ‘Did you know about him and Maggie?’ she asked.

  Dianne almost spat out her tea. ‘What, your pal Maggie? Her and Darren? No, surely not.’ Dianne was appalled. ‘Are you sure?’

  Dianne feared Claire was still quite unwell. Paranoid even, until Claire continued. She listened in disbelief as Claire explained exactly what had happened to Finlay. Darren’s betrayal. The crushing pain her parents had caused. She said she didn’t blame Theresa, and that her sister would need her support even more now.

  ‘So, what’s going to happen to them? Your mum and dad, I mean.’

  Colin was going to be devastated to hear about Phil and Bridget. Phil was his friend as well as his partner in the renovation at the back of the burn path. Chances are he would go to prison for something so awful.

  Claire shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know, but that bitch Maggie will burn in hell for what she’s done.’ Claire’s composure slipped. ‘Darren and Finlay were my world. I loved him, both of them, and she’s stolen both of them from me – because Darren is not the man I married. He’s a stranger to me now. A dark, lying stranger. I will never, ever trust him again.’ She rubbed away her tears as Dianne handed her a tissue. ‘But I need to focus on Finlay’s funeral, because that detective said they would be releasing his body. But I have no idea what to do. How do you arrange a baby’s funeral?’

  This was something Dianne knew all about, sadly.

  ‘I can help you.’ The words caught in Dianne’s throat and she reached for Claire’s hand. ‘I’ll help you.’

  Ninety-Five

  Jessie was angry that Gertrude Laing’s alibi hadn’t been corroborated properly, more so with herself than with Wilde or Dylan. She had been so blinded by Finlay’s death. Jessie should know better by now. She’d also been duped by the caring housekeeper stereotype, and it all amounted to her missing the revelation that Gertrud
e Laing was in line to inherit a small fortune after Paul McKinnon’s death. His will should have been more of a priority. Now Gertrude was in the wind – nobody had seen or heard from her for two days, and her car was missing from her cottage.

  ‘I’ve told you, my mum isn’t here, Detective.’ Gertrude’s son followed Jessie into his kitchen, his ample beer belly jiggling as he moved quickly. ‘What is this about? I haven’t spoken to my mum for a few days.’

  Jessie’s eyes darted around the room for clues as to whether a woman was staying with him, just to be sure. A little digging meant she knew him to live alone, after the death of his wife.

  ‘Did she tell you about Father McKinnon?’

  ‘What about him?’ he asked.

  ‘Did you know about the will?’ Jessie continued.

  Gertrude’s son frowned. ‘What will? What are you talking about?’

  After a quick look into Gertrude Laing’s bank account, it was immediately apparent the ageing housekeeper was living well beyond her means. It seemed Lisa McKinnon wasn’t the only person close to Father McKinnon who urgently needed money. After taking out a second mortgage on her sixteenth-century cottage to pay for renovation work, Gertrude had fallen vastly behind on her payments and was being threatened with repossession. It would have broken her heart to lose the home she’d raised her son and his two sisters in. On top of that, it seemed she’d been too proud to ask any of them for help. She had claimed years of thrifty saving had paid for the renovation, and her children never asked any questions. Jessie had to tell her son everything.

  ‘Do you know where she could be?’ Jessie persevered. ‘It’s really important I speak to her.’

  Gertrude’s son fell back into an armchair in shock. He had no idea about any of it. Jessie took a seat on his sofa and stared out the window at his stunning view over Perth. Gertrude must be out there somewhere, hiding from what she’d done.

  ‘She’s a vulnerable woman, Detective, and she’s missing. Neither of my sisters have heard from her for a couple of days – that’s not all that unusual, to be honest, but still.’ He covered his mouth with his hand. ‘My mum adored Paul McKinnon. I can’t believe for one minute she would do anything to harm him. How could she? She’s only five foot, for goodness’ sake, and there’s hardly a picking on her.’ He shook his head. ‘No, you’ve got this wrong, so wrong. In fact, this conversation is ridiculous.’

  Jessie felt sorry for him as she left. He was genuinely shocked by the revelations. At least they had Gertrude Laing’s car registration number – she wouldn’t be missing for long. And she had a lot of explaining to do.

  Ninety-Six

  Gertrude Laing noticed that her petrol gauge read just less than a quarter of a tank.

  ‘Bother,’ she whispered. She switched her CD off and indicated to pull in at the petrol station a few hundred yards ahead.

  That was careless, she thought to herself. She checked her bag for her purse before getting out to fill up. She smiled at the hefty driver of the white van at the pump next to hers. He nodded back before pulling his large frame into his seat. The cold wind that whipped through the garage forecourt made Gertrude shiver, and the driving rain hadn’t halted in the past half hour. She hoped it wouldn’t affect her journey to Aberdeen. It shouldn’t take her more than two hours if the roads were clear, but she feared the snow gates might be shut at Glenshee because of the weather. She would just have to deal with that if it happened. She replaced the nozzle and walked inside to pay. She took her change from the overweight girl behind the till, whose sullen face did nothing to endear her to the customers, Gertrude decided. She put the sandwich and flapjack she had also bought into her bag and headed back outside.

  Now she was back on the road, she checked the time. Her thoughts drifted back to her last conversation with Father McKinnon. He was a good man. That was his problem. She’d loved working for him – he’d been so easy to get on with. That niece of his wasn’t like him. She may have looked like Paul, but her manner was brusque and there was something about her Gertrude disliked immensely. She had heard what she’d asked Paul for. As far as Gertrude was concerned, she’d made her bed and had to lie in it. Father McKinnon’s death was devastating to Gertrude. She would miss him, but there was no time to be sentimental.

  A flashing blue light appeared in her rear-view mirror.

  ‘I wonder where he’s off to in such a hurry,’ she murmured, then leaned down to switch her CD back on. Nathan Carter. A favourite of Paul McKinnon’s, too. Gertrude hummed along to the song then frowned when the police car seemed reluctant to overtake her. She peered down at her speedometer. She wasn’t going more than thirty miles an hour. She turned the volume down on her radio and stared into her mirror to see the young officer point to the left. He was asking her to pull over. Gertrude felt sick. She’d never been pulled over before. She flicked her indicator on and stopped in a lay-by. The young officer got out of his vehicle and put on his hat. Gertrude’s body felt chilled all over as he approached. She opened her window and smiled at him when he leaned down to speak to her

  ‘Hello, madam, do you have any idea why I’ve asked you to stop?’

  Despite the trembling in her legs, Gertrude answered, ‘No, I’m sorry. I have no idea, Officer.’

  Ninety-Seven

  Calum didn’t understand fully his reasons for being there. By rights, he should hate Maggie. Finding out about the flat, quite by accident, was bad enough. But this? He locked his car and walked, head down, into the police station. His entire world had just been turned upside down. Two days ago he was looking forward to becoming a father and planning for the life he’d mapped out for himself and Maggie and their family. Perhaps they would have added two or three more children later. Now, not only was the baby gone, but he’d learned he might not have been the father; that hurt, but nothing was more crushing than knowing the truth, the whole truth. An affair he could forgive, but Maggie had done the unthinkable. Unforgivable, even. He wanted answers, so that he could begin to process the information.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ the desk sergeant asked.

  Calum stared at the middle-aged man, whose uniform appeared to be straining across his stomach. He didn’t know what to say now that he was there. What did he want? Could this police officer explain why his wife had betrayed him?

  ‘Erm… I…’ Calum stammered and swallowed hard. ‘I’m...’ He took a deep breath and leaned on the front desk to steady himself.

  ‘You’re…?’ the desk sergeant questioned him. ‘Do you have a problem that I can help you with, sir?’

  ‘My wife, she was brought in here a little earlier, from the hospital. Maggie McBride. Can I see her?’

  ‘Take a seat over there.’ The officer nodded to the other side of the station entrance. ‘I’ll call and see what I can arrange for you.’

  Calum tried to smile his thanks and did as he was told. He lowered himself onto one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs and waited. His heart was racing erratically.

  PC Wilde picked up the phone. ‘I’m not sure, hang on.’ She held the receiver away from her ear. ‘Dylan, can you take this?’

  Dylan glanced up from the mountain of paperwork Jessie had generously donated to him and wheeled his chair closer and took the phone.

  ‘Dylan Logan.’ He sighed while he nibbled the inside of his cheek, mulling over Calum McBride’s request. What would Jessie do? ‘Aye, he can have five minutes. I’ll come and get him.’

  Dylan hung up.

  ‘Do you think that’s a good idea? Letting him see her?’ Wilde asked.

  ‘I’ll be with them. It’ll be fine. Might help keep her calm, knowing he’s supporting her. She might be more likely to be cooperative. I hope so, anyway.’

  She shook her head as she watched him leave, then got back onto her portion of the paperwork. The downside of detective work. But Isla could live with that.

  Maggie stood up as soon as Calum walked into the room. He moved forward, took a seat opposite her an
d coughed to clear the tightness that was stalking from his chest to his throat. He regretted coming here as soon as he saw her. She looked different. He knew she was bruised, but her eyes were black; emotionless. Like all the feelings she once had had been sucked out of her. This wasn’t his Maggie.

  ‘I’m glad you came.’ She spoke so softly Calum could barely hear her.

  Calum took a long, slow breath and stared at her without talking.

  ‘Please say something.’ Her voice now a mere whisper. ‘Calum.’

  Dylan could feel the tension in the small interview room. It was suffocating, and he feared it might erupt at any moment. Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all.

  ‘Why?’ Calum asked, without taking his eyes off her. ‘That’s all I want to know. That’s why I came here today, to ask you why.’

  Maggie dropped her face into her hands. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Didn’t I make you happy? Wasn’t what we had enough for you?’

  She shook her head as the tears started. ‘I’m sorry. He just got into my head and I couldn’t stop myself.’

  ‘I know about the flat in Perth,’ Calum announced. ‘There was a message on the answering machine from the letting agent. When were you going to tell me?’

  Maggie continued to cover her face. ‘Don’t do this.’

  ‘How long had it been going on?’ Calum hammered his fist on the table. That made Maggie lift her face finally. Her eyes widened.

  ‘Calm down, or you’ll have to leave.’ Dylan was firm. ‘You hear me?’

  Calum glanced across at him and raised a hand. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

  ‘As long as we’re clear. I’m doing you a favour here, all right?’ Dylan took a quick look at his watch. ‘Five minutes.’