Hush Little Baby: the electrifying new domestic crime thriller

1

The heels of Jordan’s shoes scraped the pavement as she stepped off the bus.

She was already late; she didn’t care.

It was a clear winter’s day, the sky a cornflower-blue, but the wind was cruel, nipping at every inch of bare skin. She zipped her coat up to her chin, dawdled down the street.

A car passed, and another, followed by a lorry; a woman battled with a pushchair against the wind, her free hand dragging a toddler behind. Jordan didn’t hear them, the sounds smothered by the baseline beat of Ariana Grande blasting through her earphones. Jordan’s head rocked gently to the music as she searched the ground, widening her gait to avoid the gaps between the paving slabs, a game she’d played since she was a kid. Although she wasn’t a kid anymore. In a less than a week, she’d be sixteen. Old enough to make her own decisions. Old enough to stop playing children’s games.

The traffic thinned. She stretched her stride, defiantly planting a foot squarely on the next crack.

School started ten minutes ago. Her phone buzzed in her pocket with messages from her friends, wondering where she was. She pictured Lucy and Georgia sitting in form, listening to the crisp timbre of Mr Gosforth’s Welsh accent as he took the register while texting her from beneath their desks. There was no point in hurrying, she’d have missed registration by the time she reached the school gates, she’d have to sign in at the main office.

She continued down the road and paused beside the school entrance where a hairline crack forked through the middle of a slab, a legacy of years of boots and shoes turning to traipse through the gates. The school loomed in front of her, the car park heaving. She stared at it a moment, then moved on, past the entrance and out of town.

Further down the road, banners advertising New executive homes for modern families blocked off a construction site. The enlarged photo of a man and a woman with perfect teeth, grinning, arms folded around the shoulders of two children, repeated again and again across the barrier. Jordan checked over her shoulder and turned off the main road, taking a narrow pathway between the building site and the old shoe factory beside. She stopped twenty yards down to search for a gap, the place where the railings met, and found it at the edge of the mother’s smile, slipping in behind. A few puffs were what she needed right now, a little calmness to get her through the day.

She had to be careful. Chunks of broken rubble mingled with the upturned soil, making the ground uneven. But apart from concrete and debris she was alone in this desolate corner. A smell she couldn’t place curled her nose.

Jordan found her footing, pulled a packet of Lambert and Butler from her pocket and lit up, taking a long drag. She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke swirl around her and trying to ignore the smell. A crow cawed overhead. It was warmer in this spot, the covered railings providing a welcome barrier to the cutting wind. She unzipped the top of her coat and was idly kicking at the loose stones and lumps of concrete beneath her feet when something caught her eye. She pulled the plugs from her ears and bent forward. Tiny fingers curled into the stone. Still, unmoving. She peered closer, pointed a toe and hesitantly scraped back the nearby rubble with her boot – to reveal a bluish hand, a bony wrist laced with a bangle.

Her jaw dropped. The cigarette slipped to the ground as she scrambled back and lost her footing. Fell. Needles of pain spiked her lower back. Was it real? Edges of brick dug into her skin, snagging at her trousers as she wriggled back further.

A voice in the distance, muffled as if underwater. Her eyes didn’t leave the tiny hand. The call grew louder. A pair of Rigger boots entered her line of vision. She looked up to see a builder, barely ten yards away, his ruddy face contorted beneath a yellow hard hat.

Jordan cast one last gaze at the tiny hand, hitched a breath, jumped to her feet and scarpered.

2

The water caressed her body as she glided along, legs propelling her forward, revelling in the endorphins that slowly slipped into her system.

Another lap. And another. The smell of the chlorine sharpened her senses, cleansing her mind.

On the next turn, she felt a nudge from behind. A hand tugged at her foot. She quickened her pace. Another grab, this time momentarily pulling her below the surface. She gasped a quick breath before the water engulfed her face. She kicked the hand away and worked her arms faster, quickening to a sprint.

Her vision blurred through her goggles. She whipped out a hand for the end rail, and missed. Fingers grasped her foot again, taking a hold this time. She was pulled down, underwater. Another kick, resisting the tension. The hand released its grip and she shot to the surface.

Water droplets trickled down Beth’s face as she grabbed the rail, lifted her goggles and laughed at her niece, Lily, who was now beside her. ‘You almost got me there!’ she said. ‘You’re getting so fast.’

The child wiped her eyes and beamed at her aunt. ‘Can we go again?’

Beth glanced at the clock. ‘Maybe next time.’ The child grimaced. ‘We’ve almost had our hour. Don’t want to miss out on your ice cream.’

The words performed their magic and the seven-year-old hauled herself out of the pool. It was rare that a day off for Lily – the village school had closed to be used as a polling station for the national elections – coincided with Beth’s rest day and she wanted to make the most of their time together. They entered the changing room, skirted around a line of women gathering for an aqua-aerobics class, and made a play of opening lockers and getting themselves changed.

Minutes later, rivulets of water trickled between Beth’s shoulder blades as she tied back her curls into a loose ponytail on the way to the cafe. She spotted the familiar sporty stance of DS Nick Geary leaning over a table, flicking through a newspaper an earlier customer had left. The sharp contours of his back were visible beneath his fitted white shirt. He looked strong, vital and as attractive as hell.

Beth allowed herself a wry smile. Six weeks had passed since they’d got back together and he’d moved into her home – to lodge until he found a flat closer to Force Headquarters. The move would be temporary, ‘a couple of weeks at best,’ he’d said. But he showed no sign of leaving anytime soon. While there was something uncomfortable about having a relationship with her sergeant, she couldn’t deny he was good company. She enjoyed having him around, even if, after careful consideration, she still resisted his pleas to share their relationship with colleagues. A lodger was one thing, a lover quite another and since they were both deployed on the Homicide and Serious Crime Squad and she’d recently applied for promotion, she didn’t want colleagues to think she was sleeping her way to the top. No. For now, they were lovers in secret, friends and work colleagues to the rest of the world.

Nick had whiled away his time in the gym while they swam, his dark hair still slick from his shower. Lily rushed towards him and encased him in a hug from behind. She certainly relished having him around more, friend or not. He teased her by gasping, feigning surprise. ‘Good swim?’ he said, his Northern Irish accent filling the area.

‘Fab!’ Beth said. ‘Lily almost beat me at the crawl.’ She widened her eyes at the child. ‘Until she cheated.’

‘I did not!’ Lily’s mock indignance melted into a musical chuckle.

‘It’s all about the winning,’ Nick said. He winked at Lily and tilted his head towards the nearby freezer. ‘Ready to choose?’

Beth watched her scamper across the room, marvelling at the child’s enthusiasm for ice cream, despite the fact that Christmas was only two weeks away and outdoor temperatures struggled to rise above single figures.

‘DC Beth Chamberlain,’ Nick said, raising a brow. ‘I was going to send for you.’

Beth’s stomach dropped. The mention of her job title on her day off meant work. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve just taken a call from the DCI. A body part has been discovered, looks like that of a small child, on a building site in Northampton.’

‘Where?’

‘Boughton Green Road. On the edge of Kingsthorpe.’

Beth knew the area well. She’d been raised in Kingsthorpe. Boughton Green Road was a long winding road that ran from the heart of the suburb’s main shopping area through a plethora of housing estates and out to open countryside. She’d read somewhere that some of the farmers’ fields at the bottom had recently been purchased to make way for much-needed residential housing, a controversial move many locals had petitioned against. ‘The site at the end, near the shoe factory?’ she checked.

‘That’s the one.’

3

An hour later, Beth stood beside Nick at the front of the conference room in Northamptonshire’s Homicide and Major Incident suite and sipped her coffee. After a bright start, clouds had drifted in and conjoined, blocking out the sun, and the murkiness seeping in from the windows combined with the fluorescent lighting inside the room made it feel more like evening than late morning.

‘A child’s arm was discovered on the building site at the end of Boughton Green Road at 8.43 a.m. this morning.’ DCI Lee Freeman stepped forward and tapped the board twice, drawing their attention to an abundance of photographs of the crime scene. ‘Given the size, it’s believed the limb belonged to an infant, possibly a young baby.’ By the time they’d dropped Lily off and made their way across town, Freeman had already carried out the emergency staff briefing and deployed the rest of the team on initial enquiries and the room felt oddly quiet with just the three of them present.

Beth moved down the line, scrutinising the pictures of the greying limb, taken at a variety of angles. Only the top surface of an arm and hand were visible; palm down, fingers curled, the rest looked like it was set in stone. Railings in the background indicated it was found close to the edge of the site. She leaned in close. The skin was taut and mottled.

‘I take it the arm is still attached to a body?’

‘We think so. Dr Hunter was already there when I arrived at the scene this morning.’

Beth gave a short sigh of relief. Out of the two pathologists that covered their area, Susan Hunter was the most enthusiastic and, with a wealth of experience behind her, she also prioritised cases, bumping them up the post-mortem list if the police needed quick results. A small mercy to be grateful for.

Nick’s face twisted. ‘Looks like it’s been dead a while, poor little mite.’

Freeman lifted a folder from the side table. ‘They’ve been working on it under a tent in situ this morning. Hunter emailed these across.’ He opened the folder, pulled out two sheets of A4, and passed them around. More photos, taken at various stages as they uncovered the area around the limb. In the first picture, the hand and arm were all that were exposed, the rest of the baby’s body covered by what appeared to be a sheet of concrete. Beth passed it to Nick and examined the second. A trench of rubble and soil had been removed around the edges of the sheet, showing the clear lines of a concrete rectangle.

‘From initial analysis, Hunter thinks the child might have been set into some kind of concrete block and buried underground,’ Freeman said. ‘The block’s plenty large enough to house a young baby. It was probably unearthed and broken by the recent construction work.’

Beth recoiled. She’d seen many bodies over the years: stab victims, tortured remains, suicide train casualties that were virtually unrecognisable. Every one left its mark, but the idea of a tiny baby buried in concrete plucked a heartstring. So young. Innocent and defenceless.

‘Who would kill a young child and entomb them in concrete?’ Nick said.

‘Someone that didn’t want the remains to be found,’ Beth said. ‘If the concrete hadn’t been disturbed, it might never have been discovered.’ The action implied planning and the thought that somebody had gone to such meticulous lengths to dispose of a child’s body was gut-wrenching. She switched from one photo to another, her gaze resting on a tarnished bracelet on its wrist.

‘Who owned the land before it was sold?’ she asked.

‘It was part of Moreton’s farm. Pete’s gone straight out to see the farmer this morning.’

Beth nodded approvingly. DC Pete Winston was the youngest officer on the team and what he lacked in experience, he made up for with abundant enthusiasm. He’d ask the right questions.

‘Hunter’s called in a specialist forensic anthropologist/archaeologist to be sure,’ Freeman said, ‘but the concrete isn’t pitted or weathered which we might expect if it had been exposed to the elements. She believes the body could have buried for some time.’

‘So, we’re looking at an historical case,’ Nick said.

‘It’s possible. Hunter reckons it could have been there a number of years.’

Beth stared at the remains. ‘Surely it would be dust and bones by now.’

‘Without further tests it’s difficult to say how long the child’s been there or how it died. Hunter dealt with a case when she worked in the Met – a man’s head found in concrete. It was discovered at the bottom of a reservoir, eight years after he was reported missing, and preserved. The water hadn’t penetrated the concrete. Given the state of the limbs on show and the smell emitting from the body – I’m told rapid decomposition starts as soon as it’s exposed to the air – Hunter thinks this body may have been preserved in a similar way.’

‘Babies and young infants don’t disappear,’ Nick said. ‘Not without a fuss.’

Freeman passed him a knowing look. ‘We’ve only got one outstanding case listed in our area.’ He pointed at the bangle. ‘And this does give me cause for concern.’

He pulled out another photo. ‘We’ve enlarged the bangle to show the detail.’

Beth peered in closer at the tarnished silver, noting a tiny rabbit symbol on the edge.

‘You’re not suggesting it’s Alicia Owen?’ Nick said, incredulous.

Shocked faces looked back at the board. Three-month-old Alicia Owen disappeared from her pram outside a supermarket, fifteen years earlier. She was believed to have been abducted, although no ransom note was ever forthcoming, and she was never found. The story rocked the residents of Northamptonshire to the core and when the days after her disappearance stretched into weeks and months, panicky parents set up a ‘Keep our children safe’ poster campaign urging people to be extra vigilant around infants. Beth had only been sixteen at the time, but she still remembered the black and white photos of Alicia’s discarded pram plastered across the newspapers.

‘Without further tests on the body and the surrounding area, we can’t be sure of anything,’ Freeman said. ‘We’ve pulled the old case; Baby Alicia was wearing a silver christening bangle with similar markings when she was taken. She was kidnapped in August 2002, less than two miles from the location, and her parents lived nearby. But fifteen years is a long time, we can’t make any assumptions. I imagine there are plenty of these bracelets in circulation.’ The buzz of his mobile interrupted the conversation. He excused himself and moved away to take the call.

Beth’s gaze wandered to another board, standing on its own at the far end of the room; the remnants of an old investigation. Her eyes unwittingly met those of Dale Yates, the serial killer who’d systematically executed his victims in his twisted efforts to avenge the death of his late partner. The murderer who’d scrutinised the police case as it unfolded, led them on a cat and mouse chase; he’d placed photos of Beth on his murder wall and later broken into her home in an attempt to hamper the enquiry. Six weeks had passed since he’d escaped police custody. Six weeks in which he’d disappeared into thin air. A shiver rushed through her. Unsolved cases, with a murderer running free, were challenging enough, but a known serial killer who’d tortured his victims before he brutally killed them, still on the loose, filled her with disquiet. What made it worse was that every time she entered the conference room, she felt his eyes on her.

‘Right.’ Freeman cut the call and pocketed his phone. ‘That was the super. The officers guarding the building site where the child’s remains were found have requested additional assistance, there’s already a crowd of reporters gathering at the cordon.’

Nick rubbed his forehead. ‘They didn’t waste their time.’

‘Could the body have been dumped there during the demolition process?’ Beth asked.

‘Maybe,’ Freeman said. ‘Although I’m guessing it would take some muscle to move a concrete block that size. Considering the cracks in the block and the smell emitting from the body, Hunter thinks it’s more likely it was disturbed by the early diggers this morning. The builders were taking a tea break when it was discovered. I’m hoping the forensic anthropologist/archaeologist will be able to confirm more details. In the meantime, we’re contacting GP surgeries and health visitors for any unusual activity: babies or young children in the vicinity who suddenly moved away or dropped off the radar, and any pregnant mothers who skirted the system before they gave birth. We also need to speak with the Owen family and prepare them for any links that might be made.’

Beth examined the bangle. ‘Why would someone go to such lengths to dispose of a body, yet leave a bracelet on them?’

‘Maybe it’s a copycat,’ Nick said. ‘Made to look like Alicia.’

‘Again, that’s possible,’ Freeman said. ‘Alicia Owen is the only reported missing baby in our area in the past twenty years. We are taking steps to check with other forces nationwide. In the meantime, we deal with what we have. The Owens divorced a few years after Alicia’s disappearance. Marie Owen remarried and is now Marie Russell. I sent an officer out to her address an hour ago, when I called you,’ he said to Nick, ‘but she wasn’t home. The next-door neighbour said she was at work and gave us the address of Mrs Russell’s workplace. Which is where you guys come in.’

He placed his hands on his hips. ‘Marie Russell works at Weldon’s Soft Furnishings in town. I want you to go straight out there. Obviously, the bracelet gives us cause for concern. We’ll need to get a sample of DNA from both parents to test against the child.’ He turned to Beth. ‘Set yourself up as the family’s point of contact. It’s early days. If this is Alicia, I’m going to need you to act as their family liaison officer. Warren Hill’s away, sunning himself in Tenerife, so you’ll need to shoulder the burden until I can get someone else to assist.’

Beth gave a sombre nod. Family liaison officers usually worked in pairs and, with less than twelve months in the role, she’d certainly miss Warren’s experience and support here.

‘I was away on a review team when Alicia’s case broke,’ Freeman said. ‘The senior investigating officer was DCI Mark Tanner, now retired. If the forensics suggest this is Alicia, I’ll get in touch with him and see if he can pass on any thoughts.’

‘I was a rookie on probation at the time,’ Nick said. ‘Didn’t work the case, but still remember it. It was the biggest enquiry Northamptonshire Police had faced in years. It was also the biggest disappointment when she wasn’t found.’

‘What do we know about Alicia’s father?’ Beth asked.

‘Daniel Owen? That’s proving tricky. I sent an officer out to the last address DWP hold and it’s out of date. The current residents claim he moved years ago. He works for Hiltons, the hauliers just outside town. We’ve asked them for his contact details and they’re being a pain in the arse, want all the paperwork before they’ll part with any personal information. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a current address.’ Freeman raised a hand and scratched the wispy hairs around his balding crown. ‘The Owen case made national news fifteen years ago. We need to keep an open mind, but if our Baby Doe is Alicia, when this comes out, the media will go into overdrive. I’ve persuaded the superintendent to keep the finer details to ourselves for now. We’re putting out a general statement to the press, announcing the discovery of a child’s remains, and keeping the bangle and a potential historic link confidential until we know more.’

He checked his watch. ‘Right, I’m heading off to the post-mortem. We’ve had to get the fire service out to move the concrete block and call in environmental cleaners to sanitise one of the police garages to create a sterile environment for the examination. It’s a bloody nightmare.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Once we break into the concrete, we’ll have more of an idea what we’re dealing with.’

Beth looked back at the photo. ‘I take it none of the site workers have seen anyone coming and going?’

‘They say not. And there are no cameras. The informant was a builder working on the site. What drew his attention to the area where the child lay, was a sudden shriek. When he investigated, he found a teenage girl close to the body, between fourteen and sixteen, he reckoned. She ran off before he could speak with her, but he’s given a good description. Long ginger hair – the tie she wore belonged to the nearby secondary school.’

‘St George’s?’

‘That’s the one. The child was found after registration. They’re currently checking their absentee register for any girls missing or late today. I should have the details shortly.’

4

Marie Russell was staring at her computer screen, fingers rippling across the keyboard, desperately trying to feed figures into a spreadsheet before the sales review meeting at 12 p.m., when her mobile buzzed. She cast the phone an annoyed glance, pressed backtrack and deleted the last two digits, then double-checked her figures.

A voicemail message flashed up on her phone from her elderly neighbour, Elsie, back home. She paused a second. For the past twelve months, as Elsie’s health deteriorated, she’d occasionally picked up shopping for her. Elsie was a family friend, she’d babysat Marie’s son, Zac, in his early years and Marie was happy to support her. But Elsie didn’t have any concept of work. Marie tossed the phone aside. She’d listen to it later. It was probably something simple like a request for her to pick up a bottle of milk on the way home.

The figures lured her back to the screen. Sales were down almost twenty-five per cent over the past quarter and they’d failed to hit all bar one target. There was no doubt about it, soft furnishing sales were waning. The footfall in the store hadn’t declined; it seemed the people of Northamptonshire were visiting the shop, trying out their wares, then going home and ordering them cheaper elsewhere online, from warehouses with smaller overheads. This coupled with the fact they’d recently been taken over by a large corporation who’d increased their targets meant the figures made for bleak reading. Her eyes flitted to the clock. 11.51 a.m.

The skinny frame of Tim Brookes, the new assistant manager, appeared around the doorway. Brown hair, blow-dried at an angle, flopped over his forehead. Freshly out of university, he was almost young enough to be her son.

‘Nearly ready,’ Marie said in her cheeriest voice.

‘The police are here to see you.’ He looked harried as he stepped aside and ushered a man and a woman, both in dark suits, into Marie’s office.

‘DC Beth Chamberlain,’ the woman said holding up her identity card. ‘And this is DS Nick Geary,’ she pointed at her colleague.

Marie felt like she’d been plunged into icy water. She shot out of her chair, pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Has something happened to Vic, or Zac?’

‘Please don’t be alarmed,’ Beth said. ‘Your family are well, as far as I’m aware.’

‘What then?’ She switched from one detective to another.

The male detective turned to Tim. ‘If you could give us a few minutes, please?’ he said. ‘We’d like to speak with Mrs Russell in private.’

The door latch sounded like a clock chime as it closed. Marie’s chest tightened.

‘May we?’ Beth said, pointing at the chairs in front of Marie’s desk.

She nodded.

‘I’m sorry to bother you at work, Mrs Russell,’ Beth continued when they were settled. ‘It’s a sensitive matter.’

‘What is it?’

‘Please forgive my bluntness, there’s no easy way to say this. The remains of a young child were discovered on a building site on Boughton Green Road this morning.’

Confusion whirlpooled inside Marie. They’d said Zac, her son, was alright. ‘That’s awful. I don’t see what it has to do with me though.’

‘It’s early days, there are more tests to be done, but it looks like the child may have been dead for some time. Maybe even years. There is a chance it could be your daughter, Alicia. I’m so sorry.’

Every muscle in Marie’s body tensed. ‘That’s absurd. Alicia was taken fifteen years ago.’

‘I understand Alicia was wearing a bracelet when she disappeared?’

‘Y-yes.’

‘Can you describe it?’

‘A Peter Rabbit christening bangle. Silver. With a rabbit symbol.’ She pointed at the side of her own bare wrist. ‘It was mine when I was young. You guys already know that, I made a statement, several statements, when—’

‘This child was wearing a similar bracelet.’

The whirr of the photocopier fan in the corridor outside penetrated the room.

‘We can’t be completely sure,’ the detective continued, ‘not until we’ve had time to investigate thoroughly. We wanted to let you know it’s a line of enquiry we’re pursuing.’

Marie opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, a fish out of water.

‘There is always the possibility it’s another child,’ Beth said gently. ‘But we wanted to let you know a child’s remains have been found, before we release the details to the press. And we’ll need your help.’

5

The swab slid down the inside of Marie Russell’s cheek. The detective moved to the other side of her mouth and repeated the action before pulling it out and dropping it into a plastic tube. The green top squeaked, plastic against plastic, as she screwed it firmly closed.

‘How long will the results take?’ Marie asked.

‘It’s difficult to say until we know more,’ the detective said. ‘We’re hopeful for a reasonably quick turnaround. I’ll keep you informed.’

Marie gave a single nod. Since they’d visited her at work earlier, her mind had been awash. Was it or wasn’t it, Alicia? The answer to that simple question was all she wanted to know. The detective said the quickest way to be certain was a DNA test. She wanted to ask what was left, what had happened to the child, but her tongue swelled in her mouth at the very thought. An hour ago, she’d been at work, preparing for the monthly performance meeting. Thinking about calling her neighbour and picking up some shopping on the way