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Authors: Priscilla Masters
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the subject. That she had asked the question in too clumsy a manner.
“All?”
Baldwin looked away. “You told me,” he said accusingly, “at the beginning - that I didn’t have to say anything.”
“We also told you that witholding information might look bad for you if we charge you and you haven’t given valid and believable reasons for your silence.”
Baldwin’s eyes looked wary. “Charge me? Charge me with what?”
“I obviously have to remind you. Madeline Wiltshaw, the little girl of whom you were so fond, is missing.”
“Well I haven’t got her. Have you looked at her home?”
“She isn’t there, Baldwin. The police are in contact with her mother.”
He put his face close to hers, crooked, stained teeth inches away. “How do you know for certain that she isn’t home, Inspector? Maybe she’s hiding from her mother or from the thug who pretends he’s her father.”
“Why would she do that?”
“You police don’t understand,” he said, “not anything. A little girl goes missing. You haven’t the sense to try and find out anything about her or what’s really happened. You simply put your hand on the nearest collar of anyone who appears a bit different. And when you can’t make his story fit your theories you get stuck. You’re just pointing the finger at me without looking around you. And …”
He pressed his lips together to stop them from saying more.
“Joshua.”
Eyes instantly wary.
“Did you see Madeline leave school today? After all …” Quick encouraging smile, “you were outside at the time the children were let out.”
“And within an hour your lot had picked me up.”
“That’s right. But not before you’d returned to your flat. What for?”
Baldwin’s eyes gleamed with a stroppy intelligence. “I was in my flat for less than a minute. I actually just went back to pick up a spare tool. I’d forgot it earlier on. Now what could I have done to a little girl in such a short time?”
It felt like a challenge. She stared at Baldwin, searching his face for some clue. There was nothing. He met her eyes with a bland stare of his own, a sort of pseudo-innocence that terrified her. Was he teasing her? Or was he - in fact - blameless and declaring. She didn’t know.
And she had run out of questions. She checked theclock. Ten-thirty. She may as well grant him his eight-hour break. She only prayed he would not squander the time sleeping.
Baldwin may have the right to an eight-hour break to sleep but she didn’t. It was almost two when she crawled into bed beside a sleeping Matthew. She altered the alarm to six and lay, her hands under her head, staring up at the black void of the ceiling and wondering. This was the worst of a missing child case. One lay in bed and imagined a frightened, cold little girl in a thin anorak, as night fell.
And that was if she was simply lost. Anything else was simply a nightmare.
Matthew rolled over to put his arm around her. “Go to sleep,” he mumbled.
But she couldn’t.
Chapter Eight
Saturday April 15th
She was awake long before the alarm went off. But not sleepy, instantly alert, like a bloodhound, ready for action. She reached out and flicked the switch off. Matthew need not wake for hours. She managed to slip out of bed without disturbing him and stood underneath the shower for a few minutes, her face tilted upwards to meet the full force of warm water. She spluttered coming out, wrapped herself in a huge, white towel and crept back into the bedroom to fish some trousers out of the wardrobe and a fuschia coloured sweater from a drawer. She ate her breakfast quickly, cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair and smeared some lipstick and mascara on. Her skin she left bare, disliking the greasy look and feel of most foundations.
She was in the station well before Korpanski, ready to resume questioning Baldwin the second his eight hours PACE rest was up.
Half-past six prompt she had him brought from his cell. He looked
“All?”
Baldwin looked away. “You told me,” he said accusingly, “at the beginning - that I didn’t have to say anything.”
“We also told you that witholding information might look bad for you if we charge you and you haven’t given valid and believable reasons for your silence.”
Baldwin’s eyes looked wary. “Charge me? Charge me with what?”
“I obviously have to remind you. Madeline Wiltshaw, the little girl of whom you were so fond, is missing.”
“Well I haven’t got her. Have you looked at her home?”
“She isn’t there, Baldwin. The police are in contact with her mother.”
He put his face close to hers, crooked, stained teeth inches away. “How do you know for certain that she isn’t home, Inspector? Maybe she’s hiding from her mother or from the thug who pretends he’s her father.”
“Why would she do that?”
“You police don’t understand,” he said, “not anything. A little girl goes missing. You haven’t the sense to try and find out anything about her or what’s really happened. You simply put your hand on the nearest collar of anyone who appears a bit different. And when you can’t make his story fit your theories you get stuck. You’re just pointing the finger at me without looking around you. And …”
He pressed his lips together to stop them from saying more.
“Joshua.”
Eyes instantly wary.
“Did you see Madeline leave school today? After all …” Quick encouraging smile, “you were outside at the time the children were let out.”
“And within an hour your lot had picked me up.”
“That’s right. But not before you’d returned to your flat. What for?”
Baldwin’s eyes gleamed with a stroppy intelligence. “I was in my flat for less than a minute. I actually just went back to pick up a spare tool. I’d forgot it earlier on. Now what could I have done to a little girl in such a short time?”
It felt like a challenge. She stared at Baldwin, searching his face for some clue. There was nothing. He met her eyes with a bland stare of his own, a sort of pseudo-innocence that terrified her. Was he teasing her? Or was he - in fact - blameless and declaring. She didn’t know.
And she had run out of questions. She checked theclock. Ten-thirty. She may as well grant him his eight-hour break. She only prayed he would not squander the time sleeping.
Baldwin may have the right to an eight-hour break to sleep but she didn’t. It was almost two when she crawled into bed beside a sleeping Matthew. She altered the alarm to six and lay, her hands under her head, staring up at the black void of the ceiling and wondering. This was the worst of a missing child case. One lay in bed and imagined a frightened, cold little girl in a thin anorak, as night fell.
And that was if she was simply lost. Anything else was simply a nightmare.
Matthew rolled over to put his arm around her. “Go to sleep,” he mumbled.
But she couldn’t.
Chapter Eight
Saturday April 15th
She was awake long before the alarm went off. But not sleepy, instantly alert, like a bloodhound, ready for action. She reached out and flicked the switch off. Matthew need not wake for hours. She managed to slip out of bed without disturbing him and stood underneath the shower for a few minutes, her face tilted upwards to meet the full force of warm water. She spluttered coming out, wrapped herself in a huge, white towel and crept back into the bedroom to fish some trousers out of the wardrobe and a fuschia coloured sweater from a drawer. She ate her breakfast quickly, cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair and smeared some lipstick and mascara on. Her skin she left bare, disliking the greasy look and feel of most foundations.
She was in the station well before Korpanski, ready to resume questioning Baldwin the second his eight hours PACE rest was up.
Half-past six prompt she had him brought from his cell. He looked
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