Make Believe - [2]

Sammy had gone.

Day One – Monday April 28th

Chapter 1

Janine was about to leave, called to a suspicious death – she had the address but no further details – when Pete’s car pulled up outside the house. She felt the familiar clench inside, wondered exactly when things were going to get easier with her ex or if it would always feel this way.

Two years ago he had left. Janine pregnant with Charlotte, their late unexpected addition to the family.

He’d made a clumsy attempt to invite himself back into the marriage not so long ago but Janine had told him straight that it couldn’t work. They couldn’t turn back time and she couldn’t erase the sense of betrayal at his actions. Would it have been different if he had chosen to stay with Janine rather than move in with Tina? Might she have forgiven him the affair? Hard to tell and too late now anyway.

Eleanor and Tom climbed out of his car carrying backpacks. Both gave her a hurried wave and rushed into the house.

Pete didn’t even stop the engine, just wound the window down as Janine approached. In a hurry no doubt. Like they all were, all the time. When did life become quite so frantic? Janine thought.

‘Good weekend?’ Janine said.

‘Yep.’ He nodded, slowly, repeatedly. God knows why.

‘Did you take them out?’

‘Yes. Cinema, pizza.’ Almost monosyllabic. Like their teenager, Michael. Why was he behaving so oddly?

‘Is everything OK?’ she said, deciding to be direct. Perhaps he’d rowed with Tina, or the kids had done something irritating.

‘Fine. Great,’ he said. More nodding. ‘Yes, fine. See you then.’

Janine, puzzled, watched him go. He hadn’t even made time to pop in and see Charlotte having breakfast with the nanny, Vicky. That was sad. But then if he was running late maybe he just didn’t have the time.

She called Richard Mayne, her DI, offered to give him a lift to the scene. She knew his car was in for repairs, he’d been complaining about it, the wait for parts.

‘Er, no,’ he said stammering a little, ‘you’re fine.’

‘You risking the bus?’

‘No, I… er… I’m sorted.’

‘See you there, then.’ Why was everyone being so weird today?

The crime scene cordon on the residential street had been set about fifty yards from the address where the body had been found. 16 Kendal Avenue. The place was a hubbub of activity, crime scene vans were within the cordon and outside the house itself. Neighbours stood in twos and threes speculating with each other. As Janine pulled on her protective suit, another car arrived, her colleague Richard Mayne in the passenger seat. And look who’s driving, Millie Saunders from the press office. Janine watched Richard kiss Millie on the cheek before getting out and waving her off.

‘Hi.’ Richard came over, ‘Have you got a spare suit?’ Janine stared at him, eyebrows raised in question.

Richard rolled his eyes at her, gave a laugh, sighed. ‘Millie Saunders,’ he said, ‘press office. Satisfied?’

‘Was she?’ Janine said dryly. Richard laughed. She turned and picked another suit out of the stash she carried with her in the car boot and passed it to him.

Janine felt the teensiest pinch of jealousy. Unfair she knew. Richard and her were mates, that’s all. Work partners and pals. Yes, there was an attraction, they flirted with each other now and again but would never take it further and risk ruining their friendship. Janine had the odd fantasy – he was gorgeous, tall, dark, and the rest. But that’s all it was, fantasy.

When he was ready they approached the officer in charge of cordon, showed her their warrant cards and walked up the road.

‘Not a bad area,’ Richard remarked.

Janine agreed. Large, solidly built, semi-detached houses, the sort with decent sized gardens and enough roof space to make conversions. Some sort of improvement was going on at this place, a skip on the pavement, rubble and debris in the front garden, windows boarded up, bricks stacked at the far end of the drive. An inner cordon was rigged up around the driveway where a white tent had been erected to preserve the scene. Janine introduced herself and Richard to the crime scene manager, a man called John Trenton.

‘Young child,’ Trenton said, ‘in the main drain.’ He led them into the tent where there was a manhole, rectangular, nothing visible but murky water. Sammy Wray? Janine’s first thought. The city was awash with posters of the three-year-old missing for the past nine days. Sammy’s picture photoshopped to include the clothes he’d last been seen in and the heading, ‘Have You Seen This Child?’ Each time she’d driven past one of them Janine had felt a surge of sympathy for his parents, for the unimaginable horror they must be living through. And the professional in her knew that with the time that had elapsed the probability was that if Sammy Wray was ever found he would not be alive.

‘Sammy Wray?’ she said aloud.

‘Could well be. The size of the body is right,’ Trenton said, ‘the T-shirt.’

She glanced at Richard, his face set for a moment, then his eyes met hers, a look of trepidation and resignation. This will be a hard one. Child murders always were, grim and heartbreaking.