Janice dropped against the car, her hand over her heart.
‘Mummy!’ Emily shouted at the window-pane. She bounced up and down on the back seat. ‘Mummy, guess what?’
Taking a deep breath Janice went round to the front, got in and turned to her little girl. ‘What? What am I guessing, sweetheart?’
‘Jasper’s done a poo. In his pants. Did you get some nappies from the shop for him?’
‘Shop’s shut, sweetheart.’ She forced a smile. ‘Didn’t get nappies. No shop, no nappies – I’m sorry. Get yourself strapped in, darling. We’re going home.’
17
Caffery was glad he never got offered that glass of wine. If he’d had even a sniff of booze he’d have ballsed up the whole logistical nightmare that came after the tooth appeared in his mouth.
The neighbour, Mrs Fosse, a nosy, birdlike woman who wore slippers and two knitted sweaters, one over the other, had nothing to hide. He was confident of that after speaking to her for twenty minutes. She’d made the pie and put it on the doorstep with the other things at one o’clock. Hadn’t liked to knock because she found it awkward, not knowing what to say: she hoped the little gifts expressed her feelings properly. Which meant the jacker had come into the garden and pressed the tooth into the pie some time in those two hours. He must have teased it down through the twin steam holes Mrs Fosse had made with a knife.
The Walking Man was right, Caffery thought: this man was cleverer than anyone he’d dealt with before. He decided to get the Bradleys the hell out of the vicarage as soon as possible.
‘I hate you. I really, really hate you.’ In the utility room Philippa was glaring at Caffery. Her face was white, her hands were in tight fists. The side door was open and an officer from the dog-handling unit waited on the doorstep, holding both of the family dogs on leashes and trying hard not to get sucked into this argument. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this.’
Caffery sighed. It had taken him more than two hours and ten different calls, first, to get permission for the move and, second, to find somewhere to take the family. In the end it meant that a team of senior investigating officers on an exchange exercise from Holland were turned out of the suites reserved for visiting police chiefs in the training block at HQ. Now the family were ready with their bags and their coats on. ‘Philippa,’ he said, ‘I promise you – the dogs will be OK.’
‘They can’t be with someone they don’t know.’ She had tears in her eyes. ‘Not at a time like this.’
‘Listen,’ he said carefully. He knew he had to be really cautious – the last thing he needed was a hysterical teenager upsetting this scenario. He’d called the two patrol cars that had been waiting just off the estate, out of the view of the press. They’d be rolling up any minute now, and when they did he wanted the whole family in and away before the reporters had time to wonder what the hell was going on. The head of Corporate Communications had been dragged out of a darts game in Brislington and was in hasty negotiations with some of the major newspapers. The jacker had tracked the Bradleys here from press photos of them coming and going from the house. It was a symbiotic relationship, and if the media wanted any more co-operation from the police they’d have to lay off any further coverage of the Bradleys.
‘You can’t take the dogs with you, Philippa. We can’t have animals in the safe-house. They’ll be looked after by the dog handlers. And you’re going to have to understand how serious this is. You’re going to have to understand that the man who did this to your sister is . . .’
‘Is what?’
He rubbed a finger across his forehead. He wanted to say, Is cleverer than anyone I’ve dealt with? Cleverer and twice, no, three times, as weird?
‘You can take one dog. One. The other’ll have to go with the handler. OK? But you have to take this seriously, Philippa. Do I have your promise that you will? For your parents’ sake. For Martha’s sake.’
She looked at him sullenly, her dyed black hair flopping down over half of her face. Her bottom lip moved almost imperceptibly, and for a moment he thought she was going to scream. Or tear around the utility room kicking things. But she didn’t. She muttered an almost inaudible ‘S’pose.’
‘Which one?’
She looked across at the dogs. They looked back at her. The spaniel tentatively banged its tail on the floor, wondering if this human discussion was an elaborate preamble to a walk. Seeing them together like this Caffery noticed just how old and infirm the collie was compared to the spaniel.
‘Sophie.’
Hearing her name, the spaniel straightened eagerly, her tail metronoming side to side.
‘The spaniel?’
‘She’s the best guard dog,’ Philippa said defensively, taking the lead from the handler. ‘She’ll look after us best.’
The collie watched Sophie take her place next to Philippa.
‘What’re you going to do with the other one?’ Caffery asked the handler.
‘Probably ask around the force.’ He looked down at the collie, which had put its head back and was looking up at him, as if it already knew he was the new person in charge. ‘There’s usually an idiot on some unit or other soft enough to be a foster-parent for a day or two. Until the whole thing blows over.’
Caffery sighed. ‘Jesus.’ He felt in his pocket for his car keys. ‘Here.’ He chucked the keys to the handler. ‘Put it in my car.’ The collie raised its eyes to him, dropped its head on one side. He sighed. ‘Yeah, OK – don’t make a big thing of it.’
He took Philippa and Sophie into the hallway, where her parents and the FLO were waiting among the hastily packed suitcases. He stood next to the window and peered out through the crack in the curtains. He’d told the cars not to use their blues and twos. Didn’t want to stretch out the warning the reporters would get. ‘Now, you know the deal. Our press office doesn’t want you covering your faces when you go out there. The flashes will go off – just ignore them. Don’t be baited. Just go about this business as quickly and calmly as you can. Pretend it’s a fire drill. No panicking but just get everything moved along, OK?’
The family nodded. Caffery checked out of the window, looking along the silent estate. Still no cars. He was about to reach into his pocket for the phone when the door to the kitchen opened and one of the CSI officers who had turned up to forensicate the back garden, the basket and the pie dish appeared in the hallway.
‘What?’ Caffery turned from the window. ‘What is it?’
The man, who seemed barely out of his teens and still had pimples on his chin, gave Rose Bradley an uncomfortable look. ‘Mrs Bradley?’
Rose backed to the wall, her hands tucked tightly under her armpits.
‘What is it?’ Caffery said.
‘I’m sorry, sir. It’s the tooth you wanted to have tested.’
‘You don’t need it.’ Tears welled in Rose’s sore eyes. ‘You don’t need it.’
‘We do need it, Rose,’ the FLO said gently. ‘Really. We do.’
‘You don’t. You can take my word for it. It’s hers. The first tooth she lost and she never wanted to let go of it. We had it put into a locket for her. I promise – I’d know it anywhere.’
Outside, the cars were sweeping into the driveway. Caffery sighed. Great timing.
‘Rose, please, give the gentleman the tooth.’ He glanced out of the window. No time to head them off now. They’d have to start the whole exercise again. ‘We can’t help Martha unless you give it to him.’
‘No! I won’t. You have my word for it, it’s her tooth.’ The tears plopped out of her eyes. She lowered her chin and tried to wipe them on the shoulders of her blouse. ‘It is her tooth. I promise it is.’
‘We don’t know that. It could be anyone’s. It could be a hoax – it could be anything.’
‘If you think it’s a hoax, why are you moving us out? You believe me. So why do I have to give it up?’