Hansen flips open his notebook. ‘She did have a boyfriend though, around that time?’
She fiddles with her mug again; she still hasn’t drunk any of it.
‘There was Peter Anderson, but it wasn’t him.’
Everett nods. ‘I gather they only started seeing each other some weeks after she must have become pregnant.’
‘And he definitely didn’t take the baby. He was on holiday with his family. They proved that in court.’
‘Are you still in touch?’
She makes a face. ‘On and off. Christmas cards, you know.’
‘Could you let DC Hansen have his address before we go?’
She looks anxious for a moment. ‘It’s in Dumfries somewhere. Look, it really wasn’t him. Honestly – I’d know. He has two daughters –’
‘He’s not under any suspicion,’ says Ev quickly. ‘We just need to eliminate him. No one could be ruled out when the baby first disappeared because we didn’t have its DNA, but now we do. It’d be in Mr Anderson’s interests, really. It’d let him draw a line under the whole thing once and for all.’
She drops her gaze. ‘OK. It’s just, you know – I don’t want him thinking I dropped him in it.’
‘That’s understandable. But we’d really rather prefer you didn’t talk to him about this until we have a chance to speak to him ourselves.’
She’s still staring into her coffee.
‘OK,’ she says eventually. ‘OK.’
‘So,’ says Hansen, ‘other than Peter Anderson, were there other boyfriends you can remember?’
‘I said all this the first time. There were a few boys she liked, but no one I’d call a “boyfriend”.’
Hansen consults his notes. ‘Marcus Crowther and Jamie Fox?’
‘Yes, she knew both of them.’
‘Do you think it’s possible,’ says Ev, ‘that one of them could have fathered the second baby?’
She shrugs. ‘You tell me. Camilla’s mother kept her on a pretty tight rein – she always had to be back home by eleven. There wasn’t exactly a lot of opportunity.’
‘That must have made it hard to get away – when she went into labour.’
Her eyes narrow; she knows what Ev’s getting at.
‘The second time was when we were at that hockey thing. It was the last night – it was just before Christmas – everyone went out – it would’ve been easy to slip away.’
‘Where did her mother think she was?’
She shrugs. ‘You’d have to ask her. She probably thought it was a sleepover with the team or something.’
‘And the first baby – what about when she went into labour then?’
She sighs. ‘Yes, well, I lied for her that time, didn’t I – told her mother she was staying at mine. You know that. Look, I was just a kid – I thought she wanted to bunk off down the pub – I had no idea what was really going on –’
‘It’s OK, Mrs Nev – Leonora – I’m not accusing you of anything.’
‘I’m sorry, I know you’re not. But it was bloody awful – being interrogated over and over again, and then that horrible prosecutor trying to get me to admit I knew something about that baby when I didn’t, and then being in the bloody papers –’
Her voice is getting shrill.
‘Like I said,’ says Ev quickly, ‘we’re just trying to find out what happened. That’s all.’
Leonora raises her mug to her lips. She’s trembling slightly, and pulls her cardigan closer round her shoulders.
Hansen takes the still from the CCTV footage from his pocket and places it on the table between them.
‘This is the man,’ he says. ‘The one we believe is Camilla’s son.’
She hesitates, then reaches out and pulls the photo closer. ‘It’s not very clear.’
‘I’m afraid it’s all we’ve got.’
There’s silence; she’s staring at the picture.
‘We were hoping he might look like someone you knew back then?’
She slowly shakes her head. ‘No, I’m afraid he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look like Cam.’
* * *
Adam Fawley
25 October
10.30
Turns out I’ve never actually been to South Mercia Police HQ. I’d definitely remember it if I had. It looks like a football stadium, all swooping rooflines and glass walls. And blue – a lot of upbeat, positive, here-to-serve blue.
We park up in the visitors’ area and make our way over to reception. It’s more like a hotel or a private hospital than a plod shop. There are even sofas. With cushions.
We’re on time, we’re expected, but they still make us wait. Quinn sits there messing about with his phone, grumbling every few minutes and checking his watch. But if that’s how Kearney wants to play it, fine by me. I’ve had a twenty-year-old case rise from the dead and bite me in the arse; I know how it feels.
A chipper young female PC arrives about ten minutes later and takes us upstairs, collecting coffee orders on the way. Judging by the list of options, their machine is way flashier than ours. Kearney has a big office on the third floor, with a picture window and a decent computer and his own set of armchairs round a small table. I find myself wondering idly about whether they might be recruiting.
‘Adam Fawley?’ he says, rising from his chair and coming towards me. ‘Lawrence Kearney.’
He’s older than me – fiftyish, with a bristle of thick grey hair, a rather darker moustache and a pair of intense blue eyes.
‘Take a seat.’
I let him choose his preferred chair, then take my own. I notice he pulls up his trouser knees before he sits down. Old school, then.
‘So,’ he says, ‘I gather the Camilla Rowan case has reared its ugly head again.’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. I suspect it’s the last thing any of us needs.’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘I’m hoping we can make this as painless as possible, but –’
He waves a hand. ‘I know how it works.’ He doesn’t actually call me ‘laddie’, but it’s definitely a possibility. ‘You’ll go poking about looking under stones, seeing if you can catch us out, causing a whole lot of stress to decent hard-working officers, and end up with bugger all.’
‘That’s not our intention, sir.’
The door opens and the young PC comes in with a tray.
There’s a useful pause, fiddling about with cups, and by the time she disappears Kearney seems to have regained some of his composure.
‘So what next?’
‘We have the case files already, sir, and we’ll be re-interviewing the key witnesses, including the parents. Though that’s been complicated by the fact that they’re both now under arrest.’
He frowns. ‘So I heard. Did they know, do you think – that he was their grandson?’
‘They insist not.’
‘You believe them?’
‘Let’s just say the jury’s out.’ There’s a pause. ‘Oh, and DI Gallagher asked to be remembered to you.’
He smiles now. ‘Ruth’s a fine officer. I knew she’d go far.’
‘I agree, sir. We’re lucky to have her.’
I see Quinn roll his eyes but thankfully he’s out of Kearney’s line of sight.
‘So what do you need from me?’
‘If you have time now, I’d like to talk to you about the case, and I’d like DS Quinn to have access to any other officers who had a significant role in the investigation, both serving and retired.’
Kearney turns to him. ‘You’ll be clocking up the mileage.’
Quinn shrugs. ‘It’s no bother.’
Kearney bridles slightly and I shoot Quinn a dagger look. He flushes, just a little. ‘I don’t mind. I like driving. Sir.’