No reply.
He unbuttoned the base of her babygrow and was hit by a cloying smell. Brown stains were leaking out from the edge of her nappy. 'She's filthy. How long has she been lying here?'
He spotted the shadow of a frown as she glanced with tired eyes at their daughter. 'Well, change her then.'
'I will. But I'm asking how long she's been left here.'
'Since her last feed. I'm not sure. She wasn't crying.'
'Surely it's not a good idea for her to be lying in her own shit?'
The comment was intended to goad her, but all it provoked was another backward glance. 'When's the last time you changed her nappy?'
He opened his mouth, but said nothing.
'Exactly,' she answered, eyes on the screen once again. 'Do your fair share before having a go at me.'
But that's not the point, he thought. You should be concerned that Holly was being neglected. She clicked the mouse and another text-heavy page filled the screen. There was a detached air about her, as if attending to Holly was just another household chore. You're using this Iraq thing as a way to screen her out, he thought, remembering something about depressed mothers being unable to connect emotionally with their babies.
'Come on then, you,' he whispered, carrying Holly upstairs to the nursery. After bagging up the dirty nappy and wiping her clean, he wrapped a fresh nappy around her. 'We don't want a dirty bottom, do we?' he whispered. She grinned at the sensation and he wondered whether to call down that their daughter had just produced her biggest smile yet. Then he changed his mind, afraid Alice would just grunt a reply back up the stairs.
He gazed down at the tiny human before him. So totally helpless. She stared back, eyes fixed on his. He actually felt something shift in his chest as the realisation suddenly hit him. You're ours. Ours. The word was filled with new significance.
No one else will care for you in the same way because no one else is responsible for you in the same way. We created you. But now your mum doesn't seem able to cope with you. Which leaves me. I've got to take care of you until Alice is better.
He leaned down and brought his face so close to hers he could see his entire head captured in her unwavering pupils. There he was, as much a part of her as she was of him. He picked her up and held her close, waves of emotion flooding out. Then he bowed his head and held a kiss to the top of her skull, drinking in the delicious warmth coming from her soft skin.
The voice came and went, music drifting lazily over it. Then someone spoke over an urgent drumming. Words caught in Jon's semi conscious mind. Key 103 bulletin. Dramatic new theory. No official comment. River Medlock. Other world news. Attack on the Rashid Hotel, Baghdad. Paul Wolfowitz narrowly escapes.
He struggled to bring himself awake, eyes opening just as the newsreader announced, And now to our main story. This morning Manchester awakes to a dramatic new development in the hunt for the Monster of the Moor.
Jon looked to his left. Alice was sitting up in bed, Holly silently feeding at her breast.
Analysis shows that all three victims were attacked within a short distance of the Medlock, a river that rises on Saddleworth Moor and runs into the very heart of the city. What worries experts is the possibility that, if the Monster is following the river in its hunt for new victims, it will end up in the centre of Manchester itself. So far, no one from Greater Manchester Police has been available for comment.
'Christ!' He kicked the duvet off and looked at the clock. Seven. He should have been up an hour ago. Flipping open his mobile, he scrolled through to Carmel's number and pressed connect. 'Who fed you that information?'
'Sorry, is that DI Spicer?'
'Who was it? Do you realise the shit this story will stir up?'
'You know I can't tell you that.'
'No?' He stood up, walked over to the window. Grey drizzle was falling outside. 'You don't need to. I saw you yesterday at
Buxton Zoo. It was Hobson.'
'You're wrong actually.' Her voice had softened. Was it sympathy he heard? 'You need to look closer to home.'
Jon glanced at Alice who was staring back at him. He turned away. 'Piss off, Carmel.'
He threw the phone on the bed and set off for the shower. Alice's voice stopped him in the doorway. 'So much for keeping work and home lives separate.'
'Yeah, sorry,' he mumbled. 'What time did you come to bed last night?'
'Around midnight. You were fast asleep with Holly on your chest.'
'Was I?' Jon looked at his side of the bed. 'I remember changing out of my work clothes and then lying down with her. She was asleep?'
'You both were. They don't recommend it. If you'd rolled over-'
'I didn't mean to — Christ. I must have just nodded off. Did you sleep OK?'
'So-so. She needed feeding at around two, then again at four.'
'God, I didn't even hear that. You should have woken me, I could have given her a bottle.'
'I tried to. You were dead to the world.'
He felt a pang of guilt at having left his wife to get through the night feeds on her own. 'How are you feeling?'
'Fine.'
Jon tiptoed through his next comment. 'You seem so wrapped up in this research thing. I don't want you getting upset about it.' He lightened his tone and smiled. 'Don't forget we've got a little girl to look after too.'
She looked down. 'I'm feeding her now, aren't I?'
Yes, but that's about all you're doing with her. 'True. But go easy. The last thing you need to do is exhaust yourself stressing out over what's happening in Iraq.'
'Do I look tired?' He nodded.
She smiled. 'Well take a look at yourself. You're a complete wreck.'
Yeah, Jon thought. Nine hour's sleep and I still feel like shit. He grinned back, 'I'd better grab a shower then and make myself look beautiful.'
Summerby, McCloughlin and most of the incident room team were surrounding the centre table when Jon walked in. He spotted several copies of the Manchester Evening Chronicle dotted about.
'Morning, Jon, nice that you made it in,' Summerby said, before looking back at the front page. 'Just what we didn't want to happen.'
The photo was an aerial view of the Greater Manchester area, the route of the Medlock highlighted in a lurid red. Big crosses marked where all three victims had been discovered, next to each was a panel giving estimated time and date of death. Hovering over the city centre itself was a large red question mark.
The headline read, River of Death.
Jon sat down. 'I know where this has come from. Hobson, the big cat expert at Buxton Zoo. I saw the crime reporter from the Chronicle arrive there yesterday for a briefing. The bastard is using this whole thing as a business promotion.'
DC Adlon spoke up. 'I didn't have time to find much on the bloke, but a company search threw up something interesting. Buxton Zoo is a public limited company and Hobson is the majority shareholder.'
Summerby sat back and looked at Jon. 'I gather the reason you missed my briefing yesterday was because you were back at Crime Lake.'
Jon nodded. 'The word Kuririkana is written on the notice board at the top of the car park and on the rocks by where Rose Sutton was found.'
'You've been up on the moors too?' Summerby demanded. Catching Rick's look of surprise, Jon coughed awkwardly. 'I went straight up there after I found the word on the notice board in the car park. It had been daubed on the rocks in blood.
Rose Sutton's at a guess. Someone had then done their best to remove the word. Only a sweep with a Portascope showed it up.'
Summerby stared back at him. 'What's your conclusion then?'
'I'm not sure. I know Jeremy Hobson has spent time in Kenya though, he told me himself.'
Summerby mulled on the conversation as officers began to speculate in whispers. 'Right, we'll come back to that. In the meantime, Gavin Edwards has some other developments you should all know about.'