The two women arrived promptly at ten. Quite a contrast was DI Randall’s first impression. The large, overpowering Mrs Palk and the mouse-like Alice Sedgewick, who looked frankly terrified.
He led them into an interview room and sent for coffee.
‘You do understand,’ he said, addressing them both, ‘that I shall be recording this interview?’
‘Yes.’ As he had expected Acantha Palk answered for both of them, tossing her thick hair around as she spoke.
The detective studied Alice Sedgewick very carefully while handing them both their coffee, switching the tape on and introducing the ‘persons present’. Alice, he decided, was rather a colourless woman. With mouse-brown hair streaked with grey she was neatly and soberly dressed in a dark suit which looked suspiciously like it came from M &S. Her face lacked expression except a certain apprehension in the grey eyes. Her mouth, carelessly outlined in a nasty pink lipstick, which didn’t suit her otherwise pale visage, stayed firmly pressed shut whenever she was not speaking as though she was worried what words would escape through them. Her eyes seemed drawn to him but whenever he looked straight at her they quickly flickered away as though she was frightened if they connected for too long he would read something deep within them that she was anxious to keep secret. He found her a disturbing woman.
He glanced at Acantha and again reflected on the sheer contrast between the friends. She was magnetic, her face full of colour, her hair dyed very dark for a woman of her age but it did not make her look haggard or a witch, but merely emphasized her latent power. Had Alice opened up to her or not? How much did she really know about her friend’s current predicament?
He glanced again at Alice and fishlike she opened her mouth, as though she wanted to say something but before even a sound was uttered she snapped it closed again. Clamped it shut. He watched her curiously and worked out his line of questioning.
‘Right,’ he said now the introductions were over. ‘Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what happened on Saturday evening – before you arrived at the hospital?’
Alice gave a swift, almost panicked, look at her friend but Acantha was not looking at her. She was watching him coolly. Alex Randall met her eyes without flinching and knew she would prove a worthy adversary as, he suspected, she could probably also be a staunch friend in a time of trouble. Staunch enough to lie and deceive for her client?
Possibly.
‘I was on my own,’ Alice said timidly. ‘My husband was away.’ She paused. ‘On business.’
Now would have been an ideal time to pursue the subject of the missing Mr Sedgewick but Alex let it roll, for now.
‘Aaron has been talking about doing a loft conversion so I thought I’d climb up, have a poke around and see what I thought.’ She was starting to relax. The muscles around her mouth were loosening and her voice was gaining confidence. ‘There are good lights up there but I thought the hot water tank was in the way. It would spoil things. I noticed it was sort of packed around so I started to pull the plaster board and the slats away. Then I saw a tiny bundle.’ Her voice was just starting to falter. ‘I thought it was some old cloth – wool, wadding or something. But something was in it. I shone the torch down and picked it up.’ She gave a convulsive shudder. Even her hands shook. Her friend noticed and covered them immediately with her own. ‘I knew it was a baby. I could tell that from the feel of it but it reminded me more of the mummies I’d seen in the museum in Cairo, all dried up, bones sticking out. I nearly dropped it. I didn’t know what to do with it. I decided I must bring it out of the loft.’ Her voice was quickening, the tone rising, threatening hysteria.
Alex prompted her delicately. ‘You wrapped it up in…?’
‘I had a blanket,’ Alice said. ‘A little baby’s blanket.’
‘Where did it come from?’
Alice’s face changed again to become secretive. ‘I just had it,’ she said baldly.
Oh, yes? Alex thought.
The change of tone affected Acantha too. She gave her client a long, questioning stare but said nothing.
Alex thought. Already he was tossing a few points around in his mind. He had seen the blanket. It was no more than a few years old. Alice’s children must be well into their twenties.
‘Have you grandchildren?’ he asked.
Alice shook her head.
So this blanket had not been bought new for them. So for whom? A friend’s child? Then why hadn’t she given it? He squirreled the questions away. Now was not the time to interrupt. He needed to let Alice Sedgewick roll on without working out too much detail. So he left the question of the blanket, knowing he would return to it later on in the investigation. In such a puzzle he needed an explanation for every single anomaly.
‘Do you know anything about the child, Mrs Sedgewick?’
Acantha opened her mouth as though to speak, but said nothing, only giving her friend an encouraging look.
‘No,’ Alice Sedgewick said.
‘You know nothing about a baby being born in your house?’
She shook her head.
‘Or anyone who has been to your house who was pregnant?’
‘Not that I can think of.’
Acantha Palk spoke. ‘Do you know when the child died, inspector?’
‘Not exactly. We have a rough time scale.’
He returned to Alice Sedgewick. ‘How long have you lived at The Mount?’
‘A little over five years.’ Which was well within the time line.
‘Where did you live before you moved to The Mount?’
‘In Shawbury. Aaron was employed by the RAF so we lived there, in the village.’
Alex frowned. ‘This was before he went into business?’
Alice looked uneasy. ‘I’m not really sure about my husband’s business dealings,’ she said. ‘I only know he does a lot of travelling.’ Alice Sedgewick looked positively guilty now.
Unexpectedly this was another fact to be tucked away. Something about her husband’s business dealings made Alice very uncomfortable indeed.
Alex consulted his notes again. ‘When you were in the hospital and the sergeant took the baby from you, you said the baby’s name was Poppy. Why did you assume the child was a girl and where did you get the name, Poppy, from?’
Quite unexpectedly Alice’s eyes pooled with tears. She was almost too upset to cry properly. This was sheer, terrible, sniffing misery. Alex looked helplessly at Acantha who was looking equally confused.
‘I think we’ll have a bit of a break now,’ he said, keeping back the ace card that the baby had actually been a little boy. There was no need to tell her – yet.
While they were having a break he thought he’d give Martha a ring. He’d always known that she was more than superficially interested in some of the cases which came before her, particularly puzzling ones like this. If she had had her way, he knew that the coroner’s role would have included wearing a deerstalker, carrying a magnifying glass and doing part of the investigation herself. In fact he couldn’t absolutely swear that on occasions she hadn’t done a little sleuthing herself. He’d always had his suspicions that she had met some of the schoolchildren in the Callum Hughes case before they stood in front of her in the court. But he had said nothing.
Martha was sifting through an even bigger pile of paper than usual. A cold January, swine flu and Norovirus had resulted in a doubling of her usual workload. She listened, intrigued, as Alex spoke. ‘So you’re saying that the name, Poppy, meant something to her?’