‘It would seem so.’
‘The child she brought into the hospital was a boy,’ Martha observed. ‘Kind of lets her off the hook rather, doesn’t it?’
‘I thought that.’
‘But you say the name upset her?’
‘Without a doubt.’
As she spoke Martha was scribbling herself a list of things to do.
‘One,’ she wrote, ‘find out who Poppy was.’
Underneath she wrote, ‘Pink blanket?’
‘You think there is a connection between this Poppy and the pink blanket?’
‘You’re rushing me, Martha,’ Alex said and she could tell that he was smiling.
She asked her next question very softly. ‘Do you think Poppy is a real child?’
Randall was reluctant to answer but he knew he must. ‘Yes.’
‘Alive or dead?’
‘Dead,’ he said.
‘Has the husband shown up yet?’
‘Not a sign – nor of either of her children. Mrs Sedgewick is having her wish granted that the family be kept out of this.’
‘So far,’ Martha said. ‘Does she have grandchildren?’
‘No.’
‘Have you asked her why she took a dead child to the hospital?’
‘Not yet. That’s on my list.’
‘How long have they lived there?’
‘Five years.’
‘Ah.’ He could hear the excitement in her voice. ‘And do you know who the estate agent was who sold them the property?’
‘Martha.’ Again she could tell that Alex Randall was smiling. ‘Stop telling me my job.’
‘Sorry, Alex.’ She waited a moment. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I was going to ring you today.’
‘Yes?’
‘I had another of those odd phone calls last night. You know, the “Message to Martha” one?’
‘I thought they’d died down.’
‘So did I. I hoped they had but it seems someone is still trying to make me uneasy.’
‘And does it?’
‘Not so much for me, Alex,’ she confided. ‘I’m made of tough stuff. It’s Sukey I worry about. It wouldn’t be so bad if Sam lived at home though…’
She didn’t want to say it yet. Saying it would turn it from a hope to a certainty. And it wasn’t.
Alex must have picked up on her reluctance to finish the sentence. He cleared his throat.
‘I’ll come round later,’ he said, ‘and talk to you. Is this evening any good?’
‘At home?’
‘Yes. Is that a problem?’
‘No. No. Look – why don’t you come to supper? Sam’s gone back to Liverpool so I don’t have a male to cook for.’
‘No,’ he said abruptly, almost rudely. ‘No. I’ll come round after supper if that’s all right.’
‘Fine,’ she said, a little hurt. ‘I’ll see you later then.’
She wanted to ask him how he was but the opportunity hadn’t seemed to have arisen so she said nothing but hung up telling herself he had sounded perfectly well in control.
Her eyes lighted on the framed photograph of Sam that stood on her desk and she smiled. He was so very like Martin. He had the lot, hair that always stuck out, irregular teeth, an absolutely wonderful smile which seemed to encompass all the good things in life. Sam’s smile was exactly like his father’s, slightly hesitant, tentative, completely open, very, very happy, 100% genuine and complex. Six months ago she had guiltily removed Martin’s photograph from her desk and placed it in the drawer. After all these years, she’d had to say goodbye to him as she had to his son only that very morning, and she was still feeling a bit shaken, a bit bereft.
Alex returned to the interview room, thoughtful after the telephone call. He could tell the two women had had a chat, exchanged confidences and he could also sense that Acantha didn’t know all yet. Her face still held questions and a certain amount of frustration.
Alex sat down. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘You know, Mrs Sedgewick, that at the moment we’re not charging you with anything. We simply want to find out where the baby came from.’
Acantha spoke. ‘Was the baby killed or did it die of natural causes?’
Alex responded quickly. ‘I can’t give you any details yet. All will be made public eventually. Now then. Shall we crack on with just a few more questions?’
‘Why were you so upset at the name, Poppy, Mrs Sedgewick?’
She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, fully in control of herself now. ‘It sort of brought it all back to me.’
‘Brought what exactly?’
Acantha answered for her. ‘I would have thought that was obvious. The discovery of the body – the entire incident.’ She gave a self-confident smile which probably stood her in good stead in her work as a solicitor but rather irritated the detective.
He continued smoothly. ‘I need to know which estate agent you bought the house through.’
‘Huntley and Palmers.’
‘The name of the people you bought the house from?’
‘Mr and Mrs Godfrey. They were moving to Spain, Aaron said. I think they’d made quite a lot of money.’
‘Did they have any children?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
‘Were there children’s things around the place when you viewed?’
‘I didn’t view.’ She spoke baldly and with a hint of challenge in her tone.
‘You didn’t see the house before you bought it?’ Alex struggled to keep surprise out of his voice.
‘I didn’t see the house before my husband bought it.’
Practically feudal, Alex thought.
‘Did you ever meet Mr and Mrs Godfrey?’
‘No.’ Said almost sullenly.
‘So you’ve no idea how old they were?’
‘Sorry. Obviously no.’
‘OK.’
Alex came to a decision. ‘One last question and then you can go.’
The look of relief on Alice’s face was tangible.
‘Why did you take the baby to the hospital rather than simply ringing the police?’
‘I don’t know.’ It was at least an honest answer. ‘Instinct, I suppose.’
‘Instinct?’ It seemed an odd explanation.
‘It’s where you go when you’re in trouble, isn’t it?’
It was an explanation – of sorts.
‘OK. We’ll leave it there. Do you mind if we contact your husband?’
For the first time he saw Alice Sedgewick’s smile, the light of humour touching her rather sad eyes. ‘That’s two questions, inspector,’ she said archly. ‘But I’ll answer. As I’ve already said I don’t want you dragging him back from his business trip. There’s no point. There’s nothing he can do. However it so happens that he’s left a message on the answer phone to say he’ll be back tomorrow. You can speak to him then.’
Alex wasn’t even tempted to quip that he would look forward to it.
Martha found it hard to concentrate that afternoon. Her mind kept flitting back to the subject of the dead baby. Boy, girl, pink, blue. It had lain there, slowly desiccating over the years. Whose baby was it? Who was its mother? Where was its mother? How had it died? Why had it died? Had it been wanted or unwanted? A teenager’s embarrassment? A married woman’s shame? How could a baby disappear if the mother had attended antenatal classes? What was the story behind it? Who was Poppy? Another baby? Another dead baby? What was Poppy to Mrs Sedgewick? Why had the name upset her so very much? Why had she driven to the hospital with a dead child? What had really triggered this bizarre action?
Martha felt her face twitch with curiosity.
Somehow she managed to sift through a reasonable amount of paperwork and take a few calls from doctors which would save post-mortems and an overworked team of pathologists including the newly reformed Mark Sullivan. She spoke to some relatives who had concerns about the residential home their mother had died in and promised to look into it. By six she was ready to go home. Her desk was cleared except for one envelope and her stomach was rumbling. Agnetha had promised to cook supper, salmon, new potatoes and a fresh green salad. Martha couldn’t wait.