Page 64 of Good Bad Girl

“You will. Your mother used to be a detective too, is that right?” DCI Chapman asks, looking over at Edith.

“Astoredetective,” Jude says.

“Well, she did a better job of solving all of this than I did.” The detective opens the door and invites two police officers to join them. “Jude Kennedy, I am arresting you for conspiracy to murder. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

“You think my brother killed the care home manager?” Clio says.

“No,” DCI Chapman replies, putting a pair of cuffs on Jude. “But thanks to your mother, I know who did.”

The End

Mother’s Day, twenty years earlier

“We know this is very difficult,” DCI May Chapman says to Clio. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling, but I need to ask you some questions. The first twenty-four hours really are crucial when a child goes missing.”

“She isn’tmissing. I didn’tmislayher. She wastakenfrom a supermarket,” Clio replies.

Her pink house is filled with police and people wearing forensic suits and it all feels like a bad dream, as though she is living inside her worst nightmare. Strangers are quietly crawling around the place, infesting every room, opening every cupboard and drawer, touching her precious things. Looking at her. Judging her. All thinking the same thing no doubt:Bad mother. They’re not wrong. That is how Clio thinks of herself too.

Her own bad mother is still here. Perhaps it is hereditary. Maybe the maternal gene is missing from her DNA. Even thoughClio asked Edith to leave, she keeps making everyone tea and coffee, as though these people are guests in Clio’s home. But they are not guests and they are not welcome and they should be out there, looking for her baby, not here asking her the same questions over and over again.

The four of them are sitting in the lounge now. Clio, Edith, a male police officer, and the female detective. May Chapman is old, early sixties perhaps, with a gray bob and matching gray eyes. She sounds kind but Clio doesn’t trust her. Clio doesn’t trust any of them.

“So your mother had been staying with you for a few days to help look after the baby? Is that right?” the detective asks.

“You know that already,” Edith says, speaking up for the daughter she rarely speaks to.

The detective turns to her. “Perhaps you could show DS Tusk the baby’s room again, Mrs. Elliot?” Edith leaves the room with the officer and Clio can’t help noting that his surname is Tusk and he looks like a walrus.

“You did a better job of getting rid of her than I did,” Clio says when they are gone.

“You and your mother don’t get along?”

“Just normal mother-daughter stuff,” Clio replies.

“But she was here helping with the baby?”

“My husband is away for work and I don’t really have anyone else. I haven’t been feeling well.” The detective waits for her to say more and this is a trick Clio is familiar with; she uses it on her clients all the time. It’s amazing the words that come out of people’s mouths in desperation to fill an awkward silence. Something tells Clio not to mention having postpartum depression. Not everybody understands what it is, they sometimes hearbad motherinstead.

“We have CCTV of the moment the baby was taken. Can I show you some images from it?” the detective asks. Clio nods, even though this is something she already knows she does not want tosee. “This is your mother pushing the buggy inside the entrance to the supermarket. Your baby, Eleanor, is clearly visible.” Clio looks at the image and starts to cry. “This next one is the aisle where it happened.” Clio sees her mother with her back turned, talking to another woman slightly out of shot. The buggy is facing the camera and the baby is still visible in her pink onesie. “This is one minute later.” The detective shows her another, almost identical image. But this time the buggy is empty.

“Are there no images of what happened during that minute?” Clio asks.

“Yes, but they don’t identify who took her. It’s a person of medium height wearing a hoodie with their back to the camera.” She hesitates. “Is there anyone you can think of who had a reason to want to hurt you or the baby?”

“To hurther? Who would want to hurt a baby?”

“Is there anyone you might have upset? Someone with a grudge?”

Clio shakes her head. “No.” And she sounds so sure of herself at first. “Not that I can think of.” The woman’s stare makes her feel small and exposed. She worries that the detective can see inside her head. “The only person I ever seem to argue with is my mother.”

“Can you think of anyone whoshemight have upset?” the detective asks.

“How long have you got? Look, I don’t wish to sound rude, but shouldn’t you be out there, looking for her? Doing something?”

“And you said that your husband is—”

“Away for work. He’s been gone two weeks.”

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