They came at ten the next morning, Kelly Jordan and a child-protection trained officer, Madeleine Finch, a tall, angular woman with an unruly mop of dark hair and a fierce handshake.
‘How does this work?’ I asked. ‘I mean, can I sit in with you? I don’t want her to feel anxious.’
In truth, Poppy didn’t seem anxious. She was squatting in the garden, talking earnestly to Sunny, wagging her finger, occasionally prodding the cat whose long tail twitched ominously. I had told her we were spending the first half of the day together and some friends might come by to talk to her, and she’d nodded and said airily, ‘About the zoo.’
‘That would be all right,’ said Madeleine Finch. ‘As long as you don’t say anything. This is just to capture key information as swiftly as we can. I will be asking open questions. As you know, children are very vulnerable to suggestibility and it’s crucial to avoid contamination.’
I had an uneasy sense that I had already severely contaminated anything Poppy might say.
I signed the consent form that Madeleine Finch passed to me and opened the door to the garden.
Poppy came obediently enough, though when she opened up her fist, she was holding the glistening remains of a snail. I washed her grubby hands then sat her at the table with her juice. Madeleine Finch and Kelly Jordan sat opposite her and Poppy regarded them benignly.
‘I did see a lion,’ she said. ‘I did see a fant.’
I opened my mouth to explain she meant elephant, but closed it again.
‘That’s nice.’ Madeleine Finch spoke in a gentle coo that I found annoying. Poppy took a biscuit from the plate I’d brought and stuffed it into her mouth. ‘So, Poppy. You did a drawing.’ And she held up a photocopy of that menacing picture in heavy black crayon: the triangular-shaped figure standing on what looked like a tower or a lighthouse, its head pointing downwards.
Poppy glanced at it without interest. Her cheeks were bulging.
‘Can you tell me what it’s about?’
An indistinct sound came from Poppy. Both women waited.
‘I did draw a lion,’ she said eventually.
‘But this drawing.’ Madeleine Finch pressed a finger onto it. ‘What does it show?’
‘Zoo?’
‘What is this?’ Pointing at the triangle.
‘Lion?’ Poppy waited. ‘Fant?’ she added helpfully.
Kelly Jordan drew the photo out of her case and passed it across to the other woman.
‘Now, Poppy,’ Madeleine Finch said. ‘I am going to show you a picture.’
The photo was slid across the table.
‘Who is that?’
Poppy lifted up her glass and very noisily drank her juice. She pushed another biscuit into her mouth. Her legs were drumming against the chair she was sitting in.
‘I want Sunny,’ she said through a spray of crumbs. ‘I want Teddy. I want Milly.’
‘Who is this woman, Poppy?’
Poppy slid off her chair.
‘Do you know her?’
‘Know her.’ It was impossible to tell if this was an agreement, a repetition or a question.
‘Do you know her name?’
‘Milly. I did do it.’
A faint twitch of a frown crossed Madeleine Finch’s face.
‘Is Milly your doll?’ asked Kelly Jordan.
Not an open question, I thought. I watched Poppy as temper boiled up in her.
‘No.’ Very loudly. ‘No no no.’
‘Poppy. When you see this picture—?’
‘I want Sunny. I want my green mug. I want Teddy. I want Milly. I want Gruffalo. I want Little Bear. I want Owl Baby. I want cornflakes.’ Her voice was rising to a roar. ‘I want anything.’
Madeleine Finch looked across at Kelly Jordan. ‘This is what you’re putting yourself out on a limb for? You know you’re going to have to sign off on this?’
Kelly Jordan nodded. She didn’t look happy.
I stood up and went round the table. I crouched beside Poppy.
‘It’s OK.’
‘Mummy?’
‘I’m here.’
‘I was naughty.’
‘No, darling.’
‘Milly did die?’
‘No. She’s a doll. She isn’t alive and so she can’t die.’
‘Did you die?’
‘I’m here.’
‘But did you?’
I looked up at the two detectives.
‘I think we’ve done all we can,’ Finch said.
At the door I put an arm out and held Kelly Jordan back.
‘What did she mean, putting yourself out on a limb?’
‘You don’t need to concern yourself with that.’
‘But I’d like to know.’
She gave a small sigh. ‘It’s going to be quite hard to justify the time and resources I have spent on your anxieties.’
‘Will you get into trouble?’
‘Maybe a bit of a dressing down – and loads of forms to fill out, which is worse.’
‘So why?’
‘Why am I doing it, you mean?’
‘Is it because you believe me?’
‘I don’t know, Tess. Maybe it’s because I’m a mother too.’
‘Thank you,’ I said softly.