Valentine stood in the hallway, peering into the small gap in the doorway to his daughter’s bedroom and watching her sleeping. The first hint of a pale morning light was filtering through the blinds, suffusing the room with its dim glow. Chloe was sound asleep, her head resting peacefully on the pillow. There couldn’t have been a bad thought basking beneath that beautiful face, he thought. The mere idea that there was the possibility of such a thing struck the detective as abhorrent.
As he gazed, he saw her eyes moving beneath their tightly closed lids. Was she dreaming? What would those dreams be? He remembered when she was born; he was just out of uniform and working the craziest hours imaginable. Whenever he managed to get to the hospital Chloe was sleeping, a small bundle wrapped in white that seemed so precious he didn’t want to touch it. He would peer over the cradle and watch her every breath being taken. That she was there at all seemed like a miracle, something akin to magic; she was beyond precious to him. He was part of her, part of her being, part of her creation. He remembered thinking: could she be real?
As he kept his gaze on his daughter, through the narrow gap in her bedroom door, Valentine felt his thoughts shifting. All those aspects of his pride that Chloe had kindled, all those feelings of joy and warmth and love were being challenged now. He wondered what he had brought her to. Was he still able to keep her safe? Had he ever had that ability?
The world had always been a mystery to Valentine, an endless confrontation of good and bad, but he had never doubted the predominance of the good. Now he wondered, though. He no longer felt that assurance he once had that the world was profoundly good. He felt helpless and pessimistic for a world he now cared so very little for, but worse, worried how his children would fare in it.
Valentine closed the door to his daughter’s bedroom and started for the stairs. In the kitchen he heard his father’s radio playing and knocked on the door of the extension. The old man answered promptly, presenting himself, shaved and showered, a familiar dark-crimson tie poking above his V-neck jumper.
‘Oh, good morning,’ he said. ‘You’re up early, aren’t you?’
‘I had a difficult night. I don’t seem to have the same need for sleep these days. I’m up with the larks whether I like it or not.’
His father laughed. ‘You’re getting on, that’s what it is.’
‘Probably. Coffee?’
‘Yes. Let me switch this wireless off and I’ll be right with you.’
The cupboard revealed the instant coffee jar to be empty, which forced Valentine to tackle the cafetière, another of Clare’s designer purchases. She wasn’t a coffee snob, but some of her friends who came round might be, so of course it wouldn’t do to have anything less to hand. He found himself checking the price on the label automatically and following on with the usual frowns and head-shaking.
‘Something wrong?’ said his dad, appearing from the extension and taking a seat.
‘I don’t know about you, but I feel a bit undeserving of Clare’s £12 coffee.’
‘She likes to keep up with the Joneses, that’s just her way.’
‘I know. I’m just being my usual, unreasonable self, I suppose.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
Valentine delivered the cafetière and cups to the table and sat down. There was a lull in the conversation and then he spoke again. ‘Maybe you’re right, Dad. Maybe it’s not me that’s in the wrong, maybe it’s the rest of the world.’
‘Oh, you’re feeling like that today, are you?’
‘I never get this way. I try to just keep on keeping on. I’m not one for tackling the big questions.’
‘Sometimes you can’t help it. I just heard on the radio that the term ‘‘Ladies and Gentleman’’ is being outlawed on train station announcements now. What are we if we’re not ladies and gentlemen any more? When I look at the world these days, I quite often want to just ask to get off. You’re not alone, son; it’s not unnatural.’
‘I know, everything natural’s being turned into the unnatural. We’re in a crazy state of affairs. I wonder what’s behind it. Have you ever felt that there’s something bigger than us, bigger than all of us, in play here?’
His father had his coffee cup half way to his mouth but lowered it. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. I think it might just be this case; it’s wearing me down. I can’t help but think there’s something wicked out there, something evil, gleefully so, revelling in the diabolical nature of itself.’
‘The job never usually gets to you, son. I’ve only ever seen you thrive on the challenges. I don’t quite understand how you can do that, but you always do.’
‘Not this time. This is different; something’s changed in me, Dad. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s like I’ve stared into the abyss and everything else is tinged as a result. I can’t explain it, but I have this sense of something older than time, bigger than life and death, or good and evil. Does that make any sense?’
His father reached out and gripped Valentine’s arm. ‘I know exactly what you mean, son. You’d have to be a fool in this day and age not to think that.’
DCI Valentine was seated in front of the chief superintendent as she forced the blade into the skin of the Cox’s Orange Pippin and started to peel a long, looping spiral. She managed to talk over the sideshow, dangling the peel ever upwards above the desk, until finally dropping the lank helix over the waste-paper basket. The CS seemed pleased with her effort, smiling to herself as she returned the knife to the top drawer of her desk, slamming it shut.
‘So, Bob, what you’re telling me is that you have nothing concrete, except this scrote Frizzle’s breach of an existing probation order?’
Valentine drew his gaze back from the waste-paper basket. ‘I have a lot going on. The squad’s following several lines of inquiry.’
‘Oh, please, spare me the media speak – it’s me you’re talking to.’ She bit into the apple and reclined in her chair, admiring the extent of her bite, which had cut to the core.
‘We now know there’s absolutely no question that Abbie McGarvie was being abused. The post-mortem confirmed that, and the pregnancy might tie her to a perpetrator in due course.’
‘If you can find one.’
‘Well, we’re working on that.’
CS Martin swung her chair round to the front and started peering over the open blue folder that held the case notes. ‘The post-mortem rules out the father, Alex McGarvie, who was the original accused in the first case.’
‘Yes, I saw that had come in this morning. Wrighty said the girl had multiple abusers, and the experts I’ve spoken to since tend to confirm this pattern in such cases.’
‘Oh yes, the social worker and the academic.’ She seemed to have tired of the apple now, placing it on top of the folder and reclining in her chair once again. ‘None of that builds a case, Bob. You realise how shaky all of this looks, especially since nothing’s come out of those searches on the Sutherland estate.’
‘I wouldn’t say nothing came of the searches, we have the indicators of some unusual activity in the outbuilding . . .’
The CS cut in. ‘A good brief could explain that away as typical farm activity.’
‘It’s not a farm. Sutherland doesn’t keep pigs, so why are buckets of pigs’ blood covering the floor of his outbuilding? I’m not saying that on its own this proves a thing, but coupled with the teenage trespassers’ testimony and the rope ladder with Malky Frizzle’s prints all over it, I have my suspicions that something very odd has gone on there.’
‘Be careful where you tread, Bob. Remember this victim has already caught our attention once before. If you uncover the same themes emerging again then you had better make sure that you have a watertight case, do you understand me?’
‘I do. Which is why I’ve left it as late as possible to put the difficult questions to Alex McGarvie and David Sutherland.’
CS Martin tapped her finger on the blue folder. ‘The file says McGarvie’s been interviewed by DI Davis.’
‘Yes, he came in last night. I haven’t caught up with Davis yet, but I’m assuming there were no explosive revelations, otherwise he’d have been on the blower.’
‘And Sutherland?’
‘He has a formal invitation to attend the station.’
‘Tread carefully, like I say. I can’t imagine a man of his means will give us much room for manoeuvre.’
Valentine got to his feet. ‘Agreed. I’ll get Davis to drop in the notes on the Alex McGarvie interview.’
‘How are you finding Davis – fitting into the team okay?’
‘Overall, yes. I suppose it helps that he’s single, and happy to work all the hours God sends.’
‘Single? No, he’s married with three kids.’
‘What? He told me he lived alone, with no ties.’
‘No. Ian Davis is a family man like yourself, Bob. Are you sure you haven’t mixed him up with someone else?’
Valentine felt his face prickling. ‘I’m quite sure I haven’t got the wrong end of the stick. Perhaps I’ll need to have a word with him about this now.’
‘Fair enough.’ The CS picked up the blue folder, closed it over and flung it at Valentine. ‘Back to the mill with you!’