They named her Hope. I got the impression that some of the men in the squad room thought the name was a little overly sentimental, but in my mind it was perfect. God knows that family needed every ounce of strength and comfort to cling to, and if a name that looked to the future rather than an horrific past could do that, all power to them. That wee girl would also need a helping hand when she became old enough to understand the terrible circumstances of her birth. To me the name Hope was a gift of optimism and love.
Every item of clothing baby Hope had been wearing, with the exclusion of Mum’s knitted hat, had been sealed up and sent off for testing at ESR up in Christchurch. Unfortunately, we didn’t have the facilities for that level of forensic examination here in Dunedin, otherwise by this stage in proceedings I may have had the actual objects in my hands to examine, rather than relying on high-resolution photos. I guessed the pics were better than nothing.
The job allocated to me by The Boss was, by his standards, pretty mild on the shit-o-meter. The items would be getting the forensic scrutiny up north, but here my task was to see if there were any clues as to where they were bought and then potentially trail them back to the purchaser. It was a long shot, so the likelihood of a successful lead was slim to none. He was setting me up to fail, which of course made me determined to make sure I didn’t.
The police photographer had done a great job of providing a detailed set of pictures for each item. There were full-view shots, close-ups on any tags and branding, weave and patterning, any stains and flaws. The only thing missing was smell-o-vision, thankfully.
The inventory list was pretty comprehensive:
Cardboard carton – sour cream and chives Heartland potato chips, eight packs.
Huggies nappy in newborn size – clearly used.
A white, cotton, crutch-domed, short-sleeved bodysuit. Simple Is Best brand.
A pastel-green, cotton, Simple Is Best brand, long-sleeved, footless stretch and grow.
A pale-yellow, acrylic yarn, button-up cardigan with white love hearts all over it. Baby Berry brand.
Cotton cell wrap in a natural colour, Simple Is Best brand.
Polar fleece wrap, with gold, silver and grey stars and moons on a pale background. No tags.
Hand-knitted hat and matching knitted booties.
With the bring-your-own bags and pack-your-own groceries policy at a number of supermarkets there were numerous places someone would be able to pick up a cardboard chippies carton. There was often a ‘help yourself to an empty box’ area in the foyer – I’d raided them myself on occasion when shifting flat or needing a decent-sized box for an op-shop run. The box was kind of a snug fit for a well-wrapped baby, but it did the job. I guessed that would prevent any movement and keep them a bit warmer. There was absolutely no point in spending time looking at supermarket security footage to spot someone grabbing an empty chips carton. It could have been picked up anytime in the last year, and from anywhere. That was beyond needle-in-a-haystack territory. Mind you, I wouldn’t put it past The Boss to make me sit and do precisely that.
The bodysuit, stretch and grow and cotton cell blanket were all Simple Is Best brand – one of those basics house brands that was the mainstay of The Big Red Shed chain store. They were produced in their gazillions – cheap as chips and high-turnover items. I know because we had some of them in the layette we’d bought for Bubs, the kind of items that if the poo-nami was too disgusting you wouldn’t feel too bad about binning.
The nappy was a Huggies brand. Available at any supermarket, Four Square or convenience store. Again, there was no way of tracing it. The only thing it could contribute to the general profile of the killer / kidnapper was that Huggies were priced at the higher end of the nappy market. Still, you couldn’t make assumptions of the socio-economic status of the perpetrator based on one shitty nappy.
The cardigan had come from Postie Plus, so again, was at the budget end of the market, from a high turnover retailer, and could have been purchased in the Dunedin store or online. An online sale would include a delivery address, so if push came to shove it was a potential avenue to try. But it could just have likely been purchased in a store, so it was a very long shot.
The polar fleece wrap with its stars and moons was really pretty, and I felt a slight twinge of blanket envy. It didn’t have any identifying brand labels, which was disappointing, so I wondered if it was handmade. It had a perfect blanket-stitch edging that could have been done on a domestic sewing machine. Even the most basic models had that stitch. I made a note to myself to check out the Spotlight or Lincraft websites to see if the fabric was listed. Otherwise a visit to them might be in order – Oh dear, how sad. I spotted with a little embarrassment the presence of some long, white cat hairs on the polar fleece. I had apologised in advance to the forensic team and warned them that Her Majesty had not been able to resist a box and a blankie.
Lastly, I turned my attention to the hand-knitted items – the little hat and the booties. They weren’t the sort of items that most people had hanging around the house in case they accidentally, or otherwise, found themselves with a baby. The fact that the perpetrators had hand-crafted items implied a number of possibilities. Firstly, that they already had children who had used them, or had them at the ready for a new arrival. Secondly, hand knits were usually made with love by relatives or friends in anticipation of an addition to the family. This gave me a sense of disquiet and again begged the question, why had baby Hope been so brutally taken in the first place? How far in advance had this been planned? Were others – friends, family – a party to it? Or had they been duped, led to believe there was going to be a legitimate arrival at this time? I guessed it would all come out in the wash – hand wash in this instance.
I looked at the pictures of the beautiful workmanship on the knitted items and smiled to myself. Dick Head Johns had put me on this task because he knew it would be a hiding to nothing, something I would fail at, and then he could crow about my shortcomings as an investigator. But, on the contrary, there was a very real possibility of a useful lead because I had something he didn’t count on. I had a secret weapon.