Turner nodded in agreement.
‘Then will you leave first? I’ll come down in my van in a few minutes, so no one gets the idea I’m being arrested,’ Phil said.
As the two policemen left the ward, Eva clutched his hand even tighter. ‘It can’t be Andrew,’ she said, her eyes welling up. ‘He wouldn’t do that to me.’
‘A year ago you wouldn’t have believed he would turn on you the minute your mum was dead,’ Phil pointed out. ‘While I was away I thought a lot about his reaction when we went to his house. If he had nothing to hide, why was he so defensive? Especially in front of me! So maybe that baby in Carlisle isn’t you – I really hope so – but there is something weird about Andrew’s attitude towards you. And I think telling Turner about it all is the best way of getting to the bottom of it.’
‘But what about Ben and Sophie?’ she implored him.
Phil shrugged. ‘You can’t brush this under the carpet just to save them some grief,’ he said. ‘And if Andrew did try to kill you, then he deserves whatever comes to him.’
She lay back on the pillows as if defeated.
‘I love you, Eva,’ he said, leaning over her and kissing her gently. ‘I want us to have a happy and secure future together. Whatever your mother did, it isn’t your fault, but at the moment it’s spoiling your life. What sort of man would I be if I didn’t try to make it better for you?’
‘I’m afraid I’m spoiling your life,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘What will your family think if all this comes out?’
‘They’ll think the same as me, that it was nothing to do with you. They’ll admire you for being brave enough to expose it all. And they will all love you as much as I do.’
He had to go then. He gave her one last kiss and walked away. He didn’t dare look round and see her stricken face.
Whatever came of this, he knew it was the right thing to do.
Two hours later Phil was still in an interview room with DI Turner. He had explained everything as well as he could, but as he talked about the diaries and the second-hand information Eva had gleaned on her trip to Scotland, the policeman’s incredulous expression made him falter.
‘I know it is only supposition that Eva could be the baby snatched in Carlisle,’ he said. ‘I can’t even show you the diary, the picture of the shops or the set of tiny baby clothes – they must all have gone up in flames. But Gregor Hamilton and his sister, Grace, in Pitlochry will confirm the contents of the diary, as they read it. And surely a simple blood test will prove whether the woman in Carlisle is Eva’s mother or not …’ He paused for a moment, aware that this all must sound like a piece of fiction to a policeman. He had to make his case a little stronger if he wanted to be taken seriously.
‘Look, I don’t want to believe Andrew Patterson tried to kill Eva. Would anyone do that to someone they’d looked after from a small child? But there is something fishy about the man – he couldn’t tell us where Eva was born, and I feel certain he did have some sort of hold over Flora. And do you think it’s mere coincidence that Flora killed herself on that other baby’s twenty-first birthday?’
Turner sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know what to think. It isn’t unknown for a depressed woman, who has lost a baby, to steal one. But in such cases the woman is usually caught very quickly because she isn’t capable of all the guile, nerve and planning it would require to get away with it. So maybe Flora was just lucky, and cool-headed enough to drive down south with a new baby without drawing attention to herself. But tell me, why would any man, supposing he did actually know of such a crime, collude in it?’
‘The only reason that would make me do it is if I loved the woman so much I couldn’t bear to shop her,’ Phil said. ‘But from what I’ve seen of Patterson, he isn’t a man to allow his heart to rule his head. My gut feeling from the one meeting I’ve had with him is that he is a control freak. And Flora was the one with money when they met …’ He paused, looking hard at Turner. ‘But whether Flora did or didn’t snatch the baby, and whether Andrew knew or not, he’s still been very nasty to Eva, he knew where she was living, and a man with a BMW was acting suspiciously near Pottery Lane. So surely that’s enough to bring him in for questioning?’
‘Oh, we will. And his car will be checked by forensics.’
‘Will you also open the case about the missing baby and run some blood tests?’
DI Turner gave him a long, studied look. ‘Go home now. Leave it to us.’
On Tuesday, four days after her admittance to hospital, as Eva waited for the doctor to do his rounds and discharge her, she dressed herself in the clothes Phil had brought in for her the night before. He had bought them himself: underwear, jeans, black T-shirt, a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of sandals.
He had seemed embarrassed about them, and apologized for picking such dull things. But Eva didn’t care what they were like – she was just impressed that he’d got everything the right size – and was very glad that she’d be going home with him the next day.
Yet when Phil went home after visiting time, all at once the enormity of what had happened hit her.
She didn’t think she could ever forget the terror of being trapped in the bedroom with the fire raging downstairs. If it had been an electrical fault, she might just have been able to feel grateful that the firemen had got her out in time. But the thought that someone wanted her dead was going to haunt her for ever.
Aside from almost dying, she’d lost everything she owned. Her clothes didn’t matter so much – but photographs, Flora’s paintings, and the little things she’d had since she was a child, were all irreplaceable.
Phil had said he thought some things in the bedrooms might be salvageable, as the flames hadn’t reached there. But even so, they would be badly smoke-damaged. He found it almost miraculous that the fire hadn’t got into the garage. If it had reached the car, the whole house would have gone up – and probably next door too.
All the effort that had gone into making the house nice was for nothing. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care, that the place had been full of bad memories: the misery of her first days there, the snootiness of the neighbours and Myles attacking her.
But there were so many good memories there too: Phil taking her home after her bag was snatched, seeing the house come together as Brian and John worked on it, the joy she’d felt at learning to do jobs for herself, meeting Patrick for the first time and planting up the garden. Phil had been the rock she leaned on, the man who made her laugh and restored her faith in men. She had spent so many nights wondering if he would ever make the first move, or whether she’d have to do it.
She’d planned to take their relationship slowly, to savour what they had between them and just enjoy it. Now she was dependent on Phil, and that wasn’t the way she wanted it to be.
Phil had said that the insurance would pay out, that he could get men in to do the house up again and then she could sell it, if she wanted to. She couldn’t tell him that she felt she’d been robbed of a period of courtship, that she had intended for them to have separate lives until such time as they were absolutely sure of one another.
On top of all that, she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel safe again.
Minutes after the doctor discharged her, Phil arrived to take her back to his place. The doctor had warned her she must take it easy for a while and get plenty of rest. ‘No going into smoky pubs or restaurants,’ he reminded her. ‘Get as much fresh air as you can, and that cough will soon go.’
She felt pretty good, considering what she’d been through. Her eyes and throat were still a bit sore, and the cough was horrible. But when her mind turned to being trapped in the smoke-filled bedroom and the fire that threatened to overwhelm her, she made herself think about Scotland and the Lake District.
‘All set then?’ Phil asked as he came in. ‘If I’m allowed to boast, I think I chose those clothes pretty well. But you’ll be able to go shopping yourself in a day or two.’
‘You did outstandingly well,’ she said, hugging
him. ‘Everything fits perfectly.’
‘We’ll stop at Boots on the way home and you can get some toiletries and make-up,’ he said. ‘That was Mum’s input – she turned up at the flat at eight this morning to give it a good clean, and then reminded me that girls need stuff men don’t think of. She’s dying to meet you, but I said you need a few days to get settled. That was my hint to make sure she left the flat before we got back.’
‘Is your brother OK about me coming?’
His brother, Lee, was two years younger than Phil. He had already told her that Lee was messy, played music very loudly and had no respect for his elder brother’s possessions.
‘He’s gone to stay with Mum for a while. It was his suggestion too, so don’t feel bad about it.’
Eva’s first impression on pulling up outside Phil’s home was that it looked very well kept. It was a semi-detached, two-storey ex-council house, his flat being on the ground floor, with a privet hedge and grass in front. It was in a crescent which curved around behind a busy road with a rank of small shops, but there were trees all the way along it. And there was a fenced-off small children’s playground in a grassy area further along the crescent.
‘The front garden really belongs to the couple upstairs,’ he said as he led her through the gate. ‘But I cut the grass and trim the hedge for them, because they don’t bother.’
Eva saw there was a stone staircase at the side of the house, which presumably was his neighbour’s entrance, and beyond that was a fence with a gate to the back garden.
She liked the fact that Phil had painted his front door red – and although she didn’t say it, she was already thinking how much nicer it would be with tubs of flowers flanking it.
Inside, the flat was bigger than she had expected. It had a decent-sized sitting room, two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom and a long narrow kitchen with a door at the end leading to the garden.
Phil stood for a moment, and sniffed appreciatively at the smell of lavender furniture polish. ‘Mum’s done a good job,’ he said. ‘If you’d seen what it was like a couple of days ago, you’d have run off down the street.’
‘No, I wouldn’t, I’d have got stuck in to clean it,’ she said, and kissed him. ‘I’m so glad to be here with you.’
What she really meant was that she was sure she could feel safe with him. His flat might be what she expected from a couple of bachelors – uninspired decor in green and beige, a worn three-piece suite and a stained carpet which was a testimony to many parties – but she was glad to be there. The kitchen was very nice, though: pine units and a sparklingly clean cooker. When she looked out of the back door she found the garden was all paved, with not an empty beer can or overflowing dustbin in sight.
‘When the Fire Department gives us the all clear, I’ll go and rescue all your tubs of flowers,’ Phil said. ‘I bet you are thinking how boring it looks out there?’
She laughed; he so often seemed to guess what she was thinking. ‘When did men ever think of planting up tubs?’ she said. ‘I’m just delighted there is somewhere to sit outside. Mind you, autumn is here, it’s already chillier.’
‘I’m going to make us some tea,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll sit down and make a list of all the things that have to be done. Not that you need to do stuff like contacting the insurance people, your bank, or even going to buy clothes yet. But a list is always a good place to start.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ she asked, leaning into his chest. ‘You’ve had so much time off because of me.’
‘I should go back tomorrow. But only if you’ll be OK on your own. Once you’d given me Patrick, Olive and Gregor’s phone numbers I did ring them. Patrick wasn’t there, so I could only leave a message, but Olive and Gregor have got this number and address and will ring to speak to you. Brian said he’d definitely call round to see you. He was horrified by what had happened, but he did say he could get a team together to sort out the house once the police have finished poring over it.’
‘Dear Brian,’ she said with affection, ‘he’s such a nice man. Now, about that tea!’
Chapter Nineteen
Detective Inspector Salway stepped forward as the front door of The Beeches was opened by a tall dark-haired man.
‘Mr Andrew Patterson?’ Salway inquired.
‘Yes, what can I do for you?’
‘DI Salway,’ he said, and flashed his identity card. Then, half turning towards the other detective who was standing a few feet back, he introduced him as DC Connaught. ‘We have a warrant to search your house following the arson attack at your stepdaughter’s home in London.’
It was just after eight in the morning – always a good time to catch suspects unawares. Patterson looked ready to go to work; he was clean-shaven, wearing a smart navy-blue suit.
‘Arson attack!’ Patterson exclaimed. ‘Good heavens. How awful! Is Eva alright?’
The two policemen exchanged glances. If they hadn’t been told of the issues between this man and his stepdaughter, they might have almost believed his concern for her was real.
‘She’s recovering now,’ Salway said. ‘But it was touch and go at first. We’re looking at an attempted murder.’
‘But why do you need to search my house?’ Patterson asked as if bewildered. ‘She hasn’t lived here for some time, and she took all her belongings with her. Why wasn’t I told about this fire before? I would’ve driven down to London with her brother and sister to see her. Is she still in hospital?’
Salway thought the man was a very cool customer. His reaction to the news of the arson attack was pitched perfectly to make him look entirely innocent: not just his indignation at the fact he hadn’t been informed, but his assumption that they wanted to search in order to find clues in the daughter’s belongings that might lead them to the arsonist. But Salway had looked at the file from the day when Mrs Patterson died, and it had been noted by WPC Markham that his attitude towards Eva on that occasion had been remarkably lacking in sympathy or support for the girl.
‘It was up to her to say who she wanted us to contact,’ Salway said. ‘I don’t believe she included you in that number. The team who will be handling the search will be here any minute. But while they are doing their job we’d like you to accompany us to the station to help us with our inquiries.’
At that moment two police cars turned into the drive. It was only then that Patterson looked nervous. ‘I don’t want them rampaging around my house while I’m not around,’ he said. ‘Can’t I answer your questions here?’
‘We prefer interviews to take place at the station, and my men will take great care not to damage anything,’ Salway said. ‘Now, if we can have your house and car keys please? They will be returned to you as soon as we’ve finished.’
Patterson’s face darkened. He looked as if he was about to start a protest, but as the other uniformed police got out of their vehicles and began walking towards him, he clearly thought better of it. ‘My other daughter Sophie is upstairs. I need to tell her what is happening.’
‘One of the women police officers will inform her,’ Salway said firmly. ‘Now, please come with us.’
Two hours later Salway left the interview room for a breather and to discuss his progress with Wilson, his sergeant.
‘Patterson is very calm and controlled,’ Salway sighed. ‘He claims on that night he left his girlfriend’s place at around half eleven and went straight home to bed. He said he heard his daughter come in a bit later – around twelve, he thought. If she corroborates that, he’ll be off the hook. Anything found in the house?’
‘There was a petrol can in the garage. But then who doesn’t have one, if they’ve got a petrol lawn mower? Nothing suspicious in his car – and nothing that matches the bit of rope used as a wick that they found outside the crime scene.’
Salway was disappointed. But having spent a couple of hours with Patterson, he wasn’t really surprised the man had left nothing incriminating for them to find. He was a clever man; even when he was quest
ioned about his relationship with his stepdaughter he managed to remain remarkably convincing that it was Eva who had turned against him. ‘We’ll get the younger daughter in for questioning too. I want to know where she was that evening, and how she got home.’
‘What d’you reckon on this thing about the baby in Carlisle?’ Wilson asked. ‘Did you bring that up with Patterson?’
‘No, I didn’t. I was waiting to see if he would mention it. I half expected he might use it to imply his stepdaughter was deranged, but he’s a very cool customer. When I asked him what made her go to see him on her way home from Scotland, when relations were a little chilly between them, he said she wanted to ask him some stuff about her birth. He said he couldn’t really answer her questions as he hadn’t met Flora then. He managed to give a first-class impression of a concerned father, pointing out that she’d lost her mother in the worst possible circumstances, and maybe regretted leaving home so soon afterwards. He even covered all the bases by admitting he could have handled her with more sensitivity and tact, and put that down to his own grief. It would be very easy to believe him.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘No. He’s suave, calm and charming, but I sensed the bully beneath. He’s a man who is used to having everything his own way, and he’s not a man to cross. I don’t know that I believe his wife stole a baby, but I’m sure as hell he did something to that poor woman which made her top herself. And I’ve got a gut feeling he set that fire, though I can’t see a motive for doing it. He doesn’t stand to gain anything by it.’
‘So what now then?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Apart from interviewing Sophie Patterson, there’s not a lot we can do. The Met will continue to make further inquiries in the locality of the fire, and they’ll be checking on all maternity cases on the 26th of April, 1970, when Eva was born – both hospital and home births. I was told they were checking on all doctors in the Holland Park area to find where Flora Foyle and her baby were registered, and to see if there were any checks made by health visitors back in 1970.’