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‘And by she, you mean …?’
‘The nursery girl. Gaynor or Gail, I think her name is.’
The policewoman looks up at her colleague. ‘Do you want to check the nursery?’
Harry leaves with the PC.
The WPC, Christine, is still writing. ‘And who’s Suzanne, love?’ She touches Samantha’s arm lightly. ‘Who’s Suzanne? Samantha, can you tell us who Suzanne is, darling?’
‘She’s one of my students. She was friendly with the nursery nurse. I thought she was dropping off her own child today.’ Samantha stops, hand flying to her mouth. A high-pitched noise comes out of her mouth. ‘Oh my God. She doesn’t have a child. She doesn’t have one, does she?’
‘We don’t know that.’ The WPC has got up from the floor and is looking at Harry. Harry is back. He’s right there. She cocks her head, talks into her radio. ‘Davies? Yeah, mate, can you find out if this Suzanne left with another child besides Emily? Cheers.’ She sits beside Samantha on another orange plastic chair. Her shoes are black and big. Jenny’s shoes are there too – black, big. And Aisha’s shoes. Aisha’s shoes are red ankle boots.
‘Can you give us her full name, Samantha?’
Samantha looks up, into the pale brown eyes of the policewoman. She knows this woman gave her name, moments ago, but she cannot now remember what it is.
‘Suzanne Lewis,’ she says. ‘I know it’s that because the first week I saw it on the register as C. S. Lewis and I thought that was funny, you know, because of C. S. Lewis the writer, and then when she introduced herself as Suzanne, I thought, ah, she obviously uses her middle name, you know? Like some people do if they prefer it or whatever. I didn’t think anything more about it. I don’t know her first name. Will you still be able to find her? Will you still be able to find her if you don’t know her first name?’ She looks up. Harry is standing with his hand on Penny Mackay’s shoulder. Penny is sitting at his desk, using his computer. Their faces are set, serious.
‘All right, so we have an address,’ Penny says. She leans forward, peers at the screen. ‘It’s twenty-two Rosebush Road. That’s just on Richmond Hill. She won’t be far.’
Samantha shakes her head, sniffs. ‘That’s my address. That’s where I live.’
The air thins.
‘Do you have a registration number for her car?’ the policewoman asks Penny, her tone preternaturally calm.
Penny shakes her head. ‘We wouldn’t have that information, sorry. I have her first name, though. It’s Charlotte.’
‘Do you have CCTV? We’ll need that as soon as possible.’
Samantha bursts into tears.
The policewoman has crouched down again, is looking up at her. ‘Samantha? I know it’s hard, but I need you to stay calm if you can. Can you tell us anything about this Suzanne Lewis that might help us?’
Samantha tries to think. There is a tissue in her hand. She uses it to dry her eyes, blow her nose. ‘She was very quiet. She chatted to me last week at the nursery and persuaded me to hand Emily over to her. I let her have a hold. It was just a hold. Most women want a hold of a baby; I didn’t think anything of it. The nursery staff were there – I didn’t think there was any harm. She said she’d settle Emily while I did my photocopying. The nursery nurse was right there, there was no risk, I didn’t do anything risky, I don’t think … then this week I was rushing to see Harry about some … about … Oh my God.’ She pushes her face into her hands. Her fingers are slick with tears.
‘Samantha?’
‘There were some poems. Someone was writing dodgy poems and handing them in. They weren’t, like, death threats or anything, but they were quite menacing and they were getting to me a bit … and I think Suzanne … It must be Suzanne … I think she’s been writing weird things about me and Peter.’
‘Slow down.’ The policewoman is beside her. ‘She’s been writing notes to you?’
‘Not notes. Poems. I was teaching creative writing. I got them to write these simple poem forms in class. Then when I looked through them, there was one extra and I didn’t know who had written it and no one would own up. But I didn’t think it was her. She was so quiet. I never thought it was her. But then someone left one in our house and at that point we called the police. And you’re saying she knew our address …’
‘You’ve already had the police out for this?’
Samantha’s neck prickles with heat. ‘Last week. Last Tuesday evening. They took a statement. Then this morning I saw Harry about it. It was creeping me out but I thought it was …’ She glances at Aisha and Jenny. ‘I thought it was someone else, an ex-girlfriend having a go. I didn’t think … I didn’t think it was Suzanne. I thought it was Sean for a bit. Another student. But it wasn’t him, it was Suzanne, it’s obvious. And now she’s got Emily, oh my God.’
‘There, there, love.’ The WPC offers her another tissue. ‘Have you got these poems, love? Do you think you can find them for me?’
Snivelling, wiping her nose and eyes, Samantha digs out the folder from her bag. She takes out the sheets and hands them over. The WPC stands up, consults with her colleague, who has returned. Samantha hears her say, ‘Scan these and send them,’ but that’s all she hears, and then the policewoman is on her haunches, at her feet once again.
‘All right, Samantha. What’s going to happen now is that we’ll have a look at the CCTV, plus we’ve got her name so we can find her car details that way too and put a trace on it, OK? She’ll appear, don’t you worry. We’ll find her before she gets too far, all right?’
‘OK,’ Samantha says. ‘I need to call Peter, my partner.’
‘Is he near?’
