Free Pain of Death by Adam Creed Page A

her. ‘We have been told she is dead. The children don’t know. I guess they’ll be up for adoption now.’
    ‘What about the father?’ asks Staffe. ‘You ever see him?’
    They shake their heads in unison.
    ‘Or hear about him?’
    ‘Far as we know, there isn’t a father. That’s right, isn’t it, Sheila?’ says John Archibald.
    ‘I was talking about Sean Degg, Kerry’s husband.’
    ‘Aaah.’
    ‘Have you seen him recently?’
    ‘I’m not sure we ever have.’
    The Archibalds are clearly uneasy on the subject of the children’s father and Staffe can’t clearly recall if Sean ever mentioned visiting the Archibalds. Surely he must have. And if he did, why would they deny it?
    ‘What about the real father? Sean wasn’t the real father.’
    ‘We know,’ says Sheila.
    ‘We don’t know,’ says John, his lard-coloured face beginning to blotch. ‘Not exactly.’
    ‘Did Sean tell you he isn’t the father?’
    ‘No,’ says Sheila.
    ‘He’s not been here. That’s why. We don’t know anything about a father.’
    ‘I’ll need to ask the neighbours, show Sean’s photograph.’
    ‘We’re respectable people,’ says Sheila.
    Staffe’s phone rings and he sees it is Jombaugh. He calls up to Josie, who comes to the top of the stairs, carrying Maya and holding Miles’s hand. Staffe says goodbye to the Archibalds, waves to the motherless children.
    Outside, he calls Jombaugh back.
    Jom says, ‘We’ve had the analysis back on the phone call we got, reporting the baby in the car park. It’s inconclusive. They can’t even tell the gender of the caller – it was heavily disguised and might have been warped on a tape machine or even a mobile phone. Apparently they can do that these days.’
    ‘Was it was recorded or live?’
    ‘Probably recorded.’
    Staffe hangs up, thinking that a recorded message reinforces the level of premeditation, the professionalism of the crime.
    On the drive back to the City, he thinks about what the Archibalds had said, and how. He says to Josie, ‘They know the bastard father. I know they do. Why wouldn’t they tell us?’
    *
    Staffe catches up on his texts as he has a cup of tea with Jombaugh in Leadengate’s reception. One is from Jasmine Cash about Jadus, saying he’s got a formal warning from probation for a failed employer’s report. She says he has a week to find a job, otherwise his parole will be in breach. Staffe curses, thinks of the home Jasmine Cash has made for Millie and her dad. Good intentions amount to Jack Shit if you haven’t got a job and a house and a family. You need all three to get straight – and stay that way. He feels an idiot for thinking he might be able to help.
    Jombaugh takes a call of his own, nods across to Staffe with an upward jolt of the head.
    ‘Pennington?’ whispers Staffe.
    Jombaugh nods, making a theatrical glum face.
    Pennington isn’t wearing a jacket. A piece of A4 in front of him has a list of names and numbers on it, in his handwriting. On the face of it, it would appear that this DCI has spent at least some of the day tending to police work.
    ‘You can forget Sean Degg for a while, Staffe. Jesus Christ, how could you let him get away like that?’
    ‘I’m more interested in why he’d want to get away. But I’ll catch up with him soon.’
    ‘Not any time soon, you won’t.’
    ‘Has something happened?’
    ‘Bet your arse it has. Christ, this is getting nasty.’
    ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘Just had a call from a DI Flint of South Liverpool CID. There’s another pregnant woman missing. You’re going up north, my man.’
    ‘My case is here. I need to talk to Phillip Ramone, and to all Kerry’s friends.’
    ‘Twenty-four weeks pregnant they reckon. It made the evening edition of their local rag.’
    ‘You think it’s related? How could it be?’
    ‘Half an hour ago, we got another letter from Breath of Life. They knew all about the woman. She’s called Zoe Bright.’
    ‘And what about the