The Accused, page 15
‘Miss Baxter, nice to meet you. I’m Lis Hoyle.’ The woman was petite, with a soft blonde bob and a pleasant face, and dressed in a simple grey shirt and black jeans.
‘Joel Anderson.’ Her colleague, a tall, muscular man with close-cropped hair, held out a hand, and Cora shook it.
‘Thanks so much for seeing me,’ she said, as they all sat down. ‘As I said to the lady I spoke to on the phone, this is a slightly unusual situation, and I’m not sure you’re going to be able to help me, but I needed to try. Have you been told? What I’m here for, I mean?’
‘A little, yes.’ Lis picked up a notebook from the top of a pile of papers on the table in front of her and flicked through it, scanning the pages. ‘Ah, here it is. So – your friend is in prison for a crime she says she didn’t commit, despite DNA evidence. You’ve now discovered that she was adopted, and may have a living sister – a twin, possibly identical – and you want to find her, in case ... in case it was actually her, the twin, who committed the crime, and not your friend? Is that right?’ she said, doubtfully.
‘Yes, it is. I know it sounds ... well, a little far-fetched.’
‘It does, a little,’ smiled Lis.
‘I wondered ... well, if we could maybe find her birth mother, who I know a little about, then that would be the easiest way to go about it? I don’t know her name, otherwise I could have done some online searching and so on myself. But I thought you might still have records, even though it was a long time ago ...’ Cora’s voice tailed off, realising that Lis was slowly shaking her head.
‘I worried that you might be going to ask us something like that. Even if we did have that information, we couldn’t just hand it over to you. It’s highly confidential. We’d need to talk to your friend personally for a start, which I understand is not really possible right now due to her position. I’m sorry, but our hands are tied.’
Cora felt her mouth go dry. ‘But – this could be her only hope. I know it’s a long shot, I know it sounds crazy, but please. Please, I’m not asking you to hand over any records or anything. Even just a name would do, if there is one. Could you just look it up? It would have been thirty-one years ago, a baby abandoned on the steps of some clinic in London and ending up with your agency? With a letter, saying the mother had given birth to twins, but couldn’t keep both, and was taking one abroad to relatives? I don’t know if the mother signed her name, but she might have. Please, there can’t have been any other case like that?’
Lis was still shaking her head. Opposite her, Joel had been jotting down notes on a foolscap pad. He turned to Cora, placing his pen carefully on the table before he spoke.
‘It’s unlikely we would have had another case like that, no. Sounds like a pretty unique set of circumstances.’ His voice was deep, with a melodic West Indian lilt. ‘But Lis is right, we can’t just hand our files over to anyone who walks in off the street. I’m so sorry. Chances are there would be no name on them anyway – mothers who abandon babies mostly do it anonymously. If your friend wants to attempt to trace her birth mother, the easiest way would be to instruct her solicitor to get her records from the clerk of the court which granted the adoption. Those records will have any details that were available to the court at the time.’
‘Right.’ Cora ran her hands through her hair, thinking. If she really couldn’t get any information here, then yes, the court records would be the next best thing, but that would mean Sam would need to be told immediately about her family history. And who knew how long it might take to get hold of the adoption records? It could take weeks, or months ...
‘Hang on ...’ Lis was speaking again. ‘If it’s a criminal trial these records are needed for, why don’t the police get a warrant to seize them? That would be the quickest way. Why are you doing this research, and not the police?’
Her voice had a slightly suspicious ring to it now. Joel too was looking a little puzzled.
‘Because ... because the police, although they’ve been told that there may be an identical twin, don’t think it’s a valid line of enquiry.’
Cora could feel her throat getting tight, and willed herself not to start crying. ‘They say that even if there’s a twin somewhere, it makes no sense that she would turn up after thirty odd years and murder her long-lost sister’s boyfriend, then vanish again. And it’s not just the DNA evidence against my friend, there was other stuff ... they’d had a row, she was seen on CCTV going into the park where he was murdered at the right time ... I can kind of see their point, but even if it’s a long-shot, I need to try to find her.’
She paused, aware that both Lis and Joel were now wearing slightly shocked expressions, and realised that that had been the first time she’d actually mentioned that the crime involved was murder.
‘Err – yes, it’s a murder case,’ she said lamely.
‘Gosh.’ Lis stood up suddenly, tugging her shirt down. ‘Well, I’m so sorry that you’re going through this, but as I said, our hands are tied. If the police get a warrant ...’ She shrugged. ‘And now, please excuse me, I have another appointment at half past. I hope everything works out for you though, and for your friend.’
She reached out to shake Cora’s hand, giving her a sad little smile as she did so, then hurried out of the room. Joel, who was still sitting down, reading the notes he’d written, sighed heavily.
‘She’s right. I’m so sorry. We can’t help you.’
Cora stood up slowly, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. She’d known she’d be unlikely to get much out of today’s visit, but the futility of the mission suddenly felt overwhelming. Even if the court records could be obtained, what were the chances of the birth mother’s name being on them? Joel had been right – Cora had covered numerous stories about abandoned babies over the years, and how many mothers had left a signed note with their unwanted child? None, that’s how many. It was impossible.
‘Tissue?’ Cora suddenly realised that Joel was standing next to her, proffering a box of Kleenex. She took one gratefully, feeling embarrassed, and wiped her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, genuinely,’ he said in his gentle sing-song voice.
Cora nodded and smiled a watery smile. ‘Thank you. It was silly of me really, to think you could hand over stuff like that. I’m a journalist, I should know better. I’ll get out of your way.’
‘OK. I’ll show you out.’
Joel led her down the hallway and opened the heavy front door, then turned to look at her.
‘You have a little streak of mascara, on your cheek. Might want to clean that off before you go,’ he said, smiling.
Cora dabbed at her cheek with the tissue, but he shook his head. ‘No, here, look – may I?’
He reached out and touched her face lightly with his thumb, wiping the mark away, and she was struck by how big and yet how gentle his hand was, and by the warmth in his eyes as he scrutinised her face for a moment then nodded in satisfaction.
‘Perfect. You can go now.’ He grinned, showing white, even teeth, and she grinned back, despite herself. He was a good-looking man, and a nice man, she thought, even if he couldn’t give her what she needed.
‘Thank you, Joel. Bye.’
‘Goodbye.’
Cora stepped out into the street and the door closed gently behind her. She took a deep breath and looked at her watch. She had plenty of time before her train home – maybe she’d pop to Covent Garden and do a little shopping before heading to Paddington. The thought cheered her a little, and she turned and started walking swiftly down the street, deciding it would be easier to hail a cab on the main road. She was almost at the junction when she heard pounding feet behind her, somebody obviously running and gaining on her quickly, and she shrank back against the wall to allow whoever it was to get past. To her astonishment, Joel skidded to a halt in front of her, panting.
‘What – what is it?’
‘Look – this could get me in a whole bunch of trouble.’ He paused to catch his breath, wiping his hands on the front of his dark sweater. ‘But you said you were a journalist, right? And a journalist can’t reveal their source, if they’re working on a certain kind of story?’
‘That’s ... that’s right, yes.’ Cora’s heart had begun to pound, hope suddenly bubbling up inside her.
‘Right. Well, I know it’s not what I should be doing, and if I’m caught, I’ll lose my job. But I had a friend in trouble once, and I know I would have done anything to help him, and I couldn’t. And you may not be able to either, but you deserve the chance to try, however unlikely it is that it’ll lead to anything.’
Cora hardly dared to ask the question. ‘Does that mean ... does that mean you’ll help me?’
‘I’ll help you. I don’t know if there’ll be anything of any use in that file, or even if the file will still exist. But I’ll look. I’ll work late tonight, and I’ll look.’
25
‘So – she actually threw up? Live on air? Seriously?’
Rosie, who’d just finished pouring white wine into three large glasses, put the bottle down on the little side-table next to the sofa and stared at Cora, aghast.
Cora, who’d been regaling her friends with a story from earlier in the week, about an unfortunate, pregnant studio guest who’d been suffering from dreadful morning sickness, nodded.
‘Well, almost. She leapt off the sofa the second her interview was over, and just managed to get to the side of the studio, out of camera range, before she really went for it. They’d put a bucket there, just in case, because she’d warned them beforehand that it might happen. The noise was dreadful though. Sound didn’t cut her microphone early enough, so everyone watching at home heard a good five seconds of the most hideous retching. Ugh, it was awful. Made me feel sick too. I had to read my bulletin thirty seconds later, and I could smell it ...’
Cora, who was quite squeamish when it came to anything to do with blood or vomit, shuddered at the memory, and gratefully held out her hand for the glass Rosie was now proffering.
‘Poor woman. Morning sickness is vile. Luckily not something I’ll ever have to experience again, unless something goes badly wrong,’ said Nicole, who was sitting next to Cora. She accepted her wine glass too and took a deep slug. Her little boy Elliot was three now, and adorable, but she and her husband Will had decided to stop at one. Rosie, on the other hand, had three children, and still hadn’t ruled out having another at some point.
‘I had it bad with Ava and Alexander, but hardly at all with Amy,’ she said, and plonked herself down on the other sofa with a weary sigh. She reached for her own glass and took a gulp, then put it carefully down on the table again and leaned back against her cushions, smiling at her friends.
Cora and Nicole had arrived just as Rosie was shepherding her brood to bed, and had helped her tuck them in and read them their stories. Cora had been assigned to Ava who, at six, was the oldest, and a mini-replica of her petite, red-haired mother. A sweet child, with a serious face but a sharp sense of humour, she had snuggled happily under her Disney print duvet as Cora read her current favourite book, which was about a fish called Neville who couldn’t find his best friend, Comet the crab. With one arm looped around the sleepy little girl, Cora had lost herself in the story, and felt quite sad when Neville’s day-long search of the seabed was successful and he and Comet were re-united, bringing the book to an end. For the ten minutes or so that she’d spent quietly reading aloud, she’d been able to stop dwelling on the ongoing Sam saga, and that had been a wonderful, if very temporary, relief. As she carefully manoeuvred her arm out from under the now soundly sleeping child, dropped a light kiss on her forehead and slipped out of the room, the worry had come crashing back again, twisting her stomach. Would Joel be able to track down the relevant file? It had been more than thirty years, after all. What if records weren’t kept that long? If it was there, would he find anything of any use in it? And would he keep his word and call her?
Now, curled up on the sofa next to Nicole, she smiled back at Rosie and gazed around the room, trying to calm herself. It was a beautiful space, with almond white walls, deep red sofas and a shiny walnut floor. The fireplace, where Rosie always had a crackling fire in the winter months, was filled now with white candles, flickering hypnotically and emitting the soft scent of magnolias.
‘So, what’s the latest about Sam, Cora? Has her mum told her she’s adopted yet?’
Cora sighed and turned back to look at Nicole.
‘Not yet. She’s promised she will though, and soon. I hope she does. I spoke to Sam last night, Wendy did too, because it was her birthday, but we just kept it short, and when she asked if we’d come up with any more ideas about who might have framed her, we just had to say no. I hate keeping things from her. Ellen really needs to come clean as soon as possible, for Sam’s sake.’
‘Suppose so.’ Rosie sounded doubtful. ‘But it won’t be an easy thing to do. Or for Sam to hear. Imagine being her age and not knowing something as massive as that about yourself. It’s horrible, isn’t it? As if she isn’t going through enough, now she’s going to find out her parents aren’t even her parents ...’
Her voice tailed off, and she picked up her glass again, a stricken expression on her face.
‘Especially her dad,’ said Cora. ‘I mean, she loves her mum, of course she does, but she adored her father, hero-worshipped him. That’s going to hit her hard. I just can’t bear to think about it. I wish I could be there with her, when Ellen tells her, to give her a hug. How can so many bad things be happening to one person? It just isn’t fair, poor Sam ...’
She stopped talking, a lump suddenly forming in her throat as the sheer awfulness of the whole situation hit her again. Could it really be less than a month since all this started? It seemed like for ever.
She took a breath and carried on. ‘That’s why I’m determined to keep trying to help her, even though I know you guys probably think it’s a waste of time. If she is proven to be guilty of this crime, then at least I’ve tried my very, very hardest for her. And if I do find her sister, or her biological parents, or both, then at least that’s some blood relatives she’ll have, and that might be some small comfort to her, after everything she’s going to find out from Ellen. So, however pointless it seems to everyone – and even to me, sometimes – I’m going to carry on with this, as far as I can.’
Cora held out her wine glass.
‘So, shall we drink to that? To Sam?’
‘Of course. To you and your mission, Cora. And to Sam.’
The three of them clinked. Then they all jumped as Cora’s phone, which was lying on the cushion next to her, started ringing loudly.
‘Is that ... is that the theme tune from Charlie’s Angels?’ Nicole stared at the phone, an incredulous look on her face.
‘Yep.’ Cora grinned suddenly. ‘Damn Charlie, never leaves me alone, always calling me ...’
Nicole and Rosie smiled too, and the atmosphere in the room instantly lightened. Cora grabbed the phone, glancing at the number flashing on the screen. She didn’t recognise it.
‘Hello, Cora Baxter here.’
‘Cora. It’s Joel Anderson. From the City Adoption Agency? Can you talk?’
Cora stood up. ‘Joel! Yes. Yes I can talk. Have you got anything for me?’
Rosie and Nicole exchanged glances, and Cora looked from one to the other, anxiety tightening her throat again. She put a finger to her lips, then hit the speaker button on the phone so they could all hear the conversation.
‘I have, actually.’
She sank down onto the sofa again. ‘Tell me, please. Quickly. Quickly.’ Rosie and Nicole edged closer, eyes wide with anticipation.
‘OK, OK.’ His deep voice sounded amused. ‘Right, well, I found the file. Took a while, as you can imagine. It was buried deep in a room we never even go into any more, down in the basement where all the old pre-computer stuff lives, although it was all fairly organised in there, just a bit dusty. I was amazed we still had it. It started off with the basic details, pretty much as you told us – the baby, your friend Sam, was left on the steps of a medical clinic, with a note from the mother saying she had had twins, and couldn’t cope with two babies.’
‘Do you know if the twins were identical?’ Cora crossed her fingers.
‘The note says identical, yes.’
‘YES!’ Cora punched the air, and Rosie and Nicole both started jigging in their seats, grinning.
Joel laughed. ‘Well, that’s the good news. The sad news is that the mother also wrote that she’d recently lost her husband. She said he’d died in an accident, which was why she felt she couldn’t manage both children.’
‘Oh no.’ Cora gasped. So Sam’s biological father was dead. Rosie clapped her hand to her mouth, and Nicole shook her head slowly, as Joel continued.
‘Yes, pretty sad story. The clinic where she left the baby is still there too, by the way – the Wellford, on Harley Street. She chose a good one.’
‘How weird, I know that clinic. I was there only a few days ago.’ Cora frowned at the coincidence, then said: ‘Sorry, please go on. Was – was the mother’s name on the note? Please, please tell me it was, Joel ...’
‘It wasn’t. The note wasn’t signed.’
Cora’s heart sank, and Rosie groaned audibly. Nicole grimaced at her. ‘Shhh!’ she hissed.
Cora swallowed. Her throat was so dry it felt as if it was cracking. ‘But – but you said you had something for me? That isn’t it, is it?’
‘No, that isn’t it. She said in the note that she was taking the second baby, the twin sister, to the US, to New York, where she had an aunt who was willing to put them up for a while. And yes, that note was unsigned. But further on in the file, among all the official adoption paperwork and court documents pertaining to Sam as she went through the system, there was one more letter. And that one did have the biological mother’s name on it.’
