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she and her son stayed at the house in Grassington with the man and his wife earlier this month? But the house has been empty for four years, and no one in the area has heard of these Oldroyds.’
    ‘That’s right, sir. It’s beginning to sound most odd.’
    ‘I’m not sure “odd” is the word I’d use, Sergeant.’
    ‘She seems a perfectly decent woman.’
    ‘Her husband was killed in France a couple of weeks ago, Sergeant. People react in different ways to bereavement – and if we throw her pregnancy into the mix … who knows?’
    ‘Indeed, sir. Have her neighbours in Leeds managed to throw any light on things?’
    ‘Not really. She told some of her neighbours that her son had gone off to stay with an uncle and aunt for a few days. None of them saw this uncle or the aunt – Mr and Mrs Oldroyd or whoever it was, come and take the boy away. Nor had she ever mentioned them.’
    ‘Did anyone see a car come to her house, sir? I’d say visiting cars are a rarity in that street.’
    ‘No, Sergeant, theydid not – although it was pouring down around that time. You wouldn’t expect too many people to be out in the street, or looking through the windows in such weather.’
    ‘Perhaps not, sir.’
    ‘I’ve also spoken to a bobby up in Grassington,’ said the inspector. ‘He sounds a real bloody plod. I think you might need to go over there and take a look around yourself.’
    ‘In the meantime, do you want me to continue questioning her, sir? She’s very distressed, as you might imagine.’
    ‘Distressed or not I think we need to get as much information as we can out of her, Sergeant. Also, you might want to try and trick her into contradicting herself. Let’s find out if she’s telling us the truth, or what she thinks is the truth.’
    ‘Sir.’
    ‘In the meantime I’ll check her background to see if she’s had any form of mental health problems in the past and apply for a warrant to give her house a search from top to bottom, including the cellar. I’m beginning to get a very nasty feeling about this, John.’
    Lily looked into the eyes of her baby. ‘I’m sorry I’ve got no smiles for you, little boy … some nasty people took them all away. But the police’ll catch them and bring your big brother back to us.’
    She longed for Michael, she longed for her husband and, from time to time, she longed for her miserable life to end. But she knew that was selfish. The child in her arms needed her. It also needed a name. On the opposite wall was a crucifix. She looked down at her son.
    ‘I wonder if they’d let me callyou Jesus? Jesus Christ Robinson. Couldn’t go wrong with a name like that eh? Or I could just call you Christ Robinson – Chris Robinson for short. Christopher Robinson: almost like the boy in the Winnie the Pooh books.’
    A nurse came to her bedside, Lily looked up at her. ‘Nurse, I’d like you to meet Christopher Robinson.’
    The nurse’s smile broadened. She reached behind her neck, unclasped a silver necklace and handed it to Lily. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘It’s a St Christopher – the patron saint of travellers. I’d be honoured if Christopher would have it as his first gift.’
    Tears once again from Lily, who took the necklace and gripped it in her hand so tightly that blood flowed from between her fingers, much to the consternation of the nurse.
    ‘Lily, open your hand, you’ll get me into terrible trouble.’
    Lily looked down at her hand and slowly opened it, not knowing what she’d done, only now feeling the pain. The necklace was covered in blood. Her eyes widened as if she’d suddenly realised the awful truth of her situation. She dropped the necklace on the bed and screamed, ‘I want Michael! Please, I want my boy back!’ Then she broke down into a fit of desperate sobbing.
    The nurse took the baby from her. A second nurse arrived and tended to her injured hand. Lily gradually stopped crying and was squeezing her eyes together. Shutting out the horror of