‘Can I at least have my shoes back now?’ I say when he is finished. ‘Please.’
He throws both shoes into the pile. ‘You won’t be needing them.’
I swallow hard, my throat dry, absorbing the implication of his words.
‘What are you actually looking for?’
‘You really want to play this game?’
‘What game?’ I say, trying to keep my voice level. ‘I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.’
He sighs, unscrewing a ballpoint pen from my bag and pulling out the tube of ink.
‘GPS trackers.’
‘Why would I be carrying one of those?’
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he begins working his way through everything in the rucksack, turning each item over in his hand, feeling the seams, shaking the bottles of formula milk, studying them. Paying particular attention to anything solid. He crushes two of the small tubes of ointment under his boot and crouches down to examine the remnants. Finally, he picks up the empty rucksack and shoves the knife into it, ripping the blade through the fabric, slashing at it, slicing off the straps, cutting into the plastic base, pulling out the lining and opening up all the seams. Prying into each piece of the ruined bag, squeezing it, turning it this way and that, before finally sweeping all the pieces off the table with a shout of frustration.
‘Shit!’ he shouts.
Mia flinches at the sudden noise, then goes back to chewing on the tentacle of the octopus toy.
His head swivels towards the baby, studying her, his eyes narrowing.
He stands and walks towards her, the broad-bladed knife still in his hand.
9
Mia whimpers in alarm, the sound like a fist clenching around my heart. Dominic stares down at her with something in his eyes that I can’t quite read. Anger? Pain, maybe. Or grief. After a moment he reaches out towards the baby with his left hand.
‘Don’t hurt her,’ I gasp. I try to rise in my seat but it’s painfully awkward with my wrists taped together behind me. ‘Please.’
He levers the octopus toy out of Mia’s grasp, her little mouth opening in surprise. Then her face crumples and she begins to cry, her little legs kicking in frustration.
He ignores her, going back to the big conference table and examining the toy, squeezing it, rolling the fabric of each tentacle between his fingers. He plunges his knife into it and begins sawing back and forth, prising open the cotton seam to reveal the stuffing inside. Mia continues to cry, a broken-hearted wail that makes every muscle in my body twitch with frustration that I can’t go to her, comfort her.
Without looking up, he says: ‘Get her to calm down, that noise is doing my head in.’
‘I think she wants to be held,’ I say. ‘But I can’t pick her up with my hands taped together.’
He puts the toy down with a whispered curse and comes to stand behind me, slicing through the tape with a single stroke. The weapon has a serrated edge, and a ridged metal grip that fits across his knuckles. It’s some kind of fighting knife and up close is brutally ugly.
I pull the tape away from my wrists, a few hairs ripping away with it, pick Mia up and hold her against my chest, jigging her gently and trying to shush her.
‘Shh, Mia? It’s OK, it’s all right.’
The baby grizzles, calms for a moment, then gives a short, hiccupping cry that dissolves into more grizzling. She’s been fed less than an hour ago. Could she be hungry again already? I lift the baby higher, turn her and give her a sniff.
‘She needs a nappy change,’ I say. ‘She might quieten if I can change her.’
He gestures to the contents of the ruined bag, scattered across the conference table.
‘Knock yourself out.’
I find a small changing mat in the pile and spread it out at one end of the table, laying Mia on top of it and trying to remember all the things I’ll need in the order I’ll need them. Charlie, my youngest godson, is a wriggler, and likes to try to crawl off the changing table, which means you have to have everything lined up and ready at hand before you start. Nappy sack open, three wipes, tissues, Sudocrem, new nappy, hand sanitiser. What else? A new sleepsuit in case of leaks. I start to undress the baby, gently pulling her little arms and legs out of the sleepsuit, grateful that there are no bruises like those that circled Kathryn’s forearm.
While I work, Dominic continues to attack the soft toy with his knife, as he swears under his breath.
When I’m attaching the Velcro straps of the new nappy, there is a thud as he sticks the knife blade into the wooden table. He comes to stand next to me, looming over us both as I feed Mia’s legs back into the sleepsuit. In the palm of his hand a small metal disc, the size and shape of a two pound coin.
‘Yours?’ he says.
‘What is it?’
‘What do you think?’
‘No idea, I’ve never seen it before.’
‘It’s a GPS tracking device,’ he says. ‘Decent quality, too. Any idea how it found its way inside the toy?’
‘Mia had it on the train with her earlier, along with all of her other stuff in that bag. That’s all I know.’
He studies me, his eyes narrowing, as if trying to decide whether to believe me or not.
‘What I can’t work out, is why this place isn’t already crawling with cops.’ He holds up the coin-sized tracker between his thumb and forefinger, turning it over in his hand. ‘If they know where we are, why haven’t they kicked the door down ten minutes ago?’
‘Maybe they’re biding their time.’
He stares at me for a moment before his face creases into a small, joyless smile.
‘Nice try, Ellen. But I think not.’
‘Why would the police be tracking her anyway?’
‘Who else would it be?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shrug. ‘Unless . . . maybe Kathryn put it in there so she could find her way back to Mia?’
He grunts. ‘Unlikely.’
‘Why?’
He shakes his head, frowning.
He lays the GPS device flat on the table and smashes it with the butt of the knife. The metal case comes loose, revealing tiny circuit boards inside. He hits both pieces again, until they are cracked and bent out of shape.
‘What are you going to do?’ I ask quietly. ‘With us?’
‘Don’t worry yourself about that,’ he says, his voice a flat monotone. ‘It’s best if you don’t think about it.’
‘It’s rather difficult to think about anything else.’
‘If you really want to know, I’m waiting for dark,’ he says. ‘Then the three of us are going to go for a little drive. Somewhere nice and quiet, out of the way.’
My chest tightens, fear settling like a heavy weight on my breastbone.
‘Then what?’
He ignores my question.
‘Dominic?’
His head jerks up. It’s the first time I’ve used his name.
‘I’d advise you to tread carefully,’ he says.
‘Please just let her go. I’ll do whatever you want, but let Mia go. We can drop her off somewhere.’
He shakes his head, a small movement full of finality. ‘You don’t know who she is, do you?’ he says. ‘You don’t have the first idea.’