Baby Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

was three when you got up. Anything strike you as odd?”
    “No. Like I say, I went to the loo. Poked me head round. The baby was fine. I give her a bottle...”
    “You didn’t mention a bottle.” Bev checked her notes. Unless she’d missed it first time... nope, nada. “Did you or didn’t you?”
    It didn’t take a lot to confuse Maxine. She dropped her head into her hands.
    “Leave her alone. It’s no big deal.” Natalie was only looking out for her mother. But the hostility was unnecessary. Bev was looking out for a three-week-old who could be starving to death, assuming she was still alive.
    Still, Bev thought, it wasn’t surprising the Becks’ recall was a tad hazy, since it was clear they were both out of their heads with worry. Everywhere they looked was a reminder of what they’d lost. The small sitting room was
littered with baby gear; Mothercare meets the Disney Store.
    “Is it just the three of you here?” Natalie and Maxine seemed to avoid each other’s eyes. Bev wasn’t sure what to read into it, but her antennae twitched. “Well?”
    She got a yes from Maxine and a no from Natalie. She sighed, while they sorted it.
    “Terry’s my bloke, like,” Maxine said. “But he don’t live here.”
    Natalie’s snort suggested otherwise.
    “He don’t,” Maxine whinged. “He’s got his own place over Selly Oak way.”
    Another snort.
    “He stays over once in a blue moon.” Maxine conceded.
    “And last night?” Bev asked. “Was the moon blue?”
    “No.” Maxine was adamant.
    Bev turned her gaze on Beck junior. The girl shrugged. “Weren’t here, was I?”
    Bev added Terry Roper’s name and address to the pot. Dear God, let it come to the boil soon.
    “Is Zoë’s dad round, love?” As if. Round here, lad-dads were called feafos: fuck-’em-and-fuck-offs.
    “She hasn’t got a dad,” Natalie snarled.
    Bev nodded. “Immaculate conception, then?”
    “Don’t be a smart-arse. You know what I mean. I don’t need a bloke. I’m bringing the kid up on me own.” The words’ import registered and the girl’s face crumpled like a soggy kleenex.
    Bev regretted the snide remark. It had done neither of them any good. “I’m sorry, Natalie. But we need to speak to Zoë’s father.”
    “Leave her alone,” Maxine hissed. “Look at her.”
    Mascara-stained tears trickled through Natalie’s fingers and down her wrists as she shook and sobbed.
    Bev sighed. They needed the man’s name and address. A breather, that’s all she could spare the girl. “Have a think about it, love. It could help us find Zoë. That’s what we’re all after here, isn’t
it?”
    “’Kay.”
    It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no. For an hour or two, she’d settle for an OK. “I’m almost done,” she smiled. “Can one of you sort that picture for me?” Baby Zoë. Not happy snaps. Not right
now.
    Maxine hauled herself off the sofa. Natalie was picking her nails again. Bev ran back through her notes. It was a start, but she had a feeling she’d be seeing a hell of a lot more of the Becks over the next few days.
    Sounds of police activity drifted in from the street: radio static, slamming doors, barking dogs, raised voices. She heard the guv’s. She was itching to get out there but had to hang round to brief the family liaison officer, Mandy Forsyth,
who’d be babysitting the Becks. Though no one would use the expression within earshot.
    “Nat, have you moved them photos?”
    Natalie had not. She abandoned her pedicure to lend a hand in the search. Mandy Forsyth turned up twenty minutes later; the photographs didn’t. Great, Bev thought. The media circus was in town to show off a missing baby, and they didn’t
even have a black-and-white still.
    Big questions were: who did? And where were they?
    Brindley Place was ten minutes from Balsall Heath and about a million miles. The canal-side development was one of the coolest jewels in Birmingham’s burgeoning crown. Vibrant and bustling, it boasted