Playing Nice

55.4 Mr. Riley asserts that he saw the electronic tag on “his” baby approximately thirty minutes after admission, soon after the baby was transferred to the hospital incubator. This is contradicted by the evidence from the senior registrar, who noticed its absence when checking the cooling suit some two hours later. It is a matter of considerable regret that the senior registrar did not draw this to anyone’s attention at the time.

55.5 However, the lack of a security tag at that stage was not directly relevant to the initial misidentification of the two babies. This is evidenced by the fact that Mr. Riley was already standing next to an incubator that he appeared to believe contained “his” baby, rather than beside the other incubator, which actually did. The misidentification had therefore happened, or was in the process of happening, by that stage.

55.6 On the balance of probabilities, therefore, we conclude that the misidentification was caused deliberately—in other words, that during or shortly before the transfer of the two babies from the mobile incubators to the hospital incubators, a person or persons deliberately swapped or removed the two paper tags, and thereafter continued to uphold the deception that each baby was in fact the other.

55.7 This being the case, we are adjourning our investigation and passing our evidence to the Metropolitan Police, for them to investigate the possible wrongful removal of a child without parental consent under the Child Abduction Act 1984.

55.8 Subject to the outcome of any criminal investigation, it may be necessary to further refer our findings to the NHS Counter Fraud Authority.

66

PETE

“CUI BONO,” JUSTIN WATTS said. “It means ‘who benefits?’ And in this case, unfortunately, they’ve decided it’s you.”

“But that’s crazy,” Maddie said desperately. “Crazy. Why on earth would we do such a thing?”

It was nine o’clock on Monday morning, and we were sitting in Justin Watts’s smart office. We’d tried to get him to see us on Saturday, but no-win no-fee lawyers like their weekends off, apparently. We’d spent the last two days climbing the walls with frustration.

“Well, they’re not speculating,” he said, glancing through the report again. “But no doubt the police will. And the most likely inference is that you ended up with a healthy, intellectually normal baby and the Lamberts didn’t.”

“But we couldn’t have known that was what would happen,” Maddie insisted. “At the time, all they told us was that our baby was very unwell and might have been starved of oxygen.” She looked across at me. “That was literally all we knew. Wasn’t it?”

“I spoke to the paramedics in the ambulance,” I said slowly. “I asked them what hypoxia meant. One of them explained—he was very honest. I didn’t tell you at the time, Mads. You were already suffering enough. Besides, he said nothing was certain. So I kept it from you. Everything except the bit about the next few days being crucial.”

“Oh Jesus.” Maddie stared at me. “So they think you knew. They think they can prove motive.”

“But not opportunity,” Justin Watts said mildly.

I shook my head. “There were times while the doctors were rushing about when I was alone with both incubators. I wish there hadn’t been, but if that’s all they need to prove…” I’m done for, I wanted to say, but I knew how melodramatic that would sound and swallowed my words. “It doesn’t look good.”

“Well, luckily that isn’t all they have to prove.” Justin Watts picked up the report again. “This is ninety percent insinuation and ten percent balance of probability, which is very different from the standard of proof required in the criminal court. You may be asked to go to a police station to be interviewed under caution, but that’s as far as I’d expect it to go.” He paused. “You’ll want to engage a specialist criminal law solicitor to go with you, but if it does come to an interview, my strong advice would be to answer ‘no comment’ to every question. Currently, they’ve got nothing, and if you give them nothing else to work on, they’ll almost certainly shelve the whole thing.”

“?‘No comment’? Isn’t that what guilty people say?” Maddie said disbelievingly.

“It’s what people who want to avoid charges say. Believe me, if you can stop this from turning into a criminal trial, you should.”

Criminal trial. Jesus, had it come to this? Was I going to stand in a court, in the dock, accused of deliberately snatching Theo? I couldn’t get my head around it.

And all because Miles Lambert had walked into our lives. If he hadn’t persuaded me to sue the hospital, none of this would have happened.

“Of course,” Justin Watts was saying, “a cynic might be tempted to believe that NHS Resolution would prefer this to be a criminal matter, rather than negligence, because it gets them off the hook financially. But nevertheless, the police will have to investigate the allegation on its merits.”

“Hang on,” I said. “Do you mean that if the NHS succeeds in muddying the waters, they might not have to pay us anything?”

Justin Watts shrugged. “It will certainly put them in a stronger negotiating position. And as they point out in their final paragraph, if either you or the Lamberts were aware of the abduction, it follows that one of you is committing fraud.”

Maddie and I exchanged a startled glance.

“I’m afraid it also calls into question the basis of our relationship,” he added. “You’ll recall that the Conditional Fee Arrangement is tied to us having a reasonable likelihood of winning. If circumstances change, we have to get a second opinion. And there’s no doubt that this allegation does change things substantially.”

“What?” I stared at him. “You might leave us in the lurch?”

“Not at all. But we’d have to start invoicing you for our time. And ask you to pay the costs incurred so far, of course.”

I put my head in my hands. “We’ve already remortgaged our house to pay for the family-law solicitor.”

“Ah.” Justin Watts made a note. Probably reminding himself to get a bill out to us ASAP, I realized, before we ran out of funds.

“What if we pull out?” I said desperately. “What if we just forget about this whole thing?”

“I definitely wouldn’t advise that,” he said. “If you withdraw now, you’ll have to pay all the other side’s costs as well as ours. And it might look like you’ve got something to hide when it comes to the criminal investigation.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Maddie said abruptly. She stood up. “You’re our lawyer, for fuck’s sake. You’re meant to be fighting for us. And instead all you bloody care about is how much money you can make out of us. Well, you won’t get a cent unless you come up with a plan for making this go away.” Her Australian accent, usually quite muted after almost three years in London, was as strident as I’d ever heard it. “Come on, Pete. Let’s leave this gutless limp-dick to it and go home.”

67

PETE

“?‘GUTLESS LIMP-DICK’?” I whispered. “Where did that come from?”

We were pressed together in a crowded Jubilee Line carriage, either side of an upright bar.

“I dunno. My dad, I guess.”

“This is all shit, isn’t it?”

Maddie nodded. Without warning, she started to cry, silent fat tears that ran down her cheeks and dripped onto her collar. Awkwardly I reached around and hugged her, the bar still between us. Like embracing someone from inside a prison cell, I thought, even though of course it wasn’t. They don’t make prison cells like that anymore, except in movies.

* * *

—

THERE WAS SOMEONE WAITING outside our house—a young man. It was only when he headed rapidly toward us, his phone held out as if he was imploring us to answer it, that I realized who he was. Or rather, what. Journalists don’t use notebooks these days. They have recording apps on their phones instead.

“Kieran Keenan, Daily Mail. Is it true you stole a baby, Mr. Riley?”

“Go away,” I said irritably, pushing past him. At that moment a photographer jumped out from where he’d been hiding between two parked cars. He crouched down to get the classic shot, snap-snap-snap: the guilty party brushing off the journalist who’s asking difficult questions.

“Don’t you want to put your side of the story, Mr. Riley?” Kieran called after me.

I stopped and turned. “I know your editor,” I said disbelievingly. “Well, the travel editor, anyway.”

Snap-snap-snap. The photographer was making the most of this.

“I’ll give him your regards. What made you do it, Mr. Riley?”

Maddie had gotten the front door open and was already inside, waiting to slam it behind me. But something made me stay where I was, facing the reporter. God, he really was young. He must be an intern. “We didn’t do anything. Do your research. We’re not the bad guys in this.”

“So who is?” he pressed, but I realized I’d already said too much. I stepped in and Maddie slammed the door.

* * *