Chapter 7

"Recognition"

Niles was on edge.

He'd been on edge for weeks now, and the feeling seemed to be getting progressively worse with every day that went past without any advancement in Miss Babcock's case. Despite Lane's best effort, every lead ha turned into a dead end. She'd interviewed over two dozen people, and each and every one of them had been crossed out from the suspects list, much to Niles' and the entire Babcock family's chagrin.

But most of all, his own inability to pinpoint exactly who the facial composite reminded him of was what was bothering him the most.

He'd spent countless hours at the station, poring over photographs, files and criminal records, but all to no avail. He simply couldn't come up with the name or the identity of this person, and he was beginning to think that, perhaps, he didn't really know this person – that his own desperate desire to help had confused him into believing that the facial composite remembered him of someone.

That he was useless, when it came to helping in the investigation.

He had that last thought fairly often. But that really was his own desire to help - to be the one that did the Significant Thing; the thing that brought the whole horrible nightmare to an end. The thing that put a bastard of the highest degree behind bars, where he belonged...

The thing that saved Miss Babcock.

That was a laugh, he told himself bitterly. He wouldn't be the one who found anything as significant as a toenail clipping, let alone the one to save her.

The only thing he could do – as a stupid, pathetic butler – was what he was currently doing; making coffee for himself and Miss Babcock's parents. They were due to be on their way to the police station soon, but a pick-me-up was required if they were going to get through it.

He slammed the mugs down on the kitchen counter as he waited for the pot to heat up, and considered himself lucky that he didn't break them. It would've been just his luck if they had, but it was truly the last thing he needed.

Having to stop and clean it all up would only delay him. It would also remind him even more that he truly was nothing in the grand scheme of this investigation, and that anybody could do the only things he was able to help with.

Anybody could pour coffee, and wish they were the one who'd be the one to save the person they loved. Even if they knew that wasn't going to happen.

It hurt, every time his traitorous mind reminded him of that fact. But he had to go on existing anyway. He couldn't entirely shut down, no matter how much it all made him want to.

He poured the coffee and stirred in the milk and sugar, and tried to block out the thought that if he'd just let his body shut down in the hospital, then none of this would've happened. He would've saved everybody a lot of trouble, if he'd just gone when he was obviously supposed to...

But he shook his head to try and clear it, getting it back to the task at hand. He had to keep his mind on something else. Those other kinds of thoughts didn't help anybody, and would only drive him into a greater despair than he was already in.

And he was certain that he was already in Hell, so he wasn't sure he wanted to be wherever that kind of suffering would lead.

After having placed the three cups as well as a plate laden with pastries and various baked goodies on top of one of Mr Sheffield's best silver trays, Niles made his way back to the living room, where Stewart and B.B. Babcock waited. The older couple were sat on the sofa, flush against one another, and in complete silence. B.B. was leaning against her husband, who had an arm wrapped around her frail shoulders, and she'd hid her face in the crook of his neck.

The sight would have broken anyone's heart. But there was an added of guilt, when it came to Niles. It was his fault that their little girl was gone, and now it was up to him to ensure they were as comfortable as they could be considering the situation.

Since C.C.'s disappearance the couple had begun withering away – fear had infected their heart and souls, almost like a disease, and it was progressing rapidly. There was no respite, no peace – not even in dreams. Their minds could only think of their child, and what could be happening to her.

On particularly bad days, when it seemed that hope was gone for good, they were barraged by horrible, unwanted thoughts – thoughts of finding their dead child or never finding her at all. They couldn't lose heart, they knew that, but how were they supposed to hold out hope when they'd received nothing but bad news and most clues and suspects ended up at a dead end?

How were they supposed to go on, when their child was suffering?

If they were both honest (and dared to even think it to themselves), they sometimes weren't sure they could, for much longer. But they were determined to ignore those thoughts, for as long as it took to find out something else; to make a breakthrough, and get new information on what had happened to their daughter.

It was tiring, but it would be nothing, compared to what C.C. was going through.

Niles felt his stomach twist as he got near to them. He thought they somehow looked even more tired and ill than they had when he'd left them to go into the kitchen. He couldn't imagine what they were going through - he had no children, and he never would have any. Theirs was a pain unlike his own - no deeper or lesser, perhaps, but definitely not the same.

He had to make sure he wasn't frowning too deeply when he got to the coffee table, and he settled the tray down in front of the two weary, heartbroken parents.

"There," he said quietly, picking up one of the cups and intending to pass it over. "It should give a little bit of energy, but it's still hot, so be careful..."

"Thank you, Niles," said Stewart, doing the smiling for both himself and B.B. as he reached for his wife's cup and handed it to her before getting his own, "Can I bother you for some sugar?"

"I've already put some in, sir," replied the butler, "Two spoonfuls for yourself and three for Mrs Babcock, correct?"

Somehow, Stewart found it in him to give the butler a wider smile – since his child had disappeared, the man had done nothing but help them and the investigation. He wasn't sure Niles was aware of it, but he was making himself and his wife a world of good with his actions and constant worry. He was one of the few people who had shown true concern for their missing child, and the fact that he'd been the one who'd first noticed her absence had not gone unnoticed by Stewart.

He had his suspicions as to why he'd been the first to notice and also why C.C.'s disappearance had hit the butler with such tremendous force. But as it was (and given what was at stake, presently), he would not probe where he clearly wasn't wanted.

"Yeah, correct," he replied simply, "You have a good memory."

"It's in the job description, sir," joked the butler, trying to lighten the situation.

But before he could really see if it had its intended effect, the doorbell rang and his eyes automatically travelled in the direction of the hallway.

It must have been another member of the cast or crew, coming to collect their payment from Mr Sheffield. Most had already come, having wanted their money right away, but a few had obviously not been able to make it before. As such, they had the occasional straggler come along for what they were owed.

Excusing himself to the Babcocks (and receiving an understanding nod in reply), he went to go and answer it.

But when he opened it, he was struck like he'd never imagined he would be.

The man on the other side smiled at him pleasantly enough, and said something that the butler assumed must've been to do with why he was there, but Niles wasn't sure that he could hear any of it.

Not when the face he was looking at had also been shown to him on paper, drawn by a police sketch artist.

"I...I beg your pardon?" he had to ask, trying harder to concentrate that time.

The man's smile, now slightly unnerving, didn't even falter, "I said I'm Thomas Jones – I'm a production assistant, I'm here to see Mr Sheffield, about my payment..."

Of course he was. And that was it!

That was where he'd seen the man before! He worked at the theatre!

Not only that, but if Niles' memory didn't fail him, this man had been the infamous assistant that had incurred in Miss Babcock's wrath by inviting her out. The incident had happened almost two years back, and he doubted that Miss Babcock herself remembered it (and even if she did, it was unlikely that she would remember who this man was), but he did.

Oh, he really did!

They'd been working on one of their most successful productions, a musical inspired on Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland", and as usual Miss Babcock had worked long hours at the theatre to ensure the production was a box office hit. Niles remembered he'd been sent to pick her up at the theatre during a particularly nasty snowstorm. He'd groused and complained, claiming that, since she was the White Witch in person, she'd be safe out of harm's way. But Mr Sheffield had sent him on his way anyway, and as he'd walked into the theatre he'd witnessed Miss Babcock having a go at one of her assistants.

He'd later found out the man had had "the audacity" (to quote Miss Babcock verbatim) to ask her out for dinner. The only reason she hadn't fired him, she'd told Niles, was because the man was an outstandingly hard-working and efficient worker, and at the time it would have been detrimental to the production.

Nothing else had been said about the incident afterwards, but on the few occasions he'd had to go to the theatre, he'd picked up on the man's stubborn interest for the blonde producer. He'd wait on her hand and foot, longingly glance at her when she wasn't looking, and sometimes, when he really thought no one was looking, he'd shamefully ogle her.

Niles hadn't thought much of it – Thomas was a creep, that much was certain, but he'd never given the man a second thought. He'd seemed like a harmless slimeball, but now…

Now Niles wasn't so sure about that.

All of it added together created a sense of dread and hate, slipping through his organs like fiery snakes. They wrapped tighter around just about everywhere inside him, and held on fast to make sure he couldn't quite breathe.

And the end result of the feeling was that it left Niles unsure if he wanted to let the man into the Sheffields' home or not. Part of him wanted to turn the man away, even if just for the relief of being able to shut the door. Another, larger, part wanted to drag him inside and angrily demand to know where the missing producer was, or else...

But, he supposed that he had no real choice in what he could do. As much as he wanted to do both those aforementioned things (and many more that involved broken bones, if he had been the one to do it), he couldn't legally make Thomas leave without his money, and he had no proof that the man had actually done anything.

And proof was always better than just someone's word. Especially the word of a nobody, like him.

So, as wrong as it felt and as much as it burned inside, he nodded and stepped aside, gesturing.

"Of course. Come in; Mr Sheffield is in his office."

He let his eyes follow the man all the way as he did. Something deep in his instincts told him not to let this Thomas Jones out of his sight, and he wasn't going to let that something down by letting the man wander just wherever he wanted to go!

In hindsight, he also thought that he should've insisted on going the long way around the house, using the back corridor that lead past the kitchen to the solarium, to get to Mr Sheffield's office.

But he didn't. It was more direct to go through the living room, and Thomas had already been pointed that way.

Which also meant that he had been pointed in the direction of Stewart and B.B., who were talking quietly and infrequently between sips of coffee.

They noticed the new arrival near enough immediately, and suddenly he had their attention.

Just as they, apparently, had his.

"Uh...hello, there," this Thomas Jones said, giving a small wave to the people on the sofa. "I'm Thomas. I work with the theatre, but I've ...um, also been studying this case as it's been going along, so I already know that you are Mr and Mrs Babcock, C.C. Babcock's parents. I just have to say that I am so sorry to hear about everything that's happened..."

Niles felt both a chill running down his spine and an urge to vomit – his condolences were so… mawkish. So disgustingly insincere. It made him see red; it made him want to smash his head against the glass coffee table over and over again, until he either confessed where he was keeping Miss Babcock or until he stopped moving at all.

Perhaps both.

He had to repeatedly clench and unclench his fists to keep from snapping at the man (and by that he meant swinging a nice hook straight to his nose) as he got two muted "thank you's" from Mr and Mrs Babcock. He had to take deep, calming breaths not to drag the bastard outside while screaming at him if he had no shame.

No, he had to keep his emotions in check.

If this indeed was the man who had kidnapped Miss Babcock, he couldn't let him know he suspected him. He had to play it cool and wait until he was out of the room to make his move. He'd have to let Lane know, and she would surely be onto Thomas like a bird of prey. He had to tread with care – on false move and he could put Miss Babcock's life in jeopardy, and he'd done that enough as it was.

To his credit, Niles didn't look like he was in the least bit disturbed. He continued to go through the motions, refilling cups and serving pastries without so much as batting an eyelid. He even nodded curtly at Thomas as he finally went on his way to Maxwell's study.

But once he heard the study's door being opened and closed, Niles immediately dropped everything he was doing and flew to Mr and Mrs Babcock's side, making the older couple start.

"We have to go to the station!" Niles said in a hushed (albeit urgent) voice, "Immediately!"

Stewart blinked back up at him, very obviously not understanding why the butler wanted to leave so quickly, "What? Why, what's the problem?"

Niles looked agitatedly over his shoulder, in case Thomas had finished with Mr Sheffield and was coming back. But they were in luck – the producer had probably decided to go over and tick off the man's employment file. And, knowing how Maxwell was with paperwork compared to Miss Babcock, Niles thought that must have bought them some time.

He leaned in towards the Babcocks more, explaining as quickly as he could, "That's the man I saw in the police composite! I knew I recognised him, it must've been from around the theatre!"

Stewart's jaw dropped, and, after exchanging a panicked look with B.B. (who had sat up more, out of his hold, from the shock), he craned his neck to try and see into the office.

Not that he had any luck with that. The door was shut. So, he turned back to Niles, with a look like cold steel starting to flash in his eyes.

"Is there any proof that this guy might've done something?"

Niles shifted uncomfortably, but eventually managed to tell them both everything about the man asking Miss Babcock out, being soundly rejected, and his apparent obsession with her afterwards.

It was enough to convince B.B., whose hands flew to her mouth to stop her from crying out loud in anguish. That man, she and everybody else seemed to know, could very well have her baby locked up somewhere!

He had to be stopped – they had do as Niles said and call the police!

Not that calling anybody seemed to be on Stewart's radar. The information Niles had provided had been enough for him, too – but he felt an anger burning in his chest instead of sadness. Anger, for the fact that this creep had felt entitled to their daughter. Anger, that he was holding her against her will and probably hurting her, too. Anger, for the fact that he'd looked both him and B.B. in the face and lied about how sorry he was, while knowing damn well that he was the cause of their pain.

It was an anger that he felt could only be doused in one way.

He closed his fist as he stood up, "I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my own hands!"

"No, sir, you can't!" Niles pleaded with him, blocking Stewart's way before he attempted to charge into the study and pummel Thomas until he was a bleeding mess.

"The hell I can't!" barked Stewart, trying to push past Niles, "Get out of my way!"

"Sir, please!" Niles insisted, struggling to keep the enraged father in place, "Listen to me – we don't have evidence. If you go in there and beat that man up, you'll be charged with assault and he will be let go! And that could spell trouble for your daughter. We cannot let him know we suspect him or he could hurt her – get rid of her, even!"

Stewart only stopped and thought about it then. At first, he wanted to rage and yell about how they could stop the guy from hurting C.C. by actually killing him, but then he realised that if they did that, there would be no one left to tell them where she was...

She'd be stuck, with perhaps no way of finding her...

And as awful and begrudging as his mind and heart kept making it seem, from that image alone, he knew he had to stand down.

Until they knew more, anyway. The minute he found out for sure, it was over for that guy.

He huffed out a breath and stopped shoving against the butler. His fist unclenched and he let the images of breaking Thomas' legs file out of his current thoughts.

He had to. For what the consequences could mean for his daughter, he had to.

"Fine," he relented, hating himself for it, even if he knew it was the right thing to do just then. "Then let's get the police, right now."

Niles could only agree with that statement. They had to let Lane know, as soon as possible, that they'd made their own breakthrough in the case by finding the man in the composite.

He'd even reminded Niles of his name. Thomas Jones. Lane would definitely be able to take it from there!

So, leaving their cups and not really caring that most of it was going to grow cold, Stewart helped B.B. up from her seat and Niles indicated for them to lead the way out of the living area.

After a quick stop at the closet to get B.B.'s purse (where Niles had hung it, when they'd come in), they were out the door and heading for the police station. Maxwell knew where they were going, so he didn't need to be informed.

And the less Thomas knew about it all for now, the better. He'd find out, soon enough.