by Carol Wyer
‘That’s quite unusual, isn’t it, for a teenage girl?’ Lucy said.
‘Not really. This generation isn’t uploading like we do. Scarlett posts four or five pictures a day but her little sister who’s fifteen only posts once a month. She told Scarlett it was passé to post so often and to use loads of hashtags. Apparently, it’s different for Snapchat, where they post more frequently, but the trends are changing all the time. Teenagers are becoming cagier and more cautious about what they put up on social media. It wouldn’t surprise me if this account is a Rinsta.’
Murray screwed up his eyes. ‘What the fuck is a Rinsta?’
‘Fake Instagram account. It’s a polished version, that parents can see, and usually has loads of likes. Teenagers have got wise to parents tracking them down so they have Rinstas and Finstas. The Finsta is actually their real Instagram account and the one their close friends can access. The fact this one isn’t set to private makes me suspect she has another, a Finsta.’ He continued tapping at keys.
Natalie appeared from nowhere. ‘You got some information for us to work with?’ she asked.
Lucy gave a sharp nod.
‘You can go through everything while we drive. Murray, we’re taking a communications unit with us. Let us know if you uncover anything else you think’s important,’ said Natalie.
Murray lifted a hand in acknowledgement and Natalie strode away, Lucy hot on her heels. Natalie turned her head slightly as she bounded lightly down the wide staircase. ‘When we’ve finished with Roxanne’s family, we’ll ask the Lang brothers to come in for further questioning. I have no idea what their connection to a teenage girl might be but I suspect they know more than they’ve so far been prepared to share.’
‘I’m with you on that. What about Gavin’s girlfriend, Daisy?’
‘I was getting on to her. I’d like to talk to her again when Gavin and Kirk aren’t about. In fact, if you get the brothers to the station, we’ll use that opportunity to question her at the tea room.’
Five
Sunday, 1 July – Early Afternoon
A row of bollards stood between the disused shops and the road. Litter had collected at each of the bases and crept up the sides of the concrete posts. Like paper snowdrifts, Natalie thought. The whole area smacked of poverty: a bus shelter barely functional with the protective side panels missing; grey shutters down on all the abandoned shops, now covered in nonsensical graffiti and tattered posters advertising a gig that had taken place in 2016. All that was left was the overhead signage of what had once been here: the Indian Palace takeaway restaurant, Zadiq’s barber shop and a charity shop. Above each neglected premises were flats with dirty windowpanes and satellite dishes attached to the grimy brickwork. The family they were about to visit lived in one above what had once been a post office.
‘No entrances visible from this side. We’ll have to go around the back,’ said Natalie, turning her gaze towards a couple of teenagers squatting in the bus shelter. One looked up as they drove past and nudged his mate. Natalie could feel their hostility as they watched the squad car go by.
Lucy spotted a turning that led directly into an area used for parking and drew up near a faded purple Ford Ka. ‘Which flat is it?’
Natalie craned her neck and studied the backs of the buildings, hidden behind fence panels and wooden gates. ‘I think it’s the third one along. The one with the “For Let” sign appears to be number 116.’
Lucy unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door. The car park was overlooked by a huge block of flats about fifty metres away. ‘Not much privacy, is there? Everyone up there will be able to see the comings and goings here.’
‘Maybe somebody over there noticed something out of the ordinary,’ Natalie replied.
‘There must be at least thirty windows that face in this direction.’ Lucy sounded downbeat and Natalie knew how she felt. Investigations like this one required manpower, not to mention a lot of time and effort, and she only had a small unit. Countless requests to get another member on board had fallen on deaf ears.
She slammed her door shut and marched towards a shabby gate. It wasn’t locked and opened into a yard, little more than an empty concrete space. A dark blue-black Yamaha motorbike was leaning on its stand; spatters of black oil stained the ground beneath it. Concrete steps with crumbling edges led to the first floor and a white door that had yellowed with age. Natalie was struck by the contrast in this property where Roxanne had lived and the one where her life had ended. A large tabby cat was curled asleep in front of the door on a dingy mat and ignored them when they knocked. Music was playing inside and Natalie had to knock a second time, more loudly, to get the attention of the occupants. A bare-chested man dressed only in tracksuit bottoms came to the door. His hair was fashionably shaved at the sides while on top it was longer and slightly curly. His face was littered with stubble and he rubbed at his eye and yawned. Natalie and Lucy lifted their identity cards and Natalie introduced herself and Lucy.
‘Are you Paul Sadler?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you mind if we came inside?’ Natalie asked.
‘What’s this about?’
‘Please, could we come inside?’ Natalie repeated.
The man opened the door wide and rubbed a hand over his flat stomach. The cat didn’t move so Natalie stepped over it into a living room cum dining room where a slim woman with her back to them was tugging at a vacuum cleaner. Paul shut the door behind Lucy and shouted, ‘Cathy!’
The woman’s head jerked up and she turned off the appliance, releasing the attachment too quickly so it clattered against the wall and fell on the carpet. She faced Natalie, blue eyes open wide. Natalie introduced herself and confusion washed over the woman’s sharp features, tugging at her thin eyebrows and creasing her forehead. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.
Paul burst into sudden action. ‘I’ll turn off the music. Where’s the remote, Cathy?’
Her movements were jerky like a marionette’s as she hunted for the control. It was resting on a shelf next to a photo of a young girl, Roxanne, and three boys: two with shaved heads and wide shoulders sandwiching the third, who was taller and slender with thick wavy hair, and who stood immediately behind Roxanne, hands on her shoulders. Cathy aimed the control at a speaker next to the television. The sudden silence was deafening and Paul blinked several times.
Cathy took a few tentative steps towards Natalie and asked slowly, ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’d be best if you sat down for a minute,’ Natalie replied gently.
Cathy froze. No matter how many times Natalie had to break news like this to parents, she never felt she had the right words. What could one say to somebody whose world was about to blow apart? ‘I’m truly sorry. I have some bad news about your daughter.’
The woman’s eyes widened in horror. ‘What’s happened to her? Is she in hospital?’
Natalie shook her head as she spoke. ‘I’m afraid she’s dead, Mrs Curtis.’
‘Oh, God! She’s dead?’ Her face morphed into a mask of pain and agony like Edvard Munch’s The Scream. ‘No. No-oh!’ The second ‘no’ became a wail that reverberated through the flat. Paul rushed to her side but she balled her fists and beat them against his naked torso as he attempted to encircle her in his arms; he grabbed them and held them tightly in his own hands and made soothing noises until the anger morphed into dismay and soft whimpers filled the room. ‘Please… no… no.’
A young man with earbuds hanging around his thick neck rushed into the room.
‘Mum? What’s up?’
Cathy’s shoulders shook as she sobbed into Paul’s chest and she sank further into him as if the strength was ebbing from her body.
‘Why’s she crying?’ The young man spoke again. He had the same shining eyes as his mother. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m really sorry—’ Natalie began again but Paul interrupted her, his voice full of emotion.
‘Roxy. She’s dead.’
&
nbsp; ‘What?’ The boy’s voice cracked. He looked at Natalie, who answered him.
‘I’m afraid so. Her medical records confirmed it was her.’
‘Records? I don’t get it?’ Paul said, still comforting Cathy. ‘Why did you need her medical records?’
‘She died in a fire.’
His brow furrowed deeply and he shook his head. His voice dropped. ‘Fire? Where was it?’
‘In a house in Armston-on-Trent.’
‘What?’ His voice was incredulous.
Cathy pulled away from him and wiped the back of her hand under her nose. The words were ponderous and punctuated with sharp intakes. ‘No. She was having a sleepover with Ellie. It must be someone else. There’s been a mistake. Roxy’s with Ellie.’
‘Where does Ellie live?’
Cathy sniffed back more tears. ‘In the block behind the car park. Third floor. Number seventy-two. That’s where Roxy is – you’ll find her there. Wait, I’ll prove it.’ She leapt to her feet and disappeared only to reappear moments later with her mobile glued to her ear.
‘Jojo? It’s Cathy. Is Roxy with you?’ There was a pause and her eyes filled with tears. ‘She isn’t? Are you sure? Could you check?’ She chewed on a thumbnail and stared hard at the carpet, not daring to look up, and then said, ‘She didn’t sleep over? No. She’s… something’s happened to her… the police are here. Yes. I will.’ She rang off, her eyes fixed on the screen as if her daughter might suddenly call her.
Natalie moved towards her and put a hand on her upper arm. Cathy’s eyes were liquid and her voice thick as she allowed Natalie to guide her back to the settee. ‘She isn’t with Ellie. She didn’t sleep over with her. Jojo doesn’t know anything about any sleepover. Roxy isn’t there. Where was she?’
‘We found her in Linnet Lane, in Armston,’ Natalie replied softly.
‘I don’t understand. Why was she there? Why wasn’t she with Ellie? Did she say anything to you?’ Cathy glanced at her son, who shook his head vehemently.
‘She said nothing to me. I honestly thought she was with Ellie too.’
‘Cathy, I understand this is a very difficult time for you but we have to ask you some questions to help us find out what happened to Roxanne. Please sit down. Let’s talk,’ Natalie urged, nodding at Paul, who seemed to be rooted to the spot, confusion written all over his features.
‘What the fuck was she doing in Armston?’ he asked Natalie.
‘We don’t know. Why don’t you all sit down? You’ve had a dreadful shock.’
‘Roxy. She hated being called Roxanne,’ said the boy. He blinked several times, his eyes moist with tears.
Natalie couldn’t work out his age. He had only light hair growth above his lip and on his chin but a closely shaved head and a neck tattoo that made him appear quite mature. When Paul spoke, she realised this was Charlie, the seventeen-year-old.
‘I need to put a shirt on. Charlie, can you sit with your mum for a few minutes?’ He wiped tears from his cheeks and left quickly.
Natalie felt sorry for the suddenly awkward teenager who dropped onto the settee beside his mother, unsure of how to comfort her or how to deal with his own emotions. She talked as he patted his mother’s hand clumsily.
‘Are your brothers here?’
‘Oliver doesn’t live here any more. He joined the army.’ His voice trailed away and his shoulders slumped.
‘What about Seth?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve only just got up. He’s not in our room. Mum, where’s Seth?’
Cathy closed her eyes and drew a breath. ‘He left about an hour ago. He didn’t say where he was going.’
Paul chose that moment to reappear. Now wearing a long-sleeved top, he swapped places with Charlie, who slid onto the other settee without a word. Natalie continued with her questions.
‘Talk me through what happened yesterday. What time did Roxy go to Ellie’s?’
‘About five thirty, I think.’
‘When did she arrange to stay there?’
‘Only yesterday lunchtime. She said Jojo was working late and asked if she could keep Ellie company. I agreed. She and Ellie have been friends for years and she stays over there quite regularly. I didn’t think there was anything odd about it.’
‘Did she seem different in any way? Anxious to go?’
‘No, but I should have checked she was actually there, shouldn’t I? I never thought…’ She bent forward, sobs shaking her upper body. Paul shushed her gently. Eventually she tried speaking again, a spluttered sentence that took a length to articulate. ‘I… must… sound like… such… a… crap mother.’
Natalie spoke up. ‘No, really, you don’t. I’m a mother of a teenage girl too and I know how hard it is to get through to them some days.’
Cathy inhaled ragged breaths. Paul gave her a wan smile. ‘Of course you’re not a bad mother. This isn’t your fault. No way.’ The sobs abated briefly.
‘You believe she fully intended to spend the night with Ellie? You don’t think she planned on running away?’ Natalie had to ask the question although she was also considering other possibilities – that Roxy had been snatched or taken against her will to the house in Linnet Lane.
‘She was definitely going to Ellie’s.’
‘What did she take with her?’
‘Just a small plastic bag with a change of clothes.’
‘You saw what was in it?’
‘I assumed it was her pyjamas and overnight stuff. They were going to watch films and eat crisps and chocolate in their pyjamas – a girls’ night in…’
‘Roxy has run away on a couple of occasions, hasn’t she?’
Paul looked up sharply. ‘What exactly are you getting at?’
‘I’m only trying to establish why Roxy might have gone to Armston and not to Ellie’s flat. Was she upset about anything? Anxious in any way?’
‘No, and when she ran away then, it was different. She sneaked off,’ Cathy said.
‘And why did she run away?’ Natalie kept her eyes on Cathy, who chewed at her bottom lip.
The silence lengthened until, finally, Paul answered. ‘Last year, she ran away cos of some lad.’
‘Who?’
‘We don’t know. She wouldn’t tell either of us.’ Paul kept an arm around Cathy’s shoulders, concern etched across his features.
‘And what about the first time she left home, in 2016?’
‘She was having a hard time at school and fell out with friends. She came home after a night of roughing it on the streets in Birmingham.’ Paul squeezed Cathy’s hand and she nodded in agreement.
‘What’s Ellie’s surname?’ Lucy asked. Her interjection seemed to rouse Cathy, who was drifting off in a private world of misery.
‘Cornwall.’
‘I know this is a really tough time for you, but could you tell us what you were doing yesterday?’
‘You don’t think we had anything to do with her death, do you?’ Paul asked.
‘Not at all. We just have to ask these questions. It’s normal in these situations.’
‘That’s stupid. We haven’t done anything! We’re not fucking responsible for this,’ Paul insisted.
‘It’s only procedure, sir. Cathy, can you remember what you did after Roxy left?’
‘Nothing much. I watched telly… waited until Paul and Seth got back and then we sent out for a takeaway.’
‘We were at a motorbike event – BMPS North Wales Classic Motorcycle Show. We got back at about eight o’clock,’ said Paul, wiping a hand across his face.
‘You didn’t join them, Charlie?’ Natalie said, turning her attention to the boy in the chair.
‘No. I was with my mates all afternoon. Came back in about five. I went to my room and messed about online until Paul and Seth came home, and then we had dinner.’
‘And what did you all do after you’d eaten?’
‘We watched television.’
Lucy, who’d been making notes throughout all this, looked up and a
sked, ‘All of you?’
Cathy shook her head. ‘No. Charlie and I did for a while. Seth and Paul played on the PlayStation in the boys’ room.’
‘Yeah. That’s right,’ said Charlie. ‘I joined them when Mum went to bed. We packed it in soon after midnight.’
Cathy nodded slowly. ‘I went to bed at about half past eleven and fell straight asleep. I woke up when Paul came to bed and that was at quarter past twelve. I didn’t even think about her, you know?’
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ said Paul as the tears tumbled over her stained cheeks again. ‘You weren’t to know.’
‘Why did Roxy go to Armston?’ Cathy asked.
‘I don’t know, love,’ he replied quietly, eyebrows knitted together.
Natalie waited until they were receptive to further questioning then asked, ‘Do either of you know of Gavin or Kirk Lang?’
‘Who are they? Did they kidnap her? Who are these people?’ asked Cathy, her voice tight with anxiety.
Paul patted her hand to calm her. ‘I’ve never heard of them,’ he said.
‘Charlie, do you know them?’ Lucy asked.
The boy shook his head. ‘No.’
‘You’re sure you’ve never heard of them?’
‘Never.’
‘Why are you asking about them?’ Paul asked again.
Natalie returned her attention to Cathy. ‘It was their house that burnt down, where we found Roxy. Would it be possible to talk to Seth at all?’
Cathy swept the backs of her hands across her cheeks, smearing her mascara. ‘I can’t… Will you ring him, Paul?’
The response was a heavy, ‘Sure.’ He took Cathy’s mobile, flicked through the contact numbers and lifted the phone to his ear. After a couple of seconds he said, ‘Answerphone.’
‘Leave it for the moment, then. We’ll try him later,’ said Natalie, catching the look of despair in Cathy’s eyes. ‘Would you like us to contact your son Oliver for you?’
‘No. We’ll ring him. He should hear about this from us,’ said Cathy.
‘What about Roxy’s father? Do you want to talk to him too?’