Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  ‘We’ll find out who she is,’ said Pinkney. ‘There’s always dental records, and who knows what I might find once I examine her.’

  Lucy offered him a half-smile. ‘Thanks, Pinkney. If she isn’t local, we’ll be flummoxed.’

  ‘Don’t give in before you get going,’ he urged.

  Lucy thrust out her chin. ‘I’m not. No way! I’m already considering my options. I’m going to crack this.’

  ‘I’ll make arrangements for her to be transported to the lab. We have quite a lot on at the moment, but I’ll try and push her further along the queue,’ he said and earned another smile from Lucy.

  She and Natalie took their leave, joining Murray back outside. ‘Not found anything yet,’ he said of the officers searching the car park.

  Lucy looked at Natalie. ‘It’s a long shot but we’ll try the piercing salons in Samford, on the off-chance she had hers done here. Maybe somebody will recognise her or her jewellery. The arrow in her ear looked fairly new to me.’

  ‘That sounds like a good start.’

  ‘Murray, could you deal with that? Some places might still be open.’

  ‘On it,’ he said and strode away with purpose, arms swinging.

  ‘What do you think happened to her?’ Lucy asked Natalie.

  ‘Her underwear showed signs of semen. This could have been an attack following a sexual encounter, or the assailant raped, killed and robbed her. I’m sure you’ve already considered both those scenarios.’

  Lucy nodded gravely. ‘Yes, I have. It’s good to know you echo them. I didn’t want to overlook anything.’

  ‘At this stage, I can’t think of any other explanations, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re on the right lines. Don’t be in too much of a hurry to solve this, Lucy.’

  ‘Superintendent Tasker—’

  Natalie sighed. ‘Superintendent Tasker sometimes forgets real policing is not the stuff of television dramas. He wants this new department to flourish and be seen as successful, and it will, but only if correct procedures are followed. Now, I’ll go and tell those newshounds over there exactly the same.’

  Chapter Three

  Friday, 1 November – Late Afternoon

  Murray’s search had thrown up six piercing salons in town. Most were closed, but one, called India Ink, was still open and the owner, India, was happy to talk to him. He shoved his Jeep into gear and edged back out into the road. This was the crime team’s first major investigation and he wanted to prove himself.

  It wasn’t because he was jealous of Lucy getting promoted over him, but he’d felt unbelievably flat since the discovery he’d lost out to his best friend. His wife, Yolande, had understood, and a conversation with her had been the catalyst for his solo mission today. He’d been the one to speak to the salesman who’d found the body and established the guy couldn’t be the murderer, and he was now determined to identify the young woman in the car park. He’d sent the other team members off to make enquiries and, as far as he was concerned, had followed procedure. Once they found and charged the killer, Lucy might get the credit but it would be his name on many of the reports, and he would ensure the superintendent was fully aware of his role in capturing the perpetrator. He had no beef with Lucy, but he did have to prove he was as good as her, and he would.

  He reached Castle Street, a rundown road occupied mostly by two-storey blocks of flats, and pulled up adjacent to a hairdresser’s that had been out of business so long there was a mound of unopened mail on the floor behind the glass-fronted door. Next to the vacated salon was a fish-and-chip shop, and further along still, an Indian takeaway, a cheap off-licence and a tattoo and piercing parlour, over which was an ornate sign in deep purple. India Ink offered tattoos and piercings, its window blanked out with posters of models sporting a variety of ink designs. A sign, ‘You know you want one, come on in,’ was on the door, which he pushed open to find himself in a small reception area. A woman in her early thirties in leather trousers and a vest, showing off multicoloured, tattooed arms, sat on a tall stool behind the desk. She set aside the magazine she’d been reading and sprang to her feet with a wide smile.

  ‘Hi. I’m DS Anderson.’ He lifted his identity card.

  ‘I’m India. You’re not here about a tat, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shame. I’m quiet at the moment – I could do with a new project. Ever thought about getting one done?’

  ‘Not my thing.’

  Her eyes travelled over his body. ‘Shame. I’d have liked working on you.’

  Murray didn’t bat an eyelid. He wasn’t interested, even though she was clearly flirting with him. He kept it professional. ‘I’m afraid I’m here on official business. We have an unidentified victim at West Gate car park and I was wondering if you’d had any young women come in for a belly piercing, or who had bought a silver arrow earring recently.’

  ‘Phew! Now you’re testing me. Yes, I have done belly piercings, and yes, I have sold arrow earrings. Can you give me any more details?’

  ‘This person is about five foot seven, slim build, long chestnut hair, brown eyes and is possibly aged between fifteen and nineteen. She had this in her belly.’ He lifted his phone and showed her the photo of the aqua teardrop belly bar.

  ‘It sounds like Amelia.’

  ‘Amelia?’

  ‘I don’t know her surname, although, if you wait a second, I’ll have it. She signed a consent form when I did her piercings. I get all my clients to sign them in case they have any trouble with them afterwards. In many cases it’s a result of poor hygiene, and if customers don’t keep the sites clean, they get problems and blame the person who did the piercing rather than themselves. Amelia had a little trouble with hers. I told her it was normal. It’s difficult to get them to settle sometimes. The stomach is always moving – it’s not like an ear or an eyebrow or nose, which is mostly static. She had a few other piercings. I did them for her and… she bought an arrow a couple of weeks ago. Is she dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid she is.’

  ‘Shit! How awful. She was quite nice. Shy but nice. Hang on. I’ll get my forms.’

  She moved through a curtain at the rear of the room. Murray waited. A book of designs was open on the desk and he browsed through them, marvelling at how intricate some were. India reappeared. ‘Ah, changing your mind, are you?’

  He shook his head. ‘My wife would kill me if I came home with one.’

  ‘Really? Narrow-minded, is she?’

  ‘No, she likes me the way I am.’

  ‘I have it,’ she said, waving a form and passing it over to him.

  The name was in neat, cursive handwriting: Amelia Saunders.

  ‘Did she tell you anything about herself, where she lived or anything at all?’

  ‘Customers tend to keep quiet when I’m working on them. Amelia was no exception. She did mention she used to live in Nottingham until her best friend died. Tabitha, I think was her name. Amelia said Tabitha would have loved to have had piercings. She’d been the daredevil of the pair of them. Amelia got the belly piercing to remind her of her friend even though her boyfriend wasn’t too keen on the idea.’

  ‘She was with somebody?’

  ‘Yeah, stand-offish guy. Name of Tommy. He insisted on staying in the studio while I was working and he paid for all her piercings – cash.’

  ‘Any idea where they lived?’

  ‘Sorry, no.’

  ‘You didn’t catch Tommy’s surname?’

  She gave a light shrug accompanied by a quick shake of her head.

  ‘How did they seem?’

  ‘Fine. Well, they were fine the first few times they came in, but last time, he seemed more… vacant. He wasn’t the talkative type.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Skinny, tall, not as tall as you… probably reach your chin, grey or pale blue eyes, I think, and wild hair, sort of stuck up. He wore it in a man bun a couple of times but it was really thick and frizzy. I noticed he had an ear g
auge – a piercing in the lobe, stretched to fit in a large ring,’ she explained, noting the puzzled expression on his face. ‘He had a large hole. Left ear. Apart from that, I didn’t pay him too much attention cos I wasn’t working on him. Sorry.’

  ‘No, you’ve been helpful. If you think of anything else, would you let me know? My number’s on the card.’ He handed over a business card.

  ‘Certainly, DS Murray Anderson, and if you change your mind about a tat, you know where I am.’

  He left the shop, in good humour, not because a good-looking woman had openly flirted with him but because he had a lead. He was smart. He was following Yolande’s advice and it was yielding results.

  ‘I can confirm the body of an unidentified young woman has been discovered at West Gate car park. We are considering her death as suspicious and request anyone who might have been in the area this afternoon, Friday, the first of November, come forward if they spotted any unusual activity. At this stage, I can’t say anything more but we shall update you as soon as there are any further developments.’

  ‘DCI Ward, how old is the victim?’

  ‘As I said, we shall update you as soon as we can.’

  ‘Will this be investigated by the new crime squad?’

  ‘DI Lucy Carmichael will be leading this investigation.’

  ‘Do you not think somebody more seasoned should be heading such an important enquiry?’ The voice was one Natalie recognised: Bev Gardner, the reporter who had, in the past, attempted to catch out Natalie. She allowed her cool gaze to fall on the reporter, dressed in a burgundy felt hat, a perfect colour match for her woollen coat.

  ‘DI Carmichael has been chosen to head this investigation because of her considerable experience and exemplary work record. Thank you. That will be all for now.’ She marched away before any more of them could ask questions and cursed Bev under her breath. She ought not to have replied, but the woman got under Natalie’s skin and deserved to be knocked back. She climbed into her car and looked at her watch. She might be home in time to catch the fireworks, yet she didn’t rush along. Part of her yearned to be involved with the team, hunting for the person who had killed this girl. She’d been hands-on for so many years, it felt strange to have to stand back. She sighed. She’d accepted the promotion to DCI, and with it came changes she would have to accept. She’d make her way back home and join the party. Mike would be pleased to see her, even if Thea wasn’t.

  By the time she left the scene, late afternoon had turned into evening and frost was already beginning to sparkle on front lawns and along grass verges, caught in her car’s headlights. By now, Mike would have let off the fireworks and some of the guests would be leaving, if not already departed. Thea would be enjoying ‘Dad time’. If Natalie returned now, she would probably only watch television alone while Mike read to his daughter. That’s rubbish and you know it. The guests will still be there. It’s not late enough for them to leave. She ignored the voice of reason, indicated at the roundabout, travelled a full 360 and headed back, this time in the direction of the new HQ. Lucy and the team would be returning there soon and they might appreciate Natalie’s input.

  She drove past brightly lit shopfronts whose windows were already filled with Christmas temptations. She couldn’t get her head around that particular celebration. It would be the second one without Leigh. This year, she would have to make an effort – maybe even invite David around and Josh’s girlfriend. Thea was going to spend the day with her mother, but Boxing Day she would arrive for a full week while Nicole headed for a break with friends to the Canary Islands. She blinked away the anxieties gently nibbling at her, glad to have something else to focus on other than her poor relationship with Thea. Who could have killed this girl and why? A huge spray of red sparkles exploded behind a house. Somebody else was having a firework party. She ought to return home. No. Holborn House, the crime unit’s new home, wasn’t much further. She’d go to her office, get on with some work for an hour and be on hand should she be needed.

  Natalie didn’t have to wait long before there was a knock on her office door and Lucy appeared.

  ‘Natalie, we’ve identified the victim. Amelia Saunders.’

  ‘That was fast work.’

  ‘It was down to Murray. He found the person who did her piercings. The woman recognised the description Murray gave her, along with a photograph of her belly bar. She keeps consent forms signed by all her customers and one had the girl’s signature on it. She also told Murray that Amelia was from Nottingham, so I spoke to Nottinghamshire Police, who confirmed that eighteen months ago a sixteen-year-old named Amelia Saunders was reported missing. They emailed across a photograph of her and there’s little doubt it’s the same girl.’

  ‘Then she can only be seventeen or eighteen years old.’

  ‘Yes. I want to visit the parents to break the news of her death personally and to find out what I can about her, why she ran away; anything really to give us a clue as to why she was in Samford.’

  Natalie nodded her agreement. It was definitely the next step in the investigation.

  Lucy studied her glossy shoes, searching for invisible specks of dust. ‘I wondered if you’d come with me.’

  Lucy should take one of her investigation team along, not Natalie, a fact they both knew. Lucy’s evident discomfort in requesting Natalie’s presence caused her to hold off flatly refusing. She waited until Lucy turned her attention from her footwear back to Natalie. ‘This is my first major investigation since I took on this role and I’d feel more confident if you were more involved.’

  Natalie wasn’t convinced. Lucy had displayed an ability to act on her own many times prior to this case and didn’t shirk responsibility. Judging by her body language – legs apart and head high – Lucy didn’t believe her own words either. There was only one possible explanation as to why she was asking Natalie to actively participate: Dan.

  ‘Superintendent Tasker asked you to involve me, didn’t he?’

  Lucy let out a lengthy sigh and the stiffness left her shoulders. ‘He rang me to stress how important it was to get a speedy result, given the new unit has only recently been formed. He wanted me to get you on board to ensure it ran smoothly.’

  Natalie was outraged on her officer’s behalf. He ought to have more belief in Lucy and the team. ‘No. I have total confidence in you and the team. You can run this perfectly well without my interference.’

  Lucy’s face transformed, brightening in an instant. ‘Thank you. Actually, I told him something along the same lines.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘However, the fact remains, those vultures from the press are hovering overhead, waiting for me to screw up. People are very sensitive to murder cases involving children or young victims, and if the papers insist on running stories about it… the fallout… well… you understand. I’d appreciate it if you could come along to speak to the parents. Not to interfere or take over but in an advisory capacity… be my support. As soon as this case is under my belt, the press will ease off and the unit won’t be under the spotlight in quite the same way.’

  Natalie understood the logic of her argument. Lucy wouldn’t ask unless she felt it was the right thing to do. ‘Okay. Count me in, but I stand by what I said a moment ago – you are more than capable of handling this without me.’

  The corners of Lucy’s mouth twitched. ‘I know.’

  The Saunders family lived in a two-storey, mid-terrace house, in an area known as The Meadows in Nottingham, about an hour’s drive north-east from Samford. The frontage was narrow, dominated by a large, white-framed bay window and black door, the copy of those either side of it. The door was answered by a muscular young man, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, who stood in front of them, a bottle of beer in his hand.

  Lucy showed her ID. ‘I’m DI Carmichael and this is DCI Ward. We’d like to speak to Mr and Mrs Saunders, if possible, please.’

  The man shook his head. ‘You can’t talk to Ray. He’s dead.’

 
‘I’m sorry to hear that. We had no idea.’

  He shrugged. ‘It was a while ago. You should have checked before you came knocking.’

  The sarcasm was uncalled for but Lucy let it go. ‘What about Mrs Saunders? Is she here?’

  ‘Vicki’s upstairs in the bath.’

  ‘Would it be possible to fetch her?’

  He studied the women through half-closed eyes and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a swig before he replied. ‘She doesn’t like being disturbed. What’s this about?’ He glared openly at them.

  ‘We really need to talk to her.’

  ‘Maybe you should come back later, then.’ He made to shut the door but Lucy put her foot between it and the frame. He locked eyes with her but she didn’t flinch.

  ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but we’re asking politely to speak to the owner of this house, and as far as I’m aware, you’re not that person, Mr…?’ She waited for a response.

  ‘Dylan Frogmore.’

  ‘Mr Frogmore, we need to speak to Vicki. Please would you ask her to come downstairs?’

  He thrust out his chin and made to push the door firmly shut but a voice stopped him.

  ‘Dylan, what the hell is going on?’

  ‘Some more coppers come to give us aggro. Probably the bloody neighbours complaining about the music again.’

  ‘Let me talk to them.’

  Dylan moved aside and a short woman in her forties, with bobbed black hair and a round, open face, took his place. ‘I told your lot last time, we aren’t playing music loudly. It’s the sodding walls. They’re paper-thin and the new neighbours are nothing but troublemakers. I’ve lived in this house for twenty years without any trouble at all until they moved here—’

  ‘Mrs Saunders, we’re not here about any complaints. Could we come inside?’

  ‘Well, if it’s not about any noise, why are you here?’ Her hands suddenly flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, goodness! It’s Amelia, isn’t it? Have you found her?’