Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  ‘Love in a single bed. Reminds me of my student days,’ he retorted and began to lift the cover.

  ‘Daddy! Where are you?’ The call was plaintive.

  He sighed. ‘You reckon she’ll go back downstairs if I ignore her?’

  ‘Not a hope.’

  ‘Daddy, where are you?’

  He screwed up his face. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. We’ve been assigned a murder investigation and Dan’s pushing for quick results. I ought to go in early and see where we are with it.’

  ‘Daddy!’

  ‘Wait a minute, chicken. Daddy’s coming.’ He stroked Natalie’s cheek. ‘I’ll make it up to you later.’

  ‘You most certainly will. By the way, did the party go okay last night?’

  ‘Yep, fine, although I missed you, of course, and everyone said the toffee apples were awesome.’ He dropped his head and his lips brushed against hers again, sending electric pulses through her body.

  ‘Dad-dy!’

  ‘Blast. She’s not going to give in, is she?’ He gave a dramatic sigh.

  She returned a warm smile. ‘Go on… scoot.’

  Natalie arrived at the office in time for the morning briefing. The crew was assembled in the room, chairs positioned into a semicircle. Natalie was greeted with nods and mumbled hellos. She knew all five by sight and reputation but hadn’t worked with all of them before.

  The new members had come from other units to create this one. They complemented each other with their range of skills and experience. Next to DS Andy Foxton sat mother of three PC Celeste Redshaw, who’d come from vice, and beside her the youngest member of the team, PC Poppy Hardwick, a local girl and only nineteen.

  Lucy raised a hand to signal the start of the brief. ‘Morning, everyone. You should all have received my email detailing where we’re at. Anyone not get it?’ She waited for a moment and continued. ‘Then we’re all aware our victim, seventeen-year-old Amelia Saunders, was strangled around 4 p.m. yesterday afternoon.

  ‘As per my email, we have a possible suspect, male and in his mid-twenties, who goes by the name of Tommy. We haven’t established his surname yet but we believe he was Amelia’s boyfriend. We struck out last night, talking to sex workers; however, we know what a tight-lipped bunch they can be, and somebody must know something about Amelia and/or Tommy, so I want you to try again today.

  ‘According to witnesses, Tommy is tall and skinny with a large, stretched piercing in his left ear lobe and wild, dark hair. His hair has also been described as “frizzy”. The same witness also suggested Tommy was “grubby” as if he had been working on a building site, a garage or a garden centre. Let’s check out all of those places in Samford for a man matching his description. Our priority is to find this man, and to that end, Superintendent Tasker has arranged for me to do a public television appeal this morning, after this meeting.’ She was met with a few groans.

  ‘I know it will result in answering telephone calls, but people’s recollections of events cloud over time. If anyone else was in the vicinity of the car park yesterday afternoon, they need to come forward immediately. An appeal or reconstruction usually jogs memories.’

  ‘And they bring out all the cranks and nutjobs who suddenly want to confess to murder,’ mumbled Andy, arms folded across his body.

  ‘It’s all part of the job,’ said Lucy with a light shrug. ‘I’d also like you to contact Amelia’s friends on social media – her schoolfriends and any relatives – and find out if Amelia mentioned Tommy to any of them, or if they know where we might locate him. You’ll be divided into sub-teams and Murray will assign you your tasks. Are we all clear on this?’

  She was met with nods and the odd, ‘Guv.’

  ‘Okay, people, let’s get organised.’

  The room burst into activity, chairs were replaced behind desks and Murray issued each of them with instructions. The air crackled with enthusiasm.

  Lucy caught Natalie, who was about to leave for her own office. ‘The MisPers report for Amelia has come through in an email. Do you want to look at it?’

  ‘Sure, why not? If anything shouts out at me, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thanks. I spoke to Tabitha’s parents first thing before the briefing and they have no extra news for us. They were questioned by MisPers soon after Amelia went missing and repeated what they told MisPers at the time. They last spoke to Amelia two days before she went missing in May when she turned up, out of the blue, in tears, wanting to reminisce about Tabitha. They invited her in, looked through photographs together and remembered happier times spent with Tabitha. They didn’t hear from her again, and although they knew about her father’s suicide, they’ve not seen much of Amelia’s mother, Vicki, over the last three months. They confirmed Amelia complained to Tabitha about her overbearing father but they hadn’t heard of Tommy. He’s our only suspect at the moment. I hope somebody can point us in the right direction.’

  ‘See what the appeal produces. You might get some leads.’

  Lucy nodded gravely; her attitude and obvious concern were out of character for the usually confident woman. Natalie couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something else holding Lucy back. She was going to ask what was bothering her, but before she could say anything, Lucy had turned on her heel. She shut her mouth. If Lucy wanted to talk about it, she would. At the moment they had more pressing matters. She logged onto the departmental email and downloaded the missing person’s report for Amelia Saunders. It wouldn’t hurt to find out more about the girl and her reasons for running away.

  Lucy strode back into the main office, now vacated, where she read through Rob’s, the homeless man’s, statement once more before setting it aside and staring ahead, eyes fixed on the windows. She couldn’t settle to any one task. What was the matter with her? She’d been waiting years for this promotion and her first big case was in danger of turning into a fiasco if she didn’t grip it tightly.

  She understood the reasons for this sudden butterfly nature and it wasn’t because the superintendent had requested Natalie be an active member of the team, or that he wanted Lucy to make a public appeal. Nor was it because she felt odd being Murray’s superior, even though she did. She didn’t want their friendship to change and yet there’d been a subtle shift in his attitude towards her. Although he’d brought around champagne at the news of her promotion, and hugged her and told her he was proud of her, she’d spotted something in his eyes she’d never noticed before – a streak of jealousy. She loved the bones of Murray. Nobody could be a better friend than he had been to her and to her partner, Bethany. Nobody else would have done what he’d done for them without any strings attached. He’d donated his sperm, and thanks to him, they’d had Aurora. If Lucy was being brutally honest about it all, this was the crux of the problem – their daughter.

  Bethany had carried and given birth to their baby girl, and Lucy couldn’t have been prouder or happier when the child had come into their lives, but Aurora’s arrival hadn’t cemented their relationship as she had hoped. Her partner had changed hugely, quickly distancing herself from Lucy, Aurora now her only point of focus. The more Bethany fussed around Aurora to the exclusion of Lucy, the more Lucy found herself immersed in work or studies for the promotion and extra shifts to bring in much-needed cash for their little family. She knew what was happening yet was powerless to stop it. She’d tried discussing it, only to be told it was all in her imagination, but it wasn’t. Bethany was drifting away from her and she was fearful she’d end up in the same position as Ian, who only saw his child every two weeks.

  She glanced at her phone for a time check, the screensaver of her loved ones tugging at her heart, and although the thought of a relationship breakdown concerned her, there was no time to dwell on it further or depress herself with morbid thoughts. She’d head to the washrooms and make herself ready for the television appeal. At least that would be productive.

  Katie snorted the coke she’d stolen from Tommy a few days earlier, when
he was too out of his head to notice. The white powder hit the spot, made her eyes water, and she wiped away the residue from under her nose. It would help dull the discomfort and help her get through the morning. She washed her hands and shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for the high to kick in, or at least some form of numbness. It was mid-morning and she’d already turned away one customer who’d approached her on his way to work. Her experience yesterday had more than shaken her to her core. The reminder of the heinous events came back to torment her every time she tried to sit or go to the toilet, and being in here, standing by the sink, brought back the terrible memories.

  Tommy would be furious with her if she didn’t bring home some money. He needed a proper fix soon. She recognised the signs: the urgency in his speech pattern, the fidgeting, his eyes darting everywhere, unable to stay focused. He’d dropped her off as usual and told her he’d meet her at lunchtime. All of this was horrendous. Her life was the biggest pile of shit imaginable. How had she managed to get into this situation? Pride. Stupid, dumb pride! Tears began to fall again. Never had she wanted to go home more than she did now. She could give a bloke a blow job, keep the money to contact her family, go to an Internet café and email them. The ideas popped and evaporated and her heart sank. Tommy was right. They wouldn’t want to know her. She wasn’t the daughter they remembered. That person had been destroyed. Besides, how could she look anyone back home in the eye, knowing what she’d been up to the last few months, and apart from anything else, she was scared of what would happen if she left Tommy. He was wild, untameable, and he might well follow through with his threats, come after her or even attack Olivia. Anything was possible with Tommy, especially when he was high.

  Leaving the toilet block, she stumbled into a figure rummaging through one of the bins outside. He stood up in surprise, a frown appearing across his greasy brow. She recognised the homeless man who frequently passed through the park.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, just having a bad day.’ She made to leave but he reached out a hand. Alcohol breath washed over her and she tried not to wrinkle her nose. She hoped he didn’t want sex. He smelt dreadful.

  ‘You upset because of the murder?’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Over in West Gate car park. You don’t know about it? Another girl like you, name of Amelia. I knew her.’

  ‘Amelia?’ She knew of an Amelia, Tommy’s ex-girlfriend who lived in Samford, but as far as Katie knew, she and Tommy were history. It couldn’t be the same Amelia. There must be hundreds of women with that name.

  ‘A girl like me?’

  ‘You know… selling sex. Police asked me all sorts of questions about her. Wanted to know about someone called Tommy, too.’

  Katie pulled her hand away from the man’s grip with sudden urgency. ‘I don’t know anyone called Amelia.’

  He nodded. ‘Well, take extra care all the same. It was probably a one-off but you never know.’

  Amelia. Tommy. Was the dead woman Tommy’s ex? Did Tommy know she was dead? He’d been acting really strangely the day before. The coke wasn’t making her feel better, it was confusing her thought process. Two middle-aged women were approaching the public toilets with frowns, one of whom became instantly querulous and waved her mobile at him.

  ‘What’s going on here? Is this man pestering you? If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call the police.’

  The man shuffled away, head down. Katie couldn’t make sense of what he’d told her, that the police had asked about Tommy. Had Tommy been seeing Amelia behind her back? It would certainly explain why he kept her locked in the flat all day when she wasn’t working or with him.

  ‘You had a lucky escape there,’ said the woman with the phone. ‘You should watch out for men like him… disgusting! Are you okay?’

  Katie didn’t respond, choosing instead to scurry away from them and the park. There was no sign of the homeless man. She had questions that needed answering. The day seemed to close in on her and she hunted for somewhere to hide, away from strangers and punters and, for the moment, away from Tommy.

  Natalie put aside the missing person’s report. There was nothing in it to help find Tommy. No one who was interviewed at the time of her disappearance knew of any boyfriend. Only Dylan Frogmore, who worked at the off-licence, had seen Amelia with Tommy. Natalie could only deduce Amelia had left home after falling out with her father. Her friends had confirmed she’d been unhappy in the wake of Tabitha’s death and had shut herself off from them all. Amelia had needed compassion and understanding. Whether or not Tommy had given her some and she’d seized on that to follow him or accompany him to Samford, they’d never know until they found him. An incoming call stopped her from further puzzling.

  ‘Good morning, Natalie.’ Superintendent Dan Tasker’s Welsh accent might sound warm and lilting, like a late-night radio presenter’s, but Natalie knew he was steely hard and demanded only the highest standards from his officers. ‘Apologies for bringing you in on this investigation but I know you understand my reasons.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. I wanted to make it clear your involvement is necessary. It is imperative the new crew is seen to be proactive and mean business.’

  ‘I think they’re on top of this.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I won’t be back until Monday but I’d like you to keep me fully informed should anything arise.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘What are your initial thoughts on this case?’

  ‘At the moment, the team is pursuing a strong lead. We suspect the girl’s boyfriend is behind her death, although we’re not ruling anything out at this stage.’

  She could hear voices in the background and someone calling his name. He replied with a muffled, ‘Coming.’ She waited for him to address her again, and he did with a brusque, ‘Indeed. Right. I’ll leave you to handle things and catch up with you on Monday.’

  ‘Sir.’ The phone went dead. Dan had only phoned to hammer home the point that the unit needed to play this by the book. As far as she was concerned, he’d wasted his time. She would make sure Lucy managed the investigation exactly the way she wanted to.

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday, 2 November – Afternoon

  The day turned swiftly into afternoon, the office warm with perspiration and the stale smell of takeaways and coffee. The phones had been ringing non-stop since Lucy’s television appeal. Andy, with phone tucked under his chin, raised heavy black eyebrows in her direction and opened and closed one of his hands repeatedly, to indicate he had a chatty caller. She knew he wasn’t pleased about all the extra leads they now had to pursue which would, in all likelihood, send them on wild goose chases, yet Lucy had no other choice.

  She’d been clear during her appeal they were hunting for a killer of a teenager who’d run away from home, rather than dwell on the possibility she was a sex worker. She needed the public to empathise and react, and that was what they were doing. Amelia’s mother, Vicki, had been on a local radio station, begging for anyone who might have seen her daughter with a man who they believed was called Tommy to come forward. Social media was alight and the hashtag #FindTommy was currently trending on Twitter. She couldn’t believe how quickly it had taken off, and if she couldn’t get some positive response from this, she didn’t know where to turn to next.

  Andy slammed the phone on his desk. ‘That’s the fifteenth caller who claims to have seen this bloke. This time it was in Swansea. If I follow up all these supposed sightings, I’ll end up doing a full tour of the UK,’ he grumbled loudly, but only Lucy heard him. Naturally curmudgeonly by nature, Andy was a good officer but not everyone’s cup of tea. He questioned every detail and made his opinions known. Lucy didn’t have an issue with his cranky attitude. His record spoke for him. He was courageous and fair-minded, had saved two junior colleagues during a gang attack, and had been commended for his actions.

  One of the technical crew waved across at her to catch he
r attention, a hand over the mouthpiece of the internal phone. ‘Lucy, I’ve got a Mr Bray on the line. You should talk to him. His daughter, Katie, ran away three months ago, in August, and he thinks she’s with Tommy.’

  Three quick strides and Lucy took the receiver. The monitor in front of her displayed Twitter hashtag responses, and as she tried to focus on one, many others appeared. It would be impossible to check every one of them.

  ‘Mr Bray, I’m DI Carmichael. My colleague tells me you believe your daughter is with the man we’re searching for.’

  The voice was low and heavy. ‘That’s right. We believe Katie ran away with a lad called Tommy but we don’t know his surname. He only ever referred to himself as Tommy. The police have no idea where she’s gone and we’ve been trying to find her ourselves. We contacted charities, created a Facebook page and put up posters around town – we’ve tried everything we could think of. Last week, somebody sent us a message on the Facebook page saying they’d spotted Katie and a man with long hair in Samford. My other daughter, Sophia, knows Tommy too and said the description sounded like him. It’s all such a mess.’ The voice gave out as if he’d run out of air.

  ‘Sir? Mr Bray?’

  ‘I’m still here.’ She could hear the tears in his voice. ‘I’m worried about Katie.’

  ‘Do you know this man?’

  ‘No… Sophia does… but I don’t. Sophia was seeing him, going out with him, and we didn’t even know about it.’ He paused again before saying, ‘She and Katie had a big fallout over him and Katie ran away.’

  ‘And Sophia has no idea what Tommy’s surname is?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to you and Sophia in person about this, if I may.’

  ‘I’d be happy to talk to you.’

  ‘Is now convenient for you?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll ring Sophia and ask her to take some time off work.’