by Carol Wyer
She heard the van before she saw it. The exhaust needed mending but Tommy blew all their spare cash on getting high rather than fixing things in need of repairing. She pushed away from the wall where she’d been leaning and waited for the vehicle to stop. There was no point in even dreaming about going back to Buxton. It could no longer be called home, and Tommy would make sure she lived in terror if she tried to contact her family. She was tired and sore. The pain in her back passage had worsened as the morning had progressed, and she probably needed some medical attention, although Tommy was more likely to tell her to buy some cream for it and shut the fuck up. She didn’t care. She had no energy to fight or argue. She wanted to go to sleep.
The van drew to a halt, not close to where she stood but further along the road, and as she began to walk towards it, she noticed Tommy flapping both hands at her, urging her to stay where she was. She soon saw the reason why. The man who had bruised and ripped her insides was striding towards her with purpose. She broke into a trot, reached the van and banged on the driver’s window, eyes wide in terror. ‘Tommy! Don’t make me.’
He dropped the window slightly. ‘Go on.’
A flicker of defiance. ‘No, I won’t.’
The driver’s door opened wide and Tommy was by her side before she could react. He tugged on her hair, yanking her head backwards so sharply she thought her neck would break. ‘Do it!’
She was too terrified to scream. The man was watching from the shadows of the buildings and all of a sudden, the fight vanished. She had no choice. ‘Okay.’
‘That’s my girl. Take his money. I’ll be back in an hour.’ He released his hold, returned to his seat and waited until he could be certain she wouldn’t flee, then he drove off, leaving Katie to her fate.
Chapter Eight
Saturday, 2 November – Late Afternoon
Natalie fell quiet on the way back to the station. Learning about the argument between the two sisters had evoked further recollections of her own sister, Frances. Their breakup had been as violent, and like Sophia, Natalie would never forgive her sister for her betrayal. Frances had been single-minded, unbelievably selfish and cold-hearted. Cruel enough to steal from their dying grandmother and to accuse Natalie of the theft, denying all responsibility for it herself and convincing their parents that Natalie had taken and sold the jewellery. Like many convincing liars, she’d succeeded in pulling the wool over their parents’ eyes, and they’d refused to listen to Natalie’s pleas of innocence, preferring to side with Frances.
Eighteen-year-old Natalie is open-mouthed in astonishment. How could her parents even think, for one second, she would do something as dreadful as steal her grandmother’s rings? Her father stares hard at her, hands on hips.
‘Well, explain yourself.’
Natalie’s mouth flaps open and shut then she stutters, ‘I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t.’
Frances had been the last to touch the rings, poring over them, examining them and then returning them to the jewellery box which she took upstairs for Nanna. Frances wouldn’t have stolen them, would she?
‘It would make things a lot easier if you simply told the truth!’
‘I am—’
‘Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare stand there and tell me bare-faced lies.’
She looks towards her mother, her cheeks tear-stained. Nanna rang the day before to say her precious rings had gone from the jewellery box. Natalie’s mother had gone around to put her mind at ease and found her dead on the carpet. A sudden heart attack the cause of death. Natalie’s mother believes it was brought on by the discovery she’d been robbed and now looks at Natalie through bloodshot eyes filled with sorrow and disgust.
‘I’m not lying.’
Fifteen-year-old Frances appears from behind her father’s back. Her eyes are red-rimmed through crying and Natalie is instantly suspicious of her crocodile tears. She never liked Nanna. ‘I’m sorry, Natalie. I shouldn’t have told them but… I had to now Nanna is dead.’ She begins sobbing again.
Natalie is puzzled at this behaviour. Then a bomb is dropped. Her father speaks. ‘We know all about you insisting on going around to visit Nanna and making Frances go with you. She didn’t want to tell us but she did the right thing.’
‘Tell you what?’
Frances speaks, her voice a squeak, and Natalie wants to shake her. This is all an act. ‘When we got there, you insisted on looking through Nanna’s jewellery box and even tried on the rings and said how pretty they were, and then you took the box back to Nanna’s room.’
‘I didn’t! You wanted to go around. I went with you. You tried on the rings. You returned the box.’ Natalie is fit to explode. What the hell is Frances doing?
Frances shakes her head then starts to cry. ‘I’m sorry, Daddy. I should have gone upstairs with her. I didn’t think for a minute she’d steal them and now Nanna is dead because of her.’
‘Frances is lying,’ says Natalie.
Her father turns his back on her and puts an arm around Frances.
‘It didn’t happen the way she said! She took the box upstairs. She tried on the rings!’ This time she yells loudly.
‘We found these rammed into one of your socks, Natalie. Don’t make this worse by trying to blame Frances.’ He lifts a pair of Nanna’s earrings from his pocket, the diamonds glittering in the light. ‘What did you do with the rings?’
‘I… I didn’t do anything with them. Frances—’
‘That’s enough! Get out of my sight.’ Her father’s words are like shards of glass that puncture her skin and embed in her heart.
‘What? Can’t I explain? Don’t I get a say or are you going to believe Frances?’ She looks to her mother again but she lowers her gaze. Frances has buried her face against her father’s shoulder and is sobbing. Natalie feels isolated. Frances has managed to manipulate everyone into thinking Natalie is behind the theft – but why?
The earrings had been planted by Frances, and the argument and fight that had ensued resulted in Natalie leaving home. To their dying day, her parents had believed she’d stolen from her grandmother. She stopped trying to persuade them otherwise, making a new life for herself without her family and without Frances, who she hadn’t spoken to since.
Sophia harboured a similar anger and resentment towards Katie, for different reasons, yet Natalie understood why she wouldn’t want to see her sister. She never wanted to see Frances again.
Lucy was also quiet, presumably trying to make sense of the investigation. No sooner had they left Buxton than she’d been on the phone to Murray, requesting a search for Katie, who might lead them to Tommy. Natalie mused that the man was elusive, ghost-like and proving impossible to trace. In a town with a population of almost 900,000, it was always going to be tricky to find one person who wished to stay off the radar.
Lucy glanced at Natalie and broke the silence. ‘What I don’t understand is why Katie got rid of her phone immediately and didn’t stay in contact with anyone, not even her closest friends.’
MisPers had quickly discovered Katie’s phone was no longer functioning. It appeared she’d ditched it or changed the SIM card. Natalie wasn’t as surprised about this as Lucy. She understood what drove families to break up.
‘Presumably, she wanted to start a new life,’ said Natalie.
‘It’s the only reason that makes any sense but it still seems odd. She hasn’t contacted any of her old friends since she ran away. Why would a girl like her, who was sporty and popular, a member of a roller derby team, drop everyone to go to a place she’d never visited before, and not even let anyone know she was okay? Do you think Tommy had anything to do with it?’
‘In what way?’
‘He stopped her from contacting them, took her phone or even persuaded her she didn’t need anyone.’
‘It’s certainly possible.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I hope we find her so I can ask her the question.’
Rod-like raindrops plummeted in f
ront of the headlights. It was five o’clock but dark as midnight. Lucy turned on the media device, and Lady Gaga began to sing about being in the shallow. ‘You okay with this?’
‘Definitely.’ She shut her eyes to block out the endless parade of dazzling lights from oncoming traffic that transformed the water on the windscreen into a kaleidoscope of patterns. Katie had run away with Tommy, but where did Amelia fit into the equation? The answer seemed obvious – Tommy. If so, did that mean Katie was also soliciting?
Lucy’s phone rang and PC Celeste Redshaw replaced Lady Gaga. ‘Murray asked me to check local CCTV footage to look for Katie. She’s been captured on a surveillance camera, located on Marston Street outside the back of Hardy’s store. Timestamp shows she passed the premises at 3.40 p.m., heading in the direction of the pedestrian square. She’s been caught on that same camera a few times this week, usually first thing in the morning, around 7.30 a.m.’
‘Heading in the same direction?’
‘Yes, always.’
‘Have you contacted Murray?’
‘Yes, he’s gone with Ian to explore the area. He asked me to keep you informed.’
‘Good work. We’ll be back in about thirty minutes. Anything on social media?’
‘No, the hashtag #FindTommy is no longer trending, and to be honest, there was nothing there to help us. Plenty of comments about Tommy Unold, Tommy Fury, Tommy Lee Jones – you get the picture.’
‘Keep an eye on it in case anything new appears.’
‘Will do.’
‘What about possible workplaces? Anyone hired a bloke called Tommy?’
‘No joy from local garages, garden centres or building sites.’
Lucy sighed. ‘Keep at it. Somebody must know him.’
Another song, an upbeat dance track from Dua Lipa. Lucy tapped the steering wheel in time to the music. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a quick bite to eat before we go back, do you? I’m starving, and according to the satnav there’s a Pizza Hut not far away.’
‘Sure, sounds good to me.’
Murray had walked the length of the one-way street, where the surveillance camera attached to the rear of Hardy’s store had captured Katie only two hours earlier. Pellets of rain hammered onto the pavements, and the enthusiasm that had propelled him all day was waning. It was all well and good wanting to claim the glory and be noticed, but he hadn’t eaten all day and his patience was wearing thin. None of the team had been able to get information about Katie, Tommy or Amelia, and it looked like he was going to have to coax it out of any local sex workers who might be around now or later tonight. Ian was fast approaching, his dark hair flat to his head, glistening like a sea lion’s skin.
‘Fuck all. Nobody recognises her.’
‘Same here. Okay, time to try Prince’s Park.’
‘It’s pissing with rain. There won’t be anybody in the park – well, nobody with any sense.’
‘Stop whinging. On the basis she was around here, we have to try.’
Ian wiped water from his face. ‘Flipping heck, you really are determined today.’
‘Every day, mate, every day. We can’t go back without at least giving it a shot.’
‘I guess not, but if she isn’t there, you owe me a rub down with a warm towel.’
‘Shit, for both our sakes we’d better hope she is.’
Prince’s Park, a large expanse of playing fields and pathways, was reached via a pedestrian square at the end of Marston Street. Ian and Murray exited the street and turned immediately right onto the square, dominated by a twenty-foot sculpture of black bronze circles, balanced on top of each other. It was busier here, with shoppers scurrying from Upper Way, the main road to the shopping centre that ran parallel to Marston Street. One or two were huddled under umbrellas next to the taxi rank to the left of the square. Nobody was making for the park, which offered little in the way of recreation facilities or play areas for children and in recent times had become increasingly popular with local hookers.
‘She won’t be there. Not in this weather.’
‘Will you stop being so fucking negative? We need to double-check,’ said Murray, striding towards the open gate. He knew it was hopeless but stubbornness made him persist in his search. He stood by the entrance and looked left and right. It was empty, as Ian had predicted. ‘You head that direction. I’ll go this way and meet you at the far end.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Deadly.’
‘It’s dark now and it’s raining.’
‘Well, thank you for the weather report. Look, if she’s on the game, she might be hanging around, waiting for a punter. It isn’t as dark in the park because the pathways are all lit.’
‘Who’d want a blow job or outdoor sex in weather like this?’
‘Just fucking look for her, okay?’ Murray strode off, muttering under his breath. He wasn’t going to go back to HQ having not searched everywhere they could for Katie.
Rain blew in under his hood and trickled the length of his neck. He hunched further into his coat and marched on, past empty benches and soggy grassy banks towards a stream that ran through the park. Bare branches creaked as he walked under aged cherry trees, resplendent in spring and summer when they were filled with coloured blossom, but dark and sinister at this time of the year. Ian was right. Nobody was about. He looked left and right. No one, then… a shout.
‘Help! Over here!’
A woman holding a red umbrella was calling out to him. He jogged in her direction. It wasn’t Katie but a woman in her early sixties in a knitted hat and parka whose face was grey in the dim light of the lamp above her. ‘I found her only minutes ago. Have you got a phone? We need to call the police.’
‘I am the police.’
‘Thank heavens. Here.’ She walked a few feet away and pointed. A figure was slumped over on a bench.
‘I went across to check if she was all right. She didn’t answer when I spoke to her and I shook her gently and discovered she was dead. I left my mobile at home and I didn’t know what to do. I was going to run to one of the shops and raise the alarm and then I saw you.’ She flapped her hands as she spoke, faster and faster.
Murray spoke calmly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Jennifer.’
‘Okay, Jennifer. This is what we’ll do. My colleague is in the park. I’ll contact him and he’ll look after you. Then I’ll take a look at her and call for assistance. Would you mind waiting here while I check to see if she’s alive?’
She nodded, the whites of her eyes illuminated and large. Using the communications unit, Murray spoke to Ian, instructing him to make his way over as quickly as he could. Jennifer remained immobile under her umbrella as the rain continued to fall around her, a living statue under the light of one of the orange lamps that lit the walkways. As he approached the person on the bench, he could clearly see it was a girl. Tendrils of soaked hair hung forwards like a thick dark curtain, and all he could make out were bare legs and arms hanging limply by her side. She wasn’t wearing a coat, only a long cardigan over a black-and-white shift dress and boots. He pressed fingers against her neck to search for a pulse but there was nothing. The rain splashed in the puddles gathered around the bench, and her hair shone like jet. Ian emerged from the gloom, pounding towards them.
‘Here’s my colleague now,’ Murray said to Jennifer, who was still glued to the spot.
He lifted the girl’s head gently. There was no question of her identity. This was Katie Bray.
Chapter Nine
Saturday, 2 November – Evening
Invisible, icy-cold fingers caressed Natalie’s neck. The rain had stopped only to be replaced by a freezing wind that penetrated the makeshift tent surrounding the bench on which Katie had been found. Pinkney pointed out the needle marks to Lucy, two obvious pinpricks on the girl’s left inner forearm. ‘This is a bit of a puzzle because the manner of the bruising around her neck and throat suggests she was attacked and strangled from behind, however t
here isn’t much, if any, evidence of petechial haemorrhaging, which is almost always present when a victim has been strangled, and there are these needle marks. There are only these two and they’re recent. I’m not yet able to give you a definitive answer as to cause of death.’
There was no evidence nearby to suggest the girl had injected herself while sitting on the bench, and the markings around her throat seemed to indicate she had been attacked and throttled. Lucy scratched her head. ‘This is going to sound weird but could she have already been dead when she was strangled?’
Pinkney chewed at his bottom lip for a few seconds then gave a hesitant, ‘I don’t want to speculate. You need answers, not guesswork. Leave her with me. The fact remains somebody strangled her; whether that was the actual cause of death is not certain yet. Now, I’d better make arrangements to have her transported back to the lab.’
Natalie lifted the tent flap and wandered across the boggy grass, trying to make sense of what Pinkney had told them. Although both Amelia and Katie had been strangled, there were no bruises, cuts, scratches or marks to indicate this teenager had fought for her life. Had Katie already been unconscious, rendered supine by drugs, before she was throttled? It seemed the only logical explanation as to why there were no signs of a struggle.
The pathologist’s other revelation had saddened her deeply. He’d discovered blood on Katie’s underwear and established the poor girl had been brutally sodomised. This knowledge had deposited a leaden weight in Natalie’s stomach. The pale-faced victim was little more than a child, and once again, her mind flitted back to the dreadful day she’d discovered Leigh and Zoe. Her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palms as she halted beside an oak tree. The wind swirled around her and shook the few remaining brittle leaves from branches, scattering them angrily onto the ground. She had to face facts: this was always going to be the case. Every time she was called to a crime scene involving a young woman or child, it would be her own daughter she thought of first. She squared her shoulders. This wasn’t about her. The killer who’d murdered Amelia and Katie had to be found.