Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  ‘This killing is slightly different.’ Lucy’s voice caused her to turn around. Her head was lowered, face almost hidden by her long fringe. ‘They strangled Amelia face-on and Katie from behind.’

  ‘And there’s a possibility she might have already been dead beforehand.’

  ‘Yeah, which makes no sense at all. Why kill somebody who’s already lifeless? Unless they were so enraged they still felt they had to throttle her.’

  Natalie stared at the blades of grass, flattened by Lucy’s boots. ‘I suppose there’s a vague chance the murderer wasn’t aware she was dead.’

  Lucy groaned quietly. ‘Which is plain crazy. We’ll have to wait for the pathology report to find out for certain. Both victims were definitely attacked and strangled, and we can’t ignore they had more than Tommy in common – they might have both been soliciting.’

  Something inside Natalie wanted to rush to Katie’s defence. ‘We’re not clear she was.’

  ‘It’s more than likely though, isn’t it? This place is as well-known as West Gate car park for hookers. We can’t discount the possibility Katie was soliciting, and Pinkney will be able to establish if she’s had sex with more than one person.’

  ‘She might have been raped.’ Natalie wasn’t going to jump to conclusions even though she accepted Lucy’s thought process.

  ‘Possible, I suppose.’ The look Lucy gave her said otherwise. ‘Maybe Tommy killed them both.’

  Although Natalie was sure Tommy was involved with both girls, it was a conundrum as to why he’d murder them, especially if they were both working on the street for him. She voiced her opinion then added, ‘Stick to finding Tommy first and then we’ll take it from there. In the meantime, if anything else comes to light, we’ll look into it. For now, it’s good policing that matters. I take it you’re still checking CCTV in the vicinity.’

  ‘Techies are on the case.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘This is shit! We left her dad a couple of hours ago, hopeful we’d find her, and now I have to tell him she’s dead.’

  ‘Would you prefer me to do it?’

  ‘Thanks, but as DI on this investigation, I feel it’s my duty to inform them. If only we could have located her sooner.’ Lucy squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at them with one hand. Natalie comprehended the frustration and upset. They’d gone from hunting for somebody who might lead them to Tommy to finding another victim, and there was another concern, which Lucy raised. ‘I’m worried we might be looking for a serial killer, one who is targeting sex workers.’

  ‘There’s a chance we are, but given both victims are known to Tommy, we have to start with him.’

  ‘And first, we have to find him.’ She groaned again. ‘Superintendent Tasker is going to be right on my back.’

  ‘Don’t think about him. This is your investigation not his.’

  Lucy caught sight of something behind Natalie. ‘Oh, crap! How the fuck did she get in?’

  Bev Gardner was making a beeline for them.

  ‘Leave her to me,’ said Natalie, who stamped off towards Bev, one hand raised. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is a crime scene and we don’t want it contaminated. You ought not to be here.’

  The reporter halted with a polite smile. ‘I’ve only got a couple of questions for you. Is it true another girl has been found strangled?’

  ‘I asked you to leave.’

  ‘Are you looking for one and the same killer?’

  Natalie drew herself to her fullest height, a few inches taller than Bev, and repeated, ‘I asked you to leave. Would you like me to find an officer to escort you back to your car?’

  The journalist glanced briefly at Lucy, who was glowering in her direction. ‘I see DI Carmichael is in charge of this investigation and I spotted some members of her team by the park entrance. Thank you, DCI Ward. I think everything’s been answered, for the moment.’ She turned and made her way back to the path.

  Natalie returned to Lucy. ‘Expect to see your name in the headlines tomorrow.’

  ‘Flipping wonderful. She’s something else, isn’t she? I really wish she’d piss off to London or somewhere else far away and let us get on with our jobs instead of muckraking all the time.’

  ‘I’ll get the media team back at HQ to talk to the press. I don’t want too many details released yet, certainly not until we’ve informed Katie’s parents of her death and preferably not until we’ve got hold of Tommy.’

  Lucy shook her head and sighed. ‘I’d better head back to Buxton.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, really. I’ll take Ian. He can drive, but first I should let Pinkney know I’m off and ask if he can rush Katie through for us. See you later.’ She thrust her hands deep into her trouser pockets and plodded back to the tent.

  On her return to Holborn House, Natalie first rang the media team to explain what had happened and request they give out only the minimum information, then Mike to see how he was getting on. Judging by the squealing in the background, he had his work cut out.

  ‘We’re playing Super Mario 3D World. We only bought it this afternoon and she’s already thrashing me at it.’

  Mike really was a great dad.

  ‘Not missing me, then?’ she said.

  ‘Hell, yes. I could do with you here to cheer me on. It’s no fun being beaten by a seven-year-old. Say hello to Natalie,’ she heard.

  ‘Hi, Natalie.’ The voice was cheerful and bright and lifted Natalie’s spirits.

  ‘Here, she wants a quick word,’ said Mike.

  Thea sounded bubbly, her words tripping off her tongue rapid-fire. ‘Thank you for Olaf. He’s so cool.’

  Natalie grinned. The talking Olaf was a success after all.

  ‘Why are pirates called pirates?’ the child suddenly asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Natalie replied, aware this was one of the jokes spoken by the toy snowman.

  ‘Because they aarrrr!’ Thea dissolved into happy giggles and Mike came back on the line.

  ‘She’s gone through all his repertoire – jokes, sayings, everything – all fifty of them, and that one’s her favourite.’

  ‘The old ones are the best.’ She heard the smile in his voice when he next spoke.

  ‘True… You included me in that sentence, right?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, this old guy and his sidekick are going to thrash you at Super Mario 3D World when you get home, aren’t we, Thea?’

  ‘Yay!’

  ‘I’ll try to get back before she goes to bed, then.’

  ‘We’ll be here. Oh, by the way, Josh was here earlier and played with Thea for a while, but he’s gone to Pippa’s again. He said he’ll be back around ten, which is okay, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’

  ‘Right, see you later.’

  She rang off, feeling much better about life. It was ironic it had taken a crazy, plastic snowman for Thea to thaw. A tapping interrupted her deliberations. An officer from upstairs peered around the open door.

  ‘Lucy asked me to report anything important to you while she was out. I’ve been checking the surveillance footage from Hardy’s camera. It overlooks their unloading bay at the rear of the building on Marston Street, and as you know, it picked up Katie on several occasions, heading towards the square. I’ve checked through all the times she is captured, and every single time, a white van passes by anything between one and two minutes before Katie appears. I ran the van’s number plate through the system and it’s come back as registered to Tommy Field. His last known address is 114 The Towers.’ The Towers was one of two high-rise tower blocks on the edge of Samford.

  ‘Excellent work. Who else do we have in the office?’

  ‘Poppy and Andy are in.’

  ‘What about Murray?’

  ‘He went back out on the streets, hoping to get information from local sex workers.’

  Natalie sprang to her feet. The more officers there were present, the less op
portunity there’d be for Tommy to flee. She strode the few paces to the office. Andy was leaning against his desk, coat on, tapping the squad car key against his desk.

  ‘Andy, Poppy, I need you to head over to 114 The Towers to help bring in Tommy Field. Silent approach. No blue lights. I don’t want to alert him to our presence. I’ll follow you and try and raise Murray to join us. We’ll use the comms. Let me know when you’re in position and wait for further instructions. I don’t want this man slipping away.’

  Poppy was out of her seat before Natalie had finished speaking, reaching for her jacket and scurrying after Andy. Natalie followed them outside and sprinted to her own car, parked at the far end of the car park. As she drove, she rang Murray and then Lucy, who was a half-hour away from Buxton, to update her on their progress.

  The sky had cleared, leaving pinpricks of stars blinking in the dark night sky, but below the heavens, the streets and their shops were empty, people now at home for the evening. The centre of Samford took on a different persona on a wet, wintry night. Devoid of the hustle and bustle of everyday activities, there was something unappealing about such places at night, abandoned yet with windows still alight and filled with mannequins, dressed in party or winter garments, or playing out family gatherings in mock set-ups of snowy scenes that never seemed to come to fruition in real life. Natalie didn’t like the dummies; they reminded her too much of corpses.

  She halted by traffic lights and out of the corner of her eye caught movements, figures shifting in darkened doorways, worldly possessions bundled in large piles beside them, and she wondered if Rob Yeomans might be among them, or whether he was with the many who slept under Samford Bridge.

  The lights changed to green and she left the shops behind, travelling past rows of terraced housing where discarded takeaway boxes and wrappers, whipped up by the gusts of wind, raced against her car and tumbled, like over-exuberant acrobats, the length of the street. The flats were within sight, rising from the rooftops in front of her, and Andy’s growl came through her communications earpiece.

  ‘His van is here, guv.’

  ‘Good. Keep an eye on it in case he tries to leave.’

  She turned into the estate, mindful of the gang of teenagers who had braved the weather and were gathered outside a community hall, smoking or talking to others on mopeds and motorbikes, helmets covering their faces. Light spilled from the entrance and another group of lads emerged, hands in jean pockets and heads lowered against the wind. They didn’t appear interested in her, choosing instead to high-five their friends as she drove past, deeper into the labyrinth of the estate until she arrived at The Towers and parked at the side of the road. Headlights lit the interior of her car, dimming quickly as Murray parked behind her. She spotted the unmarked BMW now stationed beside the pavement opposite, behind a white van, Tommy’s, and speaking into her microphone, she issued instructions.

  ‘Andy, you and Poppy cover the back entrance in case he makes a run for it. Once you’re in position, Murray and I will take the front.’

  She observed as the pair left their vehicle and casually sauntered along the path, as if they were two friends or a couple out for the evening, until they disappeared from view. Then she also stepped outside, immediately assaulted by the wind that slapped her face and stung her eyes.

  Murray was beside her in an instant. ‘I think flat 114 is on the top floor,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll take the stairs. I don’t trust lifts.’ She made after Andy and Poppy, towards the second of the grey concrete buildings, both ten storeys high, with a total of 120 homes. Constructed in the early 1960s, they’d exceeded their original design life. As a consequence, they were due for demolition in 2022, once current residents had been rehoused.

  Murray pushed open the door and led the way. The place smelt, looked and felt dated and uncared for: walls that hadn’t seen fresh paint in years and a dingy hallway that reeked of stale urine; a row of metal letter boxes that had been targeted by vandals, who’d succeeded in removing the fronts from many of them and scratched obscenities on those they’d not yanked off. A few still had names stuck to them but there were none marked Tommy Field or 114. Murray stopped at a space containing a pile of junk mail and leafed through it. ‘I think this might be Tommy’s letterbox. The one next to it is numbered 116.’

  ‘Nothing there?’

  ‘Only crap.’ He made for the stairs and climbed them ahead of Natalie. Running footsteps became louder as somebody bounded towards them. Murray halted, ready to pounce, then moved aside to allow a man in his forties to descend. The man didn’t acknowledge Murray or give either of them a second glance. They climbed higher.

  Most of the blocks Natalie had visited seemed to harbour the same noises: indistinguishable shouts and calls, doors slamming, music blasting momentarily and babies crying. This one, however, was quiet, almost as if the residents had either gone out for the night or were already asleep. She continued up the stairwell, glad it was well-lit and empty, following Murray’s broad back until they emerged on the top floor and stood on the landing. Doors to the left and right ran along a lengthy corridor, lit by strip lighting that fizzed and flickered above them.

  ‘Number 100,’ said Murray, dropping his voice and moving forwards, past several doors until they reached 114, where he cocked an ear to listen for noise. Hearing nothing inside, he banged on the door, which emitted a soft creak as it opened.

  ‘Tommy Field?’

  No answer.

  ‘Tommy, this is the police.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Tommy, your door is open and we’re coming in to make sure you are unharmed,’ he called.

  Natalie nodded and they entered. The curtains had been left wide open and Natalie, who’d already donned plastic gloves, felt for a light switch. A hazy glow spilled over the room, small and simple in design with white shelves against an orange wall. A scruffy brown two-seater settee was angled against the wall, three orange cushions crushed into one corner, all bearing indentations of the occupant who’d been resting against them to watch the television, standing on a unit. A takeaway box containing half-eaten fried chicken had been discarded on a dark green rug, along with three empty beer cans. Natalie lifted a fourth can from a wooden table and shook it gently. It swished. Tommy, or whoever had been here, hadn’t finished this one.

  ‘Tommy?’ Murray left the room to search the flat for the occupant, leaving Natalie alone. She lifted a chipped saucer filled with cigarette ends, the stale aroma of nicotine reminding her why she’d given up smoking. A month-old copy of Cosmopolitan had been left on the shelves along with several copies of Heat and OK! magazines stretching back as far as August. The remaining shelves contained only video games and DVDs. She looked through them – Pretty Woman, The Devil Wears Prada, Mean Girls and A Cinderella Story among action movies and horror films. A woman or teenager lived or had lived here too. She held a hand over the television set. It was cold. Nobody had been watching it prior to their arrival.

  Murray was back. ‘There’s no sign of him. There are some women’s clothes in the bedroom and make-up, tampons and women’s deodorant in the bathroom, and two toothbrushes.’

  ‘Could they be Katie’s?’

  ‘If they are, he hasn’t got around to disposing of them. I don’t think he’s done a runner. Looks like he’s popped out for a while.’

  ‘What about the kitchen?’

  ‘There’s milk well in date in the fridge, and beer. Not much to eat in the cupboards, only cereal.’

  ‘He might come back then, although he has left half a can of undrunk beer and some food.’

  ‘Maybe somebody rang him or called around and he went off to meet them.’

  Natalie nodded a response.

  ‘There’s nothing to suggest he was dragged out of here against his will.’

  ‘What about a wallet?’

  ‘Didn’t spot one lying about in the bedroom or kitchen. No phone either.’

  It appeared Tommy had gone out a
fter all. ‘I wonder why the front door wasn’t latched properly or locked.’

  ‘He might have had too much to drink and left it open by accident.’

  ‘Three cans of beer isn’t a great deal of alcohol, not enough to make you forget to shut and lock your own front door.’

  ‘There are two empty bottles of vodka on the kitchen top. Might have consumed more than just the beer. His van’s parked outside. He probably didn’t want to run the risk of driving it while under the influence.’

  ‘Two bottles of vodka? Okay. It’s possible he got so pissed he forgot to shut the door firmly. We’ll leave Andy and Poppy on watch.’ She opened one of the cupboard doors under the television unit and stopped in her tracks, eyes falling on the spoon, plastic disposable lighter, bottle of citric acid and packet of alcohol swabs in a row.

  Murray made comment first. ‘Looks like somebody enjoys recreational drugs, especially smack. He’s lined up all the tools.’

  It certainly appeared that way. Alcohol swabs were often used to sterilise the skin, and the spoon would be heated to liquefy the heroin, ready for injection.

  ‘Pinkney was sure there was evidence of drug-taking in Amelia’s stomach contents and Katy had needle marks in her arm. I’d like to know if there are any drugs stashed here. We can’t do an official thorough search without a warrant though. We’ll just have a quick look and check the bins for syringes,’ she said.

  Murray disappeared again and Natalie headed for the kitchen, where she gingerly rummaged through a filthy, grey pedal bin filled with leftover fast food: uneaten chicken nuggets and a burger. She slipped both takeaway boxes into plastic evidence bags she kept in her coat pockets and continued her search, her eyes finally lighting on what she’d hoped to find. ‘Got one!’ She reached for another bag and slipped the syringe inside it.