Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  ‘Was there any identification on her body?’

  ‘Nothing. If she had a bag or phone, both have disappeared.’

  ‘Find out if anyone has reported her missing. She looks dressed for a night out. Maybe somebody is waiting for her to come home.’ She spotted the lion’s head ring and an Omega watch, suggesting theft wasn’t the primary reason for the attack. ‘I wonder what she is guilty of?’

  Murray had arrived while they’d been talking and joined them, eyes heavy through lack of sleep. He ran a hand over his unshaven chin. ‘Same killer?’

  ‘Too soon to tell. Her clothing and jewellery don’t suggest she’s a sex worker and there’s the message on her forehead,’ answered Lucy.

  ‘For the record, Tommy didn’t come home last night. I spoke to Andy earlier. There’s been no sign of the fucker, so we need to find him, pronto. Who’ve we got here?’

  ‘Nothing to identify her.’

  He glanced at the woman and blinked twice, moving closer and bending over the body. ‘Oh, shit! I recognise her. I interviewed her on Friday about the sales rep who found Amelia’s body. She’s the senior sales manager at Hardy’s. Name’s Rachel… Rachel Hardy. She’s one of the Hardy family who owns the store.’

  ‘You sure?’ said Lucy.

  ‘Positive.’

  Natalie said, ‘There’s no wedding ring. Start with her parents. Find out what she was doing here.’

  A white forensic van arrived, and a slight woman in her early fifties disembarked and approached the doorway. Natalie recognised her. Julia Davidson had worked several cases alongside her and Mike. ‘Morning. Where do you want us to start?’

  Lucy replied, ‘Morning, Julia. I think sweep the entire area for signs of a struggle. We’re not sure if the deceased was attacked here or elsewhere and then deposited in this doorway.’

  ‘Sure.’ She issued instructions to the officers, who began their work, then turned back to Lucy.

  ‘Can you confirm that’s ink on the forehead?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Let me take a closer look.’ Julia knelt, opened a metal forensic case, took out a cotton bud from a container and dabbed it gently against the woman’s forehead, removing a microscopic amount of pigment and placing it into a tube. Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s definitely ink. Might have come from a ballpoint pen. See that, there.’ She pointed at the base of the letter G. ‘It’s blobbed and is thicker there where the pen has spurted more ink than is necessary. You see it a lot with cheap biros.’ Julia placed the tube into a holder in her case and got to her feet. ‘I’ll let you know in due course.’

  Lucy addressed Murray and Natalie. ‘We’ve no time to waste. We need to establish a connection between Rachel, our other two victims and Tommy Field. I’ll wait for Pinkney. Murray, get everything you can on this woman and canvass this street.’

  ‘It’s mostly office blocks, Lucy. Nobody will have been at work last night.’

  ‘There are a few bars and restaurants further along the street. She’s dressed for a night out and might have come from or been going to one of them. Failing that, try the main street. You can reach it via an alleyway to the side of Hardy’s store.’

  ‘Are there no CCTV cameras on this street at all?’ Natalie looked left and right.

  Murray shook his head. ‘Only the security camera outside Hardy’s. I suppose it would be too much to hope it captured anything.’

  ‘Ask the techies to check the footage for last night and make sure somebody keeps an eye on Tommy’s flat at all times.’

  With Pinkney’s camper van in sight, Natalie withdrew from the crime scene, leaving the team to it. She was needed at Holborn House. The investigation had taken a turn and would soon garner even more media attention, and she’d need to deflect some serious questions. There was no way she was going to let the team come under fire. This was her role now and she had to prepare herself.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday, 3 November – Mid-Morning

  Lucy was back from Marston Street. Natalie didn’t join the others, who’d formed a semicircle of chairs, but stood back against the shut door, arms folded, while Murray dished out information on the newest victim.

  ‘The deceased is twenty-three-year-old Rachel Hardy, only child of Eugene Hardy, owner of Hardy’s department store, where she was senior sales manager. She was single, had a first-class business degree from Manchester and lived at the family home, Springbanks, in Depton, with her divorced father.’ Depton was a hamlet consisting of a few desirable properties, five miles from the town centre. Murray indicated he’d finished talking.

  Lucy glanced across at Ian, who began speaking. ‘Rachel owned a brand-new model Audi TT fitted with a tracker. It didn’t leave her driveway yesterday at all.’

  ‘But she must have gone to work. The store was open yesterday. It’s always busier at the shops on Saturdays,’ said Poppy.

  Lucy was less certain. ‘She might have taken a day off.’

  ‘She could have got a lift to work with somebody,’ said Ian.

  Andy muttered, ‘Or caught a taxi.’

  ‘All possible. Find out whether or not she was at the store yesterday and how she got there. Ian, did you get anywhere with her mobile provider?’

  ‘Still waiting for a trace on her phone.’

  Lucy grimaced. ‘Get them to speed things up. Has anyone checked her social media accounts?’

  ‘I did and there’s no unusual activity or clues as to where she went last night,’ said Ian.

  Andy let out a small harrumph. ‘I thought everyone her age posted every single detail of their lives on social media these days. My daughters definitely do.’

  ‘Not Rachel. She only used Facebook now and again. She used Instagram too and WhatsApp, but that’s notoriously difficult to break into.’

  Lucy drew the focus back to the body. ‘The message on her forehead is a new development and we ought to question its significance. It was written carefully, not scrawled, in capital letters of equal height and size, possibly using a ballpoint pen. Why did the killer leave the message? Was it intended to point out Rachel was guilty of something, or is the killer sending it to somebody else – to us?’

  Poppy piped up with, ‘This is the first time they’ve left a message.’ Andy rolled his eyes.

  Lucy continued. ‘It is, which might imply the killer’s methods are evolving. Not only do we have this one-word message but bruising around Rachel’s neck was more extensive than on our other two victims. And then there’s the speed at which our killer is working – it is frighteningly fast. Our only suspect is the elusive Tommy Field. Not only do I want you to find connections between these three women and this man, I want you to find him. Tommy told Katie’s sister, Sophia, his parents live in Dorset. Did you ask around all garages, building sites and garden centres in the area, in case he’s worked there?’

  ‘Not all of them, guv,’ said Ian. ‘Now we’ve got a surname, we’ll be in a better position to ask.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll leave that with you. Did you try the restaurants and bars along Marston Street to find out if Rachel was at any of them last night?’

  Ian answered again. ‘Most places were shut. We’ve contacted some of the owners but no one remembers seeing her.’

  ‘They should be opening soon for Sunday lunch. Try again.’

  With that, she dismissed everyone and signalled for Natalie to join her in her office. ‘I’m going to notify Eugene of his daughter’s death. This is beginning to spin out of control. Rachel’s murder is going to be high-profile. Hardy’s department store is part of Samford’s history. Eugene is well connected. He runs an annual charity auction to raise money for Samford Hospital and is friends with a lot of important people in this town. I’ll admit, I’m beginning to get worried about this.’

  ‘We have to contain it. I’ll accompany you, see what we can learn from Eugene and try to keep a lid on things as much as we can.’

  ‘Can we get this over with? I want to get back here as soon as possible.
I’ve got to find Tommy.’

  ‘Lucy, can I give you some advice?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t get blinkered. Once you focus on one person, you lose sight of the bigger picture.’

  ‘What’s the bigger picture here?’

  ‘I don’t know but the killer’s MO is changing and I’m beginning to wonder if the first two girls weren’t simply collateral damage and the real victim here is Rachel. You need to look into her background.’

  Lucy rubbed her lips together. ‘Crap! You’re right. I’m not thinking straight. Natalie… am I really up to this?’

  ‘Of course you are. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

  Lucy loosened her shoulders, like a boxer before a fight. ‘It’s a lot harder than I expected. I don’t know how you managed it.’

  ‘I didn’t. In my early days, I fucked up a few times. You soon learn how to handle the consequences of your mistakes.’ She paused, suddenly overwhelmed by thoughts of the Blossom Twins investigation, the outcome of which she would never get over.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sunday, 3 November – Late Morning

  Eugene Hardy shook his head repeatedly. At first, he’d been speechless, then he’d refused to believe his daughter had been murdered and now he sat, muttering to himself, moving his hands across his bearded face, the dark whiskers rasping under his fingers.

  ‘I understand this is a difficult time for you, sir, but if you’ve any idea where Rachel might have been last night, or who she might have been with, it would help us,’ said Lucy.

  Natalie, standing next to an Edwardian cast-iron fireplace, kept her eye on the powerful bull mastiff sat at its master’s feet. Eugene had assured them it wasn’t aggressive but it had been observing both her and Lucy warily since their arrival.

  Springbanks, a country mansion full of oak-stripped floors, deep skirtings and ornate cornices, looked like something out of Country Life magazine. Natalie found it hard to imagine only two people lived in such a gigantic place with numerous bedrooms, acres of formal gardens and a staircase better suited to a luxury cruise liner than a house. Eugene, elegant and poised, his hair and beard immaculate, suited the house; a country gent in tailored trousers and a thick sweater over a checked shirt and a large-faced watch, bearing the Rolex crown.

  He finally removed his hands from his face, his eyes damp with tears. ‘I’ve no idea where she went last night, or any night for that matter. Although we worked together and got along well, she didn’t discuss her personal life.’

  ‘Would you say you were close?’ said Lucy.

  He sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she worked at Hardy’s department store?’

  ‘The store has always been a family-run business, ever since it was founded by my grandfather, and it was always both our intention that Rachel would run it one day. She started work there as a Saturday girl and gradually made her way through all the menial jobs, like stocking shelves and cleaning, to sales assistant. She worked there during university holidays, and a few months ago, I awarded her the position of senior sales manager. The store needed direction and she had some excellent ideas to take it forward, improve it, keep it competitive. She was full of enthusiasm… and energy… and… I… was so… proud.’ He came to a stuttering halt. The dog shifted position, eyes still on Natalie.

  ‘Do you have any contact details for your ex-wife? We need to let her know about Rachel.’

  His face changed and his lips pulled back to reveal white teeth. ‘After we divorced, in 2010, she returned to her birthplace, Argentina. I’ve not heard from her or spoken to her since.’

  ‘What about Rachel? Did she stay in touch with her mother?’

  ‘Carolina was her stepmother. Her real mother died when Rachel was three. I doubt Rachel would have stayed in touch. She didn’t much care for Carolina or Carolina for her. She was never cut out for motherhood.’

  ‘Did Rachel go to work yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she didn’t take her own car. Why not?’

  ‘She left it behind and came in with me. She often does when she plans on staying at the store all day and doesn’t have to go off anywhere.’

  ‘And you came home together?’

  ‘That’s right. We left at about quarter to six, after the store closed.’

  ‘And then she went out again?’

  ‘She dashed home for a shower and to get changed. She took a taxi. Left sometime around seven. I was in my den, going through some paperwork at the time. She shouted goodbye.’ He looked into the distance, searching for the memory.

  ‘We’re trying to work out your daughter’s movements for last night. Is there anybody you can think of who might know? One of her friends maybe?’

  ‘I know nothing about any of her friends.’

  ‘You don’t know who she was friends with? She never mentioned anyone to you?’

  He pushed his palms against his knees as if to rise from the settee and lifted his chin. ‘I’ve explained we didn’t have that sort of relationship. Her private life was her own concern. She was a grown woman.’ He got to his feet. The dog scrabbled on the floor to stand beside him. ‘I don’t see where this is getting us. If you want to find the person who killed my daughter, you need to be out there, on the streets, hunting for the lowlife, not asking banal questions about my relationship with her.’

  ‘I can assure you we are, sir.’

  He drew himself up, head and shoulders taller than Lucy. ‘Then I suggest this interview is over and you join your officers.’

  Lucy persisted. ‘I have to ask you this because it’s procedure but could you tell me your whereabouts for last evening?’

  ‘You’re surely not suggesting I murdered my own daughter!’

  ‘No, sir. We will ask everyone who knew her the same question, including members of staff at work.’

  ‘I went to a charity function at the town hall and didn’t get back home until late.’

  ‘I’m sure there are plenty of people who can verify you were there.’

  ‘There are, including the mayor, whose table I sat at.’

  ‘Did she have any run-ins with any of the staff that you are aware of?’

  ‘None. She was highly respected.’

  ‘Did Rachel ever mention a man called Tommy Field?’

  ‘No. I’d have remembered his name if she had. Why are you asking me about him?’ His eyes narrowed to slits and his neck craned forwards as something dawned on him. He lifted a finger at Lucy. ‘Wait a minute, you’re in charge of the investigation into the murder of a prostitute at West Gate car park.’

  ‘Amelia Saunders. We are looking into her death and that of another teenager, Katie Bray, who was found dead in the park yesterday. If you don’t mind, I’d like to show you a photograph of the second victim.’

  He agreed and Lucy passed across a photo of Katie. ‘She was sixteen.’

  He studied it and handed it back with a slow shake of the head. ‘Never seen her before.’

  ‘We believe she used to solicit close to the rear entrance to your store.’

  ‘Really? I rarely use Marston Street.’

  ‘The thing is, it’s also where we found Rachel’s body.’

  His hand went to his beard and he stroked the length of it. His tone changed, instantly icy. ‘What are you suggesting? My daughter was killed because the nutcase who murdered her thought she was soliciting at the time?’

  ‘Not at all. We’re trying to establish if there is any connection between the victims and your daughter, if she knew them, or if they had a common acquaintance.’

  ‘Common acquaintance?’ he spat. ‘Knew them? They were little sluts. Rachel was nothing like them. You’re talking about chalk and cheese here. There is no connection, and how dare you infer there might be?’

  ‘That wasn’t my intention. I am trying to find out who killed your daughter.’

  ‘Then stop asking pointless questions!’

  Natalie stepped in w
ith a quiet, ‘Mr Hardy, it’s understandable you’re upset. You’ve had some terrible news, but we’re going to do everything possible to bring your daughter’s killer to justice. We’re merely trying to establish if the person who attacked those girls also murdered your daughter.’

  ‘I do not want my daughter’s name slandered or her reputation besmirched in any way. Have I made myself crystal clear? Rachel was a far cry from those tarts. She was hard-working and intelligent. She had a bright future. She didn’t debase herself—’

  ‘Nobody is going to slander Rachel,’ said Natalie. The authority in her voice calmed him.

  ‘Make sure nobody does, DCI Ward. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need time alone.’ He wafted his hands at them, shooing them out. The solid animal by his feet lurched forwards in Lucy’s direction but she didn’t move from the spot and it returned to its master.

  ‘Would you mind if we looked in Rachel’s bedroom?’

  He seemed to shrink at the request. ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘We might find a clue as to where she went.’

  He nodded, slowly. ‘Okay. Turn left at the first landing. She used the bedroom and sitting room there. I don’t want anything moved around or taken.’

  ‘I understand.’

  He nodded, unable to speak further, and placed a hand on the dog’s head to caress it.

  Natalie and Lucy took the stairs and halted on the thick carpet at the top of the landing. The doors to the rooms were ajar. Lucy headed for the first while Natalie took the second, and found herself in a contemporary white room with French windows leading onto a balcony, beside which stood two terracotta pots containing ornamental trees from which hung heavy yellow blooms. The centrepiece was a seven-seater settee on a yellow, oval rug and a glass table, stacked with luxury lifestyle magazines, a far more expensive collection than Natalie had found in Tommy’s flat. Abstract art paintings graced the walls, scribbles and scrawls in oranges and fiery reds. Marble statues of winged creatures were displayed on shelves among other bric-a-brac, none of which gave a clear impression of the woman who owned them. She was only twenty-three yet this room seemed too serious, too adult, as if Rachel were only living here temporarily and had left the real owner’s adornments in place. Natalie searched for an electronic device, television or music system and found none. The high-end Wi-Fi speaker system was undoubtedly linked to Rachel’s phone as there was no evidence of any other devices in this room, or any other entertainment, not even books. What would Rachel have done in here apart from read magazines?