Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  The office was empty apart from Ian and Lucy, in discussion about who had leaked information to the press.

  ‘Andy’s full of bluster, argumentative and quick to criticise. I wouldn’t put it past him to stir up mischief.’

  Lucy rested against the desk, arms outstretched. ‘I know what you’re saying but he usually speaks his mind and is keen to get results. He gets under people’s skin but he doesn’t care about that and would rather voice his concerns than sneak behind our backs, especially to a journalist. I can’t imagine he’d entertain any of them.’

  Natalie joined in. ‘Are you going to ask him outright?’

  Lucy pushed away from the desk and rolled her shoulders before responding, wincing as she did. ‘If I challenge him and he isn’t responsible, it’ll only upset relations. I’ll have to hope my pep talk struck a chord and whoever it was won’t do it again. We’re still a new crew, learning to trust each other; besides, our focus needs to be on the investigation rather than trying to work out who’s been feeding Bev information.’

  Ian gave a small bow. ‘You’re the boss and if you want to play it that way, I’m happy to follow suit.’

  Spotting a list of names on his monitor, Natalie asked, ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘Trying to find out who actually owns Tommy’s and Amelia’s flats.’

  Lucy explained, ‘Amelia’s neighbour gets support for her rent and got her flat through a lettings agency. It crossed my mind it was unlikely Amelia paid the rent for hers and I thought it was quite a coincidence both hers and Tommy’s were in The Towers. I was hoping Tommy rented Amelia’s along with the one he shared with Katie. We tried the agency but they didn’t let out either flat 52 or 114, so we’re trying to establish who did.’

  ‘To interview the landlord or owner about Tommy?’

  ‘Yes. They might even know where he’s holed up.’

  ‘It’s worth looking into. Anything I can do?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘Yes, would you mind reading through the pathology reports for Amelia and Katie? They came through ten minutes ago and I haven’t had a chance to look at them.’

  ‘Sure.’ Natalie made for the desk nearest the door and logged onto the department email. Both reports were in the inbox and she began with Amelia’s. It was as they had expected, with sufficient evidence to prove she’d died from asphyxiation. Natalie became lost in the minutiae of the report, ensuring she’d fully understood it before moving on to Katie’s, expecting it to be similar. She paused after the first couple of paragraphs – this wasn’t what she’d expected.

  Murray rang Celeste. ‘Nancy came good. She’s given us a lead: Valentine. You have any idea who he is?’

  ‘I’ve not come across the name. Want me to talk to my ex-colleagues in vice?’

  ‘Please, and see if you can find out anything about Constantine. He owns a café on Fallow Avenue, near Samford Bridge. I’m going there now.’

  ‘If you like, I’ll meet you there. I’ve resolved the childcare crisis. Granny has stepped in. I can be there in about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Great. See you then. I’ll wait outside until you arrive.’

  Murray retraced his steps back to his vehicle, parked in a space along the main street, avoiding once more the people who were bustling along the pavement. A trio of schoolgirls not much younger than Katie jostled past him, backpacks bouncing on their shoulders, one sucking at a milkshake through a straw, the other two arm in arm, laughing at something on their mobiles, and it struck him how different Katie’s life had been to theirs.

  Natalie placed her interlaced fingers behind her head and stretched, releasing the sudden tension that had accumulated in her neck muscles. This changed things dramatically. Lucy was still trying to establish who owned the flats in The Towers, face serious as she scrolled through endless lists.

  ‘Lucy, the reports have thrown up something important.’

  She swivelled her chair 180 degrees to face Natalie. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Katie was already dead when she was attacked.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The report reveals that although the hyoid bone was broken and there was bruising around her neck, consistent with manual strangulation, the main difference was lack of petechial haemorrhaging, which requires a blood-oxygen supply to be evident. Pinkney has concluded cause of death was through asphyxia, more likely due to a heroin overdose rather than smothering or strangulation. He’s requested an urgent toxicology report to confirm his findings.’

  ‘What sick fuck are we dealing with?’ Ian asked.

  Natalie gave a small shrug. ‘Maybe they didn’t realise she was already dead and thought she was unconscious.’

  Lucy rubbed her fingers back and forth over her forehead. ‘If she died of an overdose, why wasn’t there evidence of it at the crime scene?’

  ‘Somebody removed the materials or she died a short while after she injected it,’ suggested Ian.

  ‘Death’s more likely to have been instantaneous. She must have shot it up in the park.’

  Ian drummed his fingers as he thought it through. ‘What if the person who sold her the gear was with her when she injected herself, got scared that she died and tried to hide the fact she’d overdosed by strangling her? Maybe even hopeful we’d assume the same killer murdered both women?’

  Lucy pressed her forefinger against the tip of her nose. ‘I suppose that isn’t beyond the realm of possibility. If it was Tommy… no… it doesn’t make sense… why would he make it look like Katie had died through strangulation? It would only serve to point the finger at him for a double murder.’

  ‘He was furious she’d died. He acted out of rage without any thought.’

  Lucy removed her finger and waved it in Ian’s direction. ‘Now that makes sense.’

  ‘Or it wasn’t him at all. Could have been a punter who gave her the heroin, or even another hooker.’ Ian shrugged at the latter suggestion.

  Lucy’s cheeks blew out as she considered all the possibilities. ‘Crap! This definitely screws up the investigation.’

  Natalie had something else to add. ‘There’s more. The sodomy. She was badly bruised and ripped internally. Pinkney said they were recent injuries although there were older tears in the tissues too. The person was incredibly violent.’

  Lucy’s eyes creased in concentration. ‘Then there’s another possible scenario… she took the heroin to help her get through the sexual acts, but whoever sodomised her strangled her during the act, even though by then she’d passed out and was dead.’

  ‘Or, as you suggested earlier, they were enraged by the fact she’d died, lost control and strangled her.’

  ‘Which brings us back to the fact this could be the work of the same person who killed Amelia,’ said Ian.

  Natalie stared into space, trying to banish thoughts of the sexual violence shown towards Katie. ‘Amelia wasn’t brutalised in the same manner. Katie had been… several times. It’s as if the killer is becoming more aggressive and showing increasing violence towards these women. It seems to me as if they’re displaying a growing hatred.’

  Lucy’s words passed through gritted teeth. ‘Whoever it is, we’re definitely going to catch this fucker.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Monday, 4 November – Late Afternoon

  Constantine’s Café was a glass-fronted shop, no bigger than the front room of a small house, with four tables of differing sizes, mismatched chairs to the left, and against the right-hand wall, a bar and three stools. The counter lay dead ahead with a heat lamp shining brightly over something covered in tin foil. A huge man in his forties with flame-red cheeks –who Murray assumed to be Constantine – stood in a kitchen behind the counter, chopping vegetables which he hurled by the fistful into a large pan bubbling on the stove. ‘Won’t be a minute,’ he called.

  Murray studied the chalkboard over the bar, advertising an array of takeaway sandwiches and soups, then cast about the café. The man approached, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
‘What can I get you?’

  Murray displayed his ID. ‘Some information. I understand Valentine Stewart is your cousin.’

  The man’s face closed and a scowl spread across his jowls. ‘I’ve not seen him in months.’

  Murray gave a tight smile. ‘Now we both know that isn’t true.’

  ‘I haven’t. You calling me a liar?’

  ‘Okay, how about his phone number?’

  ‘He changed his phone. I haven’t got his new number.’

  ‘Stop fucking about, Constantine. Give me his number.’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘What about an address for him?’

  ‘I told you, I haven’t seen him in months. I don’t know where he lives or his number. We don’t stay in touch.’

  ‘Don’t make this hard for me,’ said Murray.

  ‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know.’

  ‘All right. I’ll play along. When did you last see him?’

  Constantine pulled a mournful face. ‘Beginning of this year some time. I can’t remember exactly when.’

  ‘It’s quiet here, isn’t it? You get many customers this time of day?’

  Constantine’s lids lowered to half cover his almond eyes. He wiped his hands on the tea towel again and mumbled, ‘Some days there are more than others. People eat at all hours of the day and night. I stay open late even if there are no customers. I have to make a living.’

  ‘What’s behind the door?’ asked Murray, nodding towards an off-white door behind a table for two on which stood two half-filled mugs.

  ‘Toilet.’

  ‘Mind if I use it?’ Murray strode towards it and casually felt one of the mugs as he hovered by the table. It was lukewarm.

  ‘It’s broken. Won’t flush,’ said Constantine, quickly.

  ‘It’s okay. I only need to wash my hands.’ Murray threw open the door and found himself in a dark corridor. He reached for his torch, flicked it on and swung the beam over an open door marked WC. He glanced inside. There was nobody there. He halted, straining his ears. Constantine was at the door, blocking any light from the interior of the café.

  ‘Hey! Officer! You don’t have a warrant to search my place. Come out.’

  His voice was too loud, a deliberate distraction, and Murray only just caught the sound of another door shutting. He swung his torch, the beam falling on piles of boxes littering the passageway before landing on a rear door. He hurtled towards it, Constantine’s shouts ringing in his ears, and found himself in a cluttered yard filled with empty oil cans, bins, more boxes and other junk. It was lighter here than in the corridor and he was in time to see a figure clambering over a wall.

  ‘Police!’ Murray thundered towards the wall but before he could grab hold of the escapee’s foot, the man had tumbled over to the other side. There was a yell, followed by angry swearing. Constantine had made it into the yard and was shouting at Murray, who ignored him, shoved the torch in its holder and hauled his large frame to the top of the crumbling brick wall and over it in one fast movement, landing close to the kerfuffle the other side. Celeste was struggling to restrain the man on the floor, who was trying to buck her off. Murray joined her and snapped cuffs onto the man.

  ‘Valentine Stewart.’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘We need to ask you a few questions.’ Murray yanked the man to his feet and held onto his arm, Celeste the other side. Valentine tried to wriggle away and called out to Constantine behind the wall, who was hurling insults.

  ‘Get me a lawyer!’

  ‘Button it and keep walking,’ said Celeste, holding onto his forearm.

  Once they’d bundled him onto the back seat of the car and shut the door, Murray gave her a quick smile. ‘Good teamwork.’

  ‘Nice call, guessing he’d make a run for it and sending me round the back to wait. He didn’t know what had hit him when he landed at my feet.’

  ‘I enjoy being one step ahead,’ he replied. As he got into the driver’s seat, he heard Yolande’s words again in his mind. He was definitely going to prove himself worthy of promotion.

  Lucy was less happy with Murray and Celeste’s efforts than either expected. She sent Celeste to wait with Valentine in an interview room and took Murray to task in her office. ‘Why didn’t you call for backup? Valentine is known to be violent. He could have done a runner or been carrying a weapon. It was foolhardy to go into the café with only Celeste as support.’

  Murray faced her off. ‘We were in control. We covered the possibility of anyone escaping through a back entrance. We knew what we were doing.’

  ‘No, Murray, you can’t go in gung-ho. You could have been injured or worse. Besides, you didn’t know for certain Valentine was in there.’

  Murray thrust out his chin. ‘We were right though, weren’t we?’

  ‘I’m not happy about this. You put yourself and Celeste at risk.’

  ‘You never used to object when we worked similar manoeuvres in the past,’ he growled.

  She stared hard at him. ‘It’s different now. I have to be more mindful of your safety.’

  ‘Well, thank you for your concern.’

  ‘Cut the sarcasm.’

  ‘What do you expect? I’d have thought you’d be delighted we’ve brought in another suspect rather than arguing the sodding toss about my methods. Valentine threatened Tommy. Nancy suspects he killed Amelia and Katie, and you wanted me to hang around for support and maybe lose the one opportunity to nab him.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? We have to do things by the book. If this investigation goes wrong and somebody gets off because we didn’t follow procedure, we’ll all be in for it. Now, I don’t mind taking any or all of the blame, but I really don’t want a killer getting away because we handled it badly.’

  ‘It wasn’t handled badly.’

  ‘You didn’t have a warrant to search Constantine’s premises. His lawyer can argue that point.’

  ‘I didn’t “search” his premises. I went to the toilet and happened to hear Valentine leaving. I pursued him into the backyard. I wasn’t aware I needed a warrant to go for a pee.’

  ‘Murray!’ She shook her head at him then appeared to soften. ‘All that aside, I really don’t want any harm to come to you, or Celeste. Not on my watch.’

  He grunted then said, ‘You know sometimes we have to act on our toes. We were sure he was in there. If we’d rung it in, it would have taken time for backup to arrive, and by then, Valentine might well have scooted. We were confident we could handle it. You understand how I operate. You know I don’t take uncalculated risks.’

  They stared at each other for a moment, the anger evaporating. ‘Okay, let’s leave it there, shall we? We need to interview him.’

  Lucy began to walk to her door and was halted by a quiet, ‘Lucy.’ She turned back. Murray had his head cocked to one side. ‘Don’t let it get to you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The promotion. You don’t have to behave any differently or try to be like Natalie. You’re an individual and were selected to be DI because of how you’ve performed over the years. If you’d been in my shoes this afternoon, you’d have acted the same way I did. And if I were in yours, I’d be patting you on the back for using your initiative.’

  She drew a breath and nodded. ‘Point made. You can take the lead in the interview.’

  Fresh-faced and smelling of woody aftershave, Valentine looked more like a thirty-something-year-old executive – in his pale pink, open-necked shirt and Hugo Boss trousers – than a pimp. He plucked at a brown leather bracelet on his slim wrist and lifted smouldering eyes the moment Lucy and Murray entered the interview room.

  ‘I should have a lawyer.’

  ‘You think you need a lawyer?’ asked Murray.

  ‘It’s my right.’

  Murray gave a half-hearted smile as he sat. ‘No, mate, you’re here to help with our enquiries into the deaths of Amelia Saunders and Katie Bray, which is quite different to being cautioned, and unl
ess we actually charge you with a crime, you don’t need any representation. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’

  ‘I asked if you wanted a drink. You left the café in such a hurry, you didn’t have time to finish the one you were drinking.’ The smile flickered.

  Valentine rolled his eyes. ‘Great, we’ve got a policeman who thinks he’s a comedian.’

  ‘No, I think I’m a police officer. A detective sergeant. DS Anderson to be precise. Now, I’d like to get down to business. What can you tell us about Tommy Field?’

  ‘He’s a fuckwit.’

  ‘Could you be more explicit?’

  ‘He’s an irritating, fuckwitted moron. Is that explicit enough?’

  ‘Let me be clear. You’re not here because I want to bust your balls. I’m not interested in what you get up to on the streets. I need your help. We’re investigating the murder of two teenagers who were working on your turf. You must have some idea of what was going on. Help me out a little. Tell me what you know about Tommy and these girls.’

  Valentine’s long neck seemed to arch forever as he studied Murray. ‘He’s a fuckwit and I don’t know the girls.’

  Murray sighed. ‘What a shame because it means now we’ll have to look into your business dealings in more depth and find out exactly what your connection to Tommy is. It also means, of course, we’ll have to interview Constantine and all the girls who work for you. We’ll have to send a team to the house they share and bring them all to the station for interview and’ – he drew a noisy breath through his teeth – ‘we’ll have to charge them with soliciting, and then there’ll be the press to keep quiet. They’re gagging for information and they’ll get excited when they learn we’re interviewing a go-between who puts underage girls on the street.’

  ‘Whoa! None of my girls are underage.’