by M K Farrar
She remembered her own self-talk about delegating. Perhaps this was one of those times where she should have let Rudd go, but she found she wanted to see Brandon Skehan herself.
Erica ended the call and turned her attention back to the new case.
Shawn stepped out onto the street, pulling off his gloves. The road had been closed at both ends, but the residents of the neighbouring properties were gawking out of windows or standing at their front doors, trying to get a better idea about what was going on.
“We need to inform the family,” she told him. “They might be able to give us an idea who did this to her. We can find out if they knew if she was seeing anyone.”
“The parents live in Enfield,” Shawn said, checking.
“Good, not too far away.”
It was a horrible task, but she always preferred to do it in person. It never felt right when the family lived a long distance from the victim and Erica had to send someone from a different force to break the news. Families could also provide vital information that could help them find the killer, and Erica didn’t like to hear it secondhand. Of course, then there were the families who discovered, after a loved one’s death, that they didn’t know their child, or spouse, or parent at all, which made their loss even harder to bear. Perhaps, even worse, were those who didn’t even care that something terrible had happened to their child. Often, the parents had divorced and hadn’t spoken to their adult child in years. Somehow that made things even more unpleasant.
They drove to the address they had on record for Naomi Conrad’s parents, Alan and Debbie Conrad.
A solid rock had formed in the middle of Erica’s stomach at the knowledge she was about to blow these two poor people’s worlds apart.
A young woman opened the door. The likeness to Naomi was startling—the same long blonde hair and wide hazel eyes. She blinked at Erica and Shawn. “Can I help you?”
Erica showed her ID. “Are you a relation to Naomi Conrad?”
“Yes, I’m her sister, Carina.”
“Are your parents home?”
“Yes, they are. I don’t live here, though, I’ve just popped round for a cup of tea. What’s happened? Did something happen to Naomi?”
“It would be best if we could come in and speak to you all together.”
An older woman’s voice came from somewhere in the house. “Who is it, Carina?”
Carina called over her shoulder, “Two detectives. They want to talk to us about Naomi.”
No response came back, but a moment later, Debbie Conrad appeared in the hallway behind her daughter. Erica could see where the two daughters had got their looks from. Debbie Conrad was in her sixties and was still a beautiful woman, despite the worry drawn across her features.
“Jesus, let them in then.”
Carina moved out of the way, and Erica stepped through, Shawn close behind. Carina shut the front door behind them. They followed her into the adjacent room, where a man was sitting in front of the television, a game of golf on the screen.
“Turn that off, Alan. These are police officers.”
He didn’t say anything but picked up the remote control and hit a button to turn the screen black.
“What’s happened to Naomi?” Debbie asked, the moment the television fell silent. “Is she all right? Is she hurt? She hasn’t done something wrong, has she?”
Erica noted the question. Why would her mother ask that? Had Naomi got herself into trouble in the past?
“You should probably sit down, Mrs Conrad.”
Her hand went to her chest. “Oh God, this is going to be bad, isn’t it?”
Detectives tended not to make house calls when it was good news, unfortunately.
The older woman reached for her younger daughter’s hand. Carina took it and perched on the armrest of the chair that her mother sank into.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Naomi’s body was discovered this morning.”
Carina’s eyes grew wide. “What?”
Naomi’s father, Alan, finally spoke up. “No, that can’t be right. Are you sure it’s her?”
Erica offered them a sympathetic smile. “We will need one of you to do a formal identification, when you’re ready, but yes, we’re sure it’s her. I’m very sorry.”
Debbie shook her head. “No, not Naomi. You’re mistaken. She can’t be dead. She can’t be.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands, a howl of anguish bursting from her lungs.
Her youngest daughter sat, stunned into silence.
“How...how did she die?” Alan Conrad asked, sitting forward in his chair.
Erica looked in his direction. “It would appear she was murdered, but our investigations are ongoing.”
A gasp of shock and a cry of ‘oh God’ came from Naomi’s mother and sister.
“I need to see her,” Alan insisted.
“You can. There are certain procedures that need to be followed first, but then you can come down to the morgue and see her, and give a formal identification at the same time.”
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure yet, but it’ll be soon.”
“Who did it? Who hurt my daughter?” His tone was rigid, the tension and emotion he must have been holding inside him so impossible to keep in that he was practically vibrating with the effort.
“We’re still working on that, Mr Conrad. If there’s anything you can tell us that might help, we’d appreciate hearing it. When was the last time you heard from Naomi?”
“I’m not sure. A few days ago, I think.”
Naomi’s sister nodded in agreement. “Yes, same. A few days ago.”
“You didn’t think anything was wrong when you hadn’t heard from her?” Erica checked.
“We often go a few days without speaking,” Carina said. “Besides, she was still posting on social media.”
“She was still posting?”
“Yes, I mean, it obviously wasn’t live posts, but I didn’t think about that at the time. She must have already had some scheduled before she died.”
Erica shot a glance to Shawn. Was that how things had happened? Or had Naomi’s killer posted them himself to make it seem as though Naomi was still alive? She’d have to get their digital forensics teams to try and figure it out, though without actually having Naomi’s phone to hand, she didn’t know how easily they’d be able to do that.
Erica changed topics. “Was Naomi in any kind of trouble that you’re aware of?”
Alan shook his head. “No, not that we knew of.”
“We understand that she made her money through social media. Did she mention to you that she was being trolled or anything like that?”
His face seemed to crumple, as though it had folded in on itself. “We didn’t really understand all that. She told us she did promotional work for companies online.”
Had Naomi’s business been something she was ashamed of, so she didn’t tell her parents exactly how it worked? Or was it just that they didn’t really understand, and she couldn’t be bothered to explain it?
“How long has she been doing the online work?” Erica asked.
“Only a couple of years. It’s really taken off for her. She was always coming home with new clothes and beauty products, giving anything she didn’t want to keep to her mother and sister.” He threw a look over to where they sat.
Carina nodded and swiped tears from her face.
Erica gave them a sympathetic smile. “Was there anyone in her life who might have wanted to hurt her?”
He frowned. “Like who?”
“A boyfriend, perhaps?”
“She didn’t have a boyfriend,” Debbie cried. “She broke up with someone ages ago and she hasn’t brought anyone else home since.”
“What’s the name of the ex she broke up with?” Erica gave Shawn a nod to jot it down. Perhaps it was a bad breakup and the ex had been harbouring a grudge.
“His name’s David Quinn,” Alan said, “but he was a decent bloke. I never
got the impression he’d do anything to hurt her, and I think the breakup was amicable.”
Erica glanced over at Carina. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she wiped them away and nodded.
“It wouldn’t be David. Dad’s right. He wouldn’t have hurt her. I think he lives somewhere up north now. I’m not even sure the two of them were still in touch.”
“What about different men in her life? You were her sister. Maybe she told you things she might not have told other people.” By other people, Erica meant their parents.
Carina’s gaze darted between her mother and father, and Erica assumed she’d hit the nail on the head.
“Perhaps you could see us out?” Erica suggested.
“Yes, of course.” She wiped away more tears and squeezed her mother’s shoulder as she stood.
Grief seemed to have hollowed Debbie out. She was the shell of the woman she’d been only minutes before when she’d invited them into the house. Erica had to remind herself that they weren’t the ones who’d done this to the family—it was whoever had killed Naomi, and they were the ones who’d find him.
“Someone will be in touch about formally identifying Naomi,” Erica told Alan. She handed him a card. “But if you think of anything that might help us, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
He nodded and took the card, his face pinched with grief.
Erica and Shawn both left the room and headed down the hallway to the front door, Carina following them. They stepped outside, and Carina half closed the front door behind them. She was still crying, but that was to be expected. There would be many tears in the weeks, months, and even years to come.
“I couldn’t say it in front of Mum and Dad,” Carina said, “but Naomi met blokes all the time online, on dating apps and stuff. She didn’t have any serious relationships, that I know of, and I’m sure she would have told me if she’d met someone.”
She swallowed down a sob.
“Do you know which apps she used in particular?” Erica asked. “Her phone was missing from the flat, so we think whoever killed her may have taken it. Of course, there’s always the chance she lost it while she was out, but we haven’t been able to trace it yet.”
Carina shrugged. “Just the usual ones.”
“Is there any chance you’d know what your sister’s password might be for those apps? If you tried to log on as her, could you figure it out?”
Her face paled. “You think whoever killed her might have been someone she met online?”
Erica nodded. “It’s a line of enquiry we’re keeping open, yes. Your sister was intimate with someone before she was murdered.”
“Fucking bastard,” she choked out.
Erica handed Carina her phone. “Do you think you could try?”
Carina sniffed and took the device. Erica had already unlocked it for her, and Carina navigated the phone with ease. She typed on the tiny screen even faster than Erica could type on a full-sized keyboard.
“There’s a few different combinations of passwords she might have used,” Carina said as she brought up various websites. “I’ll just have to keep trying them and hope I don’t end up locked out.”
“Do whatever you need to. Finding out who she met that night could be a huge leap towards finding her killer.”
Erica stopped talking for a moment, allowing the other woman to concentrate.
Within less than a minute, Carina declared, “I’m in.” She handed the phone back to Erica.
Erica studied the screen. Naomi had been sending lots of messages to different people, but there was one in particular that seemed to have a longer thread than the others. Erica opened it up and scrolled through. The profiles appeared to be under nicknames, rather than their full ones.
His final message was: Hope you’re still up for tonight? The Wilde Sage Wine Bar? 9pm?
Her reply: Can’t wait.
“Looks like she met up with someone on Tuesday evening.”
The timing was a little earlier than she’d anticipated, but until they got the post-mortem report back, they’d just been guessing at her time of death. She could easily have been killed in the early hours of Tuesday morning rather than Wednesday evening.
Erica didn’t know if the profile picture this person had used was correct, but at least they now had the name of the bar Naomi had gone to before she’d died. It was in Shoreditch. If they were in any luck, they’d be able to get CCTV from the bar and find out who she’d met.
Chapter Ten
Erica dropped Shawn back at the office, with instructions to hand what they knew over to digital forensics, and see if they could trace the person Naomi had been planning to meet, and then she headed back to the hospital. She hoped she wasn’t too late to catch Brandon Skehan before he was discharged.
When she arrived, Brandon was sitting on the edge of the bed, back in regular clothes. He was on his phone but lifted his head as she walked in.
“You’re looking better,” she said with a smile.
He gestured down at his jeans and t-shirt. “No more ugly hospital gown. They said I could go home today, so I’m just waiting for them to officially discharge me. I’ve got a follow-up appointment as an outpatient and enough medication to start my own pharmacy, but I guess I’ll survive.”
“That’s good to know. It could have been a lot worse.”
He glanced down at his hands with his one good eye and nodded, no doubt picturing exactly how it could have been worse.
“To be honest,” he said, cautiously, “I’m kinda nervous about going back to my flat. I’m a grown adult and all that, but the thought of being back there puts the shits up me.”
“That’s understandable. Don’t you have a family member or a friend you could stay with?”
“All my family are back in Ireland, and I don’t feel like I can put this on a mate. What if whoever did this decides to finish off the job and tracks me down to wherever I’m staying? I couldn’t forgive myself if I got someone else hurt.”
“The chances of that happening are extremely unlikely.”
He pointed in her direction. “Ah, but not impossible, and there lies the problem, Detective.”
“If it helps to ease your mind, we’ve had plenty of police presence on your street since all this has happened, and even though our forensics team have finished working on your place, I can get a squad car to drive past your flat every couple of hours, so if whoever did attack you is still hanging around, they’ll know not to try anything.”
“What about the times between the drive-by?”
“Brandon, I’m afraid it’s impossible for us to watch out for you all the time.” She didn’t want to add that she was also dealing with a murder case right now and that her attention was diverted to finding a young woman’s killer. Of course, no member of the public, and especially not a victim, wanted to hear that the police were too busy to give that one case all their attention. They were always having to juggle cases, and a murder trumped a case of grievous bodily harm. “The best way we can keep you safe is by catching who did this to you, and you can help us with that. When you called the office, you said you remembered something about the attack. What was that?”
“His shoes,” he said. “I remembered what shoes the bloke who attacked me was wearing. They were trainers—white ones—and jeans, too.”
Erica checked out Brandon’s outfit. “Similar to what you’re wearing now?”
“I guess so.”
“What about the brand of trainers?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t know what brand. It was dark.”
“How about how tall your attacker was? For him to have cut you across the face, he must have got up pretty close. Were you able to even get a feel for his height or build? Did you see his hand around the knife, so you can give me an idea of skin colour?”
“He came up behind me, so it was hard to tell his height. I suppose he must have been my height or taller, though. It all happened so fast.”
“H
umour me for a moment,” she said. She mimicked the action the attacker would have made, bringing the blade of an imaginary knife from left to right, starting at the inside of his nose on the right-hand side of his face and drawing it across, towards his right ear. “He brought the knife up, his arm wrapped around your head from behind. And cut you like this.”
“That’s right.”
“So we know your attacker was right-handed,” she said. “Then what happened?”
“I lashed out with my right arm and struck the attacker’s, and the knife flew out of his grip and landed on the floor. I had blood all down my face, and my first instinct was just to run. I knew I couldn’t fight when I couldn’t see anything, and I thought he might have cut my eye out.”
Erica frowned. “I wonder why your attacker didn’t pick up the knife again before they took off. I would have expected them to, not only because they must have known they were leaving vital evidence behind, but also to use as a weapon should they be stopped again?”
He shrugged. “I started shouting for help the moment I ran. He must have got spooked and thought there wasn’t time to pick it up again.”
“Or he didn’t want to get caught with a knife covered in blood,” she mused.
His shoulders slumped. “I guess from all these questions that you’re still no closer in finding out who attacked me?”
There was no point in lying to him. “Not yet, but I do have my best detectives working on the case.”
“Guess I can’t ask for much more than that.”
A doctor—different to the one who’d told Erica off on the first night—entered the room.
“Looks like you’re going to get that discharge,” Erica told Brandon. “I’ll leave you to it, but if there are any developments, I’ll make sure you know about it.”
“Thanks, Detective. Don’t be a stranger.” He gave her that lopsided smile again.
As Erica left the hospital room, she found herself smiling, too.
Chapter Eleven
Back in the office, Erica watched videos of Naomi Conrad online via her social media.
Even though Naomi had been English, she had a strangely American manner about her. The way she started her introduction with ‘hey, guys’ with the kind of enthusiasm Erica would expect from across the pond definitely had a US vibe. Naomi was bright and vibrant, but what kind of person lay beneath the whitened smile and the multiple layers of makeup? Who had wanted to kill her? Was a dark secret hidden behind that smile, or was she exactly the sort of person she displayed on her social media?