The Dare: An absolutely gripping crime thriller

by Wyer, Carol

  She found them gathered in their office, awaiting instructions. Work had ceased on the case they’d been investigating and Lucy was packing up the information they’d amassed on a car-theft gang operating in the area. She pushed the lid down firmly on the cardboard box and handed it over to the officer waiting to collect it. The man nodded in Natalie’s direction and mumbled, ‘Morning, ma’am,’ before leaving.

  Lucy wiped her hands on her trouser legs and sat down. Natalie didn’t waste any time. She passed around the photograph of the schoolgirl and spoke quickly.

  ‘At half five yesterday afternoon, Mrs Jane Hopkins of 21 Western Park Road, Watfield, reported her thirteen-year-old daughter, Savannah, missing. Jane is known to local police following several incidents that took place last year when local officers were called out to scenes of domestic violence at their residence. Her husband, Mr Lance Hopkins, was charged in September last year for drunk and disorderly behaviour. By the way, he’s Savannah’s stepdad, not her biological father. Shortly afterwards, he left the family home, and to date, we have no known address or details on the man. Yesterday evening, the Missing Persons squad conducted a thorough search of Western Park Road, the immediate area and nearby parkland. Savannah’s body was discovered less than an hour ago when officers searched the park area behind her house for the second time. Superintendent Melody wants us to head to the scene immediately. As you know, we are no longer handling the car-theft investigation. This is our priority. Let’s go.’

  Watfield’s only park, some fifteen acres and almost square in shape, stretched from the western side of Watfield to the railway line and was bordered at one side by a river, with the main road leading into the town centre on the other. It had maintained much of its original layout from the 1920s, when the park was first opened, and consisted largely of open grassland, playing fields, a football pitch and a skatepark, as well as small areas of woodland planting and a play area. As Natalie and Lucy drew into the car park opposite the sole entrance on Western Park Road, they couldn’t miss the television vans and crews that had already begun to assemble.

  Small crowds had gathered either side of the wrought-iron gates, nestled closely together as if seeking human contact. Natalie had seen this before at crime scenes: a herding instinct that, in the face of tragedy, brought people together. Grim-faced police officers stood guard along the length of the park in front of the railings, with legs planted and hands behind backs. Natalie parked next to the squad car, driven by Murray. Ignoring the cameras, the team suited up in protective clothing and strode as one towards the officers stationed beside the park gates, where they held their IDs outstretched so names could be noted in the logbook. A chorus began behind her.

  ‘Detective, have you found Savannah Hopkins?’ The calls and shouts from the journalists were ignored. Natalie lifted a hand to show she wasn’t prepared to talk to anyone and slipped into the park, accompanied by her officers. She needed no directions for which way to head. There were only two footpaths: the one to her left led towards the river, but judging by the white paper uniforms in the distance to the right, that was where she’d find Savannah Hopkins.

  Yellow-and-black crime-scene tape cordoned off an area close to the path, encompassing a bench, bushes and a large willow tree. Several officers, along with the familiar solid figure of Mike Sullivan, head of Forensics, were gathered outside the makeshift tent that housed the girl’s body. Mike was not merely a colleague: he was David’s best friend, and he and Natalie had embarked on a brief affair a year and a half ago, when Natalie had first discovered her husband had a gambling addiction. While she had put the liaison behind her and tried to work things out with David, Mike’s marriage to his wife Nicole had failed – not because of what had occurred, but due to the pressure of work.

  Natalie’s team arrived at the tent, where she greeted Mike and his men. ‘What have you got so far?’

  He gave a small sigh. ‘We believe she’s been strangled. There’s bruising commensurate with strangulation, and undoubtedly the pathologist will be able to confirm our initial speculations.’

  ‘Any idea who the pathologist will be?’

  Mike shook his head; his thick, dark hair was unkempt, as if he’d forgotten to run a comb through it in his haste to get to the crime scene. ‘Could be either Ben Hargreaves or Pinkney Watson. Not had word yet.’

  Natalie favoured Pinkney, with whom she’d worked on many cases, but Ben had proved his worth during an investigation the year before – another involving children. She sighed heavily. She couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to look at Savannah. She stepped into the tent and took in the sight of the young girl stretched out beside a blue litter bin, the type often seen in schoolyards and parks with a moulded compass top, four apertures and Victoriana gold banding and lettering. Savannah was slight, only five feet tall, with slender arms and legs. Her face was as white as alabaster, with a sprinkle of light freckles across her cheeks and a small mole above her pale-rose lips. The bruises Mike had mentioned were evident – purplish-blue in colour – and her hands, clenched in two balls, bore scrapes on the knuckles. She was dressed in skinny black jeans that accentuated her lean frame and a dark-grey hoodie bearing the Superdry logo. Her Converse trainers, laced neatly, looked new, the soles hardly worn. Natalie allowed her gaze to rest on the girl’s face, the sharp cheekbones, the naturally thick eyebrows that arched over closed, violet eyelids. A glimmer caught her attention. Savannah was wearing a small silver star in her right ear but nothing in her left.

  ‘You found the other earring?’ she asked Mike.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Natalie dragged her eyes away from the child on the ground. ‘She’s not wearing a school uniform, yet she disappeared immediately after school ended. Looks like she changed out of it.’

  ‘We’ve not come across her uniform, school bag or mobile phone, but obviously we’re conducting a full search. There’s nothing in the bin of note although we’re going through the contents to make sure.’

  Natalie crouched and studied the girl. The clothes looked new. Had she changed from her uniform in order to meet somebody? She tore her gaze from the marks on the girl’s neck, stood and addressed the team. ‘Her clothing appears to be undisturbed but, obviously, we’ll need to establish if she’s been raped.’ Her voice was clear and calm but it was at odds with the hammering in her chest. She took a step backwards and spoke to Mike again. ‘Okay if we walk the area with you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  They followed him from the tent into the park. Natalie cast a look back towards the park gates. There were no surveillance cameras by them or in this park. A killer could have come in without being spotted, although the entrance needn’t have been the entry point. A person might have access by crossing the railway lines or the river, or via one of several gardens that bordered the park. The questions were already mounting up: Had the perpetrator been lying in wait for Savannah, or stumbled across her? Had they kept her hidden from the search parties, then murdered her? Or had they strangled the girl elsewhere and returned to dump her body a short distance from her home?

  A young man in a badly fitting brown suit with a camera slung around his neck, and a woman in jeans and a short red jacket were in conversation with one of the officers safeguarding the spot. Newshounds.

  The river was approximately 100 metres away. Directly to the left of the tent was a wooden bench bearing a plaque that stated Fred had enjoyed sitting here in his favourite spot, with the dates of his birth and death. Somebody had scrawled H 4 R and a love heart on the rear.

  ‘Think the bin is significant?’ Murray’s voice was quiet as befitting the scene.

  ‘She might have tried to run away from her assailant and he struck when she reached the bin. We can’t read too much into it at this stage.’

  His words, however, had touched on something – a recollection, not of a case she’d been involved in but one that had taken place while she was stationed in Manchester. A teenage girl had been stran
gled and discarded among rubbish bags at the rear of a restaurant, only doors away from where she’d lived.

  ‘Murray, video this so we have something to go on. Lucy, you and Ian canvass the occupants of the houses that back directly onto this park. I’ll speak to her mother.’ They moved away, leaving Natalie alone with Mike.

  Mike shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a packet of chewing gum. He unwrapped and popped a piece into his mouth. Natalie glanced at his fingers, yellowing with nicotine. His marriage break-up had taken its toll on him. She suspected it was more the absence of his daughter, Thea, than his spouse that had hit him deepest. His four-year-old was his world.

  ‘Ben,’ he said, spotting the arrival of the pathologist who hastened towards them, head lowered.

  ‘Been stuck in traffic.’ Ben’s Brummie accent was thick and his words delivered quickly. ‘Some breakdown just outside Sandown that had to be cleared away. I’d have been here sooner otherwise.’

  Mike shook his head. ‘No worries. You’re here now.’

  Ben shrugged a response and placed his large leather case on the ground, produced a small cloth from his jacket pocket and wiped his glasses with it. His long black hair was in a stubby ponytail this morning and his chin smoothly shaven – a contrast to Mike, who seemed to have perpetual stubble no matter what time of the day. Ben raised his mask so only his dark eyes were visible and entered the tent.

  ‘What are your initial thoughts?’ Natalie asked Mike.

  His jaw moved up and down as he chewed. ‘There’s no evidence of a struggle here – no broken branches or grass scuffed. There’s no sign of grass stains on the soles of her shoes. In fact, they look hardly worn, and she got those bruises on her hand from hitting something hard – a wall, a door. There’s nothing here that I can see that would have made those marks. I think she was kept somewhere, killed and dumped here. Killer carried her and placed her at the spot. There are no drag marks.’

  Natalie nodded soberly. The killer could have left her anywhere out of sight, but instead of concealing her body, they’d left it in full sight, right next to a litter bin. Is the bin significant?

  ‘Horrible, just horrible. What a bastard,’ Mike said.

  Natalie understood his outburst. No matter how hard they both tried to leave emotion out of it, they were mindful of their own children and their safety. It was written on Mike’s face, the way he hung his head and his eyebrows sat heavily above his eyes, and Natalie couldn’t help but think briefly of Leigh’s sulky but pretty face as she’d raced off to school only a short while ago. Savannah had left home yesterday morning and that had been the last time her mother had laid eyes on her.

  ‘I’d better go and talk to her mother.’

  ‘I’ll keep you in the loop,’ he replied, his gaze drawn to two of his team searching by the bench.

  Natalie walked back towards the entrance, where the red-jacketed woman was waiting eagerly with a microphone. ‘Detective, can you confirm you have found Savannah Hopkins?’

  Natalie ignored both the woman and the photographer snapping pictures of her and kept her steady gaze on the road ahead. Lucy and Ian, along with extra officers, had moved the crowds off, and apart from a few lingerers who shuffled slowly along the pavement opposite, the street was clear. Natalie paused and turned back towards the reporter. ‘There’ll be an official statement later. In the meantime, please show some respect and move away so we can do our job.’

  She hadn’t meant it to come out quite so harshly but it had the desired effect. The woman backed off. Undoubtedly, she’d understood what Natalie was implying: a young girl had been found murdered and her family were in pain.

  Four

  Tuesday, 17 April – Morning

  Natalie recognised the aged white VW Polo outside 21 Western Park Road. It belonged to Tanya Granger, one of the family liaison officers who worked in the area. Tanya, with her bright-red hair, was five foot four, stout and plain-faced but had a big heart and possessed a comforting persona – a warmth that emanated from her, which helped the victims’ families.

  Natalie inhaled deeply. This was always the hardest part: looking at the distraught faces who’d been sideswiped with terrible news of their loved ones, who hadn’t yet fully processed what was happening, yet having to press them for information that might lead to an arrest.

  The house was set back from the road, the last in a row of identical terraced Victorian houses, each with long frontages, traditional storm porches, timber doors and bay windows. Number 21 had a large garden plot that ran beside the length of the pavement towards the park – separated by railings identical to those surrounding the park – and to the rear of the property. A small digger was parked in the middle of the garden, and shrink-wrapped pallets of paving slabs had been left near the driveway. The garden was some way off completion, with caterpillar tracks running across the earth and plants in large wooden crates awaiting planting. Closer to the side of the house there was further evidence of work with scaffolding against the wall.

  Natalie approached the building and spotted movement the other side of the bay window. Within seconds Tanya appeared at the door and Natalie gave a quick nod. Tanya shook her head, a sign that the mother was in a bad way. It was to be expected. Natalie couldn’t begin to imagine what she was going through.

  ‘She’s in shock. Blames herself and the local police, and she won’t sit down. She’s been pacing about for the last half hour like a caged animal,’ said Tanya. She led the way into the sitting room and introduced Natalie to the slight woman with huge eyes sunken in her ashen face, who stood in front of the bay window and shook her head as soon as Natalie opened her mouth. Her voice was quiet but steely.

  ‘Don’t. Please don’t say you’re sorry about Savannah. Don’t say anything. I don’t want your platitudes.’

  Natalie gave a brief nod. ‘I’m sorry to have to speak to you at such a bad time but we need to act quickly.’

  ‘Your lot didn’t act quickly enough, did they? I told the officers she’d gone missing yesterday afternoon. They had time to find her before this…’

  ‘I can only extend my sincere apologies that she wasn’t found in time. I wasn’t involved in the search but I am heading the investigation into her death, and I assure you I shall do everything I can to bring those responsible for her death to justice.’

  ‘Those responsible. Who exactly do you mean, Detective? We’re all responsible – me, her friends, the police and everyone else in this sodding town who went about their business and noticed nothing, with no thought other than for themselves. I’m responsible because I’m her mother and should have kept her safe, and your lot should have listened to me when I begged them to look for her and not dawdle about. We’re all bloody responsible, so who are you going to charge? Savannah should be here, at home, not there.’ She waved her hand in the direction of the park.

  ‘I am genuinely sorry you feel let down.’

  ‘Let down? I’m so much more than let down,’ she hissed. ‘I am… empty… sucked dry of emotion. Can you possibly imagine what it feels like to know your daughter is dead at the other side of the park? She’s there and I’m here and I can’t accept what’s happened.’

  ‘I understand how difficult this is for you, but I have to do my job and I need to ask you a few questions about Savannah.’

  Jane seemed not to hear. Deep creases had formed on her forehead, the product of internal pain.

  ‘Do you have children, Detective?’

  ‘A boy and a girl. My daughter’s recently turned fourteen.’ Natalie sensed revealing such personal information would help the woman connect better with her.

  Jane regarded her with more interest and wrapped her arms around her skinny frame. ‘Are you close to her?’

  ‘Not as much as we used to be. She’s become more independent of late.’

  The answer seemed to resonate with Jane. ‘They grow up too quickly, don’t they? One minute you’re best friends, holding hands when you go out shopp
ing together, and the next, you’re blocked from their lives. Savannah used to tell me everything – shared every secret – and loved, well, she loved me unconditionally. Her stepdad, that was a different matter. Lance was never really parent material. I suppose that’s why she and I got along so well – conspirators against him and allies when he was in a bad mood. I thought we still shared a bond… a mother–daughter bond. In spite of my marriage break-up and teenage growing pains, I believed she’d tell me if she was in trouble or if she was scared of anything. I truly believed it, Detective.’

  Natalie wasn’t sure where Jane was going with this monologue but she let her have her say. It was obviously something she felt strongly about.

  ‘Savannah didn’t say anything that gave me cause for concern or an explanation as to why she wouldn’t be coming home yesterday as usual. She’d have told me if she was going to be late. She didn’t have many friends and she’d have said something if she was going to meet one of them. She always came straight here. She had her little secrets but she knew I’d worry if she didn’t come home. What I’m saying is, somebody grabbed her and took her away and I don’t have any idea who would do that. I told the police. I knew something bad had happened but they tried to calm me down me and insisted on checking with all her classmates before manning a search. They wasted time. If only they’d listened to me, we might have found her alive. A mother knows, doesn’t she? A mother senses when something bad has happened.’

  Natalie was about to reply when, without warning, Jane folded onto her knees and crumpled in a heap on the patterned carpet. The sobs came next – huge, gulping, painful sobs that filled the room — and were followed by cries of anguish. Tanya raced to the woman’s side and comforted her. Natalie had to wait before Jane could speak again to give her permission to look at Savannah’s bedroom. Leaving the distraught woman in Tanya’s capable hands, she withdrew to the entrance hall and made her way upstairs to the girl’s bedroom.