by Wyer, Carol
Murray skirted around the back of the building, leaving Natalie at the front. She moved silently up the steps and along the wooden slatted floor, slippery with moss and damp. The floor in front of the boarded door showed signs of recent activity, undoubtedly footprints from officers who’d been looking for Savannah. Grey cobwebs covered in dark specks wafted against the solitary window, thick with dust and dirt. She made out smudges where others before her had peered inside into the gloom and one name scrawled in the dust: Savannah. She wondered who might have written it. Inside was nothing but darkness.
Murray reappeared and beckoned her. ‘There’s a rear entrance.’
She followed Murray to the rotten door that hung crookedly off a broken door frame.
They shuffled into the dusty room, assaulted by a sudden smell of decay, and stood stock-still. Something with claws scuttled away into the darkness. Murray pulled out his police-issue torch and shone the beam around the large room, ravaged by time. Shredded paper hung from an old noticeboard and mildewed floorboards had lifted up, revealing a large hole close to the door. She wrinkled her nose. The pungent, acidic scent was from mice. They were the ones who’d now made it their home. No human had set foot in here for many years.
‘There’s no one here,’ said Murray, having run the beam around the room again.
Natalie had to agree. They hadn’t found Harriet, and the adrenalin that had infused her with energy suddenly departed, leaving her weak-kneed. Savannah was dead and Harriet was still missing and time was running out. She pulled herself together quickly and dialled Stu once more.
‘Have you found her?’
‘She’s not here.’
‘Oh shit. I hoped she would be.’
‘Stu, how did you know about this place? It’s almost impossible to find unless you know about it.’
‘Savannah told me about it.’
That would explain the name written in the dust. Savannah probably wrote it. ‘Savannah did?’
‘Yeah. She said she used to go there and hang about on her own when she was pissed off with her mum until she cooled off. She liked the fact nobody could bother her there.’
‘How many times did you visit it?’
‘Only the once.’
‘Did Harriet ever talk to you about a website called Disappear?’
‘No.’
‘Did she mention doing any social media challenges?’
‘No. What sort of challenges?’
‘Never mind. How about a dare where she would vanish for a while?’
‘Definitely not. We didn’t talk about any of that stuff.’
‘You’re absolutely certain?’
‘One hundred per cent certain.’
She hung up and asked Murray to drive into town. If Harriet had come in this direction – and according to the CCTV cameras, she might have – she’d have passed the phone shop. It was only a hunch but it was possible she’d stopped off there, maybe to purchase a burner phone as the Disappear website suggested.
They drove to the end of the pedestrian-only street and parked on the road, close to the phone shop. It was ten to nine and the ‘closed’ sign was still turned outwards but Natalie banged on the door and roused the owner who lived upstairs. Mitchell Cox was in a dressing gown and pyjamas and wore an expression of concern.
‘I just heard a mother making an appeal on the radio for her missing daughter, Harriet Long.’
‘That’s correct. We were hoping you might have seen her yesterday afternoon at about half past four.’ She handed him a photograph of Harriet.
‘I know this girl,’ he said, slowly, his head bobbing up and down. ‘She’s been here.’
‘Did you serve her?’
‘No. Duffy did.’
‘Was she in yesterday afternoon?’
‘Sorry, I’ve no idea who came into the shop. I was working upstairs. You need to ask Duffy. He’ll be here any minute, if you’d like to wait for him.’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. I’d better get dressed.’
He left Natalie and Murray standing in the shop, where Murray picked up a couple of the plastic phone covers, turning them over absent-mindedly and looking at the artwork. ‘These are unusual.’
Natalie glanced across at the bright covers. They were exactly the sort her children would like for their phones. They changed their phone cases regularly, tiring of the old very quickly. She thought back to Savannah’s phone cases she had stored away. ‘Harriet and Savannah both came to this shop.’
‘It is the only phone shop in Watfield,’ said Murray, returning a black case with a strange white motif to the bowl. ‘You know what teenagers are like with mobile phones and technology. Yolande’s nephew is only three and he already knows his way around a smartphone.’
The door opened and Duffy came in, wiping his shining brown brogues on the doormat before coming in. It had started drizzling outside and his grey trousers were spattered with glistening droplets. He greeted them both, his brow slightly wrinkled.
‘Hi. Do you know what’s going on at the other end of Watfield? I got diverted around town. There are loads of police there.’
Murray responded, ‘You haven’t heard the news this morning? A teenager called Harriet Long went missing yesterday afternoon.’
A muscle twitched in Duffy’s jaw. ‘That’s why I was sent the long way around town. You’re looking for her?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Shit! I hope she’s okay?’ He pulled off his leather jacket and threw it onto the counter. Under it he wore a beige jumper over a white open-necked shirt. On him the trendy ensemble worked well. Natalie was certain many of the girls would come into the shop purely to flirt with Duffy, whose easy manner was as attractive as his looks. She took over the questioning, leaving Murray to make notes.
‘Do you know her?’
‘I know a girl called Harriet. She comes into the shop now and again. Is it the same person?’
Natalie showed him the photograph and he nodded. ‘That’s her. She was here yesterday afternoon.’
‘What time would that have been?’
‘It was after the initial afternoon rush, which tends to be when Watfield Secondary School kick out. It was quiet when she came in, so it was probably around half past four.’
‘What did she want?’
‘Her mobile screen had frozen. She asked me if I could fix it. I turned it off and on again, and it rectified itself. She said she’d tried that but it hadn’t worked for her. Said I had the magic touch.’
‘That was all she wanted? She didn’t buy anything or talk to you?’
He gave an apologetic smile. ‘That’s it. She chatted for a while.’
‘What about?’
‘Mostly about Spotify and music she was into and phone apps. She was saying how she liked Snapchat and how naff Facebook is.’
‘Did she mention a website called Disappear?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Have you heard of it? Maybe one of the other schoolchildren mentioned it.’
He screwed up his face in concentration. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever come across it. Disappear? No. What is it? Some sort of game?’
Natalie turned the conversation back to Harriet. ‘Did Harriet ever come into the shop with Savannah Hopkins?’
‘Savannah? No. I never saw her once with Savannah. Why? Do you think her disappearance is connected to Savannah’s?’
Natalie noticed the flash of concern in his eyes and pushed further. ‘Did she tell you where she was going or say she was meeting anybody?’
‘She didn’t say a word.’ He shook his head from side to side to affirm the statement.
‘Did she seem upset or anxious?’
The muscle twitched once more in his jaw and he took a moment to respond. ‘Not in the least. She laughed at a couple of my crap jokes. She seemed fine.’
‘Can you tell us what time she left the shop?’
Duffy lowered his gaze an
d the muscle trembled several times. ‘Could have been five or ten minutes later. I didn’t check.’
‘Did anyone come into the shop while you were talking?’
‘Not a soul. It was dead quiet. A bloke came in soon after she left and it got busy around five.’
‘And you were alone the entire time?’
‘I wasn’t completely alone. My boss was upstairs.’
There was something about Duffy’s overly relaxed manner that troubled Natalie. ‘You’ve never met Harriet outside of the shop?’
‘Absolutely not. She was only a customer. I know next to nothing about her other than what music she likes to listen to. Do you think something serious has happened to her?’
‘She’s gone missing and we’re concerned for her safety. If you see her again or hear from her, we need to know.’
‘Sure.’
‘If you know anything else, now would be a good time to tell us, Duffy. She’s only fourteen. She’s been missing all night.’
Duffy shook his head.
‘You are fully aware that Savannah went missing under similar circumstances and was murdered.’
He swallowed hard and nodded. ‘I know.’
‘Can you tell us where you went after the dentist?’
‘Home.’
‘Is there anybody who can confirm that?’
‘My mum.’
‘You live with your parents?’
‘For the time being. I’m saving up for a place of my own.’
‘And were you at home all evening?’
‘Until I went to help search for Savannah, yes.’
‘Again, can anyone confirm that?’
He sighed dramatically. ‘Yes. My aunt and nephew came around. I was playing computer games with him until we heard about Savannah.’
‘Thank you. And what about yesterday afternoon?’
‘I was here until the shop closed and then I went to a mate’s house.’
Natalie kept her steady gaze fixed on him. The muscle in his jaw twitched once more.
‘Has this mate got a name?’
‘Jaffrey McCarthy. We play in a band. I play guitar. He plays the drums. We all practised in his garage until late. He can confirm that.’
‘We’ll need the band members’ contact details. Have you anything else you want to tell us?’
Duffy’s eyebrows lowered again and his chin jutted forwards. He looked directly at Natalie. ‘I don’t have anything to add but if I see Harriet, I’ll be sure to let you know immediately.’
‘Can’t put my finger on it but there’s something odd about that bloke,’ said Murray as they walked back to the car. ‘He’s a little too perfect. I reckon he knows more than he’s saying.’
‘I got the same impression. He’s either completely innocent or he’s keeping quiet because he’s somehow involved in their disappearances. He’s the last person we know of who saw both girls before they vanished. That makes me suspicious, in spite of his claims.’
‘But he went to the dentist immediately after Savannah left the shop. He couldn’t have followed her or kidnapped her and then gone home.’
She thought for a minute. Duffy was a connection to both girls and they didn’t know a great deal about him. They had to test his alibis. ‘We’re in town so we may as well check he’s been telling the truth. The dentist is nearby, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll get it up on Google Maps.’
‘We’ll make sure he really did have an appointment and then we’ll take it from there and check out the rest of his story.’
The dentist was only a couple of streets away and they were waiting in reception to speak to somebody when Natalie got the call.
‘Natalie, it’s Graham. We were too late. We’ve found her. We’ve found Harriet.’
Fifteen
Wednesday, 18 April – Morning
Rain was falling steadily and ominous grey clouds scudded across the skies. Tiredness mingled with the damp made Natalie shiver and she shoved her hands deep into her jacket pockets to warm them. Water dripped from her hair and trickled down the back of her neck but she ignored the discomfort. They stood on a short track off the main road, wide enough for three vehicles, beside an open gate that led into Bramshall woods. It would have gone unnoticed had it not been for the presence of several police vehicles that lined the road and drew attention to what was little more than a pull-in point to a gate. If she’d continued along the road and passed the lengthy woodland, she’d have come across the row of terraced houses that she’d visited in the early hours. Harriet’s home had been within striking distance of her body. Now Melissa Long would be inside, coming to terms with the fact her daughter would never be coming home. The weight in Natalie’s chest was genuine – her heart heavy with sorrow for a mother’s loss.
There was an abundance of activity, with white-suited officers moving about the area, and the plethora of police vehicles had been joined by Forensics’ white vans. She lighted on the woman in the red jacket, who stood a short distance away from the other news reporters, eyes trained on Natalie and Graham. Poor Harriet was undoubtedly going to make front-page headlines.
‘She’s through here. Careful how you go. It’s slippery in parts,’ said Graham.
Moving silently along a slightly trampled grassy path, they stepped over sodden ferns and broken branches shining with water droplets. The rain tapped out a rhythm on the leaves above them, an urgent drumbeat to accompany their steps. Natalie and Murray trailed in his wake and picked their way into the coppice, where after some fifty metres it appeared less dense and where Natalie made out forensic officers picking their way around piles of waste.
Graham faced her. ‘I’ve given Mrs Long the news and requested an FLO to sit with her. I don’t know what else to add. Two teenagers in two days. Normally teenagers who run away are found quickly and alive.’
Natalie felt his anguish and sympathised. They’d all hoped to find Harriet alive.
He pulled on the end of his nose then heaved a sigh. ‘I have to leave you here. I’ve got to wind up the search operation and report back. I’ll speak to you later.’
Natalie and Murray walked towards the forensic team, checked in with the officer in charge of the security log and slipped on the paper suits offered to them. Dense woodland shielded them from sight. Anybody coming here under the cover of darkness could be assured of not being spotted. It was cool and drips from the foliage plopped onto ferns in a staccato rhythm as she suited up. She paused to take in the carpets of wood anemones and yellow celandines that covered the ground under the trees, stretching as far as the clearing where rubbish had been dumped, suffocating nature’s beauty.
Natalie pulled up the hood to cover her soaking hair. ‘Okay?’ she asked Murray, who responded with a slight lift of his head. They crossed the mossy ground towards the piles of rubbish, skirting around broken tiles, plastic guttering, a filthy mattress and broken tiles. A cream ceramic sink lay upside down next to a cracked and grubby toilet. A mound of white cement powder had transformed some of the ground into a pure white circle. Among the builder’s rubble and household items were bags of household waste, bags ripped apart by scavengers and contents scattered – a broken toy doll, a plastic fire engine, a single glove, lying under banana skins and empty tins of soup. Even with the rain washing down on them the smell was evident – a sweet aroma of rot and filth. Natalie’s heart sank at the sight of the girl in trousers and grubby white blouse, whose hair was still expertly twisted into two tight buns on her head and who was lying flat on her stomach, arms spread wide. A makeshift shelter had been erected to keep the worst of the weather off her.
Ben Hargreaves, the pathologist, was still examining Harriet’s body. He checked the thermometer he’d been using to measure her internal temperature, then looked up at Natalie.
‘Hello, Ben.’
‘Morning, DI Ward… DS Anderson.’
‘I suppose the obvious question is, was she strangled like Savannah?’ she asked.
&n
bsp; ‘There’s bruising around her neck suggesting that to be the cause of death but, obviously, I need to confirm that.’
‘Of course. Any idea of time of death?’
He lifted the thermometer as he spoke. ‘As you know, the body’s temperature cools by approximately one to two degrees each hour after death. If we take both that and the stage of rigor into account, we could assume she was killed a few hours ago, but I wouldn’t be able to put a more exact time on it without further examination.’
‘Have you any other thoughts? I need all the help I can get to catch the son of a bitch responsible,’ said Natalie. She received a sympathetic smile.
‘Well, she was found in this position on her front, but the presence of livor mortis on her back suggests she was killed elsewhere and moved sometime after death, probably an hour or two afterwards.’
Natalie knew a little about lividity. It was caused by the pooling and settling of blood in the blood vessels due to gravity occurring when the heart could no longer pump blood around the body. It appeared as a discolouration of the skin that started approximately thirty minutes after death. It developed more fully after three or four hours and entered what they called a fixed stage after eight hours, giving a good indication of when the victim had died and if the body had been moved after death.
Ben lifted Harriet’s blouse to reveal milk-white skin and the purplish bloom that spread across her back and shoulders.
Natalie asked, ‘Is it fixed lividity?’
‘No, not yet, which supports my theory that she was killed sometime in the early hours and moved to this spot afterwards, certainly after livor mortis had begun.’
‘The killer murdered her, kept her hidden for at least half an hour, then brought her here?’