by C. S. Barnes
Meanwhile, Evie Grantham was picture perfect in her attire but less so elsewhere; where her husband’s eyes were heavy, Evie’s were bloodshot. The red cloud that sat around each eye was a telltale sign of the tears that had been shed over the morning, and Melanie felt it in her gut that there were only more to come.
Both officers introduced themselves again to Evie Grantham. The woman gestured for them to sit down on the sofa opposite her own, and Melanie noted how neither of the seats were angled towards the television. They must entertain a lot, she thought, although she wasn’t sure whether this said more about the Granthams or herself.
‘Mr Grantham—’ Melanie started but the man held a hand out to interrupt her.
‘Robert,’ he said, his hand flat against his chest. ‘Evie.’ He gestured to his wife.
‘Robert,’ Melanie revised her opening. ‘Might we ask one or two questions about your daughter? Her usual haunts, behaviours.’ Robert nodded Melanie to continue. ‘You told dispatch that it wasn’t like her to be out all evening. Was there anything happening last night that you were aware of; a social gathering of any kind?’
Robert hesitated, so his wife stepped in to answer. ‘She was with friends, we knew that much,’ she said, but paused to take a deep breath as though steadying herself. ‘There wasn’t a party or anything, not that we were told about, and Jenni would have always told us. They were all very excited about Halloween, you know how they get; it only seems to get worse as they get older. She was at a friend’s house and she said she’d be late because they were going to test out their costumes, a trial run or something. So we knew she’d be late, but that wasn’t a concern, really, it’s never been…’ She trailed off, her shoulders hunching up as she gave way to a deep sob. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just, I don’t understand how this, how this is happening.’
Robert rested a hand on his wife’s leg and leaned in to kiss the side of her temple. ‘Jenni is a young woman and we’ve trusted her to come back at a decent time. Even when she says late, she doesn’t really mean late, it’s just that we go to bed early ourselves.’
‘Do you usually hear Jenni come home?’ Melanie asked.
‘No.’ Robert was firm in his response, as though he had anticipated this type of question. ‘My wife has problems with her health, her medication usually wipes her out come half past nine, and I’m of the sleeping tablet generation, I’m afraid, so we’re both fairly useless after around ten in the evening. Which is why we never overmonitored Jenni’s times.’ He sounded defensive, which was quite natural, given the circumstances. Parenting skills were usually called into question on cases like these.
‘Do you know which friends Jenni was with last night?’ Carter intervened.
Robert looked to his wife for an answer. ‘Yes, yes, she was with Eleanor Gregory. Her house is about a ten-minute walk from here, but they might have been going to meet others. Jen, she’d got quite close to Elanor and a few others since their A Levels started.’ Evie paused while Carter made a note of this. ‘Eleanor seems like a nice girl, from the few times that we’ve met her.’
‘Do you know anyone else who’s likely to have been with them?’ Melanie added, allowing her colleague time to finish his scribing.
Evie Grantham shrugged. ‘There could have been any number of them, I suppose. There’s a chap, Peter, Paul, P-something. He’s usually at Eleanor’s heels, so I suspect he will have been there. Other than that, it will have been the girls from their year. Oh God, what’s his name? P–’
‘Patrick?’ her husband interrupted her.
‘Patrick, yes!’
Melanie shot a side glance at her junior to make sure that he was getting the details down as the couple spoke. Edd underlined the name Patrick three times and then nodded to his boss to continue with her questions. The DI took a deep inhale as she opened the brown folder that lay flat across her lap; this was going to hurt.
‘Mr and Mrs Grantham,’ she said. She needed the formality, the safe distance, before she could get to this next part. ‘You may or may not have heard that we found the body of a young woman over on the playing fields early this morning.’
Evie Grantham’s hand shot up to her mouth to cover her pursed lips, as though she were physically holding in an outburst; she looked away from Melanie, but the woman’s husband encouraged the officer to continue. ‘There was no form of ID on the body, but we asked the Medical Examiner’s office to supply us with a photograph.’ The image was out of the folder, firm in Melanie’s hand but still facing her torso, concealed from the couple. ‘I can’t imagine how troubling this must be for you both, really, but if you could look at this picture and confirm for us whether it is or isn’t Jenni, we’d be a step further in finding out what’s happened here.’
Robert Grantham closed the small gap between him and his wife, wrapping an arm tight around her shoulders. He kissed the side of her temple again and nodded his approval for Melanie to continue. The DI handed the picture over with a watchful eye on the couple, waiting for their primary reactions. As she watched Evie Grantham crumple into her husband like a paper doll, Melanie knew that the morning’s victim was indeed the sixteen-year-old Jenni Grantham who had gone missing some time during the night – and she knew too, that this family was changed forever.
Melanie gave Edd the signal to bring in Dixon from his standpoint outside, so Carter excused himself while the bereaved parents shared a quiet moment. It was uncomfortable for Melanie to be so close to their grief, but she could at least avert her eyes, instead choosing to scan the room for sights and sounds of their victim. Jenni was everywhere; there were photographs at every age, family portraits and birthday parties surrounded by friends. It would be clear to anyone who stepped into this space that the Granthams were a couple who doted on their daughter, and this news had carved a hole that would take some time to repair – assuming it could ever be done. Melanie had seen families torn apart by death before, but it was too soon, too fresh to say whether this would be another of those times.
‘Did she suffer, Miss Watton?’ Robert asked, his wife still hunched into him. Her tears had bated but her eyes were fixed open, staring intently at a spot on the carpet. She didn’t acknowledge that her husband had spoken, nor did she acknowledge Melanie’s answer.
‘I’m afraid that we’re not yet sure of the incidents surrounding Jenni’s death, Mr Grantham.’ Melanie wanted to lie but her deep-rooted professionalism wouldn’t allow for it. ‘The Medical Examiner has assured me that this case is at the top of his list though, so we should know more in the next day or so.’ Robert Grantham nodded absently, as though he might not have fully heard, or understood, the DI’s response. ‘It’s very early days,’ she added. ‘But there’s no reason at all to think that we won’t catch the person responsible for this.’
Evie Grantham snapped back into the room then, her eyes narrowing toward Melanie as though she were physically inspecting the officer’s words.
‘Do you think that matters?’ the bereaved mother whispered. ‘Do you think it matters to us the tiniest jot whether you reek bloody vengeance on the animal that did this?’ She became increasingly louder with each word. ‘Someone has snatched our daughter away, Detective. Frankly, I couldn’t care less if the world stopped spinning entirely, never mind if you catch the monster behind this bloody madness. She’s our daughter.’ Evie’s breath staggered, and she leaned heavily into her husband, as though another wave of grief had descended on her. ‘She was our daughter, Rob,’ she spoke into her husband’s chest before giving way to another round of tears, these more ferocious than the last.
Dixon appeared in the doorway of the room. He smiled a hello to Melanie and stepped toward the couple seated in the right-hand side of the living space. Crouching down in front of them both, he introduced himself and his purpose.
‘I’m going to be here, round the clock if you’d like me to be, and you can think of me as your direct line to everything that’s happening in the investigation.’ Evie Gr
antham held eye contact with the officer as he spoke; it was the most engaged the mother had looked in some minutes. ‘If you have questions, concerns, if you remember something that might be important, if you need milk or butter, I’m here.’
Melanie stood to greet Carter in the doorway.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ the DS directed his sympathies to Robert, given that Evie was absorbed in a quiet conversation with the crouching Dixon.
‘Thank you, officers.’
‘I’m sorry to ask, Mr Grantham, but might we have a look around Jenni’s room while we’re here? There are certain things that might be useful, and it’s best that we find them sooner…’ Watton trailed off as Robert again held up a hand to pause her.
‘Do what you need to do, Detective, you’ll have no arguments from us.’
Seconds later, trailing his boss up the stairs to Jenni’s room, Carter whispered, ‘That’s the hard part over at least.’
‘Don’t be a rookie, Edd,’ Melanie snapped. ‘The hard part hasn’t even started.’
6
DS Edd Carter rubbed hard at his eyes, straightened his tie, and practiced a smile before launching himself out of his car and up the driveway of his family home. As he reached for the doorbell, the front door opened to reveal a near-silhouette of his mother, backlit by the warmth of the hallway. She smiled and stepped aside for him to come in, and he stopped to plant a kiss on her cheek as he entered. The two made their way quietly into the kitchen and Carter’s mother clicked the door closed before speaking.
‘Long day again, love?’ She crossed the room to the kettle. Edd’s father was sitting at the small table in the centre of the space, so engrossed in his paper that he hadn’t yet looked up to acknowledge his son.
‘It has been, yeah.’ Edd pulled out a chair and dropped himself down opposite his dad. ‘You alright behind there, old man?’ His father nodded without making eye contact and from behind him Edd saw his mother shake her head lightly while making the tea.
It wasn’t until she’d finished the task and set three cups on the table that Edd’s father rested his paper to one side, let out a sharp cough, and said, ‘What’s going on, lad?’
Edd looked to his mother for clarification, but she seemed as ready for an answer as his father was.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Love.’ His mother’s tone was softer than the old man’s at least. ‘We’ve had Emily nearly every night this last week, and we don’t mind.’ She squeezed her husband’s hand deliberately, strengthening his silence, Edd guessed. ‘We don’t mind at all because she’s a little star, she really is. But she’s said some things while she’s been here that’s got us–’
‘Has Trish left?’ Edd’s father snapped, and his wife shot him a look that could floor a man. He merely shrugged. ‘You’ll be dancing round the houses, and I’ve got a paper to finish,’ he said pointedly to his wife before turning to his son again. ‘The lass hasn’t seen or heard from her mother, and there’s no one there to collect her from school, so something’s occurring that you’re not telling us about.’
Edd sighed. Just like that, he was thirteen again. He’d been caught bunking off school and his mother was gently encouraging him to admit to the crime. Meanwhile his dad blurted out what the crime was and how Edd would be punished for it. It had always been their way; the ballerina and the steamroller, Edd thought, not that he’d ever really minded. It had often been quite a comfort being able to predict his parents’ behaviours so well; although the general state of his home life meant that he’d been blindsided by this confrontation in a way that he hadn’t been before. He took a large gulp of hot tea, set the cup down and said, ‘Trish left about a week ago, yeah.’ His mother’s hand flew to her mouth as a shocked gasp slipped out, while his father simply nodded for his son to continue. ‘She said she needed some time away and when I asked how long, she said she’d have to let me know, and I haven’t heard from her since. I’ve tried to talk to her, sent a few texts, called once or twice, but nothing.’
His mother stood. ‘You’re a police officer, for God’s sake. Aren’t you concerned?’
‘That something has happened to her?’
‘Yes, Edward, that something has happened to her.’ His mother’s tone cut through him.
‘She’s fine, Mum. She’s using social media; I know where she is,’ Edd offered by way of reassurance but his mother merely shook her head, narrowed her eyes, and carried her tea back to the kitchen counter. Facing away from both men, she threw the hot contents of the mug into the sink and slammed down the cup on the sideboard before turning back to them.
‘And what about her daughter?’ she demanded. ‘Where does she fit in?’
‘I’m looking after Emily for the foreseeable,’ Edd replied.
‘Except you aren’t; we are!’
His mother burst out of the room in a fashion that Edd thought was a touch dramatic, and his father’s eye roll suggested he felt the same. The two men sat in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. Edd’s father sipped at his tea and stared down one corner of the table, as though deep in thought. Given his mother’s reaction to the news, he was braced for a reprimand of some kind from his father too.
‘Did anything happen?’ his dad finally asked.
Edd shrugged. ‘From my end, we’re the same as we’ve always been. I’m working a bit more, since the promotion, but we both knew that would happen, and it’s not like we’re not being compensated for it; there’s more money coming in, we’re more comfortable.’ He paused to consider this. ‘I thought we were more comfortable. Trish obviously has other ideas on the matter.’ He stared into his tea, as though he might find an answer to the messy situation somewhere at the bottom of his mug.
‘Women, they’re tricky,’ his father said. ‘Do you think there’s someone else?’
It was a thought Edd had entertained every hour on the hour since his wife had left. He knew roughly where she was staying, but not who with, nor how she was affording it, given that their joint account hadn’t suffered much of a dent. But he had no evidence for there being another person involved, no. He shook his head but held his glare on the cooling drink in front of him; this confrontation was hard enough without having to look his father in the eye too. Without another word, his father stood up from his seat and closed the distance between them; standing just behind Edd, the older man set a firm hand on his son’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.
‘This isn’t on you, lad. Your mother, she’s tricky and all, but she’ll see this isn’t on you.’ His in- and exhale that followed sounded shaky, and Edd thought that if he turned he might catch his father on the cusp of tears. For this reason, he stayed facing straight ahead. His dad gave another squeeze of his shoulder before he stepped away and moved towards the door, visible in Edd’s peripherals. ‘We’ll tend to Emily for a night or two, and I’ll check on your mother. You stay here for as long as you like, alright?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, just shut the door gently behind him, leaving Edd alone with his cold tea and those on-the-hour thoughts.
DI Melanie Watton kicked the front door closed behind her. She thumbed through the collection of bills that had been waiting for her in her letterbox and continued on her way to the kitchen. There was a casserole dish of cold pasta on the middle shelf of her too-big-for-one-person fridge that she retrieved, and with a fork and no bowl, she ate directly from the large container while ripping through her post.
After four large mouthfuls of food, she replaced the pasta with a bottle of alcohol-free beer. She took two large gulps of the stuff and winced as it went down; not drinking on work nights was a house rule. The officer padded back to the hallway to collect her work bag and heaved it onto the dining room table. She pulled out the same brown folder that she’d taken with her to the Grantham house earlier in the day.
Robert Grantham had been quick to collect together additional photographs of his daughter – ‘For news reports, maybe, or appeals, or wha
tever it is,’ he’d explained, and Melanie had nodded, accepted the photographs, and stashed them away for safekeeping. They lay scattered across Melanie’s wooden table top; a timeline of the girl from what Melanie guessed was around fourteen, judging from the school uniform, all the way through to college – a recent photograph taken from a drama production – and, eventually, to death. The image of Jenni’s pale face against the steel of the examination table lay at the far end of the timeline. Melanie pulled it closer towards her, took another swig of fake-beer, and balanced the image upright against the centrepiece of the table.
The minutes slipped by as Melanie stared at each image in turn, but the timeline soon overwhelmed her. There was a newsagents ten minutes away that would be open, she thought, and they would surely be selling beer. Melanie locked her front door behind her but left the lights on, and the splay of images across her dining room table, ready for her return.
DC Chris Burton had been sitting in her car outside her own house for close on twenty minutes when her mobile rang. Joe’s number displayed across the screen.
He spoke as soon as she answered. ‘Are you going to stay out there all night?’
Chris let out a long exhale. ‘It was a kid, Joe. She was just a kid.’
Joe didn’t respond but held a comforting silence as Chris watched him cross from the living room window to the front door. The door opened, letting out the welcoming light of their hallway.
‘You can come in and talk about it, or not talk about it at all,’ Joe said, leaning against the doorframe.
Chris loved her job, she always had done, but there were some days when everything was just too much. Seeing a young girl’s life extinguished decades too soon was a lot for anyone to bear and while Chris had handled it fine on the surface – she knew better than to let appearances slip at work – now she was home she knew that her feelings were in danger of spilling out.