The Death Knock

by Elodie Harper

  ‘Thank you for being here. As you are aware we have a major development in the enquiries into the deaths of Hanna Chivers, Sandra Blakely and Lily Sidcup.’ He blinks owlishly, blinded by flashes from the newspaper photographers. ‘We have reason to believe all three women were the victims of the same perpetrator or group of perpetrators. Their deaths are therefore now being treated as a single investigation.’ A murmur goes round the room. More clicks and flashes. Gubberts bends over his notes, his bald patch shining with sweat. ‘We are asking the public to help us catch whoever is responsible. If you have any information about the women’s last known movements, or about the days leading up to their disappearances, then we are urging you to please get in touch with us.’

  He pauses as another officer projects an image onto the screen behind him. It’s a blurred photo of a gaunt woman with dyed blonde hair. ‘This is Sandra Blakely. A thirty-eight-year-old mother of two originally from Swaffham. At the time of her death she was working as a streetwalker in Norwich.’ The slide changes to a CCTV image of a figure walking down a dark residential street. ‘She was last seen by a colleague, wearing a red puffa jacket and black trousers, walking down Edgedon Avenue in the Carrow Road area of the city around 2 a.m. on the 22nd of April this year. We would like to know if anyone saw Sandra get into a car that night, or if they saw her talking to anyone.’

  The photo changes. ‘This is Lily Sidcup. She was twenty-six years old, originally from Lowestoft, and also working in Norwich as a streetwalker.’ Frankie stares at the laughing brunette. The photo was taken in a sunny garden, one she herself has seen. She remembers looking at it through the window when she interviewed Lily’s grieving parents. ‘Lily was last seen on the 30th of August, wearing a denim jacket and a distinctive short green dress like this one from Primark.’ A double slide appears as he speaks, showing a picture of the dress and a grainy image of a figure in a Londis store. ‘We have CCTV of her at the grocer’s that day near her home at 4.23 p.m. Colleagues say she had been planning to work that night, but so far nobody can remember if they saw her. Again we are appealing for witnesses.

  ‘And now we have Hanna Chivers.’ The detective superintendent pauses and the eighteen-year-old apprentice appears behind him. It’s a very familiar photo to Frankie, who has used it in her news reports. It looks like a selfie taken in a bathroom mirror, perhaps in a bar. Another girl standing beside Hanna has been cropped out. She wonders if it was Hollie. ‘Hanna was last seen by her colleagues at Curly Sue, a hairdressing salon in Great Yarmouth, on the 10th of September at just after 6 p.m. It was the end of the working day and she had told them she was going to the supermarket. Her flatmates say she never returned home. We are currently examining CCTV to see how far we can trace her journey that evening.’

  Gubberts looks down at his notes and coughs, then raises his head to stare at the journalists, his expression grim. ‘Today we are also concerned about the safety of another young woman, twenty-year-old Ava Lindsey, a student at the University of East Anglia, who has gone missing.’ There’s a collective intake of breath and the detective is almost whited out by a barrage of flashes. A fourth smiling young woman now looks out at the assembled hacks. She has a pixie cut, the hair dyed pink. Her grey eyes are direct and challenging. An image flashes into Frankie’s mind: those eyes covered by pink hair as Ava lies on the mud. She feels her chest constrict. ‘Ava is from West Sussex and was last seen by friends on Sunday evening. They had been enjoying a night out at The Blue Bicycle in Norwich. Ava left her friends at about 10.20 p.m. and made her way home. We understand she had not been drinking heavily and would have been very capable of finding her way. Her disappearance is entirely out of character and she has never gone missing before. We are asking Ava, or anyone who knows where she is, to get in touch with us as a matter of urgency.’ Nigel Gubberts stops to take a long glug of water from the glass in front of him, then folds his hands, ready for the onslaught he must know is coming. ‘Now, are there any questions?’

  Malcolm’s hand shoots up in the air. He waits for the microphone to be passed back. ‘Malcolm Collins, Press Association. Can you tell us what’s caused you to think there is a single killer?’

  ‘We made the decision to combine the three investigations following Hanna Chivers’ post mortem report. That’s all I can tell you at the moment. I’m sure you understand I can’t release details about the evidence.’ He nods at a reporter from the Norfolk Times. ‘Yes, George.’

  ‘What makes you believe Ava Lindsey’s disappearance is linked to the deaths of the other women? And why has it taken you so long to link all the cases, haven’t you lost valuable time?’

  ‘If I can answer the second part of your question first. There’s no question of us losing time. Detectives from the first two murder enquiries have been sharing information for some weeks, but in order to run this as a single investigation we needed to reach a certain threshold in the evidence. We feel we’ve now reached that point.’ Gubberts pauses, takes another sip of water. ‘As far as Ava Lindsey is concerned, we very much hope there isn’t a link. But her disappearance is totally out of character, and given the current situation, we think it best to take it very seriously. We would appreciate publicity from the media to help locate her as soon as possible.’ Gubberts points to a big-haired young man in the front row. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Luke Heffner, Commercial Television News.’ Frankie notices Luke’s cameraman has turned round, zooming in to film his face. The reporter pauses, giving his colleague time to frame up, then carries on in his cut-glass accent. ‘You claim you’ve not lost any time and you hope there is no connection between the murder and missing person investigations.’ Luke pauses to show how little credence he gives either idea. ‘Nonetheless, Ava Lindsey is the fourth young woman to disappear in the county in just a few months. The last woman’s body was found dumped by the side of the road, not far from Great Yarmouth police station. The killer is obviously winning, do you think he’s also deliberately showing up the incompetence of your investigation?’

  It’s more a statement than a question, designed to demonstrate the brilliance of Luke’s probing at the expense of the poor plodding police. If Nigel Gubberts’s increasingly pink face is anything to go by, the strategy is working. It’s a fair point for Luke to make, Frankie supposes, but she finds the young man’s self-importance, so obviously engineered for the camera, excessive. Even worse, as the representative of CTV News, he’s affiliated with her own employer, which means she’s bound to end up working with him.

  ‘Well, Mr Heffner, this isn’t a game, innocent people have died so I don’t think “winning” is an appropriate way of putting it . . .’

  ‘Quite, and those innocent people died on your watch,’ Luke shoots back.

  ‘People can be assured we are working around the clock to ensure the perpetrator is brought to justice. That’s why our public appeal for witnesses today is crucial. Yes, next question please?’

  ‘Leonard Smythe, London Daily Times. Any evidence this missing girl Ava Lindsey was on the game like the others? Aren’t we talking about a prostitute killer here?’ Frankie rolls her eyes. The other hack ploughs on. ‘I mean, was she really going home from that bar, or could she have been meeting a client?’

  Nigel Gubberts looks even more irritated than he was with Luke Heffner. Lights from the cameras pick up beads of sweat on his hairline. ‘The first two victims, Sandra Blakely and Lily Sidcup, were both sex workers, but the third victim, Hanna Chivers, was an apprentice hairdresser in Great Yarmouth, and there’s absolutely no evidence that either she or Ava Lindsey were involved in the sex trade.’ The detective pauses, shuffling the papers in front of him. ‘So in answer to your question, no, that’s not a line of enquiry we’re pursuing. We don’t believe the victims’ professions are the key to the investigation.’ Frankie looks at Ava’s smiling face and wonders where the young student is being held while they sit here talking. Perhaps she’s already dead. She sticks her hand in the air.

 
‘Frances Latch, Eastern Film Company. Obviously Ava Lindsey is a missing not a murdered person. How confident are you that you can find her alive?’

  ‘Yes, well, clearly that’s our number one priority.’ Nigel Gubberts turns to look directly at the cameras. ‘And I would appeal to anybody who might know where Ava is right now to get in contact. She has a family who miss her and are desperate to have her home. This is a young woman with her whole life ahead of her, please think of that, and get in touch.’

  The press conference drags on for almost an hour as every journalist in the room goes after their pound of flesh. Then, with the look of a fox whose hole is finally in sight after being pursued by baying hounds, the detective superintendent escapes from the room. Frankie is making her way towards Gavin through the crush when somebody taps her shoulder.

  ‘Frances Latch? I’m Luke Heffner. Our newsdesk said you’d be able to get me archive footage of the previous murders. I’ll need them for tonight’s evening news.’

  Frankie squints up at Luke, who is taller than she expected. She hadn’t been able to make out much of him from behind, except for his perfectly coiffed hair and expensive suit. Now she sees he’s probably even younger than her, mid-twenties maybe, with preppy good looks and a subtle coat of bronze foundation dusted over his face. He makes her feel like a scruff-bag with her too-tight jacket and emergency trainers. She left her ‘on-camera’ shoes in the car.

  ‘OK, no worries, I’ll speak to my news editor, he’ll get them sent to you.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be editing in the satellite truck outside the university halls of residence if you need me.’ Luke pats her arm as if he’s the one granting the favour and heads off.

  ‘Bit of a prick, isn’t he?’ says Gavin behind her, voicing her own thoughts.

  Frankie smiles. ‘You said it. So what next? I guess we head to the university and try and talk to Ava’s friends?’

  ‘Us and the rest of the world,’ Gavin grumbles, lifting the camera onto his shoulder.

  Frankie has speaker phone on as she drives back to Norwich. Her friend Priya Malik, who is producing tonight’s show, explains she wants the story told in two reports. The first on the announcement that the three murders are linked (the killer is already being called ‘the Norfolk Strangler’ by the press) and the second report devoted to Ava Lindsey.

  ‘I’d like you to do the second piece,’ Priya says, as Frankie hurtles along the road back into town. ‘We’ve set you up an interview with Professor Peter Marks, Ava’s tutor, the press office say he can speak for the university. Then it’s just a question of grabbing whichever students will talk.’

  ‘OK, I’ll do my best. What’s the new boss like?’ There’s such a long silence, Frankie thinks the call has cut out. ‘Priya? Are you there?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that now, just get to the UEA.’

  ‘Blimey! She’s that bad?’

  ‘Everything’s fine, just concentrate on your report. Speak later.’

  ‘Well, that’s fabulous,’ Frankie mumbles to herself, after Priya has gone. She turns the radio on, and carries on driving.

  Gavin arrives at the university before her. He’s in a furious mood, convinced he got snapped by a traffic camera after belting up the A11. ‘It’s all Charlie’s fault,’ he says. ‘What’s he doing making us cover this side of the story? It would have been quicker to send someone from Norwich if they’re doing two reports. And I hate bloody vox pops!’

  Frankie struggles along beside him as they trek across the concrete jungle of a campus. She offered to carry his tripod earlier and is now regretting it. The thing weighs a ton. Normally Gavin is far too chivalrous to let her carry anything. He must be feeling really aggrieved. ‘We don’t have to vox pop any students just yet,’ she says soothingly. ‘It’s an interview with her tutor first.’

  ‘What’s he going to say?’

  ‘I don’t know, I only spoke to Priya.’

  ‘Well, I’m not trudging up to some rubbishy room with nothing to film but a white wall in the background and some stupid set-up shots of him tippety-tappeting on a computer. He can come down here. Looks nice outside, it’s a sunny afternoon. We’ll shoot him against those trees.’ Gavin stops abruptly, and Frankie can see he’s not going to move any further. Gratefully, she drops the tripod.

  ‘I’ll just run along to reception and get him, then.’

  Professor Peter Marks is already at the front desk when she arrives, saying goodbye to another reporter from a rival broadcaster. The two journalists nod at each other. Ava’s tutor must be doing the rounds today, Frankie thinks. She goes over to introduce herself.

  ‘Is it all right if we do the interview outside, Professor Marks? My cameraman has set up by some trees, to get a bit of autumn colour on campus.’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiles, shaking her hand. He’s a tall, slim man, rather young-looking for a professor. ‘Whatever you think best.’ He holds the door open for her and they walk out into the sunshine towards Gavin.

  ‘It’s terrible what’s happened, you must all be very worried,’ she says. ‘Had you been teaching Ava long? What’s she like?’

  ‘I’ve been teaching her since last year. Ava is a very able student, she’s going to make a good psychologist one day,’ he says, his hands pushed deep in his grey trouser pockets. ‘She always struck me as an exceptionally calm person, with real insight into human behaviour.’

  ‘Not somebody likely to take off without explanation?’

  Peter Marks stares straight ahead as they walk side by side along the grass. ‘No. Absolutely not.’

  ‘Did she have any enemies at all?’

  ‘Enemies?’ He half frowns, half smiles at the word. ‘Of course not, no. I think she did get a few people’s backs up in the science department, she was a passionate supporter for environmental issues when she arrived, but really you expect that with idealistic young people. And I got the feeling she’d moved away from any actual activism this year.’

  They reach Gavin, standing by his tripod. Frankie introduces them and Professor Marks immediately manages to take the edge off Gavin’s grumpiness by complimenting him on the location he’s chosen. ‘One of the prettiest spots on campus,’ he says. ‘You must have a good eye.’

  Professor Marks clearly cares about Ava, so it’s a disappointment that he comes across as rather cold in the interview. Frankie keeps prodding him to be a bit more personal, but the tutor only says, ‘I couldn’t tell you that,’ or ‘I didn’t know Ava socially, only as a student.’ His only truly interesting reply is one she cannot use. It’s after she asks what message he would have for whoever might be holding Ava captive.

  ‘I wouldn’t have any message for them,’ he says, then looks over towards Gavin and holds his hand up. ‘Can you stop filming for a moment please?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Frankie. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t mean to be patronising, but you do realise that whoever is holding Ava will almost certainly be watching all the news coverage, feeding off it to give themselves a sense of control, and quite possibly using it to manipulate her?’

  Frankie is stunned. ‘Er, well, I guess so.’

  ‘The police will have their own profiler, and any message they have for this man – and I strongly suspect it is a man – will be filtered through their own knowledge of the case. I have nothing to say to him.’ For the first time, Frankie sees a flicker of anger underneath the smooth exterior. ‘I have only contempt.’ Peter Marks stares at her, perhaps waiting for another question, but his sudden change in tone has taken Frankie by surprise. ‘If that’s all,’ he says at last. ‘I’d better be getting back.’

  ‘Of course, yes, thank you for your time,’ she says, shaking his hand. She and Gavin watch him stride back across the grass.

  ‘Funny fish,’ Gavin remarks.

  An hour later she’s heading back to the newsroom. The vox pops hadn’t been too bad, although she didn’t find any of Ava’s close friends, perhaps because there se
emed to be almost as many reporters as students hanging out in the university’s concrete amphitheatre. At one point Frankie asked a boy whether he knew Ava, only to find he was an especially young BBC radio producer. But although she did manage to get some students to talk, the whole exercise makes her uncomfortable. It’s too similar to her job earlier that week accosting mourners at Hanna’s shrine. She hopes the report on Ava doesn’t feel like an obituary. Of course it’s only human to feel sympathy, but she’s surprised by the intensity with which she wants the student to come back unharmed.

  The most promising lead she picks up is not an interview but a mobile phone number, given to her by a psychology undergraduate in Ava’s year. The number belongs to Laura Jenkins, Ava’s friend who was with her on the night she went missing. She hasn’t responded to Frankie’s messages in time for an interview today, but it’s the type of contact she hopes might prove useful later.

  When she walks into the newsroom, she has a quick look around for the new boss, but can’t see anyone who might be her. Charlie spots her and beckons her over to his desk.

  ‘Right, it’s going to be tight to get this on air, but you can work with Caz in the edit suite.’ He puts a hand out to stop her from rushing off. ‘Also I’ve said Luke Heffner from national can have your interview with the professor. He didn’t get time to do it himself and Kiera is keen for us to share material. I’ll send the rushes to his truck once they’re online.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ she says, already heading for the stairs.

  The report ends up being more than a little tight; they almost miss their deadline. They are still laying the last shots as the presenters read the headlines and Caz the video editor has to live roll from the edit suite. Not something Frankie wanted to happen on Kiera’s first day. She also has an unpleasant shock when Caz plays through the rushes. Gavin had, accidentally, kept recording during Professor Marks’s off-the-record remarks about the killer. She sends Luke a brief email, explaining they had agreed not to use the last answer and asking him to respect that, but she gets no reply. She hopes it’s because he’s too busy.