by Alex Walters
‘I’m sorry to put you through this,’ McKay said. ‘But better to get a personal identification if we can. Then everything is put beyond any doubt.’
Scott nodded sceptically. ‘Let’s just get it over with.’
McKay looked at Mrs Scott. ‘We only need one of you for identification purposes. If you’d prefer to wait here, my colleagues can take you for a coffee.’ He gestured towards the cafe area.
‘If it is Katy,’ Mrs Scott said firmly, ‘I want to see her.’
Leaving Horton and Graham in the cafe, he led the way to the mortuary at the rear of the hospital. They were greeted at the entrance by a taciturn young man in a white coat who led them silently into the bleak, chilly room. He produced a bunch of keys and, carefully checking the reference, took them to one end of the row of cabinets.
‘You’re sure you both want to go through with this?’
‘I’m sure,’ Mrs Scott said. Her husband grunted his assent. The assistant swung open the drawer in a practised movement. McKay gestured for the Scotts to take a look.
Scott nodded. ‘That’s her. She’d lost weight.’ He sounded as if she’d returned from a long holiday or university.
Mrs Scott leaned forward to gain a closer look. ‘Katy,’ she said, softly. ‘Katy.’ After a moment she turned away, her shoulders hunched, sobbing. Her husband made no move to comfort her.
McKay gestured to the assistant to close the drawer. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m assuming you’ll want to make arrangements for the funeral. If you let us know what would suit you, we can organise the release. We’ve completed all the examinations we need.’
Scott nodded, though McKay suspected that he was thinking about nothing beyond the unexpected expense. Well, tough luck, buddy, McKay thought.
‘Are you ready to go back out now?’ he asked Mrs Scott.
She raised her face to his, her eyes red-stained. ‘Thank you, yes. I’ll be all right in a moment.’
‘We’ll get you a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s been an ordeal.’
‘I wanted to see her,’ she said. ‘I needed to be sure.’
‘I understand,’ McKay said.
Perhaps more than anyone, he added to himself.
***
McKay had offered the Scotts the opportunity to delay giving their statements, recognising the vulnerability of Mrs Scott’s condition. Scott had responded, very firmly, that they just wanted to get it over with. And be back in time for Countdown, McKay glossed to himself.
‘If you’re sure,’ McKay said. ‘If you come with me, Mr Scott, and your wife goes with DS Horton, we’ll get it sorted as quickly as we can.’
Mr Scott eyed him suspiciously. ‘I’d assumed we’d do this together.’
‘We need a statement from each of you,’ McKay said, blandly. ‘That’s how it has to be done. It won’t take long.’
Horton was already beginning to usher Mrs Scott out of the room. ‘I’ll take good care of your wife, Mr Scott,’ she said. Before either of the Scotts could respond, she had swept Mrs Scott out of the room, taking her down the corridor to another of the small interview rooms.
Horton completed the formal interview with Mrs Scott quickly enough, tapping the details into her laptop so she could print off a copy for Mrs Scott. Mrs Scott’s responses confirmed only what she’d said the previous day. Horton could sense, though, that Mrs Scott was growing more anxious with each question. She was sitting with her handbag clutched on her lap, her fingers toying anxiously with the handles.
Horton finished typing and closed the lid of the laptop. She sat back and smiled at the older woman. ‘I’m sorry we’ve had to put you through all this. I realise it must be a strain.’
‘You’ve got to do your job.’ Mrs Scott’s words sounded stilted, as if she’d been coached by her husband. ‘We want to give you every help we can to catch whoever was responsible.’
‘May I ask you one further question, Mrs Scott?’
She could almost see Mrs Scott stiffen. ‘Of course.’
‘When we were talking yesterday, I had the sense that you might have kept in touch with your daughter after she left home. Is that right?’
Mrs Scott hesitated a moment too long. ‘I don’t know what made you think that.’
‘There are two things I should remind you of, Mrs Scott. First, we’re trying to identify the person who killed your daughter. Anything you can tell us might help us in that task.’ She stopped. ‘The second, and I’m sorry to have to put it in these terms, is that we’re conducting a murder enquiry. If you obstruct us in that, whatever your reasons, then potentially you’re committing a serious criminal offence. We’ve found a second body. Another young woman. It’s possible we’re dealing with a multiple killer. This isn’t just about your daughter, Mrs Scott.’
There was a long silence. Finally, Mrs Scott said: ‘I’m scared.’
‘What are you scared of? Your husband?’
Mrs Scott nodded, the merest tremor of her head.
‘Is he a violent man?’
‘He’s— He has been, at times, yes. Not for a while. He used to get—so angry.’
‘With you or with your daughter?’
‘Both. But after she went—’
‘We can take action about that. If you want us to.’
Mrs Scott held up her hands. ‘No, I don’t want that. Not now. It’s been a long while since—well, since the last time. I need him. We need each other.’
‘But you’re still afraid of what he might do? If you tell me about your contact with Katy.’
‘Yesterday, after you’d gone, he was angry in a way that he hasn’t been for years. He had a minor heart attack a couple of years ago. I thought he wasn’t like that anymore. It was almost as if Katy had come back into the house. Behaving like she used to. Winding him up.’
‘All I can do, Mrs Scott, is stress that anything you say to me will be treated as confidential. You husband need never know what we’ve discussed.’
‘Honestly, there’s not a lot I can really tell you. You’re right. I kept in touch with Katy after she left home. Not frequently. She wasn’t the kind of girl for that, even with me.’
‘But she kept in contact?’
‘Every month or so. She’d send me a text, asking me to call her when I could so that Ronnie wouldn’t know. The mobile’s one of the few things I keep to myself. I pray he never finds it. She had pay as you go phones, so the numbers were always changing.’
‘She was living in Manchester at the time of her death. Did you know that?’
‘Yes. It’s probably only five or six weeks since I last spoke to her. She’d just moved flats—’
‘We understand she was living in the Chorlton area of Manchester. Is that what she told you?’
‘It didn’t mean much to me. She said she’d text me the new address but she never got round to it.’
‘You had her previous addresses?’
‘Some. She was always on the move. She gave me the address if she wanted me to send her something.’
‘Money?’
Mrs Scott blushed. ‘Usually. A few pounds to dig her out of a hole. I couldn’t send her a lot without Ronnie finding out.’ She looked up at Horton and, for the first time, gave a thin smile. ‘When Ronnie said Katy stole my housekeeping money, he was wrong. I gave it to her, as much as I could. I thought Ronnie wouldn’t realise but he noticed it had gone. So—’ She shrugged. ‘You know how it is.’
‘If you’ve got the previous addresses, and any details of friends or acquaintances she might have mentioned, even if it’s just first names, it would be useful to have that information.’
Mrs Scott picked up her handbag. It took Horton a moment to realise that the older woman had re-stitched the lining of the handbag to create a concealed pocket. Jesus, how scared must this woman be?
Looking nervously towards the door, Mrs Scott produced a mobile phone. ‘This is the one Katy used to text me on. I’ve kept all the texts for the last couple of
years. You can pick out anything you think is likely to be useful. There aren’t a huge number.’ She switched on the phone and thumbed through to the text menu. ‘There.’
Horton flicked carefully through the texts. They made poignant reading, a distillation of two wasted lives. It was clear to Horton that Katy had contacted her mother only when she wanted something. Mostly, it was a request for money—a few quid to tide her over till next payday or her next benefit payment or the next job. Horton noted down any substantive information—addresses, names of friends she’d mentioned in passing. There was little likely to be of use to them.
Horton held out the phone. ‘Many thanks for letting me look at this.’
Mrs Scott took the phone and then, hesitating for a moment, pushed it back across the table. ‘You might as well hold on to it. The information might be useful to you.’
‘But—’
‘I don’t need it anymore.’ Her eyes were darting towards the door, as if she expected her husband to burst in at any moment.
‘If you’re sure. I can hold on to it as potential evidence.’
‘I won’t want it back.’
Horton took the phone from the table and slipped it into her pocket. ‘I’m very grateful for what you’ve told me, Mrs Scott.’
‘And you won’t—?’
‘Not in a million years, Mrs Scott. Trust me, not in a million years.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
McKay’s interview with Scott was less productive. Scott had made it clear that he had no interest in being there. The fact that his contribution might assist in the identification of his daughter’s killer seemed of little interest for him. He’d seemed more concerned about the fact that he and his wife were being interviewed separately.
‘What was Katy like as a child?’ McKay had asked early on.
‘Is that relevant?’
‘We’re trying to gain an understanding of what your daughter was like, Mr Scott. It all helps.’
‘Well, she was—’ Scott stopped, as if trying to find the right words. His eyes blinked behind his thick spectacles. ‘She was the apple of my eye,’ he said, finally.
McKay hadn’t been sure what he’d been expecting, but not that. Whatever the real nature of Scott’s relationship with his daughter, McKay had been expecting nothing more than the same contempt and dismissal they’d heard the previous day.
‘You were close, then?’ McKay said. ‘When she was smaller?’
Scott looked up at him, his eyes clear and unblinking. ‘Aye, we were close,’ he said. ‘Two of a kind. You know what it’s like between fathers and daughters.’
McKay gazed back at him, trying to fathom this man. I know what it was like between me and my daughter, he thought. But I can’t begin to imagine what it might have been like between you and yours.
‘She was different then,’ Scott went on. For the first time, there was a note of genuine loss in his voice. It was as if his real daughter, the daughter he’d really wanted, had died a long time ago. ‘She’d do anything for me. She’d do whatever I said. She was—well, she was mine.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She was an obedient child, that’s all I mean. She did her schoolwork, dressed smartly. Went to church with us. Went to bed when we told her to. She was the kind of daughter any man would want.’ The smile grew wider, though with no evident warmth. ‘Her sister Emma was the difficult one.’ He leaned forward and stared at McKay. ‘It was God’s will she was taken, just as it’s God’s will that Katy’s been taken now.’
The words were unexpectedly chilling. It was then that McKay recognised the emotion he’d read in the man’s face when they’d broken the news of Katy’s death. Not surprise or shock. Not despair or anguish.
Relief.
That was what it had been. Relief that, finally, his daughter would not be there to expose him. That now there was no danger that, one day, two police officers might turn up on his doorstep for a very different reason. He recalled Scott’s apparent shock when he’d first introduced himself, and how, if anything, the man had seemed calmer once they’d broken the news. Scott had his wife firmly under his thumb. His only potential vulnerability had been his daughter, out there in the wide world. And now she was gone.
If McKay’s speculations were correct—and, increasingly, despite the absence of anything approaching substantive evidence, he was beginning to believe they were— Scott had a motive for his daughter’s killing. It was possible, McKay supposed. Perhaps he’d invited her up here on the basis of—what? A reconciliation? A confession? It was difficult to imagine Katy would have willingly agreed to a meeting. But abusers were always expert manipulators. Scott might have told her anything.
Would Scott have had the strength and stamina to have killed her and dispose of the body? It seemed unlikely, looking at the frail elderly man in front of him, and it would surely have been impossible for Scott to have involved any accomplice. But a desperate man might be capable of more than you could imagine. If Scott were responsible, it would perhaps explain the candles and roses. A final tribute to the young daughter who had been lost to him many years before her death.
All of this might be conceivable if it weren’t for the second body. Scott might have had reason to kill his daughter. It was harder to imagine why he might have killed again. A second victim? Someone his daughter had told? Looking at the man before him, any scenario stretched increasingly into the realms of fantasy.
‘You say you were close to your daughter when she was younger,’ McKay said. ‘When did that change?’
Scott shrugged. ‘Emma’s death made a difference. Katy changed after that. But mainly it was just growing older. Becoming a teenager. She became more rebellious, disobedient. Began to hang out with the wrong crowd. We tried everything but it just made her worse. Emma had been just the same.’
‘What age are we talking?’
‘Thirteen, fourteen. After she went to the Academy. It was a gradual thing. We didn’t notice at first. She began bunking off school. Getting into trouble.’
‘With the police? There’s nothing on the record.’
‘It never went that far. It was petty shoplifting. Stupid vandalism. That sort of stuff. And she started dressing up like—well, I don’t know what. Punk, that sort of thing.’
And so it went on. McKay sat through the recital of Scott’s grievances against his daughter for as long as his patience would allow. He elicited little in the way of substantive information—Scott claimed, unsurprisingly, to have no knowledge of his daughter’s friends or associates during that period—but he felt an increasing certainty that Danny Reynolds’s suspicions had been correct.
‘What prompted your daughter to leave home, Mr Scott? In the end, I mean. Was there some specific incident?’
‘Not that I’m aware. She’d threatened to before. But she’d had no money, nowhere to go.’
‘But this time she did?’
‘Someone was stupid enough to take her in.’
‘She took some money from you?’
‘From Megs. Not a fortune. But not pennies either.’
‘You didn’t know where she’d gone?’
‘She left a note saying she was going to stay in Inverness. She didn’t say who with.’
‘Your wife mentioned this Daniel Reynolds?’
‘There was a boy. Probably more than one. I don’t recollect their names.’
McKay sat back. ‘OK, Mr Scott, that’s all from me. Is there anything else you can tell us you think might be useful? Anything that might give us an insight into Katy’s life or character?’
‘I’ve told you everything I can. I can’t imagine any of it being particularly useful to you, but that’s your business.’
‘As you say, Mr Scott. I’m sorry we’ve had to put you through this. But it is necessary, I’m afraid.’
‘If you say so. I’m assuming we won’t need to be involved any further?’
‘I hope not, but it’s really too early to say.’
‘I hope so too, then. I’ve better things to do.’
‘We appreciate that, Mr Scott,’ McKay said, his voice emollient. ‘We’ll trouble you only if we have real cause.’ He waited for Scott to look him in the eye before adding: ‘Whatever that might be.’
***
Leaving Horton to take the Scotts down to rendezvous with Mary Graham, who’d been detailed to drive them back to Culbokie, McKay returned to his desk and dug out the details Carlisle had given him on DI Warren of Greater Manchester Police. It took a few minutes chasing round the switchboard to track Warren down.
‘Jesus,’ Warren said, when McKay had explained the reason for his call. ‘I saw that on the news. She’s our misper?’
‘Looks like it,’ McKay said. ‘We’ve got her last address in Chorlton and we know she moved to Manchester when she first moved down from Inverness. We’ve tracked down a couple of addresses for the period in between so it looks as if she’s been living in and around Manchester since she moved south.’
‘I’ll see what else we can dig out,’ Warren said, in a tone that suggested it wouldn’t be top of his priority list. ‘Where do you reckon she was killed?’
‘We don’t know for sure. But we’ve now got a second body up here. Similar circumstances and MO.’
‘Suggests that the link’s at your end, then?’ McKay could almost hear the relief in Warren’s voice. No doubt he was as hard pressed as all coppers these days. ‘Look, I’ll send you whatever we’ve got. I know we took statements from the neighbour who reported her missing and from her landlord. We had difficulties tracking down anyone else who knew her, other than a couple of work colleagues who couldn’t shed much light.’
‘Where did she work?’
‘Mishmash of waitressing and bar-work. You know Chorlton at all?’