by Carol Wyer
* * *
With Amélie back home too, she returned to the office and spent several hours going back through her notes, trying to make sense of the case. She rewrote the list of possible suspects. She circled Dev Khan’s name and considered the possibility of him being in cahoots with Frank Cummings and Karl London. Could he possibly have hidden Carrie in the trunk? It seemed too unlikely. She shut her eyes and considered that possibility again before reading through information Mitz had left her.
Vincent Miller, an HGV driver employed by the same company for the last twelve years, had no criminal record. A statement from the company described him as a reliable employee with a willingness to work overtime. There were no reports of violence, and at this stage, nothing to indicate he was connected to the murder of his daughter.
She sighed and ploughed on. Somebody had killed Carrie. She stared at the photograph on the whiteboard and wondered what sort of person would murder a young girl. It fell to her to fathom out who could commit such a crime.
Twenty-Eight
DAY FIVE – FRIDAY 20 JANUARY
Robyn arrived at the station just after ten on Friday morning. Sleep had finally overtaken her in the early hours and she’d slept through her alarm. DCI Flint stood in her office talking to Mitz. He handed her a report, his face a grave mask. ‘Amber Dalton,’ he said, simply.
Robyn’s heart dropped to her stomach. ‘Oh, no.’ She glanced at the first page. The body of Amber Dalton had been found on Cannock Chase. She’d been wrapped in a plastic bag and hidden under a pile of leaves, near a path by the woods.
‘I’m afraid so. Derbyshire Police have identified her. I’ve requested all relevant information be sent over to you to ascertain any connection between her murder and that of Carrie Miller.’
Robyn sank into her chair, ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes. Two beautiful young women with their lives in front of them had been spirited away, murdered and dumped, wrapped in large plastic rubbish bags. She thought about the anxious parents, putting on brave faces, who’d been hoping their precious child would return. Robyn wasn’t sure she could continue, her heart felt so heavy, but then she had a vision of Amélie and her determination rose once more to the surface. She had to uncover the murderer before the killer targeted any other girls.
‘Mitz, while I’m going through the paperwork, will you talk to her friends, especially…’ She rummaged through a stack of notes on her desk, each headed with a name. ‘Samantha Dancer,’ she continued, softly. ‘I’m looking for any connections between Amber and Carrie. Ask the tech boys to go back through Amber’s laptop. I understand nothing was flagged up last time it was checked but she must have visited some website that would give us a clue. And can somebody talk to Amber’s ex-boyfriend, Justin Bolt?’
‘Roger that, boss.’
Anna appeared at the door, her face grey and grim. ‘Just heard Amber Dalton’s been found.’
Mitz nodded. Robyn handed Anna the top sheet of paper in the report without looking up. The phone rang, interrupting her reading. ‘DI Carter.’ She knew who it was instantly. The small cough before she began speaking. The damn woman was like a ferret up a trouser leg. How had she got hold of this so quickly? Amy Walters was a local journalist who had, after getting a scoop on the Lichfield Leopard case in November 2016, been promoted to senior journalist. ‘Amy, it’s a no comment from me.’
‘Don’t hang up. I might be able to help you.’
Robyn tucked the phone under her chin while lifting the crime scene photograph of Amber to the light. Amber Dalton had been mutilated, her face a bloodied mess, eyes open and glassy. A large piece of skin had been cut away from her forehead, leaving a jagged rectangle of magenta flesh on display. The girl was dressed in a plain hospital gown, and had been wrapped in a polythene bag. Cause of death was not yet confirmed, but forensics had ascertained she’d been dead for over a week and her body had been moved the day before. While I was at the cinema with Amélie and Florence?
‘How? How can you help?’
Robyn wanted to concentrate on the facts, and at the moment the removal of the rectangle of skin was troubling her. Amy Walters was the last person she wanted to deal with, yet on this occasion she would make an exception. Robyn wanted to catch the monster who’d taken this girl’s life so much she would enlist the help of the wretched, conniving journalist who had almost blown her last murder inquiry by not sharing information.
‘I have a witness who believes they’ve seen something relevant to the Carrie Miller case.’
‘Who? Why didn’t they come forward and tell the police?’
‘They want to remain anonymous.’
‘For crying out loud, Amy. You know how it works. If they are withholding valuable information from the police I can get them brought in and questioned.’
‘I doubt it. Meet me in half an hour at the Wyevale Garden Centre at Wolseley Bridge.’
‘I’m really up to my eyes here.’
‘It’ll be worth it.’
‘If you’re messing me about…’
‘I’m not. See you in half an hour.’
Robyn slammed the receiver down. Amber’s sightless eyes stared up at her. ‘Sodding hell.’
Mitz looked across and Robyn shook her head. She rarely swore. She was the queen of controlling her emotions. This time though, she knew she looked as if she could do more than swear. Two girls were dead. She needed to ask Harry McKenzie to take another look at Carrie’s forehead, and to find Siobhan Connors. Instead, she was off to have a cup of tea with a slimy reporter. She straightened her shoulders and, without another word, she picked up the photograph of Amber Dalton and placed it on the board next to Carrie Miller’s. Then she stomped out of the office.
* * *
The garden centre stood next to the canal. At this time of the morning there were only a few visitors. A blue BMW pulled into the adjacent space. Amy Walters emerged wearing a fashionable black cape over a checked black and red skirt, teamed with thick tights and high-heeled ankle boots. Robyn had never seen her without the large canvas bag slung over her right shoulder. She got out of her own car and faced her.
‘I’ve not got time for stupid games, Amy.’
Amy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Neither have I.’
‘Where’s this witness, then?’
‘What’s in it for me?’ Amy smirked.
Robyn felt heat rise up her neck. ‘How about you behave like a responsible citizen for once? I’m investigating a serious crime. If you don’t have anything that will help, shove off. And don’t you dare print any of this conversation or so help me…’
Amy raised both hands in surrender. ‘It’s all off the record. I want to help. I also want a crumb – something, anything at all you can give me. Come on, Robyn. I don’t want to have to use unreliable sources for this. It’s sensitive. It’s about a murdered girl. I’m not going to sensationalise that, am I?’
‘Give me what you’ve got first.’
Amy’s lips twitched. ‘And you’ll let me have an exclusive after the case like you did with the Lichfield Leopard last year?’
‘If your witness is reliable and provides me with a lead, I’ll consider it. That’s all I’m prepared to say at this point. I got into trouble last time for speaking to you.’
‘It’s not for the newspaper. Some of it will be. I’m writing a book about murderers – what makes them tick, that sort of thing. I want to get some details on the case. I won’t reveal anything came from you. I’ll have to dig deeper if you don’t assist and that might mean upsetting some of the victims’ families. Deal?’
Robyn glared at the woman, almost tasting the disgust she felt. Amy was hard-nosed. She would ask anyone and everyone if it meant a good story. Better it came from Robyn than have Carrie’s friends and families hounded by the career-driven Amy Walters. ‘Witness first.’
Amy shrugged. ‘Okay. Follow me.’
They strolled into the garden centre, past the trays of plants and into the
tearoom, one side containing a children’s play area, the other filled with painted tables and chairs, and a long food counter. It was empty apart from one table. In the far corner sat a woman, hands wrapped around a bone china mug. Amy ordered two coffees.
The woman in the corner looked up when the women were almost upon her, eyes searching behind them, moving continuously from side to side, like a caged animal. ‘She alone?’ Her voice was distinctly Eastern European. Amy nodded, pulled out a chair and slid onto it.
‘This is DI Carter. You can tell her what you told me.’
The woman’s head wobbled from side to side. ‘No one saw you come here?’
Amy drew up a chair and spoke softly. ‘Nobody saw us. Now, Ivanka, you must tell DI Carter what you saw.’
Ivanka was in her late fifties, with sharp features, dark-haired and shapeless in her woollen coat. ‘Okay.’ There was a lengthy silence. Robyn sat back, ensuring she did not crowd the woman. Amy kept a steady eye on Ivanka.
‘I was on way to work. I saw a white van at warehouse.’
Robyn waited.
‘I saw this white van and in back of van was big box, no, not big box, it was big chest for travelling. I saw man trying to lift this chest. He not able to. He called to man walking by. This man, he helped pick up chest and they carry into warehouse. I went to work. I did not think anything funny about this. Then, on Monday last, I was again going on shift and I saw many police. I walked past and I saw police carrying this same chest. At work, everyone was saying there was a body in the warehouse and I thought, this trunk had body in it.’
Robyn felt a sudden rush. Ivanka had been at the self-storage warehouse the day Joanne Hutchinson had delivered the trunk containing Carrie Miller’s body. She had seen Frank, together with the man who had assisted him in offloading the trunk, and probably had a good look at Joanne Hutchinson.
‘Is good information.’ The woman stood up, pulled her coat around her.
Amy shook her head. ‘Not so fast, Ivanka. DI Carter needs to ask a couple of questions first.’ She smiled at Robyn.
‘Ivanka, this is very useful information. You saw the two men who carried in the trunk?’
Ivanka nodded.
‘And did you see a woman with them?’
Ivanka nodded again. ‘She was a skinny lady, yellow-white hair. She had jeans and a blue leather jacket, very expensive, I think. I liked her shoes. She had boots with high heels. Very high heels.’
Robyn nodded and smiled in encouragement. ‘Did you see the registration of the van. The number plate?’
‘No. It was white van and had orange box with white lettering. Two letters, I think, maybe three.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Man who help with trunk, he went to get pills.’
‘Pills?’
Amy chimed in. ‘Ivanka means he went to the place that produces and sells vitamin pills – Vitamed. It’s on Towers Business Park.’
Robyn pulled out her mobile and sent a message to Mitz to arrange for somebody to check it out. The sooner they found the stranger, the better.
‘Will you come into the station and help us further, Ivanka?’
The woman’s head shook violently. ‘No. I not go.’ She shrank into her coat.
‘It would only be to write down everything. Maybe try and help you remember more?’
Ivanka stood abruptly. ‘No. No more questions. I tell you everything. I must go now.’
Robyn rose to prevent her from leaving, but Amy placed a hand on her arm and shook her head. She sat again. Ivanka shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, hunched her shoulders and looked at Amy.
Amy gave her a smile. ‘Don’t worry. You did the right thing.’
Ivanka nodded, tight-lipped. ‘You keep your promise.’
‘You know I will.’
Without another word, Ivanka shuffled away. Amy sat back with a small grin on her face. Robyn began to feel needled.
‘Why wouldn’t Ivanka speak to the police and tell us this without all the cloak and dagger stuff?’
Amy leant on her elbows and spoke quietly. ‘She can’t. She’s in a witness protection programme. She turned evidence against her violent husband some years ago. He shot his business associate and was sentenced to life. She’s terrified he’ll find out where she is and send someone to deal with her.’
‘She still didn’t tell us much.’
‘She told me more than you. I recorded that interview with her. I wanted you to meet her first, before I played it to you. There’s more on it. Not a lot, but some more.’
‘How come she chose to speak to you and not the police? Members of the public, especially those who are in hiding, don’t normally seek out journalists for this sort of thing.’
Amy crossed her legs. ‘When I was ten years old, my mum and dad split up and my mum had to take on a full-time job in Exeter to pay the mortgage. That meant she could no longer collect me from school, so she employed a woman to fetch me, make my dinner and sit and play with me until she got home. The lady who looked after me didn’t have any children of her own and was like a mother to me.’
Robyn’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ivanka?’
‘She wasn’t Ivanka then. I can honestly say I love that lady. I wouldn’t want to jeopardise her new life. She works as a chef in the pub at the Towers Business Park. I went in there for a works event and spotted her. She didn’t recognise me, and when I actually got to talk to her, she swore me to secrecy. She was frantic when she learnt who I was – that someone from her past had found her. A few days ago she called the newspaper and asked for me, personally. She didn’t want to compromise her new identity by talking to anyone else.’ Amy uncrossed her legs and leant forward again. ‘I’ve handed over the information I have. Now you must agree to let me cover this story.’
Robyn shifted uncomfortably. Her hip grumbled. ‘Okay. But not yet. There’s too much sensitive information and I want to keep it from the public for now. I can’t have this woman being alerted.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll email you my full interview with Ivanka. I’ve heard a rumour the body in the trunk was of a young girl, wrapped in plastic.’
‘I can’t tell you any more for now.’
Amy gave a curt nod. ‘I’ll only report any facts for now. I want the whole story soon, though, DI Carter. I don’t want anyone to get in ahead of me. You understand. Big stories sell newspapers.’
Robyn drained her coffee and stood to leave. Amy was closer to the truth than she realised. This was big. If Carrie and Amber’s murders were related then Robyn quite probably had a serial killer to unearth.
Twenty-Nine
Robyn bustled into the office, threw off her coat and called for a meeting. They shifted the chairs to face her. David Marker rustled a family bag of Maltesers and offered it to Robyn, who refused.
‘We’ve got a witness, who can’t be named because she’s in a police protection programme, who spotted Joanne Hutchinson at the self-storage warehouse on the twentieth of December.’
‘That’s good, because I was beginning to wonder if Joanne actually existed,’ said Matt. ‘I was starting to believe Dev Khan, Frank Cummings and Karl London had conspired to murder Carrie Miller and fabricated this woman.’
Robyn gave a tight smile. ‘Me too, Matt. However, we’re going to continue searching for her because now this person claims to have seen her and a white van with white lettering inside an orange box. She believes she saw two or three letters. Matt, go through every van hire establishment that has orange and white logos on the side of their vehicles. I know Anna’s already contacted hire companies, but we must have missed it. Maybe it’s a vehicle Joanne borrowed rather than rented. Check out local firms and talk to any that have orange and white designs on their vans. The witness thinks the unknown helper who lent a hand with the trunk went to a company called Vitamed. If we can find him, he might also be able to tell us more about Joanne Hutchinson. Matt, you already tried Vitamed, didn’t you?’
‘I sp
oke to the girl on the desk. Didn’t recognise him at all. Told me most of the customers were regulars and she hadn’t seen him.’
Anna waved a large black and white image. ‘We managed to clear the CCTV still up a bit so he’s more visible. Want me to take it and try again?’
‘Whichever one of you has a free moment first.’ Robyn paused. ‘Here’s a conundrum for you to work out. Our witness revealed that the woman in blue, calling herself Joanne Hutchinson, wore high-heeled boots on the day she went to the self-storage unit to deliver the trunk. Frank Cummings said Joanne couldn’t help offload the trunk that day because she had pulled her back. Surely, if you have a bad back, you wear flatter shoes? I’ve had trouble with my hip recently and I couldn’t stick on a pair of stilettos and prance about in them for love nor money.’
David sniggered. ‘Sorry, guv. The thought of you prancing anywhere made me chuckle, especially in stilettos. They don’t really go with the uniformed officer look.’
‘Indeed not.’ She gave a brief smile. ‘Why would Joanne Hutchinson wear high heels to a self-storage warehouse? And wouldn’t the heels interfere with her driving?’
‘Maybe she fabricated the bad back purely to avoid CCTV cameras, or leaving any fingerprints on the trunk.’ David flicked a chocolate into his mouth.
Robyn nodded. ‘Possibly so.’
‘Or, she’s used to driving vans. Plenty of women have jobs delivering goods in vans or lorries these days. Maybe she prefers to drive in high heels. My wife manages okay in hers.’ Matt shrugged and gave a boyish grin.
Robyn rubbed her chin. ‘You’re right, Matt. I overthought that one. She could simply have had a pair of flats that she changed into for driving. I don’t mind admitting I’m flummoxed. And now we have a second victim, another young woman who received a Facebook message from Carrie Miller and who, like Carrie, also disappeared.’ She pointed to Amber Dalton’s photograph – ‘Amber Dalton, sixteen years old, a bright, enthusiastic student at Sandwell, a private school in Derbyshire. Never been in trouble that we know about. No boyfriend. Diligent – responsible, even. Parents leave her to go away for a few days. She refuses to accompany them, citing coursework as the excuse. While they’re away, she sends them text messages and answers theirs, and it’s only on their return they discover she’s disappeared from home and alert the police.’ She tapped the photograph. ‘Derbyshire Police carried out a full search of the area and found nothing to indicate where Amber might have been. There were no witnesses whatsoever. Her parents are not considered to be suspects.