by Carol Wyer
‘Amber died approximately a week to ten days ago. Death between January eighth and January thirteenth. Forensics concluded she’d been transported sometime in the early hours of Friday the twentieth. They also believe that examination of tissue and the state of decomposition suggest she’d been kept in cold storage for a few days, prior to being buried. I don’t need to remind you Carrie’s body was also frozen at some point, and that concerns me. We’re quite probably looking for one and the same killer. Amber was found in a shallow grave, covered with leaves and bracken on Cannock Chase where it adjoins Penkridge Park Road.’ She indicated a red cross on a map, showing the location of the discovery.
Matt Higham held up his biro. ‘It strikes me that this concealment wasn’t as well thought out as the first. What I mean is, Joanne Hutchinson went to a great deal of trouble to rent a self-storage unit, put Carrie’s body in a trunk and then hide it from sight in a locked unit, which would not have been opened had we not been on a hunt for drugs. Carrie could have been in there months, or even years. There wasn’t the same planning involved in hiding Amber’s body. Her body wasn’t buried in a deep grave, for one thing, and the location is right on the edge of the woods near a path, where there’s a good chance of it being discovered by a passer-by.’
‘Valid point. What might that indicate?’
Matt pondered the question, rubbing his bald head. David swallowed a chocolate and spoke. ‘She’s getting sloppy? She couldn’t carry Amber’s body too far?’
Mitz fiddled with a paper cup. ‘If she had an accomplice, they could have carried her further, so maybe it proves she was working alone. Or, possibly, she didn’t have as much time to organise the disposal of Amber’s body.’
‘Or she’s getting cocky,’ added Matt. ‘She might have grown in confidence. Got a bigger ego. It happens sometimes. A criminal gets away with a crime and then makes mistakes afterwards by not being as meticulous in their planning, or she wanted Amber to be found.’
Anna leant forward, elbows on her desk. ‘How about if she had to move quickly because she thought we were on to her?’
Robyn chewed at her lip. ‘Yep, these are all valid hypotheses. If only somebody had seen suspicious activity near where Amber’s body was uncovered. The car park near the Birches Valley Forest Centre closes at dusk so Joanne, or whoever did this, must have parked a vehicle along the road and transported her body from it, to the forest area. We might have to ask the public for help in this. David, do a door-to-door along Penkridge Park Road.’ She added the word Facebook to the board. Under it, she wrote Amber Dalton, Carrie Miller and Siobhan Connors. ‘These girls are connected, not only by a message on Facebook, but also in some other way. I’m going over to talk to Siobhan’s boyfriend, Adam Josephs. Siobhan’s taken compassionate leave from work and I want to track her down.’
David crumpled up the empty packet. ‘Think she’s involved in the murders?’
‘I really don’t know at this stage. We could do with Amber and Carrie’s mobile phones to trace the history of websites they visited or apps they used. That’d help us hugely. Unfortunately, we don’t have them. I’m hoping Siobhan can throw some light on all of this. But considering the circumstances of her disappearance are much the same as Amber and Carrie’s, my hopes aren’t high.’ She tossed the board marker pen onto her desk. ‘Mitz, did you have any luck with Amber’s ex-boyfriend?’
‘News hasn’t yet reached the school that Amber’s body’s been found, so I asked the headmaster if I could talk to a couple of pupils in connection with her disappearance. He was most cooperative. The boyfriend’s a sixth-former called Justin Bolt. According to him, Amber and he weren’t that serious a couple. She decided to knuckle down to work instead of fooling about with him. He said Amber could be a bit “up herself” sometimes, so he wasn’t upset when she dumped him. He said he’d have split up with her anyway because he’d been embarrassed by her. She’d been a queen bitch to a girl, Shannon Right, also in the same house as her.
‘There was an inter-house music competition. Amber and three others had been chosen to represent her house, Chapel, and they were the favourites to win it. Amber took the contest very seriously, and when they lost she blamed Shannon, calling the girl a “right retard”. As it happens, Shannon Right has Asperger’s syndrome and broke down in tears. Amber refused to apologise and flounced off. Justin felt “a bit shit” afterwards but Amber wouldn’t back down. He claimed that was a side to her he hadn’t seen before.’
‘Interesting. Amber wasn’t as perfect as we’ve been led to believe. Is Shannon Right still there?’ asked Robyn.
Mitz ran a finger down his notes. ‘She left Sandwell after taking GCSEs. Lives in Lichfield with her parents. She claimed she didn’t have much to do with Amber at school. She admitted there were the popular girls in the house – tight cliques – and girls who kept under the radar. Shannon was one of the latter. Amber hung out with the trendies. She also said Amber was okay if she wasn’t with the others, but when she was with the crowd, she showed off and could be cruel.’
‘Wait a minute. Carrie was described in similar terms.’ Anna rifled through the sheets of paper on her desk. ‘Her form master Maneesh Shah at Fairline Academy said she was one of a gang of girls notorious for picking on others in the class – those girls considered to be less “with it”. He’d reprimanded Carrie and Jade for bullying in the past. They picked on one of the other girls in the class during a form period and reduced her to tears.’
‘That’s interesting. Two girls, both of whom could be catty to others. That could be significant.’ Robyn wrote ‘bullies?’ on the board. ‘Who’s Amber’s houseparent?’
‘Deborah Hampton. Thirty-six years old. Married to Dan and has two children. Been houseparent for three years.’
‘Anna, arrange for me to interview her at the boarding house later today, and then call Jade North, Carrie’s friend. Get her back here in the station. I’d like to know a little more about this.’
Thirty
‘Siobhan, can you hear me?’
Siobhan Connors fought to respond but couldn’t. Her tongue wouldn’t work. In fact, no part of her body would listen to the commands her brain was yelling. She needed to get out of this prison cell. At least, she thought it was a prison cell. It smelt horrible – of bleach and stale sweat. A light coming from the top of a helmet that he wore on his head shone into her face, making her eyes screw up. His face loomed in front of hers and he grinned widely at her. A shriek of terror rose from her chest but couldn’t escape her mouth. It had been stuffed with material that tickled the back of her throat and made her want to gag.
‘Don’t struggle. I’ll release you in a minute. It’ll be all right. I only wanted to make you understand why you’re here.’ He put a finger to his full lips. She thought she understood what he wanted and tried to nod. She couldn’t. Instead she made a noise that emerged as a muffled groan. He continued talking in a low whisper, his words slow and deliberate.
‘Good girl. I’ve been through the photos on your mobile. I hope you don’t mind. This one is fabulous. You could be on the cover of a magazine.’ He turned the phone to reveal a picture of Siobhan posing in a bikini, full breasts straining against the gossamer-thin golden top. The thong bikini bottom showed off perfectly rounded buttocks, golden brown from several visits to the suntan lounge before the holiday with Adam. It had been a great trip with endless sunshine and heavy drinking in Ayia Napa. Adam had snapped that photo on the first day. Later that day, drunk on rum and happiness, she’d put the photograph up on Facebook so everyone could see the sexy, wild, carefree Siobhan – the same Siobhan who was lucky to be in such a close and happy relationship.
Her mind gave up the memories. She wasn’t in Cyprus or on a beach. She was on a bed. No, it wasn’t a bed. It wasn’t wide or soft enough to be a bed. It was a table like the ones used in beauty salons for massages. The man in front of her shook his head then hissed, ‘It’s a bit saucy, eh? It shows a lot of flesh, and yet y
ou put this one up on your Facebook wall for anyone who cared to look. You wanted men to see you in that microscopic piece of material and to fantasise about you being their girlfriend. And no doubt you wanted to show all your girlfriends that you look so much better than they do naked. Make them feel insecure and wish they could look like Siobhan Connors. It must be amazing to be as stunning as you. I see over a hundred people “liked” that photo, and what about this one?’ He thumbed through the gallery, stopping at a picture of Siobhan naked in front of a mirror. ‘I adore this one. I didn’t find this slutty photo on Facebook. I expect they’d have blocked it. Did you share it privately?’ He put out his tongue and then slowly licked the screen.
She blinked away tears of anger and fear. She would not give in to this freak. Whatever he did to her, she’d remember and make him pay. She’d get Adam to sort him out. Adam would break his neck. She might have left him, but he knew it wasn’t really over. He’d still do anything for her. Her mind whirred. The guy obviously wanted to have sex. He was positively salivating. Siobhan had met men like him before, desperate to shag her but scared of her. He was probably into S & M, given they were in some sort of dungeon and she was tied to the bed. She could cope with that too. Adam had tied her up once and smacked her arse until she couldn’t sit down for a week. It was all too kinky for her, but she could put up with it if it meant her freedom. She’d let him have his way, be all demure and then, when he let her go, make sure she kneed him good and hard in the nuts so he’d never be able to do it again.
He gazed at the photo. ‘You’re quite something, Siobhan,’ he said, his voice soft and charming. ‘You must have so many doting men who want to caress your beautiful body, love you and pleasure you.’ He smiled at her. She cringed. ‘Pleasure you’ sounded weird and old-fashioned. This guy had to be a virgin. A weirdo virgin.
‘Would you like me to pleasure you?’ He threw his head back, the light from the helmet casting shadows on the ceiling above, and laughed an unnatural high-pitched laugh. Then, in one swift movement, he dropped his body onto hers, bearing his weight on his arms. The headlight blinded her completely, forcing her to shut her eyes. Ice ran through her veins. This wasn’t some weirdo into sexual fantasies. He wasn’t the faintest bit aroused by her. Thoughts bounced about in her head. She became acutely aware that she was no longer in her own clothes. The fabric she now wore was coarse and her legs were bare. She was in terrible danger.
She tried to twist away but he pushed her head down with a strong arm. She couldn’t break free from the straps that bound her to the bed. She bucked, trying to free herself. He made tut-tut noises. ‘You have to stay still for this next part.’ With that, he lifted himself from her and she opened her eyes, wishing immediately that she hadn’t.
‘This is going to hurt,’ he said in a high-pitched, sing-song voice, caressing the handle of a large knife. ‘Words can hurt, you know?’ Her pupils dilated to large discs of black. She was unable to shut her eyes, transfixed by the knife blade in front of her.
‘What do you imagine I’m going to do? You have no idea, have you? I’m not going to kill you… yet.’ She could barely hear his words for the drumming of blood in her ears. His tongue flickered out, like a snake’s, and holding it between his lips in concentration, like a child writing, he scratched the blade into her forehead. At first she felt nothing; then, a blaze of white heat as warm liquid trickled down her head and into her eyes, and she screamed.
Thirty-One
‘I can’t thank you enough.’ Susanne Carlisle was on her knees hugging the dog. ‘You don’t know what this means to me.’
Ross had a good idea. The shriek at seeing her dog had almost deafened him and he hadn’t been hugged so enthusiastically in a long time. Brandon watched the proceedings with vague boredom, a scruffy, hand-me-down Buzz Lightyear in one hand.
‘I’m never going to let ’er out of my sight again.’ She checked the dog for injuries. ‘Where’s ’er collar?’
‘The man who found her said it had come off.’
‘I don’t think so. It were a good ’un. Proper leather. Found ’er? Where was she?’
‘Only a few miles away. I don’t believe she wandered off. She’d been taken, for certain. I reckon it was one of those scams to try and get you to put up a reward for her return, and when you did, he’d have returned the dog and claimed it.’
‘The git. Have you reported ’im?’
‘I’ll be letting the police know about him, don’t you worry. Any dogs disappear again and he’ll be getting a visit from the boys in blue.’
‘I’d thought about a reward too. Lauren was going to get an advance on ’er salary and offer it up. In’t she lovely?’
Lauren shrugged. ‘It’d have been worth it to get her back.’
‘She’s a good kid. Don’t know what I’d do without ’er. Be a mess.’
Lauren huffed. ‘Don’t be soft.’
Brandon picked up an equally tatty, plastic cowboy. ‘Bang, bang, bang.’ He beamed at Ross who grinned back. Brandon dropped down from his chair and wandered over on sturdy legs.
‘Is that Woody?’ Ross sat on his haunches to chat to the boy, who passed the cowboy to him. The dog trotted over to join them.
‘P’incess,’ Brandon said.
‘That’s right, Brandon. It’s Princess, and she’s not going away again.’
Ross handed back the plastic toy and earned a wonderful, open smile. Susanne spoke.
‘Okay, you play with Lauren. I must settle up with Mr Cunningham.’
As she went to fetch the money, Ross took in the close-knit family: Lauren tickling her brother’s stomach, making him gurgle in delight; and Susanne, who blew her daughter a kiss when she thought no one was watching. He noted the neat, clean home, short of material possessions but filled with love.
‘I don’t want payment,’ he said.
‘But we agreed. I have the money. It’s our emergency money, and this was an emergency. You brought Princess back. It’s worth every penny. I bet you ’ave bills to pay too. Can’t do it all for free.’
Ross shrugged. ‘True, but call it my Boy Scout good deed. It didn’t take me long to track her down, and it’s sufficient payment to see you look so happy. Sorry, that sounded corny.’
Lauren pulled a face. ‘Yeah, like out of some soppy film.’
A look of puzzlement clouded Susanne’s face. ‘But why? It’s your job. You found her ’n’ I should pay you for that. It don’t make no sense. I don’t want no charity, neither. I might not be rich, but I ain’t no charity case.’
‘I don’t want money from you, but there is one thing you can help me out with. Tell me where I can find a dog like Princess.’
Susanne’s mouth lifted. ‘You want a Staffie?’
‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about getting a dog, and I think one like her would suit me.’
Lauren called over. ‘I know where there’s one. I saw a photo of it on the Dogs Trust website. I’ll give them a ring. My mate works there.’
‘I’m still paying you, and that’s that.’ Susanne ferreted through her purse and extracted some notes. She held them out to Ross, waving them. ‘Take it. I ’ave me pride.’
Ross hesitated and took the money. ‘Tell you what. I’ll look for Siobhan in exchange for Lauren’s help with a dog. How’s that?’
Lauren nodded. ‘That’d be really cool.’
Brandon swooshed his spaceman contentedly through the air, Susanne dropped beside him and Princess plopped down on her feet. The picture was one of contentment. Ross and Jeanette would have liked children of their own. Ross sighed. You didn’t always get what you wanted in this life.
He sauntered from the house and mused: he and Jeanette might not have kids, but they could certainly shower some of the pent-up affection they both had on a worthy, loyal animal.
Thirty-Two
Robyn readjusted her Post-it notes on her desk. She wanted to speak to Adam Josephs and find out more about Siobhan, but she had a meeting with A
mber’s houseparent in an hour or so. She’d try and do it afterwards if there was time. She also wanted to find out if there’d been any progress on the van Joanne Hutchinson had used. She left a note for David, who’d been looking into it.
‘Getting anywhere?’ Shearer looked wrecked. His tie was hanging loosely around his neck and his shirt looked like he’d slept in it for several days.
Robyn shook her head. ‘It’s been five days since we found Carrie Miller and all I have are dead ends. I keep coming across pieces to this puzzle and then realise I’ve selected the wrong bits and it doesn’t fit together.’
‘Did you have a thing about jigsaws as a kid?’
‘If you’re going to be obstructive you can bugger off. I’ve got more than enough on my plate.’
‘Now now, that’s no way to talk to a concerned colleague.’ He gave her a weak smile and held out a brown paper bag. ‘Bet you skipped lunch.’
The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘How did you guess?’
‘You’re irritable. Probably due to lack of sugar,’ he quipped.
‘Funny man.’ She opened it and peered inside. Shearer had chosen a salad, yogurt and a flapjack.
‘Crumbs, Tom. This is a first. Why are you being so nice to me?’