by Kate Ellis
She looked up as Jenny approached and her expression was more one of irritation than worry.
‘Mrs Carden.’
The woman gave a cautious half nod. ‘The name’s Pugh actually – Caroline Pugh. Carden’s Michele’s father’s name … my first husband. Look, can we get this over with? I’ve got to be at a meeting in an hour.’
‘You want to report your daughter missing, I understand? Michele, isn’t it?’ Jenny sat down on the bench beside the woman and caught a whiff of her perfume – Gucci Envy. She’d been given some herself last Christmas.
‘I didn’t want to bother, if the truth be told, but my younger daughter said we should and I was in Eborby today for a meeting so …’
Jenny watched her and caught a brief glimpse of anxiety behind the cool exterior. Perhaps this woman was more worried than she was letting on. ‘When did Michele go missing?’
‘She stormed out on Saturday … took some things with her. We left it till yesterday then I phoned round all her friends from school but they said they didn’t know anything.’
‘Did you suspect any of them were lying … covering for her?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘What school does she go to?’
‘Hicklethorpe Manor. She’s doing her GCSEs this year. She gets the train into Eborby every day so she’s used to finding her way around.’
Jenny made the connection. Natalie Parkes had been in the sixth form at Hicklethorpe Manor and DCI Thwaite was going to have a word with her classmates later that morning. Perhaps there was a link. Showing a bit of initiative in front of Emily Thwaite would do her career no harm whatsoever, she thought to herself as she gave the woman a sympathetic smile.
‘Have you got a photograph of Michele?’ she asked hopefully.
She was rather surprised when one was produced from the Prada handbag. She took it and looked at the girl pouting at her from beneath a curtain of shiny dark hair. Michele Carden was stunning all right. Definitely model material – tall, slim and photogenic, three things Jenny herself knew she could never be.
‘I’d better take down all the details.’
Michele Carden’s mother glanced at her watch. ‘You’ll have to be quick,’ she said.
As Jenny began to write, Caroline Pugh tapped her fingers impatiently. Almost as if she had more important things to do than to find her missing daughter.
There had been a special assembly at Hicklethorpe Manor School. A ritual to remember, and in some cases to pray for, the family of Natalie. A girl who had everything to live for. A life cut tragically short.
The school itself was housed in a fine Georgian building, once home to Eborby’s mayor, not far from the city centre. When the elegant building had become a school, an array of ugly extensions – sports halls and science laboratories – had sprouted like unsightly growths on a beautiful face.
It was the headmaster himself, Mr Benjamin Cassidy, who greeted Joe and Emily. His face was grave and he was wearing a black tie, as though he was already in mourning. The tall, dapper Mr Cassidy reminded Joe of a man he’d once arrested in Liverpool; an immaculately dressed solicitor who’d murdered his wife, cut up her body and scattered the pieces around Delamere Forest. As he received Mr Cassidy’s appropriately firm handshake, he tried to put this resemblance out of his mind.
‘Terrible business,’ the headmaster said once they were seated in his study. ‘I thought the assembly might help our students come to terms with the tragedy. A public act of mourning is always cathartic, don’t you think. And we’re bringing in counsellors of course.’
‘Really?’ said Emily, tight-lipped. Joe knew she had no time for anything she considered to be psycho-babble. The Emily he’d come to know was of the ‘get on with it and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ school of thought. And she was no stranger to problems, he thought, especially when Jeff, her husband, had been falsely accused of sexually assaulting a pupil back in Leeds. That had been Emily’s nightmare time – just as the deaths of Kaitlin and Kevin had been his.
One look at Emily’s sceptical expression told him that he had to do the talking. ‘I’m sure you’ll do all you can,’ he said smoothly. ‘In the meantime, we’d like a word with Natalie’s classmates. We need to find out all we can about Natalie and the people she mixed with.’
It might have been Joe’s imagination, but for a split second, Cassidy’s guard slipped and he looked frightened. ‘It was a maniac, surely. A maniac attacked her on her way home.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘I really don’t see how talking to my students would …’ His words trailed off and Joe had the uncomfortable feeling that there was more behind his objections than a concern for the finer feelings of his pupils. Something personal maybe.
‘I’m afraid it’s necessary or we wouldn’t ask.’ Joe wasn’t going to be messed around. Teenagers kept each other’s secrets and he needed to know whether Natalie had any. He glanced at Emily and she gave a slight nod. It was time to cast their bait and watch the reaction. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware that another of your pupils has been reported missing.’
‘Students. We call them students,’ the headmaster corrected.
Cassidy was beginning to get up Joe’s nose but he tried not to let it show. ‘You do know about it, then?’
Cassidy hesitated, arching his fingers beneath his chin in a gesture of consideration. ‘I don’t actually. You’ll appreciate that other staff deal with day-to-day absences so I wouldn’t necessarily be informed right away. Who is it and when did he or she go missing?’
‘Her name’s Michele Carden … she’s in her GCSE year.’
‘Really.’
Joe glanced at Emily again and saw that she was tapping her fingers on her knee impatiently.
‘You must know what year she’s in,’ she snapped, looking the man in the eye.
‘There are six hundred students here. Unless one of them stands out for some reason, it takes a while to put a face to the name, as I’m sure you’ll understand,’ he said smoothly.
‘Well Michele would stand out. She’s tall and stunning. Wants to be a model.’
There was a flicker of something in Cassidy’s eye that Joe thought could be lust, there for a split second then swiftly suppressed. ‘Yes, I think I can place her now.’
‘Did Natalie and Michele mix with each other at all?’ Emily asked.
Cassidy turned to Joe as though he’d judged him to be the most sympathetic of the pair. ‘You know what teenagers are like, Inspector. Particularly the female of the species.’ He gave Emily an apologetic smile and she scowled back. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you whether Michele and Natalie had anything to do with each other outside school. Perhaps some of the other students might be able to help you. Although I feel I can’t allow them to be interviewed without their parents’ consent,’ he added smugly, looking like a chess player who’d just made rather a clever move.
‘Most of Natalie’s friends are in the sixth form, surely. And most of them will be over eighteen,’ said Emily. ‘And for those that aren’t, I’m sure you or one of the teachers wouldn’t mind being present as an appropriate adult.’ Her mouth formed a charming smile, which disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.
Check mate, thought Joe to himself. ‘
Where were you on Friday night, Mr Cassidy – around one-thirty in the morning?’ Emily asked.
‘Why? Surely I’m not a suspect.’ Cassidy sounded quite indignant. ‘If you must know I was at home.’
‘Can anyone verify that?’
Cassidy swallowed hard. ‘I live alone, Chief Inspector. You’ll have to take my word for it.’
‘I take it there’s a room we can use?’ Joe asked. ‘Of course.’ Cassidy stood up. He didn’t look pleased but he knew when he was defeated.
Once provided with a room – a classroom with posters of kings and queens and assorted historical events ranged around the walls – Natalie Parkes’s classmates streamed in one by one. They’d already
spoken to Karen Strange and Brett Bluit, and they didn’t elaborate on the information they’d already given. However, they seemed more relaxed this time, as though they were old hands at dealing with police questioning. With their new-found confidence, Joe hoped they’d be able to catch them off their guard. But he was to be disappointed. Both Karen and Brett were word perfect. Almost as though they’d been rehearsing.
The others all told the same story. Natalie was either amazing or great. She was mature and sophisticated and she seemed to have been everyone’s friend. However, few people claimed to know much about her life outside school and some even said she seemed rather aloof and secretive. But every one of her classmates seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Natalie had walked home alone and had met a killer who was out looking for a young woman – any young woman. Natalie had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Nobody seemed to think that Natalie would be stupid enough to accept a lift from a stranger. But then Natalie had been attracted to adventure. There had been an aura of glamour and mystery around Natalie. Maybe – although it was never actually said – a whiff of danger and sex.
The consensus of opinion was that Natalie wasn’t really into drugs, even though she, like many others, enjoyed the odd spliff from time to time. By the time the interviews were finished, Joe and Emily were coming round to the popular theory. Natalie’s murder had been a random act of violence. A killer had learned the details of the Doll Strangler murders in the 1950s and had decided to emulate them. Natalie Parkes had just been unlucky.
While they were there Emily thought it would do no harm to have a word with Michele Carden’s friends and they found them only too willing to talk. Michele and Natalie had had little, if anything, to do with each other. They were in different academic years and Michele, in spite of being fairly bright, had developed an aversion to academic life in recent months. According to her self-appointed best friends Camilla and Laura, she’d become obsessed by the idea of becoming a model and she was convinced that she could make it big in London, given half the chance. And they reckoned she had a better chance than most. She was tall, slim and gorgeous with exquisite taste in clothes. However, her potentially charmed life was hampered by a bitch of a mother who did her very best to thwart the girl’s dreams and force her into some godforsaken university or other.
Michele had talked to her friends about running away … just disappearing down to London and trying to make it in the world of fashion. Camilla and Laura were sure she’d be all right. Michele could take care of herself, they said with brittle confidence.
‘So what do you think?’ Joe asked Emily as they made for the car park at the side of the school building.
‘Some of those little madams deserve a good slap,’ was Emily’s verdict. ‘Or a spell living on the Drifton Estate. Daddy buying them posh cars for their eighteenth. I had to wait till I was twenty-five and working.’
‘I’m sure it was good for your soul,’ Joe said with a grin. ‘And you’d know all about that,’ she said sharply. She never seemed to forget Joe’s brief stint training for the priesthood and he sometimes wondered why it was so important to her.
‘Actually the sixth formers have been to the Drifton Estate,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you see those posters in the entrance hall about the community projects the school’s involved with? At the end of the lower sixth, they send the kids to the Drifton Estate to do decorating for pensioners or they help out in a day nursery or an old people’s centre. According to Cassidy’s blurb on the posters, it fosters a sense of social responsibility.’
‘Social responsibility my backside,’ Emily snorted. ‘Gives them a chance to sneer at the peasants.’ She began to march towards the car.
‘You’ve really got it in for this sort of place, haven’t you, Emily? Any particular reason?’
She didn’t answer for a few moments, as though she was considering her reply carefully. ‘They give certain kids an unfair advantage.’
‘Is that all?’ Joe sensed there was something more, something personal perhaps. Emily hesitated, as though she was about to make a revelation. But she thought better of it.
‘And I didn’t like that Cassidy character,’ she continued. ‘Slimy as a slug’s prick, that one.’
‘You do have a lovely turn of phrase at times, boss.’ ‘Hangover from my time in Leeds,’ she said with a wink. ‘Eborby’s far more genteel.’
‘Just be thankful you didn’t transfer to Harrogate. You reckon Cassidy’s in the frame?’
‘I’m keeping an open mind.’
As Emily started the car, Joe’s mobile rang. After a brief conversation, he ended the call. Just as Emily turned onto the main road, she glanced over at him.
‘Well?’
‘That was the station. A 2007 red Toyota sports model was captured on the CCTV camera of a pub just down the road from The Devil’s Playground around one o’clock on the night of the murder. The registration number’s been traced.’ She paused for effect. ‘It’s owned by Karen Strange’s mother.’
Emily flicked on the indicator. ‘We’d better have a word. But I’ve got to see the super first. He thinks we should do a TV appeal for witnesses.’ She hesitated. ‘You don’t fancy having fifteen minutes of fame do you, Joe?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Your chance to be a celebrity?’
Joe didn’t reply.
Michele sat on the bed and listened for any slight sound, straining, sniffing the air like an animal trying to catch the scent of a predator. Yesterday she’d cooked, cleaned and washed but there was still no sign of any models and she hadn’t met the promised photographer.
The door to her room was still stuck, although Sylvia had promised to do something about it. She’d used a chamber pot last night and it still had to be emptied. Perhaps modelling assignments were always like this, she tried to tell herself. All models said it was tough and perhaps this was what they meant.
But since yesterday a tiny voice had been nagging inside her, saying something wasn’t quite right. She’d done her best to ignore it but after two nights in that little room and all the work she’d had to do, that voice was growing louder and more insistent.
She heard footsteps outside on the landing. Sylvia’s footsteps; the tread of her stilettos on the linoleum. Then came the metallic sound again, like a key being turned in a lock, and the door opened.
Sylvia always looked smart and fashionable and today she wore a fitted white shirt and black linen trousers. A green silk scarf was expertly knotted around her throat and her make-up was impeccable as usual.
‘Good. You’re dressed,’ she said with a beaming smile as Michele scrambled to her feet, clumsy as a new-born giraffe.
‘Can I have my mobile? I want to let my mum know I’m OK.’
Sylvia looked apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, dear. I looked but I couldn’t find it. And besides, there’s no signal out here in the back of beyond. And the land line’s out of order. Terrible nuisance. So sorry.’ She smiled again. ‘You’re going to meet Barry today.’ The way she said it made the promised encounter sound exciting. ‘He’s one of the country’s top fashion photographers.’ She paused, looking Michele in the eye. ‘Then I’m afraid there’ll be more work to do.’
Michele said nothing as her emotions swung between suspicion and hope. Some of the clothes she’d washed yesterday had been more like an old lady’s nightclothes and those sheets had definitely had a whiff of urine about them. But at that moment she didn’t like to ask questions. It was possible that her future career might be in the balance.
She followed Sylvia down the stairs and allowed herself to be led towards the open living-room door, her heart beating fast. Suddenly she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her once glossy hair needed a good wash and the short skirt and T-shirt she was wearing hung off her tall, slender frame. She looked like a scarecrow, she thought to herself … or a refugee in borrowed clothes.
‘I look a sight,’ she said to Sylvia.
The woman turned
with a cold smile. ‘Don’t worry, dear, you’ll look fine once you’ve been in make-up and we’ve done something with your hair. Perhaps Barry might take some snaps for your portfolio if we ask him nicely.’
Sylvia propelled her forward and as she entered the living room, she saw a man sitting in the armchair next to the empty tiled fireplace. He was thin and bespectacled, half bald with a fringe of mousy hair around the base of his pale, shiny scalp. He studied Michele and the intensity of his gaze made her take an involuntary step back.
‘This is Michele,’ said Sylvia as though she were showing off some prize specimen.
‘I’m sure she’ll do,’ the man said with a forced smile. A look passed between them; a look Michele couldn’t read. She stood there awkwardly. If this was Barry, he looked nothing like a top photographer.
‘I’d like to watch the shoot if that’s OK. I’m really keen to learn,’ Michele heard herself saying, anxious to please.
Sylvia turned to face her and her cold eyes bored into hers. Something was about to happen. And she suddenly felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach.
‘They’re shooting out in the countryside today. Barry’s joining them later, aren’t you, Barry?’
The man nodded. ‘
Anyway, there’s lots to do here.’ Michele saw her eyes meet Barry’s. ‘In fact I think it’s time you were introduced to Alice.’
Sylvia took her elbow firmly and steered her towards the door. And she was too taken aback to utter the question she most wanted to ask. Who was Alice?
CHAPTER 6
With most of the team out pursuing enquiries, the incident room was virtually empty. Which was just how Joe liked it. It gave him a chance to think.
He needed to talk to Vince and Barbara Strange about the whereabouts of their Toyota on the night of Natalie’s death. But they wouldn’t be home till later so he seized the opportunity to study the files on the Doll Strangler murders in the 1950s.