The Case of the Broken Doll (An Inspector David Graham Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Alison Golden

  Roach’s face fell. “That’s right, sir.”

  Two and two added up quickly. “You knew her?”

  “We were classmates at Gorey Grammar, sir. Went to the same youth group, too, for a couple of years. We all called her ‘Barbie.’” Roach saw that his boss missed the reference. “Because of her blond hair, sir,” he explained.

  Graham replaced the photo and sat the doll upright on the reception desk. “I’m sorry, Roach. That must have been terrible.”

  “If I’m honest, it still affects me. Especially at this time of year. It was such a shock. But it’s nothing compared to what her mother’s been going through, all these years.”

  Graham regarded the younger man with sympathy. “Mrs. Taylor gave me the basics. Have there been any new leads recently, or…”

  “Nothing,” Roach said simply.

  Graham wasn’t, in all honesty, the greatest fan of cold cases. The act of re-opening old files always felt like a slight against the detectives originally charged with the case, as though by simply re-examining the evidence, Graham was accusing them of being unprofessional. But with such strong public interest, not to mention Roach’s own emotional connection, it was a difficult case to resist.

  “Constable, how would you feel about helping me take another glance at the case file?”

  Roach gulped before answering. “Beth’s case file?”

  “She deserves a few hours of our time, wouldn’t you say?” Graham said. “Do we have the file here?”

  “No sir, it’s lodged at the Jersey Police archive in St. Helier. I could ask Sergeant Harding to pick it up on her way in, if you like.”

  “Ah, yes,” Graham remembered. “She’ll only have come back from Manchester last night. Did you hear anything from her about the computer course?”

  “Not yet, sir, but there was something on Facebook about how she was becoming a ‘digital warrior,’ whatever that means.”

  “Sounds impressive,” Graham chuckled. “Anyway, she won’t be long. Cup of tea in the meantime?”

  Roach put the kettle on while Graham placed a call.

  “Marcus?” he asked.

  “Good morning, Detective Inspector!” came the cheery voice. Marcus Tomlinson had already finished his second cup of morning coffee and was in tip-top form. “What news from Gorey?”

  “Marcus, I’m going to give you a name from the past, just to see if it shakes any old branches.”

  “Fire away, old boy.”

  “Beth Ridley.”

  Marcus was quiet for a moment. “Ah. Well.”

  “I’m listening, Marcus.” Graham reached for his notepad. “I mean, I know it’s a hell of a long time ago, but…”

  “No, it’s not that,” Marcus began tentatively. “I remember the case, clear as day. But, you see, I’m a pathologist. There was never a body.”

  “Of course,” Graham admitted. “Just looking for a bit of context, that’s all.”

  Tomlinson cast his mind back. “Well, this was your illustrious predecessor, of course. He did a thorough job of interviewing everyone. People spent hours at the house with Mrs. Leach and her then-new husband, Beth’s stepfather… What was his name, now? Charles? Chris, maybe?”

  “What happened to her father?” Graham asked.

  “Oh, Bob Ridley? Haven’t you heard of him?” Tomlinson replied.

  Graham searched his memory, something that never took long. “Bloody hell, not the same Bob Ridley who’s doing thirty-to-life in Wormwood Scrubs?”

  “The very same,” Tomlinson told him, impressed as usual with Graham’s unfailing memory.

  In one of Britain’s most famous bungled robberies of recent years, Bob Ridley had shot a security guard to death before making off with cash and jewelry worth millions. When he was arrested after three weeks on the run, he claimed that he had fired the gun only to scare the guard away. Then he admitted that he’d “panicked,” a word that proved catastrophic to his defense and very persuasive to the jury.

  “I’m going to guess,” Graham said, “that their marriage did not long survive his incarceration?”

  “Not by even a day,” the pathologist confirmed.

  “Got it. Go on, Marcus,” Graham said, already filling a page with notes.

  “Ann Leach was a nurse at the hospital in St. Helier. I knew her just slightly. I signed a card to congratulate her when she got married again. The second husband passed away a couple of years ago. Brain tumor or something similar. Nothing fishy about it. But as for Beth’s disappearance, it was a strange thing. Frightening. One day, she was walking to school, and then suddenly, she was not.”

  Graham put down his pen. “People don’t just vanish into thin air, Marcus. I know the world is a strange and mysterious place, but I’m still a big fan of cause-and-effect when it comes to explaining what people do and why.”

  “True, true. I know that some suspicion fell on an old, homeless chap who used to sleep in the bushes near the Ridley house.”

  “Okay,” Graham said, noting this down.

  “But nothing ever stuck. Couldn’t say if she ran away, was taken, or what. Very frustrating for the police at the time.”

  It sounded to Graham, at first blush, as though it would be equally frustrating for him. “Thanks, Marcus. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

  “Tell you what, old boy,” Tomlinson told him, “if you get some movement on this, even a little, it’ll mean a great deal to the people around here.”

  “Yes,” Graham agreed, “that’s what I’ve been hearing.”

  “Dinner on me at the Bangkok Palace if you even develop a new lead. No expense spared,” Marcus offered.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he promised. “Cheers for now.”

  Sergeant Harding knocked on Graham’s door, case file in hand. “Morning, boss.”

  “Welcome back, Sergeant,” Graham said warmly. “How was Manchester?”

  She mimed a shiver. “Cold, but there were some very nice pubs.”

  Graham let her have her fun. “And did you learn anything?”

  “Oh yeah,” Harding assured him. “Tons. I’ll be doing some review this week, and then I’ll give you a rundown on all the new databases we’re going to have access to.”

  “Splendid.”

  “In the meantime,” she said, setting the Ridley case file on his table, “are we really going to be looking into this?”

  Graham flipped open the file, disturbed to find it so slender. “How would you feel about that, Janice?”

  She glanced back at the reception area and then spoke to Graham in a whisper. “Roach was very, very upset about Beth going missing. It damn near wrecked his teenage years, I heard. He’s still cut up about it. And it’s not just him. Frankly, the whole place would thank you if you took another look at it, even if it didn’t come to anything.”

  Graham was put in mind of several cases back in London, where the entire community – even those who’d never even met the missing child or the family – came out to help, to comb through bushes and search woodlands or who brought meals or money. There was something of the “Blitz” spirit in those gestures, a determination to stick together and see it through. Even, as was so often true, when there was precious little hope of anything but a tragic outcome.

  “I’m with you, Janice. Let’s get everyone copies of this file and see what we can come up with.”

  Harding headed toward the copier in her own office. “Including Constable Roach?” she returned to ask.

  “Yes, certainly,” Graham replied. “He’s going to play a very important role.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  CONSTABLE BARNWELL GRUMBLED at being directed to man the reception desk while the others discussed the Ridley case in Graham’s office. “I’ve got plenty to offer, you know,” he told Roach.

  “Sure.” The younger man was memorizing Beth’s case file, line by line. “Sure you do, mate.”

  “I’m destined for higher things than this,” Barnwell insisted. “An
swering the phone. I mean, seriously.”

  Roach didn’t look up. “If no one answers the phone,” he observed, “how do we know when a new crime has been committed? One that might demand just the type of skilled police work for which you’ll one day be famous?”

  Barnwell adjusted his tie. “Are you takin’ the mick?”

  Finally, Roach stood, clicked his pen closed, and headed to the meeting in Graham’s office. “Only a little. Shout if you need help, alright?”

  Roach found Graham deep in thought, filling up his notebook quickly. “Ah, Roach. You up to speed?”

  “Yes, sir.” Roach and Sergeant Harding took seats while Graham jotted down a final comment.

  “Right,” Graham said. “So, not exactly a mountain of information to go on, is there?”

  Harding shook her head. “If nothing was seen, nothing was reported, and nothing was written down, we end up with…”

  “Nothing?” Roach guessed.

  “Nearly so,” Graham said. “We’ve got reports of two interactions that Beth had on the morning in question, between eight o’clock and half past. It was a Monday.” He thumbed through his notes. “First, we’ve obviously got her mother, who sent her off to school just after eight as normal.”

  Harding picked up the thread. “Then there’s Godfrey Updike, a retired civil servant who was caravanning with his wife. He saw Beth walking down the road.”

  Roach finished off what they knew. “Finally, we have Susan Miller, a classmate of Beth’s. And mine,” he added. “They walked to school together every morning, and Susan waited for Beth as normal.”

  “But she never arrived,” Harding added. “Susan waited for ten minutes but then went to school on her own, assuming that Beth was sick.”

  “I suppose,” Graham tried, “that Beth might have decided to skip school. You know, left home and walked in the usual direction, but then decided to do something else for the day?”

  Harding pointed out a sheet in the slender file folder. “The school secretary told your predecessor, sir, that Beth missed a grand total of four days’ school in the four years before she went missing. So we know she was fantastically healthy, and there’s just no evidence that she was ever truant.”

  Graham nodded, making yet another note. “Yes, I saw that, but there’s a first time for everything.” He changed tack. “Wouldn’t it have been busy at that time of day? Surely someone would have seen something.”

  “Her route to school took her through a quiet, residential area before hitting main roads. The doll’s leg was discovered in a street that would have been empty at that time of the morning. And people in their houses reported that they saw and heard nothing,” Harding answered.

  “Okay, what about a boyfriend?”

  Roach was silent.

  “There’s nothing in the file,” Harding said.

  Graham turned to Roach. “Constable? Is there anything you can add?”

  “No. She wasn’t seeing anyone,” he answered, his voice tight.

  “Alright,” Graham said. “So, like you say, this really isn’t much to go on. I’m not proposing that we make this our top priority for the next week or anything, but I’d like to understand just why there’s so very little in this file.”

  “Where do you want to start, sir?”

  “Interviews,” Graham said. “Let’s talk to everyone again and see what shakes loose.”

  “Who should be first?” Roach asked.

  “The mother. Ann Leach.”

  Harding was there first. “Happy to accompany you, sir,” she said.

  “Actually, Sergeant, I’d like you to take your new database skills out for a spin.”

  “Oh, right,” Roach remembered, brightening up. “How was that fancy computer course up in Manchester?”

  “Actually, rather good,” Harding said. She was a little surprised at Graham’s decision not to take her with him to visit Beth’s mother, but she was keen to demonstrate what she’d learned on her course. “What am I looking for, sir?”

  “Would it be completely unhelpful if just for the moment,” Graham asked, “I say everything?”

  She shrugged and then gave him a smile. “I’ll do my very best, sir.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Graham turned back to Roach, who had gathered himself once more. Graham could see this case would tax the young officer’s emotions, but he was also in a unique position to be helpful, and Graham couldn’t pass that up.

  “Constable Roach, I want you to come with me to see Ann Leach. In fact, you can make the call and set it up. See if she’s home, and tell her we’re just doing a routine review.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Careful, Roach. I don’t want you getting her hopes up over nothing. I’m just not satisfied with a case file quite so slender, and I want to build it up, if we possibly can. With me?”

  “Loud and clear, sir. I’ll make the call now.”

  Roach returned to the reception area, where Barnwell was dealing with his boredom by reorganizing the community noticeboard. He dialed Ann Leach’s number. In Graham’s office, Harding wanted a quick, quiet word.

  “You’re certain that Roach is the right person for this, sir?”

  Graham motioned for her to close the door. “I know, Sergeant. He’s going to have to deal with some emotions, and that’s going to be tough. But he knew Beth, and her classmates, and her teachers. He’s lived on Jersey all his life. If you were me, wouldn’t you want that kind of resource to hand?”

  “I would, sir. I’d just tread lightly.”

  “Depend upon it, Sergeant,” Graham told her.

  “Very well, sir.” Harding’s fondness for their two constables was something that she’d share only with Graham, but it was genuine, and she didn’t want to see either of them hurt unnecessarily.

  “Besides, I want to season him a bit, give him more responsibility.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harding said. “But…”

  “You don’t agree?” he asked mildly. Opinions from his colleagues were twice as valuable when they were open and honest.

  “I think it’s great to ask for more from him,” she said. “I just wonder if this is the right case.”

  “Noted, Sergeant,” Graham said. “If I see things getting away from him, I’ll be sure to make a change.”

  Harding nodded and headed back to her office, across the hallway from Graham’s. She turned on her computer and pulled out her notes from the Manchester course. Perhaps, there was some new clue to be found in the plethora of data that was just becoming available to provincial police forces like theirs.

  The software started up, giving her access to the Police National Computer and its numerous related databases. She typed in, “RIDLEY, ELIZABETH” and began to read.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GRAHAM RANG THE doorbell of Ann Leach’s well-kept home in one of Jersey’s more comfortable neighborhoods, a mile or so from the center of Gorey. He was very aware of the American Girl doll in the front window, alongside a banner that featured a photo of Beth, smiling as she cut into a birthday cake. There was also contact information for the Beth Ridley Foundation. The door opened and a short, dark-haired woman with thick glasses answered.

  “Ah. You’re the police who called?” she asked.

  “We are, Mrs. Leach. I’m Detective Inspector David Graham, and this is…”

  “Well, bless me!” Ann exclaimed. “Isn’t that little Jimmy Roach?”

  Roach grinned, suddenly red-faced. “I wondered if you’d recognize me, Mrs. Leach.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she said, waving them in. “You’re even taller than I remember. Well,” she chuckled, “I suppose nearly everyone’s taller than me. Especially these days. I swear I’ve shrunk six inches in the last ten years.”

  She invited them into a spacious living room that was nothing less than a shrine to her missing daughter. From left to right, around the three walls not occupied by a bay window, were photos of Beth arranged in chro
nological order.

  Graham took a moment to take in the display. It began with Beth’s birth, a newborn wrapped in a pink blanket with her exhausted mother smiling down at her. It progressed to pictures of her early birthdays, her first bike, and to her first day at primary school where she stood neat and grinning in her blue and grey uniform.

  “This isn’t the house we were living in when Beth, um, went…disappeared. We moved. To get away from the memories.”

  “Must have been a wrench,” Graham responded.

  “It was, but it was for the best.” Ann gestured around the room. “This is how I remember. This is how I keep her memory alive.”

  Photos from holidays in France, on a rollercoaster at a theme park, on horseback, standing in a field with mud up to her knees, on a trampoline, all told of a full and active life. There was a tender portrait of Beth smiling on a summer’s day. Her blond hair shone in the sunlight, almost luminous, and her blue eyes sparkled. But then the sequence stopped abruptly.

  “I keep one more space,” Ann explained, motioning to a gap by the doorframe. “For the photo of her homecoming.” She gestured to the tan couch and they all sat down.

  “Mrs. Leach,” Graham began. “First, I’d like to express once more the deepest sympathies of Gorey Constabulary. As a relative newcomer to Jersey, your daughter’s memory is being kept alive by the community in a way that I find very moving.”

  Ann nodded in gratitude. She was very slight, and looked perhaps ten years older than she otherwise might. This wasn’t surprising. Parents of missing or dead children often looked much older than their years. Stress, he knew only too well, can age a face shockingly.

  “We made the decision, on this anniversary, to review Beth’s case file. I have to say, with no disrespect to my predecessors, that I find the file rather thin for a case of its kind.”

  “I’m sure they did everything they could,” Ann allowed. “But a mother always wants them to do more.”

  “Well,” Graham said, “I’m hoping that by going over old ground once again, we might unearth a little more detail, and perhaps add a few pages to the file. I don’t have any new leads, I’m afraid. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”