Daddy's Girls

by Sarah Flint

  ‘Thanks Jason. We’ll do that.’ He rubbed at his eyes, all of a sudden emotional as Jason started to walk away. This was it. From this point on, he was Tommy Warrington and Emma was Emily Warrington, his daughter. They were on their own.

  Emma put an arm tentatively around his waist, as if reading his anxiety, and he responded in the same way, his grip becoming firmer with every second that she didn’t push him away.

  They stood by the open patio doors, gazing out across the lawn, the sounds and smells suddenly familiar.

  ‘Why did you choose this house?’ he said eventually, wanting to know if she was experiencing the same feeling of déjà vu.

  She turned towards him, her eyes watery and distant. ‘There’s a lavender bush in the back garden which reminds me of Mum. Remember the one we had?’

  He did remember. He remembered it well, the scent of its flowers filling the air in their old garden.

  ‘Yes I do remember.’ He stared out into the darkness, his eyes filling with tears too. ‘Your mother used to love gathering sprigs of it. She’d tie them in small bunches and dot them all around the house.’ He shivered, suddenly ill at ease, as a vision of the old stone cross at the entrance to the cul-de-sac came to mind, filling him with the same knot of dread as always. ‘When she was able.’

  24

  Charlie had never liked Mondays. She liked them even less now they were back to square one, but they’d been there before, on many occasions. Investigations rarely went to plan and this was no exception.

  She yawned, stretched and climbed into her running gear and trainers, the prospect of a good fast run into work banishing her lethargy and making her body tingle with expectation. The last twelve hours of solid sleep had dispelled the remnants of alcohol from her system and the night out with Paul had cleared her mind. Even the presence of the flowers wilted and half-dead on the table failed to dampen her hopes. In due course Ben would stop sending them. He would learn to survive on his own. And, even though she still missed him, she too would be OK.

  Pulling on her headphones, she headed for the door.

  Hunter and the team would be in the office by seven, ready to go, and she would be with them. Luck was what they needed – and what had proved elusive so far – but in the absence of luck, they would be back to basics: sheer hard graft, checking and rechecking the reports and indices, searching for that one tiny speck of evidence that would throw the case wide open.

  No, Charlie didn’t like Mondays – but as she set off, sprinting until her breathing became ragged and her lungs gasped for oxygen, she realised they weren’t at square one. They had two credible suspects. Two men who each fitted many of the essential characteristics given in the psychological profile. Two men, either of whom could have committed awful crimes against vulnerable women.

  They just had to find the evidence to charge the right one.

  *

  Maryanne Hepworth rose at seven-thirty, unaware that the team of police officers on her case had already started work. She yawned, stretched and headed for the shower, rubbing the weariness from her eyes. Sleep had come late and ended early, but she was determined to stay positive.

  It was Monday and she liked Mondays. Mondays were the start of a new week, and this week she would be attempting to make a fresh start.

  The pregnancy test had been negative and the possibility of STDs unlikely. This opinion, although expressed with caution by the clinician, had left her optimistic that the final tests would show her to be clean, clear and free from infection.

  With that in mind, over the weekend she had decided to sell her flat. Her last visit had proved she would never feel safe there again. It was tainted with evil and the bad memories would forever override the good. But, at the same time, she couldn’t stay with Danielle and her family much longer. However accommodating and sympathetic her sister and brother-in-law had been, it was time they had their space. The house was small and overcrowded. She needed to leave.

  So, the previous day, arrangements had been put in place for her flat to be viewed, valued and marketed, without her having to return, and later that day, she would be taken by a local estate agent to view a number of properties.

  She stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to cleanse away her fears and awaken her body still further. This Monday was to signal the restarting of her life. For the first time in a week, she would allow herself a glimpse into the coming days, and she was determined they would be bright. The man who had stolen her past and her present would not be permitted to steal her future.

  *

  Emma was woken from her sleep by a loud knocking. Quickly she pulled a dressing gown around her and headed towards the stairs, her heart racing. As she passed her father’s room, she peered in, noticing with a shock, the room was empty. He was out. These days, he was always disappearing, but where the hell did he go?

  As she came to the landing, she remembered Jason’s warnings. Don’t open the door, unless you’re sure you know who’s there. With this in mind, she tiptoed down the stairs and peeped out from the glass panels at the side of the door. Josef stood waiting on the step, his blonde hair looking even whiter and spikier in the sun’s early rays.

  For a moment, she froze, not sure whether to invite him in or tell him to go away, her emotions still all over the place at the thought of what had happened between them.

  ‘I’ve got your IDs, Emma, if you want them?’ Josef’s voice was soft, probing, but the message behind the words was clear. If she wanted the chance to build a new life, she would have to answer the door.

  Nonetheless, her fears seemed to be unfounded when she pulled the door wide open. Josef dipped his head and nodded, waiting politely on the step to be invited in.

  ‘Good morning, Emma,’ he said, walking straight down the hallway as she ushered him in. ‘Or should I say Emily? You’ve certainly changed.’

  She closed the door firmly, double-checking the catch had fallen properly into place. It wouldn’t do to risk any unwelcome visitors, especially ones in uniform.

  Josef was in the kitchen, tipping the contents of his rucksack out on to the work surface. He flashed her a smile as she entered, the same lopsided grin that she’d found so endearing when they’d first met.

  ‘All yours,’ he said, with a wink, allowing his gaze to drop from her face to the open neck of her gown as she drew closer. She smiled back, watching in turn as he stretched his arms upwards, running his fingers through his hair, before placing them on his waistband.

  She shifted slightly, her eyes following the journey of his limbs to where they sat provocatively on his skin, taking in the jut of his hips and the way his fingers slowly unclasped the top button and shifted almost invisibly against the thin line of hair that ran from his chest towards his groin.

  The view stirred her unexpectedly.

  She lifted her sights to the mound of documentation, her head trying to make sense of her physical desire. Yes, he was appealing and sexy, and he’d treated her well. Yes, he’d helped two total strangers, but it had come at a price – which she couldn’t as yet forget.

  She stretched out an arm, hoping the feel of a shiny passport in her palm would end her conflict, that she’d know that it had all been worthwhile. As she did so, she felt his hand on her arm, his fingers gripping her tightly around the wrists, his touch igniting her desires.

  ‘Well, at least, they might be all yours,’ he muttered huskily, plucking the passport carefully from her grasp and tracing a finger towards the gap at the top of her dressing gown. ‘But seeing as there’s no one else around, for now, you’re all mine.’

  *

  Thomas arrived home, just as Josef was descending the stairs, adjusting his T-shirt over the taut, well-toned muscles of his abdomen.

  For a moment, he wondered what the younger man was doing in his house and was about to issue a challenge, but he stopped abruptly as a dishevelled Emma appeared at the top of the stairs. Josef glanced back, before training his eyes directly at hi
m, the set of his lips conveying everything he needed to know.

  Thomas closed his eyes, anger and shame filling his head, hot and fast. How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to protect Emma, not throw her to the wolves.

  He held his ground, waiting, as Josef advanced towards him down the stairs, until their shoulders brushed and he could smell the distinct fragrance of the boy’s cologne. He could take no more. Grabbing hold of the younger man’s arm, he swung him round and pushed him hard against the wall, their faces almost touching.

  ‘Get out of my house,’ he snarled.

  In an instant, Josef lurched forward, knocking him slightly off balance and headbutted him straight in the face. The sudden violence took Thomas by surprise. He released his grip immediately, dropping to his haunches and clutching his nose as it filled with blood.

  ‘Dad, stop it,’ he felt Emma’s arms around him, but he couldn’t understand her words. Why was she going to the boy’s defence?

  ‘I’ll go when I want to go,’ Josef stepped round him and headed for the kitchen, appearing to have made himself very much at home.

  Thomas remained still, knowing he was beaten. He had never been a fighter and was no match for the strength and agility of the younger man.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let him do this to you. I should have protected you.’ He gripped Emma’s hand. But it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. He’d allowed this to happen, standing to one side while she had stepped into the breach, his daughter showing nothing but bravery – while he displayed only weakness. The knowledge sent his head reeling.

  ‘You’re doing your best.’ Emma brushed his apology aside, pulling a wad of tissues from her pocket and trying to stem the flow of blood. ‘And, anyway, Josef is OK. He’s treated me well.’ She paused, taking his head in her hands. ‘And he’s brought our ID papers.’

  Josef lifted his bag, reaching out to pick up two passports from where they lay on the work surface. Thomas could see him from where they were crouched.

  ‘Maybe I should take these away? Or maybe you should pay me more.’ The comments were aimed at him. The boy was goading him.

  ‘Please don’t,’ Emma’s voice was small. ‘My dad doesn’t mean anything. He’s just worried for us both. He’s not well…’ Her voice petered out altogether.

  Thomas stared from one to the other. He couldn’t understand what was happening, and he couldn’t understand what she meant, but the boy’s expression had softened slightly and he’d replaced the passports on the work surface.

  The seconds lengthened.

  The nosebleed had started to clot, droplets of blood dripping out slower, when Thomas stood at last, lifting Emma to her feet. His thought process was slowing too; defeat now the main emotion filling his head.

  He walked to the front door and opened it wide, waiting as Josef hauled the empty bag onto his shoulder and took heed of his action. As he drew level, Thomas lowered his voice, glancing round to check his daughter was out of earshot, before aiming one last question at him. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’

  The question lingered in the air. Thomas could hardly breathe while he waited for an answer, but after what seemed an age, Josef shrugged, blew a kiss on his fingers and strode away across the tarmac.

  25

  By mid-morning, Charlie was sure that cameras would be the key to catching their suspects. So far, identifications had only been made using the human eye and it had shown to be a flawed strategy. Both Thomas Houghton and Karl Ferris had been missed after late identifications, the subsequent actions being rushed and a touch panicky in the haste to get their man. Camera footage could be viewed and reviewed. It would give correct timings and provide the unequivocal evidence they needed to assist with convictions.

  Charlie set to work completing the paperwork to obtain authority for directed surveillance. Camera equipment would be sited at the front and rear of Maryanne Hepworth’s flat and the front door of Karl Ferris’s abode. They needed to know whether Houghton was continuing to stalk Maryanne Hepworth in order to detain him without delay and what times Ferris came and went from his flat.

  Houghton still had to be their main priority, being a DNA match, but Ferris was a close second. The question of whether the rape belonged with Op Greystream was still a pressing one – and one that couldn’t yet be unequivocally answered. Things had stepped up a gear with the murder and rape. Could there be more of a sexual motive to the attacks than they previously thought? There had always been an element of it in the way their suspect touched and stroked their victims. Could this now have crossed the line, or was it just because a younger woman had been present, rather than Maryanne’s grandmother as their suspect might have expected? And now he had killed, was his intention now murder rather than simply burglary? Could that explain Maryanne’s attacker not wearing the mask? What if anything had tipped the balance? They had to know.

  To that end, Naz, Paul and Bet were further researching their suspects’ backgrounds, attempting to fill in the gaps of the psychological profile. Did either have elderly relatives or neighbours that they were particularly close to, maybe who had died? Were either connected to the military? Did they have any secret places in which to hide the stolen property? Nothing had been found at either Ferris’s address or Houghton’s bedsit. There was still much to learn.

  To emphasise the differing significance on their two suspects, though, a static camera was to be placed with Ferris, while a camera with a live feed was to be set up around Maryanne’s flat. The camera at Ferris’s flat would record footage only when tripped by motion, setting down the date and time of any movements in or out by the occupiers or any visitors. The cameras positioned at Maryanne’s flat would provide live footage of the scene, connected remotely with monitors situated in their office. If Houghton had returned before, there was every likelihood he would return again.

  Sabira set off, heading to Ferris’s location to assist the tech guys with positioning the camera, not having had any contact with the man herself, should he suddenly emerge. Charlie was to assist at Maryanne’s.

  Returning to the flat with the technical crew, she was struck by how eerie and forlorn it now felt. Nothing had been moved since their last visit.

  She noted the For Sale sign newly positioned at the front of the building. Maryanne had obviously made the decision to sell. Hopefully she would then be able to move on, both physically and mentally.

  Charlie wasn’t surprised, but she was pleased. She would have done exactly the same in her shoes. There was no way she’d ever feel safe remaining at the scene of such a traumatic attack. She shivered as she recalled Maryanne’s scream from two days before. Even with a culprit caught and imprisoned, there was no guarantee they’d remain incarcerated for long. It seemed, these days, that even the most violent rapists were paroled early.

  It didn’t take long for the technicians to site the cameras. The first was concealed in a hedge directly opposite the front door, and the second looking down at the rear from a nearby drain pipe.

  Job concluded, she jumped into her car, keen to get away. Something about the visit had spooked her, and the sooner she got back to the office, the better.

  Watching the action from behind a monitor would be a damn sight better than reliving it there.

  *

  The estate agent’s name was Dennis and he was in his late fifties, spoke with a slight lisp and had a full head of jet-black locks. Maryanne couldn’t take her eyes off them, unable to tell whether his hair was dyed or whether it was a hairpiece. Whatever it was, though, just the sight of it was lifting her spirits and taking away her nerves. Dennis was harmless and, for the first time since it had happened, she felt no fear being in the presence of a stranger.

  The estate agent took out a file and pushed it across the table towards her. ‘We’ve got a few that would suit you perfectly,’ he said, checking his watch and heading towards a key cabinet. ‘Have a quick look while I sort out my car. It’s almost four already, so
we’ll have to get going.’

  She opened the file and flicked over the first two properties, noting that they were only a few miles from her present flat. She didn’t mind in which direction to search, as long as she was out of Streatham. Traffic links were good from almost everywhere in London and Danielle would still be near. Looking at the properties now, it was clear she would get more for her money if she went out of London, rather than inwards.

  Dennis was almost ready, pulling a trilby hat low on to his head, and opening the door ahead of Maryanne.

  Maryanne took his lead and followed him out to his car.

  The first property was a two-bedroomed flat in Camberwell. Set more towards town, it offered less than her present flat and was located on a busy road.

  The second property, half an hour’s drive away, was larger but was in need of modernisation. Maryanne could see the potential, but the thought of having unknown tradesmen in and out of the safety of her home made the thought of purchase absolutely untenable.

  The third property, right out in the suburbs, was a mid-terraced house, in pretty much the right state of repair, but as they viewed it, she could hear the sound of several dogs barking almost continually from the garden of the next-door-neighbour. In the ten minutes it took to do the viewing, her irritation at the constant noise had flared sufficiently to know this property would never give her the peace and quiet she craved.

  Dennis appeared undaunted as they trooped back to the company car.

  ‘I’ve saved the best until last,’ he said, pulling the trilby carefully from his head and bending down into the driver’s seat. ‘But the asking price is above what you stipulated. I’m told there could be an offer of finance to make up any difference, but I think you’ll like what’s on offer.’

  She flipped the file open and skipped forward to the page on which the property was featured. At first sight, it certainly looked promising, but the price was indeed set higher than she had hoped.