‘No. She didn’t . . . she . . . She’d got a lot going on, with her identity, you know? I don’t think she was ready for that yet,’ Helena said.
‘OK. Had she had any problems with people at school, or on social media, any bullying?’
‘No. Well . . .’
Jade watched her remember something.
‘There was a bit of trouble, back in year nine. High school. People knew Allie was trans, but some of them, they called her names, homophobic stuff. We went to the head of year and they sorted it out.’
‘Are those people still around?’ the boss said.
‘No.’
‘What about online? Did Allie have any trouble?’
‘She was really careful – she had the most private settings and everything.’ She wiped her nose.
‘Good,’ the boss said. ‘Thank you, Helena. We may need to talk to you again. OK?’
Helena nodded. The three got to their feet. The dad waited. He was grey-haired, grey stubble on his face, complexion almost the same colour. He looked across at the boss. ‘It’s just—’ He had to stop, cheeks sucked in and mouth all bunched up.
‘Is there anything we can do? For Steve and Teagan?’ Helena’s mum said.
Raise the dead?
‘I’m sure they’ll be very grateful for your support,’ the boss said. ‘They’ll be informing the rest of the family now so perhaps leave it a day or so. And, of course, Helena will need you now.’
Slick, Jade thought, wondering if she’d be able to remember that sort of answer in case she got asked a question like that in future.
Bets, short for Betsy, still white as milk, confirmed the account Helena had given. ‘I’d gone out for a smoke, and when I came in, I went to wash my hands and brush my hair. We must have just missed each other.’
‘This was about twenty past eleven?’
‘Yes. Then when we realized she’d gone out, I texted her.’ Bets lifted her phone.
‘Before or after you’d been outside to look?’
‘Before. Helena had already tried ringing, but she didn’t answer.’ She covered her mouth with a hand.
Jade prayed she wasn’t going to throw up. But the moment passed.
‘Any bad feelings at the prom? Any fallings-out?’ the boss said.
‘No. One of the boys had to be sent home because he was so drunk.’
‘A friend?’
‘Not especially,’ Bets said.
‘And how was Allie?’ the boss said.
‘Fine.’
‘Was she drinking a lot?’
Bets hesitated. ‘Not really.’
‘How much did she have to drink?’
‘Four or five cups of punch. It wasn’t strong,’ Bets said.
‘Was she drunk?’
‘No, just . . . not like you’d worry about it.’
‘And had she taken anything else?’ the boss said.
‘What like?’
Buying time, Jade could smell it.
‘Pills, weed, powder, legal highs, anything?’ the boss said.
A pause. ‘Bets?’ A note of surprise from the mum.
‘Some green,’ Bets said. She ran a hand over the back of her short blonde hair.
Her father groaned.
‘Sorry,’ Bets said. ‘It was only a bit.’
‘That’s what you were smoking outside?’ Jade said. The boss glanced across. Was Jade meant to just sit there and keep her mouth shut?
‘Yes,’ Bets said.
‘And Allie had some as well?’ the boss said.
‘Earlier,’ Bets said.
‘At the prom?’
‘Yes, outside.’
The boss wound it up, and everyone regrouped around the table, Bets’s mother tapping her cigarette carton against the wood, probably desperate to get outside and fire one up.
Once Bets and her family had left, the teacher, Mrs Fallon, echoed what Allie’s friends had told them about the evening. No trouble. No cause for concern beyond a boy who’d had to go home.
‘She was such a lovely girl,’ she added, shaking her head. ‘Ask anyone. She never deserved anything like this. How could it happen? How could someone do that? Who would do such a thing?’
‘We don’t know,’ the boss said. ‘Not yet. But that’s why we’re here.’
Outside, even with the rain still falling and it barely light, the birds were making a right racket. Jade felt her stomach rumble. There wasn’t a canteen at work any more due to cuts, but she knew an all-night café near Piccadilly station. ‘Fancy some breakfast, boss?’
The boss paused. ‘You obviously do.’
Jade told her where the greasy spoon was – they’d have time before the briefing, wouldn’t they? For a moment it looked like she’d argue but she didn’t and Jade’s mouth was watering already at the thought of a full English, no mushrooms, and a pot of coffee.
Steve
His thoughts kept breaking, brittle stalks, crumbling and snapping. Losing the thread.
He held the phone, Teagan, awake now, beside him and Yun Li perched on the side of the armchair.
‘If you need me to talk to them, that’s fine,’ Yun said. He’d told them to call him Yun. Steve didn’t know if that was his first name or not. They did it the other way round in China, didn’t they?
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said quickly, scrabbling to remember what she wanted or what she’d asked, what he was supposed to be doing.
‘Nanny will be up now.’
‘She will.’
She was up at seven every morning, earlier sometimes, while his dad stayed in bed until nine or so since retiring. She’d be in the kitchen, in her dressing-gown, eating eggs on toast or Weetabix, a book propped open. Always reading. The clock on the wall ticking away, a vase of flowers from the garden on the windowsill.
He couldn’t bear to tell her.
‘From thread to needle’: one of her sayings – ‘I got the whole story from thread to needle.’ All the plants that make thread, and string, and rope. Cotton, hemp, jute. Spider’s silk was an incredible material, stronger than steel.
‘Dad.’
‘OK,’ he said. He pressed her number. In the hiatus before it began to ring, he prayed that she’d be out, that the line would be busy.
‘Hello?’
‘Mum?’
‘Hello?’ The slightest edge of uncertainty in her voice.
His throat was full, thick. Teagan sat with her legs straight, knees and feet pressed together, fists making a heart shape in her lap.
‘Mum, I’ve got bad news.’
‘Oh.’ An intake of breath. He heard a chink, as if she’d set down a cup or a knife.
‘I’m sorry. It’s Allie. She’s . . . erm . . .’ The word was foul in his mouth. He had to be clear, Yun had explained, clear and direct. ‘Mum, she’s dead.’
‘Oh, my God. What? She can’t be.’
He sniffed hard, wiped at the sudden tears that made his face itch. ‘She was attacked.’
‘Oh, Steve.’
‘In town last night and the police are here.’
‘Oh, God,’ his mother said. She kept repeating it.
‘Will you tell Dad? And Emma?’
‘Yes, of course. Oh, Steve, I don’t know what to say. I really don’t—’ Her voice was cracking.
‘I know.’
There was just the sound of her breathing and clearing her throat.
‘Do you want to talk to the police?’ he said.
‘I don’t think so. Do they know who—’
‘No. And they don’t want us to tell anyone else yet – just family – not until later today. After I . . . I’ve got to . . . When things are confirmed.’
‘Oh, Steve, oh, my boy. We’re coming over.’
‘Yes. I’ll go now.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Oh, my poor love. Oh, Allie.’
He hung up, and covered his face. Teagan put her arm round his shoulders and he pulled her close. He felt the vi
bration of the floor and sensed the displacement of air as Yun left the room, giving them some privacy to grieve.
Donna
An air of anticipation, of expectation, like a buzz of electricity charging the air, greeted Donna when she entered the briefing room. An answering sting in her fingers and she flexed her hands as she took her place at the top table. All eyes on her. She began by introducing Jade Bradshaw to the newly assembled team. Donna knew most of those present but not all, and she let them go round the room introducing themselves, announcing rank and name or, for specialist and support staff, name and role.
Donna did know Detective Sergeant Martin Harris. They’d worked together twice before. Martin was highly experienced and hard-working. He was one of the lads but not to the exclusion of anyone else. Yes, he was a little old-school at times, didn’t suffer fools gladly, and he could be brusque – she’d witnessed him losing his temper once or twice – but all in all he was a safe pair of hands.
Donna summarized the facts: ‘Allie Kennaway, date of birth twenty-fourth of April 1998, an eighteen-year-old transgender woman, was found dead in Swing Gate Fold, off New Mill Street last night.’
She heard murmurs travel round the room. ‘The gender identity of our victim may be significant. In any case I’d like you all to review our policies and guidelines on dealing with the transgender community. It’s one thing doing a training session but now we need to make sure we’re operating as responsibly and effectively as we can.’ Donna had skimmed as much as she could of the guidance before the meeting, anxious to set an example for the team and avoid any crass mistakes.
‘Eighteen?’ Martin said. He sat beside Jade, looming over the new DC.
‘Eighteen,’ Donna confirmed.
‘Very young,’ he said, ‘for that sort of thing.’
Donna saw one or two heads nodding ‘Young, yes, but the family were aware of and fully supportive of Allie’s gender identity, as were her friends and the college community. Although legally male, we will, through the course of the inquiry, be referring to the deceased as a transgender woman. As “she” and “her”. OK.’
She took them back to the sequence of events. ‘A nine-nine-nine call from Allie’s phone was logged at eleven twenty p.m.’ Donna glanced at Martin. ‘Was it made by our victim?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Recording requested and received.’
‘Good. We’ll listen to that in a minute,’ Donna said. ‘A beat bobby responded at eleven twenty-five, checked for signs of life, reported a suspicious death, and secured the scene. Wet conditions meant we had to act quickly to document the wider area. The cause of death is likely to be due to blunt-force trauma. A post-mortem will be carried out later today. Here’s our scene.’
A slideshow of images unfolded on the projection screen.
Donna observed the reaction as people absorbed the graphic images of Allie. The close-ups of her face, pulpy and misshapen, of her ruined hands. The pattern of violence stippled across her limbs. The response was muted, a straightening of the spine, someone touching an earlobe, a quiet exhalation. Death, violence and brutality were not new to those present, and no one could afford to become too emotionally wrapped up in the cases they worked on, but they were all human.
Donna looked at the final picture. Allie on the cobblestones, before the tent had been erected, before Donna had first seen her. One foot bare, silver nails and bloodied fingers. The stains on her dress like black clouds. Hours earlier, this girl, like one of her own daughters, had been painting those nails, styling her hair, choosing her earrings. Not knowing what the night held. How it would end. It was this photograph that stuck in Donna’s head. That she would carry with her as they went about their work.
‘Allie and her friends, Betsy and Helena, had been at their sixth-form prom at Mansion’s House. At eleven fifteen Allie left to go looking for Betsy, whom she mistakenly thought was outside. That’s our last sighting. Nothing untoward occurred during the evening and we’ve found no recent history of antagonism, in the real world or online, between Allie and anyone else. No boyfriend or girlfriend. We will, of course, be trying to verify all that. We recovered the victim’s phone and bag at the scene. At this point there is nothing to suggest anything was stolen. Her purse was in her bag. There were no obvious signs of sexual assault but we’ll know more after the post-mortem. Given the absence of known threats or animosity, we may be looking for an attacker or attackers who were not known to the victim. Family are father Steve and sister Teagan, age twelve. Mother deceased. Once we have formal confirmation of identity, hopefully this afternoon, we’ll be making a statement to the media and issuing a public appeal for witnesses.’
‘We’ve already got stuff being posted on the web,’ Jade said.
Donna shook her head, exasperated but not surprised. ‘We can’t close it down, not immediately. Just pray there’s nothing circulating that could affect any prosecution.’
‘Thinking about other witnesses. Town would have been busy last night,’ Martin said.
‘Heaving,’ Donna agreed. ‘Someone must have seen something. CCTV might have picked something up. Martin?’
‘On it,’ he said. Meaning he had already begun contacting the city-centre control room to alert them of the incident and of the need to retrieve footage in the geographical area for that time. ‘There may well be security cameras at the venue too,’ he added.
‘Yes, let’s hope so. I’d like to set up a mobile incident unit on New Mill Street and use that to canvass people who work in the area at night: waiters, cleaners, bar staff, cabbies, bouncers . . .’
Mentally checking off each strand of the investigation, Donna turned to the next item. ‘Forensics are in hand regarding trace material from the scene. That’ll be coming back to us in fits and starts. The lab is, as always, snowed under.’
A groan rippled round the room. Donna grinned. ‘You and me both. But we work with what we have. Remember, communication is key. We’ll have updates morning and evening but please don’t stand on ceremony. If something comes in, flagged as a priority, and it lands on your desk, don’t sit on it. Get it to Martin or me. Likewise, if something strikes you as significant, use your initiative. Your information packs have all relevant phone numbers and email addresses as well as maps of the area, victim photos and details and so on.’ She turned to Martin again. ‘Can we hear that nine-nine-nine call?’
The room hushed and Martin played the file, his bright blue eyes on Donna’s as they listened. The operator’s voice first: ‘Emergency services, which service do you require?’
‘Ambulance, ambulance.’ The voice was male.
‘Putting you through, caller.’
‘Ambulance service here. What’s your emergency, caller?’
‘Yes, ambulance. She’s very sick – they beat her.’ The accent sounded African.
‘Can you give me your name?’ the operator said.
‘Come quick. And police. They beat her. It is Swing Gate Fold, Swing Gate Fold.’
‘I’m passing that through now. Please stay on the line. Are you at any risk yourself?’
The line went dead.
‘African?’ Jade said.
‘I think so,’ Donna said. ‘We can get some help on that. There’s a foreign-languages professor at the university. We’ve used him as an expert witness before. I’ll find his details. Jade, see if he can help.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘He says they beat her so this might be an eyewitness and it sounds like more than one person was involved in the attack,’ Donna said. ‘We may well be dealing with a hate crime.’
‘He could be one of them,’ Jade said. ‘It goes too far and he freaks out, makes the call.’
‘It is possible,’ Donna said. ‘Anything’s possible, so open minds. Questions, anyone?’
Nobody spoke.
‘OK, let’s not cock this up. We’ve come a long way since the “cesspool of their own making” days and we’re proud of that.’ She saw nods and wry grins but
Jade seemed puzzled. Too young to get the reference. She really did look like a teenager. Donna had gone so far as to check her file – which stated she was twenty-five and had served four years since her probation.
Earlier Donna had watched with a mix of amusement, envy and horror as Jade had downed a huge fry-up at the café. ‘Heart attack on a plate, that,’ Donna had said.
‘Nowt wrong with my heart,’ Jade had announced, stuffing fried bread and sausage into her mouth.
She was so skinny. Was she bulimic? Hardly the sort of thing you could ask a colleague, but Donna decided to keep a wary eye open. She took the health and well-being of her officers very seriously.
‘Let’s get to work,’ she said. She switched off the slideshow and closed the meeting. People moved quickly, fired up, eager to start. The words from the tape echoed in her head. They beat her. They beat her. Now all their efforts would be channelled into finding out who ‘they’ were and why they had stolen a life.
Jade
‘What was all that cesspool stuff?’ Jade asked the boss, waiting in her office for the language expert’s details.
‘Our beloved Chief Constable James Anderton’s opinion of the homosexual members of our community circa nineteen eighty-something.’
‘Seriously?’ Jade said.
‘I kid you not. God had told him, apparently. God’s got a lot to answer for,’ the boss said, peering through her glasses at her computer and scribbling on a Post-it note.
‘So you’re not—’
‘What?’ the boss said, looking up.
‘Catholic,’ Jade said.
‘Eh?’
‘Well . . . five kids . . .’ Jade said.
‘Let’s just leave that there, shall we?’ the boss said, with a bit of an edge, handing her the note.
‘Totally.’ Fuck. Jade hadn’t meant to say anything, but five kids was a bit excessive, wasn’t it? Maybe the DI had had four boys and had been trying for a girl or the other way around. But Jade hadn’t meant to get personal. She’d hate it if the boss started nosing about in her private life.
‘I’ll get on with this.’ She waved the note with the language expert’s details.
The Girl in the Green Dress Page 5