What She Saw

by Diane Saxon

  She didn’t care about the groan, young Ryan always hit the nail on the head and his enthusiastic participation propelled what could be a long drawn-out process along at a rapid rate of knots.

  Her conversations with both the group of girls she’d stopped, and Mr and Mrs Crawford circled in her mind and a sick sense of what might have happened nagged at her.

  Jenna’s gaze met Taylor’s across the room and the thought was already there in his steady, experienced look.

  He squared his shoulders and stepped forward. ‘There are six members of the family registered as living at that address. Mother and father, Linda and Gordon, and the children, Poppy – sixteen, Joshua – fourteen, and twins Talisha and Geraldine – aged eight.’ He held up a hand. ‘We cannot, until we have forensic evidence of the identity of those victims of the fire, assume that they are all family members.’ His voice deepened with command to hold onto the team. ‘Our duty now is protection of evidence and essentially protection and respect of any potential relatives and consideration of their needs and requirement of privacy.’ DI Taylor held his hand out towards the police media representative, Jasmine Tate. ‘Press announcement should be kept to bare details at present. You know the form. A fire at a residence in Farley. As yet the cause is unknown.’ He circled his hand in the air. ‘We would ask you respect the family’s privacy at this stage, et cetera, et cetera.’

  Jasmine inclined her head and made a quick note on her notepad. New to the position, Jasmine’s first forays into journalism had proven her an excellent judge of diplomacy and tact. Exactly the requirements the Force had for their media, unlike newspaper journalists who would dig deep and in the case of some, dirty. Jasmine’s job was to deal in cold, hard facts ensuring the need to protect individuals against the public’s desire for information.

  Jenna caught DI Taylor’s eye and he nodded for her to go ahead. ‘On the way to attending the fire, DC Mason and I almost took out a herd of deer along the Wenlock road.’ She paused to allow the hoots of laughter to roll around the room, nodding her head to acknowledge police humour. ‘Coming from the Wenlock direction, we came across three young women who also stopped to allow the deer to cross the road. Sophie Maxwell, Chanel Gosling and Olivia Brown. The eldest, Sophie, just turned seventeen. Chanel and Olivia only sixteen. On talking with them, I could smell alcohol, so I had to arrange for them to be detained and for the driver to be tested.’ She held her hands out, palm up and shrugged. ‘Nice girls, but once I felt they were compromised, I had no choice.’ She turned to pat Donna on the knee. ‘PC Donna McGuire and…’ she scanned the room to acknowledge the other officer, conjuring up a name she seemed to have difficulty grasping, ‘… PC Natalie Kempson tested the driver at the scene.’

  Donna drew a breath and Jenna nodded for her to continue. ‘As Sergeant Morgan suspected, the driver blew a negative.’ She let out a low humorous chuckle. ‘She was too scared of her mum to even begin to think of drinking.’

  Jenna took up where she’d previously left off. ‘During my conversation with the girls, it transpired that they knew Poppy Lawrence.’

  Donna tapped her pen on the notebook in front of her. ‘The girls were really put out. Poppy was supposed to have been with them that night, but apparently her father insisted she attend his birthday party. According to the girls, Poppy was peeved because she knew it would be a washout and they’d all end up going to bed early and she’d miss out on her trip with the girls.’

  Jenna swivelled to look at Donna, confident that she could trust her steady officer with this. ‘Could I ask you and Natalie to pick up on this and interview all three girls, individually and at their home addresses?’ At Donna’s nod, Jenna continued, ‘There was mention of Gordon Lawrence being not a very nice character.’

  Donna nodded. ‘Yeah, they implied Poppy was too scared to say no to him.’

  ‘I didn’t think much of it at the time, but later in the evening when DC Ellis and I spoke with Mr and Mrs Crawford, we gained the same impression.’ Jenna turned her back on Donna to search the other side of the room. ‘Which brings me on to Mr and Mrs Crawford.’ She held out one hand towards the two officers in the corner. ‘DC Salter and Wainwright, could I ask you to follow up with them? They had some very interesting information regarding Gordon Lawrence and his penchant for what sounded like inappropriate use of his firearms. The quantity, variety and frequency of use is a little suspect.’

  The buzz around the room made her pause. She didn’t need the team to formulate ideas, even though they were planted in her own head.

  She held one hand up and raised her voice. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Salter and Wainwright will be collating facts and no assumptions should be made. We need to put together a robust background on the entire family.’ She turned to the team of three intel officers. ‘Any chance you can check on a shotgun and firearms certificate issued to Gordon Lawrence? Furthermore, we need to find out who else attended the party. Who were the guests? We need information, timelines. What happened?’ She scanned the room to ensure they were all on board, paying attention.

  She caught PC Gardner’s sullen stare.

  Paused. He gave her a little hitch in her stride and a whip of annoyance.

  She moved on.

  ‘Why did the party finish early? Was it early for them? Was it a domestic? Did they have a fight and all go to bed early? Or have the Lawrence family been the subject of a targeted crime. A break-in gone wrong? A planned target?’

  Whatever it was, they could make no assumptions at this point. But the sneaking suspicion had already taken root and Jenna had difficulty pushing it away.

  Satisfied she’d allocated her best people to deal with key areas, Jenna zoned out as DI Taylor assigned further tasks to each of the team members.

  Six family members at home for a party. What had happened for it to end the way it did?

  She took in DI Taylor’s confirmation that the intel officers had initiated an investigation into the family’s finances. Always a good baseline to start an investigation.

  DI Taylor addressed the duty management team, grabbing her attention at the mention of her name. ‘At the scene, DS Morgan assigned scene guards. I assume you have the continuation of that plan in hand?’ At Rob Fenwick’s nod, DI Taylor drew in a deep breath to expand his broad chest. ‘And finally,’ he tapped the papers he’d rolled up while he spoke against the palm of his hand, ‘I cannot stress enough. Remember – T.I.E.! Trace. Identify. Eliminate.’

  As the shuffle of movement started, DI Taylor held up a restraining hand.

  ‘Before we go. There’s more.’ He shot Jenna a wide grin. ‘Congratulations to DS Morgan, DS Bennett, DCs Ellis, Downey and Blue on a swift and successful operation on their way into work this morning.’

  The vertical creases down each side of DI Taylor’s cheeks deepened and Jenna almost groaned out loud.

  ‘It turns out DS Morgan has a drug-pushing dog, but, more to the point, our officers took quite a downline of pushers and users this morning without pausing for breath. Currently, DS Bennett and DC Ellis are continuing the search of three houses on the Mountside estate after arrests were made this morning at the gym. We have our hands full in custody. You may recognise some of the names: Lamonte Junior, Lena Alexander, Marie West and Joel Hopkins.’ A collective groan rumbled around the room at the mention of the last two names. ‘I’ve allocated officers who are already questioning our suspects. Most importantly,’ DI Taylor eyeballed everyone in the room from underneath a furrowed brow, ‘there is one Shaun Cunningham, barista extraordinaire at The Coffee Shack. He is not to be approached or touched. Drug Squad have requested we leave him in place for them to conduct further investigations without arousing suspicion. They may well use him to get further up the chain of command.’

  DI Taylor plopped his notepad on the nearest desk and clapped his hands together, sharp enough so every head in the room shot up. ‘We have a lot on our plates. Let’s get to it, team!’

  28

/>   Monday 20 April 1215 hours

  Poppy unfurled from the ball she’d tucked herself into to keep warm. With the second oversized man’s sweatshirt on, hitched down past her knees, she’d managed to generate enough heat to sleep, waking only once when she needed to pee. She’d sidled over to the furthest corner and used a small amount of cotton wool to wipe with.

  She popped more painkillers and washed them down with a few swigs of Coke. aware of how little she had left.

  On her right side, she gave a tentative stretch. Sonofabitch! Her side burned.

  She propped herself up on her right elbow to have a look around. On first entry into the barn, no one would be able to see her lying down. She’d positioned herself further back in the hollow of loose straw behind a short stack of bales. Laying her right arm on top of them she rested her chin on her arm. Her stomach moaned a protest and had her reaching out for the food bag she’d placed nearby.

  Ravioli was her only real choice. She opened the lid and stared at the contents. Her throat closed at the thought of cold snot-like slime sliding down her throat. It was bad enough hot.

  She scooped a couple of squares onto her spoon and shovelled them into her mouth. Three chews and she swallowed. Gagged.

  Her stomach clenched and her side burnt.

  She repeated the action. Scoop, shovel, chew, swallow. Gag!

  She needed her strength. There was no point dying now when she’d survived so much.

  Scoop, shovel, chew, swallow.

  If she stared at the shafts of sunlight coming through the barn doors, it became easier.

  Scoop, shovel, chew, swallow.

  With no concept of time, Poppy rolled her options around inside a head which had started to clear.

  She needed a plan. Every plan she conceived was pivotal to one essential thing.

  The time.

  She tapped the spoon on the empty tin and then threw them both into the plastic carrier bag. She reached out and picked up the Ted Baker iPhone case smeared with dried-on blood. Dare she risk switching it on?

  Daddy.

  There was no doubt in her mind he was still out there. The heavy blanket of evil thickened the air until she could barely breath.

  She drew in a shaky breath as she rubbed the brown flaky blood from the phone case with her forefinger in light, rhythmic motions to soothe herself.

  If he looked, he’d locate her. And he would look. She knew her own daddy. Manipulative. Obsessive. She’d never even tried to disable the find-a-friend function once he’d set it up. He’d never have allowed her to before.

  He’d broken his hold over her but not his connection.

  The only way to do it would be to switch the phone on. She’d need to be quick.

  She flipped the cover open and stared at the shiny, black screen. She touched the tip of her finger to it. What if she was quick? What if she switched it on, checked the time, switched it off again?

  Would it work? Would he know?

  Poppy pressed and held the on button for a moment and gazed mesmerised as the screen flashed the white apple and started to load. Her heart thrummed in her chest to make it ache until the breath she held threatened to burst out of her.

  The screen loaded and she couldn’t contain the tremor as she held her forefinger on the recognition button.

  A rude buzz came from the phone and she tried again. Then a third time, but it wouldn’t allow her access. Please. A desperate sob burst from her lips as her fingers shook. Please.

  Panic tightened the muscles around her throat as her breath rasped in and out. Please, please, please.

  She touched her fingertips against the button again and the phone vibrated in her hand refusing her access again.

  Her eyelids fluttered down, then sprang wide. She sucked in a breath, tapped in the code manually and the screen blinked to life.

  Monday.

  12:25 p.m.

  White-hot panic raged through her and she stabbed her finger on the power button, switching the phone back off again, praying Daddy didn’t just happen to glance at his phone and see her location.

  If he did, she was as good as dead.

  She whipped her head around, eyes narrowing as she scoured the huge barn before she made a move to gather up all the evidence of her presence, panic slicing through her heart.

  She needed a safe place. Somewhere daddy wouldn’t instantly see her.

  She traced her gaze up a tall stack of straw.

  If she could get up there, it may give her a chance.

  A chance against daddy when he came for her.

  29

  Monday 20 April 1235 hours

  Gordon Lawrence leaned forward. He dangled his hands between his knees, his head lowered.

  That had to be the worst night’s sleep in the history of his life.

  The small cot in the aerodrome offices made for a lumpy resting place.

  He’d barely snatched a wink, and when he had, it had been plagued with ugly flashes of scenes he didn’t want to see.

  The plan all along, since its inception the week before, had been to take his own life once he’d despatched his family. Cemented in his mind, he’d not been side-tracked from the statement he’d make to the world. Death didn’t bother him.

  Up until the very last minute, he’d not wavered.

  His daughter was the one responsible. Poppy.

  As he’d shot her and then the nameless boy, a flash of inspiration hit him.

  With no time to think it through, he’d acted.

  It was all about the body count. And fate had found him an extra one.

  30

  Monday 20 April 2035 hours

  Jenna's stomach growled with hunger. With Fleur tucked safely under her arm, she slipped in through the front door in the vain hope that she wouldn't be accosted by the huge spotty dog who she’d sneaked home only three hours earlier.

  The warm waft of savoury food hit her stomach and her salivary glands danced with joy. Knees weak, she almost sank to the floor with relief.

  Today, it appeared, was one of the days Fliss had decided to cook something other than junk food, which probably meant that they were going to be joined by Mason, despite the fact that he hadn't mentioned anything. Not that they'd had much time to mention anything personal between the two of them, nor did Jenna encourage it. During the hectic day, they'd had a lot on their respective plates. He’d been at Mountside dealing with the drug scenes for most of the day and they’d had a quick debrief before they went their separate ways again.

  She nudged the front door closed, holding onto the deadlock to deaden the sound of the loud click. But when she turned around, Domino's fat, black, wet nose was already by her ear as he planted his paws on her shoulders and gave her the greeting she already expected, and God forbid anyone else should know, but she loved his greetings.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and cuddled him in for a few precious moments, taking comfort from the adoration he bestowed on her while a squished Fleur snuffled into his neck, squeaks of delight coming from her.

  Jenna lowered him to the ground and let him trot ahead of her into the kitchen. She’d known more frenetic greetings from him, which went to prove her secret theory that the Dalmatian suffered from separation anxiety. Long before he was beaten, he’d shown signs of anxiety, but since then, he hated to be alone.

  Fliss turned from her place at the sink as Jenna made her way along the short hallway into the kitchen, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the little one Jenna plopped on the floor to be stepped on by Domino.

  ‘I take it no one has claimed her?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Jenna huffed out a breath.

  ‘Well,’ Fliss’s voice took on a sweet gentleness Jenna knew the children at school would respond to as her sister bent down to greet Fleur with a scratch to her head. ‘You’re most welcome to stay until Aunty Jenna finds your mummy.’

  With doubts they ever would, Jenna held her tongue. The day had been long enough without regurgit
ating all of the facts to her sister. She needed a little break herself.

  Fliss straightened and turned her back. When she turned around again, she had a glass of red wine in her hand and a grin on her face as she offered it to Jenna. ‘I've made pudding.’

  So pleased with herself, Jenna plastered on a stiff smile for the benefit of her younger sister, but her stomach cramped in protest.

  Pudding! She hoped to God there was more than pudding.

  Quite honestly, she could eat a scabby horse, never mind a damned pudding. She could have sworn the aroma that had assailed her nostrils when she came through the front door had been a meaty, savoury scent. She had reason to doubt her sense of smell. Perhaps she needed to get it checked out.

  She kept her grin as she accepted the glass of wine from Fliss whose eyes danced with pleasure, before turning away to open the oven. The blast of heat that rolled out reminded Jenna of the conversation with Charlie Cartwright on how hot a thousand degrees would feel. Five times hotter than the heat of that oven.

  From the safety of a few paces away, Jenna squinted into the oven to try and imagine the ferocity of anything hotter. She’d had a small taste of it the other evening. From a safe distance, it had been ferocious.

  The loud growl of her stomach drew Fliss’s attention and she turned from where she peered into the oven.

  ‘I made a rice pudding.’ The pride in her voice reverberated around Jenna’s poor, empty stomach. ‘Just like Mum used to when we were little.’ She slipped on a pair of oven gloves, reached into the oven and pulled out a stoneware casserole dish. The dark sugar-bronzed skin promised a delicious offering, but Jenna’s stomach still howled its protest. Fliss placed the dish on a cast-iron trivet by the side of the oven. ‘Comfort food.’ She dragged the gloves from her hands, placed them on the counter and smoothed them down before she grabbed a dishcloth from the sink, held it under the water until steam rose and then washed the counters clean.