Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  ‘Bethany and I used to come here regularly. We even considered moving here at one stage.’

  ‘You should bring Aurora. I believe there’s a soft play area and a petting farm nearby. She’d love it.’

  ‘I might look into that.’

  The conversation petered out but soon they were on the Brays’ street, turning into the driveway and parking behind a red Volkswagen Polo, which stood in front of the garage.

  This time it was Sophia who opened the door and beckoned them in. ‘Dad’s in the kitchen. Come through.’

  They followed her to a far room. ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘She’s gone to Gran’s. She… she’s upset.’

  ‘What Sophia means is her mother has left me. She’s taken Olivia and gone to her mother’s until she can decide what to do next.’ Phil sat by the kitchen table, an untouched mug of tea in front of him next to a piece of toast. ‘Sally, the liaison officer who’s been helping us, said it might be a knee-jerk reaction to what’s happened, but we’ve been struggling for some time. The hope Katie would come home was the only thing keeping us together.’

  Sophia stiffened at his words and headed for the sink, where she began running water into a bowl.

  Phil stared at the toast, his eyes dewy. ‘It’s the worst time of my life.’

  ‘I’m truly sorry.’ Natalie meant the words.

  ‘If this is too difficult a time—’ began Lucy.

  ‘No. You must find whoever did this. How can we help?’

  ‘We believe Katie was living with Tommy but he’s disappeared and we were hoping Sophia might be able to give us some idea of where he might be.’

  Sophia didn’t turn around immediately, and when she did, her cheeks were stained with tears. ‘I haven’t spoken to him since the day Katie walked in on us.’

  ‘Is there anything at all you can tell us that might help us locate him?’

  ‘I wish there was.’

  ‘Did he ever mention any names to you – friends, relatives?’

  ‘No.’ She hung onto the sink for support as her shoulders began to shake. ‘I should never have brought him back. He wouldn’t have met Katie and she wouldn’t have left and Mum and Dad would be together. It’s all my fault this has happened.’ Her knees began to buckle and Lucy rushed to her side. She collapsed on the floor, the tears falling freely, and clasped her hands around her knees. ‘I’m to blame. I hit her and yelled at her and told her I hated her but I didn’t. I was jealous and angry and… now… I hate myself. I want her to come home and for this to be a horrible nightmare.’

  Phil hadn’t moved a muscle to assist his daughter. His voice was monotone and flat. ‘It’s no nightmare, Sophia. We all played our part in this sorry mess. We’re all guilty.’

  ‘That was dreadful. I can’t imagine they’ll ever get over it,’ said Lucy as they drove away.

  Natalie thought about the letter still in her bag. Sophia had been a wreck, filled with remorse and sorrow. They’d rung Sally, the liaison officer, and called a doctor to deal with the distraught girl before they’d taken their leave, but the whole episode had left a vile taste in Natalie’s mouth. They’d achieved nothing other than to push Sophia over the edge. Was Frances experiencing a similar regret, one she wished to rectify before it was too late? Lucy’s voice dragged her away from such thoughts.

  ‘We should look at the Facebook page for Katie and also talk to the woman, Dee, who saw Katie with Tommy, on the off-chance she’s seen him again more recently.’

  Natalie didn’t disagree even though it might be another time-wasting exercise. They had to explore every avenue.

  Men. Women. Children.

  Broken bodies lying in rubble.

  He moves among the ruined faces, sightless eyes and ripped limbs.

  He sees her, fair hair undone from its clips, face bloody. He drops his rifle and bends beside her.

  ‘Help… me.’

  Her words die on her lips and he can do no more than hold her hand and whisper, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Lucy pressed fingers into her eyes to take away the strain. The drive back had been arduous with rain falling, and she still was no further along in the investigation. She’d come back to discover she was missing an officer. Poppy had rung in sick.

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’

  ‘Flu,’ said Andy.

  ‘Great. She’ll be off for a few days then. Where’s everyone else?’

  ‘Upstairs, apart from Celeste and Murray, who took off to chase some info about Tommy. Apparently, somebody who sleeps under Samford Bridge saw him.’

  ‘I take it Tommy hasn’t reappeared at his flat then?’

  ‘No, and I reckon you should get it searched in case there’s anything to suggest where he’s gone. We’ve wasted enough time waiting for him to return.’

  ‘Thank you, Andy. I’m quite capable of making such decisions myself. Have you got the contact details for Dee Neilson, the woman who said on Facebook she thought she saw Katie with a man in Marston Street? You spoke to her, didn’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘I did. I’ve got them somewhere.’

  ‘Find them and bring them through, will you? I want to try her again.’

  She headed for her office and logged onto the Facebook page for missing teenager Katie Bray. There were several photographs of the girl and quotes from her parents, pleading for assistance in finding their daughter. One picture of the entire family sitting together was especially poignant. The family was now no longer a unit, shattered and scattered by what had happened to Katie. Lucy scrolled through all the comments. Most came from well-wishers or other parents in similar positions, whose children had also run away from home, some never to return. Some people claimed to have seen her at bus or train stations in various parts of the country and even abroad. People meant well but all this information would have been bewildering for the Brays.

  She worked through the comments until she reached the one she’d been looking for, written by Dee.

  ‘Here you go.’ Andy handed Lucy a piece of paper.

  ‘Cheers.’

  Once he’d left, she continued reading the comments, which suddenly turned into condolences, as news of Katie’s death reached those who’d been following the page. She rang the number but, hearing the automated answering service, she had no choice other than to leave a message for Dee to call her back.

  A rap on the glass door made her glance up and wave Ian in.

  ‘I’ve been upstairs with a teacher from the Institute for the Deaf. He’s been able to read Katie’s lips and this is what she said.’ He laid the transcript on the desk and Lucy read aloud: ‘“I don’t care how much you pay. I’m not doing it again… You’re evil. Get off me. I’ll tell the police, the papers, everyone, if you come near me again.” Oh! This sounds like Eugene was using her services.’

  ‘Or trying to but she objected.’

  ‘Evil’s quite a strong word. I wonder what he wanted her to do… wait a sec… didn’t Pinkney say she’d been sodomised?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Ring Mike and see if we can get a DNA match. What about his finances? Have we heard back about them?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. I’ll chase them.’

  ‘Please. We think Tommy was going to blackmail Eugene – if that’s the case, this could well be what he intended blackmailing him over. I’ll update Natalie.’

  Murray and Celeste were on the far side of town, in the area they believed Amelia and Katie had been turning tricks in before Tommy moved them. Their information had taken them under a bridge, a graffitied mess of vibrant orange, blue and green paint that had been daubed liberally. The ground was no more than earth and dried grasses that had blown in from the nearby fields. Murray wrinkled his nose at the smell, a ripe mixture he couldn’t fully identify.

  ‘Who’d want to shag under this bridge? It whiffs to high heaven.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s more romantic at night, with moonbeams dancing at the entrance,’ said Ce
leste, staring at the condoms and cigarette packets littering the dark corners.

  ‘You’d need to be under five foot five to manage to have sex standing up.’

  ‘There are other positions,’ said Celeste.

  They shuffled to the daylight, straddled a tiny stream and crossed into the park. It was much larger than Prince’s Park, with a purpose-built jogging track. Bodies bounced around the circuit, a procession of Lycra-clad individuals wearing headphones and swigging from water bottles.

  ‘What do we do? Flag down every jogger and ask if they ever saw Katie and Tommy here?’ Celeste asked.

  ‘Well, seeing as you’re volunteering…’

  ‘Ha, bloody ha!’

  ‘The idea is to find out where he might be hiding. I suppose if we ask around some of the flats close to this park, we might strike lucky.’

  ‘You have any idea how many flats there are around here?’

  ‘Got any other ideas?’

  ‘No but “searching for a polar bear in a snowstorm” springs to mind.’

  He chuckled. ‘Wish I could think of some other way to locate him.’

  ‘I know that woman,’ said Celeste, suddenly.

  ‘Which one? The one with the furry dog or the one jogging with her mate?’

  ‘The one on the bench, with the baby on her lap. She used to be on the game.’

  ‘Used to be?’

  ‘Packed it in after she had the baby. Motherhood made her reassess her life; besides, she became engaged to the father and he didn’t want her selling her body. We could ask her about Tommy.’

  They crossed the pathway and strolled over to the bench. Celeste dropped onto it, beside the woman.

  ‘Hi, Amy, how’s it going?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You remember me, don’t you?’

  ‘PC Redshaw. You undercover?’

  ‘I’ve moved from vice. I’m part of a crime unit.’

  ‘You’re not in uniform…’

  ‘Not when we’re doing fieldwork. We’re hunting for a murderer who did away with a couple of girls who used to work around here.’

  ‘I heard about it.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘Mates.’ Her face closed quickly.

  ‘Just to make sure you’re clear on the matter, we’re not after any of your friends, but we do need to find the guy those girls were working for.’

  The baby made a cooing noise and shook a plastic key ring, making the beads inside it jump and clatter. Amy wiped the child’s runny nose and nodded.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea where we might find him?’

  She didn’t answer at first, then said, ‘He was by the canal, near Union Road.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A couple of nights ago.’

  ‘Was he alone?’

  ‘I don’t know anything else. My mate said Valentine was looking for him – he has a score to settle with him, and if I saw Valentine, I was to tell him.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No. I haven’t set eyes on Valentine since I packed in working for him.’

  Celeste smiled at the baby, who gurgled merrily, and then got to her feet. ‘Thanks.’

  Amy’s eyes flickered in acknowledgement and she turned her attention to the baby once more.

  They moved off, back to the jogging path. Murray grumbled, ‘If Valentine or BJ find Tommy before we do, he’ll be toast.’

  ‘He probably didn’t hang around there for long. The sighting was a couple of days ago. He’s unlikely to still be there.’

  ‘Best try it in case anyone else saw him. I don’t see what other choice we have.’

  ‘Remind me again why I left vice?’

  ‘Because this is far more fun.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. Silly me. I’d forgotten.’

  Lucy and Natalie were upstairs with the technical team, scrutinising Katie’s face while she mouthed the words ‘you’re evil’ to Eugene.

  ‘Disgust and fear,’ said Natalie.

  ‘Her body language certainly suggests she’s scared of him,’ agreed Lucy. ‘Do you think he sodomised her?’

  ‘It would give Tommy something to blackmail him about, but we can’t jump to conclusions. Especially given his reputation. Tommy might have found out something else altogether, concerning Rachel. I wish we could see Eugene’s face as well.’

  ‘It would be one hell of a revelation if Eugene was responsible: the man who gives back to the community in the form of charitable donations is screwing a sex worker – worse than that, making a young, frightened girl perform debauched acts. Eugene wouldn’t have wanted that news to get out,’ said Lucy.

  ‘The only way we’ll know is by finding Tommy.’

  ‘It still doesn’t make sense though, does it? Maybe Tommy killed Amelia in a fit of rage, or when he was off his head, and maybe he also lost it with Katie, and, infuriated by the fact she’d overdosed, he strangled her, but what about Rachel and Dominic? Why kill them?’

  Natalie found herself facing the same brick wall. ‘Unless there is a drug connection or they both knew Tommy, then I admit there’s a flaw in the argument that Tommy is responsible for the deaths.’

  ‘Until we can speak to Tommy, we’re snookered.’ Lucy’s attention was dragged to her mobile and Murray’s name flashing.

  ‘It’s not looking good, Lucy. A body’s been found in the canal. It’s a mess and I can’t be sure without it being officially identified, but it could be Tommy.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Then

  It’s a pleasantly warm night outside his barracks. He stares at the sky, illuminated by a trillion stars and a full moon. He feels at peace after a couple of pints with the lads. The army suits him. It gives him a sense of purpose and order. He accepts the measured discipline doled out to the squadron and rigorous routine that tests them both physically and mentally. He’s drawn comfort from his comrades – especially Whitey – who have his back, no matter what.

  A noise disturbs his thoughts and he is instantly alert. He backs into the shadows and attempts to locate the sound. It’s coming from some bushes close by and he approaches with caution. Could somebody have broken into the camp? No. Impossible. It might be an animal, and judging by the muffled grunts, that’s the most logical explanation. He edges forwards to see more clearly but the sight before him isn’t an animal – at least, not a four-legged one. The woman is pinned by her assailant, his forearm on the back of her neck, pushing her into the dusty ground as he forces himself into her.

  He is frozen in position, watching the horrific scene, unable to decide whether or not he should intervene, pull Whitey off her. She is leaking tears. Her hair’s the same colour of pale straw as Felicity’s. This isn’t his business but a sense of decency rushes to the surface and he surges forward, pulling on Whitey’s shoulders and yanking him away from his victim.

  ‘What the fuck! Get lost, fat boy.’

  Whether it’s because the woman reminds him of his girlfriend, or because of the familiar taunt he’s sick of enduring, he smashes his fist into Whitey’s face, knocking him onto the floor, and stares at him. The woman has rolled over, face a mess of mascara and dirt, and hurries to cover herself. She starts to thank him but he tells her to leave and keeps his eyes on Whitey, who wipes at the blood on his lips and hisses, ‘You’re going to regret this.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tuesday, 5 November – Late Morning

  The canal at its widest point was large enough for two narrowboats to pass each other and it was here that Lucy and Natalie joined Murray and Celeste, who stood hands in pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold air.

  With heavy clouds hanging like a theatre fire curtain, the water resembled shining jet, broken by the rippled surface, choppy in the stiff breeze that had begun to blow. The divers, black-suited individuals who’d surfaced by the inflatable boat, shook their heads. Only the one body had been found and it was laid out beside a mooring post.

  ‘Well?�
�� said Lucy.

  Murray answered, ‘Gauge in left ear lobe and long, dark, frizzy hair.’

  Lucy hissed a quiet, ‘Shit,’ before striding towards the deceased. What was once Tommy Field was now a semi-decomposed corpse with eyes, cheeks and part of his lips missing, no doubt picked at by fish. The black, circular earring was visible, as was damp, straggly, curly long hair. His jeans were ripped and filthy, one trainer missing, along with three toes, but his waxed jacket was intact. She looked for signs he’d been strangled but could make out no obvious abrasions on his neck, where ripped strips of skin hung like paper decorations.

  Pinkney was in situ, checking the thermometer he’d removed.

  ‘How long has he been in the water?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Day or two.’

  ‘I need to know if he was strangled.’

  ‘It’s going to be difficult to say for sure until we get him on the table.’

  ‘Reckon he was beaten up before he went into the water?’

  ‘There’s certainly plenty of bruising, but the injuries might have occurred while he was in the canal. He could have struggled or got hit by a narrowboat.’

  ‘What about the other skin damage?’

  ‘Fish.’

  ‘They ate him?’

  ‘They certainly made a meal of him.’

  Lucy turned away. Julia Davidson was among the forensic officers at the scene and she called out to her. ‘Julia, have you found a mobile or anything?’

  ‘Nothing. The divers are still searching the canal.’

  ‘He might not have had one on him,’ said Murray, who’d wandered over to her.