by M K Farrar
She spoke directly to the park ranger. “Mr Wiles, my name is DI Swift, I’m an investigating officer on this case. I understand you were the one to find the body?”
He nodded, his fist at his mouth. “Yes, that’s right. Terrible thing to have happened. That poor girl.”
“I do have to ask you some questions. I’m aware you’ve been out here some time now, and it doesn’t look as though the day is warming up at all, so I think it would be best if I take you down to the station. I bet we could both do with a hot cup of coffee.”
His shoulders dropped, and he took his hand from his mouth. “Yes, a coffee would be good, thank you.”
She smiled, doing her best to get him to warm to her, wanting him to not see her as a threat in any way. “Great. My car is parked over there, unless you’d rather drive yourself.”
“I don’t mind either way, but it would mean leaving my van in the carpark here.”
“Don’t worry about your van. I’ll get a colleague to drop you back up after we’ve had a chat.”
He twisted his lips, his gaze darting around her anxiously. “Well, I suppose that would be all right.”
She gestured towards her vehicle. “Come right this way.”
Chapter Three
Erica paused outside interview room three and balanced two cups of coffee in one hand—the heat of the liquid through the flimsy plastic of the machine dispenser cups burning her skin—while she quickly punched in the door code. A loud buzz sounded in return, and she switched one of the cups back to her other hand and pushed inside the room with her shoulder.
On the other side of the table sat George Wiles. He looked just as pensive as he’d done back at the park, his skin pale, his lips pinched. It was hard to imagine this man beating his wife to the point where she’d been hospitalised as much as it was hard to imagine him murdering and branding a teenage girl, but she knew for sure that he’d done at least one of those things.
“Coffee for you, Mr Wiles, or can I call you George?”
He shrugged. “George is fine, and thank you.”
Erica set her black coffee on the table between them and took a seat. “I’m going to record this interview, but understand this is just an informal chat. You’re not under arrest, and you’re free to leave at any time.” She hit the button to start the recording. “Interview with Mr George Wiles with DI Swift in interview room three. Mr Wiles, you do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“Should I get a solicitor?”
“Totally up to you. I’m happy to wait until you’ve called someone, if you feel that’s necessary, or we can have one appointed to you. It won’t cost you anything, and you’re within your rights to have one.”
“I don’t need one,” he decided. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Very well.” She gave the date and time and then turned to the man across the table from her. “Please state your name, address, occupation, and date of birth for the recording.”
He did as she’d asked.
“Thank you. Can you tell me what happened this morning? Start as early as you can for me.”
“As early as I can? You mean, like when I got out of bed?”
She offered him a reassuring smile. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, umm, my alarm goes off at six, but I’m normally awake by then anyway—I was this morning. I got up and got dressed and had my breakfast, took the dog for a quick walk around the block to do his business, and then I left home just after seven to go to work.”
“How did you get to work?”
“I drove. My van’s still in the carpark near the ranger office. I did mention that before.”
“Yes, you did. Do you drive every morning?”
“Yes, I do. I’m on my feet all day so the last thing I want to do is walk home as well, especially since Rodney will want to go out for a walk as well the moment I get home.”
“I’m sorry, who is Rodney?”
“Oh, that’s my dog.”
Erica had thought Rodney was a friend of his. Funny name for a dog.
“And do you live alone?”
He sniffed and glanced down. “Yes, have done for more than twenty years now.”
Since you were released from prison, she thought but didn’t say. She’d get onto that soon enough.
“Does that mean you were alone in the house all of last night?”
“Yes, it does, which also means I don’t have an alibi. I know how these things work, DI Swift.”
Of course he does. He isn’t new to being questioned by the police.
“Do you have any family at all?”
“Two kids, but we don’t see much of each other. They’ve got families of their own now.”
From the research she’d done on his conviction, his children had been five and seven when he’d nearly beaten their mother to death. They’d both be in their mid-to-late twenties now and would have lives of their own. She couldn’t imagine wanting to have much to do with a parent after living through that.
“Why don’t you see much of each other? If they have children, don’t you want to be a part of their lives as a grandfather?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “They wouldn’t allow it. I’m sure you’ve looked into my past, you know why.” His tone lifted with panic. “But that doesn’t mean I did anything to hurt that poor girl. I’m a changed man. I’m not the same person I was all those years ago. I was drinking back then, and now I’ve been sober for eighteen years, three months and two days. I found God not long after I left prison, and my faith has helped keep me sober.”
“I’m not suggesting that you did, George. I’m simply trying to build up a rounded picture of exactly what happened leading up to the body being found. Something you may have seen or heard that you didn’t even consider to be important at the time might be just what we need to find the person responsible.”
His gaze flicked up to Erica and then back down to the table between them. “She could have done it to herself, couldn’t she? I mean, young girls are often getting into some strange things these days.”
Erica nodded. “That is a line of enquiry we’re following. Now, if we could just get back to that morning.”
He ducked his head, as though she’d chastised him. “Yes, of course.”
Erica checked her notes. “So, you drove to work. What time did you arrive?”
“About seven twenty-five. Same time I arrive every morning.”
“Was anyone hanging around? Anything unusual catch your eye?”
“No, nothing. It was just a normal morning. There were a few dog walkers around, and a couple of joggers, but that’s to be expected.”
She took a sip of her coffee then replied. “Yet none of those dog walkers or joggers found the body?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly on the main track. Well, you saw where it was, behind those trees.”
“What made you go behind those trees?”
“I often check concealed areas. They tend to be where the teenagers go to hang out late at night. They drink and smoke pot, and more often than not, they leave their rubbish lying around. Old muggins here is the one who cleans up after them. I wouldn’t want any wildlife getting caught in one of those plastic beer can holders, or a dog cutting its foot on a piece of glass.”
“How often do the teenagers go to the park at night?”
Could their victim have been one of those teens? Was there the possibility that this was some kind of university hazing that had gone wrong?
“They can be there any night, but they’re always hanging around at the weekends.”
“Would they be less likely to be there on a Monday night, or the early hours of Tuesday morning?”
He stuck his lower lip out. “Less likely, yes, but not impossible.”
“And did you notice anything unusual befo
re you checked the area? Anyone there who shouldn’t be?”
“I already told you, I didn’t see anything strange, well, apart from the body, that is.” He took a shaky breath and dragged his hand down over his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that before, and I hope I never have to again.”
“When you found the victim, did you touch her at all?”
He nodded. “Yes, I dropped to my knees beside her and shook her. I didn’t know she was dead then.” He visibly shuddered. “I thought maybe...Actually, I don’t know what I thought. I just wanted her to wake up, though with all those cuts over her body, I knew even waking up was going to be a shock. But then I realised she wasn’t going to and that was when I called nine-nine-nine.”
“Had you ever seen the victim before today?” Erica asked.
“No, never.”
“You mentioned that teenagers like to go to the park to smoke and drink. Do you think she might have been one of them?”
He exhaled a breath and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Honestly, I have no idea. Possibly. I don’t take too much notice of what the kids look like—they all seem the same to me.”
“You wouldn’t recognise the teenagers who normally hang out in the park?”
He twisted his lips and then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t think I would. It’s normally dark when they’re around, and I don’t get a good look at their faces. I’ve tried to shoo them off on several occasions, but they don’t take any notice. Sometimes they even laugh.”
She tilted her head slightly to one side. “Have you called the police about it?”
“What would be the point? No offense to you, but nothing would be done. The police have got their hands full with more important things than a few kids in a park.”
She hated to admit he was right, but he was. A report might have been taken, but that was all. Teenagers had always found places to get drunk and smoke a little weed. As long as they weren’t harming anyone or causing any damage to property, it was pretty much ignored.
“Okay, George, let’s just go over those events again, make sure we have everything straight.”
His shoulders slumped. “I told you everything I know.”
“I’m sure you did, but sometimes we accidentally miss things.” She wanted to be certain his story matched up the second time around, and he didn’t slip up in his version of events.
“Another coffee?” she asked, though he’d barely touched the first one.
He let out a sigh and sat back. “No, I’m fine.”
Erica started from the beginning.
Chapter Four
Bethany Emerson got up at six a.m. to ensure she had time to perfect her makeup.
She stared at herself in the mirror, and her heart lifted with hope. She looked just like she used to before her horrible habit started, maybe even better. There wasn’t much she could do about the bald patches near the front of her hairline, but she’d managed to tie it back and clip it just right, so they weren’t so glaringly obvious. She was insanely jealous of the girls who had thick, dead-straight locks that they wore long, swinging freely down their backs. She’d have given almost anything to have hair like that. Even if she didn’t pull hers out, it still wouldn’t look that way. Hers was mousy brown and frizzy, with a slight wave that was neither curly nor straight. When she grew it long, it wasn’t thick and luscious but went rats tailed and scraggly at the ends.
Her mum was already in the kitchen when Bethany came downstairs to get her usual breakfast of a bowl of Cheerios.
Rita Emerson started back in surprise at the sight of her daughter. “Oh, you look pretty today.”
Her cheeks heated. “Thanks, Mum.”
But the surprise pinched into a frown. “You don’t think it’s too much? The school aren’t going to tell you to take it off?”
Her heart sank at the thought of school.
“No, Mum. The other girls all wear tons of makeup. They all copy tutorials on YouTube that tell them to completely cover every inch of skin. Trust me, this is natural compared to them.”
“Well, okay. Just as long as I don’t get any phone calls from school today. You know how busy I am.”
“You won’t.”
The phone calls her mum got were never even Bethany’s fault. The other girls made up lies about her and then told the teacher. One time, her ex-best friend Amber had told their head of year that Bethany had taken her phone and then dropped it and cracked the screen. She’d done no such thing, and hadn’t been anywhere near Amber’s phone, but of course all of Amber’s friends said they’d seen Bethany doing it, so she’d ended up having to pay for repairs. That money had come from all the savings she’d had from birthdays and Christmases and had left her with nothing.
Her little sister, who was seven, bounced into the room, and then drew up short. Unable to hide her feelings, her mouth dropped open.
“Bethy, what did you do to your face?”
She’d tried to use makeup to hide the baldness—a microblade pen to draw her eyebrows back on, and fake lashes to make her eyes appear more normal. “It’s just a little makeup. Do you like it?”
“Yeah, you look really nice.”
Bethany ruffled her sister’s hair. “Thanks, squirt.”
Florence didn’t seem to see what the others did. She accepted Bethany no matter what. Flo was Bethany’s happy place, unlike school, which was pure torture every day.
She didn’t even feel like she could blame the other girls for bullying her. She might as well have a flashing red light above her head that said ‘pathetic weirdo’. It would have been odd for them not to pick on her. But it was exhausting. Several months ago, she’d even got rid of her phone. She was probably the only sixteen-year-old who didn’t have one.
Having her phone was like an extension of being at school. Even when she’d signed out of social media, they were still able to send her text messages or phone her, telling her how her life wasn’t worth living, and she should do everyone a favour and kill herself already. And Bethany had considered it, too. She’d considered it so many times she’d lost count. The only thing that was stopping her was the knowledge that she’d be leaving her little sister behind. Florence was the only good thing in her life, and she didn’t want to leave Flo with the stigma of having a sister who had killed herself. A sister who hadn’t loved her enough to stick around. It must be hard enough on the girl having a freak like Bethany as a sibling as it was, without adding that to it.
Her mother slid a bowl of cereal and a cup of juice onto the table for Florence and then took the seat opposite Bethany.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about before you go.”
Bethany groaned. “I hate it when you say that.”
Rita carried on regardless. “The school have been in touch about you talking to someone about...everything. I think it’s a good idea.”
Bethany dropped her forehead onto her folded arms. When she spoke, her voice came out muffled. “I really don’t want to go.”
“I know you don’t, but it would be good for you to talk to people about how you’re feeling. It might even help with...”
Bethany sat up straight again. “With the hair-pulling. You can say it, Mum. It’s not going to suddenly start happening to you just because you say it out loud.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Bethany. You know I don’t think that.”
Maybe her mum was right, and it would help, though she couldn’t imagine anything helping her at this point. It would also mean that she’d have to tell some stranger exactly what she was thinking and feeling, and just the thought of that made her cringe inside. No one wanted to listen to her feeling sorry for herself. She preferred to brazen things out on the outside, to pretend that she didn’t care what she looked like and what was on the inside was more important. She tried to make out that she was fine without friends or a social life, and that her parents’ shitty relationship didn’t affect her.
But
if she didn’t tell the counsellor the truth about all those things, what would be the point? They’d never be able to help her.
She let out a sigh. “Okay, fine, I’ll go.”
Her mother’s shoulders dropped. “Thank you. Just try it, that’s all I ask.”
“Fine.”
Heavy footsteps came on the stairs, and instantly the atmosphere in the room changed. Her mother tensed and got up from the table, hurrying over to the worktop to pour hot water onto coffee granules. Both girls huddled over the table, shovelling cereal into their mouths.
No one would dare say anything until they’d each silently assessed what kind of mood Mitch Emerson was in that day. His mood was volatile, likely to switch from jovial to furious at a moment’s notice, which made it difficult for his family to know how to interact with him.
She wished her parents would just split up and get it over and done with. She didn’t understand why they wanted to stay living together when all they ever did was fight. She didn’t see any love or even respect between them. There was resentment and disdain. They liked to use her as a sounding board, even when the other person was in the room, rather than speak to each other directly. She might ask a simple question like what was for dinner, and her mother would reply with something that was a deliberate dig at her father such as ‘it would have been fish and chips, but your father is too lazy to get them’, to which her father would say, ‘well, your mum shouldn’t be eating fish and chips when her fucking arse is so big anyway.’ And on and on it went, with Bethany stuck in the middle.
Her mother tried to push the coffee into her dad’s hands, but he shook his head.
“I don’t want that. I’m going to be late.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“I think I’m capable of telling the time, Rita.” Bethany’s father turned his attention to her. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”
Bethany opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t quite ready yet, and then shut it again. It wasn’t worth making him angry. “I’m coming.”
