by D. S. Butler
Finally the phone rang, and Mackinnon snatched it up.
“Jack, the DCI’s free now if you’d like to come up,” Janice said.
“Thanks, I’ll be right there.”
He took the stairs two at a time, eager to get to Brookbank’s office. He felt oddly nervous. This case was already weighing heavily on his shoulders. But he had no reason to think Brookbank would turn down his request.
They hadn’t always got along well in the past, but Brookbank was a good police officer. He wouldn’t let personal differences get in the way of an investigation.
Brookbank called out a gruff, “Enter,” after Mackinnon rapped on the door.
“Take a seat, Jack,” the DCI said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How did it go?”
“We’ve got a witness. At approximately eleven a.m. a man was seen carrying a large holdall into the alley where our victim was found. So far, we haven’t been able to get any CCTV images to back up the witness report, but I think her body was dumped there, sir. I strongly suspect foul play.”
“Yes, I can see why you would. What have you done so far?”
“We’ve got a door-to-door enquiry going. DC Collins and DC Brown are going through the CCTV both public and private.”
“Any other witnesses yet?”
“Not yet.”
“An ID for the dead woman?”
“No, I’m going through reports of missing persons, but so far, nothing.”
“Well, I know being SIO on a case can be stressful, but you seem to be handling it. Let me know if you have any problems,” Brookbank said and then nodded at Mackinnon in dismissal.
“Thank you, sir,” Mackinnon said, “There actually is something you can do for me.”
Brookbank looked up. “Oh, what’s that?”
“The pathologist is incredibly busy at the moment, but I’d like to bump this postmortem up the queue. Their pathology department needs the request to come directly from you, though.”
Brookbank nodded slowly. “I agree with your assessment that this is looking like a murder investigation, so I’ll put in the request now.”
Mackinnon felt a rush of relief. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
He got to his feet, eager to get back downstairs and get on with the task of identifying the victim.
“Oh, and Jack…” Brookbank said as Mackinnon was about to close the door behind him.
He paused. “Yes?”
“DI Tyler will take over the enquiry when he’s recovered. But I’m impressed with how you’ve handled the pressure so far. We should talk about you going for your inspector exams.”
Taken aback, Mackinnon nodded. “Yes, thank you, sir.”
When he got back downstairs, Charlotte waved him over. “We’ve got him on CCTV.” Her eyes gleamed. “And Sung Lin was right. It’s a huge holdall, and our victim could easily have fitted inside, in my opinion. Our suspect is a white male, approximately six foot two, and I’d say around thirteen stone.”
“Excellent work,” Mackinnon said. “Can I see the footage?”
Charlotte nodded. “It’s CCTV from a bus. The number 22. Collins got them to email the appropriate clips. Here, take a look.” She used the mouse to navigate to a video file and double-clicked.
The screen filled with a video of a man just like Sung Lin had described. The video was time-stamped ten forty-five a.m.. He was dressed in a navy blue hoodie and navy tracksuit bottoms. He’d pulled the hood around his face despite the warm weather they’d been having. No one would venture out dressed like that in a heatwave unless they had something they were trying to hide.
The suspect sat with his head down, staring at the ground. On the floor next to him, blocking the aisle, was a large blue holdall. It looked like it was made from tough nylon fabric, but Mackinnon couldn’t see any brand or manufacturer’s label.
He sat on the lower floor of the bus, and there were only two other passengers, both female. They might be able to track them down for an interview.
The suspect shuffled his feet. He wore white Adidas trainers, but there was nothing unusual about those. When he leaned forward and gripped the seat in front of him. Mackinnon wondered if they could get DNA from the bus but instantly dismissed the idea. It would be an impossible job trying to isolate DNA from a bus where there would be thousands of different DNA types all mixed in together. They would have a better shot at getting DNA from the victim’s body.
Charlotte paused the video. “This is the best image we have of him. You can see part of his nose and cheek, enough to guess he’s Caucasian, but we’re not going to be able to ID him from this.”
“No,” Mackinnon said slowly. “But we can find out where and when he got on the bus… perhaps we can trace his whole journey.”
Charlotte nodded. “Collins is already on it.”
“Great stuff.”
As they were waiting for Collins to send over more clips from the CCTV footage, Mackinnon made some coffee. He put a full mug on Charlotte’s desk, knowing that it would be stone cold before she remembered to drink it, and then headed back to his own desk to resume his attempt to identify the victim.
He loosened his tie, undid his top button, and tried to ignore the uncomfortable heat as he scrolled through all the recent reports of missing young women.
He’d been at it for forty minutes when he suddenly stopped scrolling.
He focused on the photograph the police had been given by the worried parents of the missing woman.
Ashley Burrows, twenty-one. She’d been missing for ten days.
The photograph showed Ashley smiling, with shiny blonde hair, glowing smooth skin, and bright eyes. The contrast between the young woman he’d seen this morning and the woman in this photograph was huge, but he was sure it was her. The shape of her eyebrows, her chin, her jawline…
It was her.
They had an ID. Their victim now had a name. Ashley Burrows.
Chapter Eight
Mackinnon and Charlotte made it to York Square in Limehouse just before three p.m. Ashley Burrows’s parents lived in one of the three-storey houses set around the green square.
Mackinnon had arranged for the family liaison officer, Kate Squires, to meet them there. She was experienced and would be a great help in making this difficult time go as smoothly as possible for Ashley’s parents.
“I hate this part of the job,” Charlotte said, leaning back in the passenger seat and staring straight ahead, watching a group of teenagers hanging around in the gardens.
“I know how you feel.”
It had taken them over ten minutes to find a parking space, and even then they were only supposed to leave the car there for thirty minutes. Perhaps they should have taken the Underground, but it was a hot day, and Mackinnon didn’t want to arrive at the Burrows’s house crumpled and sweaty. It seemed disrespectful.
In the small amount of time he’d had before heading to Ashley’s parents’ house, Mackinnon had discovered as much as he could about Ashley. Social media made that side of the job much easier these days.
Mackinnon saw Kate walking towards the car in the rearview mirror and straightened his tie. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
They both got out of the car and waited for the family liaison officer to approach.
“Sorry, have you been waiting long?”
Despite the heat of the day, Kate Squires looked fresh and smartly dressed. She wore a navy trouser suit, a crisp white cotton blouse, and low heels rather than her standard uniform.
As Mackinnon shrugged his jacket on, he wondered how she managed to look so smart in this heat.
“Not too long. It took us a while to find a parking space.”
“I guessed it would. That’s why I took the Underground.”
Limehouse Station was only around the corner, so she hadn’t had to walk far, but looking so cool after travelling on the tube was pretty impressive. Thanks to the hot weather they’d been experiencing, the Underground felt like an oven for m
ost of the day.
“So, what do the parents know so far?” Kate asked as all three of them began to walk towards the Burrows’s residence.
“Only that we want to speak to them concerning their daughter’s disappearance. I think news like this is better delivered face-to-face.”
Kate nodded. “Absolutely. I agree. There’s no nice way to do it, but delivering the news in person shows more respect.”
“I’d like to take the opportunity to take a look around Ashley’s bedroom if her parents have no objection,” Charlotte said.
“Good idea,” Mackinnon said as they crossed the road to walk in the shade.
“She still lives at home?” Kate said before correcting herself. “Sorry, lived at home?”
“Yes, she did. So her parents reported her missing the first evening she didn’t come home,” Mackinnon said. “That was ten days ago.”
Ashley Burrows’s body had been found that morning, and it was clear her death was relatively recent, which meant they needed to account for those nine days between the evening she went missing and today. Had she been held captive? It was looking more and more likely.
They stopped in front of the Burrows’s glossy red door, and Mackinnon rang the doorbell.
“I can break the news if you’d like,” Kate offered.
It was a hard job, and Mackinnon wasn’t usually the type to take the easy way out, but Kate would be the officer offering the family support afterwards, so he accepted her offer.
The door opened, and a slim woman with heavily highlighted hair blinked at them. It was dark in the hallway and hard to make out her features. Despite the dim light, Mackinnon could see the family resemblance. Like her daughter, Maxine Burrows was very petite.
“Can I help you?”
Mackinnon introduced himself, and they all held up their IDs.
Maxine put a hand to her chest. “Is it bad news? It is, isn’t it?”
“Could we come in, Mrs Burrows?” Mackinnon asked.
She nodded and called for her husband. Gripping the door so hard her knuckles turned white, she asked again, “Is it bad news? Please, just tell me.”
After they stepped inside, they stopped beside the staircase.
A slim, bald man with thick, dark-rimmed glasses hurriedly made his way down the stairs. “What is it?”
“It’s the police,” Maxine said. “It’s about Ashley.”
Tim Burrows took charge, ushering everyone into the front room. Kate and Charlotte took a seat on the sofa, Mackinnon sat in the armchair beside them, and Maxine collapsed into the armchair opposite. Tim pulled over a chair from the dining table at the other end of the room, but he didn’t sit down straight away. Instead, he leaned heavily on the back of the chair.
“What happened?” he asked, his face tense.
“I’m very sorry to tell you that we found the body of a young woman this morning. We believe it’s Ashley,” Kate said.
Maxine let out a guttural groan and then began to sob. Her husband moved beside her and squeezed her shoulder.
“What happened to her?” he asked. “Was it an accident?”
“We don’t believe so,” Mackinnon said. “But we are still working to determine the cause of death.”
“Where did you find her?” Tim asked, dropping his hand from his wife’s shoulder.
“Not too far from here. We found her beside a Chinese restaurant called The Supreme Chinese on Gravel Lane. We believe Ashley was moved there after she died.”
“So you’re saying she was murdered? Somebody killed her?” Maxine raised her head and glared furiously at Mackinnon.
“We think so.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet. Can you think of anyone who could have done this? A violent ex-boyfriend? Someone paying her unwanted attention?”
“No, it doesn’t make any sense. Everyone loved Ashley. She wasn’t seeing anyone after breaking up with Noah, and he would never hurt her,” Tim said.
Charlotte straightened. She had her tablet on her lap, ready to take notes. “When did Noah and Ashley break up?”
Maxine replied, “About a month ago.”
“They were always breaking up and getting back together,” Tim said. “They’ve been together since they were sixteen. Noah is a good lad. He’s never been violent.”
“I see,” Mackinnon said. “Well, we’ll arrange to talk to him too, in case he can provide any further information.”
“Are you sure it’s her?” Maxine asked suddenly, a spark of hope in her eyes.
Mackinnon had attended several death notifications and people’s reactions were never predictable. Some wailed and screamed, others took the news silently, but the hope the police had got it wrong was one thing that was usually consistent.
“We are very confident that it is Ashley. You will be asked to identify the body.”
“I’ll do that,” Tim said. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Kate is your family liaison officer. She will be available to answer any questions you might have. I know this is a terrible shock and the last thing you want to do is answer questions right now, but we really want to find out what happened to Ashley.”
Both parents were silent.
“Did anything unusual happen in the days before Ashley’s disappearance? Had she had trouble at work? An argument with a friend?”
Maxine shook her head, and Tim said, “No. Everything was perfectly normal. She was happy and planning a holiday to Costa Brava next month. There was nothing in Ashley’s life that was dangerous. She was a good kid. Never took drugs, hardly ever drank. She was very health-conscious, always on at me to quit smoking.” His face crumpled, and he rubbed his eyes.
“It must have been a stranger. Maybe someone followed her home from work,” Maxine said. “You’ll be able to see that on CCTV, won’t you?”
“We are looking through the CCTV, yes,” Mackinnon said. He decided not to press them on more questions right now. After they’d had a chance to think, they could remember something important. Random killings were nowhere near as common as some people thought. Most murder victims were killed by someone they knew.
“We haven’t located Ashley’s bag or mobile phone. Did she have a bag and phone with her when she left for work?”
“Yes,” Maxine said. “She never left the house without her iPhone. She had loads of bags, but she was using a pink shoulder bag from River Island the day she went missing.”
“Did she have a laptop?”
“Yes, but she wouldn’t usually have taken that with her. It’s probably in her bedroom.”
After they’d answered some of the parents’ questions, Mackinnon asked permission to take a look around Ashley’s bedroom.
“Yes, I’ll show you her room,” Tim said. “She actually used the whole basement. There’s a small kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, so it’s relatively self-contained. It’s impossible for young people to get a place around here now.”
“It really is difficult,” Charlotte agreed, and they followed Tim downstairs, leaving Kate to comfort Maxine.
It was darker and cooler in the basement area of the house. The bathroom was tiny. A white porcelain toilet, shower, and sink all crowded the small space.
A thin partition wall had been put up to divide what was once a single large basement room into a bedroom and kitchen.
“You’re welcome to stay while we search,” Mackinnon said, “but we won’t take anything of Ashley’s without your permission.”
Tim stood in the doorway of his daughter’s bedroom, not daring to step over the threshold. His eyes flickered about the room. “I’ll leave you to it and go back upstairs to see if Maxine’s all right.”
After he left, Mackinnon and Charlotte pulled on gloves and set about methodically going through Ashley’s belongings. It was a typical young woman’s bedroom, although it was a little tidier than he’d expected. The walls were painted a light grey, matching the carpet.
There was no sign of the laptop.
As Mackinnon went through the chest of drawers, Charlotte looked under the bed and found plastic storage cases.
The drawers were crammed full of clothes, except the top drawer which was filled with perfumes and make up. On top of the chest of drawers was a large freestanding mirror, with small photographs stuck on the frame with blutack.
He selected one to take a closer look. It was of Ashley and a young man, approximately Ashley’s age. He was standing beside her with his arms around her waist. Noah, perhaps? He should be their next port of call.
Using his phone, he took pictures of the other photographs. They would need to speak to all of Ashley’s friends as the investigation went on.
“Found anything?” Mackinnon asked, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“A lot of random stuff but nothing really useful,” Charlotte said, still rifling through the boxes.
Mackinnon moved over to the built-in wardrobes and grimaced at the tightly packed clothes inside. It would take ages to have a proper look through all the clothes. He started with the coats first, checking the pockets.
He’d been searching for a few minutes when Charlotte suddenly said, “Bingo!”
He turned.
Charlotte held up a thick notebook with a blue cover decorated with pale butterflies. “It’s a diary.”
Mackinnon stopped what he was doing and looked over Charlotte’s shoulder at the book. Ashley’s diary. Did it hold all the answers?
Charlotte flipped through the pages. “It seems pretty mundane stuff… about work, mostly. Let’s ask her parents if we can take it back to the station. It’s going to take a while to read.”
“Okay. Let’s finish up here and then—” Mackinnon broke off as his mobile phone buzzed in his pocket.
It was a text message from DI Tyler. He was back at work, which meant Mackinnon was no longer acting SIO.
“Something important?” Charlotte asked as she replaced the lids on the storage boxes and pushed them back beneath the bed.
“Yes. Tyler’s in charge of the investigation now, and he wants a briefing.”
