A Cut for a Cut (Detective Kate Young)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘And find out as much as you can about her: social media, friends, work, everything.’

  Jamie was true to his word. The photo and details arrived in her inbox within seconds. There was no mistake as to the identity of the woman in the industrial bin.

  Emma took one look at the picture and nodded in agreement. ‘Definitely Laura.’

  ‘Okay. I think we’re done here. Time to break the bad news to her father.’

  She set off again, this time towards the car. The sun sparkled off clean windows and the whole village exuded a friendly, comfortable air about it. It was a most unlikely location for such a terrible act to have taken place. Overhead bunting fluttered in a gentle breeze, and tiny flowers in terracotta pots bounced their fragile heads in unison. Could the attacker be a resident – a monster who lived hidden among the locals?

  The word MINE cut into Laura’s flesh was significant. It suggested desire or possession. The perpetrator could be somebody who’d been rebuffed by Laura, an ex-lover, or somebody consumed by jealousy, who wanted Laura for themselves. Until they learned more about Laura, they wouldn’t know where to begin.

  No sooner had she fastened her seatbelt than Morgan rang. She put him on speakerphone.

  ‘The women at the class don’t recall seeing anyone milling around outside, but they have given me the names of everyone else who attended, so I’ll speak to them.’

  ‘What could they tell you about Laura?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Nothing other than she moved to the village in late February, was really into yoga and lived alone.’

  ‘Nothing else? I find that hard to believe! Don’t villagers usually make it their business to find out everything about new people who move in? I’d have thought they’d have quizzed her on every aspect of her life.’

  ‘According to them, since the redevelopment of the school and the surrounding area, there’s been a sharp increase in families and singletons, like Laura, relocating from nearby big towns. I was under the impression those people are still regarded as outsiders and the locals haven’t been interested in integrating with them.’

  ‘Yet they attended a class run by one?’

  ‘It seems if Laura hadn’t volunteered to take the classes, they’d have fallen by the wayside until the instructor came back and . . . Laura didn’t charge anyone to attend. She said she wasn’t officially qualified to take it, so she couldn’t accept payment. She took them because she enjoyed yoga.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ mumbled Emma. ‘Who’d be willing to hold a class twice a week and not get paid for their efforts?’

  Kate agreed. ‘Did they know anything at all about her?’

  ‘Only that she’d spent some time in India. Hence her love and knowledge of yoga. They said she was a very good instructor.’

  ‘I’ll wait on Jamie then to find out more about her.’

  ‘I’ll crack on with the other class members and then speak to those diners who ate at the restaurant last night.’

  ‘Cheers. We’re going to talk to her father.’

  ‘Catch you later.’

  After she ended the call, Kate stared out of the window. ‘Seems odd to me.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘A single young woman moving to a sleepy village and not wanting to get involved with anybody other than fellow yoga enthusiasts.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t want anybody to find out about her shoplifting episode. When did she get caught?’

  ‘February the first.’

  ‘And she moved late February. I suppose that could have been the catalyst.’ Emma overtook a small Kia, driven by an elderly man. A poodle stared out from the passenger seat, tongue out, like an errant child. They’d left the village behind and were motoring past fields of shorn wheat. Kate’s phone vibrated with an incoming message. Expecting it to be from Jamie, she hesitated when she saw Tilly’s name. This case would keep her from spending as much time with her stepsister as she’d like. She wasn’t keen on the idea of Tilly having to settle back in the area alone, without the moral support she clearly required.

  Thanks again for letting us stay overnight.

  Ring me when you get a chance.

  Daniel sends his love.

  Tilly X

  She messaged back a quick reply and added a couple of kisses. Damn! This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She needed time to become reacquainted with Tilly and help her find more permanent accommodation and, of course, there was also Daniel. Kate already felt a huge fondness for her nephew. She’d been looking forward to seeing more of him and fulfilling her duties as an aunt. The truth was, Tilly had returned at an opportune time. With Chris gone, there was a yawning chasm in Kate’s life, waiting to be filled.

  Chris’s voice whispered in her ear. ‘And me? Where do I fit in? Or am I no longer important?’ She wanted to reply that of course he was important. She still intended to pursue her investigations to prove Dickson had been partly responsible for her husband’s death, but she had to spend time with Tilly and now she had to prioritise further, with the investigation demanding her fullest attention. Minutes were lost to thought until they joined the queue of traffic, inching forward onto a roundabout, and her phone buzzed again. This time it was Jamie.

  ‘I’ve got a quick update for you. Until February the third, Laura Dean was a legal secretary for Tomkins Solicitors in Stafford. Geoffrey Tomkins, who’s the senior partner there, told me she was very quiet, unassuming and efficient. He has no idea why she left, but I’m sure it’s no coincidence she did so two days after being picked up for shoplifting. According to her employment records, she hasn’t worked since.’

  ‘What about her finances? How’s she managed to get by for seven months without a job?’

  ‘I’ve put in a request for those details and another to her mobile provider. I’ve gained access to her Facebook account, but everything before February the third – photographs and information – has been deleted.’

  ‘What sort of things did she post?’

  ‘Mostly positive affirmation quotes, the sort you read about loving yourself and being grateful for little things. There are a handful of photos of her with some people who I assume are friends and I’m in the process of trying to identify and get details about them.’

  ‘Good job. Keep us informed.’ She ended the call.

  ‘I’ve got Facebook and Insta friends,’ said Emma, ‘who also post inspirational quotes. In real life, they’re some of the most depressed people I know. Maybe Laura was too.’

  ‘Could have been the case. You got many friends on social media?’

  ‘Yeah. Quite a few, but they’re mostly from college days, or people I know from the gym and the Taekwondo circuit, or my brother’s mates. I can’t be bothered to hang out on the other platforms although I usually keep my Insta up to date. You?’

  ‘I let it lapse after . . . Chris died.’ News of Chris’s death had been in all the newspapers and even on the national news. She’d become an unwilling celebrity overnight, one who couldn’t come to terms with his loss, and one who was in such serious denial, she’d abandoned all forms of social media and not returned to it since.

  She could almost feel Chris’s hand on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze and a whispered, ‘You don’t need anyone, Kate. There’s you and me and we’re doing fine.’

  Her lips twitched involuntarily in response and she spotted the look that flittered across Emma’s face. It was clear she still had doubts about Kate’s sanity. She gave a smile. ‘I’ll probably pick it back up. My stepsister’s over from Australia with my five-year-old nephew. I promised I’d take them out and about. Might post some photos from our day trips to let people know I’m back in the land of the living.’

  It did the job. The shadow on Emma’s face vanished. ‘I didn’t know you had a stepsister.’

  ‘We lost touch when she moved abroad. She returned a week ago. She’s probably going to settle back here permanently. We’ve been playing catch-up. She stayed over at my place last nigh
t.’

  ‘That’s good . . . Really good.’ Emma’s head bounced lightly.

  Kate aimed for another smile and was rewarded with one in return.

  Although the Royal Town of Sutton Coldfield covered a vast area, Richard Dean lived in Four Oaks, a residential area on the northern edge, bordering Sutton Park, away from the hustle and bustle of the town. Turning off the main drag, they found themselves in Ethelred Close where thick-trunked trees and green foliage helped create an impression of privacy. It was an illusion sustained in the private car park, surrounded by glossy-leaved bushes, where they emerged from the car to the sound of cooing doves overhead.

  ‘Which building does he live in?’ asked Emma.

  Autumn invariably brought the unwelcome bite of frosty mornings, but also offered an array of breathtaking hues. Kate drank in the tall acers with deep burgundy and startling red foliage, nestling next to the russet-brown of beech trees and slender, pale-yellow-leaved rowans, all creating a theatrical backdrop for several red-brick, flat-roofed buildings. She dragged her attention back to the question. ‘Bottom floor. Far side.’ They crossed to a pathway that wound the length of the dwellings, where damp grass clippings, recently thrown out onto the gravel, stuck to their shoes. The sudden rattling of a train sent wings clapping in applause as several doves rose in unison and scattered across the sky.

  The door to Richard’s flat, like all the others, was painted white to match the window frames, except he’d added a slate sign with the message, ‘Doorbell broken . . . Yell ding dong really loudly’. In spite of it, she rang the bell and the man with the sense of humour opened the door. Kate immediately saw the likeness. Laura had inherited several facial features along with his thick, chestnut-brown hair. He was of slight build, stooped and tall at over six foot, a pair of glasses perched on an aquiline nose.

  ‘Richard Dean?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘I’m DI Kate—’

  ‘I know who you are. I watch the news.’ He tightened his grip on the doorframe, his fingers long and pale, like an artist’s or a musician’s. Laura’s fingers had been long and lean too.

  Kate lifted her ID and continued. ‘This is DS Sullivan. Could we come in, please?’

  His voice dropped to little more than a gasp. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Sir, it would be better if we could talk inside.’

  He shuffled backwards and they found themselves inside an orderly front room. The main centrepiece was a grand, quilted Chesterfield sofa, on which lay a copy of The Daily Telegraph folded open at a half-completed crossword puzzle. A mug of wishy-washy liquid had been left in an empty space on a shelf, next to a row of novels, all with white spines and the name of the author written in large blood-red font: Richard M. Dean. Laura’s father was an author.

  ‘Would you mind sitting down, Mr Dean?’ Kate said.

  He obeyed without question, his Adam’s apple lifting and dropping.

  ‘I have some very bad news I must tell you. We believe your daughter, Laura, was attacked late last night, and I’m very sorry to inform you she is dead.’

  ‘No!’ His fist flew to his mouth and he tapped it against his lips, beating back sharp intakes of breath. His eyes turned glassy and his voice thickened. ‘No. Not Laura.’

  ‘Sir, we’re sure it is your daughter, although we would still like you to formally identify her.’

  His fist unfurled and he rubbed his palm over his face and chin. ‘Is there a chance it isn’t her?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  He looked away. ‘When? When do I need to see her?’ he said, his voice cracking.

  ‘A Family Liaison Officer is on their way and will go through everything with you. They’ll help explain what you’ll be required to do.’

  She was met with a slow, accepting nod. A tear breached his eyelashes to slide down his face. ‘Attacked?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘We haven’t had it confirmed yet, but we believe she was strangled.’ Kate felt the weight of his regard. ‘We also believe she was raped.’

  His chin trembled with emotion and although his lips parted, no sound other than a low moan escaped.

  ‘Is there anyone we can ring or fetch for you?’

  ‘No. Steve will be home very shortly.’ He covered his mouth again and made several attempts to control his breathing. Finally, he spoke. ‘Have you any idea who—?’

  ‘Not yet, so we really would appreciate any help you can give us.’

  He rubbed tears from his cheeks and tried to speak again. ‘I doubt I’ll be much use to you. You see, several years ago, Laura and I . . . we had a difference of opinion over my choice of partner. She hardly ever visits . . . visited. I wish with all my heart I could tell you more. We used to be close, particularly after Megan, my wife, passed away, but that bond was broken a long time ago.’ He swiped at more tears with the back of his hand. ‘Laura struggled with the fact I had found love again and felt abandoned, even though nothing could be further from the truth. Steve and I both wanted her to be part of our lives.’

  ‘Did you ever visit her?’

  ‘No. She didn’t want us to. She’d come here now and again. You see, my relationship with Steve was a bone of contention between us. It wasn’t that she was homophobic, merely – well, to be blunt – jealous. After her mother died, we became dependent on each other and then Steve came on the scene, and it was too much for her to handle.’

  Kate understood. She’d experienced similar emotions when her father had started going out with Ellen, emotions that had intensified on discovering Ellen and Tilly were going to move in with them. The difference had been that she’d tried to keep her relationship with her father on track. In the end, when Ellen had walked out, she’d been glad she hadn’t abandoned him.

  ‘Recently, we’d started to make a little progress and I firmly believed she’d come around in time . . . yet now, here we are . . . out of time.’ His words caught in his throat.

  ‘Mr Dean, what was Laura like?’

  A crooked smile appeared. ‘Quiet. Timid even. We nicknamed her “Mouse” when she was younger. She changed a great deal around the time Megan fell ill. She was a teenager at the time. We had several rows over her appearance, attitude, schoolwork – all the usual things. I’m not sure if she was any worse than others her age, but it was certainly a very testing time. She used to shut herself away in her room for hours on end. Megan was worried that Laura was becoming too reclusive and tried to coax her out of it, to no avail, of course. After Megan passed away, she became worse. Never went out with friends and spent every free moment looking after the house and me. It was as if she was trying to take Megan’s place. I took her to task over it and explained she had to find her own feet and get out and about. She confessed she didn’t find it easy to make friends and felt more comfortable at home. I let it drop and we settled into a routine and then, when I thought the time was right, I told her about Steve. It turned out it wasn’t the right time at all.’

  ‘She took the news badly?’ said Kate.

  He nodded. ‘She went wild, screaming, lashing out with her fists, yelling that I’d never loved Megan. It was horrible. She wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say and, a week later, she took off, found a place to rent and started her own life. I hadn’t intended it to happen that way.’ He stared into the distance. His nostrils quivered and he sniffed again. ‘And that’s pretty much all I can tell you about Laura. Dreadful, isn’t it? I can tell you lots about her as a teenager, or as a child, but as an adult . . . well, I can’t tell you much at all, because the truth is . . . I knew very little about my own daughter.’

  ‘Did you know she’d moved to Abbots Bromley?’

  ‘Not until a chance meeting with her boss, or should I say, ex-boss, Geoffrey Tomkins, at a sporting function in May this year. Geoffrey mentioned she’d not only handed in her notice unexpectedly in February, but moved away, leaving no forwarding address. As soon
as I heard, I rang her to ask why she’d packed up and gone. Her response saddened me. Contrary to the nursery rhyme, words – or hurtful comments, I suppose – really did hurt her. Affected her so deeply, she said she wasn’t sure she’d ever love again.’

  ‘What sort of comments?’

  ‘I don’t know the exact details, only that Laura had taken them to heart. My efforts to mollify her fell on stony ground. As I said a moment or two ago, she was desperately sensitive. She gave me sufficient cause for concern that I dropped in on her at her new house. We had a pleasant conversation about the village and she told me she was going to adopt a cat. She wouldn’t discuss her ex with me or what had happened between them. She said it hurt too much to even think about it, let alone talk about it.’

  ‘What about money? How did she intend to manage without an income?’

  ‘After Laura was born, Megan and I set up a trust fund for her. If I had a good year, I’d feed any excess royalties from my books into it. As soon as Megan found out she was terminally ill, she arranged for half of her life insurance money to be put into the trust on her death. The amount she received per annum covered her mortgage, utility bills, reasonable household expenses and a little extra to live on. She could have survived on that money alone for decades without working.’ His words ebbed.

  ‘When did you first learn about Laura’s relationship?’

  ‘I guessed rather than knew for certain. There were tell-tale signs: she’d changed her appearance, and attitude – she was more confident and definitely happier.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘She had a glow about her.’

  ‘And that was when?’

  ‘Summertime.’

  ‘But you never asked her outright about it?’

  ‘No. She obviously didn’t want to tell me about the chap and it wasn’t until early December, when she visited me on my birthday, that I figured it had come to an end. The glow had vanished.’

  ‘Didn’t you see her in between times?’

  ‘No, she was always too busy.’

  ‘What about text messages or telephone calls?’

  ‘I don’t do texting and Laura wasn’t into lengthy heart-to-heart telephone conversations. Truth was, we didn’t have a great deal to tell each other.’ He dropped his head. ‘At the time, I noticed she’d lost weight but I put her appearance down to over-exercise and work.’ His eyes grew moist and he hung his head. ‘What a dreadful father I turned out to be.’