Bitter Edge

by Bitter Edge (retail) (epub)

  Porter introduced DS Umshaw and they shook hands. Sarah was led along the corridor and into what she assumed was an interview room. It was like those she saw on TV: sparse, functional, cheaply decorated. They pulled out chairs and the two detectives explained how they conducted a formal interview. They told her that she was entitled to have a lawyer present at any time. She confirmed her address and her personal details, and finally she was asked if she’d like a drink. She said she’d love a coffee, and Umshaw left to get one for her.

  ‘You understand, Sarah, that anything you say can be submitted as testimony and you may be summoned by the CPS to give evidence, under oath, in court?’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’ She fiddled with her fingers.

  ‘Good. Have you spoken to a lawyer?’

  ‘No, should I?’

  ‘The only reason we ask is because you might, at a later date, want to check what we’ve discussed. Everything you tell us will be recorded and you’ll sign it as a statement. None of it can be taken back.’

  ‘What if I change my mind?’

  ‘Facts are facts. You can change an opinion, but not a statement of truth. Of course, we can’t avoid recording opinions, but facts are entered as such. That’s if you have any for us.’

  Sarah nodded. She knew the difference between facts and opinions.

  Umshaw came back into the room with a plastic cup of coffee and placed it in front of her. She plopped a couple of sachets of sugar on the table too, and a stirrer.

  ‘Sarah, you requested this interview yourself. Can you explain to us, and for the purposes of the tape, why you did that?’

  Sarah didn’t know what to say; or rather, she didn’t know how to start saying what she had to say. She looked at the two women. They both sounded like locals. She herself had come to Keswick from Lincolnshire. She’d spent most weekends as a child hiking in the Lake District with her parents, and had fallen in love with the place. Her first teaching job had been in Louth, in a tiny school, and she’d scoured the Times Educational Supplement monthly for jobs in the Lakes. Then one came up and she applied. Property in Keswick wasn’t expensive, and on her wage she could afford a three-bedroom cottage. She still hiked every weekend, and now the top of a mountain was about the only place Tony wasn’t hounded.

  ‘I believe that Tony Blackman is innocent of all charges.’

  Porter watched her, and Umshaw took notes.

  ‘And why are you of that opinion?’ Porter asked.

  ‘Half fact and half opinion.’

  ‘Go on.’ Porter held her gaze and Sarah knew that she was being taken seriously.

  ‘I’ll start with my opinion. Tony is the gentlest, most caring teacher in the school. He wins Mr Popular every year.’

  She faltered, and blushed; it sounded pathetic. She took a breath and carried on. She wanted to communicate how difficult it was to endear oneself to teenagers.

  ‘Kids aren’t stupid. They’re treated as if they’re half-people with undeveloped brains, but they’re not. In fact, sometimes they’re cleverer than us because they’re not tainted by outside influences like incomes, mortgages, politics and experience. Their beliefs are raw. You need to see one of Tony’s English lessons …’

  Sarah sipped a mouthful of coffee. The detectives said nothing. Her hands shook slightly. There was no going back now.

  ‘I’m prepared to be a character witness for Tony, if I have the chance. It’s the least I can do. The kids love him.’

  Still silence.

  ‘Time for the facts. Tony is useless on computers. He sucks. He has to be shown how to use the whiteboard virtually every week. I’ve used his home computer before; it’s like a dinosaur, and the software is so old-fashioned. I reckon he hasn’t updated it since he bought it ten years ago. He wouldn’t have a clue what a firewall is, or encryption.’

  This seemed to garner more of a response from the interviewers. She went on.

  ‘What makes you think that’s what we’re looking for?’

  ‘I know that the files you found were sophisticated ones and I’ll say on oath that Tony hasn’t the capability of creating them.’

  Kelly and Kate swapped glances. ‘Alright, carry on.’

  ‘Sadie Rawlinson was invited to Tony’s flat to collect a poetry book. He shouldn’t have done it – God, he shouldn’t have done it – but it was done innocently. I’ve never, ever seen him aggressive, whereas I have seen Sadie Rawlinson show hostility and physical force scores of times. Fact: she’s also promiscuous.’ That was a mistake, and she instantly regretted it. It seemed like she was implying that promiscuity was akin to deceit. But it was too late.

  ‘So in your opinion, is it acceptable to assault those girls who experiment with sex, let’s say?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

  ‘Is your information about the events of the evening in question directly taken from the testimony of Tony Blackman, or do you have extra evidence for us?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Did Faith Shaw ever visit Tony Blackman’s house for extra poetry texts?’

  ‘No! Oh no, no. I knew it!’

  ‘Did Tony Blackman supply his students with anything other than poetry texts?’

  Kelly laboured the word supply, and Sarah understood her implication. ‘No!’

  ‘Miss Peaks, please calm down. DS Umshaw, turn off the tape, please.’ Umshaw did as she was instructed. ‘That’s what you’ll get in court, Sarah. Now, let’s go through it again, shall we?’

  It took Sarah a few seconds to realise that she was holding her breath. It dawned on her that the detectives might actually have been listening to every word she’d said, but not so that they could ridicule her, or call her a liar, or accuse her of wasting their time. Quite the opposite: they wanted more. Before they turned the tape back on, they asked her about the suicides of the two students a few years previously.

  ‘I didn’t work at the Academy then.’

  ‘But you heard about them, right?’

  ‘No, not until a student told me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not something a school mentions when they’re trying to fill a vacancy. Besides, neither suicide was connected to the school. It was my understanding that the first one, four years ago, was a domestic abuse case, and the second was connected to drugs.’

  ‘What drugs?’

  Sarah was nonplussed. ‘I’m not entirely sure, but I did hear a mention of some sort of prescription pill that was becoming popular. We get memos now and again in our pigeonholes letting us know the current names for the common drugs.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What has this got to do with Tony?’ She was wary.

  ‘Nothing. But I’m acutely aware, as of course are you, that Faith Shaw attends your school, as did Jenna Fraser, and it’s indisputable that drug abuse and suicide are closely linked. I want to know what you think.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The role of drugs amongst teenagers. Is it something you’ve seen increase?’

  ‘Detective, with respect, they don’t use at school. It’s a social problem that happens elsewhere.’

  ‘I accept that, but their brains don’t change as soon as they leave the classroom; surely it affects the child’s life in and out of school.’

  ‘There’s no study on it. It’s uncharted territory, I’m afraid. Our government is way behind on accepting that drugs affect the vast majority of teenagers, and younger children, at some point in their lives.’

  ‘What’s the school policy on it?’

  Sarah looked between the two detectives.

  ‘I don’t think we have one, but the head would say that we’re anti-drugs, like all schools.’

  ‘Is it raised in assemblies and lessons?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you witnessed the effects yourself?’

  ‘It’s shaky ground. I recognise the signs of abuse, but I wouldn’t be able to prove anything.’

  ‘Did Faith Shaw ever
display such signs?’

  ‘No, but Sadie Rawlinson does, all the time, and I’ve heard that her mother is an addict.’

  ‘DS Umshaw, please turn the tape back on.’

  Chapter 26

  Building a detailed picture of Faith Shaw was vital to discovering where she’d gone. The narrative of her life hinged around her social media accounts, and they were mind-bogglingly vast.

  She’d been reported missing on Sunday evening, and it was now Wednesday. Sky News had been in touch with Cumbria Police HQ, who were preparing a new statement. Kelly and her team had explored all the possibilities, ruling out running away from home fairly quickly, as well as latent drug use, or an underlying medical condition that might cause insomnia or memory loss. She had decided that Faith’s disappearance was not only unusual, it was also unexpected, and given her age, they had to assume that she was at risk. That bit was pretty standard. What they did next was the tricky part.

  Profiling a victim took time. Sometimes a character trait or a traumatic event could cause a change in behaviour, triggering physical absence, but this didn’t seem to be the case with Faith. There was nothing missing from her bedroom; she hadn’t packed a bag. She didn’t drive, she hadn’t been diagnosed with mental illness, there hadn’t been a fight at home or at school, and no one had noticed any unexpected conduct. Thus the suicide profile was ruled out.

  After three days, it was obligatory to enter the case with the Missing Persons Bureau and log the details on the PNC, the police national database, but the fact that she was now on the computer system said nothing about the girl herself; they were merely jumping through hoops. Of course, they all hoped that she’d hitched to Blackpool and she’d be picked up by local police there tonight, but they also knew that most missing persons turned up within forty-eight hours, and Faith was still gone. Every constabulary in the land knew that, statistically, after that first forty-eight hours, the victim was usually dead.

  A knot formed in Kelly’s stomach as she thought of Michael. And of Josie. It was what continually drove her forward: justice for the family and protecting others.

  Johnny had been at home pretty much every night since the weekend. He’d driven his daughter to the point of despair with his incessant questions about where she was going and who she was seeing, and Kelly suspected the same thing was happening all over the north Lakes, and possibly further afield. It was a normal human reaction.

  As senior investigating officer, Kelly didn’t really have to visit the Shaw family at all. She was obliged to keep them updated, but a junior officer could do that. But she wanted to see them. She needed to see them. Every time she looked at Maggie’s face or watched Colin’s sunken shoulders, it galvanised her to work another hour on the case. Every time she saw the dark circles around Michael’s eyes, it made her want to bring Faith home for Christmas. But in her gut, hope was decreasing hourly.

  Faith’s mobile phone signal had died on Monday. It had last pinged off a mast in Keswick, so they knew that up to that point, her phone at least had been in or around the town. There had been several calls to Michael before nine o’clock on Sunday night, and they had been accounted for: he had gone missing after an argument with friends, and Faith had searched for him frantically. The last one was at 8.47 p.m. and that was corroborated by what the boy had told them about it being close to his pick-up time. The last signal was at 11 p.m. Michael had said that Faith had berated him in one of her calls because her battery was low.

  But despite not having Faith’s phone physically in front of them, Rob’s Manchester mole had been able to access all her social media accounts. It was new technology, and Kelly could barely contain her excitement, as well as her trepidation, over what they might find.

  As soon as the printouts were ready, she and Rob glanced over them to see if anything stood out. They could tell from the amount of data that getting to know Faith Shaw might take some time: she was active for an average of almost nine hours per day on her phone, communicating with her mates on FaceTime, Snapchat and WhatsApp. Instagram was all photos, then there was Facebook, and texting. There were mountains of the stuff.

  They sat either side of a large desk at Eden House. It had soon become clear to both of them that combing through someone’s social media posts was akin to rifling through their personal diaries: they were looking at the very essence of the girl. They soon became used to her tone of voice, her presence, her manner and her humour. They laughed intermittently and showed each other photographs. Faith was a beautiful girl. Kelly could see both Colin and Maggie in her, as well as young Michael. She was at her most captivating when not posing, which was probably true of most people. She regularly used the app that put dogs’ ears or Harry Potter style glasses on faces, and the images were cute, innocent and fun. But overall it was draining, and desperately sad.

  They sat quietly concentrating, looking up to share details, but after a while, both of them fell silent, and grimaces of concern spread across their faces. There was an overriding impression in these accounts of image being all-important. Twenty years ago, photographs captured real-time moments, people and places portrayed exactly as they appeared. Now, looking at these photographs, Kelly and Rob noticed that they weren’t snippets, or amusing prints of points in time; they were staged arrangements, contrived impressions or notions, giving off a certain message. They were make-believe and illusory. It was depressing. But it was obvious to see the motivation behind such fiction: the pressure to be liked. Literally, with a tick or an emoji.

  ‘Is it just me, or is there a veiled sense of desperation here?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘I agree,’ Rob said.

  Kelly chewed her lip and decided that a lot of what she was reading she wouldn’t be passing on to the family. She thought about Josie, and considered picking her brains about the way youngsters spoke to one another. Some of the language was mere bravado and hyperbole, tediously and endearingly teenage. But some of it was downright vicious and offensive. In fact, it could be seen as criminal.

  ‘Do you think they all speak to each other like this?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘She handles it well; rarely bites back. Look at this: there’s a gorgeous photo of her on top of Skiddaw with her brother, and three people comment on her stomach, her arse, and her brother’s goofy teeth. They are absolute bastards; how do people put up with this shit?’

  ‘I’ve got a WhatsApp group here called “Bitches Yo!”’

  ‘Nice. Who’s in it?’

  ‘I recognise some of the names from her year at school, including Sadie. A few references to Roxie.’

  ‘Roxie? Let me see.’ It was the street name for the opioid OxyContin, and too much of a coincidence considering what they already knew about the potential role of drugs in the case. It was also what Jenna Fraser had been prescribed.

  ‘It doesn’t look like a profile, does it? It’s just somebody they’re talking about, if it’s a real person.’ Kelly rubbed her eyes. Hours of reading adolescent coded messages was sending her dizzy. ‘Did you speak to your mates like this at school?’ she asked.

  ‘Boys are different.’

  ‘Not any more. A lot of these comments are from boys. Admittedly, it’s mostly girls, but the boys are just as bad. You know Maggie Shaw said Faith was bullied?’

  Rob nodded.

  ‘She never said that it had stopped.’

  ‘I thought Faith had made friends with them?’ Rob said.

  They continued to talk and search at the same time, then Rob paused suddenly and looked up.

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘What is it?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Read this. I don’t trust my own eyes.’ He passed her an A4 piece of paper, a printout of some Instagram posts.

  ‘What am I looking at?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Look at who has commented on the third photograph down.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  Chapter 27

  Danny Stanton had been recognised by the landlady of a small establi
shment in the village of Thirlwell. The young man had initially found it amusing that there’d been such a fuss about his disappearance, but when he turned up to claim his car, which had been impounded from Revelin Moss car park by Cumbria Constabulary, he was less jovial. Kelly and Rob were there to greet him.

  Apparently he’d met a young woman, and they’d walked over the fells together, ending up drinking pints of ale in a tiny tavern nestled along the Whinlatter Pass, after which they’d staggered back to her room in the guest house and begun a three-day shag fest.

  ‘You have to admit, it’s quite funny,’ Rob said to his boss.

  ‘Of course it is, but I’m not going to show him that. Christ, it’s no wonder the mountain rescue guys are volunteers, is it? No company with profit in mind would fund this crap. They all raised their glasses that he’d been found safe, that’s the main thing. You said that the officers who went to the guest house conducted a search because they suspected drug use?’

  ‘Yes, guv. I think the two of them had been halfway to Mars for three days.’

  ‘I’ve not heard that one before. What did they find?’

  ‘Nothing except a recently flushed toilet and plenty of alcohol and fags.’

  ‘How old was the woman?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘Right. My concern is how he knows Faith, so let’s stick with that.’

  Rob agreed.

  Danny Stanton’s black Ford Ka was in a warehouse in Penrith where the police stored and searched vehicles suspected of being involved in criminal activity. It had been towed there on Tuesday, mainly to get it somewhere secure should they need it in future. They had no reason to search it, but Kelly had secured an extra twenty-four hours from HQ, and she’d managed to find a forensic officer based in Carlisle to come and have a look over it. Her own forensics guys in Penrith weren’t free: they’d been working on a particularly disturbing domestic case, combing a double bed for the DNA of a girl allegedly raped by her father.

  Stanton knew none of this. He simply thought he was going to swan in and collect his wheels, having caused chaos for three days. Valuable resources had gone into looking for him that could have been used to search for Faith, and Kelly was irked by it.