“Shit. We need to be moving fast before this bastard strikes again.” I was so angry. “Is it possible for you to do the PM today?”
“Of course, whatever I have tabled in already I will request be moved over for someone else to pick up. As soon as she’s ready.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket, I pulled it out. Ross.
“What have you got, Ross?”
“I’ve found a misper form with photograph for a girl with the name Allison Kirk. I’m going to send it to you on your phone so you can compare it with your victim there.”
“Okay. What’s the info on her?”
“Well, she’s a regular misper, though she isn’t currently recorded as missing. She comes from a broken home. Dad’s serving time for a bunch of armed robberies and Mum keeps moving in new uncles for Allison to get used to.” The term uncles had a tone of irony added to it. “The usual scenario results in domestics with divisional uniform officers in attendance after new uncle whacks Mum. Children’s services are involved, but haven’t deemed Allison at any particular risk and left her in the home. Allison’s reaction to all this, not surprisingly, has been to go off and do her own thing on a regular basis and the missing person reports have been filed because Allison’s social worker reported her missing when she failed to attend for scheduled meetings. Mum says she always turns up, so she never worries. That’s the excuse, and it also seems to depend on if she is shacked up with someone new, at which point she doesn’t care where Allison is, what she’s doing, or who she’s doing it with. I phoned the social worker, Christine Evans, and she said Allison is a good kid who deals the hand she’s been given the best way she knows how. She engages with services when she is around, but very often, she just isn’t.”
“She sounds like the type a predator would target. Vulnerable and insecure. Send me the photo and I’ll have a look.”
Less than a minute later I was looking at a photograph children’s services had provided on one of the multiple occasions Allison Kirk had gone missing. Looking back at me was a slight blonde-haired girl, dark make-up around her eyes and thick foundation covering what would have been a pretty young face. She had a ‘who gives a shit’ look about her, but beneath was a fragile vulnerability.
I wasn’t about to climb into the commercial bin, because I didn’t need to. The fewer people contaminating the scene the better. I approached Doug and Aaron.
“Doug, I take it you’ve photographed the child before Jack climbed in there?”
Doug took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, of course.”
“Would it be possible to have a look at a head shot of her? I’ve got a possible ID from a tenuous source and have a photograph on my phone of one of our mispers. I need to compare the photographs.”
Doug was already bent over his digital camera, flicking through images. “No worries.” On the small screen I saw shots of the scene as Doug had walked into it, the industrial bin and then the shots of the girl inside. When he found one with her face he handed me the camera. The girl on the screen wasn’t wearing foundation; she was pale, bad teenage skin showing, her cheeks gaunt and her eyes dark and hollowed, though this time the darkness wasn’t supplied by black make-up pencils. The girl with the dead eyed stare was Allison Kirk.
27
I took the passenger seat as Ethan climbed into the driver’s side. Sally and Aaron had taken our car back to the incident room. Ethan looked grim.
“So it is her?” he asked, the car keys sitting limp in his hands.
“Yes, it’s her.” This situation wasn’t comfortable. I was already finding it difficult to manoeuvre my way through the relationship I had with Ethan, without throwing in a woman who, believing her child may be dead, had turned up on the doorstep of the local paper before contacting the police. They were actions I found unfathomable. Why would she go to the press rather than contacting us? We needed to be cautious with her. She was a grieving mother, but one whose actions were at the very least, questionable.
“I didn’t ask to do this, Hannah.” I let him talk. “As I said, the story was already mine, so when she walked in, it came to me to follow up.”
“Tell me what you know.” I wanted him to tell me this would be okay. That our working worlds colliding in this way wouldn’t have an effect on our somewhat precarious relationship. But he wouldn’t talk about us now. It was doubtful he would even talk about us later when we were alone.
He turned to me. “It came to us in quite a convoluted way. One of Allison’s friends from school was concerned about her, spoke to her own mother who happens to be the cousin of the new guy covering the entertainment section. She mentioned it at a family gathering, thinking Ted would be interested, which, to hand it to him, he was, and he passed it on to me. She had been missing a week then. Longer than is usual for her. When I showed up at her house, Natalie, her mum, was a little surprised. She wasn’t concerned, after all, she said, she’s fifteen now.” He sighed. “Fifteen. As if that’s all grown up. Natalie was happy to let me in and talk to me. She asked if she would be paid for talking to me. Seemed a little narked when I said it was a profile piece to raise awareness for Allison and the plight of missing children in the city area. I don’t think I got a very honest account from her. She was more interested in what she could get out of the publicity.”
I was glad Ethan had been involved with the family before the death. I hated to think he could be trying to exploit anything we had for the sake of a story. It didn’t get past me that she was also the same age as Rosie Green. My phone rang again. It was a constant noise during inquiries like this. “Robbins.” The line was silent for a few seconds then cleared. I pushed it back in my pocket. Whoever it was, they’d call back if it was important.
“What did she say this morning when she turned up?”
“I was buzzed by reception who told me that Natalie was here demanding to see me and something about Allison being murdered. I was shocked, couldn’t quite believe it. I’d held the belief that she’d be okay in the end. I knew she was trying to escape from a crappy home life and if I’m honest, I didn’t blame her. I’d been in her home. Met her mum. But this?” He paused a beat. “As I walked the stairs down to reception I could already hear Natalie wailing, but when I was face to face with her, it was strange.”
“In what way?”
“For all the noise I’d heard, faced with her I didn’t get the feeling the emotion she was portraying was genuine. She was making a big drama but something about her made me bristle. I took her up to the fourth floor. I wanted to get her out of the way of other visitors, and made her a drink. We sat and she recounted how she’d had a text message telling her Allison had been found in a bin. I asked her how she was doing and what could I do to help and she asked how much I’d pay her for her story.”
28
Natalie Kirk was a scrawny looking woman with an instantaneously off-putting attitude. Even reminding yourself she had lost her daughter did little in the way of balancing the scales in her favour. She stood in the small interview room in Nottingham Today’s fourth floor suite telling me how hard done by she was. Her talon-shaped red nails pointed towards me in an attempt to claw their message across, heaving breasts barely contained by the skimpy cloth passing as a T-shirt. Ethan sat in the corner in a coffee-coloured armchair. A small silver rectangular object sat on the low table at his side and I realised the conversation was being recorded.
“My baby’s gone and what are you doing about it?” Natalie Kirk wailed at me.
“Mrs Kirk, I’m sorry for your loss. I have a full team of officers, seasoned detectives, working all hours in an effort to identify and arrest the offender.” I paused, giving her time to take in what I’d said. I wasn’t sure she was listening. Her concentration seemed limited, fractured, and not just by grief, but by other conversations she seemed to be wanting to have. Her head flicked between Ethan and her beeping phone. She’d tut as she pulled it out of her bag, but check anyway, to see if it needed responding to.
The majority of time, I could see, she had the sense not to send messages as we stood there. “Please,” I continued, “can we sit down?” I gestured towards the comfortable plush sofas positioned around the room. Natalie sat, crossed skinny legs in a tiny skirt, and waved four inch heels towards me. Her fingers once again went to her tired red handbag. My patience was about coming to an end. The conversation was the most stilted I’d ever attempted to hold with a parent of a murdered child. Eventually she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The screwed up look on her face softened. She flicked at the lighter and sucked hard on the cigarette between cherry lips.
“Natalie, you can’t smoke in here. I’m sorry,” Ethan said.
She eyed him, head to toe and back up again, and seemed to consider her options before she stubbed it out on a saucer in front of her.
“It may be more comfortable if we talked down at the station where we can discuss Allison and make arrangements for you to see her,” I said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying here.” She raised her voice and the barely restrained breasts were pushed forward in some kind of protest. “Notts Today wants my story.” She glanced at Ethan for confirmation, who looked at me and recognised he needed to keep his mouth shut at this point. She continued, “Maybe I can come and see you when I’ve talked to them?” Her bony hands rubbed at her cheeks, where no real tears were falling.
“Mrs Kirk, this is a murder investigation and we need a formal identification of Allison. It’s imperative this is done. If it’s delayed, the rest of the investigation is delayed. After the ID we need a chat with you, we need to get an idea of who Allison was as a girl and where she may have been hanging out, who her friends were, what her likes and dislikes were. Just a general feel for her. That way, we can start to make inquiries, question people and find the person who did this.”
Natalie jumped from her seat, heels wobbling from the ferocity of the movement. “They did this to me as well. She’s my baby. It’s hurting right in my heart.” Her hand went dramatically to her chest. My sympathy was non-existent. I didn’t feel bad about that either, Natalie Kirk wasn’t feeling guilty for her lack of parenting skills. I was not surprised Allison had struggled to remain in her own home with a mother who cared so little for her. The recorder caught my attention again. Ethan evaded my silent, querying look. I stood.
“I know you’re hurting, Mrs Kirk. We can contact a doctor to come out to see how you’re doing and we will have an assigned detective to spend some time with you talking about Allison and also about you. How does that sound?” I had to try and show her this could be about her, that she deserved the attention the murder of her child was bringing. Her phone hadn’t stopped beeping and clicking since I had walked in the room. Messages of support coming through and messages from people wanting gruesome details, of which Natalie Kirk was more than willing to share, given that she continued to respond to, rather than ignore the phone.
“I would see a doctor, for me? And a special detective to spend time with me?”
“Yes of course, it’s important you are checked out and okay and you have someone around to talk to when you need it. Shall we go and deal with this?” I asked in a softer tone than I felt she deserved.
“Oh, okay. Ethan, can we do the story later after I’ve done the stuff with the five oh?”
Ethan looked up. “Of course, Natalie. Give me a call when you’re done and I’ll pick you up. I’ll speak to my editor in the meantime to see what she wants out of our meeting, okay?”
Kirk was sly enough to know not to push us all at the same time, after all, it appeared, she wanted to keep us all at her beck and call as long as possible.
As Natalie went to powder her already over plastered face in the ladies room I called Sally for a car, then pulled Ethan to one side.
“What were you doing with that recorder?”
“Nothing sinister. Where you used to see reporters scribbling away in books, we now have these, it means I get to do less scribbling and my memory is terrible, I never remember what’s been said. She was in here to talk to us, Han, nothing wrong with it.”
I was on edge. He knew that, he stepped closer and dropped his head so his mouth was near my ear and lowered his voice. “It’s okay. I’ll come round tonight. It’s going to be fine. Text me when you finish and I’ll be there.” He stepped away as Natalie tottered back in. Tissues clumped in her hand, dabbing virtually dry cheeks. My phone vibrated. Sally was outside with the car.
“Okay, Natalie, the car’s here, let’s go and make you a cuppa and have a chat.”
She wobbled again on her shoes, mascara rubbed around her face giving her an even grimier look than she’d already had. As I pushed on the office door to exit, Natalie turned and spoke to Ethan. “I want my money. Papers pay for stories like this. You pay or I go elsewhere.”
29
Leaning back into my chair I listened to the call connect and ran a hand through my hair. I’d always stuck to the rule that said personal and professional lives should never mix. I’d seen cops work eighteen hour shifts – and more – on a job and this obviously had a negative effect on family life. My own desire to succeed in the job, and in each case that came in, meant my love life had taken a back seat. And yet here I was. I thought I was safe with Ethan. He wasn’t a cop, but he was a dedicated hard-working conscientious guy. Someone I could connect with in an intellectual way away from policing and not have to talk about the job, which was another disadvantage of a work relationship. It was always a topic of conversation. Now this. Now Ethan was slap bang in the middle of my investigation and in all likelihood was going to get in the way and be as difficult as I had come to expect journalists to be.
“Today, Ethan Gale.” The familiar voice answered.
“Ethan, it’s me.”
“Hey.” Warm.
I didn’t know what to say next. I was so angry with him, with the situation I felt he had put me in. But hearing his voice, knowing him on such an intimate level, I couldn’t bawl him out. I took a deep breath.
“Hannah, I’m sorry this is your job. That my job is a part of your job.”
“I know.” I tried to steel myself, to be professional, to be what the investigation needed, without trampling on Ethan and our still growing relationship.
“What is Nottingham Today planning on doing with Natalie Kirk when she gets back in touch?”
“I talked with my editor and she wants to run with the story, with Natalie as the poor grieving single mother, striving to bring up a child on her own in troubled times. It’s a heart-breaker and it sells papers.”
“Yeah and the woman would sell her own daughter if she could.”
“I don’t disagree, but the story’s there.”
“I know.” My hand went through my hair again.
“I want to see the story before it goes to print and I want everything you’ve written up about Natalie Kirk and Allison before she was found today. Can you do that?”
Silence. I gave him a moment.
“You’re going to have to give me a little time to get everything together. I wouldn’t usually but if it’ll help with the investigation then I can do. There may be sources of information within previous notes or articles I can’t disclose, but you can have what I’ve got if it helps. Just give me the time will you?”
I knew he was giving what he could, but it would have helped to know any sources he was speaking to. I sighed into the mouthpiece. “Okay, Ethan, but don’t take too long. I don’t want this monster claiming another girl whilst we wade through the Today’s red tape.”
30
I decided to go with Sally and Natalie after the positive ID of Allison’s body. The sterile viewing had been conducted through a glass partition to preserve any evidence she may have had on her. It’s not easy for loved ones and the process seemed to have affected Natalie. Maybe more than I was expecting. The gaudy loud woman I was used to was subdued and compliant. We stood with her at the gates of the hosp
ital grounds, coats buttoned up as high as they’d go, fighting off the cold wind as she smoked two cigarettes in succession before we took her away from her daughter and back home. The background sound of traffic rolled past on Derby Road at great speed, offering a stark contrast to the stillness here, right now in this moment. Lips puckered, cigarette in mouth, Natalie sucked for all she was worth, bony fingers never still and eyes downcast. The noise and demands she produced earlier had ceased and we gave her the time she needed.
Natalie Kirk’s address was in the St Ann’s estate, a narrow terraced house on Sketchley Street, off Blue Bell Hill Road. Several years ago the council had thrown some money at St Ann’s in an attempt to regenerate the area after a serious bout of negative press due to high crime rates, in particular gun violence, where Nottingham had managed to obtain the nickname of Shottingham. They hadn’t done a bad job, but Natalie’s home still looked uncared for and lacklustre.
The front door opened into a narrow hallway with woodchip paper and a yellowing ceiling. I could see the kitchen beyond as we walked into the living room to our right. I was struck by the smell; a mixture of fusty socks, cigarette smoke and rotting food. The room consisted of a shabby brown velour sofa with tassels in disarray around the bottom edges, seat cushions well-worn and indented, sinking down into the base where wire springs had long ago given up their ability to stand firm. Magazines, a litter bin overflowing onto the carpet, and DVD cases filled what little space there was of the floor. A cat litter tray was positioned on top of an old dilapidated sideboard. It looked and smelled as though it hadn’t been cleaned out in a long time. The litter appeared to have been pushed out of the tray by the feline owner of the mess and was dropping onto the floor. The curtains were drawn, which had the effect of closing in the smell around you. Smothering you. The cat was nowhere to be seen and I couldn’t blame it.
Shallow Waters (Detective Hannah Robbins crime series Book 1) Page 8
