by Carol Wyer
Lucy checked on the nearest laptop while Natalie continued, ‘Looks like Ava was wearing a yellow dress.’
‘She wore a yellow dress to the party,’ said Howard. He flicked through his notes. ‘Yes. Her mother described it as a lemon cotton dress with a wide skirt and puffed short sleeves.’
‘Hessian blankets are used to cover animals,’ said Lucy.
‘And there were animals at the centre,’ said Ian.
‘No kidding, Einstein,’ said Murray.
‘Just stating facts,’ said Ian. ‘It probably came from the centre. It’s not the sort of material you normally have hanging about the house, is it?’
Lucy looked up. ‘According to Google, builders use it to prevent brickwork from freezing and gardeners use hessian or jute to protect plants from frost.’
‘And there were plants at the centre. See, the material might well have come from there,’ said Ian.
Murray grunted.
Natalie continued, ‘We can’t jump to conclusions but it’s possible the hessian came from the centre. Howard, did you come across any such material during your searches?’
‘If my memory serves me correctly, there was a pile of folded blankets inside one of the stables. They could have been hessian, I suppose.’
‘We’ll talk to the staff and find out.’
‘You okay if I leave you to it? I have to sort out some stuff before the girls come home.’
‘Sure. Thanks for helping us out with it.’
His face was earnest. ‘Thanks for asking me. I hope you have better success than me. Ring me if you need any other information. Any time.’
‘I shall,’ she promised. Howard had to see this case through to the bitter end. She could see it written across his anxious features. It was how she felt about the Olivia Chester case. Not knowing who had murdered the girl would haunt her forever.
Five
THEN
The baby-blue eyes, fringed by long, brown eyelashes, stare at him with love and trust. Her perfect bow lips are puckered as if waiting for a kiss, and her unblemished arms are outstretched.
‘Pick me up.’
He lifts her from the soil. She weighs next to nothing. Her pale hair is shiny and he caresses it, then pulls his hand back sharply in disgust. He imagined it would be like stroking a puppy, or a furry rabbit, but the hair feels scratchy. He doesn’t like scratchy and tosses her back on the ground where she lands on her back, legs in the air, displaying cream underwear. Her eyes shut but she makes no sound. Something stirs inside him. He kneels down, examines her again. She’s so pretty in her yellow dress and black shiny shoes, like Sherry Hunt, who’s in his class but never speaks to him and instead laughs at his fat arms and pudgy legs, and mocks him when he is puffed out from running. He makes soothing noises like his mother does when he’s upset, lifts her again, avoiding touching the hair this time, and cradles her in his arms. She opens her eyes and regards him seriously. She looks a lot like Sherry: same blonde hair, same pink lips. He squirms in delight at a sudden thought. She belongs to him now. He found her so he’ll keep her.
He slips the doll into his school satchel and scurries off along the path home. He’ll hide her in his room so his mother doesn’t find her. He’ll have to think of a name for her: not Sindy or Barbie, or anything like that. A secret name that only he will know – Sherry. He begins to whistle. He likes having a secret.
Six
WEDNESDAY, 26 APRIL – AFTERNOON
‘She’s hardly spoken a word,’ said Tanya Granger, the liaison officer. ‘I’ve been here three hours and in that time she’s mostly sat and stared into space. I asked if she wanted me to ring anyone for company – a friend or relative – but she refused.’
‘What about her husband?’ asked Natalie.
‘He left her a few weeks ago.’
‘We didn’t know.’
‘Neither did I until about half an hour ago when Beatrice told me. He’s at work at the moment.’
‘No one’s informed him yet?’
‘I don’t think so. I haven’t dared leave her alone. She seems pretty fragile.’
‘We’ll visit him. She okay to talk, do you think?’
‘You can try.’
Beatrice Sawyer no longer resembled the woman from the photographs Natalie had been examining. She’d aged at least ten years since Ava’s disappearance and was a shadow of that woman, her face little more than a skull with skin stretched over it, and dark, haunted eyes in sunken hollows. The loss of her daughter had literally eaten her away. She tugged her cream cardigan around her wasted frame and studied Natalie and Murray with a vacant expression. Tanya placed a cup of tea on the stained coffee table in front of her, but she barely acknowledged the act of kindness. Natalie and Murray sat opposite her in the living room, a purely functional space devoid of colour or style, with mismatched pieces of furniture and dusty surfaces. A large photograph of Ava – the very one used in the newspaper article about her disappearance – was hanging on the wall. Natalie noticed other, smaller frames with pictures of the girl and her parents, lined up on a shelf.
The mother’s grief was tangible. It seemed to evaporate from every pore and permeate the air but she made no sound: no crying, no questions.
‘I’m truly sorry,’ said Natalie.
Beatrice nodded dumbly.
‘Is there anyone we can contact for you?’
‘No.’ Beatrice looked at the teacup and spoke to no one in particular. ‘She tell you Carl’s gone too?’
Natalie took the ‘she’ to refer to Tanya. ‘Yes, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Some couples pull together in these situations and we did to start with, but with everything that happened – the hate letters, the looks, the graffiti on the door, and the accusations – it’s been too much. Carl got it into his head it was my fault Ava was taken.’
‘But it wasn’t. It was a drop-off party. None of the parents stayed behind that day.’ Natalie’s voice was quiet and calming. She’d heard similar from her own psychiatrist.
It wasn’t your fault Olivia died, Natalie. You did everything you could.
Beatrice shook her head. ‘I’ve said that to myself so often I’m sick of hearing it. Fact is, I shouldn’t have taken her to the party. She didn’t want to go.’
‘Why not?’
‘She told me that morning Harriet Downing didn’t like her and she didn’t want to go to the party. I didn’t pay her too much attention. Children always fall out with each other and then make up again. Ava was no different. One day Audrey would be her best friend, and then Harriet, and then somebody else. They were only five years old, for goodness’ sake. I figured Harriet had done or said something trivial that had upset Ava and she was sulking because of it. That was my girl all over – she’d go off in a royal huff about the stupidest things. I told her not to be so silly and that Harriet must like her to invite her to her birthday. We’d already bought a party dress for the occasion, and a present for Harriet. She played in her room all morning – school had finished for the year – and about two thirty I helped her get ready then drove her to the party.’
‘Ava didn’t discuss the party again with you at all that day?’ Murray asked.
‘I mentioned it a few times at lunch. Said it would be fun to see the animals. She loved animals. We talked about the pony rides. She needed cajoling, that was all. Ava often needed encouragement to do things. She had trouble mixing with the other children.’
When interviewed, six-year-old Harriet Downing had said Ava was always going off on her own and didn’t like playing with the others. Their class teacher, Margaret Goffrey, had confirmed Ava would often argue with friends and storm off in a temper, and that she could be a drama queen. Based on this information, Natalie and her team had discussed the possibility Ava had deliberately wandered off and concluded she might have done so.
‘Was there any reason for that?’ Natalie asked.
‘Ava was Ava. She could be lovable one minute and difficult the next. If she di
dn’t get her own way, she’d throw a tantrum. If she was happy, she was a perfect child. I wasn’t in the mood to put up with any nonsense from her that day and I didn’t let her have much say about it. That’s why she went off to her bedroom – to sulk. Now, of course, I wish I’d let her have her own way. I can’t help but wonder if she left the barn because of Harriet. I should have been a better mother and listened to her.’
Natalie offered a sympathetic smile. ‘I don’t think you should punish yourself over that. Ava left the games because she needed the toilet. None of the children noticed anything going on between her and Harriet, or anyone else for that matter.’
‘They were only five and six years old. They might not have realised.’ Beatrice’s voice was flat.
‘According to their statements, Ava was quiet that day, that’s all. There were no arguments, tantrums or fall-outs,’ said Natalie.
‘But as a mother, you do worry. You can’t help it. You think over and over about how you should have handled things differently and what would have happened if only you’d listened.’ Silence dropped and Beatrice stared into space, unable to speak. Tanya glanced at Natalie and pushed the tea towards the woman, who ignored the drink. Instead, she looked directly at Natalie and asked, ‘Do you have children?’
‘A boy and a girl. Fifteen and thirteen.’
‘Then you understand what I’m saying. You have a responsibility to them, and when something goes wrong – whether they have an accident or are upset or go missing – you feel you’re accountable in some way. It’s something you can’t shake off. I felt badly enough about it all, but Carl made it worse. He didn’t say anything at the time. We were waiting for a ransom demand that never came, and caught up in the speed of events – searches, the television appeal – and every minute was taken up with the desperate desire to know she was safe and would come home. It was all-consuming. Then, we suffered the hateful people who made our life even more of a living hell. Why did people do that? Couldn’t they see we were hurting enough?’
Natalie had no answers. People could be horrendously cruel.
‘They accused me of neglect, of deliberately planning to sell my child and pretend she’d been kidnapped, and even of us both doing away with our own daughter. As if we would. We loved her with every bone in our bodies. It all got too much. Carl turned against me too. He began to pick… pick… pick at it all. He’d go over the events of the day like he was some sort of prosecutor in court: remind me that when Ava received the party invite, he told me to turn it down, but I didn’t. I insisted she go. I had to explain over and over that I didn’t want her to be the only child in the class not to go. Carl disagreed. Said that was a stupid reason. He didn’t like the Downings. Thought they were snobby – Carl thinks most people who speak nicely are snobs – and kept repeating I shouldn’t have dropped her off. I should have gone inside and waited in case she wanted to go home. He wouldn’t stop dragging it up, like he could change events by talking about them. But he couldn’t. Nothing can ever change what happened.’
‘When did Carl leave you?’ Murray asked quietly.
‘Only a few weeks ago. I was relieved he went. There’s only so much guilt you can take.’
She lifted the teacup and sipped, then looked Natalie in the eye. ‘What happened to Ava?’
‘We’re trying to establish that. We’ll do everything we can.’
‘When can she…?’ Beatrice’s voice cracked. ‘I want to say goodbye properly to her.’
‘We’ll let you know so you can make arrangements.’
Tanya put a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder.
Beatrice blinked a few times as if trying to comprehend what was happening. ‘I want my mum to come. She lives in Sheffield.’
Tanya picked up her mobile. ‘Shall I ring her for you?’
She nodded.
Natalie and Murray stood to go. ‘We’ll be in contact again. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with PC Granger. She’ll stay as long as you want. Please accept our sincerest condolences.’ The words sounded so empty, yet Natalie meant them with complete sincerity.
‘Thank you.’ Her eyes flicked towards one of the photographs of a smiling girl on a swing, legs outstretched in front of her, hands gripping the ropes tightly as she soared into the sky. It was a simple picture of a happy child – a child who’d never again feel the breeze on her face.
Carl Sawyer lifted the wheel as if it weighed nothing and rolled it across the floor towards the truck resting on the ramp. His huge hands were stained black with rubber from the tyres. His two work colleagues were out delivering a vehicle. Natalie and Murray waited for some reaction to the news they’d found his daughter.
The workshop was empty apart from one lorry, and it was this vehicle Carl was working on. He grunted as he slotted the wheel into place and set about tightening the wheel nuts on it. The high-pitched airgun sounded like a dentist’s drill and made Natalie flinch.
‘Carl, maybe you could spare a couple of minutes,’ she shouted, above the noise.
He stiffened at her voice. ‘What’s the point? You found her and she’s dead.’
She’d have thought him unfeeling had she not seen the look of anguish on his face. He was a man at breaking point. The noise stopped. ‘Carl,’ she said, gently. ‘Come into the office for a while.’
He stared at her and replaced the airgun onto a work bench. His hands fell to his sides and he walked towards the door marked Private. Natalie and Murray trailed behind his lumbering frame. He slumped onto one of the plastic chairs haphazardly strewn about the room and rested his elbows on the Formica table, a mess of unwashed mugs and empty wrappers.
‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘I knew she was dead. I could feel it. Beatrice always thought she was alive. She was always seeing her in shops or playing in the park, or on television, or spotting her every fucking time we went out. It did my head in some days.’
‘It often happens in these cases.’
‘I know. I just couldn’t handle it any more. You have told Beatrice, haven’t you?’
‘Yes. She told us where to find you. There’s an officer with her, and her mum’s on her way to the house. What about you? Is there anyone we can contact for you?’
‘Me?’ He half-laughed. ‘No. I’m beyond grief. I’ve been living in a sort of hell for the last two years. I suppose at least I really know the truth now. She’s gone. My little girl really has gone. How… I mean… what… happened?’
Natalie understood what he was trying to ask. ‘We haven’t established the cause of death yet. The pathologist is still examining her.’
‘She was murdered though?’
‘We can’t be certain although we are treating her death as suspicious.’
He shook his head, dark eyes now sparking. ‘No. She was killed. You get that straight. My baby girl was murdered and you’d better find the bastard who did it. I want him put away forever.’
Natalie spoke calmly to the distressed man. ‘We’re running a full investigation into the cause of her death. I have the statement you made back in 2015. You were concerned about your wife’s mental health at the time. Is that correct?’
‘Beatrice was suffering from depression. It’d been going on for a couple of years. I mentioned it to the officer in charge. I couldn’t get my head around why she’d taken Ava to the bloody party. Ava had been adamant in the morning that she didn’t want to go. Next thing I knew, not only had Beatrice taken her, my daughter had disappeared. She insisted Ava had changed her mind, but I didn’t believe her. I think Beatrice forced her to go. She could be manipulative when she wanted to be. Part of me suspected she wanted Ava to go to the party for her own reasons.’
‘What sort of reasons?’ Murray asked.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know for sure. I half-thought she might be having an affair. You know, drop Ava off, have an hour with her man, and then pick Ava back up. I was pretty messed up at the time – all sorts of crazy ideas going on. I didn’t know what I was thinki
ng. When the hate mail started, that made it worse. I couldn’t think straight.
‘I actually accused her of deliberately wanting Ava out of the way. I’d had a few drinks that time and just wanted to understand – get an idea of what the fuck happened. Beatrice broke down and I felt like a proper shit afterwards. I had no right to hurl that sort of accusation. She’s been in bits over this. You’ve seen her. She’s not eaten properly since the day Ava went. It’s like she’s punishing herself.’
Natalie pushed him on the subject. ‘You feel your wife was in some way responsible for your daughter’s disappearance?’
‘Felt. I don’t feel that any more. Look, I’m not proud of myself. I’ve said some terrible things to Beatrice since that day. I should have been more supportive. She was wrecked by what had happened, and instead of easing her guilt, I heaped on a whole lot more. Trouble was, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t shake off the feeling she was at fault. If she’d only kept Ava at home, this wouldn’t have happened. She’d still be with us.’ His fists clenched and he raised one to his forehead, resting his head on it and squeezing his eyes shut. His words were little more than whispers. ‘My sweet little girl.’
‘Carl, would you like the sergeant here to drive you home?’
He untightened his fingers and looked up. ‘No. I have work to do. This changes nothing. My relationship with Beatrice is over. Ava’s gone. Tell me when you catch her murderer. I want to put a name to the piece of shit who killed her.’
Natalie turned away, Murray by her side, and walked to the door. Behind her the airgun had begun again.
‘Where next?’ asked Murray.
‘Could we get hold of the previous owner of Uptown Craft Centre and Farm – Elsa Townsend?’
Murray shook his head. ‘She’s living in Spain now. It would have to be a phone call or via Skype.’
‘Who else was working at the centre at the time?’
Murray scanned his notebook. ‘Guy Noble, Janet Wild, Kristin Jónsson and Ted Marshall.’
