by Carol Wyer
‘Trust you to throw that back at me again. You’ll never let it go, will you?’
‘I’m sorry. I was out of line. I’ve had a really bad day.’
‘Well, boohoo! I’ve had a fucking shitty day myself.’
She winced at the memory of what had followed. She’d been as forthright as David and given as good as she’d received, her anger fuelled by his whinging attitude and the effects of a difficult investigation. They’d begun amicably enough and she’d listened to David’s gripes about having had to speak to Josh, but he’d already consumed several beers and the wine had turned his mood sour. It had quickly become apparent they were not going to talk about Josh like grown-ups or parents. They were going to bicker and head back down the path they’d trodden too frequently of late. She’d been relieved when David had stood up abruptly and gone to bed.
Now she wanted to shake him awake and say she was sorry she’d been less than sympathetic, and at the same time, she wanted to impress how much pressure she was under. The case was getting to her. Big time. Olivia’s face drifted to the front of her thoughts. ‘I know what you’re saying,’ she whispered. ‘I have to find this killer.’ She couldn’t bear any new nightmares about young girls and endure more regret and further guilt at failing them.
She stared at the ceiling, mulling over her plans for the day and waiting for David to come to. She searched for information on Etsy gift cards on her phone and worried about the three remaining yellow dresses. Who were they intended for? Was the killer after three other girls who attended the birthday party, and if so, could one of the dresses be for Harriet Downing, whose party it was? The thought mobilised her into action. She’d go back over DI Howard Franks’ files from the original MisPer case in July 2015, and check how many girls in total were at the party and then try to work out which ones might be targeted next. David stirred and threw himself onto his left side, his back to her. There was nothing to be gained from waiting to make peace with him. He could be out for another couple of hours. She had more pressing matters to attend to.
The Ava Sawyer files revealed eight girls, including Ava, Audrey and Rainey, had attended Harriet’s birthday party in 2015. Natalie looked up addresses for all of them, noting one had moved to Scotland and another was now in Derbyshire. That left four in the area, including Harriet herself. She wrote down their names on a sheet of A4: Avril Jones, Victoria Kelly and Harper Webb. Then she tried to establish what connected them. All three were in the same class as Audrey and Rainey. None of them attended dance classes at the academy. All lived in and around Uptown but not on the same estate as Audrey and Harriet.
After a while, the thumping in her head became too much to ignore and she headed to the drinks machine on the ground floor to buy a bottle of water so she could take some headache pills. Mike was in front of the machine, feeding it coins.
‘You’re in early,’ she said.
‘Been here all night with Naomi and Darshan,’ he said, scratching at the growth on his chin. ‘Might go back for a shower in a minute. I’m out of fags. Needed some chocolate to tide me over.’ He lifted the large, wrapped bar up for her to see.
‘Nutritious breakfast,’ she joked.
‘Come on, then. What are you going to have?’ he asked, nodding at the machine.
‘Bottle of water and two aspirin.’
‘Even more nutritious.’
‘My own fault. No food last night and too much wine. I ought to know better.’
‘Age does not necessarily bring wisdom,’ he said as he unwrapped the foil and jammed half the bar into his mouth.
‘All night and no breakthrough?’
Mike chewed a while before answering. ‘I have nothing conclusive to offer you. There’s no DNA traces anywhere on the material. Killer probably wore gloves.’
‘There must have been something. What about from the person who made it or packaged it?’
He shook his head. ‘DNA is not always transferred through touch. Some people shed more skin cells than others. Maybe the person who made the dresses was one who shed very few cells. The dresses were machine-stitched, and if the person was a good seamstress, they’d whip the material through a sewing machine so quickly they’d hardly make contact with it. Also, hand-washing gets rid of skin cells so fewer cells are deposited. If I were sewing dresses like those, I’d keep my hands very clean so as not to spoil the fabric. All of which means we came up with diddly squat – no DNA.’
‘You have nothing whatsoever?’
‘We’re still working on it and we’ve eliminated a load of evidence we brought back from both scenes. It’s a question of being patient, Natalie. You know how hard we all slog, and we’re working as hard, fast and accurately as we possibly can.’
‘Yeah. I know. I’m getting edgy about this. I have a dreadful feeling the killer is going to try and strike again and I don’t have anything on him. I ought to have something by now and I haven’t. It doesn’t seem right.’
‘This is the real world, Natalie. Sometimes, we can’t make it right. We can only do our best.’
‘What if our best isn’t good enough?’
‘It’s too early for philosophical discussions. I’m going to get showered and have a rest. I suggest you take those aspirin and ease up on yourself.’ He stretched his neck left and right and popped the remainder of his chocolate into his mouth.
‘Good advice but I don’t think I can. I have to find this perpetrator.’
‘You know you’re taking this investigation too personally, don’t you? This is more about you than you’re willing to admit. Want to know what I reckon?’
‘No. I don’t,’ she said, stuffing a pound coin into the slot and waiting for the bottle of water to drop into the drawer.
‘You can’t make up for other people’s mistakes,’ he said, kindly.
‘I’m not—’ she began then caught the look in his eye. He knew her well.
She was comforted by his presence and comprehension. David hadn’t understood in the same way Mike had. Mike knew she’d never forgive the people who’d screwed up on the Olivia Chester investigation, or herself for her own part in it.
‘Yeah. Okay. I know. Bugger off for your shower and spare me the pep talk.’ She lifted the water bottle from the drawer and twisted the cap from it.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said and winked.
She smiled a response and waved him away.
The aspirin had done their job, and having cleared her head and visited a local coffee house for a coffee and pastry, Natalie was more able to focus on the day ahead. Murray was getting out of his car when she got back to the station, and instead of heading upstairs, they drove directly to the Uptown leisure centre.
They were only five minutes down the road when Ian phoned her.
‘Beatrice Sawyer rang her husband Carl at four thirty on Wednesday. They were on the phone for half an hour, discussing funeral arrangements. Her mother spoke briefly to him too. He has two witnesses who can confirm his whereabouts.’
‘Thanks, Ian.’ Turning her head slightly in Murray’s direction, she said, ‘Carl’s got an alibi for the time Audrey was killed.’
A lift of eyebrows was his response. She stared out of the windscreen. They’d left Samford and were driving past fields of bright yellow rapeseed. Yellow like the party dresses. She pressed her lips tightly together and quietly fumed. She was rapidly running out of suspects.
A woman in her early twenties, with wavy dark hair swept back in a headband and dressed in a pale-blue tracksuit, was manning the desk. Her name badge read Helena Dickinson and she was responsible for the netball club that took place at the centre. The echoing shouts coming from an instructor and the heavy beat of music indicated some activity was already taking place in the room behind reception. She scanned the list of names of all the girls who attended Harriet’s party, including Harriet, and stabbed at one. ‘I don’t recognise this name,’ she said, pointing at Avril Jones.
‘But you know the others,’ Nata
lie urged.
‘Sure. They’re regulars, although Harper’s been dropping off attendance recently.’
‘Have you known them long?’
‘The club’s been going a year. They’ve all been coming since it started. We run different sessions for different age groups. I’ve been in charge of this particular group so I know them well enough. Harriet usually plays centre and Audrey was a terrific goal shooter. Rarely missed the net. Rainey was goal attack. We cancelled the last session in light of what happened to Audrey. And now Rainey too. It’s dreadful. I think we’ll hold off a while before we start it up again.’
‘Do you get regular spectators?’
‘No. We don’t play competition matches, only mixed friendly seven-a-sides. It’s a fun session. I teach them some skills – how to shoot, pass the ball, that sort of thing – and a mini-game. The parents usually wait at the in-house coffee shop. There’s no viewing area. When we host matches in the large court, then parents come to support.’
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Since July last year. I worked in Cornwall before that – surf instructor!’ She smiled.
‘That’s quite a move. Cornwall to Samford,’ said Murray.
‘Boyfriend was here. We met in Cornwall in 2015 when he was visiting the area,’ she said. ‘Stayed in touch online and he visited me as often as he could, but the travelling was crazy. Apart from the fact we were both knackered after a journey, it cost a fortune to visit each other. I miss the sea but we get away to Wales now and then. Still keep up my surfing.’
‘Does your boyfriend work here too?’ Natalie asked.
‘No. He’s at the Sudbury Wildlife Centre.’
‘Guy Noble?’
‘Yeah, that’s him.’
‘He used to work at Uptown Craft Centre and Farm.’
‘Yeah. I met him just after one of the children had gone missing during a birthday party. He left the place soon afterwards. He didn’t like working there any more. He told me you found her body. Poor little soul.’
‘Does Guy come and visit you here?’
‘Sure. He comes over from time to time to hang out if I’m on reception or not too busy.’
Natalie digested this new information and thanked Helena before heading towards the swimming pool housed in another section of the leisure centre, reached by a separate entrance. She’d found another connection. Not only did several of the girls who attended Harriet’s party play netball, Guy would probably have known them too. Was he as squeaky clean as he appeared to be? She dragged herself back to the present. She’d come here to try and work out if there were any other possible links between the girls. Avril hadn’t played netball. She still needed to talk to the swimming coach to confirm if she attended swimming lessons. The three remaining dresses were intended for three victims. She had to work out who before it was too late.
Lucy waited at the reception point at the warehouse on the edge of Uptown. It was far larger than she’d expected, and through the glass panel in the shut door she could see rows of racking, stacked with parcels and packages of all sizes, and a bright-orange forklift truck buzzing up and down the aisle. The young bloke on duty had told her he’d only be a minute but she’d waited fifteen full minutes already, all the while listening to tinny, piped music. It would drive her insane to work there. She drummed her fingers against the counter. Through the door she could see the youth now talking to an older man who’d stopped the truck. There was a great deal of arm-waving and head-shaking going on. She wished they’d get a move on and tell her what she needed to know.
The whole investigation was getting to her. On one hand, she and Bethany had decided it was the right time to bring a child into the world, and on the other, she was dealing with a person who took children out of it. The prospect of becoming a parent was troubling her, and the old feelings of self-doubt she harboured had started to consume her. What if she was a shit mother? She had no idea of what constituted a good one. Hers had abandoned her and she’d never really gelled with any of the women who’d attempted to foster her. Bethany said that was because she was prickly and defensive because she was hurting inside. She hadn’t allowed any other maternal figure to get close. Bethany was sure a baby would transform her. Lucy wasn’t totally convinced.
Bethany, however, would make a great mum. She drew solace from that fact and that they’d have outside support. Yolande and Murray had been incredible. Yolande, her only true friend from her youth, also rejected by her parents and fostered out, had become a lifelong friend to both her and Bethany. They’d been through many tough situations together and helped each other on lots of occasions. Yolande was one in a million with the biggest heart. If she loved a person, she loved them completely. Who else would allow their husband to be a sperm donor for her friends?
The spotty-faced youth returned, a sullen look on his face, trailed by a thickset bloke wearing overalls and an air of superiority.
‘Sorry. We can’t help you,’ said the bloke. ‘We don’t keep a tab on every package. Customer comes here with a collection number. We match it to the one on the parcel, swipe the barcode to prove it’s been collected, then hand it over.’
‘You don’t have any names or records of who picked it up, then?’
‘No.’
‘So, anyone could have collected it?’
‘Not without the number.’
Lucy had already ascertained the woman in the USA had arranged the delivery of the parcel and a confirmation email had been sent to the bogus address. This verified it. The killer had been able to get the parcel almost undetected. All he needed was the identifying number.
‘You wouldn’t happen to recall handing over a package from the USA?’ She looked at the youth, who shook his head.
The guy in the overalls spoke again. ‘We handle hundreds of packages from all over the world. Never notice where they come from. It’s all about technology these days. We deal with numbers and work with computers. I’m very sorry but we don’t stand a hope in hell of finding out when the parcel came in or who collected it.’ He lifted his square shoulders in apology.
‘Do you have any CCTV cameras?’
‘There are CCTV cameras in the warehouse itself and in the back area where shipments get unloaded, but not on reception where customers enter to pick up packages.’
Lucy waited until she’d got back to the car before swearing loudly and thumping the steering wheel in frustration. She was so close and yet couldn’t establish the identity of the person who’d picked up the yellow dresses. Her hopes now lay with the tech team, who were working on the Etsy gift card used to buy them. She threw the car into reverse gear. They had to nail this bastard. He or she wasn’t as clever as they made out. They’d slip up soon and Lucy would be ready for them when they did.
As soon as Natalie entered the swimming pool area, the pungent aroma of chlorine wafted over her, a sharp reminder of trips to the local pool with Josh and Leigh when they were so little the brightly coloured armbands seemed to swamp their tiny arms and elbows. She inhaled the friendly smell and the warmth. A few families were already in the water, and as she walked across to the man in red T-shirt and shorts, standing at the far side of the pool, she spotted a face she recognised. Howard Franks, the ex-detective who’d worked the Ava Sawyer case, was standing in the shallow end, his arms supporting a young girl about six years old, in a bright yellow swimming costume and goggles, who was kicking legs back in a convincing, frog-like manner. He shook his face to clear it of droplets that had splashed onto him and acknowledged Natalie and Murray, who paused to say hello.
‘Hi. Didn’t expect to see you,’ Natalie said.
‘Every Saturday without fail. Kerry’s with her grandma but Sage and I have some time together – don’t we, baby?’ She beamed a happy smile back at him. ‘She’s doing really well. Made heaps of progress these last few weeks. Might go for a full length together today. What brings you here?’
‘The investigation.’
‘Hang on a minute, chick,’ he said to his daughter. ‘Practise those leg kicks, holding onto the side. Daddy will just be here, okay?’
The girl splashed across to the side nearest Natalie and did as asked. Howard hauled himself from the water onto the side of the pool then stood up; he reached for a towel on the seat in front of him and wrapped it around his waist self-consciously.
‘I heard about Rainey,’ he said quietly.
‘That’s one of the reasons we’re here. Checking movements. You know how it is.’
‘Unfortunately, I do,’ he replied. The door clattered open and a couple of lads came through, heading straight for the steps into the pool. An elderly man carrying towels followed them. Howard lifted a hand in greeting.
‘Ned Coleman,’ Murray said. Natalie recognised the name. He was the man who lived opposite Queen’s Park.
‘You know him?’ she asked Howard.
‘Oh yes. Known Ned a while. Lovely fellow. Met him during the investigation into Ava’s disappearance. That’s his grandson, Freddie, in the water. He’s in the same year as Audrey and Rainey and was also at the birthday party. Ned was one of those who helped search for Ava. Came every day. He was terribly upset about it because Freddie was one of the reasons Elsa Townsend lost sight of Ava. He and his friend were playing up and distracted her. Ned felt they were in some way responsible. He brings Freddie to swimming club every week and waits for him here. His daughter’s divorced and works Saturday mornings, so he looks after the boy. Lost his wife to cancer early 2015. He understood what I was going through when my own wife was taken ill. Talked to me when I was at my lowest. Got a lot of time for him.’
‘He lives opposite the park where Audrey was found.’
‘He didn’t see anything?’
Murray shook his head.
‘That’s a pity. He was a big help on our investigation. Has a very good memory.’
‘He was at the centre the day Ava went missing?’
