Jumbo knelt on one of the plates and Becky heard his knees creak. He was a heavy man to be doing all this crawling around, but she wouldn’t be without him now.
‘None at all,’ he said as he lifted the hair slightly from the side of the girl’s face.
Becky saw it straight away. A dark red line around her neck. She’d been strangled.
As Jumbo dropped her hair, a gust of wind lifted some strands from around the girl’s mouth, and Becky got a glimpse of dark red lipstick. Suddenly her stomach felt as if it had been hollowed out and she thought she was going to vomit.
‘Becky? What is it, kid? You’ve seen worse than this.’
Becky swallowed hard. ‘Do you think you could lift her hair off her face for me? I need to see her properly.’
‘Do you know her?’
‘I don’t know. I hope not.’ She silently offered up a prayer.
Jumbo put one massive arm around Becky and signalled one of his team to help, quietly giving instructions. The technician knelt down on the other side of Jumbo and with one hand lifted the hair away from her face, raising the chin slightly with his other hand so the girl’s features could be seen.
Becky stared at a face she had never seen in the flesh before, but one she hadn’t been able to resist checking out on social media. She could feel Jumbo’s eyes on her but couldn’t speak. The seconds ticked by, and still she felt unable to move or respond to Jumbo’s unspoken question. All she could think about was Tom.
Finally Jumbo nodded to the technician, who settled the girl back in position and let her hair drop forward. ‘Come on, Becky – let’s get you out of here.’
Dazed, Becky allowed herself to be led carefully to the mouth of the tunnel, not letting go of Jumbo for a moment until they emerged into the cold harsh light of the winter morning.
‘Who is it, Becky?’
She didn’t want to say the words out loud. That would make it real, and she felt a sudden urge to rush back into the tunnel and shine her torch into the young woman’s face again and see a different set of features. Maybe she had imagined it because of the phone call yesterday.
But she hadn’t.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s Leonora Harris.’
She heard an intake of breath from Jumbo. ‘What, Tom’s ex?’
Becky stared into the distance at nothing in particular, wishing she was anywhere else but here.
‘Tom had a call last night from Leo’s brother-in-law to say she was missing,’ Becky said quietly. She raised her eyes to Jumbo’s and saw the sympathy in his gaze. He knew what she was thinking. How the hell am I going to tell Tom?
10
What am I going to tell the children? The thought hit Maggie as the sky outside the open bedroom curtains lightened. Morning was here – a morning without Duncan. How could she know what to say when she didn’t know what to think? She felt sick with the fear that she had lost him.
On any other Thursday Maggie would have been up by now, showered and dressed in a smart suit with every hair in place, mentally preparing for the day ahead as Duncan saw to the children’s breakfasts and smiled at her over his second cup of coffee. This morning, as she lay in bed, Josh snuggled against her side, it felt more like a Saturday and she could almost believe that any minute now Duncan would appear with a cup of tea for her, telling Josh to budge over as he climbed back into bed, pretending to squash the boy against his mummy, waiting until Lily – who had always been such a brilliant sleeper – heard them. She would come racing in, full of early-morning giggles.
But Josh hadn’t crept in first thing in the morning while his daddy was downstairs; he had crept in hours ago in the middle of the night, and she had quietly held him tight while he trembled and tried not to cry, her own tears falling silently onto the pillow above his head. Josh knew something was wrong, and whatever she said, he still seemed convinced that it was his fault.
Until her son appeared, Maggie hadn’t even considered going to bed; the sheets would feel cold and empty without Duncan by her side. But Josh needed some sense of normality, so she had climbed under the duvet with him and had lain awake all night, the curtains open, hoping and praying that beams from a pair of headlights bouncing off the walls of her room would signal the return of her husband.
Who was the girl in the picture? Duncan had to be having an affair. The thought pierced Maggie and she bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing out loud. The only thing that made any sense was that the woman in the photo must have sent it to him – to entice him away. Perhaps she had begged him to go to her.
Who was she? Duncan had been quiet for a couple of weeks, but Maggie hadn’t pushed him. She knew how he hated to be analysed, so she had let him be, trying to be extra loving towards him.
She glanced at the clock. It was after eight now, and still no word. She had stopped trying his mobile. It was a waste of time.
Maggie decided to let Josh sleep as long as possible and use the time to try to pull her thoughts together, to think through every small thing she knew about Duncan and try to work out what could have made him leave without a word of goodbye to her.
They had met at a friend’s party. Duncan had been twenty-two and Maggie almost two years older, but she had instantly felt a strong attraction to him physically, and he was so charming and thoughtful.
He wasn’t especially tall at about five foot ten, nor was he ripped with muscles. But he had shoulders that she felt she could rest her head on, regular features and an air of vulnerability that intrigued her. He treated her with respect, and after her previous relationship that alone was a bonus. The fact that he had nursed his mother through the last years of cancer spoke volumes about his character, and Maggie had always wondered if he regretted giving up his degree course.
‘I don’t mind being a plumber,’ he had said. ‘I’m my own boss. I can work or not work, as I please.’
She had no argument with that, and in those early days when he had bombarded her with gifts of flowers, chocolates and bottles of her favourite wine she thought she was the luckiest girl alive. Sadly, Suzy hadn’t seen it in the same way. The two sisters had always been close, but after the death of their father and their mother’s second marriage and relocation to New Zealand, they had depended on each other for support. Suzy had initially been unsure of Duncan.
‘Why is he love-bombing you?’ she had asked. ‘It’s not normal.’
Suzy’s doubts about Duncan had made Maggie less inclined to confide in her during the occasional periods when Duncan was more withdrawn. But those times never lasted long and Maggie had learned to be patient and wait for him to get back to normal. She was certain he was thinking of his mother and how much he missed her.
As Maggie shifted a pillow into a more comfortable position she felt Josh move against her. He was starting to wake up, and she gently stroked his hair, knowing this would settle him just as it had always settled his daddy. There was no need for him to wake up to his unhappiness. She hoped he would sleep for a little longer. He wouldn’t be going to school today; the snow had settled thickly and driving was impossible.
But lying here going round and round in circles wasn’t doing Maggie any good. Her stomach was knotted with stress, and she had to move – to do something, anything, to release the tension gripping her.
Gently extracting her hand from underneath Josh’s head, she slid from the bed. She grabbed a fleece from a drawer, pulled it on over her pyjamas and made her way quietly downstairs.
Why? she wanted to scream. They had been a happy couple – or at least that’s what she had believed – until yesterday. Where was he? What had she done wrong? Why had he stopped loving her? What had happened between her leaving the house that morning and Duncan walking out? He had actually been in the process of making the children’s tea so surely that meant it couldn’t have been planned? Had he just snapped?
Whatever questions she asked herself, she had no answers.
She tried to think through everything Josh had told her,
to see if there was a clue. Duncan had read the message and seen the photo that Josh thought was his mummy. Then he had gone out to the garage, and it seemed he had emptied his private cupboard.
Maggie dashed into the garage, desperate to see if she had missed anything. It all looked exactly as it had the night before. The only difference this morning was the bright white light of a snowy landscape creeping in through the side windows, lighting up the empty shelves of the cupboard. It would have been dark when Duncan left the night before, with only the overhead bulb of the garage to reveal the contents. Perhaps he had missed something.
Maggie crouched down and peered inside.
Nothing.
The green metal cupboard was worktop high, and she could see one empty shelf. She bent low and pushed her hands to the back of the space below the shelf, a place even the pale light from the window couldn’t illuminate. But there was nothing. The cupboard was well and truly empty.
As she withdrew her hand she felt a sharp pain. Pulling her arm free, she saw a thin trickle of blood on the back of her hand and felt inside the cupboard to see what had scratched her. If it was rusty, she might need a tetanus jab. All she could feel was some jagged metal where the shelf had been damaged underneath. But something was attached to the metal, and she gently drew it off.
It was a piece of paper, and Maggie nearly cried with disappointment when she saw it. Clearly the header of a page from some newspaper or other, all it gave was the date; there was no other indication of why he might have kept it. She couldn’t even see which newspaper it was as only some black marks – the tips of a few letters from the masthead – were showing. They meant nothing.
16th November, 2003.
It was the only thing she could read. There was nothing else at all. It was no use to her. It might not even be Duncan’s, or it might have been wrapped around something. She would probably never know.
One thing she did know, though. She was going to have to call the office and let them know she wasn’t going to be in today. She wouldn’t be popular. Some other poor devil would have to take over the interviews with Alf Horton. But it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t get the car out of the drive for the snow, and she needed to be here in case Duncan came home. No. When Duncan came home.
11
The phone was answered on the second ring. Becky had been hoping for more time to gear herself up for what lay ahead, but she should have known Philippa Stanley would pick up immediately. She probably had a rule that no phone should ring more than three times.
‘Detective Superintendent Stanley speaking.’
‘Ma’am, it’s Becky Robinson here. I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve got a situation and I need your guidance.’
‘Can DCI Douglas not help?’
‘Sorry, ma’am, but he’s part of the problem.’
She shouldn’t have said it like that. Why did this woman always make Becky talk gibberish?
‘I mean, I don’t know whether I should be talking to him about this or not.’ Becky heard her own voice wobble slightly.
‘I suggest you tell me, and then we’ll work it out together, shall we?’ Philippa’s brisk tones made it sound more like a threat than a promise of assistance.
‘I was called out this morning to attend a suspicious death. Jumbo – I mean Dr Osoba – is here with me. The body is that of a young woman in her mid-thirties.’ Becky could almost hear Philippa tapping her fingers on the desk, wondering when she was going to get to the point, but to give her credit she remained silent, waiting for Becky to finish.
‘The thing is, ma’am, I think the girl is somebody DCI Douglas knows. So I don’t think he should come here, and I don’t know if I should tell him who I believe it is.’
‘Well, we should definitely prevent him from attending the scene, and he’ll understand that. I’ll have a word with him and apprise him of the situation. He’ll probably call you to ask for more details – is that okay with you?’
Becky held her breath for a second before letting it out slowly, shakily.
‘The thing is, I think it’s his ex-girlfriend. They were close once, and I don’t know how he’ll take it.’
There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone.
‘Ah. That’s not going to be easy, is it? Have you met this woman, DI Robinson?’
‘No, ma’am. But I was in DCI Douglas’s office yesterday when the woman’s brother-in-law called to say she was missing.’
‘Just because you know somebody’s missing and a dead woman of the right age turns up, you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Why have you made this assumption if you never met his ex-girlfriend?’
‘I’ve seen a photo of her. I’ve seen several, in fact.’
There was a moment’s hesitation on the other end of the line.
‘Okay. I suggest you leave it with me, Becky. I’ll tell Tom.’ Sometimes the uber-efficient Superintendent Stanley surprised Becky. Tom always said there was a pussycat lurking beneath the tiger stripes, and Becky was relieved not to have to be the one to break the terrible news.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘Give me her name so I can be straight with him, and we’ll take it from there. I’m assuming this is murder?’
‘We think so. Her name is Leonora Harris.’
‘In that case, I’ll come out myself as acting SIO. Would you rather be removed from the case if I assign it to a different team?’
‘No, not at all. If it is Leo I’d want to help arrest whoever did this to her.’
‘I’ll be with you shortly. You know what to do.’ Philippa Stanley was back to business again and Becky was glad of it. She felt herself stand up straight, ready to do what had to be done.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said.
The line went dead, and Becky began to breathe again.
The shower felt good, and Tom stayed under the pounding torrent for a good five minutes longer than usual. He tipped his head forward, enjoying the pummelling of the pulsating jet on his head and shoulders, clearing his mind of everything but the pleasurable sensation of hot water hitting his body. He had just grabbed the soap and started to rub it up his arms and across his chest when through the open door of his en-suite bathroom he heard the telephone ringing in his bedroom. For once he decided to ignore it. By the time he got there the answerphone would have picked up, so whoever was calling could leave a message. He would get back to them as soon as he was dry.
Tom had had a restless night, wondering where Leo could be. He had spoken to Max to let him know he had been to the apartment, but there was nothing he could say to put Max and Ellie’s minds at rest. He hadn’t known whether to mention the fact that Leo’s clothes were scattered around the bedroom, but he couldn’t see what would be gained. It would only add an extra layer of worry, and he didn’t have any rational explanation at the moment, so he kept it to himself. Nevertheless, he was cross with Leo. Sometimes he could kill her for her lack of consideration.
He had finally got out of bed at about 5.30, knowing he wasn’t going back to sleep, and made himself a proper breakfast for once - bacon, scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms – and he had felt better for it. He was still going to be early for work, but he should miss the morning rush hour, and that would save him about twenty minutes of sitting in traffic.
He switched off the shower and shook the water from his body.
‘Bugger,’ he muttered as he heard the phone ring again. He grabbed a towel and dripped his way from the bathroom to his bedside table, leaving wet footprints in the pale cream carpet.
‘Tom Douglas.’
‘Tom, it’s Philippa.’
Tom perched on the edge of the bed, clutching his towel around him with one hand, his phone in the other, as he listened to Philippa explaining that Becky had been called out that morning to a suspicious death. Never one to mince her words, Philippa got straight to the point.
‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I’m afraid it’s Becky’s opinion that the body is t
hat of Leonora Harris.’
Tom drew in a lung full of air as he heard Leo’s name. It couldn’t be true, surely? He closed his eyes and saw her face, her hair, her body. He heard her laugh, felt her arms reach towards him. Not Leo. Please, not Leo.
‘Tom?’
‘Sorry, Philippa. Is she certain?’ Tom let go of the towel and held the phone in both hands, for a moment scared he would drop it.
‘She says this woman is missing. Is that right?’
‘Nobody’s heard from her in a while, but I think missing’s a bit strong.’ That was exactly what he had thought himself the night before, but now more than anything, he wanted to rationalise this – to convince himself she wasn’t missing at all. ‘Leo’s very independent – she could be anywhere. Why does Becky think it’s her?’
‘She says she’s seen photos.’
‘Well I don’t know where. I never had one in the office.’
‘Don’t be naïve, Tom. Becky’s a resourceful girl.’
Christ, not Leo. She couldn’t be dead. Tom felt a rush of guilt, as if he should have kept her safe. Maybe if he hadn’t ended things all those months ago she wouldn’t have been vulnerable to something like this. He would have known where she was – would have been able to protect her. Maybe having nobody in her life had put her at risk. No. It can’t be right. Surely Becky’s wrong?
‘Was there any identification on the body?’ Tom could hear the unsteadiness in his own voice and coughed quietly.
‘None that they’ve found up to now. When I’ve seen the body we’ll get her moved and search through all her clothes, but as yet there’s nothing.’
‘I need to see her, Philippa, before you do anything. I don’t want to alert her sister until we’re sure it’s her, and I want to say goodbye.’
He should have known better. Philippa played by the book.
‘You know that’s not possible, Tom. You know we can’t risk your DNA getting onto her body. I’m in the car now on my way to the scene. My driver says we’re two minutes away, then we’ll get her shifted to the mortuary. A forensic pathologist is on his way so we’ll be as quick as we can with the PM. Then, if you still want to, you can make a preliminary identification. Are you okay?’
Tom Douglas Box Set 2 Page 37
