Thirsty, she dumped her handbag on the kitchen worktop and filled a glass from the water filter next to the sink. She drained it in four large gulps, rinsed the glass out and tipped it upside down on the draining board. Although exhausted, she knew it would take her half an hour or so for the adrenalin to subside enough for her to sleep, so she kicked off her shoes and padded through to the living room. She flicked the switch on a reading lamp and pulled the previous day’s newspaper across the coffee table and began to turn the pages.
Unable to concentrate on the words before her, her mind returned to the scene of Sophie Whittaker’s murder. She hadn’t seen the girl’s body in situ as there were already crime scene investigators processing the scene, and there was no sense in traipsing all over the place and adding to their work. Apart from the fact that there were traces of blood in Peter Evans’s apartment and a suitcase full of Sophie’s clothes as well as her passport, they would still need evidence to link him to the scene of the crime. Otherwise, they might not get a conviction.
She shrugged her jacket off her shoulders and untucked her blouse from the waistband of her trousers, before sinking back into the cushions with a sigh. The next morning would bring a mountain of paperwork as the team sifted through the statements uniformed officers had taken from the partygoers, as well as from the parents of both Sophie Whittaker and Josh Hamilton. She couldn’t imagine what the young man was going through, to lose his fiancée.
The American family appeared to be affluent, their clothing expensive. The mother had looked as if she’d had some cosmetic surgery, and Kay couldn’t work out her age. Blake, the father, appeared to be in his mid-fifties.
Intrigued to know how a rich American was linked to a minor aristocratic family, let alone one whose son was marrying into it, she pushed herself off the sofa and made her way back to the kitchen, pulling her mobile phone out of her bag before returning to the living room. She opened up the search app and typed in his name.
It didn’t take long for the search engine to display its results. Hamilton Enterprises filled the first three pages on the screen. She clicked on the website for the company and scrolled through the menu until she found the page that set out the details for the executive management team.
Originally from Connecticut, Blake Hamilton had arrived in the UK three years ago, establishing a consultancy business that seemed to thrive on creating networks and lucrative connections. The business had grown rapidly, leaving its competitors in its wake.
Kay opened up the calendar on her phone and made a note to investigate the website further when she got into work. Intrigued, she then searched for Sophie’s mother’s name.
Lady Griffith generated fewer results, and Kay had to read through several society news articles in order to put a picture together. The woman’s parents had died some years ago, her father being an earl who seemed to enjoy a busy social life, if the number of photographs were anything to go by. Lady Griffith appeared to support local charities and good causes, but the articles revealed little about her character – each one was carefully worded and full of praise.
Sophie’s father, Matthew, ran his own software business. Peering closer at the information she found on the business registry website, Kay surmised that his business wasn’t doing as well as Blake Hamilton’s, but that he was well respected within the industry he worked. He had written several articles for IT magazines over the years, and had been photographed at society events with his wife.
She enlarged one of the photographs showing Sophie with her parents, a huge smile on her face as the photographer’s flash had lit up the room, and Kay felt a familiar pull in her chest at the thought of the young girl’s life being taken from her in such a brutal way.
She yawned and tossed her phone onto the coffee table, realising that if she kept surfing the search engine, she’d never get any sleep. It was tempting to start making notes, but from experience she knew she’d make a better job of it in the morning. As it was, Sharp would probably delegate the task to one of the admin staff or one of the uniformed officers that would be assigned to help the team with the investigation.
She roused herself from the sofa once more, picked up her jacket and switched off the downstairs lights before making her way up the stairs.
She lifted her foot over the fifth tread – it had a tendency to squeak, and she didn’t want to wake up Adam. Chances were that he’d be out the door before her in the morning, and he’d looked exhausted the past three days.
The door to the bedroom was ajar, and she slipped through the gap. He had left her bedside light on, and she set her alarm before quickly undressing and sliding into bed beside him.
‘New murder investigation?’
‘I thought you were asleep,’ she hissed. ‘I crept up those stairs like I was in the bloody SAS or something.’
‘You were doing quite well.’
She rolled over and slapped his arm, trying not to laugh.
‘Go back to sleep.’
Six
Kay glanced up from her work as Sharp entered the room, closely followed by Detective Chief Inspector Angus Larch.
The more senior detective ignored her as he breezed past her desk to stand next to the whiteboard.
His glare passed over the assembled investigation team who quickly ended their conversations and turned their attention to the senior officers, before Sharp spoke to him in a low murmur and the two men began to confer about a document Sharp held out to him.
Snatching it from him, Larch pursed his lips, then glanced up and met Kay’s eyes, and her heart sank. He sneered, then shoved the document back at Sharp and gestured to him to begin.
After the success of her previous investigations, she’d hoped that Larch would finally put the Professional Standards investigation he’d subjected her to behind them, but it seemed he had other plans.
Kay bit her lip.
She had plans of her own, and not ones she was willing to share with anyone else in the room.
Plans that would, hopefully, put the unfairness of her suspension behind her once and for all.
She was jerked from her thoughts by Sharp’s voice cutting across the room.
‘Okay, everyone. Let’s make a start.’
Sharp waited until he had the group’s attention before continuing.
‘Right, to bring you up to speed on events from last night. Our victim is Sophie Whittaker, daughter of Lady Griffith of Crossways Hall,’ he said, pinning a recent photograph of the teenager to the whiteboard against a photograph the CSI team had taken at the crime scene. ‘Sixteen years old, and killed with a single blow to the face with a blunt instrument. No sign of the murder weapon at the scene. There were several people at the Whittakers’ house last night, as a party was taking place. Sophie and her parents are part of an exclusive church group, an offshoot of one of the local Baptist congregations, and the party was to celebrate Sophie taking what they call a “purity pledge”, as well as an engagement announcement to a Josh Hamilton. Hunter – note that down. I want you to follow up on what the hell a “purity pledge” is, and what’s involved. We’ll come back to that.’
‘Guv.’
‘We received a tip-off while we were attending the crime scene that led to the arrest of Peter Evans,’ Sharp continued, ‘who right now is a guest in our custody suite downstairs. When DS Hunter arrived at his residential address, Evans had a packed suitcase containing some of Sophie Whittaker’s clothes, together with her passport. Blood was found on his bedclothes. He denies all knowledge of Sophie’s murder, and I’ve placed him on suicide watch while we continue our investigation.’
Silence filled the room, save for the scratching of pens in notebooks.
‘We’ll be conducting a further interview with the suspect after this briefing.’ Sharp checked his watch. ‘DCI Larch has requested that the post mortem be fast-tracked, but it will still be at least forty-eight hours or more before we get those results. So,’ he said, and turned to each member of the team,
‘unless we get an extension, we work on the basis we have ninety-six hours to prove our suspect’s guilt or otherwise. Larch?’
‘Thank you, Sharp.’ The DCI stepped forward. ‘I’ll be monitoring this case closely. Sophie Whittaker’s godfather is the Right Honourable Richard Fremchurch, and he’s going to expect a tidy investigation with a quick result.’ He glared at the team. ‘None of the detail about this investigation will be passed on to the media by anyone in this room other than me, is that understood?’
A murmur filled the room, as the team acknowledged their understanding.
‘Right, please continue,’ said Larch, and nodded at Sharp.
‘Okay, tasks for today,’ said Sharp. ‘Carys – I’d like you to observe the first interview. We’ll have a chat afterwards about your initial thoughts. Follow up with Harriet after we’ve interviewed Evans and see if her team have found anything else at his property.’
‘Will do, guv.’
Kay smiled at the detective constable as she wrote in her notebook.
She’d worked with Carys Miles for a while now, and admired her tenacity. Her sense of duty had nearly cost her dearly in the last case they’d worked together on and the incident had calmed her ambition, but only a little.
‘Gavin – you start looking into Peter Evans’s background. I want to be able to corroborate as much as possible with what he tells us.’
Gavin Piper nodded, and Kay noticed his bloodshot eyes. His spiky blond hair looked more dishevelled than usual, and she realised he’d probably spent most of the night working to get the witness statements from the Whittakers’ party guests gathered. She made a note to get one of the administrative staff to run out and buy him a proper coffee from their favourite café up the road once the briefing had ended.
She glanced back to the front of the room as Sharp turned his attention to her. ‘Kay, I want you to interview Sophie’s parents. Take Barnes with you.’
‘For chrissakes, Hunter – tread carefully when you’re speaking with the parents,’ Larch said, pointing his finger at her. ‘I will hear about it if you don’t play this one by the book.’
He stalked off, leaving a trail of strong aftershave in his wake.
Sharp tapped the whiteboard marker pen against his chin as he watched the older detective depart, and then dropped it onto the shelf below the board. ‘All right, that’s enough for now. Let’s get on with it.’
Seven
Kay scrolled her way through a backlog of emails on her phone as Barnes swung the car into the turning for the Whittakers’ house.
She lowered it, and tried not to let her jaw drop at her surroundings.
In daylight, the driveway leading to the house provided a sweeping view over the North Downs, the M20 motorway and Eurostar train route carving two distinct lines through the landscape. As Barnes slowed the vehicle to follow the gravelled track around a right-hand curve towards the house, Kay craned her neck to see the tall chimneys that towered above the building. Ivy climbed the walls, reaching upwards to the topmost windows, while a wisteria embraced the ornate front porch.
‘Nice work, if you can get it,’ he said.
‘No kidding. I can’t help wondering if they’ll stay here now, though.’
‘Yeah. I don’t know if I could.’
The driveway widened out as they approached the house and Barnes brought the car to a standstill beside a white panel van.
Kay climbed from the passenger seat, put her phone back in her bag and waited for Barnes to join her.
‘How do you want to do this?’
‘I think you’d be better speaking to Diane,’ said Kay. She swallowed, and turned away so he couldn’t see her face. ‘You’ve got a kid, so you’ll probably be better than me at it. I’ll take Matthew.’
‘Okay.’
As they began to walk towards the front door, it was flung open and a large man with a beer belly waddled down the front steps, his face etched with fury.
He brushed past Kay, stormed over to the van, climbed in, and pulled away with such speed that he sent gravel flying up against Barnes’s pool car, chipping the paintwork.
‘Did you get the registration?’ said Kay.
‘Got it.’
‘I’m so sorry about that.’
They both turned to see Matthew Whittaker standing on the doorstep, his face stricken.
‘Who was he?’ asked Kay.
‘The man in charge of the marquee hire. Your lot are still here, it’s all taped off, and he won’t waive the additional rental fee. Said it’s not in their terms and conditions. Even threatened to charge more for “inconvenience” because he won’t get the tent back until tomorrow.’ He raised his fingers to emphasise his words, before dropping his arms to his sides, his shoulders slumped.
‘If you give me his details, I’ll have a word. See what I can do.’
‘Thanks. Sorry. Did you want a word?’
‘If we could,’ said Kay.
‘Morning, Detectives.’ A smartly dressed woman peered out the door, then stepped to one side to let them through.
‘Morning, Hazel.’
Kay hoped her voice didn’t betray her relief at seeing Hazel Aldridge, one of the division’s family liaison officers. As a conduit between the police investigation and Sophie’s family, Hazel’s role was invaluable.
‘Mrs Whittaker is in the living room,’ she said.
‘Come through,’ said Matthew, and led the way across the hallway.
He pushed open a dark coloured wooden door and stood to one side to let them pass.
Diane Whittaker rose from a mauve two-seat sofa, her eyes red.
‘Good morning, Lady Griffith,’ said Kay. ‘I understand this is a very difficult time for you, however we’d like to ask you some initial questions to help with our investigation.’
‘Of course. Please, sit down.’
Kay waited until everyone had settled before pulling out her notebook. ‘When we apprehended Peter Evans last night, he had some clothes packed into a suitcase, and Sophie’s passport.’
Diane gasped and sank back against the cushions, her hand over her mouth.
‘How— how did he get that?’ said Matthew.
‘Can you tell me more about Peter’s relationship with Sophie?’
‘There wasn’t a relationship,’ Diane spat. ‘Despite what they thought.’
‘We’d introduced Sophie to Josh Hamilton through our church group six months ago,’ said Matthew. ‘About five weeks after that, she mentioned Peter for the first time. I think she’d bumped into him in town when she was out with friends one Saturday afternoon.’
Kay flipped open her notebook and jotted down the details. ‘What did she say?’
‘Well, she didn’t exactly mention him,’ said Matthew, and coughed. ‘She and Eva were talking about him when they got back here, and didn’t realise Diane and I were on the terrace under Sophie’s window. We overheard them talking about him.’
‘That bloody girl,’ muttered Diane.
‘Can you elaborate?’
‘Sophie asked Eva what she thought of Peter,’ said Matthew. ‘I think Eva knew of him prior to them meeting, possibly through another friend of hers. She told Sophie that Peter wasn’t seeing anyone, and that it was rare to see him in the summer. Apparently, he spends a lot of time down in Cornwall surfing. Or travelling overseas.’
‘He’s good for nothing,’ said Diane, her chin tilted upwards. ‘No prospects.’
‘So, back to my question – how did he come to have Sophie’s passport in his possession?’
‘Hasn’t he told you?’
‘I’d like to hear your thoughts.’
Diane sniffed. ‘I think he probably convinced her to run away with him rather than marry Josh.’
Kay glanced at Barnes. ‘Lady Griffith, would you mind showing DC Barnes where Sophie’s window is in relation to the terrace?’ She turned to Matthew. ‘I’d like to see her bedroom, if you wouldn’t mind showing me?’
Dia
ne rose from the sofa with a sigh and beckoned to Barnes. ‘This way.’
‘I’ll meet you back in the hallway,’ said Kay as he passed her.
She caught up with Matthew and followed him up the staircase, casting her eyes over the family photographs placed on the wall as she climbed the treads.
In each, the three family members were gathered formally as the years traced Sophie’s life; Matthew standing behind his seated wife in the earlier photos, his hands on her shoulders while Sophie grew from a baby in her mother’s lap to a toddler. As Sophie matured, she stood next to her mother, while Matthew had placed a protective hand on each of their shoulders.
Kay paused near the top of the stairs and allowed Matthew to continue without her. She stepped closer to the final photograph and peered at the ensemble. The girl that stared back at her held her head high with an almost defiant look in her eyes as she posed for the camera, and despite the fact she wasn’t wearing heels, was only a few inches shorter than her father. In this most recent photograph, his hand was no longer placed on her shoulder, but on the upper part of her left arm.
Kay frowned as she peered at the photograph, and then glanced at Matthew. ‘The same dress she was wearing last night? It looks like a communion dress.’
A sad smile crossed the man’s lips. ‘No, not a communion. This was taken six weeks ago. Ready for her pledge ceremony. We wanted to get some professional photographs taken before the day, in case the weather turned inclement.’
‘Pledge ceremony?’
‘It’s growing in popularity here. Sophie was a little old for it, but—’ He shrugged. ‘She wanted to do it. Most girls take a pledge when they have their thirteenth birthday, or sometimes before that.’
‘What does it mean?’
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