But she knew why the vascularity, to use Matthew’s word, of the earlobe was important. Somewhere there was a crime scene and it would be spattered with Molly’s blood. She only had to find it. Here there was none.
She rested her chin on her upturned palm, waited for the computer to fire up and stared at the familiar icons, unfocused. Where was Molly? Joanna was cop enough to know that the longer the girl was missing the less likelihood there was of finding her alive. But for her to have vanished so completely from a crowded nightclub? Not even a sighting. How? Joanna gave a cynical grimace. Not even a fake sighting: boarding a plane to Sri Lanka, in a coffee bar in Hanley, waiting for a bus in Uttoxeter. Nothing had turned up. It was almost as though she had never really existed.
Joanna leaned back in her chair and half closed her eyes. It was a terrible thought, that someone could be so obliterated that their fate was never known. Her mind drifted, like a bubble in a light breeze, bobbing around aimlessly, occasionally finding a solid surface but mostly simply bobbing. And then it found a solid surface on which to rest before the bubble burst and she was left with nothing.
It was something Gary Pointer, one of the birthday boys, had said; something about Kayleigh and what she had been saying. Joanna hadn’t taken enough notice at the time but now she recalled it.
‘She was talking a load of crap.’
What sort of crap? What had Pointer been talking about?
How long had he spent ‘talking’ to her?
With the background din of the club how could he tell what she had been saying?
Unless he had been in the quiet room or outside.
She reached out and picked up the telephone.
She had so many questions buzzing around her head now that she was hardly able to put them in order of priority. But now her mind began to tangle with the anomalies of the case of the three girls and slowly she began to sort out truth from untruth and begin to put them in order of relevance to her task: find Molly.
The telephone rang. ‘Am I speaking to Detective Inspector Piercy?’ It was a crisp, business-like voice on the other end.
‘You are.’
‘I am David O’Connor.’
She didn’t recognize the name.
‘I represent Peter Harrison.’
Ah. Now it was making sense.
‘I understand you wish to interview my client?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘And you would like him to attend the police station at Leek?’
‘I would. I did speak to him yesterday and he volunteered to attend here today.’
‘We can be with you for twelve o’clock.’
She sat up, alert. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘That’s fine. I shall look forward to seeing you both. Thank you for your cooperation.’
‘My pleasure,’ the solicitor said sarcastically.
Korpanski had just walked in when the phone rang for a second time.
Feeling that she had already had her one welcome phone call of today, she answered without enthusiasm. ‘Hello, Inspector Piercy here.’
Philip Carraway’s voice came down the wire so loudly and angrily that she held the receiver away from her ear. ‘Have you any news of my daughter yet?’ His voice was ragged. Whatever she had thought, whatever impression Molly’s parents had given, this man was suffering.
‘I’m sorry. We’ve nothing definite. We’re moving on with our enquiries, Mr Carraway. That’s all.’ She added the platitude. ‘These things take time, you know.’
There was a deep, angry sigh on the other end of the line before he added, brokenly: ‘The strain, you know, it’s terrible on my wife and myself. We want an answer. We need an answer.’ Then, with a touch of hysteria: ‘We must have an answer.’ He was close to breaking point.
‘We all want an answer, Mr Carraway,’ she said quietly. ‘I do sympathize with you but you must let us proceed with our enquiries at our own pace.’
The man was beyond politeness. He simply groaned.
‘Mr Carraway, just for the record, where were you on Friday night?’
He lost his rag then. There was a long, angry silence on the other end of the phone. All Joanna could hear were his heavy snorts of fury before he exploded. ‘I don’t believe this. I really don’t. So because you’ve made no headway in the case of my daughter’s disappearance you turn on me. Well, it won’t work, Inspector. I’m not some drivelling fool that you can intimidate, you know. I am a professional, intelligent man and I know a bodged case when I see one. And don’t think you can falsify evidence against me. I’m up to you.’
Quite calmly Joanna repeated the question. ‘Where were you on Friday night, Mr Carraway? It’s just for the record,’ she repeated.
‘I was at home here with my wife.’
Even Joanna didn’t quite have the nerve to ask whether his wife would be happy to verify this but she didn’t need to. Beth Carraway came on the line, speaking quietly and with dignity. ‘My husband was with me on Friday,’ she said, in a low voice, ‘all evening. We listened to the play on Radio Four until ten and then went to bed.’
‘Thank you,’ Joanna responded. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear anything.’
As she put the phone down she reflected that anger was an effective cure for grief.
After a moment’s thought, Joanna checked her watch. Break time in school. She dialled a mobile number. ‘Clara, I’m going to want to talk to you about Molly again, I’m afraid. Yes, yes. Down at the station. I want to ask you some questions.’
The girl was naturally wary and neither agreed to attend nor disagreed. Instead she said she’d ring her mother. Two minutes later Rosa Williams’s steady voice came down the line. ‘What do you want to talk to my daughter about?’
The truth was that Joanna didn’t really have a clue, except that Clara was the only link she had to Molly. ‘I simply want to clarify a few details; that’s all.’
‘What time do you want us to come?’
That was when the pinprick of an idea gave Joanna hope. ‘Twelve o’clock?’
‘We’ll see you then. I’ll get her from school.’ Clara’s mother was polite but distant. The truth was, Joanna guessed, that she wanted her daughter to have as little to do with the police as possible. Damage limitation.
Korpanski eyed her. ‘You’re up to something, Jo.’
She nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘And knowing you you’re not going to tell me, are you?’
She simply smiled before adding: ‘I don’t really know what I’m up to, Mike. That’s why I can’t share it with you. I just know I’m heading in the right direction.’
He grinned across the room at her. ‘Have I ever told you you’re the most annoying person to work with?’
‘Frequently.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
She picked up the phone again, dialled another number. Unlike Clara, she was pretty sure Kayleigh Harrison wouldn’t be at school. She was right. It was Kayleigh who picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Kayleigh. Is your mother in?’
Christine came on the line and Joanna asked her to attend the police station at twelve thirty, with her daughter. Naturally neither of them seemed exactly enthusiastic but they agreed.
‘And so, Mike,’ she said, ‘the trap is set.’
A briefing had been planned for nine thirty. There was a lot to get through – a mountain of paperwork, running through the results of interviews, mobile phone print-outs, CCTV footage. So much detail it threatened to swamp them. The job of a senior investigating officer needed someone with a clear head; someone able to take an overview but at times with so much extraneous evidence it could be hard.
Clara and her mother were the first to arrive. ‘Is there any news of Molly?’ Clara’s mother’s face held a mixture of concern and frustration.
Joanna shook her head. ‘Not a word.’
‘Her poor parents. It must be awful for them.’
‘Yes.’ Joanna could only agree. She turned her attention on C
lara, who was looking pale and frightened. Joanna guessed she wished she’d never befriended Molly Carraway. ‘Did you wear coats to go out, Clara?’
As expected, after a quick glance at her mother the girl shook her head. ‘You have to queue up for ages for a coat and they charge a fiver,’ she said, adding: ‘It’s a rip-off but if you just leave it around someone’ll nick it for sure. We’d rather be a bit cold. But what’s that got to with Moll?’
‘Just gathering facts,’ Joanna said kindly. ‘I’d like you to run through the CCTV footage of that last evening with Molly. We’ve edited the bits with her in. It might jog your memory,’ she said, in answer to the girl’s enquiring glance. ‘Look over them very carefully and see if there’s anyone you particularly recognize.’
‘OK.’ Clara nodded. She and her mother sat, motionless, saying nothing, eyes fixed on the screen. Joanna stood behind them, observing their body language. Sometimes a psychology degree came in very useful. Clara’s mother sat a little apart from her daughter. No friendly arm around her shoulders. No hug or reassurance. Rosa Williams was annoyed with her daughter.
The bit came when Molly was talking to someone silhouetted against a lit hallway. She was leaning in towards him, her body language suggesting she found him attractive. Clara’s head whisked around.
‘You know him?’
‘I think I do,’ she said dubiously. ‘I think I’ve seen him talking to Molly before. I think she already knew him.’ It was as though the realization had just hit her. Thump.
‘Thank you.’
Joanna and Mike peered at the picture then gave up. It was Korpanski who voiced both their opinions. ‘It could be anyone, Jo. You couldn’t get an ID on that.’
Joanna was forced to agree. But: ‘He’s around six foot tall, of slim build. He has dark hair, is wearing light coloured trainers, a dark jacket, jeans.’ She peered closer. ‘He has his right hand in his pocket. Face turned away so features unidentifiable.’ She looked at her sergeant. ‘We don’t have nothing, Mike.’
She asked the Carraways if they would sit in the waiting room and arranged for coffee to be brought.
Peter Harrison turned up a little after twelve accompanied by a weasely-looking man in a grey silky suit. He was in his thirties with thinning blond hair. Harrison introduced him as his lawyer, David O’Connor.
Lawyer to the mob was almost tattooed on the man’s forehead; he looked such a wide boy with daintily shaped and filed fingernails and abnormally white teeth. He draped his jacket over the back of the chair and he and Harrison took their seats gingerly, Joanna and Mike opposite.
Harrison’s forehead was beaded with sweat, as though he was nervous, but his hands were steady and Joanna had the feeling that he was actually quite in control. She watched him curiously.
O’Connor spoke first. ‘My client,’ he said with a nervous and apprehensive look at Harrison, ‘wishes to make a statement.’
‘We’re all ears.’ Joanna spoke for both of them.
Harrison’s voice was unsteady but he kept his hands on the table in front of him, palms down, as though they steadied him. ‘I hadn’t met Kayleigh since she was tiny,’ he said. Then his voice gathered confidence. ‘I’m not much of a dad, Inspector,’ he said frankly. ‘I admit that and I didn’t really think much about her. I just forgot I had a daughter. I carried on with my own life, girlfriends, mates, work, jobs. That was my life. As you know I kept in touch with a couple of my old mates up here: Ollerenshaw and Gradbach. Sometimes I’d come up and we’d go fishing. Johnny told me a couple of times about Kayleigh but –’ here his mud-coloured eyes looked straight into Joanna’s – ‘I wasn’t interested. She didn’t seem like anything to do with me. Understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Joanna said.
‘I was up here the last weekend of November but I didn’t go straight back down to London. Johnny was quiet on the farm and we thought we’d do a spot of fishing. Trouble was I got a bit restless so thought I’d go out on the Tuesday night. I’d scouted round the town like and seen this place, Patches, and thought I might just see what was around.’ His eyes were now looking decidedly shifty as he bounced a glance off his solicitor.
Joanna took the opportunity to exchange a look at Korpanski and knew he was wondering what they would hear next.
Harrison cleared his throat with a rasping noise.
‘You’ve got to understand,’ he appealed. ‘I hadn’t met my daughter since she was in nappies, a Babygro and a shawl. And the lights in the club – well, they’re dim. It’s hard to see who’s who.’ He made an attempt at a smile and failed. ‘I, um . . .’ he was finding this bit hard. ‘I does a bit of flirtin’, like . . .’ He looked at the floor. Even more shiftily, he continued: ‘I sort of . . .’
Joanna could guess but she wanted him to have to admit to it.
‘I was sort of –’ Harrison was squirming – ‘flirtin’ with a girl I took to be – I don’t know – eighteen or something.’ He couldn’t resist passing the buck. ‘They ain’t supposed to let ’em in under-eighteen,’ he protested, ‘so I thought I was safe, didn’t I?’
‘Naturally,’ Joanna responded drily and could guess the rest – in part.
As Harrison squirmed, at his side O’Connor was sitting rigid. He scraped his throat, obviously in preparation for a warning to his client to keep his mouth shut, but Harrison was flying alone now and wouldn’t have taken any notice of warnings, however wise. ‘She seemed a nice kid,’ he pushed on, ‘young but I didn’t have no concerns she was too young, like.’ He was focusing on Korpanski now. Maybe he thought he’d get a bit of matey, laddish sympathy from the sergeant. ‘Right up till we went out for a fag and she started talking to me about her dad and sayin’ stuff.’
‘So when did you twig that the girl you were flirting with and probably hoped you’d end up in bed with was your daughter?’
‘I don’t know.’ Harrison stared straight past her. ‘I don’t know. There was somethin’ sort of familiar about her. But I never thought about it. I never twigged. And I didn’t rape her.’ He stared at Joanna with his toffee eyes. ‘I absolutely swear on my mother’s life I never raped her. I asked her a couple of questions about her dad and got some bad vibes. I asked her how old she was. She said eighteen. Then I asked her name and I knew exactly who she was. So I knew she was younger. Quite a bit younger. I told her to go home then. I gave her money for a taxi and said she should go home to her mum. I left. I was a bit shocked. I went back to Johnny’s place. I was home by midnight and the snow was falling.’ He put his head to one side. ‘It was a beautiful night,’ he said. ‘The snow was soft and sort of warm, like a blanket. Not drivin and freezing. Not blowin around. Just fallin’.’
They were simply words – almost clichéd. But they painted a scene in everyone’s head – well, maybe not O’Connor’s – but everyone else’s.
‘Where was Kayleigh when you left her?’
‘Going back inside. To phone for a taxi, she said.’
‘I suspect,’ Joanna said slowly, ‘that the money you gave her for a taxi was actually spent at the bar.’
Harrison shrugged. ‘You can’t blame me for that,’ he protested. ‘I’m not responsible for what she did with the money. I thought she should just go home. In fact, I couldn’t understand how Christine could allow her out like that – and so young too.’
Much you did about it, Joanna thought. ‘Did Kayleigh know who you were?’
Harrison looked less certain now. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tell her but I got the feelin’ she might have guessed. When I gave her the taxi money she said I was just like a dad. Spooked me that did, I can tell you.’
I’ll bet, Joanna thought. Then she ploughed on. ‘Mr Harrison, where were you on the night of May the eleventh?’
Harrison frowned. ‘That’s ages ago,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got a clue. Why?’
‘Because another young girl was left outside a local nightclub to die.’
Harrison practically jumped out
of his chair. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘I didn’t leave Kayleigh to die and I wouldn’t have left any other young girl to die. What sort of a bloke do you think I am?’
‘I’m just pondering that very question,’ Joanna said coolly. ‘Have you ever been to a club called Lymeys in Newcastle?’
Harrison shook his head, looking genuinely vague. ‘Don’t know the place,’ he said.
There was a knock on the door; a nod from the desk sergeant. Kayleigh had arrived.
‘I’m sorry but I’m going to have to interrupt you,’ she said, giving Korpanski a straight and meaningful look. ‘Would you mind sitting in the waiting room?’
Korpanski caught her eye and she knew he’d understood her actions – perfectly.
As Harrison and his solicitor took their seats in the waiting room, she observed the responses. Clara looked up – and right through him. There was no acknowledgment at all. Surprisingly Kayleigh even didn’t appear to recognize her father until her mother spoke. ‘Well, Peter,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Come to look after your little girl at last?’
That was when Kayleigh studied her father shyly and ventured the tiniest of smiles. ‘Hello,’ she said. Harrison grunted a greeting back. Joanna watched the three of them: mother, father, daughter and read: surprise, curiosity and recognition.
Harrison gave his ex-wife a tentative smile. ‘Hiya, babe,’ he said.
Her response was not so friendly. ‘What are you doin’ here?’
Kayleigh was pressing herself into her seat, trying to become invisible. Hardly breathing. But her eyes were taking it all in.
Her mother turned towards her. ‘This ’ere,’ she said sourly, ‘is your dad what you’re so intrigued about.’
Kayleigh studied the floor. ‘I know,’ she said.
Clara and her mother were watching the interchange with interest but not with recognition. Though Clara’s glance lingered on Kayleigh, as though wondering where she had seen her before, it appeared Harrison was a complete stranger.
Christine jabbed Kayleigh in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Say ’ello to Daddy,’ she mocked.
Peter Harrison moved a little closer and addressed Kayleigh. ‘How yer doin’ then, love?’
A Velvet Scream Page 20
