‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence either, sir – Reg – a victim turning up and another woman going missing at the same time.’
‘Because?’
‘I don’t believe in coincidences.’
‘What about their colour? Is there any significance in them both being black?’
‘We can’t rule that out, although it might be more relevant that they were both young and good looking.’
She paused, realising she was speaking about both women in the past tense, as though she believed Donna Henry was dead.
Reg nodded and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk, his finger tips touching.
‘I see we’re thinking along the same lines, Geraldine. Of course, that’s not necessarily a good thing,’ he added, with a smile. ‘Oh well, let’s hope we’re both wrong and the missing woman turns up.’
He sighed.
‘She’s only been missing for three days and I wouldn’t have given her a second thought if it wasn’t for this dead woman. Let’s focus on finding out who she is. Until we know her identity, we won’t be able to work out if there’s any connection between them, will we?’
After she left the detective chief inspector’s office Geraldine went straight to the Major Incident Room where Sam Haley was chatting to one of the women entering data onto the computer system. Geraldine checked the details they had for the dead woman but all they knew about her so far was what they had established from examining her corpse.
She went to consult the Safer Neighbourhood Team but they had nothing on David Crawley or any of his neighbours.
‘Littlefield is a quiet close, gov’nor,’ the sergeant told her. ‘There was a bit of bother going on at one time between two of the neighbours, and we had a domestic along there a few months back, but nothing out of the ordinary, and other than that it’s quiet. All the houses have been converted into maisonettes, some owner occupied, some rented, and there’s a small block of flats left over from the sixties. It’s a bit of a hotch potch in many ways, but there’s no trouble to speak of. Sometimes there’s a bit of a barney along the main road by the station, of a weekend, but there’s never been any real trouble in Littlefield. Until this.’
He shook his head, as though the alley that ran between Tufnell Park Road and Littlefield Close was a child who had unexpectedly misbehaved.
‘Neither David Crawley or his girlfriend is on our radar, and no one we’re interested in lives in the street. Some of the tenants aren’t English of course, but they’re no bother.’
Geraldine and Sam drove to the burger bar along Holloway Road where David Crawley worked as a grill chef. It was part of a chain and the first manager they spoke to didn’t seem to know who he was. The second was more helpful.
‘Dave? Yes, I know Dave. He’s alright, is Dave. Has something happened to him?’
‘No. We’d just like to ask you a few quick questions, for the purpose of elimination.’
‘Elimination? Is he in some sort of trouble then?’
‘No, but we’d appreciate your answering a few questions. How long has Mr Crawley been working here?’
‘Oh at least a year, maybe two. That’s a long time for us. I could look it up, if you like.’
‘No, that’s fine. Is he reliable, would you say?’
‘What, Dave? Oh yes. He turns up on time and puts in a good shift. He’s no trouble. Nice guy too. Bit of a laugh.’
His landlord wasn’t able to offer them any other useful information.
‘Crawley? In Littlefield Close?’ he repeated, shuffling through a fat file. ‘He’s been in the property for seven years and he’s never caused any problems. Pays his rent. He went through a phase.’
‘A phase?’
‘Yes. First it was a hall carpet, then it was a hoover, and then there was … something else. Oh yes, a chain on the door. But he settled down after a while. They usually do. He pays his rent on time, and frankly that’s all I’m interested in, as long as they look after the place.’
Back at Hendon, Geraldine checked how the review of CCTV footage from Tufnell Park station and the wider surrounding area was progressing, although she didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything significant. They didn’t even know what they were looking for. Finally, she set up a TV appeal hoping to try and jog someone’s memory.
‘The body of a young black woman was discovered near Tufnell Park tube station in North London last Sunday morning. Police are appealing for information.’
‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack, without actually knowing where the sodding haystack is,’ Sam grumbled.
‘Let’s wait and see.’
Geraldine did her best to sound encouraging.
‘You never know what we might find.’
‘You’re right,’ Sam agreed uncertainly. ‘Something’s bound to turn up.’
19
STILL MISSING
The other women were nattering, heads bent over desks, busy at keyboards. One of them passed around photographs of her new grandson and Lily made suitably admiring noises. When her phone rang, she jumped.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Lily Smalls?’
‘Who is it?’
Lily knew better than to acknowledge her name before she knew who was asking.
‘This is Detective Sergeant Haley.’
Lily felt her heart palpitating and for a second she couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.
‘Lily? Are you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lily, the woman who was found in Tufnell Park on Sunday morning isn’t your missing flatmate, Donna.’
‘What? Where is she then?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid we don’t know that.’
‘So who’s the woman you found, if she’s not Donna?’
‘We’re working on establishing an identity now.’
‘You mean you don’t know who she is.’
‘Like I said, we’re working on that.’
‘Well, how do you know she isn’t Donna then?’
‘Donna’s mother has confirmed the body we have isn’t her daughter. It’s not Donna.’
‘What - ’
‘We thought you’d like to know, but please contact us when Donna turns up so we can take her off our list.’
‘But - ’
‘Thank you.’
The line went dead.
‘Are you alright, Lily?’ one of her colleagues asked, and immediately several pairs of curious eyes turned to look at her. ‘You do look pale.’
There was a general murmur of agreement.
‘She does look pale,’ another voice chimed in as though Lily wasn’t there.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’
Lily found her voice. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
That was a lie. She wasn’t fine. She still didn’t know where Donna was. An official looking letter had arrived at the flat that morning addressed to Donna and Lily was worried. What if the electricity bill hadn’t been paid? She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. She didn’t even know what arrangements Donna had made for paying the mortgage. She imagined going home one day to discover bailiffs emptying the rooms, seizing Lily’s belongings, such as they were, along with the contents of the flat.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ someone asked her.
‘I said I’m fine. Stop going on at me, will you!’ Lily snapped.
Several colleagues looked round at her in surprise and she realised she had been quite rude. Embarrassed and agitated, she stood up.
‘Actually I don’t feel well. I’m going home,’ she announced.
She scurried from the room, but she didn’t go straight home. Instead, she took the train to Angel and found the police station off Upper Street. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say when she got there, but Donna was still missing and no one seemed to be doing anything about it. It was time to force the police to take her disappearance seriously.
A few people were s
itting on a row of metal seats which were fixed to the floor along the wall on the far right. After a few seconds’ hesitation she marched up to the desk, her legs trembling. A woman looked at her, unsmiling, from behind a glass screen.
‘Yes?’
‘Can I speak to - ’
Lily fumbled in her purse for the card the inspector had given her.
‘Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel. I have some information for her. It could be important.’
Someone shifted in one of the chairs behind her. Out of the corner of her eye Lily saw a man staring at her and regretted having spoken so loudly. Not everyone liked people who gave information to the police. The woman behind the screen took Lily’s name and asked her to wait while she made a call.
‘The inspector’s not in the building. Would you like to see someone else?’
‘No.’
‘What’s it about?’
Lily hesitated then bottled it.
‘It’s alright,’ she said. ‘I’ll just go.’
She turned on her heel and fled, wishing she hadn’t given her name.
When the doorbell rang that evening, Lily wasn’t surprised to see the detective inspector standing outside.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said. ‘It’s about Donna isn’t it? Is there any news?’
‘You came to see me at the police station,’ the inspector reminded her. ‘What was it you wanted to tell us?’
She spoke kindly, but Lily could tell she was feeling impatient.
Lily hesitated, wondering how she could justify her panic visit to the police station.
‘I don’t want to waste your time, but – can I get you a cup of tea or something?’
‘No, thank you. Now what it is you wanted to say?’
‘It’s just that I’ve been thinking, and I wondered if Geoff might have got something to do with it, kidnapped her or something.’
It sounded stupid, but it was the only thing she could come up with on the spur of the moment.
To Lily’s surprise, the inspector produced a notebook and leaned forward attentively.
‘Who’s Geoff?’
‘Donna’s ex, Geoff. I only met him once. He seemed like a nice guy but Donna told me he was boring and that’s why she broke up with him. She said he was pathetic.’
‘Pathetic?’
‘That’s what she said. I don’t think she’d been seeing him for very long, but he had a thing about her.’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘She said he kept pestering her, wanting to see her, but she wasn’t interested.’
‘How long ago did they split up?’
Lily shrugged.
‘I don’t know really. Not long before I moved in and I’ve been here two months.’
‘Was she seeing anyone else?’
‘No. She said she just wanted to have a good time. She didn’t want to be tied down. Not yet anyway, not at her age. That’s what she said anyway.’
‘So how did Geoff take it when she ended their relationship?’
Lily shrugged again.
‘I don’t know really. Like I said, she finished with him before I moved in here.’
‘Did she say anything about how he reacted?’
‘No. Only that she was glad to see the back of him.’
The inspector sighed and shut her notebook.
‘Lily, I understand your concern, but we can’t suspect Donna’s ex has done something to harm her just because she left him.’
‘Well I don’t think he would’ve been very pleased about it. And now she’s gone missing and I just think something might have happened to her and someone should be doing something about it.’
‘We’re doing everything we can, Lily, but your flatmate’s only been missing for four days and people do usually turn up. It’s rare for anything else to happen.’
‘She seems very anxious,’ Geraldine told Sam when they met later on. ‘She’s a lot more worried about Donna’s disappearance than Mrs Henry is.’
Geraldine didn’t respond when Sam said she thought it strange that Mrs Henry wasn’t concerned.
‘Don’t you think it’s odd?’ Sam persisted.
‘What?’
‘About Mrs Henry. How can a mother not care if her own daughter goes missing?’
As she finished writing up her notes, Geraldine couldn’t help thinking of her own birth mother, who didn’t seem to care about her at all. However hard she tried to put the knowledge of her adoption out of her mind, she seemed to be constantly reminded of it, and decided to confront the social worker again. This time she would insist on being put in contact with her mother. Alone in her office, she closed the door and looked up the number of the adoption agency. She had to wait a few moments before the social worker dealing with her case came on the line.
‘Hello, Geraldine, it’s Sandra. How can I help you?’
The social worker sounded weary.
‘I want to meet my mother.’
There was a pause.
‘You’ve seen your file, Geraldine. I’m afraid your mother has declined to meet you. I thought we established that on your last visit. I’m sorry but there’s nothing more I can do about it. If you’d like me to arrange for you to talk to someone - ’
‘You don’t understand,’ Geraldine interrupted. ‘She made that decision a long time ago. People change. She might feel differently now. At least you could ask her.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, Geraldine. And remember, if you’d like to talk to someone, we can arrange that.’
‘I’d like to talk to my mother,’ Geraldine insisted.
She didn’t care that she sounded petulant. Until she heard the words from her mother’s own lips, she would never accept her rejection as final.
20
A POSITIVE IDENTIFICATION
Geraldine was writing up her decision log where she was expected to record reasons for all her actions, in case her performance was later challenged. While she struggled to concentrate, a call came through. The dead woman had been identified and the detective chief inspector was holding a briefing. There was a quiet buzz of anticipation as the team assembled and Reg Milton came in.
‘We’ve had a positive identification,’ he announced in his slightly pompous manner.
Geraldine glanced automatically at the photograph of the dead woman’s battered face displayed on the board.
‘Her name’s Jessica Palmer, also known as Jessica Jones. Nineteen years old. She was working in Archway at a massage parlour.’
He enunciated the last two words very slowly as though putting them in speech marks.
‘We had her prints on file from when she was picked up for soliciting three years ago.’
His shoulders drooped slightly as he added, ‘No one’s reported her missing.’
As soon as the meeting was over Geraldine checked the dead woman’s records for herself. Jessica Palmer was born in Newcastle. At sixteen she’d left home. Her mother had reported her missing at the time, but the girl had disappeared without trace until she was picked up soliciting in Soho two years later.
Geraldine went to find Sam.
‘Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To a massage parlour.’
‘Nice!’
They found the incongruously named Paradise Parlour in a side street near Archway station. The windows were covered with grubby pink shutters, the door was closed, only a small sign lit-up in pink fairy lights informing customers the place was ‘Open 7 Days a Week Midday Till Late.’
Geraldine led the way into a dingy reception area where a girl with jet black hair sat behind a desk filing her long nails.
‘Yes?’
Geraldine held out her ID card and the girl lowered thick false lashes that concealed her eyes.
‘Just a minute. I’ll fetch Angie.’
She scrambled to her feet and vanished into the interior of the salon to reappear a moment later with an older woman, heavily made-up, full
-breasted and attractive in a blowzy sort of way. She must have been good-looking when she was younger. Now her looks were ruined by black circles beneath her eyes, wrinkled smoker’s skin and a hard expression.
‘What is it now?’
Angie glared at Geraldine, who held up a photograph of Jessica Palmer.
‘Do you know this woman?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Don’t waste my time. Do you know her?’
‘She used to work here.’
‘Used to?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘When did she leave?’
Angie shrugged.
‘She went off a few weeks ago.’
‘Why?’
‘How the fuck should I know? One day she was here, the next she didn’t show up and that was the last we saw of her. Not so much as a phone call to say she wouldn’t be coming back.’
‘Didn’t you wonder what had happened to her?’ Sam asked.
Angie grunted.
‘These girls, they come and go. We’re quite casual here, it goes with the territory. But my records are all above board,’ she added, suddenly wary. ‘You can check the books. It’s all in order.’
‘We’re not investigating you,’ Geraldine assured her.
‘Oh really? Here for a massage are you then? Or is this a social visit?’
‘We’re investigating the murder of Jessica Palmer, also known as Jessica Jones.’
Angie stared at Geraldine for a moment without speaking, her expression unchanged.
‘What happened?’ she asked at last.
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’
‘Well, I wish I could help you - ’
‘We want to speak to everyone who works here.’
‘They’re busy.’
‘Look, Angie, this is a murder investigation, so business may have to be suspended while we question everyone on the premises, and I need addresses of anyone else who works here. We can do this discreetly or I can have you closed down until I’m satisfied we’ve spoken to everyone.’
‘Alright,’ Angie growled. ‘You can see the girls in the back office. This way.’
‘Send them in one at a time and we’ll get through this as quickly as we can.’
Death Bed Page 8
