by Carol Wyer
Robyn tapped the phone. ‘Jade, I have to take this, for evidence.’
‘Why? Carrie’s alive and living in Spain.’ She pointed at the phone. ‘You can read the messages. That body you found isn’t Carrie’s.’ Her voice was shrill. Robyn held onto the phone. ‘It can’t be.’
‘There’s no doubt it was Carrie we found. I’m very sorry, Jade. Come inside and we’ll explain to your boss. I’m going to take you to the station so we can write this all down and then we’ll get someone to take you home.’
Jade’s eyes opened wide. ‘No,’ she whispered.
Robyn led the bewildered girl away, her mind whirring. The girls had been messaging each other since the twenty-eighth of July 2016 when Carrie left home, right up until the twentieth of December, the day Joanne Hutchinson had taken a trunk, containing the body of Carrie Miller, believed by then to have been dead for several months, into the self-storage unit at Rugeley.
Seventeen
The offices of Anytime Delivery were located only three miles away from Gallow Street. The reception was unmanned. Ross pressed the buzzer on the desk and heard a distant noise somewhere in the adjacent warehouse. At last the door opened and a man in his late forties, dressed in grubby overalls, appeared. The room filled with the smell of grease.
‘Sorry, mate. I was fixing one of the vans. Couldn’t leave the nut half on. Had to finish the job and there’s only me in today. Perks of being the boss, eh?’
‘Not a problem.’ He placed his private investigator’s licence on the counter. ‘I’m after some information. One of your drivers was delivering in Gallow Street on Monday. I’d like a few words with him.’
‘What about?’
Ross gave a sheepish shrug, attempting to charm the man. ‘A lost dog.’
‘A dog?’
‘I get all sorts of jobs like this. I’ve been asked to search for a missing pig before now.’
The man guffawed. Ross continued, ‘I’m hoping your driver might be able to tell me something useful. Maybe he saw the mutt running up the road or even someone dragging it away. The owner’s really upset. Dog means everything to her and her kids.’ He left it there. The man’s face had softened.
The man wiped his dirty brown hands on an equally filthy cloth, then fired up the computer. ‘Gallow Street, Monday.’ He clicked the mouse and sucked his teeth. ‘I don’t want to be giving out personal details to any old Tom, Dick or Harry.’
‘Or Ross.’ Ross’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. ‘I’m getting desperate and I want to be able to tell the owner I tried. It’s much more than an ordinary pooch. It’s one of those dogs that helps people with illnesses.’ He raised his eyebrows in a pleading fashion.
‘I know what you mean. Like one of them dogs that knows when a person is about to have a seizure. I saw a television programme about one. Marvellous, it was. Oh, all right.’ The man picked up Ross’s licence and read it. ‘Private investigator, eh?’
Ross smiled. ‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’
The man nodded and clicked at the mouse again.
‘Okay, Gary Sessions was in that area yesterday. He made a drop in Gallow Street.’
‘Any chance I could talk to Gary?’
‘He went to Buxton earlier. You should get him on his mobile, although the signal is lousy around there. I’ll give you his number.’
Ross pocketed the number. ‘Cheers. I’ll try him.’
‘No probs. Better get back to this broken van. Can’t have one of the fleet out of action for long.’ His mobile rang out. ‘Yeah, sure. Let me check.’ He wandered out the back leaving Ross alone. Ross leant across the desk to peer at the screen, which was still illuminated, and smiled. On it was a list of delivery drivers, with their addresses and contact details. Ross noted Gary’s home address and then left. His satnav showed that Gary Sessions only lived half a mile away.
Eighteen
DAY THREE – WEDNESDAY 18 JANUARY
‘Last night I had a dream I was Indian speed-dating. All the girls had brought their parents. It was less of a dream and more of a nightmare.’ Mitz raised his paper cup of tea and grinned amiably at his colleagues sitting in the office. He was the only single, eligible bachelor in the station. Robyn was constantly surprised by this fact. The only black mark against him as far as relationship material went was his dedication to his job. Hence he was in the station on his day off.
Robyn, who’d been feeling frustrated by the case, smiled. He had that effect on people. Mitz slid into his seat and instantly began typing. Robyn spun around in her chair and faced the whiteboard, then spun to her left and stared blankly at the window that today let in little light. Heavy clouds filled the sky and did nothing to lift her mood. She stood, straightened her leg to ease the ache in her hip and walked to the window, where she moved the slatted blinds and peered out onto the car park below. A squad car was departing. She watched it slide out into the busy street and turned back. Matt, David and Mitz were at their desks, separated by dividers to afford some privacy. The light-blue walls were bare apart from a noticeboard. Cupboards lined part of the back wall where the coffee machine had pride of place. Next to them, Anna was working silently on a computer. It was a sensible, functional space.
Matt Higham had his feet up on his desk. He tilted his head back and yawned widely. ‘My mother-in-law is proper scary. Ever since Poppy arrived, she’s around every five minutes telling us how to look after the kid. “Don’t do this. Do that. Make sure Poppy’s wearing a vest. You should use proper nappies, not these disposable ones.” Life was much quieter before Poppy.’
‘You think you have problems. You should meet mine. I think she was a velociraptor in another life,’ mumbled David. ‘What’s your mum like?’ he asked Anna.
‘Overbearing, grumpy and can’t abide fools. Much like me. Now, leave me alone. Unlike some of you, I have work to do.’
‘Somebody got out of bed the wrong side.’
Anna continued typing and growled, ‘Button it, David.’
David turned his attention to the contact list he was examining. Robyn returned to her notes. She had contacted Carrie’s mobile phone provider and ascertained that the last voice call made from the phone was on the twenty-eighth of July, the night she left home. The killer must have been using her phone to text Jade. He or she might even have been using it to update Carrie’s Facebook status. There had definitely been texts sent, but no calls.
Anna had accessed Carrie’s Facebook account and security settings and explained how they could work out the account holder’s locations from it. ‘If a device logs onto a network other than its usual one, the location will show up in the settings, although they tend to be approximate.’
The messages that were posted until December twentieth had all been sent from Derby, leaving Robyn to surmise that either Carrie or her phone had stayed in that area. Anna was now going through Carrie’s Facebook account to see if any more messages had been sent to other friends. She spoke as she typed. ‘I might be out on a limb here, but could Jade North have anything to do with this?’
Robyn pondered the possibility. ‘I’m going to add her to our list, Anna. She seemed genuinely distressed yesterday afternoon when I told her about Carrie, but you’re right about her living in Derby.’ She added Jade’s name to the board and thought about the girl with the badly dyed hair. She’d broken down eventually. Inconsolable with grief, her manager had driven her home. It was unlikely Jade was involved in Carrie’s death, but Robyn couldn’t ignore the fact she was the only person to have been in apparent contact with Carrie, and she lived in Derby. A door slammed in the distance and a familiar voice could be heard as Shearer approached her office. Matt sat up in his chair in anticipation, like a dog expecting its master.
Shearer marched in, phone clamped to one ear, left arm waving like an agitated conductor. ‘This is your last chance. Get this wrong and I’ll make sure I bang you up overnight with the meanest cellmate I can find.’ Robyn glanced in his direction. Sheare
r was wearing a smart black suit and a striped tie, his patent leather shoes shining.
He ended the call with a curt ‘Okay’ and spoke directly to Matt. ‘Our not-so-helpful Freddie the snitch reckons one of the dealers we’ve been chasing after is drinking in the Barley Mow at Milford. He says the bloke’s been there fifteen minutes or so. Apparently, he’s in jeans, dark-blue jacket and a BMW baseball cap. Get over there. I don’t think Freddie would dare to give us false info again.’
Matt and David leapt to their feet as one and hastened out of the office.
‘I’ll bloody murder that snitch if he’s stringing us along. I swear he’s involved with this whole drug thing. He’s laughing at us. I’m sick of following up false leads.’
Robyn looked over at him. ‘You seem somewhat overdressed for midweek, or police work, Tom.’
He picked at a speck of dust on his lapel and flicked it away. ‘Got to go to a funeral.’
‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’
‘Old schoolmate, Vaughn. We hadn’t seen each other for years, then after my divorce we got in touch online.’
Robyn’s eyebrows arched, two perfect semicircles. ‘You’re on Facebook?’
His nostrils flared as he snorted. ‘You’re kidding. No way. That’s not for me. I joined the Old Friends of Sandwell website. Vaughn saw my name on it and contacted me. We were best friends in those days. He was head prefect in our house in the sixth form.’
Anna’s head shot up from her screen. ‘Sandwell. You went to Sandwell?’
‘And what’s so strange about that? Can’t a copper have a private education?’
‘No, it wasn’t that. Just recently come across it.’
Shearer shrugged. ‘Spent some of my best days there. That was before life, work and divorce. This is my old school tie. I kept it to remind me that life wasn’t always shit.’ He held the green and grey tie gently between his fingers and gazed mournfully at it. ‘Best go. Funeral’s at twelve.’
Robyn felt a wave of sadness for the man. He wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but he’d suffered more than his fair share of disappointments. ‘You want to grab a drink later after work? I’m off shift at seven,’ she asked, aware of his powder-blue eyes studying her for a second.
Then he blinked. ‘Why not? I’ll come by the office.’ His mouth opened as if he wished to say more, then shut, and with a nod he turned and left.
Anna looked across at Robyn who held a finger up. ‘I felt sorry for him, okay?’
‘Whatever you say, boss.’
‘I’ve had a thought, based on what Shearer said – can you check Carrie’s school website, Fairline Academy, to see if they also have an online club for ex-pupils?’
‘Sure. I’ve been through her Facebook profile. She posted a message on her wall the day after she left home.’ Robyn rose to better see Anna’s screen.
‘It says, “I’m sick of all the negativity on Facebook and the stupid comments, so I’m giving it up. I’m not posting again here. I’ll let you all get on with your asinine comments and ridiculous posts. Don’t bother messaging me. I won’t reply. I’m moving on from here. It’s time for me to start a new life and leave this one behind.” She sounds really cheesed off.’
The word ‘asinine’ didn’t ring true to Robyn. That wasn’t language a teenager used, and certainly not one who’d up until then communicated using mainly emojis and text-speak. She’d posted all sorts of comments about celebrities, television shows she’d watched, and about how life was unfair. Tell me about it, Robyn thought. She’d uploaded endless selfies – pouting, thoughtful, tongue out – as well as pictures of fashionable shoes she lusted after, a heart-shaped tattoo she was thinking of having done, and lots of cordiform objects she’d come across. Robyn thought back to the girl’s bedroom. Carrie wasn’t as tough as she liked to convey.
Robyn studied the face of the pretty girl, arm around her friend Jade – a young woman brimming with confidence. Jade, even with her coloured hair, appeared dull by comparison, although seemingly content to be in the company of the girl with shining amber eyes, full lips and womanly curves. Carrie was more than pretty. The way she held her head up as if to challenge anyone looking at her added to her striking Mediterranean looks. Robyn felt an ache in her heart. The killer had destroyed this beautiful creature, a girl in her teens. The perp had let her friends think she was being a bit of a dick and neglecting them, when all the time she was hidden away, wrapped in a dense plastic sheet. A pulse quickened in Robyn’s temple. This murderer was not going to slip away from her. She would hunt them down and ensure justice for Carrie and her family.
‘Let me have a quick look.’ Robyn slipped into the seat Anna vacated, and speed-read through the posts for 2016. Carrie was a typical teenager when it came to Facebook and had almost six hundred friends, but until the last message she had written nothing to indicate she had been irritated by anyone on the site. Robyn scrolled back further and found a few posts about school and how lame it was. There was no mention of a boyfriend. Robyn stood up again, allowing Anna to reclaim her seat.
Robyn tapped the screen. ‘Print the page off and I’ll look at it again. If the murderer wrote it, it says quite a lot about him or her. He or she is not a fan of Facebook users and whatever they post. Is this a clue? Did he or she take umbrage at something Carrie wrote? Go back through all her posts and see if there’s anything else at all that might help us. Did she direct-message any friends other than Jade after she left home? Surely somebody who uses Facebook regularly would message lots of friends?’
Anna shook her head. ‘You’d think so, yet she only messaged three other girls. There’s Harriet Cornwell who’s an ex-Fairline Academy pupil; Siobhan Connors, she works at the Tesco supermarket in Uttoxeter; and the last is Amber Dalton, a schoolgirl at Sandwell. Hence my surprise when Shearer mentioned the place. I’d just been googling it.’
‘What a coincidence. What did those messages say?’
‘Here.’ Anna handed a printout and Robyn read them:
From Carrie Miller to Harriet Cornwell: I’ve had enough of my old life. I’m starting a new one so I won’t be around any more. I’ve met a really nice bloke and I’m moving on.
From Carrie Miller to Amber Dalton: You sound a lot like me. I hope we meet sometime soon.
From Carrie Miller to Siobhan Connors: You sound a lot like me. I hope we meet sometime soon.
They sounded stilted and strange to her ears. Not only were the last two messages identical, but none of them were as conversational as the messages sent to Jade North. Robyn was more certain than ever the killer had sent them. ‘When were they sent?’
‘A few days after she disappeared – the second of August,’ said Anna.
‘And nothing after that?’
Anna shook her head.
‘It’s most odd that Carrie only sent messages to these four. It only makes some sort of sense if we assume the killer sent the messages. Then we’re still left with the question why. Mitz, how are you getting on?’ Robyn asked.
Mitz twisted around in his chair. ‘Still running background checks on Mr Miller and his partner. I’ve found nothing suspicious so far. Got a call from the van driver, Karl London, who was at the self-storage warehouse the same day as Joanne Hutchinson. He’s coming in this afternoon to be interviewed.’
‘I’ll leave you to do the interview, if that’s okay. Anna, contact details for those girls, please, and talk to them immediately.’ She checked the list she had left on a desk of leads to follow up. ‘Anyone tracked down or talked to Carrie’s form teacher, Maneesh Shah?’
Anna looked up momentarily from her screen. ‘I rang him this morning. He said Carrie had underused potential. She was one of the class rebels, uncontrollable some days.’
‘So, Carrie was a wild child with a penchant for trouble.’ Robyn stared out of the window. Outside, a dark grey curtain of cloud had formed, making the day seem even more morbid. She rubbed her hip absent-mindedly. It didn’t hurt as much as earli
er but it was a sign that she wasn’t getting any younger.
‘I might talk to Mr Shah in person and see if he can come up with anything more.’ Robyn voiced her thoughts to no one in particular.
Mitz looked up at her and grinned. ‘Don’t be late back for your hot date with DI Shearer.’
Robyn made a growling noise. ‘If it were anyone else but you, I’d tell them to—’
‘Boss!’ Anna’s urgent tone stopped Robyn in mid-sentence. ‘There’s a misper out on one of our girls. Her parents reported her missing just over a week ago, on the eighth.’
‘Who?’
‘Amber Dalton, our Sandwell girl.’
Nineteen
Florence sat on the toilet seat in the cubicle and thumbed her screen. Hunter had messaged her and wanted to chat at three in the afternoon, during one of his work breaks. She hadn’t wanted to let on she was still at school, and couldn’t talk to him, nor had she wanted to put him off in case he didn’t invite her again, so she’d pleaded a stomach ache during an art lesson and told Miss Cousins she had ‘women’s troubles and cramps’. Miss Cousins was too timid to question the lie and excused the girl. She didn’t feel such a fraud as she hadn’t been able to eat any lunch, thanks to the anticipation of chatting with Hunter. What if he thought she was too stupid, or figured out she was only thirteen? She had managed to look convincing on her profile photo with the help of make-up, but it was another matter when talking to someone who was a fair bit older than herself.
