by Sarah Hilary
‘Not the first death on this estate this year, unless I’m wrong.’
‘Not even the first murder. A fatal stabbing back in January, and a drug overdose not long after that.’
‘I remember the overdose,’ Fran said. ‘Young boy, ten or eleven. Horrible waste of a life.’
They exited the tent. Most of the crowd had dispersed, but Abi Gull was keeping vigil with one of her friends. The third girl was gone. Abi had one foot wedged behind her on the wall, paint-stripper stare aimed at the crime scene. The sort of girl who didn’t miss a trick. Marnie wondered how much she’d seen of what had happened here between 9 p.m. and 1 a.m., whether she could be coaxed into sharing whatever knowledge was sealed behind her tight lips.
‘She looks friendly,’ Fran murmured. ‘If looks could kill, I’d be doing your post-mortem next.’
‘She’s in good company. I doubt there’s anyone here who sees us in a good light, and that includes the pensioner being terrorised by our friendly neighbourhood arsonist over there. A deficit of trust all round. And much too much paranoia.’
‘I remember hearing a pregnant mother on the news,’ Fran said, ‘from an estate like this. It might even have been this one. Saying how she despaired of having another daughter, knowing what was in store for her. Sons are no better, I imagine. Drugs, violence, aimless crime. No future, as the tabloid headlines would have it. But in some ways the girls have it worst. They learn to lie and accuse and seduce. No tricks they don’t know and won’t use – that was the gist of the mother’s story. You see girls like that one,’ looking towards Abi, ‘and you know she’s right. How old would you say she is? The same age as our victim?’
‘Younger,’ Marnie said. ‘She’s only thirteen.’
The same age as Loz. Abi’s hardness didn’t look like an act, but Marnie was wary of buying it wholesale. On a place like the Garrett, everyone assumed a disguise. Survival camouflage, adapt or die. Those photos on the whiteboard … Ashleigh blowing a kiss for the camera. May, sweetly demure. Had the killer seen through the disguises? Or was it the disguise that attracted him? Lost girls, their identities already corroded. Easy to dominate, easy to control. Was that how he chose them, why he chose them? Girls like that would always want a place to hide, and there were so many different ways to do that. By staying behind bolted doors like Emma Tarvin, or strutting with a gang like Abi Gull. Easy to imagine that Abi wasn’t scared of anything, but Marnie had worn the same disguise when she was thirteen, reinventing herself, refusing to examine too closely the girl she was becoming. Hiding from everyone, even herself.
Abi Gull didn’t move from the wall where she was propped, watching Marnie’s approach through slitted eyes. Her mate stayed nearby, trying to match Abi’s disdain but failing, her mouth a nervous pout when Marnie produced her badge.
‘Detective Inspector,’ Abi read. ‘You’re the boss, then. Seen you on the seventh floor.’
‘You’ve got sharp eyes. Did you see anything this morning, or last night?’
‘What, like a murderer?’ Contempt sing-songing her voice. ‘Like a dead body?’
‘Exactly like that.’ Marnie put the badge away.
‘Just you lot putting up that marquee like it’s party time over there. Who was she anyway?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘I heard she was naked,’ Abi’s friend said.
Abi shot her a look of undiluted contempt. ‘Shut up.’
‘You’re Abigail Gull.’ Marnie nodded at the other girl. ‘Are you Natalie Filton?’
‘Yeah.’ Colouring. ‘And?’
‘Where did you hear she was naked?’
‘Nowhere.’ Dropping her eyes to the tarmac. ‘I made it up.’
‘Yeah, you did.’ Abi looked at Marnie. ‘Was it drugs?’ A new edge in her voice. Was Abi dealing, or taking drugs herself?
Marnie shook her head. ‘We don’t think it was drugs.’
‘So she was killed.’
‘Yes.’ The straight answers made an impression; Marnie saw the girl sizing her up properly. ‘If you’ve seen any strangers, it would be useful to know.’
‘Everyone round here’s a stranger.’ Abi flicked a finger at her ponytail. ‘No one gives a shit about anyone else. Not even your mates.’
Natalie bit her lip, but didn’t speak.
‘Seriously. I could drop dead of an overdose and not one of them would bat an eyelid. That cow on the seventh floor would throw a party in your marquee. Tea and biscuits, bitch.’
‘Mrs Tarvin keeps an eye on what happens here. She told us she’d seen a girl two nights ago. A stranger. Red hair, wearing a white shirt. Did you see her?’
They shook their heads, no hint of deception in either girl’s face. Abi said, ‘If you’re taking witness statements from that cow, you’re desperate.’
‘I’ll take a statement from anyone with anything to tell me.’ Marnie handed the girls her card. ‘Keep in touch. And stay safe.’
At the station, Noah handed Marnie the paperwork he’d uncovered. ‘Ashleigh was in the care of Children’s Services when she ran. Her mother and stepfather weren’t able to cope with her at home. She was getting into trouble at school, and with the police. With everyone, as far as I can tell.’
‘So they put her into care?’
‘It was what Ashleigh wanted, according to Children’s Services. They’d tried curfews, cautions; nothing worked. She ran away from home more than once. The last time she said if they made her go back, she’d burn the place down.’ Noah rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘She accused her stepfather of abuse, but there was no evidence to support it, no charges brought. Her mother sided with the stepfather, said Ashleigh was out of control, acting up. Her mum was seven months pregnant at the time, felt she couldn’t cope with Ashleigh and the new baby. Everyone seems to have breathed a sigh of relief when she was taken into care.’
‘Until she ran away. How did her parents react when that happened?’
‘They made an appeal for Ashleigh to get in touch, but the baby was born prematurely and he takes up a lot of their time. They were in the hospital with him most of the first month when Ashleigh was missing. He’s been in and out for operations ever since. Ashleigh’s the least of their worries, that’s the impression I was given by Children’s Services.’
‘When she went missing – that was the first time she’d run away since going into care?’
‘Yes, but she didn’t hang around. Two months after they took her in, she was gone. No clue as to where, no text messages to friends, no contact with anyone in the family or at school. Her social worker said that was unusual. Ashleigh was always texting someone or other.’
‘But they’re sure she ran, no reason to suspect she was snatched?’
‘She took her make-up and clothes. A suitcase job, not a stroll out.’ Noah pointed to the relevant page in the paperwork. ‘Police questioned the stepdad and mum. Interviews at the school, at the care home. All procedures followed to the letter. A couple of CCTV sightings, then nothing. No more text messages, her phone out of service. Just like May Beswick.’
Not quite like May, whose photogenic blondeness had made her headline news. Marnie couldn’t remember a single press story about Ashleigh’s disappearance.
‘What about her biological father?’
‘He was never married to her mum. Army man, posted overseas a lot. Ashleigh had no contact with him. The stepdad came on the scene when she was twelve. They never hit it off, although it looks like he tried to make it work. All the reports say he’s a decent guy doing his best. Children’s Services found no risk of harm in the home other than the pressure Ashleigh’s behaviour was putting on her mum at a vulnerable time in her pregnancy.’
‘Where were the CCTV sightings after she went missing from the care home?’
‘Liverpool Street station. Then Camden. Once they knew she was in London, Misper got pessimistic about the chances of finding her. She looked like a classic case, probably on the streets, one of tens
of thousands of kids who run away from home every year … What did Fran say?’
‘Superficial similarities to May. The bruises, mostly. She’ll be in touch as soon as she knows more.’ Her phone buzzed: Sean Beswick.
‘Mr Beswick. How are you?’
‘We didn’t know.’ May’s father sounded shattered. ‘We didn’t. Everything we told you was the truth – what we thought was the truth.’
‘What’s happened?’ Marnie reached for her coat. ‘Mr Beswick?’
‘Drawings, we found more drawings. I can’t … Not over the phone. Can you come round? It’s not … We know you have to see these, but they’re not right. It’s not right. I’m sorry. We didn’t know, we really didn’t. Loz says … but we didn’t. Me and Kat. We didn’t know.’
Marnie nodded at Noah. ‘We’re on our way.’
26
The house in Taybridge Road was overexposed, a blaze of light from every window.
Marnie remembered burning electricity like this at her parents’ house, wanting to bleach the smell and stains left by Stephen. She climbed from the car with Noah, checking her phone for messages from Fran. Nothing yet.
Sean answered the door, his face crooked with grief and this fresh worry. ‘Thanks for getting here so quickly.’ Glancing across his shoulder at the stairs. ‘Come in.’
When they were standing in the hall, Marnie saw Loz sitting at the head of the stairs in her school uniform, elbows on her knees. ‘Hello.’
Loz looked through her, at Noah.
‘She should be in school,’ Sean said, ‘but we didn’t want to take her in, not today.’
Noah and Marnie followed him through to the kitchen, where Katrina was sitting, gripping a mug of tea between her hands. Like Sean’s, her face was redrawn with worry, the morning’s make-up in lines under her eyes. Dressed for work in a red jacket over a black dress, statement necklace, bracelets, heels. Lipstick on the mug, a scum of tannin on the surface of the cold tea. Her hands looked raw, a gold watch hanging at her left wrist. ‘You’d better sit down.’
On the table was a heavy wire-bound sketchpad with a yellow and black tiger on the cover. May’s parents looked at it fearfully. Marnie pulled out a chair and sat, Noah taking the seat at her side. She drew the pad towards them and opened it, turning the pages.
Thick paper, chalk-white, smudged with grey. May had used charcoals and pencils, filling the pad with sketches. Anatomical at first glance, but they weren’t just that. Graphic, certainly. Close-ups of mouths, breasts, male and female genitalia. Sex acts, almost too intimate to look at. May hadn’t meant these to be seen by just anyone, certainly not by her parents or the police.
‘Where did you find this?’
The silence in the kitchen was underscored by the sound of cracking from the freezer, ice breaking somewhere inside.
Marnie raised her gaze from the sketchpad to see Katrina covering her eyes with her hand. Sean shook his head, numbly. ‘Loz found it, in her room. Hidden, in her room.’
‘I didn’t hide it.’ Loz was in the doorway, scuffing her toes at the kitchen floor. ‘May did. But she never told me.’ Her voice was tight with tears.
‘Where in your room did she hide it?’ Noah asked.
‘Behind my plushies, on the top shelf.’
‘Toys she collected,’ her dad said, ‘when she was a kid.’ As if she was an adult now.
‘You say you didn’t know May had hidden it, but had you seen it before?’
Loz shook her head, biting at her lower lip where the skin was chapped and sore.
Under Marnie’s fingers, the thick wire of the sketchpad was furred by torn paper, discarded pages. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, as gently as she could.
‘Duh. I’d remember seeing that.’ Keeping her eyes away from the table where the sketchpad was sitting open. She sounded, for the first time, like a child.
Noah turned another page. More of the same. And something new.
A tunnel, lit by rectangular boxes mounted along both walls. A subway? Bodies sleeping on the floor, faces turned to the wall, graffiti over their heads: Fearz in chroma yellow; Rents in neon pink. At the edge of the page, May had sketched a face inside a hoody, all eyes and mouth.
‘Is this a real place?’ Noah looked at May’s parents. ‘Do you recognise it?’
They shook their heads.
‘It could be anywhere, couldn’t it? Not somewhere we’d want the girls to go, obviously. We warned them about taking subways, and that’s … She’s drawn that after dark. She can’t have been in a place like that after dark.’ Sean kept his eyes away from the sketchpad. ‘But perhaps she was. We couldn’t believe the rest of it. Can’t believe it. She didn’t even have a boyfriend.’
‘We’ve had the first results from the post-mortem.’ Marnie waited, to give them the chance to say that Loz shouldn’t hear this. They didn’t speak, staring mutely at her. ‘May was seven weeks pregnant when she died.’
It visibly rocked Sean. Katrina dropped her hands to the table, studying her bracelets as if they were handcuffs. Her throat convulsed, soundlessly.
‘She was … raped?’ Fury under the shock in Sean’s voice. ‘He raped her?’
‘We don’t know the identity of the father. There was no evidence of assault.’
‘No evidence? You’ve just told us she was pregnant! What more evidence do you need?’
‘The father may not be the killer.’ Marnie put her hand on the sketchpad. ‘I know you’ve said May didn’t have a boyfriend, but in the light of these …’
‘She was an artist. Just because she could draw, you’re calling her a whore?’
‘No. Absolutely not.’ He’d chosen the same word May had written in the palms of her hands. ‘I’m just asking if it’s possible she was seeing someone you didn’t know about.’
Katrina twisted her wedding ring on her finger. ‘It’s possible.’ She looked at Marnie, then at her husband. Finally, blindly, at Loz. ‘It must be.’
Sean shook his head, white-lipped.
‘We knew something was wrong,’ Katrina said. ‘We just didn’t know what. She’d stopped talking to us. It was like having a ghost in the house. We thought … She was growing up. Of course she was growing up, but we thought … Friends. Outside interests, maybe a little teenage rebellion. Yes, it could’ve been that.’ Sean had made a sound of protest. ‘They grow up so suddenly. I don’t mean physically. Just … one day they’re there and the next they’re not. We lost her. Somehow.’ She turned her hands up empty on the table. ‘We lost hold of her.’ She covered her eyes again.
‘And you can’t think of anyone she might have been seeing? None of these faces is familiar?’ Marnie kept her hand on the pad. ‘Or anywhere she might have gone. To this subway, perhaps?’
They shook their heads.
‘Loz … do you know where this might be? Do you recognise it?’
‘No.’ Loz didn’t look at the sketch.
‘And you don’t recognise any of the people?’
Loz shook her head fiercely, still biting her lips. The face at the edge of the page was young. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. It was hard to look away from the stare. May had captured all the arrogance of a teenage runaway, a poster child for Shelter. In the larger sketch: ragged grass at the mouth of the subway, graffiti tags. ‘Did May talk about meeting homeless people in a place like this?’
‘She never talked to me about stuff like that.’
‘Why do you think she hid this in your room?’ Noah asked. ‘Rather than her room?’
‘You didn’t search my room when she went missing. I guess that’s why.’
‘That would mean she planned to leave.’
‘She didn’t.’ Katrina took her hands away from her face. ‘If she planned it, why didn’t she take more things? A bag, clothes – anything. It wasn’t planned, it can’t have been.’
Before Marnie could respond, Noah said, ‘Look at this.’
He’d turned to a new page in the pad.
Another
face, in close-up.
Female, pouting.
Distinctive crook in her nose.
Gold hoops through the fleshy lobes of her ears.
Ashleigh Jewell.
27
Aimee
My fingers burned from working at the wire. I’d got it half free from the sketchpad, but it was taking too long. I had to work under the covers, in the bed.
Funny to think I’d been good at this shit once. Sneaking around, watching out for myself. Now I was no use to anyone. Harm didn’t want me to be good at anything except being sick. Just like my mum when I was little. Home sick home.
Christie was keeping an eye on me. Coming right up to the bed. I heard her breathing, watching me pretending to sleep. Just as I was starting to think she knew I was awake, she’d go away. But she waited longer and longer. I’d thought it was only him I had to worry about. Now it was her too, and she’d come from the streets so she knew all the tricks. Harm was never on the streets, not living on the streets. He’d grown up in a nice house with a nice family, not that it meant anything. It hadn’t meant anything to May. She’d been safe, she’d said, at home with her family. She’d loved her little sister. She just couldn’t live there. Sometimes you just can’t.
The wire bruised my fingers. I sucked them to get the feeling back.
I’d decided to try and take a knife, at supper.
It was just the three of us now. Me and them.
Ashleigh was gone.
I hadn’t thought I’d miss her, but I did. Missed the camouflage, the way she’d drawn Harm’s stare from me. I missed her tits. I’d been in awe of her tits. They’d been a big fuck-off to that make-believe crap, the game we were playing. Dressing like schoolgirls, swallowing his shit. Her tits had been a flag for the real world, whatever was going on out there, away from him.
I couldn’t steal a knife. He was too careful in the kitchen. May tried to steal food when she first had cravings, but he’d got it all locked down. He watched us, or Christie did.
More and more, it was Christie who watched. Harm went out, sometimes for hours, but she never left. I heard her creaking on the stairs and it used to be okay, but then she’d started coming inside my room. Right up to the bed. Her eyes on me, watching me pretending to sleep.
