by Nic Roberts
Tim had brought them two piping mugs along with the initial research they had done on Gareth Finch. His birth certificate stated that he was forty-two years old—Marjorie Hebden had been right to suspect an age gap. Back in his early twenties, he was fined for a few pub brawls, but his record trailed off by the time he was thirty-seven. Right before he met Ella, Olivia noted.
His social media profile picture depicted a rather skeevy, lawyer-type man with a strong jaw and dark eyes. His dark blonde hair was trimmed to perfection, and he sported a clean-shaven face. His smile seemed unbecoming, something Liv would expect to see a fox wear before he snatched up a young fawn for dinnertime. It was clear to her that he always expected to get what he wanted. Including Ella.
According to LinkedIn, he worked in finance. Investment portfolios. So, he’s well-off; Maj was right again, Olivia thought to herself. Maybe they’d have to see if she was interested in any consulting work after this case—she seemed to have a knack for sniffing out inconsistencies.
She won’t want to be anywhere near uniformed officers after all of this, Liv thought to herself. There must be something wrong with you. You decided to come back to the Force so eagerly, a tiny voice in her head taunted.
“Alright, are you ready?” DI Lawrence asked, snapping Liv out of her reverie. He held headphones up to one ear. They had agreed it was best Olivia took the lead. It would give them a better feel for how Gareth felt about women—and subsequently, Ella.
Liv sucked in a quick breath, holding it trapped in her mouth for a second. You can do this, she told herself.
“Let’s go,” she sighed, dialling Gareth’s number and pressing record on their machine.
After four rings, he picked up.
“Hello?” His voice was scratchy, as if he’d just woken up.
“I’m calling for Gareth Finch.” Olivia spoke with a cool, measured tone. The less she let her emotions control the conversation, the more that Gareth would tip the scale towards one direction or the other.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he responded. He seemed unfazed by the rogue call.
“Brilliant, Gareth,” Olivia responded, allowing her voice to slip into its more chipper octave. Project calmness. Then hit him with the questions. “This is Detective Inspector Olivia Austin with Devon and Cornwall Police. Do you have a minute?”
There was a pause.
“Um. Sure,” he answered. “I’m out in London, though. I think you must have the wrong Gareth Finch.”
Lawrence rose his eyebrow at Olivia. How on earth was this man acting as though he had no connection to the said area?
“I believe you’re the correct person for us to be contacting,” Liv responded. “Have the Metropolitan police visited you today?”
She let concern waft over her voice. Let’s see if he lets on about knowing too much, she thought to herself as she locked eyes with Lawrence again. He was nodding, a gentle smile hiding at the corner of his lips. At least he wasn’t a backseat interview driver.
“I—They have, yes. What is this about?” Gareth’s voice was brusque, demanding. He was angry. “Ella? Are you calling about Ella?”
Olivia rubbed her forehead. It struck her as odd. The connection should have been obvious to him. If your girlfriend was missing, why act so guarded?
“We’re sorry to be calling you at such a difficult time,” she continued. “I know you must have a lot of questions regarding her disappearance.”
Olivia wondered for a moment if the line had gone dead.
“What do you mean, disappearance?” Gareth demanded. The anger that had coated his voice in his earlier comment had transformed to full-blown rage. “I was under the impression that she’d run away from home.”
He sounded pissed off, there was no doubt about that.
Olivia leaned into Lawrence and whispered in his ear, asking what the Met had been briefed to say.
“Told that she didn’t come home,” he hissed back. “Just continue as normal.”
She took a deep breath, nodded and unmuted him.
“Mr Finch,” she started. “Ella, never arrived at her parents’ house last night, and this morning they discovered that…” Olivia struggled to find the tact for her statement. The thought crossed her mind that she should keep it vague. Better to be upfront, she decided. “Ella’s severed finger was posted to Mr and Mrs Hebden.”
“Her what?” Gareth exploded at that news.
Shit! Olivia pressed mute and glared at her partner.
“I can’t tell if he genuinely didn’t know or he’s fucking with us,” she groaned. “We need to speak to a detective in London to go over what was said.”
She couldn’t distinguish rage from confusion at this point.
“Mr Finch, I—”
“Don’t ‘Mr Finch’ me, Detective whatever your name is!” he snapped. “You’re calling to tell me that my girlfriend’s finger was posted to her parents? And I’m just now hearing about this?! The incompetence of you people! Expect a full complaint. My cousin’s a copper. I know you’re supposed to break this news in person.”
Olivia sighed with exasperation. She was well familiar with this kind of rage; Gareth felt that if he yelled enough, perhaps he could somehow change the past. Especially if he diverted blame. She was almost certain that her colleagues had informed him of everything they were supposed to. This had to be a ruse to keep the heat on them and not him.
“May I speak?” she asked, not allowing herself to fall for his trap. She brought her voice even lower in response to Gareth’s escalation, so it was barely above a whisper. Something—maybe glass—shattered in the background of the phone call. Glancing up at Lawrence. She could tell he was just as concerned as she was at the outburst. She raised an eyebrow at him, trying to read his face. He shrugged his shoulders in response.
After several moments of laboured breathing on the other end of the line, Gareth spoke again. This time his voice was dangerously low. Admitting defeat, perhaps?
“Do you know who’s done this?” he asked.
Olivia sighed.
“That’s why we’re calling you, sir. We’re trying to find Ella, and we thought you may be able to answer some questions.” Another pause. She gave it a second. “It would help us a lot if you could come down to the station here in Newquay. I can have my team give you directions and reimburse you for your travel, but the more we’re able to work together, the faster we can hopefully find Ella. I know you want to help us find her, Mr Finch.”
This was a difficult needle to thread. Be too blunt and Gareth may evade the authorities. If she was too generous, he’d get cocky. She wanted him just slightly on edge—enough that if he was indeed the kidnapper, he’d slip up.
“Listen, I can’t just drop everything and come down to Peterly,” he answered eventually. The apparent anger at ‘not being told’ had disappeared suddenly. Got you! “I have work I need to finish, plans I can’t just cancel last minute!”
Olivia did her best not to scoff in disgust.
“I thought you’d be concerned enough for your girlfriend of three years that you could at least come and help search for her,” she shot back. Play to his honour. Hold his own emotional outburst about Ella as an ante in the gamble. Olivia knew the nudge she had given him would either go very well or very poorly.
“Let me call my boss and then I’ll hop on the train. And—”
If Olivia hadn’t known better, she’d almost have thought he was holding back a small sob. He was certainly a performer of all his emotions; that much was obvious.
“If Ella’s out there,” he continued, “I’ll help you find her. I told her going home right now wasn’t a good idea.”
He muttered that last part under his breath, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Why not?” Olivia prodded, a bit perplexed at the comment.
“It’s complicated,” he answered. “But I know she’s safe when she’s home with me in London. I don’t trust other men around her, Detective. She’s a beauti
ful woman. Now she’s gone off and gotten herself into trouble.” Gareth swore. “Where should I meet you?” he asked.
Lawrence rested a hand on her arm, reminding her to hold her sharp tongue at his last comment.
“My colleague, DC Harris, will go over logistics with you,” she resigned instead. “I look forward to meeting you in person, Mr Finch. I’m sorry it’s under such grave circumstances.” Olivia waved Tim over to the table. “But we’ll speak soon,” she promised.
“Indeed,” he huffed, at which point she handed the phone over to DC Harris, who picked up the conversation seamlessly. She nodded her head over to the door; Lawrence scooped up his files to follow her out of the interview room.
Her head swam with more questions than answers.
“So, what do you think?” she asked, glancing back towards the room before initiating a walk towards their office space. They needed to check in with Det Supt Collins soon.
“He’s got anger issues, that’s certain,” Lawrence observed with a gentle shake of his head. “And his accusation of not being told in person was completely fake.”
“Yes, agreed on both. But is he our kidnapper?” Olivia asked, playing the conversation over again in her mind. There was something off about his reaction. Then again, everyone coped with trauma differently; Olivia knew that better than anyone. Did he pretend he didn’t know because his lack of concern was evident?
“He didn’t say anything definitive that would make me feel strongly one way or the other,” Lawrence explained. “He definitely didn’t like the idea of coming down, and he acted a bit evasive, but I don’t know if that’s enough to condemn him to certain guilt.”
“I agree,” Olivia breathed as they entered their office. She set her things down then sank into her chair with a heavy sigh, lifting her feet out of her court shoes to ease the pressure. “I’ll want a transcript of that recording. And more importantly, I’ll want to interview him once he’s here.”
Gareth’s photo stared up at Olivia from her desk, his dark eyes mocking her, challenging her to dare question him. What must Ella’s home life with him have been like. Fiery? Was she going back to her parents’ house to get away from any domestic violence under his hand?
“You think he did it?” Lawrence asked, catching on to Olivia’s contemptuous gaze at the photograph.
She bit the corner of her lip, not quite out of her moment of contemplation.
“I think he’s definitely wronged her in some way; an anger like that’s got no business in a domestic relationship,” Olivia quipped. “As for guilt… I wouldn’t put it past him. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he did it though. Just that violence is in him.”
“No, I understand your angle.” Lawrence sighed, running his hands through his hair as he leant back on his chair with his face tilted up to the office’s strobe lighting. “With everything going on, I’m going to hazard a guess that we’re not going home anytime soon.”
Olivia picked the photo up and moved it around in her fingers to catch Mr Finch’s face in the light that streamed in through the window to her right.
“Not at all,” she agreed, standing up abruptly to get the image of a weak, bloodied, and helpless Ella out of her mind. “Now, let’s touch base with Collins.”
6
Silence weighed heavily inside the car. Olivia and Dean’s meeting with Det Supt Collins had just revealed more of the same news: no search party had been able to determine Ella’s whereabouts, and although they were making headway on establishing a clear timeline for the night of her disappearance, they were far from any answers that held the potential to save this young woman—assuming she had survived the incident that had resulted in the loss of her finger.
They were still working on gaining access to her social media profiles, and they still had a few leads to follow up on. Still, there was precious time slipping away and no real picture of what had happened to Ella Hebden.
Collins had called Olivia in for the case at 7 a.m. Her watch now read 11.30 a.m. Key hours gone by without any real hint as to where the young woman had disappeared to off that country lane.
She released a long breath that had been building up in her chest and rested her head in her hand, elbow propped up against the car’s window.
She watched two officers laugh as they headed to their patrol car and another retrieving something from their boot.
She sensed Lawrence glance at her.
“We’ll find her,” he whispered. Despite the doubt in his voice, Olivia appreciated his attempt to comfort her. She looked over to him, the corner of her lips feebly attempting to lift into a smile. He was so steady in his look towards her that for a moment she felt as if he could be right. For all their differences, he really was a great work partner.
And finding her was what she had every intention of doing. Back when she’d worked for the CoLP, she’d been known for never giving up. ‘It’s part of your charm’, her old partner had told her. And he’d also said how if anything ever went wrong, he’d want to have her in his corner. Pity she failed him on that.
No. She wasn’t going down that route now. It only ever led her to a dark place, and for Ella’s sake, she had to keep her head fully above water.
“Let’s get going,” she sighed, glancing over at the new notes Tim had handed off to her and Dean as they left the building, along with sandwiches and crisps in two brown paper bags. A light pink sticky note on top of the stack of papers stated MR FINCH GRABBING 3 P.M. TRAIN FROM LONDON. ARRIVING AT 8.30 P.M. That was something. They had about nine hours before their key suspect arrived.
Lawrence nodded his head.
“Yes ma’am,” he responded with eyebrows raised. “Medical examiner’s office first, then Kitty Allen’s flat?”
It was more of a confirmation than an actual question; they had agreed with Det Supt Collins that they should check in with the M.E. to see if he had any more insight on Ella’s dismembered finger before interviewing her best friend.
Olivia gave a curt nod and the car rumbled to life as Lawrence turned the key in the ignition, slow and steady. That was how they were going to catch this predator. Not by getting frenzied and burning out, but by remaining steadfast in their search.
She pulled out her phone as Lawrence guided the car from HQ and turned onto the road and dialled the officer stationed at the Hebden’s.
“Hello?” asked a wary, feminine voice.
“Hello? Yes, this is Detective Inspector Austin,” she answered, settling the brown paper lunch bags into the footwell of the car. “I’m working on the case along with DI Lawrence.”
“Hello, Detectives.” The voice came back. It was often a thankless task sat in your car watching the world roll past while you waited for something—anything—to happen.
“Has there been any developments?” Olivia asked, looking out over the Cornish landscape. “No visitors? Postmen? Deliveries?”
There was the sound of rustling on the other end.
“All’s quiet here,” the officer affirmed. “Mr Hebden put some rubbish out, and that’s all I’m afraid. Don’t worry, I’ll phone if there’s anything unusual. Would that be okay?”
Olivia’s thought of dear Clive still doing his domestic duties warmed her a little. That was how life went. Your daughter could have gone missing, but the bins still needed emptying. Life still went on.
“Yes, that’s quite alright,” she responded and shifted in her seat. “Do you think you could do me a favour while you’re out there, please?”
“Yes, ma’am?” the officer answered, her voice a bit fuzzy through the phone. Olivia could hear her apprehension.
“Could you sit outside the driveway and take note of all the cars that pass by for the next hour or so. Make and model, as well as the times they go by. When you change shifts, if you could jot down any cars you see in driveways along the lane as well, that would be great. A quiet lane like that, there ought to be a limited number of drivers.” There was a pause on the other end of the lin
e. “Is that alright?”
“Certainly, ma’am,” she responded. It sounded as though she was writing everything down intently. “I’ll keep a log and make sure it’s left at HQ.”
“Thank you, Officer…” Olivia trailed off.
“Hershel,” the woman replied. “Officer Hershel.”
Her name sounded familiar. Hadn’t she heard rumours through the force linking Dean with a ‘Hershel’? She looked over at DI Lawrence, but his expression remained blank. Perhaps not.
“Looking forward to hearing back from you, Officer Hershel,” Olivia offered, trying to infuse her voice with a touch of warmth. She wasn’t sure it translated. Hershel gave a gentle hum of agreement before disconnecting her line.
Lawrence gave her an expectant look.
“I’m trying to get to know the team,” she explained, trying to muster a similarly wry glance. “I want them to know that I’m entirely approachable.”
Dean laughed as he raised his hand in thanks to a car that flashed him out.
“You’re not exactly a lion, Austin,” he mused. “Besides, Hershel’s a good worker. I get the feeling she’ll be rising through the ranks in no time. “Once she gets over her stage fright, anyway.” He added the last part nonchalantly, but it made Olivia wonder if perhaps the rumours were true.
On the first day that she’d been assigned to work with Detective Inspector Dean Lawrence, one of her other colleagues who worked in the Newquay Police Station had told her to guard her heart and keep it well away from him. That warning had always stuck with her. Not because she was ever at risk of falling victim to his charm, but because the Dean she knew seemed completely oblivious to his reputation. It couldn’t possibly be true.
They pulled into the car park of the M.E.’s office without another word, moving in sync towards the quaint brick building which housed the office of Newquay’s sole medical examiner. They breezed past the door and started down a hallway that Lawrence seemed to know by heart. Olivia attempted to keep her steps confident as they matched his.
It was only going to be a brief visit, and a phone call would have easily sufficed, but as her partner had told her on the way over, a personal visit was the way he’d managed to build up a such a strong rapport with everyone who helped the team.
