by K. J. Frost
I look down at her. “Thank you for your help,” I repeat evasively and she nods her head slowly, just as Thompson walks up to me. We go to move away, when another car parks up, and I see Doctor Wyatt descend, a dark expression on his face.
Thompson and I wait for the doctor and then we start walking further into the park before I turn to them.
“It’s her,” I say.
The doctor swears under his breath. “I’ve been waiting for this call,” he adds in a louder voice. “Even though I hoped I’d never get it.”
“Well, it’s not pretty. So prepare yourself.”
Thompson looks up at me, but I don’t elaborate and we walk on in silence until we reach the shed. Tooley steps to one side, allowing the doctor entrance to the building and I decide to give him some space and freedom to do his job. In any case, I’m in no hurry to see the girl’s body again.
“How did it go at the bank?” I ask Thompson, while we’re waiting.
“Easy,” he replies. “The money was ready. Mr Sanderson just had to sign for it, not that it matters now.”
“Like hell it doesn’t.” He glances up at me. “Just because Amy’s dead doesn’t mean we’re not still going to make the drop tonight. Whoever sent that note could still turn up – assuming it was a hoax in the first place, which I was always rather inclined to think it was. And if they do, I’m going to come down on them like a ton of bricks.”
He nods. “I take it the family don’t know yet? I mean, I left Sanderson to go into the house by himself once Beresford had given me the message to come down here… But does Mrs Sanderson know?”
I shake my head. “No. She was still in bed when I left, and I told Beresford not to inform anyone and that we’d go back there later on.” Thompson nods. “We can’t be long though. I think those people by the gates have already guessed what’s going on, and the last thing we need is for the rumour mill to start.”
The doctor appears at the doorway, carrying his hat in his hand, the shock obvious on his face.
“It looks like the cause of death was a blow to the back of the head,” he says.
“Not exposure then?” That had been my first thought on seeing her.
“No. There’s a contusion…” He puts his free hand behind his own head, indicating the place of the wound, I assume.
“Any idea of the weapon?”
“No. I’d say she’s been here for several days.”
“So since the day she disappeared?”
“Well, I can’t be sure about that, but probably. It fits.” He pauses. “And she’s been sexually assaulted.”
Thompson swears more loudly and with a great deal more profanity than the doctor did.
“Before or after death?” I ask.
“I can’t say for sure yet, but if you wanted me to guess, I’d say after.”
I nod my head, despite the nausea that’s sweeping through my body, as I wonder which is worse. Clearly if it was after death, she’d have known nothing about it, which has to be a blessing. But what kind of person could do that? “Let me know as soon as possible, will you?”
“Of course. Can I take the body?”
“Give me fifteen minutes.” He raises his eyebrows in question. “I want to get back to the family and break the news to them before you remove the body from here. Once you do that, the news will break like wildfire.”
“Very well,” he says and checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
I turn to Tooley. “Walk with me.”
I can’t afford to waste time, being as we’re now on the clock and he steps up beside me, with Thompson a pace behind. “Once Wyatt has removed the body, I want that shed stripped,” I tell him. “Remove everything from it… and I mean everything. And then get all of it to Prentice. Tell him I want it all checked for prints. And for traces of blood.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then I want a fingertip search done of the entire area.”
He glances around the park, which now resembles a muddied field. “Right…”
“I know it’s a big task, but we’re looking for the murder weapon. And for the little girl’s underwear. It wasn’t on the body.”
He gulps. “Y—Yes, sir. I’ll get right onto it.”
“Are you alright?” I ask him and he nods just as we part company at the park gates and Tooley speaks to one of the constables on duty, while Thompson and I make our way back to the car in silence.
Once inside, he turns to me. “Did you know?” he asks.
“Know what?”
“About the sexual assault.”
“Yes. Well… I assumed. Her underwear had been removed.”
“You checked?” He’s shocked.
“I didn’t need to, Harry. Her dress had been pulled up.”
He nods. “Sorry.”
He goes to start the car, but I put my hand on his arm. “Are you going to be okay with this?” I ask him.
“With what?”
“With her being a child… and what’s been done to her.”
“It’s no worse for me than it is for you,” he reasons and switches on the engine.
“Except you have a child and a pregnant wife. And I don’t. It’s more… personal for you.”
He looks across at me. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if you’re not, I’d rather you said. Or just made yourself scarce.”
He doesn’t reply, but simply nods his head.
Mr Sanderson is sitting in the drawing room, and Lois shows us in immediately upon our arrival, having taken our hats and left them in the hallway. I’m surprised to find his wife is there with him. She looks up as we enter and then goes back to staring out of the window again – her usual pose, it seems.
“Where did you go?” Sanderson asks Thompson.
“He came to find me,” I reply, moving into the room and standing in a space that’s roughly between the two of them, as I did on the first day I met them. Thompson hangs back, close to the sideboard. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Mrs Sanderson turns and looks up at me. “Amy?” she says, speaking to me for the first time since our conversation about David Cooke.
“Yes.”
“What is it?” Her husband stands, moving closer. “Is she…? Have you found her?”
“Yes. I’m afraid she’s dead.” I can’t think of another way of putting it, and dressing it up with pretty words won’t make it any easier to hear.
Mrs Sanderson blinks and then tears start to fall silently down her cheeks, and even though she’s clutching a handkerchief in her hand, she doesn’t do anything with it. She just lets the tears flow.
“Are you sure it’s her?” Sanderson says, his desperation obvious.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“But it could be someone else, couldn’t it?”
“No. I’m afraid not.” He stares at me for a moment and then nods his head in acceptance. “I’m sorry, but we will need to carry out a formal identification of the body.”
Sanderson nods again and takes another step towards me. “I’ll come,” he says quietly.
“We don’t have to do it now,” I reply, holding up my hand, and he stops and looks up at me. “We can do it later.”
He turns and sits back down again, ignoring his wife’s now obvious distress as tears continue to stream down her cheeks. “H—How did she die?” he asks.
“We’re awaiting confirmation from the doctor,” I reply, because I don’t want to reveal too much in front of his wife. I can be sensitive, even if he can’t.
He stands again, lunging at me, although I don’t move. “She’s my daughter,” he spits. “S—She was my daughter. I’m entitled to know.”
I take a breath. “We believe she died from a blow to the head, but that is yet to be confirmed.”
He deflates. “A—A blow to the head? Would she have known anything? Would she have suffered.”
I have no idea, but I just say, “No,” because it seems like the kindest thing to
do in the circumstances.
“So… what happens now?” he asks, sitting down again, much calmer.
“Our enquiry becomes a murder investigation,” I say simply. I’m not going to give him chapter and verse on what that entails. He won’t take it in anyway. “Once we get notification from the doctor, we’ll take you to identify your daughter. That may be later tonight, or it might be over the weekend.”
He nods his head and sits back, trancelike.
“And in the meantime, we’ll come back here at ten-thirty tonight, as planned.”
He looks up at me, confused. “Tonight?”
“Yes, sir. The ransom…”
“But surely, there’s no point. Not… not now.”
“We still have to go through with it, just in case. If it was a hoax, I’d like to catch whoever’s responsible. I’m sure you agree…”
He takes a deep breath. “I suppose,” he mumbles and then lets his head drop down onto the back of the sofa, his eyes closing. I glance at Mrs Sanderson, who’s still crying silently to herself.
“Mrs Sanderson?” I move slightly closer to her. “Can I get you anything?”
She doesn’t acknowledge me to start with, but then slowly raises her head. “No,” she says quietly. “No, thank you.”
I inwardly shake my head, wondering at how two people can be so unfeeling towards each other – especially now. Even if they no longer love or care for one another, surely in these circumstances, they can find it within themselves to at least try and show some basic humanity. After all, the life they created together is now lost. That has to count for something.
“We’ll go and see your nanny now.” There seems little point in standing here watching these two ignoring each other.
“Elizabeth?” Sanderson says, sitting forward all of a sudden.
“Yes.” How many nannies does he have?
“Why?” he asks.
“Just to notify her of what’s happened,” I reply. “We’ll come back tomorrow and question her again, once she’s had time to recover from hearing about it.”
“She’ll be devastated,” he says. “I—I think I should be the one to tell her.” I stare at him. “She does work for me,” he reasons. “I’ll tell Mrs Slater and Lois as well.” He’s trying to sound reasonable now and I suppose I can’t really argue with him. I imagine the nanny will probably feel dreadful, and possibly responsible for what’s happened – rightly or wrongly. The girl was in her charge, after all.
“Tell her we’ll come back to see her tomorrow, will you?” Sanderson raises his eyebrows. “This is a murder enquiry now,” I remind him. “I’ll need to question her again.”
“Why?” he asks. “Nothing will have changed. Not from Elizabeth’s perspective.”
“Even so…”
He hesitates. “Very well, but this time, I’d like to be present.”
“As you wish.”
It might be interesting to see the two of them together.
We stop off at the park on the way back to the station, to find the search is well under way. Tooley has taken charge of it, and a dozen or more men are combing the site, looking through the hedges that surround the area, and the churned up earth. There’s no doubt about it, this is going to be a painstaking task.
Sitting in the car, Thompson turns to look at me.
“Why didn’t you tell Sanderson what had been done to the child?” he asks. “She was his daughter…”
“Because he still has to make the ransom drop tonight. Obviously hearing that she’s dead is bad enough, but hearing about the sexual assault… well, it could be enough to push him over the edge. And I need him to act normally tonight. As normally as any man can in these circumstances.”
“So you will tell him?”
“Of course.” God knows how, but I will.
Back at the station, we find some of the contents of the shed have already arrived and Prentice is standing in the main office, staring down at it and scratching his head.
“I didn’t realise there would be this much,” he says.
“Sorry.” I take off my hat and coat, placing them on a nearby table.
“Don’t be. It just might take a while, that’s all.” He looks around. “I’ll collar a couple of constables and start getting this lot shifted into my office.”
I nod my head and go over to the noticeboard, where someone has helpfully pinned up photographs of the shed, and the park, beside the map of the area, with lines having been drawn to indicate whereabouts they are, geographically speaking. Down the other side of the board are several pictures of the girl’s body, taken from different angles.
“Christ,” Thompson whispers from behind me and I’m aware of him wandering away to the other side of the room.
I go and pick up my coat and hat and then walk over to him, tapping him on the shoulder.
“My office,” I say quietly and he hesitates and then follows me into my room, closing the door.
“I meant what I said, Harry. If this one it too much for you…”
“It’s not.”
“I can take Deakin or Gilmore off the burglary and swap you in.”
“I said I’m fine.”
I stare at him for a moment and then sit down at my desk, indicating the chairs opposite me. He pauses and then walks over, sitting down in the one on the right. “We’ll finalise the plan for tonight,” I say quietly, “and then we’ll get together the men who are going to be working on that with us.” I look up at him. “I’ll need you to do that. We’ll explain their duties and what’s expected of them. And then we’ll all go home and get something to eat and a couple of hours’ rest. You can spend some time with Julia and with Christopher before he goes to bed…” He nods his head, just once. “And then you can pick me up again at ten from my aunt’s. Alright?”
“Yes.” I get to my feet again. “Rufus?” He looks up at me. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and be more professional.”
I smile. “I’m not worried about that.” I walk around to his side of the table and lean against it. “As far as I’m concerned you can swear and curse as much as you like, but… well, this was already a God-awful case and it just got a hundred times worse. I’ll release anyone from it who doesn’t think they can cope with it. They won’t be helping the investigation.”
“I can cope with it,” he says firmly.
“Good.” I smile down at him and then push myself off the desk, resting my hand on his shoulder for a moment, before going over to the door and calling the nearest constable.
My mother and Aunt Dotty are surprised when I walk in the door at just before six o’clock, although when I explain the reason – without going into details – their faces fall, and my mother takes a step forward.
“Are you alright?” she says.
“Yes.”
She looks into my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“I have to be.”
She stares for a moment longer. “Let’s have supper, and then you can go and see Amelie.”
“I have to go out again later.” She tilts her head to one side in confusion and I explain about the ransom drop and why we’re still going ahead with it.
“Well, you can still spend an hour or so with her,” she says. “It’ll do you good.”
My mother knows me far too well, but in this instance, I’m not going to disagree with her.
After supper, I shrug on my coat and go over the road to Amelie’s house. This time, the door is answered by the maid, Sarah, but that’s not surprising, being as Amelie wasn’t expecting me tonight.
“Miss Cooper is in the drawing room,” Sarah says, taking my coat with a smile. For the first time though, she doesn’t bother to show me the way. She leaves me to it, and that makes me smile, just a little, despite the day I’ve had.
I knock on the door – because it feels like the right thing to do – and when I hear Amelie call out, “Come in,” I push it open and enter.
“Rufus?” She’s surprised and snaps closed the book
she was reading, jumping to her feet and running over to me. She’s in my arms before I can even say ‘hello’, and I hold her close to me, relishing the feel of her soft body against mine. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” She pulls back and looks up at me. “What’s wrong?” she says, her face dropping.
“We found her.” It’s all I need to say.
“Is she…?”
“She’s dead.”
She holds my hand in hers and leads me to the sofa, guiding me into its corner and sitting me down, before she lowers herself beside me, twisting so she’s facing me. “Are you alright?” she asks. I shake my head.
“It’s awful.” I hear my voice crack and fall silent.
“Can you tell me?” she asks. “Do you want to?”
I nod my head. “I need to… but I’m not sure I should.”
She moves a little closer, holding my hand tighter still in hers. “If you need to tell me, then tell me.”
The softness of her voice makes me feel more at ease than I have all day and, keeping my eyes fixed on our clasped fingers, I begin, “We found her in a workman’s shed. It looks like she was hit over the head on the day she disappeared, and left there.”
“Oh God,” she whispers.
“And she was sexually assaulted,” I add, my voice so quiet I can barely hear it myself.
“No,” she says and I look up at her now, the shock visible in her eyes. “No.” She’s shaking her head. “She was just a child…” I release my hand from hers and pull her close to me but she leans back, preventing me, and she cups my face in one of her hands. “Did you see her?” she asks.
“Of course.”
“Oh, Rufus…” She shifts in her seat and, like last night, she sits on my lap, sideways on this time, not straddling me. There’s nothing sexual about this, but it’s comforting, as she cradles my head in her hands and rests hers against mine, forehead to forehead.
We sit for a while, her stroking my hair and my cheek, holding me, easing my pain, until she slowly leans back again.
“Did I do enough?” I hear my own voice asking the question that’s been rattling around my head, ever since Constable Beresford arrived at the Sanderson house this morning.
