Daddy's Girls

by Sarah Flint

  ‘Of course we will,’ Charlie climbed out of the car, with the inspector following suit. They walked up the driveway together, one on either side, holding her steady. The hanging baskets outside her door were lush and green, and she noticed immediately that the rose on the trellis was also filled with colour and life. One of her neighbours had clearly taken on the job of keeping them watered and this small act of friendship was not lost on her.

  She gave her key to Charlie, unsure now whether she could even enter. As the door swung open, her legs turned to jelly. She’d always found the phrase somewhat amusing, but as she stepped over the threshold she was amazed at the preciseness of the analogy.

  The air inside the flat was dank and stale, a similar mustiness to that found on the return from holiday. This was different though. Where once her home had been a place where friends and family were made welcome, now it felt hostile, brooding even. The atmosphere had changed. Throwing open a window in the lounge, she allowed the sweet scent from a nearby rose bush to replace some of the staleness, marvelling at how recently her grandmother had noticed precisely the same thing.

  For a moment, she stared out at the view across the rear lawn, transported back to the previous summer, sharing a communal barbeque with neighbours well into the early hours. DI Hunter was out there now, poking about by the flower beds. She turned away at the sight, making her way instead towards the bedroom. Those days were gone – and they would never return.

  The bed was still bare, all the bedding taken for examination. For some reason, the sight shocked her. She stared at the mattress, suddenly aware of the hollow in which she usually slept, the slight depression in the fabric that matched her figure. As she stared down at it, the man’s body took shape, on top of her, in her, pressing her down against the fabric, the smooth gunmetal grey blade suspended above. The sheer clarity of the image made her gasp. The nightmare was becoming too real. She had to leave, and she had to leave now.

  ‘I’ll just get my stuff.’

  The words calmed her slightly as she shouted them. It wouldn’t take long. And Charlie was there. Swiftly, she gathered together some clothes, pulling shirts from the wardrobe, dresses, trousers, shoes, perfume, shoving them together in an untidy mass in her suitcase. Normally she was so organised.

  Her cosmetics were in the bathroom. As she entered, she noticed the shower curtain was missing and her facecloth had been removed. The towel she’d placed so fearfully across the window on the night it happened had also been taken down and the sill dusted for prints. A layer of grey, graphite powder was spread along its surface, the coolness of the tiles making it appear damp and blotchy. As she stared, the blotches morphed into shapes, faces, bodies, grasping and swaying.

  A shadow fell across the glass, and a scratching, scraping sound filled the space in the alcove. Somebody was outside the window.

  Throwing her hand to her mouth, she tried to swallow back the panic as it bubbled up her throat, but it couldn’t be halted, the desperate scream exploding into the air, its clarity muffled only by her fingers.

  ‘It’s only Hunter,’ Charlie was with her in an instant, her hands guiding her out of the bathroom, out of the flat, out into the brightness of the garden. ‘It’s only my boss. Look! Don’t worry. You’re safe.’

  She saw the inspector. She heard his apologies and the way he flushed red with remorse. She understood it was him, she’d seen him there a few minutes earlier, but as she stood in the sun waiting while her bag was retrieved and the flat secured, she knew, without doubt, the flat had to be sold. Charlie was wrong. Her words were a lie. She wasn’t safe. She would never be safe.

  *

  Maryanne’s scream was still ricocheting round her head as Charlie navigated the one-way system around The Oval. She didn’t believe she would ever forget it. Nor did she think she would ever forget the look of blind terror in her eyes. It had been hideous to witness.

  Danielle had taken control as soon as they’d dropped Maryanne off, the younger woman determined to do everything in her power to alleviate her sister’s distress. But there would be no let-up for the next few hours. That afternoon, Maryanne would be attending a private clinic to have a pregnancy test and a check for the presence of HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases. With any luck, the fact that a condom had been used would negate all the possibilities – but just the processes of elimination would be harrowing.

  They passed the Imperial War Museum, the sight, for an instant, making her sad. It was where she’d first encountered Ben.

  Hunter turned to her as they came to a halt at the traffic lights.

  ‘You know Houghton’s been back at Maryanne’s, don’t you?’ He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and unfolded it on his lap. Inside were the remnants of two spliffs, just the last damp, dirty dog-ends remaining. ‘I found these outside the bathroom window. And the earth looked as if it had been recently trampled. I’ll get SOCO to take a look, but I’ve got no doubt they’ll turn out to be from him.’

  They moved off.

  ‘I didn’t want to mention it until we’d dropped Maryanne off,’ he said softly. ‘After what I’d just put her through.’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’ Charlie picked up on his guilt, silencing at the sight of a small scrum of reporters who were gathered outside the gates of Lambeth HQ. It seemed these days there was always some member of the media on hand to take an interest in an ongoing case – or the fuck-ups of a previous one.

  The sight of the microphones immediately reinforced their failures. If they themselves weren’t to appear in a future damning investigative news story, they’d have to buck up their ideas.

  Hunter ran his hands across his scalp, rubbing furiously at his eyes. She watched his frustration and understood precisely what was in his mind. As usual, their thought processes were in sync.

  ‘Can we keep the surveillance on Houghton’s bedsit for another day?’ she asked as a thought popped into her head.

  ‘Emma!’ Hunter nodded. ‘She’s his Achilles heel, isn’t she?’

  Charlie nodded grimly. ‘She’ll be back to collect her belongings as soon as the SOCO is done.’

  She waited while the security gates were lifted, then moved forward into the high claustrophobic walls of the yard, reversing carefully into one of the only remaining parking bays. Their options were fast becoming just as restricted. If Emma was spotted at the bedsit, she might lead them to Houghton and they, in turn, might be able to put an end to the series of violent attacks – but if they missed her…

  In the silence, she knew exactly what they were both thinking. It might be the last opportunity they would have.

  21

  It was Emma’s idea to shave her father’s hair off. She’d seen this sort of thing done in films. It all looked so easy. And somehow she had to make up for getting them into this mess.

  ‘Dad, you’ve got to grow your beard and moustache, and we’ll get you some glasses. We need you to have a hair transplant. Take it off your scalp and put it to your chin.’

  ‘Yeah, Tommy. Do what Emma says. It’ll put years on you.’ Ebony and Ivory giggled in amusement. Being a similar age to Emma, they were already like old friends.

  They all laughed as Jason appeared with a razor. It wasn’t that sharp, but it did the job and they were soon surveying her father’s new profile in the mirror. The skin on his scalp was mottled, with scars previously hidden from view now exposed. She watched as he stroked his chin, his fingernails pulling at the new growth. At present, it was more designer stubble than beard, but it wouldn’t take long. In fact, it had always been a source of wonder to her as a child how quickly he became covered in hair. She leant over, examining the dark growth, carefully shaping it into the beginnings of a goatee.

  The transformation was amazing. He already looked so different, and with a pair of glasses and a change from his usual clothes, there was no doubting that only someone close would stand any chance of a successful identification. Hopefully no cops would know him t
hat well.

  She peered at his reflection in the mirror, aware of his eyes on her. He was smiling and had a curiously contented expression on his face. She smiled back. Things had certainly improved. She’d been made to feel so welcome. Maybe she should have just given in to the inevitable a long time ago, but there was no point clinging to the past. She would have to look forward – to plan, and now, as she stared critically at her own reflection, she realised that she too would have to change. Any police officer recognising her would automatically look at who she was with – and if she was with her father… No, she couldn’t take the risk. A new hairstyle wouldn’t go amiss and the dramatic addition of some heavy goth-type make-up would seal the makeover.

  Her thoughts were disturbed by a loud knock on the door. She ran to a bedroom, signalling for Thomas to follow. This couldn’t be happening. The door to a fitted wardrobe was open and she squashed herself in, indicating for him to do the same. If it was the police, as she feared, they would no doubt be found, but they had to try. Thomas was still levering himself into the tight space when she heard Jason greeting the arrival. She relaxed at the tone of his voice. It clearly wasn’t the cops, but, as she reversed back out into the open, she was slightly taken aback at how automatic her reaction had been.

  Jason was calling for them to join him. They did as bid, the colour rising in Emma’s cheeks at the sight of a good-looking, blonde youth, not much older than she, standing in the hallway. His hair was so fair, it was almost white, cut short and tousled carelessly and his skin was tanned.

  ‘You must be Emma?’ he gave a slight bob of his head, and reached out to greet her.

  She took his hand, her face still burning, her eyes captivated by the boy’s lopsided grin. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, feeling a hand on her shoulder. ‘And this is my father, Thomas.’ She loosened her grip and the youth offered his hand instead to her father.

  ‘I am Josef,’ he said, frowning at Thomas’s hesitation in taking up his greeting. ‘Jason has asked me to help you, if you want my assistance, that is?’

  Thomas tilted his head to one side but said nothing.

  ‘Yes, we do, please, if you can help us.’ Again she blushed. Why was her father being so rude?

  The youth withdrew his hand and strode into the lounge, pulling a rucksack off his shoulder and spilling its contents out on to the table. A dozen mixed documents and cards lay on top of the sticky surface.

  ‘Take a look and tell me what you think,’ he said, standing back as they both came across.

  She picked up one of the cards, staring incredulously at a driving licence ID in the name Emily Warrington, perfectly finished but with no photo.

  ‘Jason told me what was required this morning when he phoned. I have worked hard throughout the day to get these done.’ He pointed towards the driving licence in her hand. ‘You will see that I have changed your surname, but I have kept your first names similar. People tend to slip up more easily if these are too different,’ he explained. ‘I just need an up-to-date picture of you to finish it off.’ He leant down and selected the driving licence counterpart and several store cards, also flawlessly produced with identical details, and offered them to her. ‘Use these until you have the completed photo IDs. I can also get you a passport when I have your photo.’

  ‘Dad, look,’ she thrust one of the store cards towards Thomas, nervously aware that her father was still acting decidedly coolly towards the young man who had so readily helped.

  Thomas peered silently at the cards, holding them up towards the light and examining them minutely. Josef was pointing towards other fake documents in the name Tommy Warrington. His manner was more formal now, reflecting her father’s cooler disposition, but his Eastern European accent still sounded lilting and sing-song. Emma couldn’t help being drawn to the man, even if what he did was illegal.

  ‘They are good. Thank you for helping us,’ Thomas said stiffly, placing the cards back on the table. He seemed so distant to Emma, almost businesslike, and she couldn’t work out why. ‘How much do you want for them?’ her father asked.

  ‘How much do you have?’ Josef countered.

  And then she understood. Nothing came for nothing in this world. Money would be required. Whether they got their new identities would depend on cold hard cash.

  Thomas pulled a wallet out of his pocket and leafed through a few banknotes.

  ‘Just under sixty quid,’ he muttered quietly. ‘That’s all I have, but you can take it all.’ He offered the notes to Josef, before turning towards her, his eyes pleading. ‘I did have more, for some work I did for Jason, but I had to pay the man who helped me escape, and get a new phone and SIM card to contact you on.’

  She reached across and clasped her father’s hand, trying to calm his obvious panic, watching as Josef counted the cash, frowning.

  ‘These cost five times this amount. I have to take risks.’ He swept his hand over the table, starting to gather the documents up. ‘I need more or I will take these away.’

  ‘But I haven’t got any more at the moment,’ Thomas spun round towards Jason, who was standing silently listening to the conversation, before turning back to Josef. ‘Please let me have them, and I will get you the rest of the cash in the next few days. I promise.’

  Josef snorted. ‘If I give you these now, how do I know that you will keep your promise? How do I know whether I’ll ever see you or the cash again?’ He started to zip up the rucksack containing the forgeries.

  Emma couldn’t bear it. With one swift movement of his hand, Josef was dispelling all their hopes, shutting off her father’s only possible means of escape. Their future was literally being held within Josef’s clenched fist and she could do nothing to stop him leaving. A loud sob escaped from her lips and she clamped her hand over her mouth, staring at her father’s shaven head, all of a sudden aware of how futile their plans had been.

  Josef turned towards her, his face softening slightly, before looking away and sighing heavily. Emma watched as he prepared to leave, but just as he was about to go, Jason stepped forward, holding his hands out to stay the man.

  ‘Josef, wait. You know me. Can’t we do a deal? How about another hundred quid – and one of my girls?’

  He shouted for Ebony and Ivory, and immediately they appeared, standing one on either side of him, leaning seductively towards Josef. Emma held her breath, staring at her new friends as the scene played out in front of her, before realising with horror exactly what Jason was offering. How could she expect Ebony or Ivory to do this for her, for her father? It wasn’t right.

  Josef paused as if considering the offer, and then placed the bag down on the table and turned towards her. ‘I can see you don’t agree with what Jason has offered,’ he said, perfectly in tune with her thoughts. ‘And I like you. So I will make a counter offer.’ He turned towards Thomas, his mouth twitching into a thin smile. ‘I am prepared to take a hundred pounds more, but if you want your documents and your new life, then you must be prepared to let me have your daughter. Fair’s fair.’

  The room fell silent. To Emma it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the atmosphere, then suddenly the stillness was shattered as her father let out a loud wail and lurched towards Josef, his arms raised wildly.

  ‘No,’ he cried.

  Jason stepped between them, taking hold of her father’s arms and holding them still. Thomas didn’t retaliate, instead he slumped away, his body sagging, any further fight expended.

  ‘You can’t have her, not my daughter, not Emma,’ he whispered.

  Josef picked up his bag again, making a point of swinging it high on to his shoulder. ‘Then it’s no deal.’

  She watched as he started to stride purposefully towards the door. Jason stood to one side this time, Ebony and Ivory staring silently from their positions behind him. Her father remained hunched, seemingly beaten, saying nothing.

  But she couldn’t let Josef leave. She couldn’t let him walk away with their futures. He was about to pas
s her now, on his way out. Straightening, she stepped out, blocking his way, taking hold of his hand.

  She saw her father turn to face her. ‘No, Emma. I’ll find another way.’

  But there was no other way. She knew that. The chance of a new life together was disappearing as fast as it had come. The clock was ticking. Jason wanted them out and, without the new identities, her Dad would be discovered. Josef, with her hand firmly grasped in his, was moving towards the bedroom door.

  She glanced at her father, noting how his eyes were dull with exhaustion and defeat, then she turned instead towards Josef, assessing what was required, her head coming to terms with the only decision on offer. He was cute, she had to admit. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. And he had said he liked her. And, it wasn’t as if he’d be her first. She’d had a couple of other boyfriends who weren’t half as good-looking… and anyway, there was no other option.

  She heard her father call out once more, pleading with her to change her mind, but there was no going back.

  ‘It’s OK, Dad. I’ll be fine,’ she tried to sound dispassionate. ‘If this is what it takes, I’ll do it.’

  *

  Night was drawing in when Charlie picked the phone up and keyed in Amy Briarly’s number.

  ‘Hello, Charlie,’ Amy answered at the first ring. ‘My FLO told me you had identified a second suspect. It sounds hopeful. Any more progress?’

  Charlie took a deep breath and updated Amy on what enquiries they’d made to catch Thomas Houghton, repeating, almost exactly, what they’d told Maryanne. It wouldn’t be long before he was arrested. Taking a leaf from Hunter’s book, she didn’t mention the fact that they’d already lost him once, or that, with the SOCO now having concluded their search at his bedsit, they’d got no further forward waiting for his daughter to return. Nor did she see the need to tell Amy that, in any case, they still weren’t a hundred per cent certain his crime was actually connected to her mother’s murder.