by BL Pearce
No love lost there.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” said Evan.
“I divorced him.” Her voice cracked. The tough talk vanished and she shrivelled up. “I blamed him for Angie’s disappearance. If he hadn’t been so rough with her, she might still be alive.”
41
“Both Chrissy and Angie may have had abusive fathers,” said Rob.
It was a new day, much like the others, except it was raining. Puddles formed on the pavements and rivers ran down the gutters. He and Jo had shared an umbrella on the way to work.
The whole taskforce was in residence, except Celeste who’d gone to the mortuary.
“Angie Nolan saw a social worker. Let’s find out who it was and bring them in. I want to hear his or her thoughts.”
“Yes, guv.” Will’s hands flew across his keyboard.
“Also, do we have a statement from Chrissy Macdonald’s friend, Daisy?”
Jenny passed it to him. He scanned the page. Daisy had got on the 33 bus, while Chrissy had walked home. According to Daisy, her friend appeared normal, hadn’t mentioned that anything was bothering her. He noted the address. Dorking.
Last night, after he and Jo had taken Trigger for a walk, Jenny had called to say Rosie Hutton had broken her arm falling off a climbing frame at the park. Hospital records, however, told a different story. She’d presented in A and E with multiple bruises that weren’t synonymous with a fall.
A big question mark there.
“Sir, the social worker is here for questioning,” said Mike.
“Which one?” Rob asked.
“Alan Simpson. The one questioned in relation to Anna Dewbury’s disappearance. The girl from Hemel Hempstead.”
“What was his relationship to the victim?”
“Apparently he’d been assessing her after a report was made by her maths teacher.”
“Do we have a copy of the report?” Rob felt his pulse tick up a notch.
“Yeah, here.” Mike handed it over.
He scanned it. She’d been quiet and withdrawn at school. Her grades were dropping. She’d always been an excellent student, but it seemed like she’d lost interest in learning. Her teachers were concerned.”
“Why did he fall under suspicion?”
“He saw her several times in the week before she disappeared, but when questioned, he provided an alibi for the day of her disappearance. He was visiting another client across town. They vouched for him.”
“Okay, you interview him, Mike. We need to know if Anna confided in him. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes, guv.” The Londoner puffed out his already impressive chest. “Thank you, guv.”
“Okay, get to it.”
Mallory updated the whiteboard. Rosie Hutton, Chrissy Macdonald, Angie Nolan and Anna Dewbury could have been victims of physical abuse, possibly more. Without proof it was hard to say. Angie had seen a social worker, as had the Hemel Hempstead girl. Unless they talked, it would be impossible to prove.
“What was Angie’s social worker’s name?” he asked.
“A man called Paul Daley.” Jenny retrieved a battered document from a pile on the table.
“It’s not the same person Mike’s interviewing, is it?”
“No, sir.” More rustling. “Anna Dewbury’s social worker was Alan Simpson.”
Different men. Different counties.
He turned to Jo. “If you were a young girl with problems, who would you turn to?”
She glanced up. “A friend? I don’t know. Maybe a priest if my family was religious, or a social worker, if one was appointed. I might have called Childline or something similar.”
Rob knew a priest. And his church was close to the burial ground at Bisley Common. Within walking distance.
“Only Arina Parvin lived in Bisley,” Mallory said, reading his mind.
“Still, it might be worth talking to him again.”
Mallory nodded. “I’ll give him a call.”
“The social worker suspected that Anna Dewbury was being sexually abused by her stepfather.” Mike burst into the room.
Rob stopped what he was doing.
“Sexually abused? Did he actually say that?”
“Yes, although there wasn’t any proof. Whenever he spoke to Anna, she clammed up. It was more her reaction to her stepfather that convinced him. He recommended moving her to a place of safety, but it never happened. The mother insisted there was nothing going on and that Anna was just upset because they wouldn't buy her a mobile phone. This was eight years ago, remember. Every kid has one now.”
“What did the post-mortem say?”
Mike sat down and opened his laptop. “Give me a moment.”
He browsed through several documents. “Here it is.”
“She was sexually active,” he said, glancing up.
“At fourteen? She’s a minor. Why wasn’t that flagged?”
“I don’t know, guv.”
Rob frowned. “Was the stepfather ever a suspect?”
“No, it doesn’t look like it. He was away on a business trip when Anna disappeared, and didn’t get back until late the next day. It couldn’t have been him.”
Very convenient.
“He was guilty of having sex with a minor, though,” hissed Jo. “He should be prosecuted for that.”
“Now that she’s dead, there’s no evidence against him,” Rob pointed out. “She can’t testify and if there was no DNA taken at the time of the abuse, it’ll be very hard to prove he’s guilty.”
“It’s not right.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
“Tessa Parvin’s out on bail, awaiting trial,” Rob told Mallory. “Let’s talk to her about Arina. If the other girls were victims of abuse, she might have been too.”
Tessa opened the door in a tracksuit. Her face appeared ghostly white against the dark interior of her house.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Rob began. “But I need to ask you some questions about Arina. We’re still trying to find the person who killed her.”
She nodded. No fight left. “Come in.”
They followed her into her dingy living room with piles of books and the armchair by the window. She switched on the overhead light, but it didn’t do much to illuminate the room. Nothing shone here.
They sat down.
“This is a bit sensitive,” he said. “But it’s come to our attention that the other girls found in the words may have been abused by a member of their family. Did Arina mention anything like that to you?”
To their surprise, she bent over, hid her face behind her hands and burst into tears. They were tears of a woman who’d reached the end of her tether.
Rob felt awful.
“I’m sorry, Tessa. Would you like a minute? Can I get you something?”
She shook her head.
Then, she looked up. “I suspected he was abusing her, but I didn’t know for sure. I should have come out and asked her, but I was too scared.”
“Of your husband?” Mallory asked.
“Yes, he had a terrible temper.”
“Was he violent towards you?” Rob asked gently.
She nodded. “Sometimes, but it was Arina I was worried about.”
“Tell us why?” encouraged Rob.
She took a deep, wobbly breath. “She used to act strangely when I left them alone together. Wouldn’t come out of her room. Wouldn’t eat supper. At first, I thought it was just her being a teenager, but then I began to suspect Ramin might have something to do with it. They’d never had much of a relationship, but every now and then I’d catch him looking at her.”
She shuddered. “That’s why I was so worried when Arina disappeared and he left the country. I thought he’d done something to her.”
It was becoming clearer now. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
She shrugged. “It’s not something you tell, is it? It’s shameful.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And it wasn’t
him, anyway. It wasn’t him who took my girl.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Rob. “But he should have still been reported for what he was doing to Arina.”
“I tried to report him once,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“What?” asked Rob.
“I saw a flyer for one of those children's charities at the library and brought it home. I put it on the kitchen counter. I was going to call them. Then Arina came home, so I hid it in a drawer and forgot about it. Later, when I went to look for it, it was gone. I thought Ramin had found it and got rid of it.”
If only she’d made that call.
“Could Arina have taken it?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Tears welled again. “It was all so long ago, and what does it matter now? She’s not coming back.”
“It matters,” said Rob quietly. “It matters to you. I know it does because that’s why you kidnapped Katie. You wanted Arina’s case reopened, and now it is. We’re going to find the person who did this.”
“I wanted to know if she was really dead. I don’t care if you find him or not. It won’t bring her back.”
There was nothing he could say to that.
“I’ll get on to Childline,” said Mallory, once they got back to the station. “I didn’t manage to get hold of Father Ed, by the way. His phone kept diverting to voicemail. Do you want to have him picked up?”
“No, don’t worry. I’ll take a drive out there. I want to have another look at the crime scene. Can you hold the fort here?”
“Sure.” Mallory nodded.
“Want some company?” Jo asked, stretching her back. “I need some fresh air. I’ve been tied to this desk for too long.”
Rob smiled. He hadn’t done much of that lately. It felt weird, like it might crack. “Actually, that would be great. There is something I want to run by you.”
“Have you found anything interesting?” asked Rob as they turned onto the busy A316 and merged with the flow of traffic. The busy arterial road would take them onto the M3, the motorway that cut through the south western part of Surrey.
“Nothing I haven’t read before,” she admitted. “I’m still familiarising myself with the details of the investigation. There weren't any CCTV cameras in the town back then, so the police relied on witness accounts. Rachel said goodbye to her friend in the street, a shopkeeper saw them go their separate ways. She had four blocks to walk until she got home. That’s not a lot of time for someone to take her. Also, it was late afternoon, so not exactly dark. There would have been people milling about. It was a Saturday, as I recall.”
How much of this sounded familiar. Same story. Different day.
“Do you remember who this friend of hers was?”
She wrinkled her brow. “I don’t, it’s in the files back at the station. I’ll look it up when we get back. Why do you ask?” She glanced across at him.
“It might be worth talking to him again?” he said.
She blinked. “What now? After all these years? He probably doesn’t even remember Rachel.”
“I’m sure he’d remember a friend who went missing.” Rob braked behind a large truck at a traffic light. He could smell the exhaust fumes seeping in through the air conditioning unit.
“Maybe,” she mused. “Anyway, what was it you wanted to run by me?”
He hesitated. “Did you and your sister have a good relationship with your parents?”
“She did,” Jo said straight away. “I didn’t. My mother doted on Rachel. They were very similar, pretty and feminine. I was a tomboy.”
“What about your father?” he asked.
“Dad was always away,” she said. “He worked on projects all over the country. We often wouldn’t see him for months at a time.”
Rob decided to come clean. “You know there’s a pattern of abuse with the other dead girls…”
He didn’t have to continue, Jo leaped to the right conclusion easy enough.
“No,” she gasped. “Nothing like that.”
He nodded. “I didn’t think so, but if it’s the same killer…” He left it hanging.
Jo went very quiet. He left her to dwell on it. Sometimes it was only after the shock wore off that people saw things they should have seen all along, but didn’t.
He approached a turn-off for a McDonald's drive-through.
“Shall I stop?” he asked.
She nodded, distracted.
He pulled in. “A cheeseburger okay?”
When she didn’t reply, he ordered two, and two cokes to go with it. They’d had enough coffee to last a lifetime.
They ate in the carpark, in silence. It was only after she’d finished, that she said, “I really don’t think it’s possible. My father wasn’t there for long enough, and he wasn’t the type.” She shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to ask.”
“There was an Uncle though.”
Rob glanced at her. “Could he have been molesting your sister?”
She sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Was he there often?”
“They lived a few doors down. We were always at each other’s houses. They had two rowdy boys, my cousins. I lost touch with them after Rachel disappeared because I moved in with my grandparents, but I remember playing football in their garden.”
She smiled sadly. “Those were happy times. Imagine if he was… Oh, God. It doesn’t bear thinking of.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Rob got out of the car and threw away the rubbish. When he climbed back in, Jo said, “You need to know, don’t you?”
He bit his lip.
“I need to know. If my uncle was abusing my sister, that means she was just like the others.”
“It’s another link,” he said. Although what it meant, he had no idea. Anyone she’d told would be too old to be actively killing young girls now.
“I’m going to find out,” she decided. He frowned. “How?”
“I’m going to visit my mother. I’m going to force her to tell me. If anyone knows, it’s her.”
“I thought she was in a home,” he said, starting the engine.
“She is, but she’s not that far gone that she won’t remember something like that.” Jo’s cheeks were flushed, she was agitated. He was just grateful she hadn’t taken offense, but then that wasn’t her style. She was a detective, first and foremost. Her desire to know the truth would supersede any delicate sensibility she may have.
That was one of the many things he liked about her.
42
Father Ed invited them for tea in the vestry.
Rob walked in warily, never having been this deep inside a church before. Was it unholy to drip on the floor?
“I’m glad you’ve come.” He took their coats and hung them on a hook behind the door. “We’re having a vigil tomorrow night for the dead girls whose bodies they found. The whole village will be there. You will come, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Rob said.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Jo gave him one of her heart-warming smiles.
He beamed, throwing his hands in the air like a sermon. “Wonderful. I’ll just pop on the kettle and then you can ask me your questions.”
“Is that a northern accent I detect?” asked Jo.
He grinned at her. “Aye. I was born in Ireland, but we moved around a lot when I was a lad. Liverpool, Birmingham. Goodness, I can’t remember all the places we stayed.”
“Manchester?” asked Jo. “That’s where I’m from.”
“Aye, Manchester too, but not for long. I think we were only there for a few weeks before we moved on.”
“Do you remember when that was?” Jo asked. “We might have lived there at the same time.”
He paused, kettle in hand. “I think I was about sixteen at the time, but I can’t be sure. Like I said, we moved around a lot.”
Rob met Jo’s gaze.
“What brought you to Bisley?” Rob accepted a cup
of tea.
“I was offered a position here at St Johns the Baptist. It looked like a cosy town with a small parish, those are the best kind, you know. So, I accepted. I’m not married, so it was easy enough to move.”
“When was this?” Rob wanted to know.
“Oh, twelve years ago now.” He smiled. “Best decision I ever made.”
“It could have been him,” said Jo as they walked up the footpath behind the church towards the well. It was still drizzling, but not hard enough to forgo a visit to the well.
“Sixteen is very young to kill someone,” he said. “And we don’t even know if he knew your sister.”
“I didn’t want to spook him by asking.” She hesitated. “Do you think we should?”
“Let’s leave it for now. We can ask him at the vigil tomorrow night. Maybe bring a photo with you to jog his memory.”
“Good idea. This it?”
They stopped at the small rectangular stone block. “Yep, this is it.”
The trickle was heavier now, as it flowed from the pipe onto the already wet pebbles below.
Jo crouched down. “I was expecting something a bit grander from a thousand-year-old well.”
He chuckled. “That’s what we thought. But the interesting thing is, that’s Bisley Wood.”
She stood up and peered over the graveyard, across the grey meadow, towards the dense grouping of trees in the near distance. “That’s where the bodies were buried?”
“Yep. It’s not a mile from here.”
She cocked her head. “I’m up for a walk if you are?”
They set off along the footpath. It was patchy in parts, disappearing almost entirely in the overgrown areas.
“Careful you don’t slip,” said Rob, taking her hand. They clambered over a rickety turnstile into the meadow where, unbelievably, two cows were grazing, oblivious to the rain.
The dark oaks and pines up ahead lured them in. As they got closer, the grass degraded to leaf-covered dirt.
“I see what you mean by creepy.” Jo took his hand. He’d tried to describe the burial site to her before, but she’d wanted to see it for herself.
