A Velvet Scream (17 page)

Underneath the window was a desk on which sat an open laptop. Involuntarily both women looked at it. ‘I could do with taking this away,' Joanna said.

Beth Carraway held her hands up. ‘Do what you like with it,' she said, her voice holding a touch of revulsion. She watched wordlessly as Joanna removed a hairbrush from the bathroom then followed her downstairs, still silent; part disapproving, part stunned at the revelations the scrutiny of her daughter's room had unearthed. Her husband was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Joanna looked at the pair of them as she and Danny faced them in the hall and she struggled to find the words to reassure them without sounding patronizing. ‘Look,' she finally said, hearing the awkwardness in her voice. ‘We will do all we can to find your daughter.' Molly's father's face was taut as a violin E string. It would have been insulting to trot out, ‘I'm sure we'll find her' or ‘believe me – she's all right'. Instead she handed them a card with her mobile number on as well as contact details at the station. ‘As soon as we know anything we will be in touch.'

This was one of the most important aspects of the police investigation – keeping in touch, letting the family know that they were still beavering away with the police investigation.

Both parents managed to squeeze out a smile as Joanna and Danny left.

TWELVE

Sunday, 5 December. 2 p.m.

C
lara was frightened. She was putting a brave face on it but it wasn't hard to read the girl's fear as she faced Joanna Piercy. To Joanna she simply looked young and vulnerable. And presumably her friend, Molly, stripped of her fashionable and seductive clothes and make-up would look very much the same. Joanna had tried to put Clara at ease but it was proving hard work. ‘Were there any other friends of yours at Patches on Friday night? Could Molly have gone home with another friend?'

Clara shook her head and explained. ‘Molly and I go to school in Newcastle-under-Lyme,' she said. ‘There aren't many girls our age and from Leek at Newcastle.' She gave a hint of a smile. ‘That's why Mol and I got so close.'

The girl was well spoken, articulate and, in the circumstances, quite self-possessed. Joanna tried the next question conversationally. ‘Did you know many people who went to Patches?'

It sparked something in Clara. She looked worried and guilty. And her parents noticed too. Rosa Williams stood up quickly. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Inspector?' She turned to Hesketh-Brown. ‘Constable?'

‘No, thank you.' The distraction hadn't worked. Joanna repeated the question. ‘So do you?'

Clara gave another swift glance at her parents. ‘A few,' she said. ‘Not many.'

Joanna sensed something. ‘Clara; did you and Molly have a row on Friday night?'

Clara shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. ‘No,' she said simply.

‘Were you there on Tuesday night, the first of December, the night that Kayleigh Harrison was assaulted?'

Again the girl looked worried; her parents enquiring, but saying nothing.

Clara dropped her head and nodded slowly, then looked at her parents, ‘Sorry, Mum; sorry, Dad.'

They merely nodded and gave her the look every teenager can translate into,
We'll talk about this later
.

‘Did you know Kayleigh?'

Clara looked at them; frowned.

‘She was wearing a silver miniskirt that night,' Hesketh-Brown put in helpfully. ‘You might have noticed that.'

Clara blinked and thought for a moment; her frown deepening and then she nodded. ‘Yes,' she said, ‘I do remember someone dressed like that but I don't know her.'

Joanna leaned forward. ‘Think,' she said. ‘Can you remember anything about her? Who she was dancing with; who she was talking to. Did you see the same person talking to Molly?'

‘She was assaulted and just left in the snow to freeze?' Her tone was shocked; disbelieving that anyone could treat a young woman like that.

Joanna nodded.

‘When I saw her she was sitting at the bar, talking to a man,' Clara said slowly.

Joanna waited.

Clara had guileless baby-blue eyes. It was difficult to imagine that she would ever tell anything but the truth. She fixed these
truthful
eyes on Hesketh-Brown. ‘He was tall and skinny,' she said, ‘wearing a plain shirt, no tie. That's all I remember. Oh, jeans, I think.'

‘What sort of age was he?'

She took in a deep breath. ‘Not young,' she said, ‘that's for sure. He was no eye-popper so I didn't really take a lot of notice.' Her confidence told Joanna that she was on safer ground here.

Joanna smiled and pursued the question. ‘Thirties?' she prompted. ‘Forties?'

‘Somewhere round there,' the girl said. ‘I couldn't be sure. I just thought he seemed a bit old for such a young girl.'

‘Had you seen that man there before?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Was he at Patches last night?'

Joanna had tried to ask the question casually but it didn't fool Clara. The baby-blues opened, flickered from Hesketh-Brown to Joanna and back to Danny. ‘Oh, no,' she gasped. ‘Not Molly. Please not Molly.'

Joanna repeated the question and this time Clara shook her head firmly. ‘I didn't see him,' she said. ‘If he was there I didn't see him but it was really crowded.' She was silent for a moment then she met Joanna's eyes. ‘What do you think has happened to Molly?' Her voice held real fear.

It was a question impossible to answer. Joanna, too, feared the worst but she could hardly share that with this girl, this child. Instead she glanced across the room at Clara's parents and by the expression in both pairs of eyes she knew that they too feared the worst and dreaded their daughter's involvement. We all see things from our own perspective. At the back of their eyes, hidden right behind the concern, as they exchanged a fleeting glance with each other, Joanna read relief; that their own daughter was here, safe and sound.

‘You're helping us very much, Clara,' Joanna encouraged. ‘Now, can you remember any of the men Molly was with on Friday night? Was there anyone you particularly remember?'

Clara drew in a long sigh. ‘She was with lots of blokes. In
her
get-up she attracted a lot of attention.' There was a hint of jealousy in her voice which did not escape Joanna.

‘There was a guy: tall and slim – we've met before.' She screwed up her face. ‘I think he was there the night that girl was assaulted but I can't be sure. I remember his hair. It was a little bit curly.'

‘What sort of age?'

‘Twenties, I think.' She frowned. ‘I don't know his name but I've seen him at Patches a few times.' She bit her lip. ‘Inspector,' she said slowly, ‘Molly had met someone over the Internet.' Her eyes sought out her mother's, who looked stunned. ‘After all our warnings, Clara?'

‘It wasn't me, Mum – it was Mol. I don't think she was as open with her mum and dad. In a way, Mum, she was naive.'

Joanna listened and began to understand. ‘Do you know anything about this man, Clara?'

‘He was from London, he said. He was going to come up on Thursday and meet her. He said he had a business trip.'

Joanna met Hesketh-Brown's eyes. They'd better get on and search the laptop.

‘His name?'

‘I can't remember.'

‘OK, Clara. We have Molly's laptop. We'll find out something from that if her Internet man is connected with her disappearance. Now can you remember any of the other guys Molly was with on Friday night?'

‘No one special,' she said grumpily. ‘When I last saw her – around ten – she was just flirting around.'

‘We may want you to come in and look at some of the CCTV images,' Joanna said, taking pity on the girl. It wasn't her fault, after all.

Clara asked the next question timidly. ‘What do you think's happened to her, Inspector?'

‘We don't know – yet. Let's wait and see, shall we, Clara?'

The girl managed a brave smile.

Joanna stood up then. ‘If you'll excuse me we have work to do.'

Rosa Williams saw her to the door. ‘This is a dreadful business,' she muttered. ‘Quite dreadful. I do hope you find Molly soon.' Their eyes met. ‘And that she's all right,' Rosa finished.

Joanna was tempted to say much more to Clara's mother but she was an intelligent woman; she would have worked at least half of it out for herself.

Joanna and Danny drove round then to Patches where a methodical search was in progress; officers walking in formation across the area, combing it for any sign of the missing girl or a clue as to her whereabouts. Joanna and Hesketh-Brown crossed the car park and found Sergeant Barraclough directing the operation, keeping his ancient eyes trained on the proceedings. ‘Found anything, Barra?'

‘Not so far.'

She looked around her. It was a flat, grey scene; a typical winter's morning. Apart from the snow, not unlike the morning Kayleigh had turned up. She jerked her head towards the corner. ‘The area by the bins?'

‘We started there. And found nothing,' he said, then tried to make a joke of it. ‘Hardly any rubbish, even.'

She could barely raise a smile.

Then there was a shout from the far end and everything froze, except Sergeant Barraclough, who had appeared at the lad's side.

One of the ‘specials' was holding up his hand, excitement lighting his face. In a Hiviz jacket and uniform Jason Spark looked the part but he wasn't a police officer. He was a ‘special' who was dying to join the force. But entry was difficult and Jason hadn't quite passed the required exams. Joanna watched him, amused and thinking that it was a shame that it was all down to exams. Young Jason, nineteen years old, was a born copper. He lived, ate,
breathed
the force, to the extreme annoyance of anyone who was a bona-fide officer. They found him too bouncy and enthusiastic. It would be
Jason
who found something. However and whoever tried to dampen his enthusiasm, it wouldn't work.

She wandered across.

Barra was holding a gold earring in his gloved hand. He slipped it into a specimen bag and handed the bag to Joanna. It was a large gypsy double hoop. Unusual, with the bit that pierced the ear still threaded and locked at the back and the catch still firmly fastened. Ergo it could not have dropped out of an ear so either it had been removed from the ear and then re-fastened or it had been torn out. Still holding it up to the light she fumbled in her pocket for her mobile phone and dialled the Williams's number. Rosa Williams picked up the phone on the first ring. Her ‘Hello' was subdued and worried but the note of hope which lightened the tone didn't escape Joanna's notice. It was heartbreaking.

Joanna decided to ask the question to her, rather than speak directly to Clara. She didn't want to upset the girl any more than was necessary. ‘Would you mind asking your daughter if Molly was wearing earrings on Friday night?'

Rosa was no fool. She didn't ask the obvious and was back in seconds. ‘Gold double-hooped gypsy earrings,' she said. ‘Apparently they were a present from her godmother.'

‘And can you ask Clara if Molly was still wearing them later on in the night?'

Again Rosa Williams returned with the answer almost instantly. Her daughter must have been near the phone. ‘When Clara last saw Molly she was still wearing them. Apparently they were quite expensive, nine-carat gold.' She paused. ‘They were very precious to her. If she'd have dropped one she would have really tried to find it.' There was a pause. ‘That's what my daughter says.'

Joanna thanked her and put the phone down, looking at the hoops of gold. They could get them tested for blood. Although she was teased amongst the force for copying some of Sherlock Holmes' practices she still carried a magnifying glass in her bag. She fished it out and peered through it at the catch. The wire was bent if anything, tightening the little hook that fastened it and locking it. She moved the glass a little nearer, peering through and saw what looked like a speck of blood. Her heart sank. She had been pessimistic about the fate of Molly Carraway from the first but put an earring torn out of an ear together with her disappearance and it looked as though her worst fears would be realized. In her heart of hearts she now believed the girl was dead; her body dumped somewhere with no more respect than the same perpetrator had shown for Danielle or Kayleigh. This had the mark of him scratched all over it. The same disregard for human life. Not all human life; the life of young girls who dressed provocatively and abandoned themselves to a fleeting nightclub encounter when they had had a drink or two. And what else? The other girls had been left in the car park. One dead, one alive. Why not Molly? Was it possible that their perp was learning something? Had he decided to remove the evidence to deflect the heat from himself? To remove his ‘stamp'? Maybe to buy himself some time?

Hesketh-Brown was watching her. Without saying a word he closed the car door and they drove to 5 Roachside View. As soon as the car turned into the estate the door of number five opened and Beth Carraway stood there. In the brief period since they had initially met Molly's mother had aged another ten years. She stood and watched Joanna walk up the path and read correctly the small shake of the detective's face. She managed a smile and led the way inside without saying a word. Philip Carraway was sitting on the sofa; his face buried in his hands. He barely looked up as they entered.

Joanna showed the Carraways the contents of the specimen bag and knew the earring was familiar to them by the way their faces changed. It was tangible evidence of their daughter's presence – and absence. Beth clutched at her husband's hand before looking up and nodding. ‘It's Molly's,' she confirmed. ‘Can I look?'

Joanna didn't want her to see the bent wire, the tightened and distorted fastening, but she had no choice. She handed it over with a warning not to touch.