Guilty as Sin (2 page)

Danielle Levy's house was situated a mile and a half south of the police station in Mildenheath, a tired-looking lamp-post the only eyesore on a row of houses sporting downstairs bay windows and oak trees to the front and rear. The lawn was neatly tended to – something Wendy would not have noticed before she had her own, but which she now appreciated.

Culverhouse pressed the door-bell, shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. Wendy raised an eyebrow in warning that Culverhouse exercise some tact. The man who opened the door looked as though he was in his mid-thirties, small flecks of grey hairs in his closely-cropped black cut belied his true age.

“Mr Levy?”

“Parker. Darren Parker. Danielle's mum and I aren't married. You must be the two detectives. Please, come in.”

The white, glass-paned front door led into an open hall-way. The staircase rose up the left-hand wall away from the door and the kitchen door was open to the far end of the hall. Darren Parker led Wendy and Culverhouse to the right-hand door and into the living room. Wendy took a seat by the bay window, Culverhouse preferring to stride around the living room inspecting ornaments and greetings cards as he began to speak to Darren.

“Someone had a birthday?”

“Danielle. Last month, actually, but we tend to keep the cards up until we get sick of the sight of them. Not much else to look forward to apart from Christmases and birthdays these days, is there?” Culverhouse emitted a non-committal murmur. “'From your mum and step-dad', it says. I thought you weren't married?”

“We're not, but Danielle always calls me her step-father, and Miriam and I are as good as married anyway, so what's in a name?”

Wendy smiled. It had been a long time since she had heard the words of a truly caring father. “So, when did you last see Danielle?”

“In the morning before she went to school. Only briefly – we said good morning at the top of the stairs as I went to work.”

“You're a carpet fitter – is that your van?”

“That's the one. Got my own business.”

“I see. And was there any sign that Danielle had been home at all?”

“Uh, her rucksack was in the hall, so she must have been home. I think she said she had lessons up until lunchtime, though. I got back from work around one o'clock and her rucksack wasn't there then. I went out to walk the dog over Mildenheath Common for an hour or two and when I got back it was there. Odd thing is, her shoes weren't, so I can only imagine she dropped her bag off and went out somewhere.”

“Can you think of anywhere she might have gone? A friend's house?”

“We've tried all those. Danielle was always very streetwise and told us all her friends' names and phone numbers. We've spent the last day or two phoning round. We've even been up to the hospital to see if any unknown people have been admitted. We've just drawn an absolute blank. In retrospect, we probably should have phoned the police earlier, but we were so sure she had just gone into town or round to a friend's house. I guess … you never think it's going to happen to you.”

“I'm sure she'll be found safe and sound, Mr Parker.” Deep inside, she knew that the chances of this were fast diminishing. “Are you sure that you and Mrs Levy don't know of anywhere else Danielle might have gone to?”

“I'm pretty sure, yes. We've gone through the list a hundred times. Miriam's out now, walking the dogs on the Common in some sort of vain hope of finding something.”

“You can leave the searching to us, Mr Parker. I'm sure we'll find her soon. Do you mind if we have a quick look around her bedroom? Standard practice for a missing person.”

“Yes, of course. It's the first room on the right.”

Wendy and Culverhouse ascended the stairs and passed the bathroom door at the top before opening the door into Danielle's room. The door creaked slightly as it opened, revealing a room which looked remarkably like any other seventeen-year-old girl's room. It had the air of youth and innocence, but without the mess and untidiness of the early adolescent. The posters of pop stars and male idols were gone, replaced with newspaper cuttings of drama productions and photographs of shows she had appeared in. Wendy recognised Danielle in a few of the photographs. She looked happy, carefree.

Her wardrobe contained the usual fare for a seventeen-year-old girl: jeans, short skirts, party dresses and low-cut tops along with an assortment of coats, shoes and handbags. Danielle Levy was clearly a girl who cared about her appearance; an effort which her photographs showed to be every bit a success. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place.

The stairs creaking underfoot on his descent, Culverhouse began to ask the question before he was even visible to Darren Parker.

“Do you know whether Danielle had a boyfriend at all?”

“Not as far as I know, Inspector. She was quite open with us as her parents, but you know what young girls are like – I don't imagine for one minute she always told us everything.”

“Do you think her friends might have a better idea?”

“Quite possibly. I should imagine she'd have told at least one of them if she was involved with someone. I did ask them all when we phoned around – if any of them knew of a boyfriend or someone she might have gone to see.”

“And?”

“No-one knew of anyone. It's as if she's just vanished into thin air.”

“And there were no signs of a break-in at all?”

“No, but then again... Oh, this is going to sound so stupid.”

“Go on, Mr Parker.”

“The back door was unlocked. We usually lock it, and I know it was locked when I left for work this morning as I hadn't unlocked it from last night. It'd be difficult for someone to get in that way, but not entirely impossible.”

Wendy sat lifeless at her desk, nursing an increasingly-colder mug of coffee. Her lips were pursed, blowing away steam which no longer existed.

“You trying to make an ice lolly?” DS Steve Wing said.

“Hmmm? Oh, sorry. Lost in thought.”

“I'd noticed. You've been blowing on that coffee for the past twenty minutes. Not like your usual asbestos-tongued self.”

“Yeah, just got a lot of stuff on my mind at the moment. Long days and short nights, you know how it is.”

“I don't think any of us really know how it is, Wendy. You should probably have taken longer off work, no matter what Culverhouse says.”

“It wasn't down to Culverhouse, it was down to me. As he said, he would have had me in the next day if he could.”

“True. Two weeks is maternity leave to him.” Wendy found herself no longer wanting to drink her mug of coffee. “Anyway, we've got an afternoon briefing at half-past. More news on the mobile phone records and door-to-door enquiries on the Danielle Levy case.”

“Mmmhmm. Any luck?”

“That's what the briefing's for.”

“Yeah...” Wendy trailed off.

“Listen, Wendy, are you sure you're all right? I mean, I can always have a word with Culverhouse if you'd rather take more time off or have a break or something.”

“Nah, I'm fine. Honestly. Half past, yeah?”

As Wendy got up and left the room, Steve Wing gave it a minute or so before knocking on Culverhouse's door.

*

The morning briefing passed in a haze for Wendy as Culverhouse updated the team with the latest developments.

“Steve, what's the latest on the mobile phone records?”

“I got on to her network operator this morning, guv. Fortunately, she has an iPhone – quite a recent model, and as she was in a built-up area the phone was sending broadcast signals every five or ten minutes. It was last picked up by three base station towers at 1.15pm, so they've narrowed it down to an area of around two hundred and fifty metres. That area pretty much centres on her house.”

“So she was at home when her mobile was last active?”

“Or near enough to it, yes. They could have been even more specific but it looks as though she had her phone's GPS function turned off. It's quite possible that she switched her phone off when she got home, or that it ran out of battery, or she left it at home. The thing is, the signal stops there. It doesn't mean she did, though. Just that her phone was switched off or never left the house.”

“That could be about right, as her parents said her shoes weren't anywhere to be found in the house, so I think its looking likely that she left the house of her own accord. Or before she had a chance to take her shoes off.”

“Do you think there was an abduction, guv?”

“It's possible. The step-father said the back door was left on the catch, whereas it's usually deadlocked. He says he locked it the night before and that it was unlocked when he came in from walking the dog on Friday afternoon.”

“So Danielle went out through the back door?”

“Or someone came in through it.”

Wendy hadn't been drinking heavily recently, she told herself – she'd been drinking just enough. What else is one to do when you find out your own brother is a crazed killer, having murdered your lover and tried to murder you?

She had cried all the tears she could cry in the last six weeks. Now, she felt almost no pain at all; it had been replaced with a feeling of complete numbness. Red wine helped numb the remaining pain. She knew that Michael's court date later in the year would open up the wounds once again, but for now she was happy to feel nothing. Anger and disbelief kept her grief for Robert under a watertight lid. For now, at least.

In those six weeks she had left her flat and moved into a small house in a quiet residential area of Mildenheath, not far from the home of Danielle Levy. Her new one-bedroom mews house in Archer's Close was certainly cosy, as the estate agent had described it. Wendy hastened to use the word 'cramped' as it was certainly spacious when compared to the flat she had moved out of. Most importantly of all, the new house didn't hold the bad memories the flat did. She had her creature comforts here: a cul-de-sac location, a front lawn and enough space for her to spend her days away from the office.

Wendy stared at the box and ran her fingers over the raised lettering as she took another mouthful of Neethlingshof Malbec 2009. She was sure it wouldn't be necessary – it couldn't be necessary – but she was better safe than sorry. Putting the glass of wine down on her coffee table, she took the box into the bathroom and closed the door.

Emerging minutes later, Wendy picked the wine glass up from the coffee table and emptied its contents into the sink.

Wendy was glad that the brief greetings and conversations hadn't got past 'hello' and on to 'how are you?' that Tuesday morning as she wasn't entirely sure as to what her answer would be. She felt very little, caught somewhere between happiness, despair, joy and desperation.

Her state of mind was helped little by a particularly energetic and brash DCI Culverhouse who was now sauntering over towards her desk .

“Knight – your arse, my office, now.”

Not one to turn down a polite request, Wendy rose from her chair and followed Culverhouse into his office. The door closed with a click and Culverhouse turned and perched himself on the edge of his desk.

“Oh, you brought the rest of you too. Never mind.”

“You wanted to see me, guv.”

“I did. Steve said you were a bit down in the dumps.”

“He what? I'm fine, guv, really.”

“No, I mean what I'm saying is you're probably likely to be a bit mardy, aren't you?”

“Why?”

“Well, the Michael stuff.”

“Are you trying to tell me that, as a kind and caring man, you completely understand that I might be psychologically affected by the fact that my brother tried to kill me?”

“I wouldn't have put it in quite such a poofy way, no.”

“Well I'm not. I'm fine.”

“You might think so, but no-one else does, Knight. Listen, I've booked you in to speak to that shrink in Counselling. Maybe she can help you sort your head out a bit.”