Nameless Kill (17 page)

The pair of them stood there for a moment. Stood opposite one another, both of them silent, neither of them saying a thing.

Then, Winston stood aside from the doorway and lifted his arm in the direction of the shop floor.

“Please leave, Officer. You are welcome to return with a search warrant. I have nothing to hide.”

Brian listened for a few moments. Listened for that rustling sound through the door behind him. If he heard it again, he’d go back. Go back and search. Go back while he had the chance. Because now, if Winston was bluffing him, he still had an opportunity to be thorough. An opportunity to check.

Instead, his face and neck warm, his hands shaking, Brian walked out of the corridor and rushed towards the front door of African Connection.

The sun seemed brighter than it ever had been when he stepped outside. He walked around the corner from African Connection, taking deep gasps of the air, unpleasant smelling but fresher than inside Winston’s stuffy shop. He held his hands on his knees and stared at the ground. His head spun. His heart was still racing. Stupid idiot. He’d pushed himself too far. Pushed his luck, once again, and for what? To turn around and walk the fuck out of African Connection.

He had to get a warrant. He had to see what was in there. But now Winston, if he was involved, had a chance to move whatever it was. Time was ticking.

He lifted his phone out of his pocket, which almost slipped out of his greasy hand, and went to call Marlow’s number.

To his surprise, his phone started buzzing. Marlow was calling him.

Brian brought the phone to his ear. “Marlow. Yeah. I’m at‌—‌”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Marlow said, his voice crackling on the badly connected line. Fucking EE. Brian had been on at them for months and still they’d done nothing to sort his signal despite all their promises. “Before you yap on like you do, hear me out.”

Brian closed his eyes, stood outside around the corner from African Connection. He felt his jaw tensing, eager to tell Marlow what he knew‌—‌what he suspected, what he had to investigate.

“That press appeal we put out. Y’know, one where you took a kip on your way out.”

Brian knotted up inside. Bastard. “Yes. Yeah, I remember. Marlow, I need to talk to you about‌—‌”

“Suzanne Brayfeather. She’s come in with information. Information that I think you’ll be very interested to hear.”

Brian opened his eyes and sighed, straightening his back. He brought his hands through his hair. Press appeals sometimes meant success but always meant one thing: loads of fakers. It just came with the territory. It wasn’t fucking important right now. “Right. Thanks. Have her pass the information on to one of the investigating‌—‌”

“She’s the mother of Elise Brayfeather,” Marlow said. His voice crackled with the bad line again. Brian waited for him to say more, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Elise Brayfeather?” Brian asked, trying to search his mind for the name. A witness? Friend of Wayne’s?”

A pause. Another crackle on the line.

“Marlow, you’re breaking up.”

“Elise Brayfeather is our girl,” Marlow said.

Brian wasn’t sure what to say to this. His thoughts were muddled. All he knew was that he was very warm, standing here in the spring sun all wrapped up in police gear. “What? Which girl?”

Another pause. Another crackle.

“Elise Brayfeather is our dead girl down at Avenham Park. Suzanne is her mother.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

Brian had a few initial reservations about Suzanne Brayfeather being the mother of the dead girl on Avenham Park.

But when he saw her sitting at that table in the interview room, all of his doubts were washed away.

The first thing Brian noticed about her was her long blonde hair. Just like her daughter’s, down to her shoulders. Her skin looked soft, too. She must’ve been in her forties but she didn’t look a day over thirty. She was wearing a white shirt and a black blouse, with a black skirt and tights on. Her diamond-stud earrings glistened, as did all the silvery and diamond-encrusted jewellery on her fingers.

That’s when Brian saw the birthmark.

It was small, only just visible through the woman’s makeup, but it was under her left eye. The exact same spot as the girl on Avenham Park.

Brian’s stomach did another somersault.

The dead girl really was Elise Brayfeather, and Suzanne Brayfeather really was her mother.

Brian sat down on the grey plastic chair beside DS Carter, who was acting in Brad’s place as Deputy CIO while he recovered. The chair dug right into Brian’s arse. He offered a hand across the table to Suzanne Brayfeather, shuffling in the chair as he did, knowing damn well if he didn’t get comfy that he’d feel it for days.

“Detective Inspector McDone,” Brian said.

Suzanne placed her soft hand in his. For a moment, Brian felt a little bit disgusting wrapping his greasy, clammy hand around hers, like it was tainting her with his germs in some way.

“Suzanne. Suzanne Brayfeather.” She half-smiled, her blue eyes twitching up towards Brian, then back down at the table.

Brian pulled his hand away and nodded at Carter, who leaned forward on the table chewing something.

“I’m assuming you’ve been introduced to Detective Sergeant Carter,” Brian said.

Suzanne nodded sharply, lifting her eyes up again briefly as she twitched her long-nailed fingers on the table.

She was an attractive woman, Brian had to admit. In fact, he was pretty lucky‌—‌in an interview room surrounded by attractive women. He could smell the perfume coming off both of them and making a sweet combination. He was doing alright for a fifty-something year old.

Pity he just so happened to be talking about a murder case with them.

Oh, and the small matter of already being in a relationship with an attractive woman. There was that, too.

“You say the girl we found on Avenham Park is your daughter,” Brian said, unsure of how to open up this conversation. How would she react? How long had her daughter been missing? From what Brian had learned, Elise must’ve been gone since she was very young. That was the Yemi Moya modus operandi. Elise Brayfeather must’ve been kidnapped when she was young and spent a lifetime in captivity.

Suzanne nodded. Her eyes were wide and distant, her fingernails still tapping away on the table, which Brian hoped she’d stop before it got on everybody’s nerves.

Brian shuffled forward in the chair. Already it was making his arse ache. “And what…‌what makes you so certain this girl is your daughter, Mrs‌—‌”

“Ms,” Suzanne said, the “s” buzzing from her tongue like a bee. “
Ms.
Brayfeather.”

Brian heard Carter sigh. He hoped Suzanne hadn’t heard it too.

“Ms. Brayfeather,” Brian said. “Your daughter. How do you‌—‌”

“You’ve seen,” she said, quietly but quickly. She tapped her long fingernail against the birthmark on her face. “The birthmark. Genetic. My mum had one, my Elise had one. And her…‌her hair and her face and…‌I knew. I just knew.”

Brian nodded as Suzanne’s words got more rapid, more forced out in a single breath. “Okay,” he said, leaning back in the chair, getting dizzy from the intense concoction of perfumes that were actually starting to get on his chest more than anything. “Ms. Brayfeather, I apologise and offer my condolences for your loss. No parent should have to lose a child. Please be assured that we’re doing everything we can to find the person who did this and bring them to justice.”

Suzanne’s eyes twitched back up to Brian. A momentary flick of a smile on her lips. Then she looked back down at the table, twitching and tapping away.

“Suzanne,” Carter said, her chair creaking as she leaned forward. “We put out the press appeal on Monday. And news started leaking out before then of this girl…‌your daughter.” She rubbed her hands together. “So why’s it taken you ‘til Wednesday to let us know?”

Brian wasn’t keen on Carter’s tone with Suzanne, and judging by the way Suzanne scratched at her blonde hair, every movement jerky, neither was she.

“I‌—‌I just‌—‌I only‌—‌I was only back in the country on‌—‌last night‌—‌I was‌—‌”

“It’s okay,” Brian said, raising his voice and frowning at Carter. “Ms. Brayfeather, that’s okay. That makes sense. Please. Just take a few deep breaths and take your time. You’re not in trouble for anything here. We just want to find out as much as we can. But that’s got to be in your own time.” He looked at Carter again, who skulked back in her chair. “We respect that.”

Suzanne dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her white shirt and nodded. She sniffed. “Okay. I just…‌my girl. I should’ve done more. I‌—‌I should’ve done more.”

Brian gave Suzanne a few moments to compose herself before progressing the questioning. He loosened his collar. It seemed to be warm wherever he went lately. And then he was off to Malaga on Saturday to get even bloody warmer. Genius idea.

“When was the last time you saw your daughter?” Brian asked. He was fully prepared for the answer. Fully prepared for his suspicions about Elise Brayfeather being kidnapped as a kid when Yemi Moya was in his prime to be confirmed.

“It was‌—‌it was two years ago,” she said. She didn’t look at Brian or Carter when she said this. Her cheeks had gone all red from the crying, a reaction that Brian remembered a girl at his school used to have. “Two years ago when she…‌when she left home. When she left me.”

It took Brian a moment to properly process the words.

Two years. Wait. She wasn’t a kid then. Two years ago wasn’t long ago. But then that didn’t add up with his theory. It didn’t add up with‌—‌

“How old is…‌How old
was
Elise when she died?” Carter asked, emphasising the “was,” not out of inconsideration, just out of a lack of etiquette.

The “was” seemed to hit Suzanne sharp, too, as she flinched as Carter said it. She sniffed up again, dabbed her eyes, then looked at Brian and Carter for a rare few seconds. “Sixteen,” she said. “I‌—‌I should never have let her leave. I should’ve done something. I could’ve done something but I‌—‌I‌—‌”

Suzanne descended into more tears and mumbling, holding both sleeves to her face.

Carter sighed again, not doing much to hide her feelings towards Suzanne’s attitude. But Brian didn’t mind. His head was spinning. He needed a few moments‌—‌a few moments to try and piece everything together. Elise Brayfeather hadn’t been kidnapped as a kid. That was that theory out of the window. She’d left when she was sixteen for some reason.

It didn’t add up. It didn’t add up with Yemi Moya‌—‌he was arrested at that time, anyway. Dead, even. So it must be somebody else. For another reason.

“In what circumstances did Elise leave you?” Brian asked, as Suzanne continued to weep and mumble. “In your erm, own time, of course.”

Suzanne took a few moments, inhaled some long breaths, then looked up at the bright light dangling from the ceiling. “Not‌—‌not good ones. She was‌—‌We argued. We argued a lot. Single mum, daughter blaming her for everything. But we‌—‌we argued a lot and she left. She left and I‌—‌and I didn’t see her. We spoke. Spoke on the phone and through text but then it just‌—‌it just stopped. I had no idea. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have…‌this wouldn’t have happened.”

Her daughter left. That explained the lack of a missing persons report. “Where did she leave to?” Brian asked. “Father? Relative?”

Suzanne shook her head, mascara running down her face. “No, no. Never‌—‌never knew her dad. She‌—‌she left to be with her boyfriend.”

A bell chimed in Brian’s head, much like they did in the cheesy cartoons when the characters were on to something. “Boyfriend?”

Suzanne nodded. She held her fingers to her eyes. “Yes. He‌—‌he was weird. She’d been seeing him for a while. He seemed‌—‌I mean he seemed friendly enough when she spoke about him but‌—‌but she got obsessed. And he was into weird stuff. Into‌—‌into weird stuff.”

“Weird stuff?” Carter said. “Like kinky sex?”

“No!” Suzanne spat, moving her fingers away from her eyes and glaring at Carter. A speck of spit had dribbled down her chin, making her much less attractive in an instant.

Well, a little less attractive anyway.

“He‌—‌he was into all spiritual stuff. ‘Weegee’ boards and things like‌—‌things like that.”

“Ouija boards,” Brian corrected, more for himself than anybody. If he heard another person mispronounce “ouija” in his lifetime, he’d strap them to a table and summon the fucking pronunciation demon.

“She‌—‌she said she was staying with him. And then‌—‌and then this. This happened and I…‌He had to have done something. And I could’ve stopped her leaving. I‌—‌I could’ve stopped her.”

Suzanne descended into even more tears.

Brian’s mind raced with thoughts. Elise Brayfeather had left home to be with a weird, spirit-obsessed creep at the age of sixteen.

Two years later, she was found dead in a fashion reminiscent of rituals.

The sheepskin. The antlers. He remembered what Jeeves had brought up with him about ritual murder. The lead they’d never pursued because the evidence was so weighted in Yemi Moya’s direction.

“What was his name, Suzanne?” Brian asked. “Her‌—‌Elise’s boyfriend. What was his name?”

Suzanne lowered her fingers from her eyes once again. This time though, she stared right at Brian. Stared at him like a dog stared when it’d shat in the house.

“His name, Suzanne.” Brian’s heart raced. This was it. This was the moment. This was the moment the whole case came together.

“I don’t know his name,” Suzanne said.

Those words seemed to hang in the silent interview room for minutes.

“You…‌you don’t know the name of the man your daughter left you to live with?” Carter asked, echoing Brian’s thoughts.

Suzanne’s lips wobbled again, and Brian braced himself for another crying outpouring. “See I told you. I‌—‌I told you I could’ve done more. I just‌—‌I was just trying to do what was right for her. I‌—‌I thought it was a phase. I thought she’d‌—‌she’d come back…”

Brian leaned back in the chair. He couldn’t help himself placing his greasy, sweat-smelling hands over his face and letting out a groan. He’d come so close. So close to finding out the name of Elise Brayfeather’s boyfriend‌—‌her probable-fucking-killer by the sounds of it‌—‌and her own mother didn’t know his fucking name.