Shallow Waters (9 page)

27

I
took the passenger seat as Ethan climbed into the driver’s side. Sally
and Aaron had taken our car back to the incident room. Ethan looked
grim.

“So it is her?” he asked, the car keys sitting limp in his hands.

“Yes,
it's her.” This situation wasn't comfortable. I was already finding it
difficult to manoeuvre my way through the relationship I had with
Ethan, without throwing in a woman who, believing her child may be
dead, had turned up on the doorstep of the local paper before
contacting the police. They were actions I found unfathomable. Why
would she go to the press rather than contacting us? We needed to be
cautious with her. She was a grieving mother, but one whose actions
were at the very least, questionable.

“I
didn't ask to do this, Hannah.” I let him talk “As I said, the story
was already mine, so when she walked in, it came to me to follow up.”

“Tell
me what you know.” I wanted him to tell me this would be okay. That our
working worlds colliding in this way wouldn't have an effect on our
somewhat precarious relationship. But he wouldn't talk about us now. It
was doubtful he would even talk about us later when we were
alone.    

He
turned to me. “It came to us in quite a convoluted way. One of
Allison's friends from school was concerned about her, spoke to her own
mother who happens to be the cousin of the new guy covering the
entertainment section. She mentioned it at a family gathering, thinking
Ted would be interested, which, to hand it to him, he was, and he
passed it on to me. She had been missing a  week then. Longer than
is usual for her. When I showed up at her house, Natalie, her mum, was
a little surprised. She wasn't concerned, after all, she said, she's
fifteen now.” He sighed. “Fifteen. As if that's all grown up. Natalie
was happy to let me in and talk to me. She asked if she would be paid
for talking to me. Seemed a little narked when I said it was a profile
piece to raise awareness for Allison and the plight of missing children
in the city area. I don't think I got a very honest account from her.
She was more interested in what she could get out of the publicity.”

I
was glad Ethan had been involved with the family before the death. I
hated to think he could be trying to exploit anything we had for the
sake of a story. It didn't get past me that she was also the same age
as Rosie Green. My phone rang again. It was a constant noise during
enquiries like this. “Robbins.” The line was silent for a few seconds
then cleared. I pushed it back in my pocket. Whoever it was, they'd
call back if it was important.

“What did she say this morning when she turned up?”

“I
was buzzed by reception who told me that Natalie was here demanding to
see me and something about Allison being murdered. I was shocked,
couldn't quite believe it. I'd held the belief that she'd be okay in
the end. I knew she was trying to escape from a crappy home life and if
I'm honest, I didn't blame her. I'd been in her home. Met her mum. But
this?” He paused a beat. “As I walked the stairs down to reception I
could already hear Natalie wailing, but when I was face to face with
her, it was strange.”

“In what way?”

“For
all the noise I'd heard coming from her, faced with her I didn't get
the feeling the emotion she was portraying was genuine. She was making
a big drama but something about her made me bristle. I took her up to
the fourth floor. I wanted to get her out of the way of other visitors,
and made her a drink. We sat and she recounted how she'd had a text
message telling her Allison had been found in a bin. I asked her how
she was doing and what could I do to help and she asked how much I'd
pay her for her story.”

28

Natalie
Kirk was a scrawny looking woman with an instantaneously off-putting
attitude. Even reminding yourself she had lost her daughter did little
in the way of balancing the scales in her favour. She stood in the
small interview room in
Nottingham Today's
fourth floor suite telling me how hard done to she was. Her talon
shaped red nails pointed towards me in an attempt to claw their message
across, heaving breasts barely contained by the skimpy cloth passing as
a t-shirt. Ethan sat in the corner in a coffee coloured armchair. A
small silver rectangle object sat on the low table at his side and I
realised the conversation was being recorded. 

“My baby's gone and what are you doing about it?” Natalie Kirk wailed at me.

“Mrs
Kirk, I'm sorry for your loss. I have a full team of officers, seasoned
detectives working all hours in an effort to identify and arrest the
offender.” I paused, giving her time to take in what I'd said. I wasn't
sure she was listening. Her concentration seemed limited, fractured,
and not just by grief, but by other conversations she seemed to be
wanting to have. Her head flicked between Ethan and her beeping phone.
She'd tut as she pulled it out of her bag, but check anyway, to see if
it needed responding to. The majority of time, I could see, she had the
sense not to send messages as we stood there. “Please,” I continued,
“can we sit down?” I gestured towards the comfortable plush sofas
positioned around the room. Natalie sat, crossed skinny legs in a tiny
skirt, and waved four inch heels towards me. Her fingers once again
went to her tired red handbag. My patience was about coming to an end.
The conversation was the most stilted I'd ever attempted to hold with a
parent of a murdered child. Eventually she pulled out a pack of
cigarettes and a lighter. The screwed up look on her face softened. She
flicked at the lighter and sucked hard on the cigarette between cherry
lips.

“Natalie, you can't smoke in here. I'm sorry,” Ethan said.

She
eyed him, head to toe and back up again, seemed to consider her options
before she stubbed it out on a saucer in front of her.

“It
may be more comfortable if we talked down at the station where we can
discuss Allison and make arrangements for you to see her,” I said.

“I'm
not going anywhere with you. I'm staying here.” She raised her voice
and the barely restrained breasts were pushed forward in some kind of
protest. “
Notts Today
wants my story.” She glanced at Ethan for confirmation, who looked at
me and had the sense to keep his mouth shut at this point. She
continued, “Maybe I can come and see you when I've talked to them?” Her
bony hands rubbed at her cheeks, where no real tears were falling.

“Mrs
Kirk, this is a murder investigation and we need a formal
identification of Allison. It's imperative this is done. If it's
delayed, the rest of the investigation is delayed. After the ID we need
a chat with you, we need to get an idea of who Allison was as a girl
and where she may have been hanging out, who her friends were, what her
likes and dislikes were. Just a general feel for her. That way, we can
start to make enquiries, question people and find the person who did
this.”

Natalie
jumped from her seat, heels wobbling from the ferocity of the movement.
“They did this to me as well. She's my baby. It's hurting right in my
heart.” Her hand went dramatically to her chest. My sympathy was
non-existent. I didn't feel bad about that either, Natalie Kirk wasn't
feeling guilty for her lack of parenting skills. I was not surprised
Allison had struggled to remain in her own home with a mother who cared
so little for her. The recorder caught my attention again.  Ethan
evaded my silent, querying look. I stood.

“I
know you're hurting, Mrs Kirk. We can contact a doctor to come out to
see how you're doing and we will have an assigned detective to spend
some time with you talking about Allison and also about you. How does
that sound?” I had to try and show her this could be about her, that
she deserved the attention the murder of her child was bringing. Her
phone hadn't stopped beeping and clicking since I had walked in the
room. Messages of support coming through and messages from people
wanting gruesome details, of which Natalie Kirk was more than willing
to share, given that she continued to respond to, rather than ignore
the phone.

“I would see a doctor, for me? And a special detective to spend time with me?”

“Yes
of course, it's important you are checked out and okay and you have
someone around to talk to when you need it. Shall we go and deal with
this?” I asked in a softer tone than I felt she deserved.

“Oh, Okay. Ethan, can we do the story later after I've done the stuff with the five oh?”

Ethan
looked up. “Of course, Natalie. Give me a call when you're done and
I'll pick you up. I'll speak to my editor in the meantime to see what
she wants out of our meeting, okay?”

Kirk
was sly enough to know not to push us all at the same time, after all,
it appeared, she wanted to keep us all at her beck and call as long as
possible.

As
Natalie went to powder her already over plastered face in the ladies
room I called Sally for a car then pulled Ethan to one side.

“What were you doing with that recorder?”

“Nothing
sinister. Where you used to see reporters scribbling away in books, we
now have these, it means I get to do less scribbling and my memory is
terrible, I never remember what's been said. She was in here to talk to
us, Han, nothing wrong with it.”

I
was on edge. He knew that, he stepped closer and dropped his head so
his mouth was near my ear and lowered his voice “It's okay. I'll come
round tonight. It's going to be fine. Text me when you finish and I'll
be there.” He stepped away as Natalie tottered back in. Tissues clumped
in her hand, dabbing virtually dry cheeks. My phone vibrated. Sally was
outside with the car.

“Okay Natalie, the car's here, let’s go and make you a cuppa and have a chat.”

She
wobbled again on her shoes, mascara rubbed around her face giving her
an even grimier, look than she'd already had. As I pushed on the office
door to exit, Natalie turned and spoke to Ethan “I want my money.
Papers pay for stories like this. You pay or I go elsewhere.”

29

Leaning
back into my chair I listened to the call connect and ran a hand
through my hair. I'd always stuck to the rule that said personal and
professional lives should never mix. I'd seen cops work eighteen hour
shifts and more on a job and this obviously had a negative effect on
family life. My own desire to succeed in the job, and in each case that
came in,  meant my love life had taken a back seat.  And yet
here I was. I thought I was safe with Ethan. He wasn't a cop, but he
was a dedicated hard-working conscientious guy. Someone I could connect
with in an intellectual way away from policing and not have to talk
about the job, which was another disadvantage of a work relationship.
It was always a topic of conversation. Now this. Now Ethan was slap
bang in the middle of my investigation and in all likelihood was going
to get in the way and be as difficult as I had come to expect
journalists to be.  

“Today, Ethan Gale.” The familiar voice answered.

“Ethan, it's me.”

“Hey.” Warm.

I
didn't know what to say next. I was so angry with him, with the
situation I felt he had put me in. But hearing his voice, knowing him
on such an intimate level, I couldn't bawl him out. I took a deep
breath.

“Hannah, I'm sorry this is your job. That my job is a part of your job.”

“I
know.” I tried to steel myself, to be professional, to be what the
investigation needed, without trampling on Ethan and our still growing
relationship.

“What is
Nottingham Today
planning on doing with Natalie Kirk when she gets back in touch?”

“I
talked with my editor and she wants to run with the story, with Natalie
as the poor grieving single mother, striving to bring up a child on her
own in troubled times. It's a heart-breaker and it sells papers.”

“Yeah and the woman would sell her own daughter if she could.”

“I don't disagree but the story's there.”

“I know.” My hand went through my hair again.

“I
want to see the story before it goes to print and I want everything
you've written up about Natalie Kirk and Allison before she was found
today. Can you do that?”

Silence. I gave him a moment.

“You're
going to have to give me a little time to get everything together. I
wouldn't usually but if it'll help with the investigation then I can
do. There may be sources of information within previous notes or
articles I can't disclose, but you can have what I've got if it helps.
Just give me the time will you?”

I
knew he was giving what he could, but it would have helped to know any
sources he was speaking with. I sighed into the mouthpiece “Okay Ethan,
but don't take too long. I don't want this monster claiming another
girl whilst we wade through the
Today's
red tape.”

30

I
decided to go with Sally and Natalie after the positive ID of Allison's
body. The sterile viewing had been conducted through a glass partition
to preserve any evidence she may have had on her. It's not easy for
loved ones and the process seemed to have affected Natalie. Maybe more
than I was expecting. The gaudy loud woman I was used to was subdued
and compliant. We stood with her at the gates of the hospital grounds,
coats buttoned up as high as they'd go, fighting off the cold wind as
she smoked two cigarettes in succession before we took her away from
her daughter and back home. The background sound of traffic rolled past
on Derby Road at great speed, offering a stark contrast to the
stillness here, right now in this moment. Lips puckered, roll-up in
mouth, Natalie sucked for all she was worth, bony fingers never still
and eyes downcast. The noise and demands she produced earlier had
ceased and we gave her the time she needed.

       
Natalie Kirk's address was in the St Anne’s estate, a narrow terraced
house on Sketchley Street, off Blue Bell Hill Road. Several years ago
the council had thrown some money at St Anne’s in an attempt to
regenerate the area after a serious bout of negative press due to high
crime rates, in particular gun violence, where Nottingham had managed
to obtain the nickname of Shottingham. They hadn't done a bad job, but
Natalie's home still stood, uncared for and lacklustre.

The
front door opened into a narrow hallway with wood-chip paper and a
yellowing ceiling. I could see the kitchen beyond as we walked into the
living room to our right. I was struck by the smell; a mixture of fusty
socks, cigarette smoke and rotting food. The room consisted of a shabby
brown velour sofa with tassels in disarray around the bottom edges,
seat cushions well-worn and indented, sinking down into the base where
wire springs had long ago given up their ability to stand firm.
Magazines, a litter bin overflowing onto the carpet, and DVD cases
filled what little space there was of the floor. A cat litter tray was
positioned on top of an old depleted sideboard. It looked and smelled
as though it hadn't been cleaned out in a long time. The litter
appeared to have been pushed out of the tray by the feline owner of the
mess and was dropping onto the floor. The curtains were drawn, which
had the effect of closing in the smell around you. Smothering you. The
cat was nowhere to be seen and I couldn't blame it.

“Natalie, can I make you a drink?” Sally asked.

“Ooh,
could you love; a drop of whiskey with a splash of water would go down
right well about now. You'll find the whiskey bottle at the side of the
bread bin.”

Sally
looked at me and rolled her eyes. Natalie Kirk didn't notice, she was
busy texting someone. Her fingers shaking now whereas they had been
steady before.

I
nodded at Sally and then towards the stairs indicating I planned to go
up and have a look around. She nodded. I wasn't comfortable with the
situation here. The lack of parenting and then lack of care on her
death when she attended the newspaper offices instead of the police
station. Greed and self-service had been the tone of the whole day and
it made my insides crawl. I needed to know about the woman, more about
Allison and her life, both before she went missing and when she was
missing. Were the two things connected? And how was Natalie going to
behave in the coming days once she had processed the loss of her
daughter a bit more?

Allison's
was the first room at the top of the stairs. I was surprised by what I
saw. An effort had been made to keep it tidy. Clothes were hung up in a
small double wardrobe, with a few pairs of shoes stacked in the bottom.
She had an old computer on a desk and a diary at the side of it.
Coloured pens adorned the fluorescent pencil pot and a small make-up
bag, covered inside by loose make-up powder, was filled with the
teenage necessities: foundation, black eye-liner and lots of mascara.
Several tubes filled the bag.

Her bed was made;
sleep time
embroidered on a cream bed-sheet. matching pillowcases and curtains
giving the look of an organised room. Then, out of the corner of my eye
I saw the air freshener, plugged into a spare socket. It explained the
floral scent or at the very least, the attempt to disguise the foul
odour of the rest of the house.

Though
she may have been troubled, I was beginning to form the opinion Allison
wanted what the rest of the girls in her school year wanted and she was
mature enough to see her home life was not that.

Sally walked in. She raised her eyebrows as she took in the tidy room.

“Natalie
wants to know how long we're going to be as she wants to contact
Ethan.” More eye rolling. It's amazing how much non-verbal
communication you can get away with when you have an opinion about a
situation, and we both had an opinion about this situation.

“Not too long, I'm going to seize some items from Allison's room, then have a quick look around the rest of the house.”

As
I stood taking in Allison's room I got the feeling that she was a
normal teenager from a difficult life. I felt a sorrow for Allison, for
a life and future she had now missed, and a sorrow for the ending she
had met.

We
walked out of the house with a computer tower and diaries from
Allison's room and a sticky, dusty laptop from the living room. I felt
dirty and could smell the grime clinging to me as Sally and I loaded
the boot of the car with the seized property. Natalie didn't want to
talk any more, she'd said it was getting late and she needed to talk to
Ethan. Sally handed Natalie her card containing contact details and
told her she would be available should she want to talk. She also told
her she would pop by tomorrow to see how she was doing. Natalie looked
surprised that someone should offer to be there for her and a single
tear had slid down her cheek without the usual drama. Maybe she had a
human side after all.  Maybe.

I
slammed the car boot shut and climbed in the driver’s seat, Sally in
the passenger side. I opened my mouth, about to discuss Natalie, when a
roar ripped through the air. The car was lifted rapidly from its
nearside wheels. I heard a scream somewhere to my left, distant and
swallowed by the huge wall of sound. My head slammed forward, air
pushed out of me. The car crashed back down. I sucked for breath but
there was none. Blackness.