The Reborn (12 page)

‘Have you heard the phrase “daisy chain”?’

Her face coloured a deep red, then went white. She looked as though she might throw up.

‘Are you OK?’

Her hands gripped the sides of the leather chair.

‘Is this to do with Kira’s death?’ she said fearfully.

‘It might be.’

The words came out in a rush. ‘That’s what we called ourselves. The Daisy Chain. Kira chose the name. We had to have tattoos done. A daisy somewhere on your body where it wasn’t obvious. The school doesn’t allow tattoos, even if you can’t see them. How stupid is that?’ She regained a momentary calm as annoyance set in, then fear returned. ‘Kira made us swear we wouldn’t tell anyone about that.’ A suspicious look crossed her face. ‘Who told you? Was it David?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you know?’

‘I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid.’

She leaned towards him. ‘If Ms Porter finds out about the tattoo, she’ll ask my dad to remove me from the school. He’ll go mad.’ She slumped suddenly in the chair, a beaten teenager with too much on her shoulders.

‘I won’t be the one to tell her.’

She gave him a grateful look.

‘Can you think of anyone who would want to harm Kira? Who might want to take her baby?’

Her face creased. She was close to tears. ‘No. Everyone liked Kira. She was special.’ Her voice was tinged with envy.

He thought it was time to change the subject. ‘Why do you want to study Medicine?’

She looked surprised by the question. ‘Dad’s a doctor. It runs in the family.’

It sounded as though Dad had made the decision for her. He took out his card.

‘Will you promise to call me if you think of anything that might help?’

She nodded.

‘Can I speak to you again some time soon?’

‘Dad won’t like it.’

‘I’m afraid the law takes precedence over your dad’s likes and dislikes.’

She looked pleased at the thought.

He watched her leave. In the kilt, green tights and flat shoes, she looked nearer twelve than seventeen.

He spent the next half hour going through Kira’s school records. They made interesting reading. The description of her as an all-rounder was an understatement. She was an excellent swimmer, played the flute and the violin, was captain of the hockey team and a champion school debater. She’d regularly taken part in the UK Mathematics Trust annual Challenges and had won a gold certificate every year. She’d sat six subjects at Higher Level, Scotland’s gold standard examinations, and passed all six at Band 1 level. In Maths and Physics she hadn’t dropped a single mark and had been singled out by the Exam Board. She’d been destined to sit four Advanced Highers this June, three science papers and one in Pure Maths, but she was also taking Greek and Mandarin taster courses.

Her results at Higher Level alone would have guaranteed her a place studying Medicine at any Scottish university where breadth of knowledge was seen as the guarantor of success. The Advanced Highers were there to appease the English universities, more used to the English A level qualifications. With this girl’s ability, any self-respecting university should have sent a taxi to collect her.

He thought of Lisa, who had a similar workload. She’d already been offered a place at Edinburgh on the strength of her Higher results. If all went well, she would move through in October to begin her studies. He should be pleased for her, but in truth he dreaded the day she would no longer be under his roof and under his care.

He finished by reading Kira’s personal statement for her university application. He’d read through Lisa’s statement before she’d submitted her UCAS form. He was struck again by how articulate both these young women were, by their ability to identify their strengths and outline their ambitions. When he’d been that age, he’d had no idea what he wanted to be or do. Even if he had known, he doubted whether he would have had the skill to put his thoughts into words.

According to the Principal’s secretary, Oxbridge applications had to be in by November. Kira had met that deadline, applying to read Maths at Cambridge. It seemed she had subsequently changed her mind – or hedged her bets – and applied to do Medicine at three Scottish universities through her UCAS application. Ms Porter had told him that Kira’s baby was to be put up for adoption, and that she fully intended to take up her place at Cambridge. Dr Delaney hadn’t seemed so sure. Bill suspected only Kira had known what she really intended doing, and he could no longer ask her.

He turned his attention to the other names on the pregnancy list. Louisa Sommerville, Melanie Jones, Jocelyn Calderfield and Samantha Wells.

The similarity with Kira was striking. All had been on their way to university. Louisa to study Chemistry, Melanie had chosen Law, Jocelyn, Medicine. Only Samantha had broken the mould and chosen Archaeology. The dates the girls left Morvern were on their files. The reason given was simply ‘withdrawn’.

He glanced at his watch. He was due to see Kira’s parents shortly. He decided to call the station first and ask DS Clark to contact the other girls’ parents and arrange a time to meet them. His first concern was whether these girls were still pregnant. It seemed more than likely that Kira’s death was linked to her participation in the Daisy Chain, which meant the other members of the gang might also be in danger.

14

The Reese-Brandons lived on a quiet road high above the River Kelvin. Below, the walkway ran between Partick and Kelvinbridge, crossing and recrossing the river via numerous bridges. It was a popular route for walkers, cyclists and joggers as well as providing a green shortcut through this area of the city.

It wasn’t unlike the Water of Leith in Edinburgh in that respect, although Bill suspected the Water of Leith was less rubbish-strewn than the place he now looked down on. It made him angry, this aspect of Glasgow and Glaswegians. In February, with the undergrowth dead and the trees laid bare, it was easy to spot the garbage they’d left behind. Even the river wasn’t safe from their wanton waste. A little further up river, under a magnificent ironwork bridge sporting the Glasgow coat of arms, was the bizarre spectacle of an upside-down ironing board, its flat surface on the river bed, water swirling round its erect legs.

Up here, in the heights of Hamilton Drive, he could forget the litter and just admire the gracious row of two-storey houses that sat back from the road, each with a long, sloping stretch of front garden. Walking along this road with the rush of water nearby, it was hard to believe you were in the heart of Glasgow. Yet a five minute walk downhill from here would find you on busy Byres Road or in the cobbled alley of Ashton Lane with its famous bars and restaurants.

He stood for a moment outside the garden gate before walking up the path through a carpet of yellow crocuses and white clusters of snowdrops and past a yellow Volkswagen parked in the driveway. The brass doorbell rang out and a few moments later a figure appeared behind the stained glass of the door panel.

Mrs Reese-Brandon was not what he expected. Kira had been slightly built, blonde and blue-eyed. Her mother was tall and dark-haired, her skin olive, her eyes brown. He wondered for a moment whether he had made a mistake and this was not Kira’s mother after all.

‘Mrs Reese-Brandon?’

She gave a brief nod. When she spoke, her lightly accented voice was anxious. ‘You’re not from the newspapers?’

‘I’m Detective Inspector Wilson. I called earlier.’ He showed her his warrant card.

She gave a quick glance behind him as though he was part of an advance party.

‘You’d better come in. My husband hasn’t come back from work yet.’

She ushered him into a splendid hall. In the middle stood a round polished table with a large vase of heavily scented lilies.

‘My husband wanted to be here.’ She looked perturbed.

‘We could wait for him if you prefer.’

‘I’m not sure.’ She glanced at her watch, then seemed to make a decision and led him through to a sitting room overlooking the front garden.

She checked through the window. ‘I’m sure Ronald will be here soon.’

‘I’m happy to wait.’

She relaxed a little. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

He chose the sofa, and she sat in the closest chair.

‘I’m very sorry about your daughter.’

Her face crumpled a little, then she brought herself under control.

‘If only we could find the baby. Kira’s gone, but if the baby is still alive . . .’

‘Then you would have something of her?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I understood that the baby was to be offered up for adoption?’

‘That was before this happened,’ she said firmly.

He wondered if her husband agreed.

She leaned forward anxiously. ‘They said the baby could be alive?’

‘Foetal theft is very rare. In fact, this is the first reported case in the UK. But in cases in the USA, the babies have been found alive.’

‘I hope so. I do hope so.’

What he’d said was the truth, but he didn’t want her to hold out too much hope.

She settled back in the chair. ‘Kira was such a bright girl. She was good at everything she turned her hand to. She was taking Mandarin, did you know that? She wanted to go to China.’

He nodded sympathetically. ‘Her pregnancy came as a shock to you?’

She clasped her hands nervously in her lap. ‘We couldn’t believe it. It ruined everything.’ She looked at him uncomprehendingly, and her right hand rose to the small crucifix that hung round her neck.

‘Do you know who the father was?’

‘Kira refused to tell us. She said we didn’t need to know. No one needed to know.’ The idea obviously shocked her.

‘I’ve talked to Ms Porter and Dr Delaney,’ said Bill. ‘They told me about the other pregnancies.’

Her face darkened with anger. ‘Those girls copied everything she did, what she wore. If she’d jumped in the river, they would have followed her. How stupid is that?’

‘Did Kira ever mention a pregnancy pact?’

‘A
pact
? What do you mean?’

‘The girls all got pregnant about the same time.’

‘That had nothing to do with Kira. You can’t blame her for that.’ They heard footsteps outside, and she rose and went to the window. ‘That’s Ronald now. I’ll fetch the coffee.’

She left the room, and Bill heard a brief exchange of words in the hall before Kira’s father entered the room. Ronald Reese-Brandon was a little taller than his wife, in his fifties, with iron-grey hair and very blue eyes. His immaculate suit looked like bespoke tailoring. Bill knew he was a banker at Barclays, having moved there during the Royal Bank of Scotland’s recent troubles.

Bill introduced himself, and while they were shaking hands, the other man began to question him.

‘You’ve caught Kira’s killer?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then why are you here?’

Bill’s reply was cut off as Kira’s mother reappeared with a tray. Her husband watched impatiently as she went about the business of setting out the china on the coffee table. She offered Bill a plate of fancy biscuits.

‘Just leave it, Maria, will you?’ snapped Reese-Brandon.

She abandoned the plate and shrunk back into her chair.

Bill tried to explain about the handover, but the other man cut him off.

‘It’s unacceptable to move police personnel around in the middle of a murder enquiry.’

He had a point.

‘DI Slater was a temporary appointment, while I was . . . on leave,’ Bill lied.

‘You were on holiday when my daughter was murdered, and as a result of that we have to relive the nightmare?’

His wife put a hand on his arm. ‘Please, Ronald.’

He shook himself free. ‘We told DI Slater all we know. I suggest you read his notes.’

‘There are some things I need to ask you myself.’

Reese-Brandon’s mouth was a thin, determined line.

‘We have nothing more to say to you.’

Bill decided to abandon the softly softly approach.

‘I believe your daughter made a pregnancy pact with four other students. They called themselves the Daisy Chain. Kira chose the name and encouraged the others to have a daisy tattoo done, as she had.’

Reese-Brandon glowered. ‘My daughter did not have a tattoo. I would not allow it.’

‘The tattoo was at the base of her spine. It was recorded at the post-mortem.’

The man looked stunned. Bill understood what he was feeling; you can bring them up and love them, but you still don’t know your own children.

‘Even if this were true, what has it got to do with her death?’

‘We found the words “daisy chain” written on her hands in mirror writing. We believe her assailant wrote them.’

‘Oh my God!’ Maria Reese-Brandon covered her face.

‘This would suggest that whoever killed your daughter knew about this club. Which is why I need to know too.’

Reese-Brandon’s face sagged. Bill was suddenly aware of the grey half-circles under the man’s eyes.

‘We know nothing about a club. Kira had a group of friends who copied what she did. She was a remarkable girl, a leader. But I cannot believe she urged these girls to get pregnant.’

‘Only one of the group didn’t get pregnant,’ replied Bill. ‘Alexandra Stewart-Smith.’

Mrs Reese-Brandon looked up in surprise. ‘Sandie wasn’t really one of the group. Kira stopped bringing her round. She said Sandie flung herself at boys.’

Bill wondered if that accounted for Sandie’s thinly disguised resentment of Kira.

‘The other girls, did they meet here often?’

Kira’s mother looked concerned at the suggestion that her hospitality had made matters worse. When she answered, her tone was defensive. ‘Kira often brought friends home. They would chat in her room, play music. There’s nothing sinister about that.’