A Velvet Scream (21 page)

Joanna nodded. It all made sense. ‘And how were her parents about this?'

‘As you can imagine: not happy. In fact, they were furious. They made a complaint against Sandra, spoke to their local MP and took their story to the national tabloids, but to no avail. The case was closed and they've never learned anything more.'

They were both silent for a while. Joanna was picturing Danielle's parents coming to terms with their daughter's death and the sharp blow that the last person who had been with her alive had simply abandoned their daughter to her fate. Such an ignominious fate too.

‘I think it's the same person,' Joanna said, ‘that left Kayleigh. Little doubt about it in my mind; the same careful wearing of a condom but careless abandonment of life. It's like a modus operandi. Someone who preys on extroverted, intoxicated, attractive girls at a club: has sex with them and abandons them. This is our man. This is his psyche.' She paused. ‘And then we have Molly, which is a different case altogether. He took her.' She was silent. ‘What if it isn't the same person?'

‘Bit of a coincidence then. Same area, nightclub, young girls.'

‘It's too soon after the assault on Kayleigh.'

‘Maybe that's the clever bit.'

She shook her head. ‘It's six months since Danielle died. The assault on both her and Kayleigh are similar. They have the same stamp on them. An arrogance. No attempt to hide either the crime or the victim. No threats. The man just faded away, leaving them to their fate. Danielle died; Kayleigh lived. Our perp didn't care. He simply walks away. But not with Molly. She's nowhere to be found, Mike. We've made a cursory search of the surrounding area. We've spread out to a five-mile radius and been quite thorough, thanks to the help of the general public. She's been abducted; taken away and that makes it a different crime and I think it's been committed by a different person. Perhaps even a copycat.'

‘Well, I don't agree and I'll tell you why,' Korpanski responded. ‘DI Johnson was really helpful and let me look at all the files on Danielle. That night she was wearing a tiny little dress. Shining gold. According to her friends she was flinging herself all over the place, pissed out of her brains, wearing practically nothing.'

Joanna frowned. ‘How long is it since you were inside a nightclub, Mike? All the girls wear practically nothing these days.'

‘Yes, but – look at this.' With a flourish Korpanski produced a picture. ‘This,' he said grandly, ‘is a picture of Danielle ready to go out.'

It took Joanna aback because it could so easily have been Molly Carraway. The same shining brown hair, bold eyes, tiny dress which displayed to perfection a very slim figure. ‘Well,' she said slowly, ‘I can see the resemblance but you know, Mike, the girls these days could be cloned. They all look the same. They have the same hair, the same make-up, the same clothes.'

Korpanski looked so crestfallen Joanna almost felt sorry for him.

‘I suppose,' she said slowly, looking up, ‘what
you're
saying is that he goes for the same type?'

Korpanski nodded. ‘Most men do,' he said, giving her a cocky grin. ‘I've always liked brunettes with blue eyes myself. Don't ask me why.' Joanna laughed at his cheek, tempted to aim a punch at his torso but she didn't. The truth was that since the ‘incident' she had not quite taken Detective Sergeant Mike Korpanski so much for granted. They were not quite as relaxed together as they had once been. The shooting had left a scar not only on Korpanski's shoulder but also on their relationship.

‘Was there anything else? Did DI Johnson have any suspects? Any clues? Any idea at all?'

Korpanski shook his head. ‘Not a sausage,' he said. ‘She was stumped. She was getting nowhere.' He hesitated. ‘She would love to have given the bloke a warning at the very least. If Danielle's parents had known who it was they might have taken things further but she didn't have a clue. She wasn't even sure that the guy Danielle had sex with was even in the club that night.'

Joanna ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Oh, don't,' she groaned. ‘Don't start that; widening the circle to someone who maybe wasn't even there that night.'

‘Well, it's a possibility,' Korpanski pointed out sensibly.

‘Mike,' she said, turning around, ‘do you mind if I bounce a few ideas around?'

‘Wouldn't be the first time.' The phrase was ungracious but she knew he was pleased.

‘It's Kayleigh,' she said.

‘Thought it might be.'

‘When I spoke to her this morning her mother sat in. They are keeping something back. I can't work out why they would. I even got the feeling that she was protecting someone, but why would she? She doesn't appear to have any particular relationship with any male at the club. The person was so callous towards her. Why would she protect them? She's given us a description of her dancing partners and the guy who maybe raped or had sex with her but she's still hiding something.'

Korpanski shrugged. ‘No more than most girls of that age and wanting to go out for the night. If they were honest with their parents they'd all be locked up with chastity belts.' He gave a crooked grin that looked threatening. ‘Wait till Jossie gets a bit older.'

‘But I don't get the impression that Christine was exactly strict with her daughter. She couldn't have cared less.'

She thought for a minute, stumbling her way through, trying various angles and approaches. ‘What about Danielle?'

Korpanski puffed his chest out. He was enjoying every moment of this. ‘According to DI Sandra Johnson,' he said, ‘Danielle's mum and dad didn't have a problem with her going out at night. They were very  . . .' He frowned. ‘What's the word?'

‘Liberal?'

‘Ah, that'll do.'

‘But Molly's weren't. They would have gone mad if they'd known what she was up to. Molly was another liar, Mike. She'd deceived her parents very successfully. They saw her as whiter than snow.' She looked at him, wondering whether she was finding a way through; finally punching a hole through the blackness. ‘What if this is another deception?'

‘You mean she's still alive, just gone off somewhere?'

‘I don't know what I mean,' she said uncomfortably. ‘I'm just trying out ideas, Mike. I can't really imagine
anyone
being that careless or cavalier but it does happen.'

‘What have we got off the laptop, Jo?

‘She was having some sort of relationship with a guy but he's from London. They were supposed to meet up next week. There's no mention of Patches and no evidence that they ever met.'

‘So what are you going to do to flush out Kayleigh's secret?'

‘Dig around in her past.' She looked up. ‘That, Korpanski, is what I'm going to do.'

‘Fine by me.'

FIFTEEN

Monday, 6 December. 4 p.m.

T
hough Steve Shand's mates worked in different jobs, in different parts of both town and city, they arrived at the same time, trooping in together as though they were still at their birthday party. Joanna didn't like it because it smacked of collusion. They'd have had plenty of time to practise their statements on the way here. They certainly looked confident enough as they filed in but that could have a simple explanation; that they were innocent and had nothing to hide. It was up to the Piercy–Korpanski team to find out what was really going on. She addressed them collectively, sizing the five of them up as she spoke. ‘You're going to be here for some time,' she said. ‘Detective Sergeant Korpanski and myself will want to interview you – one at a time. OK?'

They nodded, shifting around on their feet, making a ragged line-up. She eyed them, one by one. ‘Your names, please?'

One at a time they stepped out of line and she took stock, picking out the first one to move; the guy on the end, Gary Pointer. Her eye had landed him as he best fitted Kayleigh's description – right up until he spoke in an accent as unmistakably Staffordshire as a bacon-and-cheese oat cake. Tall and slim, he met her eyes without blinking, looking confident – if anything a little cocky. He was casually dressed in beige jeans and an open-necked checked shirt; his left hand anchored in his pocket.

‘Gary Pointer, at your service,' he said with a frank and friendly grin and a mock bow. She would be starting with him.

Standing next to Pointer, Andrew Downey was short and plump with an impressive and mobile beer belly, which wobbled as he stepped forward and introduced himself. He had greasy black hair and pale skin, and was sweating profusely. Nerves? He gave Joanna a tentative smile showing rather nice, even white teeth and Joanna watched him thoughtfully. Out of the gang he was probably the nicest, the smartest and the one who was the most observant. She smiled at him and he moved back.

Next to him Clint Jones was powerfully built, stocky, around five foot eight. He gave a tight-lipped smile and a nod as he spoke his name then stepped backwards in line with his friends. Last of all, apart from Steve Shand, was Shaun Hennessey, the birthday boy, who was short and slim; much slighter than his friends, giving him an almost womanish air.

She organized coffees for the chums, sat them down and invited Gary Pointer to the interview room. He sauntered in behind them, swaggering slightly, cocky and confident. She and Mike sat down and checked his name. ‘You are Gary Pointer?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Let's talk about the night of the thirtieth of November.'

As she'd anticipated Pointer had his answers off pat, ready to trot out in response. She might have to wait a long time for him to make a mistake.

She placed a picture of Kayleigh on the desk, taken on the night of her assault. The IT guys had enhanced the image from the CCTV and combined it with one of the photographs her mother had given them so her face was identifiable. In it she was wearing her silvery skirt.

Pointer's eyes lingered. Then he looked up. ‘Yes,' he admitted. ‘I did notice her. I had a couple of dances with her. She looked – well –' For the first time his gaze faltered but Joanna knew what he was about to say.

‘Before you say anything,' she warned, ‘Kayleigh Harrison was fourteen years old.' Pointer blew out a relieved breath and again Joanna read between the lines.

A narrow escape.

‘Go on,' she prompted. ‘At what time were you dancing with her?'

Pointer swallowed. ‘Some time in the evening,' he claimed. ‘Late-ish, perhaps around midnight I had a couple of dances with her but she was pissed. Well pissed. She was staggerin' around, talking a load of crap. It wasn't any fun any more. She didn't look sexy. She just kept fallin' around.' He made an expression of disgust. ‘She was makin' a right tit of herself. Chuckin' herself at any bloke within twenty yards.'

Joanna frowned. She was getting a picture and it was an unpleasant one.

‘What you're saying,' she said slowly, ‘is that she was making herself look,' she chose the word delicately, ‘available?'

Pointer nodded and looked away.

‘So did you rape her?' Joanna asked the question very quietly, almost slipping it into the conversation. Pointer jerked. Their eyes locked. He was the first to look away.

‘No,' he said, shaking his head. ‘No, I didn't. I couldn't – do that. I just didn't fancy her. She could have stripped right off and lain on the floor. She wasn't turning me on.'

‘She turned someone on.'

‘It wasn't me.'

Joanna leaned back in her chair and regarded him from underneath lowered lids. By her side, Korpanski was sitting motionless. And although she wasn't looking at him directly she knew he would be staring Gary Pointer out. She looked at Pointer's regular features, ‘honest' brown eyes. And even though all her police instincts were screaming at her not to be taken in by him she believed his story. This, she was convinced, was the truth.

But she was aware that she needed to direct the conversation towards the girl who was now missing. ‘A few more questions,' she said casually. ‘Do you ever go to a nightclub called Lymeys? It's in Newcastle-under-Lyme.'

‘I've been there once or twice.' Now Pointer looked uncomfortable. Something had happened there that he was not quite so sure about.

‘Were you there on the eleventh of May? It was a Tuesday,' she added helpfully.

Pointer stared. ‘I haven't a clue,' he said. ‘It's ages ago.'

‘You might remember because a girl was raped and left to die outside the club that night,' Joanna said quietly.

Interestingly this made Pointer angry. He put his hands on the table, palms down, pressing on the wood. ‘No,' he said firmly and deliberately. ‘I don't think I
was
there that night and if I had been I wouldn't have had anything to do with anything like that. All right?'

Joanna smiled at him, trying to ignore the niggle of triumph that she had succeeded in rattling his cage. ‘Thank you, Gary. Now, then. You might have heard that a girl who was last seen at Patches on Friday night has vanished.'

He nodded. ‘Yeah,' he said. ‘I've heard.'

‘Were you at Patches on Friday night, Gary?'

Pointer looked from her to Korpanski. ‘Yeah,' he admitted.

Right next to the photograph of Kayleigh Harrison Joanna flipped down the picture of Molly Carraway, smiling into the camera lens. The photograph of Molly had an effect on Gary Pointer. He looked down at it almost sentimentally.

‘This is the girl, Gary. Her name is Molly Carraway. She's fifteen years old. Do you know her?'

He nodded.

‘Well?'

Pointer licked dry lips. ‘I've seen her around.'

‘Gone out with her, had a dance, had sex?'

Pointer looked distinctly nervous now. ‘I've danced with her,' he said carefully. ‘I've had a few drinks with her. I've not had sex with her. She's just a schoolgirl.'