A Velvet Scream (24 page)

‘Because I don't have a lead and I believe that Kayleigh Harrison is capable of leading us to Molly's abductor, sir.'

‘You do?'

‘Yes, sir.' At one time Colclough would have simply asked for updates and not questioned her integrity. Perhaps, she thought, he had put too much faith in her abilities.

Maybe this was more realistic.

‘How are you proposing to proceed, Piercy?'

There was only one way to play this. ‘Do you have any suggestions, sir?' she asked innocently.

‘Find some more of Molly's friends,' he said. ‘Don't just rely on that Clara creature. She might not know everything, you know. Young girls can be very clever,' he finished. ‘Clever, indeed. My little Catherine is small but by goodness she's manipulative.' He beamed proudly. ‘Typical female.'

‘Thank you for your advice.' She responded with a smile. ‘I'll work on it.'

Only not today
, she thought.
I have other fish to fry.

‘How long until your wedding?'

‘A little over three weeks.'

‘Hmm. Not long. You don't want to go on your honeymoon leaving loose ends, Piercy.'

‘No, sir.'

‘Right. Well, it's nice to have had this little chat. Keep me informed, won't you?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Go on, then.' He was practically pushing her out of the door.

She and Mike Korpanski had tracked Neil Bretby down to Stafford where he was now working as a self-employed plumber. As his business premises were basically his home they had arranged to interview him there.

As Mike drove her down through Stone, Joanna related the interview she had had with the Carraways the night before and shared her misgivings about Molly's parents, in particular her father. Korpanski's response was much the same as Matthew's. It couldn't link in with the other two nightclub assaults.

It didn't fit. She knew that – and yet she wasn't quite ready to reject the idea before testing it.

Much to her surprise she liked the look of Bretby. He was a strong-looking fellow with muscular sun-tanned arms, dark hair and a blunt-featured, honest-looking face lit by a ready grin. He was wearing a green sweater with its sleeves pushed up to the elbows, black jeans and Vans.

Joanna revised her preconceptions and wondered even more about Kayleigh. What had really been her objection to this man as her stepfather? Was her mother possibly right? Had her allegations been sparked by jealousy?

She introduced herself and Korpanski. ‘In your own words, Mr Bretby, tell me about Kayleigh.'

‘Do I have to?' he groaned. Joanna could give only one answer. ‘It might help us,' she said. ‘You know that Kayleigh was assaulted –
alleged
she was assaulted,' she corrected quickly, ‘outside a nightclub in Leek two weeks ago?'

‘I'd heard,' he said.

‘And now another girl has gone missing from the same nightclub?'

‘I heard that too,' he admitted. ‘I've kept up with my friends in Leek – apart from Christine,' he added bitterly. ‘Things got so bad between us.'

Joanna waited.

And Neil Bretby talked. ‘You've no idea how good it was to meet Christine,' he said. ‘My first wife and I had divorced a few years back. She'd met someone else – at work and that was that. We'd no children. My first wife was a “career” woman.' He sneered at the words. ‘When I met Christine – and Kayleigh – and realized we all got on so well, it sort of wiped the slate clean, made everything all right. It was great,' he finished frankly. ‘Really great, at first. I know she drinks a bit now but she was really lovely. Good fun. She tried so hard to make us a happy family. You've no idea.'

‘And then?'

‘It was when me and Christine got married,' Bretby said. ‘Kayleigh changed towards me. I'd been like her friend.' There appeared an honesty and simplicity about him that was appealing –
would
have been to Christine and
should
have been to Kayleigh. If Bretby was to be believed.

Joanna turned to see how Mike was taking this story. He was holding his habitual expression – sceptical.

Bretby was frowning. ‘I just don't know why Kayleigh changed and said those things,' he said. ‘I've never understood it.'

‘I'm sorry,' Joanna continued, ‘but I have to ask you this. Is there any truth in the allegations she made?'

Bretby shook his head. ‘No,' he said. ‘If anything I was trying to be a dad to her. She was desperate for a dad. I thought I could be it but it backfired. And then Christine  . . .' He dropped his face into his hands. ‘I'd see her looking at me and wondering. I couldn't stand it. She's a lovely girl,' he said. ‘She's had a hard life but it hasn't made her bitter. Christine's really sweet-natured.'

Joanna and Mike exchanged glances. This was not a description of the Christine Bretby they knew. The Christine Bretby he saw was a different woman.

‘You miss her?' Korpanski asked.

Bretby nodded. ‘I'd have her back tomorrow,' he said, ‘if I thought it could work. But with Kayleigh there,' he said, ‘it won't and I'm not fool enough to think it would.'

‘Why did you marry Christine?' Joanna asked curiously.

‘I loved her. We wanted children,' Bretby said. ‘I really wanted kids of my own.'

Maybe, then, that was the reason for Kayleigh's resentment – a fear of being replaced.

SEVENTEEN

Tuesday, 7 December. 10.55 a.m.

N
ow there was only Peter Harrison to track down. She rang Johnny Ollerenshaw and after much humming and hawing he produced an address in Fulham and a mobile telephone number.

Harrison answered on the second ring, with a jauntily Cockney, ‘'Ello?'

Joanna introduced herself and received a wary, ‘Ye-ah?' Again there was that upwards, questioning inflection.

‘We would like to interview you.'

‘What about?' He was sounding wary.

‘It's concerning your daughter.'

‘My daughter?' Harrison sounded astonished, as though he hadn't even known he'd got one.

‘Yes – Kayleigh,' Joanna confirmed.

There was a brief silence before, ‘I can't think what you can want to see me about Kayleigh for. I haven't seen her in years. I wouldn't know her if I passed her in the street. What do you want to speak to me about her for? Is she in trouble? What's she done?' His voice held genuine astonishment.

‘When
did
you last see her, Mr Harrison?'

‘Goodness knows. How old is she?'

‘Fourteen.'

‘Well, then.' He was quiet for a minute before answering, ‘It's probably twelve, thirteen years ago that I last saw her. As I said – I wouldn't know her from Adam. Or do I mean Eve?' Untroubled, he chuckled. ‘She's practically a young lady now then, ain't she?' Another pause. ‘Although I very much doubt
my
daughter's a young lady. Now that would be a turn up for the books.'

Joanna waited for Harrison to ask what she was ringing him about but curiously he didn't. It was left to her to move the conversation forward. ‘Look, Mr Harrison,' she said patiently, ‘I really need to speak to you face-to-face.' She glanced at her watch. It was still only eleven. ‘We can drive down and meet you later today.'

‘Is it so important, Inspector? I can't understand what it can have to do with me. She may be my daughter but I don't know her. I don't know anythin' about her.'

‘Please.'

‘Yeah, yeah.' Harrison caved in, probably realizing he had no choice. ‘All right. If you insist. I can meet you later today. How about somewhere near the Edgware Road? The Travelodge.'

It was about 140 miles. If the motorways were clear they should get there in three hours. They allowed four and arranged to meet at three o'clock, Joanna giving him a mobile contact number in case of delays on the motorway.

Tuesday, 7 December. 3 p.m.

The motorway behaved itself. They even had time to stop for a coffee and at five to three Joanna and Mike were walking through the doorway of the Travelodge on the Edgware Road.

Harrison spotted them straight away and lifted his hand in greeting. He was a tall, slim man who bore more than a passing resemblance to his daughter. He shared Kayleigh's expression, looking at the same time both streetwise and vulnerable. As they drew closer Joanna saw that he also had Kayleigh's cow-brown eyes that changed from warm toffee to cold mud in an instant. And he had his daughter's small, slightly prim mouth. But he differed from Kayleigh in two significant ways. Her crowning glory was her long, shining hair; her father had practically none – and what he did have had been shaved off and replaced with a tattoo, interestingly saying,
Sod 'em all
. The second big difference between father and daughter was Harrison's teeth. Kayleigh had the milky teeth of the young. Her father's were large and yellow. They were predatory or ‘wolfish'. In fact, the description Kayleigh had given of her attacker fitted him like a glove. It was, to say the least, disconcerting. Joanna studied him carefully and he was quite well aware of her scrutiny.

She ordered a tray of tea and the three of them sat down together; she, Korpanski and Peter Harrison, in an unobtrusive corner of the Travelodge.

Initially Harrison was friendly. ‘I knew you was cops the second I saw you,' he confided cheerfully. ‘Funny how you stick out, ain't it?'

‘Yes, funny,' Korpanski echoed, his dark eyes missing nothing as he studied Peter Harrison. Joanna knew he would later be sharing every single thought that passed through his mind. She smothered a smile. She knew perfectly well that her sergeant didn't quite know what to make of Harrison. Yet.

Peter Harrison glanced at them both in turn. ‘Now what's all this about my girl?'

Joanna poured them all some tea then took up the questioning. ‘You say you haven't seen your daughter since she was one or two?'

Harrison crossed his legs, took a noisy slurp of tea and met their eyes comfortably. ‘Not for years. She was a baby when me and her mum split up. I was never really one for marryin'.' He thought for a moment. ‘Shouldn't have done it, really.' He gave a brief, cynical laugh. ‘Only did it to give the kid a name. It seemed important at the time – don't know why,' he said reflectively, blinking. Then he grinned. ‘Probably wouldn't bovver now. Anyway, not long after Kayleigh or Little K,' he smiled, ‘or Special K, as we called 'er, was born, I 'opped it back down to the Big Smoke. I can't breathe out there in the countryside. All that mud and stuff. Stinks. Give me good ol' car exhaust any time. And bloody freezin' too, even in the summer. Nah – once a Londoner always a Londoner, that's what I say.'

Joanna watched him. Harrison didn't seem to be a bad bloke, just not the marrying, fatherly kind. A little like her own father, who had not done responsibility, either. And very unlike Matthew Levin, who almost seemed to need it.

Harrison was watching her. ‘So what's 'appened to 'er, then?'

Joanna didn't answer the question straight away but chose a circuitous route. ‘You knew that her mother had remarried?'

‘Yeah. I was glad about that. Poor old Christine. She was a romantic. Wanted flowers and chocolate and stuff.'

‘Yes,' Joanna agreed, thinking of the Klimt on Christine's wall.

‘I was sorry it broke up,' Harrison added frankly.

‘You heard about that?'

‘Yeah. Me and Johnny 'ave kept in touch.' Harrison grinned. ‘'E keeps me informed.'

‘What's your opinion of the
reason
they broke up?' Joanna asked delicately.

‘What – that Christine's new bloke touched up my little daughter? Look,' he said earnestly. ‘I don't know the bloke. Right? I don't know my daughter either so I can't really comment, can I?'

Joanna shrugged. It was fair enough but most men would burn if they thought another man had sexually assaulted their teenage daughter. Even if they had little to do with that daughter. Obviously Harrison had no paternal feelings for Kayleigh at all.

She felt a tinge of pity for the girl and scrutinized Harrison's face. No feelings? And yet  . . .
something
was there. She just couldn't work out what it was.

Harrison drew in a deep breath. ‘You still haven't told me what Kayleigh's been up to.'

‘She has made an allegation that she was sexually assaulted outside Patches nightclub on the night of November thirtieth,' Joanna said baldly. ‘She was found on the following morning, in the car park. It was snowing and she was suffering from hypothermia.'

‘Oh my –' Harrison looked genuinely shocked.

‘She was lucky to survive,' Joanna said, adding, for effect: ‘the doctors said that if she hadn't been found she would have been dead in an hour.'

‘Poor little thing,' was Harrison's response. But it struck Joanna that his statement was no more impassioned than he would have voiced over any female. Not especially his daughter.

‘You keep in touch with your Leek friends?'

‘No, not really. Only Ollerenshaw.' Harrison spoke casually but his eyes flickered away as he spoke. Together with Kayleigh's description of her attacker, which was so obviously a description of her father, it alerted Joanna. She shot Korpanski a swift look and leaned forward, asking silkily, ‘When
did
you last see your old pal Ollerenshaw?'

‘Couldn't tell you exactly.' His response struck Joanna as deliberately vague.

So she pursued it. ‘In the last six months?'

Harrison looked uncomfortable now. ‘Possibly.' This was at variance with Ollerenshaw's statement.

‘In Leek?'

Harrison looked even more uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet then looked up. ‘I was there about a week ago,' he finally admitted.