A Velvet Scream (29 page)

Hennessey responded to her appeal. His face changed. Like frost in the sun his anger melted away. ‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I'm really sorry but I can't help you, Inspector.'

The three of them sat still, each wrapped in their own reflections. Joanna studied Hennessey's face and knew they would get no more out of him.

‘You can go,' she said.

Hennessey didn't move.

‘I said,' she repeated, ‘you can go. You're free to go.'

Hennessey stood up, looked as though he wanted to say something, then walked out of the door.

Joanna looked at Mike. ‘So what do you make of that?'

‘He's either telling the truth or—'

‘A half-truth, Mike,' she said, adding, ‘and what's the first rule of an investigation?'

He grinned. ‘Everyone tells lies?'

‘Exactly.'

He made a face at her. ‘Or I think what you once told me was that everyone tells at least one lie. They may not see it as a lie but it deflects us from the truth.'

‘Right.'

‘So who's next?'

‘I didn't ask Andrew Downey to come in,' she said. ‘As far as I'm concerned he's off the hook. And Pointer's arranged to come in tomorrow. So, Clint Jones.'

Jones had a rolling gait, long arms. Ape-like. And of the birthday boys they'd seen so far he appeared the least troubled by being summoned back to the police station.

He sat right back in the chair and gave them a bland smile.

Joanna eyed him for a moment. ‘What did you think of Molly Carraway?' she asked.

Jones had not been expecting this approach. He considered for a moment. ‘I didn't know her.'

‘But you gained an impression?'

‘Nice,' he said. ‘She seemed a nice girl.' He smiled. ‘A rotten flirt – very sexy. Very beautiful.'

Joanna nodded. ‘And what do you think's happened to her?'

Jones shrugged. ‘I think,' he said, ‘someone's got her.'

‘Kidnapped?'

Slowly he shook his head.

‘Did you see Molly leave the club last Friday?'

He shook his head. ‘No.'

Joanna let him go then, but with a feeling that she was missing something.

‘Let's take another look at the CCTV of people leaving the club,' she said. ‘She must have left the club at some point.'

‘Well, she isn't still there,' Korpanski said. ‘We've had a thorough search of the premises.'

‘Quite.'

It had been a cold night, flakes of snow drifting in front of the camera like the snow on a Hollywood Christmas film. A few of the girls stood around, shivering, waiting for taxis or cars that picked them up. Even on poor quality CCTV film with no sound you could almost
feel
the cold. Some of the girls were wearing coats, but most weren't. A few were sliding around on the icy surface in high heels, clutching on to one another, giggling. One fell right on her bottom and struggled back to her feet, still laughing. A couple of snowballs were lobbed into the air.

Then a couple came out: the girl muffled in a coat, her hair over her face, the man supporting her. Joanna peered closer. He was almost carrying her. And as Mike and Joanna watched the coat slipped and revealed a sliver of red dress. ‘That's her,' Joanna said. ‘That's Molly.' It was no wonder they had missed it before. It would have been hard to pick her out.

She slowed down the picture and sat with her chin on her palm. ‘He's taking her,' she mused.

Korpanski was watching too. ‘She could be drunk,' he said, ‘or she could be drugged.'

‘She could even be practically dead.'

Both peered closer, looking for signs of life. But there were so many people milling around the club doors they couldn't be sure. They could quite understand how on that night no one had really noticed Molly. The clubbers had been distracted by the snow. And now they had lost the view as revellers crowded around.

It was a sobering thought that this had been the last sighting of the girl.

They sat and looked at one another until the door burst open and DC Alan King stood in front of them. ‘Sorry,' he said, ‘I thought you were out. I thought the room was empty. Sorry,' he said again.

The intrusion galvanised them into action.

‘Kayleigh's still our key, Mike,' Joanna said slowly. If we can persuade her to tell us the absolute truth we might find out who our perpetrator is. And Molly.'

They found Kayleigh at home with both her mother and her father. Once the two detectives had squeezed into the small sitting room it seemed that the walls bulged with the effort. Even the Klimt seemed to have expanded to fill any space, dominating the room and leaving little room for air. The inhabitant's emotions were similarly intensified.

Peter Harrison was on the sofa, his daughter sitting very close to him. Kayleigh was wearing low-cut jeans, a T-shirt and furry lilac slippers and was snuggled in close to her father who seemed perfectly at ease. In contrast Christine, dressed smartly in a royal blue dress and flat black pumps, sat stiffly in the chair by the window, almost detached, outside the situation as though she sat behind a sheet of plate glass.

Joanna observed the trio and sat down. In her father's presence Kayleigh had blossomed. She shone with an inner happiness and new confidence. The three of them sat, waiting for Joanna to speak.

She spoke to Kayleigh first. ‘We know some of what happened the night you
believed
you were raped,' she said, noting that neither of Kayleigh's parents contradicted the statement. ‘We think the true story behind that night will help us find out what's happened to Molly. So why don't you tell me, again, exactly what you do remember.' She wanted to advise the girl not to embellish her story with anything she was not certain of but she resisted the temptation. She didn't want to influence Kayleigh's story at all.

As though they had already discussed this scenario Kayleigh glanced at her father, who gave her an encouraging nod. ‘OK,' she said, then gave an impish grin, which altered her face even more. Joanna had never noticed before that the girl had dimples. Kayleigh leaned back comfortably against her father and began. ‘I was chattin' to this bloke at the bar, right? He seemed really friendly.' She turned to give Peter Harrison a cheeky smile. ‘Quite attractive, I thought. From down London way. A bit older than me but he'd bin around.' She lifted her eyebrows. ‘You know? I asked his name and he told me, Peter. We chatted some more. I started tellin' him my dad was called Peter and he lived in London. He asked my name. I can't remember which one of us twigged first me or him but I was well pissed by then. He'd kept buying me drinks.' She looked vaguely proud of herself. ‘I said I was eighteen and a half and he believed me. Then he asked me some more questions, like my birthday and where me mum lived – stuff like that. When he realized I was his actual daughter he changed. He told me to get on home.' She clutched his arm. ‘Got all Dad-like, gave me some money, told me to get a taxi and left me. But I didn't go home. I went back into the club. I was sort of happy and a bit sad as well because he was my dad and I'd never remembered meeting him before though I must have done when I was a baby.' She sucked in a deep sigh. ‘I thought how nice it would have been if we'd done things together, you know, gone walkin' or shoppin' or whatever blokes do with their daughters.' She gave a sentimental smile at Harrison who, far from looking uncomfortable, seemed to be taking this all in – with relish.

This was when Kayleigh stopped looking at her father and fixed her gaze instead on Mike Korpanski, her expression defiant and challenging. ‘The money he gave me for a taxi home – well,' she said defensively. ‘I was in a right funny mood, havin' just met my dad for the first time in livin' memory. I couldn't bear the thought that he'd just walk out of my life. I might never see him again and I thought he was nice. Really nice.'

Christine Bretby shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

It caught Kayleigh's attention so she turned her attention on her mother instead. ‘I know you think I'm pathetic and useless,' she burst out. ‘I know you wish I'd never been born.'

Joanna risked a look at Kayleigh's mother. Her face was taut. Frozen. She was taking refuge behind the fact that this was not real. It was not happening. It was a soap on the TV or a story in a magazine. It was not real. Joanna studied her face and realized that Christine Bretby was floating away from this situation into a romantic haze, towards the Klimt.

Perhaps Kayleigh realized this too. She stopped looking at her mother and carried on. ‘I felt terrible. So I spent all the taxi money on a few shots.' She aimed her gaze now at the carpet, avoiding either parent's censure. ‘I passed out in the car park.' She looked Joanna squarely in the face. ‘You might not believe me,' she said, ‘but I know I was raped. I felt it but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't seem to move.'

‘Just a minute,' Joanna said. ‘The description of your attacker? Are you saying you made it up?'

‘Not exactly,' the girl said slowly. ‘I remember bits of it: the weight of the guy, the smell of tobacco, the feel of him. The swimmy feeling. And more than anything else the cold. When I came round the next day I was terrified. The police officer was askin' me for a description.' Her eyes flickered across to her father. ‘I didn't want to say I was pissed and couldn't remember, that I didn't even know who'd done it.'

‘The man you described was your father.'

‘It just came out. And once I'd said what he looked like I could hardly change it, could I? You kept askin' if I'd been raped. I knew I had but I didn't know what he looked like. So I had to make bits up, fill in the parts I couldn't remember. I didn't know who did it.' She gave a cheeky grin at her father. ‘I knew they'd never pin it on you. I knew it wasn't you and you'd hardly go for your own daughter, would you?'

In Kayleigh's mind, Joanna reflected, making up the bits that were missing made sense. She stopped talking, sat very still and quiet, her thin shoulders bowed, waiting for the axe to fall.

And it did.

Christine's eyes were blazing. ‘So you made the details up?'

‘I went along with it,' Kayleigh defended.

‘Just like you did with my Neil.'

The girl looked frightened now. ‘There was only you, Mum,' she said. ‘Me and you. It had always been like that. I didn't know what would happen to me without you. Once you'd got married you didn't want me around, did you?'

Christine fidgeted with a large, noisy bracelet, jangling an orchestra of sounds with the tiny ornaments, hearts, arrows, a tiny book.

Now it was Kayleigh who had the upper hand. ‘You didn‘t want me, did you? Be honest with me. You didn't, did you?'

Her mother looked up. ‘I wanted a family. We would have had more children.'

‘That was why I did it – said what I did. I worked out a plan to get rid of him.' She looked defiantly at her mother. ‘And it did work, didn't it? I'm not so stupid. I saw 'im off, didn't I?'

‘You little –' Christine Bretby was on her feet; hatred in her eyes. ‘You've ruined my life with your lies.'

Surprisingly it was Peter Harrison who brought the situation under control. ‘There's no need for that, Chris,' he said mildly. ‘The girl's had a tricky life.'

‘And whose fault is that?'

‘Mine,' he admitted. ‘It's my fault. I see it now. I haven't been the dad I should have been. But I'm going to act different now. I'm going to take on my responsibilities.'

‘Oh, yeah?' Her scorn was blistering.

The three of them glared each other out. Christine was hardly bothering to disguise the dislike she felt for her daughter.

Kayleigh Harrison drew in a deep breath and bounced the hostile stare right back. ‘I don't want to be with you,' she said bluntly. ‘I want my dad.'

The child had a perfect right. But it was unexpected. It threw Joanna; Mike gulped but that was nothing to the effect it had on Peter Harrison. He looked stunned. ‘I –' he began. Holding his hands up defensively. ‘I –' His ex-wife and daughter both turned their attention on to him, full beam. ‘I live in a flat.'

Ex-wife and daughter continued to stare at him.

And Harrison finally caved in. ‘A trial period?' he squeaked.

‘Are you sure about this, Kayleigh?' Joanna asked gently. The girl focused her attention on her.

‘Yes, I am,' she said simply. ‘I want to be with someone who loves me and believes in me.'

Joanna gave Mike a quick, worried glance. Harrison might be Kayleigh's father but she wasn't sure his feelings towards his daughter were completely paternal. After all, they had met at a nightclub when he had been plying her with drinks and trying to pick her up. Hardly a great start for belated parenting skills. She eyed Kayleigh uneasily, wondering whether the girl was about to tip from the frying pan into the fire. But Kayleigh's stare back at her didn't invite comment. It challenged her to voice her feelings and Joanna realized that the girl was perhaps wiser and more mature than she had given her credit for. And the gaze Kayleigh beamed at her father was simply adoring.

‘I just want to ask you one thing,' she said to her mother. ‘What did I do that was so very wrong?'

Christine didn't even hesitate. ‘You were born.'

They were shocking words but Christine hadn't finished. ‘Then you cocked up my life,' she said. ‘Now get out.'

Joanna caught Mike's eye. This had turned into a ‘domestic'. Time for them to beat a hasty retreat and return to the briefing.

But at least this time they had gained some ground. They had separated Kayleigh's father from Kayleigh's rapist. Gone now the London accent and to some extent the description. They were back somewhere much nearer to home.