She hoped for the sake of the uniformed guards that the tablecloths from the marquee had been used rather than water, otherwise they’d never hear the end of it from the crime scene investigators.
She lifted her gaze to the disco lights that pulsed against the plain backdrop, the speakers silent.
Kay moved across to the marquee and peered through the drawn-back flaps into the abandoned space.
Here and there, a chair had been upturned, the occupants no doubt leaving their tables in a hurry once the alarm had been raised.
She turned towards the DJ’s booth as a man straightened from a crouching position, a fistful of cables protruding from his fingers.
He visibly jumped, then recovered.
‘Sorry, didn’t see you there,’ he said.
Kay held up her warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Kay Hunter.’
He offered his free hand. ‘Tom Williams. I’ve already given my statement to one of your colleagues.’
‘Good, thanks.’ Kay’s gaze travelled over the equipment laid out as he unplugged a cable from the back of one of the speakers, the PA system dying with a soft pop. ‘How long were you here for, before the party started?’
‘Got here about four o’clock,’ said Williams. ‘Lady Griffith wanted my van out of sight well before any of the guests started to arrive.’
‘So where did you go until the disco started?’
‘Same as I always do at gigs like this. Sat in the van, listened to the radio. Read the paper.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not very glamorous, is it?’ He sniffed. ‘As it is, it’s going to take me all day tomorrow to try and get the smell of smoke out of the equipment from those bloody braziers out there.’
He picked up another cable and began to coil it around his hands before dropping it into a black box next to Kay’s feet.
‘Notice anyone hanging around or acting suspicious today?’
Williams shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Like I told the policeman that took my statement, I didn’t spot anything weird while I was setting up. I fell asleep in the van for a couple of hours before my phone alarm went off. Sorry.’
Kay handed him one of her cards, and deciding she wasn’t going to learn any more, left the DJ to his packing up and walked back out to the terrace.
She noticed Sharp at the far end, talking to an older couple and a young man, their voices wafting on the breeze towards her.
She recognised the twang of an American accent and, intrigued, made her way across the terrace to them.
The elder man stood a couple of inches shorter than Sharp, but with his legs planted squarely in front of the detective inspector, his eyes earnest as he spoke in hushed tones. His hands remained clasped in front of him, as if he wouldn’t waste his time with pointless gestures.
A younger version of him stood at his side, eyes downcast, a picture of misery.
Kay’s eyes travelled over the wife with interest – it appeared the woman had been under the knife at least once, and her features bore little natural expression. Immaculate in appearance, she kept a protective arm around her son, and lifted her chin as she noticed Kay.
Sharp glanced over as she approached. ‘Ah, Hunter – good timing,’ he said. He gestured to the couple. ‘This is Blake and Courtney Hamilton, and this is their son, Josh.’ Sharp’s tone softened. ‘Josh was to be engaged to our young victim, Sophie.’
Kay shook hands with the parents, offering her condolences before she turned her attention to Josh.
‘Hello, Josh. I’m DS Hunter.’
Red-rimmed eyes met her gaze, pure anguish emanating from the man before he spoke.
‘You need to find who did this,’ he said, his voice breaking.
Sharp stepped forward. ‘We’ll do everything in our power,’ he said before turning back to the parents. ‘We have your statements, so please – take Josh home, and we’ll be in touch again tomorrow.’
‘Thank you,’ said Blake. He rested his hand on his son’s arm. ‘Come on, Josh.’
Kay watched as the small family moved away, their figures retreating to the shadows as they followed the garden path around the house and out to the assembled vehicles in the driveway.
‘Poor kid must be heartbroken,’ said Kay. She glanced over her shoulder at the desolate marquee. ‘Some engagement party. They must be doing all right for themselves.’
Sharp cleared his throat. ‘It wasn’t simply an engagement party. Apparently the Hamiltons and the Whittakers – Lady Griffith and her husband – belong to a small religious group that encourage the teenage girls to take “purity pledges” until they marry. They held the ceremony here earlier today, and then had the engagement party afterwards.’
‘They what?’ Kay realised her jaw had dropped open, and clamped it shut. ‘What’s a “purity pledge”?’
Sharp’s lips thinned. ‘I hadn’t heard of it, either. Seems to be an American trend that found its way over here a few years ago.’
‘Oh.’ Kay blinked, and gestured at the lavish surroundings. ‘So, all of this was for a vow of chastity, huh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wow.’
Sharp shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the rear of the marquee where a team of crime scene investigators led by Harriet Baker was setting up a swathe of floodlights.
‘The ambulance crew confirmed the death when they arrived here with uniform,’ he said. ‘The victim, Sophie Whittaker, was found at the bottom of a slope just beyond those rhododendron bushes. Harriet reports the girl’s been hit with a blunt object with enough force to crack her skull wide open.’
‘So, we’re looking for blood spatter on guests?’
Sharp nodded. ‘As well as the caterers, the wait staff, the bartenders—’ He broke off and ran a hand over his head.
‘Where are the parents?’
‘In one of the guest bedrooms with an officer in attendance – Debbie West. Two of Harriet’s team are processing their own bedroom before they can be granted access.’ Sharp checked his watch. ‘In fact, let’s go talk to them now, and then you and I can come back down here and discuss strategy.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
Kay followed him through the
