With six bodies to process, Rob wasn’t surprised.
“Please. I’m desperate, Liz. We need a lead.”
“I understand, Rob. I’ll see what I can do.”
He looked up the friend of Chrissy Macdonald. Daisy, her name was. Her mother had said they were inseparable. Chrissy had been fourteen when she was murdered, and Lisa thought she’d been in the ground for at least three years judging by the state of her body, which put Daisy at seventeen or eighteen now.
He dialled her home phone number, aware that it may have changed. He didn’t need permission to speak to her, but he thought it best to go through her mother, if possible.
A woman answered the phone, her voice groggy. Most of the country hadn’t woken up yet.
“This is DCI Miller from Richmond Police Station. I’m sorry to bother you so early, but I was wondering if I could speak to your daughter, Daisy, in connection with a friend of hers, Chrissy Macdonald.”
“Chrissy, goodness,” murmured the woman. “There’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. Yes, I’ll see if she’s up.”
Rob heard her climbing the stairs and pictured her going to wake her daughter. Low murmurings, an exclamation of some sort, and then a sleepy voice said, “Hello?”
“Sorry to bother you, Daisy,” he said. “I’m the detective looking into Chrissy’s death and I needed to ask you some questions. Would that be okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you tell me if Chrissy was acting like herself in the days or weeks leading up to her disappearance?”
She hesitated, then he heard her say, “It’s alright, mum. I got this.”
The sound of a door closing.
“Hi,” she sounded breathless.
“Do you need me to repeat the question?” he asked.
“No. Um. Chrissy was a bit sad before she disappeared. She wasn’t herself. She hadn’t been for a while.”
“What do you mean?” His heart thumped in his chest.
“I don’t know how to explain it. She was just down, you know? She didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere. There was this guy she was seeing, Raff, but she dumped him too.”
“Did you talk to her about it? Did she say what was wrong?”
“No, not really. She said she had issues at home. Her father was a bully. I remember going over there once and he cornered me in the kitchen. He creeped me out.”
There it was again. Suggestions, suppositions, but still no damn proof.
“Did Chrissy keep a diary?” he asked. Maybe there was some record of her father’s abuse.
“No, she would have told me. I think she was afraid of him. She’d stay at my house until her mother rang, telling her to go home.”
“Do you know if she told anyone else about her problems at home? A councillor perhaps, or a teacher?”
“Oh, yeah. There was someone. I can’t remember who. She said she’d told an adult about it and they were going to sort it. I think she trusted him.”
“Him?”
“Yeah, it was a man. I don't know who.”
“You didn’t meet him?”
“God, no. It was private. Chrissy only told me ‘cos I was her best friend.”
“Daisy, do you know how she contacted this person? Was it through the school? Or a church group, something like that?”
Daisy laughed. “Church, no way. I think she called a number, like Childline or something.”
Tessa Parvin’s words echoed in his head.
I saw a flyer for one of those children's charities at the library...
They went over a few of the details again, then he told Daisy she’d been extremely helpful.
“I heard there’s going to be a vigil tonight,” she said shyly. “In Bisley, wherever that is.”
“Yes, are you going?” he asked.
“Definitely. My boyfriend’s going to take me. Will you be there?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Okay,” she said. “See you later, I guess.”
“Bye, Daisy.”
45
Jo drove into the Lavender Hill Nursing Home parking lot and shivered. Seeing her mother always unsettled her, but this time it was different. This time they needed to have a talk. A proper talk. She only hoped her mother was ‘with it’ enough to remember.
“She’s through here, dear,” said the nurse, opening the door to a bright common room.
Valerie, her mother, sat in an armchair by the window knitting. Jo watched for a moment as her forefinger twisted the wool around the protruding needle, before pulling it back. Then it thrust out a second time like a fencer lunging forward in a dual. A cup of tea sat untouched beside her.
“Hi mum.” She moved into the woman’s frame of vision.
The woman turned and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the glazed look Jo remembered. There, but not fully present.
“Hello, Jo,” she said. “Long time no see.”
“Yes, I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you for a while. I’ve been busy at work.”
“A policewoman,” Valerie murmured. “Who would have thought?”
Jo took a deep breath. Her mother always wound her up, even when she didn’t intend to.
“I’m looking into Rachel’s death, mum.” She pulled a chair up beside her. There was no point in small talk. There was nothing to say. Her mother wasn’t interested in her life, in who she was seeing, or her job. Because she wasn’t Rachel.
That got her attention.
Her face lit up and she leaned forward. “Have you found out who took my darling girl?”
Jo recognised the flicker of hope in her eyes. The need to know what happened. She saw it in the mirror every time she thought about her sister.
“Nearly, mum,” she lied. “I just need to clarify a few things. Do you feel up to helping me?”
Valerie gave a tired nod. “Can’t remember much, it was so long ago, but fire away. I’ll do my best.”
It was a start. After Rachel had disappeared, Valerie had sunken into a depression, unable to look after herself, let alone a ten year old. Then her father had walked out, preferring to live on an oil rig in the North Sea than endure the horrors at home, and so Jo had ended up with her grandparents.
“Okay, thanks.” She composed her thoughts. Where to start? She didn’t want to send her mother
