‘Well, if it is the same Skoda, then… Then what?’
‘I don’t know.’ Vicky put a hand on the family room door and opened it to a crack. Hard place to be, down here in the bowels of the police station’s mortuary, but no windows meant nobody could look in on you during your grief.
Catherine Johnston was still in the depths of grief. Sitting on the sofa, head buried in her hands. She looked over at the door and stood up tall, fanning a hand through her long, dark hair. ‘I need a cigarette.’ She reached for her bag and fished out a golden lighter and a pack warning of all the dangers. ‘Do you want to join me?’
Bill Johnston was sitting next to her on the sofa, staring into space. He looked over, frowning like he hadn’t quite made out exactly what she’d said, but then something seemed to click. ‘Right. No, I’m fine.’ He looked anything but. His face crumpled up.
Karen smiled at Catherine. ‘I’ll show you upstairs, madam.’
She scowled in response. ‘I can manage myself.’
‘There’s a security system.’
‘Oh. I see.’ Catherine nodded, and let herself be led up out of the room into the cold, dark night. Maybe she’d get some solace in a smoke.
Vicky sat on the armchair opposite the sofa. ‘I thought you’d have been taken home.’
‘I wanted to go.’ Bill sat there, rubbing his hands together. ‘Start breaking the news to people. But Catherine…’ He sighed. ‘Your boss is at the post-mortem and she wants to stay and see what… what happened to our wee girl.’
‘I understand.’
Bill grimaced, squeezing his face up tight. ‘The longer I stay, the worse it feels. I swear, if someone raped her, I’ll…’
‘I understand, sir.’
Bill glared at her, eyes narrowed. ‘You got any kids?’
‘Aye, she’s three in March.’
Bill stared up at the ceiling, and a breath escaped. ‘You never… You… Shite.’ He looked back down. ‘Have you got some news for us?’
Vicky sat forward, rubbing her hands together slowly. ‘Not so much news as questions. I can come back if—’
‘No, I want to help. Might take my mind off this.’
Vicky gave a polite smile. ‘Did Carly ever mention any boyfriends?’
‘Believe me, our daughter’s life was a sweet little mystery.’ Bill sat back, eyes closed. ‘You’ve got it all to come. It’s…’ He pinched his nose. ‘It’s…’
‘Any names spring to mind?’
‘You’ve got one in particular, haven’t you?’
‘Gary.’
‘Gary? Gary Wilkie? Christ no.’ He frowned. ‘I mean, I hadn’t heard but… Well, like I say… Our daughter felt like a stranger to us at times. I mean, they played on the street when they were kids, but they grew apart. They all do.’
‘Do you know if she was seeing anyone recently?’
‘Like I just said, our daughter’s life was a mystery. I mean, we could’ve locked her up, but what kind of life was that? Christ.’ Bill kneaded his forehead. ‘What kind of death is it? Letting her run wild, just to… to end up in a bloody supermarket car park.’ His tears formed a droplet on the end of his nose. He wiped it away. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, we’ve got a few reports of Carly getting out of a car outside your home.’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘A Skoda Octavia, silver.’
‘Aye, that’s just a taxi. Carly had a job up at the cinema. Sometimes if she was on late, they’d lay on a cab for her.’
‘Sure about that?’
He nodded, but his frown betrayed any certainty. ‘Why, do you think otherwise?’
‘It was the same car a few times.’
‘You think this car was her boyfriend?’
‘We’re investigating it.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, a car matching that description was seen entering the crime scene around the time of death.’
Bill blew air up his face. ‘I wish I’d taken more of an interest in her life.’
‘It’s a tough line to walk, sir. A hard choice between helicopter parenting and letting them be free-range kids. It’s not easy.’
‘Aye, well, we’ve got to live with the consequences of letting her do what she bloody liked.’ Bill stared at her, icy hard. ‘I want to help you find who did this to her.’
‘And you are, sir.’
‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘There’s a lot I can’t legally tell you, sir, under operational confidentiality.’
‘Because parents can kill their kids?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You seriously can’t think either of us did this.’
‘I’m not saying you did, sir. I just can’t tell you anything else.’ Vicky had to look away from him. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket, but didn’t feel like this was the right time to take it out and check. Then again… ‘Listen, we found a phone near the crime scene. What did—’
‘Samsung something or other. The deal was, if I buy it, then I get to check it whenever I want, or she buys her own.’
Which was super-invasive. And controlling. ‘And did you check it?’
‘It was like the bloody thing was brand new. Every single time. Wiped clean. And she kept deleting all of her messages in WhatsApp and all that. Thing was like it’d been nuked from orbit.’
Vicky got her phone out and flicked through her photos from the crime scene. There. A Samsung Galaxy A8, lying on the ground. The blingy gold model. ‘What colour was it?’
‘Erm, gold, I think.’
‘Well, it could be hers.’
‘Bloody thing. She was never off it.’
‘You knew the passcode?’
‘Aye. Well, Cath did.’
* * *
Jenny raised her eyebrows at Vicky’s approach. ‘Oh look, it’s the ghost of Christmas present.’
Vicky sat down next to her. ‘Nice to see you full of the joys of the season.’
‘See if I see another Noel Edmonds jumper…’ Jenny Morgan tossed the bagged-up phone onto the workbench, the cable like an umbilical cord stretching into her laptop. She snorted. ‘I was looking forward to catching up on paperwork tomorrow, but no, I’ve got saddled with a murder.’
‘Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.’
‘And Christmas can kiss my shiny arse.’
‘You’ll be on Santa’s bad list.’
‘It’d be a shit system if I was on the good list. And I’m on Satan’s good
