Vicky gave him as polite a nod as she could muster.
So much for Forrester’s policeman’s knock. She reached over to press the bell again. ‘Still think he’s a powder keg waiting to explode.’
‘Aye, well, I can handle Ryan Ennis.’
‘Sure. That’s why you had to drag me in on Christmas Eve.’
‘Come on, Vicky, it’s a man thing.’
‘A man thing?’
‘Aye. I can’t just send him away. He’s—’
The door clunked open, replaced by a man with rosy cheeks. Mid-forties, short hair, his smart shirt open at the neck to reveal a wiry chest rug. He tilted his head to the side. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Name’s David Forrester. This is my colleague, Vicky Dodds. I’m a detective inspector in Pol—’
‘What’s happened?’
Forrester paused. ‘It’s best we do this inside, sir.’
‘Is it Carly?’
‘Sir, I sugg—’
‘Is she okay?’
‘Bill, what’s going on?’ A woman appeared, clinging to his arm. ‘What’s happened?’
Forrester had his warrant card out. ‘We just need a word inside. About your daughter.’
‘My God. Is she okay?’
Forrester closed his eyes and gave a grimace. He clearly knew he wasn’t getting inside. ‘I’m afraid the body of someone matching her description was found this evening. We’ll need one of you to identify her.’
* * *
‘A hell of a time to do this, Vicky.’ Forrester rested his hand against the wall, like he was bracing himself against the news. ‘Every bloody Christmas Eve for the rest of their lives, they’ll be scarred by losing their daughter.’
Through the thick safety glass, Arbuthnott pulled back the sheet to show the victim’s face. On the edge of being a girl and a woman. Whatever had led her to that fate, dying in a cold supermarket car park, maybe it had something to do with her exploring what becoming a woman meant.
Or maybe it had nothing to do with it.
Vicky stepped closer to the glass to get a better look at what was going on.
Bill and Catherine Johnston stood in the room next to Arbuthnott, holding hands, faces stern in that Dundonian way, but his eyes and her lips betrayed their grief.
Bill gave Arbuthnott the nod, and she replaced the sheet with a kind smile. Arbuthnott glanced at the window, then led the Johnstons away.
Forrester ran a hand down his face. ‘Hell of a time.’ He walked off himself, heading for the family room, but stopped by the door. ‘Here’s the deal, okay? I’ll babysit the parents for a bit, stay for the PM, see if I can shake anything loose. Arbuthnott’s readying her just now.’ He grimaced. ‘You get back to the team, see what you can divine.’
‘Deal.’ Vicky lingered in the empty room, staring at the body under the sheet. Not yet autopsied, but identified now at least. Carly Johnston, her future snuffed out in a single moment. Christ, it didn’t bear thinking about.
She walked over to the door, catching it as it swung shut, then entered the family room.
‘But you will catch them, aye?’ Bill Johnston wasn’t letting Forrester go, just drilling his gaze deep into his eyes.
‘We will try, sir. Yes, of course we will.’ Forrester sat at the table opposite the Johnstons’ sofa. ‘Can I get you a tea or a coffee?’
‘You can get the animal who murdered my daughter.’ Johnston’s voice was low, but full of venom. Betrayed his profession, just like any high school teacher might in this situation.
‘We’re determined to identify all of the events surrounding your daughter’s death, sir.’ Forrester shook free, then sat on the cheap armchair, his hands splayed on his lap. ‘Do you know where she was going this evening?’
Bill crumpled, his face falling. He slumped into the sofa next to his wife, who was intent on staring at the floor. ‘Well, we were having friends over for dinner. Kind of a… a tradition, and… and Carly was… She was out for the evening.’ He looked over at Forrester with a steely glint. ‘Do you have children?’
‘Two boys.’
Then he stared at Vicky. ‘And you?’
‘A daughter. She’s three.’
‘Right. Well. You’ve got it all to come.’
Vicky nodded in sympathy. ‘Did Carly have a boyfriend?’
‘Not that we know of.’ Bill sniffed. ‘As far as we knew, she was going to a friend’s house to watch a film.’
Forrester glanced over at the door, briefly locking eyes with Vicky. ‘You got a name for this friend?’
Bill frowned at his wife.
She nodded at Forrester. ‘It was Ashley. Ashley Mitchell. Her parents were the ones over for dinner.’
Vicky felt something tighten in her gut. This didn’t explain why Teresa Ennis’s car was there. ‘Does she know a Teresa Ennis?’
‘Well, I think she’s in her class.’ Catherine looked over at her husband. ‘But I wasn’t aware they were friends. Why?’
‘A car belonging to Miss Ennis’s grandfather was found at the scene.’
‘I see.’ Catherine blew out air. ‘Well.’
Vicky waited for eye contact, which didn’t take long. The desperate searching gaze of a grieving mother, looking for answers as much as the father was looking for vengeance. ‘Do you have an address for Ashley Mitchell?’
4
‘This is what we’ve got to look forward to.’ Karen got out of the car first.
Vicky followed her out into the cold air. ‘Right.’
A deep thud came from somewhere, the slow and steady thump of dance music. The calendar might move on every year, but the kids never changed – when mum and dad were away, the kids will get absolutely shit-faced and put on shit dance music.
Same street as the Johnstons’ home, and similarly upmarket, but jammed between two older homes. A small front garden, but an oak tree towered over the house from the back, all lit up from below. Strobe lights flashed inside, like someone was having an illegal rave.
Karen set off towards the front door. ‘Doubt we’ll be the first officers round here tonight.’ She thumbed the bell. The modern tone
