Close to Home (DI Adam Fawley #1)(12)
@Annie_Merrivale_ Poor baby, I think she’s already dead #DaisyMason
16.42
Anne Merrivale @Annie_Merrivale_
@ForWhomtheTollis I know. I think the only mystery now is who killed her #DaisyMason
*
When I push open the door to the incident room the air is dense with energy. Everyone turns to look at me as I go to the whiteboard and point a finger at one of the photos from the party.
‘As you’ve probably heard by now, it’s looking very unlikely that the girl in this picture is Daisy Mason.’
The noise level begins to rise and I raise my voice. ‘What you don’t yet know is that I have just had confirmation from the lab that the blood on the tights was not – repeat not – that of Daisy Mason. Which means it probably came from this girl in the picture. And if old Mrs Bampton did indeed see a man carrying a child, that too was almost certainly this other girl and not Daisy Mason.’
It hits me then, as it sometimes does. You can’t prepare for it, can’t prevent it – you never know what random association of words or ideas will do it – but suddenly your carefully closed-down brain is awash with unwanted memory. Me carrying Jake, his sleeping head nestled against my chest, smelling the shampoo in his hair and the summer garden on his skin – the warmth, the weight of him –
I’m suddenly horribly aware of the stillness in the room. They’re staring at me. Some of them, anyway. The ones I’ve known longest are looking anywhere but me.
‘Sorry – as I was saying, I don’t think we have two missing kids here – I suspect it’s just a simple case of mistaken identity. Looking at the rips on the tights, the blood was probably nothing more sinister than a grazed knee. But we still need to find that other girl and make sure she’s OK. And we need to establish how she got the flower outfit – it’s possible the two kids switched costumes, so she may be able to tell us what Daisy was really wearing that night. In the meantime, Everett – can you go back through all the photos from the party with Anna Phillips and see if you can find any other blonde girls that might be Daisy.’
Gareth Quinn gets to his feet – he has his tablet in his hand and he’s frantically scrolling down. ‘I think I might know who the girl is, boss. I’m sure one of the cars on the CCTV was a four-by-four belonging to a family on the close. Yep, here it is – David and Julia Connor. They have a daughter called Millie who’s in Daisy’s year at Kit’s, and they were on the party list but apparently left early because they were driving down to Gatwick to catch a flight really early this morning – we have the family on camera heading towards the ring road at 11.39 p.m. That’s why we haven’t been able to talk to them yet, and to be honest it wasn’t a high priority up to now. But I’ve left a message on David Connor’s mobile to call me.’
He goes up to the map and then turns to me, pointing, his eyes eager. ‘The Connor house is here – number fifty-four. They’d have had to walk right opposite Mrs Bampton’s on the way back from the Masons’. I think it was David Connor the old lady saw, carrying his daughter home.’
There’s an odd sensation in the room now – I’ve seen it before – the breakthrough that isn’t really a breakthrough because all it does is close off a possibility, rather than getting you any closer to the truth. A sense that pieces are slotting together, but you’re still no closer to seeing what picture they make. But there’s a piece here now that’s suddenly looking very dark.
It’s Gislingham who comes right out with it, Stating The Bleeding Obvious being his usual stock-in-trade. But hey, every team should have one. Especially in this job. ‘So is this what we’re really saying,’ he says. ‘That the Masons saw this other girl running about in that get-up all night and didn’t twig it wasn’t really their daughter?’
‘The headdress thing does cover most of her face,’ begins Everett. ‘I mean, we didn’t realize it wasn’t her and we’ve been staring at the pictures hard enough.’
‘But we’re not her parents,’ I say quietly. ‘Believe me, I’d know my own kid even in a ski mask and a plastic sack. You just do. You know how they move – the way they walk – ’
The way Jake moved, the way Jake walked. Time stutters. Just for a fraction, avoids the chasm, then moves on.
‘But also how they talk, surely,’ says Gislingham. ‘If the Masons had actually spoken to that girl they’d have known at once – ’
‘Which means one of two things,’ interrupts Quinn. ‘Either they didn’t speak to their own daughter at all that night, which is scarcely credible, or there’s something much more worrying going on here.’
‘It’s not just them,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s Leo as well. He must have known it wasn’t Daisy at the party. The parents might claim they were too preoccupied, but he’s a watching sort of a kid. He knew. So why didn’t he tell them – why didn’t he tell us? Either he’s hiding something or he’s frightened of something. And right this moment, I’m not sure which is worse.’
‘So what do we do now, boss? Tell the Masons about Millie Connor? Bring them in for questioning?’
‘No,’ I say slowly. ‘Let’s get them to do a TV appeal for their daughter. I want to see how they handle it. All three of them – make sure the boy is there too. There’s no harm doing an appeal anyway – after all, she could still be out there somewhere, and it may have nothing at all to do with the family.’