Close to Home (DI Adam Fawley #1)(76)

‘You can’t blame it on that. Jesus, Shaz – ’

‘Don’t call me that!’

There’s a pause.

‘I’m sorry.’

He swallows, takes a step forward. ‘Look, I know you’re not – not quite as thin as you used to be. But you know what I think about that. I don’t think having Daisy was anything to do with it. I keep telling you to go and see the doctor. You eat nothing and yet – ’

There are tears in her eyes now. Tears of rage. ‘And yet I’m still fat. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’

‘No, not fat. Just not like you were – ’

‘Before Daisy,’ she says as she crushes the paper in her fist. ‘Before I had bloody Daisy – ’

There’s a noise then, from outside the room, and Barry swivels round. ‘Christ almighty, that’s not her, is it – you know what she’s like, listening at keyholes.’

He flings open the door to see his daughter disappearing up the stairs.

She stops at the turn and looks back down at him, her small face covered with tears. ‘I hate her – I hate her! I wish she was dead so I could have another mummy – a mummy who’d love me – ’

‘Daisy, princess,’ he says, starting up the stairs and reaching out for her. ‘Of course we love you – we’re your mum and dad.’

‘I don’t want to be your princess – I hate you – leave me alone!’

And then his daughter is gone and her bedroom door slams shut.

*

‘So where are we on the forensics?’

It’s 11.30 and we’re back in the St Aldate’s incident room. Including Everett, who’s got Mo Jones to take her place at the B&B. She says she has to take her dad to the doctor’s later, hence the delegation, but if she’s had enough of Sharon, I can’t say I blame her. Quinn puts down his phone. ‘Just got some preliminaries. No prints on the newspaper but the blood on the gloves – it’s definitely Daisy’s.’

I take a deep breath. So she really is dead. There’s no question about that now. I’ve known it a long time – I think we all have. But knowing, and finding proof, are not the same. Even when you’ve been doing this for as long as I have.

‘There’s also other DNA,’ says Quinn into the silence. ‘It’s inside and outside the gloves, and it’s a match for Barry Mason.’

A ripple of success goes through the room at that. Not triumph – how could it be, in the circumstances – but we all know there’s no good reason for that man’s gloves to be in a random skip, over a mile from his house, covered with his daughter’s blood.

‘And there’s something else,’ says Quinn quickly. It’s a breakthrough – that much is obvious just looking at him. ‘There are fragments of grit all over the gloves – grit and weedkiller. Seemed an odd combo for someone who just builds extensions, so some bright spark thought it was worth testing it against the aggregate they use for railway ballast. And it’s exactly the same. And they’ve matched the weedkiller to the type Network Rail use too. It’s pretty heavy-duty stuff – you can’t just walk in and get it at B&Q.’ People are looking at each other, the noise level is rising. They’re all thinking the same thing: there’s only one place around here that ticks all those boxes, and it’s less than half a mile from where we found those gloves.

‘OK,’ I say, raising my voice. ‘Quinn – get down the level crossing. Get the search teams to meet you there.’

‘They’ve already covered that area once, boss,’ begins Baxter.

‘Well, they can cover it again. Because it looks like we missed something.’





* * *



—

Out in the corridor Anna Phillips comes towards me from my office, waving a piece of paper. ‘I’ve found her,’ she says, smiling.

‘I’m sorry?’

Her smile falters a little. ‘Pauline Pober? Remember? The woman who was quoted in that article about the Wileys – when Jessica died?’

‘Oh, right. Where is she?’

‘Hale and hearty and living in a village barely ten miles from here, would you believe. I’ve arranged for us to pop over and talk to her tomorrow morning. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to go. I know I’m a civilian and all that, but having tracked her down, I’d quite like to, you know, see it through.’

I haven’t the heart to tell her the agenda’s moved on.

‘That’s great work, Anna. Really. And I’m happy for you to go and see her. But take an officer with you – just for procedure’s sake.’

‘Gareth – DS Quinn – is going to allocate someone.’

‘Great. And make sure to let me know what she says.’

She must have picked up something up from my distracted manner, because a flicker of doubt crosses her brow. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Will do.’

*

When Quinn arrives at the car park by the level crossing, the wind’s got up and there’s rain in the air. He realizes suddenly how lucky they were that it’s been dry since the gloves were dumped in the skip – a downpour could have wiped out the evidence. As he gets out, Erica Somer comes towards him from a patrol car parked ahead. Her hair’s tied back but the wind is whipping it about her face. Quinn remembers her from the station. She was the one who brought in the DVD. Nice-looking. Very nice-looking, in fact. Though the uniform isn’t helping. He wonders in passing what she’d look like in the sort of heels Anna Phillips wears.