Good Girl, Bad Girl(35)

“You think she should be locked up indefinitely,” says Caroline.

“I didn’t say that. I want to help Evie but I haven’t worked out exactly how to do it.”

“That’s still not a reason to keep her at Langford Hall.”

“No.”

Caroline’s face seems to transform, growing softer.

“Nobody else in my office wanted this case. They gave it to me because I’m the newbie. I’ve litigated two cases in my short career and now I’m appearing before the High Court.”

“You’ll be fine,” I say, hoping I sound convincing.

“But you’re right. They’re going to ask Evie how she can support herself, where she’ll live . . . I don’t have anything to tell them.”

“I wish I could help you.”

Caroline collects her briefcase from beside the table.

“Are you going to put her on the stand?” I ask.

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Don’t do it. She’s not . . . she’ll . . .” I can’t finish.

“What else can I do?”

“Anything but that.”





18




* * *





CYRUS




* * *



Chief Superintendent Timothy Heller-Smith strides into the incident room, yelling, “We got him!” pausing to punch at the ground like he’s pull-starting a lawn mower.

Cheers echo through the open-plan office, accompanied by fist bumps and high fives. Three words have changed the entire mood of the task force, sweeping away the exhaustion and fatigue. Lenny Parvel is with him, along with a uniformed constable, nervous at being thrust into the spotlight. Lenny doesn’t seem to share Heller-Smith’s enthusiasm, but says nothing as she lets her superior take charge of the briefing. Detectives gather to hear the details. I join them, standing at the back, leaning against the wall.

Heller-Smith looks more like a politician than a senior police officer, dressed in an expensively cut suit and red silk tie. His thin sparse hair is dyed black and heavily oiled and his mouth is permanently open, like a thick-lipped fish.

Lenny is about to speak, but Heller-Smith takes over, calling for quiet.

He puts his arm around the young officer’s shoulders and announces, “This is Constable Harry Plover.” He gets the name wrong and has to be corrected. “PC Glover has provided us with a breakthrough in the Jodie Sheehan case. But let’s hear the story from him.”

I can see Lenny quietly seething, but she’s not going to create a scene.

PC Glover looks nervously around the room, holding his hat in his hands.

“It was last Wednesday afternoon . . . ah, the day after we found Jodie. I was at Silverdale Walk, protecting the crime scene, when this guy came along walking his dog. He got all chatty with me, saying he used the footpath most days and knew the area well. I asked him if he’d noticed anyone odd hanging around, maybe someone who was following women and such. He said I should show him a photograph if we find a suspect. I took down his name and address.”

Heller-Smith motions for him to go on.

“Later that afternoon I had a couple of girls come up to me. They were putting flowers on Jodie’s memorial—the makeshift one—near the community center. One of them said she went to school with Jodie. I asked her when she heard the news and she said she’d been waiting at a bus stop on Southchurch Drive on Tuesday afternoon when a guy came up to her. He had a dog—a kelpie. He told them not to use Silverdale Walk because the police had found a girl’s body beneath the footbridge. I asked Jodie’s friend what time this was, and she said about half three. People knew Jodie was missing, but this guy was aware that a girl’s body had been found. He pinpointed the location.”

“Exactly,” says Heller-Smith. “That information wasn’t released until the six o’clock media conference and we made no mention of the footbridge.” He holds aloft Glover’s police-issue notebook. “Not only did the constable recognize the discrepancy, but he asked the girl for a description and realized that she was talking about the same person he’d spoken to earlier in the day. Outstanding work. Simply outstanding.”

He slaps PC Glover on the back, mispronouncing his name again.

Lenny smiles wryly and thanks Heller-Smith for his “insightful summary.” The words seem innocuous enough but land like a punch. Looks are exchanged. Mutual antipathy.

The chief superintendent leaves and Lenny relaxes, propping herself on a desk.

“Our prime suspect is Craig Farley, twenty-six. He lives alone in Bainton Grove, which is less than a mile from where Jodie was found. He was taken into custody an hour ago and SOCO is examining his bungalow. We know that Farley works as a porter at the Queen’s Medical Centre—which is where Jodie was hospitalized with pneumonia eight months ago. He may have seen her there and developed an infatuation.

“More importantly, he has history—two arrests for exposing himself to women in Central Park, near Nethergate Stream. Both times he claimed to be nude sunbathing. The second time he was given a suspended sentence and a good behavior bond. At age eighteen he was picked up for having sex with a minor. The girl was fourteen. Her parents chose not to press charges, which means Farley escaped with a caution and wasn’t put on the Sex Offender Register.”