Кара Хантер - In the Dark

‘What about DNA?’ asks a woman at the back. ‘I can’t believe you still haven’t established who the father of that child is. I thought you could get results in a few hours these days?’

‘Testing has improved, certainly, but it still takes time. And DNA will only be able to tell us so much. We need to talk to the young woman herself, and she’s still not able to speak to us. I’m sure you can appreciate that she’s in a very distressed state.’

‘Have you got a pic yet?’ asks the man from the Oxford Mail. ‘The neighbours said you had one – that you were showing it to people and asking if anyone recognized her.’

‘We’re not releasing a photo at this time.’

‘Well, what about a bleeding name then? A shot of the kid? Something – any thing?’

‘The investigation is at a critical stage. I’m sure you can appreciate –’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.’

‘OK,’ says the woman at the back. ‘What about this new appeal for witnesses in the Hannah Gardiner case? That means you’re linking the two, right?’

I open my mouth then close it again. What bloody appeal for witnesses?

‘If it’s slipped your mind, Inspector,’ she says, ‘I have the statement here.’ She smiles at me then scrolls down her tablet. ‘“ Thames Valley Police are appealing for anyone who saw Hannah Gardiner on the morning of 24 June 2015, in the vicinity of Crescent Square, Oxford, to contact the incident room at St Aldate’s police station, especially if they saw her talking to anyone in the area .” Etc., etc., etc.’ She holds the tablet up. ‘This is from your team, I take it?’

‘Yes –’

‘So you are linking the cases. That means the body you found in that garden must be Hannah’s and that man Harper must be suspected of killing her. That’s right, isn’t it? I mean, I’m not missing something blindingly obvious here?’

‘I’m not in a position to comment –’

‘I read somewhere,’ says the old lag at the front, ‘that there was a dead raven buried with the body – some sort of pagan ritual thing. Care to comment, Inspector? Or is that something else you’re “not releasing”?’

‘Yes, I will happily comment on that. There has never been any connection whatsoever between satanism or paganism and the Hannah Gardiner case, and there isn’t one now.’

‘So was there a sodding bird or wasn’t there?’

The woman interrupts him. ‘So you are reopening the case,’ she says quickly. ‘We can quote you on that?’

‘We’re not reopening it because it was never closed –’

‘I’ll take that as a yes then.’

‘– and at this stage of the investigation we are not able to say any more than I’ve told you already. We owe it to the families of the victims –’

‘What about the family of the wrongly accused? What do you owe them, Detective Inspector Fawley?’

The voice comes from somewhere at the back. People turn to look as he gets to his feet, and a buzz starts as they recognize him.

Matthew Shore.

How the hell did he get in here?

‘So, do you have an answer for me? I mean, you were on the Hannah Gardiner case, weren’t you?’

‘This is a press conference, Mr Shore.’

‘And I’m a member of the press.’ He holds up a pass. ‘Look, it says so, right here. So I say again – and I think that’s the third time, incidentally – what about my father? What about a man you victimized and harassed, even though you had no evidence –’

I can feel Harrison’s stress levels rising; this is going out live on the BBC news channel, and the bloke from Sky has his phone out videoing it.

‘Look, Mr Shore, this is neither the time nor the place.’

‘So when exactly is the right bloody time and place? I’ve been trying to talk to Thames Valley Police for months – all I get is the brush-off.’

‘We never charged your father in relation to the Hannah Gardiner case. The sentence he served was for an entirely different offence.’

‘Yeah, but he’d never have even been convicted if his face hadn’t been all over the bloody papers for months, never mind getting three sodding years – there’s no way that was a fair trial –’

Harrison clears his throat. ‘That’s not something we can comment on, Mr Shore. You will have to take it up with the Crown Prosecution Service.’

‘And you think I haven’t?’ he says, sardonic. ‘They’re no better than you. There’s no justice in this bloody country – no bloody accountability. You all just clear up each other’s mess –’

Harrison gets to his feet. ‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. Further statements will be issued as appropriate. Good afternoon.’

*

The first person I see outside is Quinn. He must have been at the back. He makes a face. ‘I’d like to know how Shore got in. I’ll get Gis on it.’

‘What I’d like to know is who the fuck issued that appeal for witnesses? Was it you?’

He hesitates, clearly trying to decide whether to balls it out or fess up.

‘The hacks were going to link the cases whatever we did so I thought it was worth seeing if all this new publicity jogged someone’s memory –’

Which is actually a very good point. Not that I’m in the mood to say so.

‘Even though you know I promised Gardiner he would have time to warn Hannah’s parents? Even though you know damn well you should check something like that with me first?’

‘But you said –’

‘I said to keep an eye on things –’

‘You actually said “pick things up” –’

‘– I did not say make significant decisions without asking me. I was only at the John Rad, for fuck’s sake, not the bloody moon – you could have called – texted.’

He’s gone very red now, and I realize – too late – that Gislingham is standing a few yards away. I shouldn’t bollock Quinn in front of lower ranks. You just don’t.

‘I thought,’ says Quinn, lowering his voice, ‘that you’d prefer me not to disturb you. What with the kid and your wife and everything.’

And everything.

You’re already thinking ‘classic transference’, and you’re not wrong. But knowing it and doing something about it aren’t the same. And now – not for the first time – I wonder whether my real problem with Quinn is that he’s too much like me. Apart from the flashy dress sense and the serial shagging, of course.

‘OK,’ I say eventually. ‘Go and see Gardiner and apologize.’

‘Can’t I just call him?’

‘No. You can’t. And get Challow moving on those bloody DNA results.’ And then I take a deep breath and turn round. ‘What do you want, Gislingham?’

He looks embarrassed. ‘Sorry to barge in, boss, but the incident room has just taken a call after the news broadcast. It was from Beth Dyer.’

***

Quinn was right; it doesn’t take long. By lunchtime, Erica Somer has tracked down both a nephew and a niece of the first Mrs William Harper. But when she goes to the incident room to look for Quinn, what she finds is Fawley. He’s standing staring at the pinboard. The photos. The map. The images of the two young women and the two young boys. The living and the dead. He seems lost in thought. Absent.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she says, still slightly unsure around him. ‘I was looking for the DS –’

He turns to look at her, but it’s a few seconds, she can tell, before he actually registers who she is.

‘PC Somer.’

‘Yes, sir.’

It’s not something she could ever tell Quinn, but Fawley is far and away the best-looking man in the station. The fact that he seems entirely unaware of it only adds to the attraction. Quinn’s exactly the opposite – he operates with some sort of bat-like sex echo system, constantly sending out signals and seeing how they bounce back. Fawley, on the other hand, is entirely self-contained. She doesn’t have Quinn’s level of self-confidence but she usually gets some sort of reaction from men. Not from this one though.