Кара Хантер - In the Dark

‘No luck?’

He glances up at me. ‘Sod all. We don’t have a name, we don’t know where she came from, we don’t know how long she was down there. We don’t even know if she was ever reported missing. I could spend a month on this thing and get nowhere. Even facial recognition can’t find someone who isn’t there.’

***

Sent:Mon 01/05/2017, 15.45 GMT

From:AnnieGHargreavesMontreal@hotmail.com

To:D.Ross@SocialServices.ox.gov.uk

Subject: Bill

Thanks for the email. I’m staring at the news right now and there are pictures of Frampton Road – even on Canadian TV. They’re comparing it to that man in Austria who kept his daughter in the cellar all those years. But Bill – doing something like that? He was always a bit of a bolshie sod but he wasn’t violent. And I never knew Priscilla but as far as I can tell he’s never even had a relationship with a woman since. If he did he never told me. And OK, a shrink might just say I’m being naive and people like him are very good at hiding it, but surely there would have been some sort of sign? Sorry – I’m probably not making much sense. It’s early here and I still can’t quite believe it. I probably sound like those people the press interview at times like this who stand there saying inane things like ‘he seemed like such a quiet bloke’. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.

***

Somer is round the corner in Chinnor Place. From where she’s standing she can see the forensics team carrying out boxes from 33 Frampton Road and loading them into the van. There are two TV vans parked on the other side of the road. She steps forward again and rings the bell for a third time. It seems this house is empty, though from the bikes and the number of bins and its general state it’s probably student digs. One of the few like it left round here. Thirty years ago these houses were dinosaurs. No one wanted them: too big, too difficult to maintain. Most of them were split up into bedsits or picked up cheap by crammers or university departments. Not any more. Now they’re gradually turning back into the family homes the Victorian developers built them to be, complete with suitable quarters for live-in staff. Mark Sexton is only the latest example of a much bigger trend.

She rings one last time, and is just about to turn and walk away when the door finally opens. He’s about twenty, ginger hair, rubbing the back of his neck and yawning; it looks like he’s just got out of bed. There’s a line of empty bottles leading down the hall and a smell of stale beer. He takes one look at Somer and does a pantomime start.

‘Shit.’

Somer smiles. ‘PC Erica Somer, Thames Valley Police.’

The boy swallows. ‘Have those old farts been complaining about the noise again? Seriously, it really wasn’t that loud –’

‘It’s not that, Mr –’

‘Danny. Danny Abrahams.’

‘OK, Danny. It’s about the house in the next road. Number thirty-three. Do you know the man who lives there – Mr Harper?’

He scratches his neck again. His skin is blotched and red. ‘Is that the nutter?’

‘Do you know him?’

He shakes his head. ‘Just wanders about talking to himself. Gave us a four-pack of lager once. Seems all right.’

Somer gets out her phone and shows him a picture of the girl. ‘What about this young woman – have you ever seen her?’

The boy peers at the screen. ‘No idea.’

‘Are any of your flatmates in?’

‘Not sure. Haven’t seen anyone. Probably in the library. Finals. You know.’

She puts the phone away and hands him a card. ‘If any of them have any information about Mr Harper please ask them to call this number.’

‘What’s he done – started flashing the local biddies?’

‘What makes you say that?’

The lad flushes bright red. ‘Nothing. I just thought –’

‘If you could just pass on the message.’

She turns on her heel and leaves him standing there on the step, wondering what all that was about. A state of ignorance that lasts approximately a minute and a half, after he shuts the door and gets out his mobile.

‘Shit,’ he says as he scrolls down the news feed. ‘Shit shit shit.’

***

EVIDENCE KEY

CK/1 to 3

Assortment of empty packets recovered for chemical fingerprint enhancement from plastic sacks next to stairs in Cellar, Room A.

CK/4 to 5

Partial fingerprints lifted from tape sealing a box recovered next to stairs in Cellar, Room A.

CK/6

Fingerprints lifted from glossy cardboard box flap recovered in Cellar, Room A.

CK/7 to 10

Fingerprints lifted from multiple external surfaces of items recovered from an old tin bath in Cellar, Room A.

CK/11

Partial fingerprint lifted from locking bolt on Cellar Door B (exterior, Room A side).

CK/12

Partial fingerprints lifted from set of keys in locking mechanism of Cellar Door B (exterior, Room A side).

NM/1 to 5

Assortment of empty packets, food boxes and containers recovered for chemical fingerprint enhancement from a sack of rubbish in Cellar, Room B.

NM/6 to 8

Fingerprints lifted from empty plastic containers recovered from a sack of rubbish in Cellar, Room B.

NM/9

Dark pillow case with white staining (presumptive test positive for saliva) recovered from single mattress in Cellar, Room B.

NM/10

Grey bed sheet with multiple white staining (presumptive test positive for semen and saliva) recovered from single mattress in Cellar, Room B.

NM/11

White duvet with red staining (presumptive test positive for blood) recovered from single mattress in Cellar, Room B.

NM/12 to 13

Female underwear with white staining (presumptive test positive for semen) recovered from single mattress in Cellar, Room B.

NM/14

Piece of bedding with small red stain (presumptive test positive for blood) recovered from child’s bed in Cellar, Room B.

NM/15

Wet and dry swabs of red smears (presumptive test positive for blood) from neighbouring wall in Cellar, Room B.

NM/16

Box of miscellaneous items including several old books from Cellar, Room B.

NM/17

Torch containing dead batteries from Cellar, Room B.

***

I’m in the canteen buying a sandwich when DC Baxter finds me.

‘I think I’ve got something,’ he says, slightly out of breath. His wife tells him he has to take the stairs; it’s the only proper exercise he ever gets.

‘The girl?’

‘No. Harper. I gave up on Missing Persons but while I was at it I thought it was worth running Harper’s name through the system.’

‘And?’

‘No convictions. Not even speeding. And if he’s a kerb-crawler we haven’t caught him doing it. But I did find two call-outs to the house in Frampton Road. One in 2002 and one in 2004. No charges brought and the notes are a bit sketchy but it was clearly a domestic.’

‘Who was the attending officer?’

‘Jim Nicholls, both times.’

‘See if you can track him down. From what I remember he retired to Devon. But HR must have an address. Get him to give me a call.’

***

Shit man did u see the news? – that bloke down the road. He’s some sort of psycho. Locked some girl in his bloody cellar. Police just came. Wondered if I shd tell them