Кара Хантер: Close to Home

It’s a pair of tights, ripped at one knee. And small enough for a child.

***

Interview with Fiona Webster, conducted at 11 Barge Close, Oxford

20 July 2016, 7.45 a.m.

In attendance, DC V. Everett

VE: Can you tell us how you know the Masons, Mrs Webster?

FW: My daughter Megan is in the same class as Daisy at Kit’s, and Alice is the year above.

VE: Kit’s?

FW: Sorry – Bishop Christopher’s. Everyone round here just calls it Kit’s. And we’re neighbours, of course. We lent them the gazebo for the party.

VE: So you’re friends?

FW: I wouldn’t say ‘friends’ exactly. Sharon keeps herself to herself. We talk at the school gate, like you do, and sometimes I go jogging with her. But she’s far more disciplined about it than I am. She goes every morning, even in the winter, after she drops off the kids at school. She’s worried about her weight – I mean she hasn’t actually said so, but I can tell. We had lunch once in town – more by accident than anything - we bumped into each other outside that pizza place on the High Street and she couldn’t really say no. But she ate next to nothing – just picked at a salad –

VE: So she doesn’t work, then, if she runs in the mornings?

FW: No. I think she did once, but I don’t know what. It’d drive me mad, being stuck indoors all day, but she seems totally absorbed in the kids.

VE: So she’s a good mum?

FW: I remember all she talked about at that lunch was what great marks Daisy had got for some test or other, and how she wants to be a vet, and did I know which university would be best for that.

VE: So a bit of a pushy parent?

FW: Between you and me, Owen – my husband – can’t stand her. You know that phrase about sharp elbows? He says she has scythes. But personally I don’t think you can blame anyone for wanting the best for their kids. Sharon’s just a bit more obvious about it than most of us. In fact I think the Masons came here in the first place for the schools. I don’t think they can afford to go private.

VE: These houses aren’t exactly cheap . . .

FW: No, but I just get the feeling things are a bit tight.

VE: Do you know where they lived before?

FW: Somewhere in South London, I think. Sharon never talks much about the past. Or her family. To be honest I’m a bit confused why you want to know all this – aren’t you supposed to be out there looking for Daisy?

VE: We have teams of officers searching the area and checking local CCTV. But the more we know about Daisy, and the family, the better. You never know what might prove to be significant. But let’s talk more about last night. What time did you arrive?

FW: Just after seven. We were one of the first. The invite said 6.30 for 7, and I think Sharon had actually expected people to come at half past. She was really on edge when we got there. I think she might have been worried no one would turn up. She’d gone to huge trouble about it all – I told her, everyone would have been happy to pitch in and bring stuff, but she wanted to do everything herself. It was all laid out on the tables in the garden, under cling film – that stuff is so horrible, don’t you think, I mean -

VE: You said she was on edge?

FW: Well, yes, but only about the party. She was fine later, once it got going.

VE: And Barry?

FW: Oh, Baz was the life and soul, as usual. He’s always very sociable – always finds something to say. I’m sure the party was his idea. And he dotes on Daisy – the usual dads and daughters thing. He’s always picking her up and carrying her about on his shoulders. She did look very sweet in that flower get-up. It’s sad when they grow out of the dressing-up phase – I wanted Alice to wear fancy dress last night but she point-blank refused. She’s only a year above Daisy but now it’s all crop tops and trainers.

VE: You must know Barry Mason pretty well?

FW: I’m sorry?

VE: You called him ’Baz’.

FW: [ laughs ] Oh Lord, did I say that? I know it’s awful, but that’s what we call them, well, some of us. ‘Baz ’n’ Shaz’. Short for Barry and Sharon, you know? But for God’s sake don’t tell Sharon I called her that – she absolutely hates it – blew her top once when someone let it slip out by mistake.

VE: But Barry doesn’t mind?

FW: Seems not to. But he’s pretty easy-going. More so than her. Not that that’s difficult.

VE: So when did you last see her - Daisy?

FW: I’ve been racking my brains about that. I think it was just before the fireworks. There were lots of little girls running about all night. They were having a whale of a time.

VE: And you didn’t see anyone talking to her – or anyone you didn’t recognize?

FW: There weren’t many people there I didn’t know. I think they were all from the estate. At least, I don’t remember anyone from the other side.

VE: The other side?

FW: You know. Over the canal. The posh lot. You don’t get them slumming it over here very much. But in any case, as far as I remember Daisy spent the whole time with her friends. Adults are pretty dull when you’re that age.

VE: And your husband – Owen? Was he there?

FW: Why do you want to know that?

VE: We just need to know where everyone was –

FW: Are you suggesting Owen had something to do with it, because I can tell you right now –

VE: Like I said, we just need to know who everyone was at the party.

[ pause ]

It’s possible we may have found the tights Daisy was wearing. Do you remember if she still had them on when you last saw her?

FW: I’m sorry, I really can’t remember.

VE: And she didn’t fall over or hurt herself at the party, as far as you saw?

FW: No, I’m sure I’d have remembered that. But why do you ask that – what difference does it make?

VE: There was blood on the tights, Mrs Webster. We’re trying to find out how it got there.

***

At 8.30 I’m in the car, parked round the corner in Waterview Crescent, which is definitely one notch up on the property pecking order – three-storey townhouses, and even, would you believe, a couple of stone lions on plinths at the entrance. I’m eating a pasty someone has brought over from the petrol station on the main road. I can feel my arteries clog just looking at it. But there’s a press conference scheduled for ten, and if I don’t eat anything I’m going to be light-headed. And while I’m at it, the car is a Ford. In case you’re wondering. And I don’t do bloody crosswords either.

There’s a tap on the driver’s window and I wind it down. It’s DC Everett. Verity, her name is – I told her once, with a name like that she was destined for this job. And she won’t give up looking for it either – the truth, I mean. Don’t let that stolid appearance fool you – she’s one of the most ruthless officers I’ve ever had.

‘What is it? What did Fiona Webster have to say?’

‘Plenty, but this isn’t about that. The old dear at number thirty-six. She saw something. A couple of minutes after eleven, she says. She’s sure because she was about to phone the council nuisance line about the noise.’

I remember what Sharon Mason said about people reporting you. Perhaps I misjudged her – you’re not paranoid if your neighbours really are shits.

‘So what did this Mrs – ’

‘Bampton.’

‘What did Mrs Bampton say?’

‘She says she saw a man walking away from the Masons’ house with a child in his arms. A girl, and she was crying. In fact more like screaming, the old lady says. That’s why she went to the window in the first place.’

I’m shaking my head. ‘It was a party. How do we know it wasn’t perfectly innocent – that it wasn’t one of the fathers on his way home?’