Lee Weeks - Cold as Ice

‘I don’t know what he’s capable of. Not much, I don’t expect. He’s disabled. You seen him?’

‘Yes I saw him. He’s a sweet little kid. He’s in shock. He was left alone overnight.’

‘He’ll soon forget. He’s going to be better off without her, that’s for sure.’ He picked up some bits of debris and threw them angrily into the bin. Then he turned back to Carter. ‘Marion saw them despite my wishes. I told her not to but she disobeyed me and look where it got her. It put her in an early grave. If someone has taken that girl, good luck to them. They’ve done the world a favour. She’s never been any good to anyone.’ He paused and looked up from his sharpening. ‘The boy’s better off without her. What’s happened to him now?’

‘He’s with Danielle’s birth mother, Tracy.’

Foster looked away and shook his head with a cynical smile on his face. ‘What’s she like, Danielle’s birth mother? Rough, I expect?’

Carter shook his head. ‘Not at all – she’s a nice woman: hard-working, respectable. So you haven’t seen Danielle for some time?’

‘Not since the funeral. I didn’t want her at that but she turned up and I didn’t want to make a scene. Marion wouldn’t have wanted that. Marion was nothing but goodness. A saint to put up with the things she did. A wonderful woman who deserved better than the treatment she got from her own daughter. Well, adopted daughter. I never used to think there was a difference – I do now. I think of her as a cuckoo in our nest. All she did was take – bled us dry.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, Mr Foster. I know it’s not easy. I came from a big family – fallouts are an everyday thing, but you might want to keep the door open on Danielle and your grandson. She was trying her best to put her life in order. She had enrolled in evening classes, she was living in a new place with Jackson. She was trying to make a go of things.’

‘Oh I know she was attending classes. She told me.’

‘So she did contact you recently. I thought you said she hadn’t?’

‘I said I hadn’t seen her. She rung up six months ago, said it was to see how I was. But she always has an angle. She got to it in the end. She asked me for the details about her birth mother. I gave them to her. It was no skin off my nose. Typical – now that she can’t tap my wife for money she’s trying to get it out of some other poor sap. Good luck to them both.’

Carter watched as Gerald started sharpening the other side of the shears.

‘Do you work, Mr Foster?’

‘I’m a London guide. I take people on guided walks around the city and the surrounds. I’m working this afternoon.’ He looked at Carter as if to say – so hurry up.

‘A tourist guide?’

‘Yes. I show people round. Charles Dickens’ London. Jack the Ripper’s haunts. That kind of thing.’

‘Interesting job.’

‘It’s more of a hobby really. I’m semi-retired.’

‘What did you do before?’

‘I’m a carpenter by trade. I still get the odd call to make something but I haven’t done so much since my wife died.’ He caught Carter looking around at the mess in the kitchen. ‘I don’t see the point in keeping up with the housework any more. Never did really. That was always Marion’s domain. But I make sure I brush up well when I go to work.’

‘You manage here on your own?’

‘Yes. I can live very frugally. I don’t need a lot of money.’

‘Looks like you look after your tools. My granddad was one for making and mending, always saw him with a pair of pliers in his hand, always fixing something.’

Foster didn’t reply, instead he motioned his head towards the back garden and the bonfire.

‘Of course, I won’t keep you.’

Foster picked up his gloves and marched outside. Carter followed him out. They passed the overgrown edges of what had once been a neat and well-cared-for garden. There was lawn in the main middle part, shrubs around the outside now looking wintry and uncared for. The lawn came to an abrupt stop at a small copse of trees.

‘You’ve got a lot of space here. Ever thought of getting planning permission? Is that a big shed you’ve got at the bottom there?’ Carter took a few paces towards the trees and a shed with an open door.

Foster blocked his way.

‘It’s a workshop. I’m giving it a tidy-out. Look – I’m busy. If you want to talk to someone go and find that worthless no-hoper Niall Manson, the boy’s father. What about him? She said she’d broken away from him but I never believed it. If there’s some muck to roll in he’ll find it.’

‘Funny,’ said Carter, watching Foster work. ‘He didn’t seem to like you either.’

Foster stopped and looked him.

‘You’ve talked to him? What did he say?’

‘We talked about Danielle mainly .’

Carter watched as Foster seemed to be mulling this news over.

‘Ah well.’ He stamped on the growing pile of debris to burn. ‘Those that live in glasshouses shouldn’t throw stones.’ He glared at Carter.

‘Okay, thanks for your time, Mr Foster. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll leave a card for you in case you remember anything you think will help find her.’ He held up his card for Foster to see.

Foster took it from him and stuffed it into his trouser pocket. He watched Carter leave through the side gate then waited till he heard a car start off further down the road. He walked quickly down past the bonfire and into the copse. His heartbeat quickened as he approached his shed. He wouldn’t leave it unpadlocked again. That was silly of him. The policeman could have asked to look inside. Foster would have had to say no. The policeman would have been suspicious. Foster turned the handle and stepped into the shed and into a world that smelt of wood and creosote. The dust from newly cut chipboard was in the air. He walked across to the far wall and stood in front of the box he’d finished a few days ago. He pulled back a hessian curtain. Pinned to the wall behind it there were hundreds of photos of Danielle as a little girl.

Carter was still out of the office when Ebony got a call from Robbo and headed down the corridor to see him. He was in there with Pam and one other researcher, a young graduate named James. The door was open as usual. Pam smiled. Robbo was sitting behind his desk, rocking his chair, and motioned for Ebony to come and sit beside him.

Robbo was giving James instructions. ‘Get a list of all of Danielle Foster’s contacts on Facebook, James, specifically the ones who are in the same circumstances as her – same age and with a child and keep it to North London for now. And concentrate on the ones that cross over with Emily Styles first. Hawk could have access to these women via a Facebook account. People have hundreds of friends on social media sites. Just a handful, maybe ten per cent, are real friends.’

He looked over his glasses at Pam and noted her disapproving look. Hacking into Facebook was not without its problems – getting permission from the American company was laborious at best. But then both Pam and Robbo knew there were other ways, not quite so legit.

He turned back to talk to Ebony.

‘Thought we could brainstorm.’

He picked up a highlighting pen and looked at the profiles of the two women as he highlighted the common traits. Robbo was making notes by hand, on his desk.

‘I want to go through the similarities between the two women and try to understand what Danielle is going through and what motivates Hawk. We can start with the info so far: age, physical type, lifestyle, family, relationship status. Emily and Danielle? What do they have in common physically?’

‘Physically? Just age, as far as I can tell,’ answered Ebony. ‘Emily was auburn, five foot seven, size twelve, and Danielle is dark-haired, five foot eight inches and very slim.’