Danny Gardiner told police that he’d dropped Sienna on a street corner in Bath only thirty minutes later. Where did she go? Three hours are missing from the timeline.
Danny lives with his mother in Twerton on the western outskirts of Bath where most of the older houses are clustered around St Michael’s Parish Church. The newer estates have encroached on to farmland and already I see white pegs marking out more plots of land.
Monk is waiting in an unmarked police car.
‘What did Cray say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You didn’t tell her.’
‘I’m doing you a favour.’
Nobody answers the door. Monk knocks again. Then we wait. The sky is low and grey, smelling of woodsmoke and rain.
A white hatchback pulls into a parking space ahead of us. A woman in her fifties emerges, dressed in a tour guide’s uniform. She collects a bag of groceries from the boot and walks to the house, cursing as she drops her keys.
‘Mrs Gardiner?’ I ask.
‘Who wants to know?’
The door swings inwards and a long-haired dog that could have a head at either end dances around her stockinged legs, yapping.
She turns, waiting for an answer.
‘We’re looking for Danny.’
‘He’s talked to you lot already.’
‘Not to me.’
Her blue-grey eyes examine me quickly and then settle on Monk, gazing at him as though he’s sprouted from magic beans in her front garden. ‘Lordy, your mother must have gone cross-eyed having you. How tall?’
‘Six-four last time I measured.’
‘I think you’ve grown since then, love. You should have played basketball.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She has stepped inside the hallway. The house smells of damp dog, air freshener and dope. Mrs Gardiner lifts her shopping bags over the threshold, using one hand to hold the collar of the dog.
‘I haven’t seen Danny since yesterday.’
‘His car is outside,’ says Monk.
‘Must have taken the bus,’ she replies.
‘That’s too bad. We’ll have to tow the car. Forensic boys want to pull it apart. Tell him we’ll put it back together again . . . best we can.’
Two beats of silence follow before Danny bursts out of a bedroom, barefoot, bare-chested, wearing low-slung jeans. Marijuana smoke wafts in his wake.
‘Not me fucking car! I just finished paying it off.’
Danny reaches the front door and bounces off Monk’s chest.
‘The car’s fine. We just need to ask you a few questions.’
‘I answered your questions.’
‘More of them.’
‘Fuck off!’
Mrs Gardiner clips him around the ear. ‘Mind your language.’
Danny nurses the side of his head where three studs decorate the cartilage above his ear.
‘I suppose you’d better come in then,’ says Mrs Gardiner. ‘Carry them bags, Danny.’
We follow her along a hallway into a tired-looking kitchen, with red-painted cupboards and a fridge that doubles as a noticeboard. She begins unpacking her groceries while Danny pulls a bottle of soft drink from a bag. She tells him to get a glass. He rolls his eyes.
‘What’s he done now?’ she asks Monk.
‘We want to ask him about his girlfriend.’
‘A girl? That’s all he thinks about - girls. You should see the state of his bed sheets.’
Danny gives her a murderous look.
‘Lazy, just like his dad. Spends his time tinkering with cars. Not really a proper job, is it?’ Mrs Gardiner sizes Monk up again. ‘How tall you say you were, Detective?’
‘Six-four.’
‘I’ve got a job for you. Won’t take a minute.’
‘I’m needed here.’
‘Don’t take two of you to talk to Danny. Call it a community service.’
Mrs Gardiner is halfway down the hall, motioning him to follow. Monk glances at me, hoping to be rescued, and then reluctantly accepts his fate.
Danny relaxes now that his mother is no longer orbiting.
‘Do you remember me?’ I ask.
Danny shakes his head.
‘I saw you outside Sienna’s house last Wednesday morning.’
He screws up his face. ‘Wasn’t me.’
‘You legged it when I tried to talk to you. Almost ran me down in that car of yours. That’s one of the problems with having a distinctive-looking car, Danny. You think it makes a bold statement, but it sticks out like a turd in a punchbowl.’
Danny is working his tongue around his cheek as though counting his teeth. His hair sticks up at odd angles and I can see traces of pimple cream dabbed on his forehead. For all his brazen defiance, he doesn’t look particularly tough or aggressive. He has small hands. Delicate features.
‘Tell me about Sienna Hegarty.’
‘What about her?’
‘Is she your girlfriend?’
‘She’s a friend.’
‘She’s underage.’
‘So what?’
‘How old are you, Danny?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Don’t you know any horny girls your own age?’
‘I get my share.’
‘So why Sienna?’
‘Listen, I’m not shagging her, OK, and if she says I am then she’s a lying cow. We’re mates.’
‘Mates?’
‘Yeah. We hang out together. I drive her around the place. Drop her off.’
‘And what do you get in return?’
He shrugs.
‘Come on, Danny, I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re trying to tell me that you hang out with a hot-looking fourteen-year-old because she’s a mate.’
‘Yeah, well, I figured one day, you know . . .’
‘One day?’
‘She might pay out, you know. When she’s legal?’
‘You’re lying.’
‘No.’
‘Sienna was pregnant. You knocked her up.’
‘No fucking way!’ His voice grows shrill. ‘I just take her places. Drop her off. I’m not shagging her. Haven’t touched her.’
‘No?’
‘It’s true.’
‘Either tell me the truth, Danny, or Detective Abbott is going to search your room. He’ll find your hash and your porn magazines and whatever else you’re hiding. Then he’ll take you down to the station and put you in a cell downstairs with the drunks and the perverts and the drug addicts. Do you know how long a night lasts in a place like that? By morning you’ll be an old man.’
Sweat pops out on Danny’s forehead and runs down the side of his nose. He’s trying to look like he doesn’t care, but I can see his mind working.
‘I saw you with Sienna last Tuesday. Where did you go?’
‘We drove around for a while, then I dropped her off.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Seven.’
‘Where did you drop her?’
‘In town.’
He names a street corner on Lower Bristol Road.
‘Why did she want to go there?’
Danny shrugs. ‘That’s where she told me to drop her. She had the address on a piece of paper.’
‘And you just drove away?’
‘Yep.’ One of his feet is jiggling up and down.
‘Where did you go?’
‘A mate’s place.’
‘For how long?’
‘I kipped on his sofa. I was there all night.’
‘What’s your mate’s name?’
Danny reacts as though scalded. ‘What difference does that make? He’s just a mate.’
Something about the response borders on panic. Danny’s eyes have clouded over and his hands are pressed to the top of his thighs. There is something slightly effeminate about the pose. In that instant I suddenly see him clearly. I pull my chair closer and tell him to relax.
‘I don’t want to know your friend’s name, Danny. It’s not important.’
He visibly relaxes.
‘Sienna is a pretty girl,’ I say. ‘Did you tell your mates you were doing her?’