‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Hart said.
Outside, she saw that Slider was preoccupied and took a chance on it, went round to the driver’s side, and when he automatically went to the passenger side, held out her hand across the roof and said, ‘Keys, guv?’
He tossed them to her without seeming to notice he had done it, and she unlocked the car and got in with a small, satisfied smile. In the absence of any orders, she headed back towards the factory. ‘Well, wasn’t she a little sweetheart?’ she said after a while. ‘Little rich princess pretending to be street – as long as it’s in the safety of daddy’s big house. Ballet class and Goth tattoos! Pur-leese!’
‘That’s a very unattractive expression, Detective Constable.’
‘It was ironic, that time,’ she explained. ‘But I’m crushed we gotta start again. I was really fancying Biker Boy for it.’
‘We’ve only got Sophy’s word for it that Zellah wasn’t seeing him. She may not have told Sophy everything. Would you?’
‘No, you’re right. And Sophy did say she razzed her about him. Maybe that’s why she was being secretive. After all, why would she want to keep a new man secret? She’d want to boast about it, if she had a new boyfriend, wouldn’t she?’
‘Unless he was also someone Sophy would disapprove of. A nerd or a lamo.’
‘Guv, where’d you get language like that?’ Hart said, shocked.
‘I don’t think we need to eliminate Mike Carmichael yet. While bearing in mind she may have had another boyfriend altogether. Maybe her other friends would know.’ And he sighed at the thought of having to interview another bunch of Sophys. What a depressingly trashy girl she was. Despite all her advantages of money and education, blokes, clothes and getting wasted seemed to be the summit of her ambition. And where did they learn this contempt of grown-ups? Every generation had always thought its parents ‘didn’t understand’, but they hadn’t despised them for it. It was unsettling.
‘I just wish I knew what she was doing there – on the Scrubs,’ Hart was saying. ‘I mean, it’s such a weird place to go.’
‘Hmm,’ said Slider, thinking. They did now have Zellah’s own clothes, in a bag in the back – not that they would tell them anything, but the Wildings would want them back – and a description of Zellah’s handbag (pink fabric with Lurex threads and a thin pink shoulder strap) which had not been found yet.
Damn – he’d remembered something. ‘Give me your phone, would you?’ he said. Hart passed it over and he phoned Atherton. ‘Have you done the Wildings yet?’
‘They’re here now. I was just going down.’
‘Ask one of them for the number of Zellah’s mobile, will you? Assuming she had one. I meant to ask the Sophy girl and forgot.’
‘OK. Anything else?’
‘Not that I can think of. We’re on our way back.’
Wilding was reading over his short statement. Zellah had left at about five. He went to his shed and did accounts and paperwork for the parish council and Neighbourhood Watch, while Pam watched the television. He had fetched his own supper at about nine o’clock and took it back to his shed, where he had worked on the wooden loco. He liked to work at night – it was quiet and he didn’t get disturbed. He didn’t sleep very well at nights anyway. He worked until about two, and then went to bed. Pam had been already asleep when he went up.
‘By the way,’ Atherton said, as he reached the end, ‘did Zellah have a mobile phone?’
Wilding looked up. ‘Yes, I did buy one for her. I wasn’t wholly in favour at first, having seen how much time they waste with that silly texting. But I hope and believe Zellah was a bit more sensible than that. And her mother felt that these days a girl ought to have one, in case she gets stranded somewhere. You can’t depend on finding a phone box any more. Not that she’s out very often, and never late at night, but Pam said she’d feel happier if she knew Zellah could get in touch any time. So I agreed.’
‘Have you got a recent bill we could see?’
‘It was a pay-as-you-go one. You don’t get a bill.’
‘Then can you give me the number, please?’
Wilding looked surprised. ‘Why do you want that?’
‘Well, it may help us locate her handbag, which we still haven’t found.’
‘How can it do that?’
‘Every mobile phone gives out a radio signal that can be tracked,’ Atherton said, recollecting patiently that Wilding probably didn’t read much popular fiction or watch cop shows on the telly. He probably thought The Vicar of Dibley was cutting-edge.
‘I didn’t know that,’ Wilding said.
‘So if the phone is in her bag we’ll be able to pinpoint it. And there may be something in her bag that will help us as to where she went on Sunday night – a cinema stub, say, or a receipt from a café,’ he added to forestall the next question. ‘So if you can tell me the number . . .?’
‘Hmm? Oh, yes.’ He seemed utterly distracted, and Atherton, who had accompanied them to the morgue earlier, was not at all surprised. What a rotten business it was. As Slider had said during another case, parents weren’t supposed to outlive their children. It was something from which you could never wholly recover.
‘Right,’ said Porson, ‘you’ve identified the body and the family’s been informed. So we can release the name, get the photos out, do the appeal. What’s happening now?’
‘Everyone’s still out doing the fingertip search and canvassing the neighbours,’ Slider said. It was eerily quiet in the CID room.
‘Anything from that?’
‘Not yet, sir, but it’s early days.’
‘It’s the early day that catches the worm. What else?’
‘We think the boyfriend, even if he is an ex-boyfriend, is worth pursuing.’
‘Oh, always,’ Porson agreed. ‘Has he got form?’
‘Nothing much, but he is known. Joy-riding when he was a juvenile. A couple of tugs for possession. The local police have suspected him of dealing, but they never got anything on him, and apparently he’s not been much in evidence lately – they think he’s operating somewhere else.’
‘But nothing for violence – affray, carrying a knife, anything on that side of the septum?’
‘Nothing like that, and no sexual assaults, either. But Doc Cameron says she wasn’t raped, so it’s not strictly speaking a sexual assault anyway.’
Porson stopped his pacing to look at Slider sharply. ‘Strangling’s always a sexual assault,’ he said. ‘And sexual assault’s never about sex; it’s about domination and destruction.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Slider said. The old man came out ’orrible sensible sometimes.
‘There’s more than one way to butter a parsnip. Whoever was having sex with her, strangled her; that’s my view. Pity there isn’t any semen to get the DNA from. Let’s hope Cameron finds a hair or something. Anyway, follow up the boyfriend. What else?’
‘We have to check at the Black Lion if anyone saw the girl, or saw who picked her up. Bearing in mind, of course, that she may have met somewhere else entirely, and just used the Black Lion to throw Sophy off the scent. She seems to have been quite mysterious about it all.’
‘Right.’
‘And we ought to make questioning the fairground people a priority.’
‘You think someone there might be involved?’
‘It’s not that; it’s the question of why she was on the Scrubs at all. It’s only a mile across the grass from the fair to where she was found. Maybe she was at the fair that evening, and maybe someone saw her, that’s all.’