The SIO nodded and thanked Mike for his efforts. “Okay everyone back to the job in hand. We are currently widening the search for Rebecca’s school bag and other belongings, and the Press Office are putting out a fresh appeal this lunchtime in case our killer has dumped them. I have also got Headquarters monitoring her mobile in case it’s switched on at any time. There is still a lot of ground to cover on this murder.”
He moved towards the second board and placed a hand over the grotesque photo of the mummified head. “Jane Doe. The only thing we know about her identification so far is that she was of teenage years when she was murdered. She was discovered yesterday in a slurry pit on the site of the old Manvers coking plant.” He paused momentarily and pointed to a large map of the Dearne Valley that had been fixed onto another white board “This site is only two miles away from where Rebecca Morris was discovered. What concerns me about this is not the fact that we are now dealing with a double murder, but the time span between the two killings. That body has been in that slurry pit at least ten years and more than likely fifteen. Why the gap between both murders? Was our killer in jail? Was he out of the area? Or worse still has he killed between those years and there are more bodies still waiting to be discovered?”
* * * * *
Grace couldn’t help but notice that without her make-up and now dressed in school uniform Kirsty Evans looked every inch the fourteen-year-old teenager again.
She appeared to be looking around nervously as she crossed the road and Grace guessed she was seeking to avoid drawing attention to herself as she made her way to the unmarked police car.
Grace watched Kirsty’s eyes scanning the line of parked cars opposite the school and then saw by her reaction that she had spotted her. Grace raised a hand in acknowledgement.
Taking a final glance around, Kirsty left the footpath and jogged towards the silver grey CID car parked discreetly in the shadow of one of the many trees lining the road.
Grace reached across the front seat and sprang the passenger door open as Kirsty reached the kerb. She stuck her head inside the opening and despite the holiday tan Grace could see that she had coloured up. Grace recognised the sign of nervousness and trepidation. She patted the fabric of the front seat.
“Get in, I won’t bite,” she invited.
Whipping her school bag off her shoulder Kirsty slid in beside Grace.
“You didn’t mind me ringing you did you?” she asked, avoiding eye contact, just staring at the dashboard.
“Course not. I was hoping you would. That’s why I gave you my card the other day.”
“Only I don’t want to get anyone into trouble, or for anyone to think bad of Rebecca.” She rattled out her words at pace.
“Kirsty if what you have to tell me will help catch the person who did this to your best friend then people will thank you.” Grace rested her hand on Kirsty’s forearm causing her to turn and make eye contact. “I have a daughter your age. I know you don’t want your parents and especially the police to know what you get up or what you discuss but this is different. Someone murdered Rebecca and that someone may well have known Rebecca. You may well know that person.”
She saw Kirsty shudder. She pulled back her arm.
“I don’t know anyone who could be as cruel as that,” she responded.
“Maybe not Kirsty, but let me be the judge of that, and from your phone call yesterday it’s obvious that something has been playing on your mind. And to be honest I sensed that at your house when we talked the other day.”
Kirsty coloured up again. “Yes I suppose so.” She took on a sheepish look and started twisting her friendship bracelet around her wrist. “I didn’t want my mum and dad to know how Rebecca had changed over the last few months. They might have stopped me knocking about with her if they had.”
“Changed? How do you mean changed?”
“Not in a bad way or anything. She was just rebelling you know, because of how her parents were with her.”
Grace watched the uneasiness in Kirsty’s eyes. “Every teenager goes through a rebellious phase. Just because you probably see me as a level-headed police officer now doesn’t mean I didn’t go through the same thing. God, I caused all kinds of problems for my parents, in fact I’ve asked myself many a time how I came to join the police. It’s something everyone goes through and Rebecca was no exception.” She paused, studying Kirsty’s face. “What do you mean by rebelling? What form did it take?”
Kirsty’s gaze drifted away, shifting from windscreen to dashboard and back. It was obvious to Grace she was carefully considering her choice of words.
She cleared her throat and went on. “She used to go on about how her mum and dad wouldn’t let her grow up. She had asked if she could have her hair streaked like mine but they kept telling her she was too young. Then a couple of months ago apparently her dad caught her wearing make-up when she was coming to our house and she told me he flipped. Told her to wash that muck off and stood over her in the bathroom whilst she did it. She was fuming when she came to our house. In fact she made herself up with my stuff. We went round town and she kept shouting to loads of lads, showing off like. She was a laugh at first but then I got bored and wanted to come back home and listen to some music. She wanted to stay out and we had a bit of a fall-out. I ended up calling her a tart.” Her voice trailed off with a hint of sadness, “I wish I hadn’t now.”
“What’s done is done Kirsty. Don’t beat yourself up.”
She forced a smile and then continued. “It became regular, the putting on make-up thing and going round town. She’d even spent some of her pocket money on a couple of tops and a pair of skinny jeans like mine and left them in my wardrobe for when she came round.” Kirsty faltered a second. “She’d started to smoke as well.”
“That’s all part of growing up,” Grace returned, and yet at the same time she suddenly thought of her eldest daughter Robyn; hoping this was an avenue she was not going down. I must have a talk with her, the next time we’re alone, she promised herself.
Grace sensed a sudden uneasiness about Kirsty. It was the same feeling she had had during their previous talk at Kirsty’s home.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Well,” a slight hesitation in her voice, — “yes. It was when we went to the skate park once, with some lads,” her voice tailed off.
“Come on Kirsty you’re half way there. It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s a bit awkward,” she dropped her head and her cheeks flushed again.
“Please Kirsty this could be important.”
“Okay. Well, Rebecca started flirting, really awful like, with these older lads. Fifteen, sixteenish they were. She’d snog a couple of them and then touch them up in the youth shelter, you know what I mean.”
Grace guessed what she meant and nodded.
“Then when they tried to touch her back she’d push them away and laugh at them. A few got really angry with her; they started calling her a prick-teaser. I warned her. I tried to tell her to stop it and that someone would take it too far if she wasn’t careful. She just said it was a bit of fun. But I knew it wasn’t. I saw the lads’ faces.” She turned and faced Grace square on. “Do you think that might have happened; that someone took it too far. That’s why she was killed?”
Grace wondered if that was the case.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DAY FOURTEEN: 19th July.
Deep below district headquarters Grace Marshall clenched her pen between her teeth and on tiptoes manoeuvred another manilla folder from the top row of the steel stacking shelves. Turning, she dropped the thick grubby package onto the table below, throwing up more dust particles to add to the dust-motes already floating around the basement room. She jumped off the metal footstool, glad now that she had chosen her flat ballet pumps to wear that morning, and unfastened the securing ribbon before shuffling out the contents along the wooden surface.