He broke off a second to lick his dry lips. “She was found wearing a T-shirt and jeans and there was no sign of her school uniform or the school bag she had left home with. A fresh search for those items is to be carried out later this morning.”
He paused and straightened himself. At six foot five he had an imposing presence.
“Several avenues have to be gone down today. We need to know if she actually did get on a bus, and if she did so, which bus was it she got on, and where did it drop her off? Are there any other sightings of her, in or out of uniform in the lead up to her body being found? Was she meeting anyone? Did she have a boyfriend?” These are all questions I’d like answering by the end of the day’s play.”
The Superintendent pointed to the post mortem photos of Rebecca Morris. “And to add a different dimension to this enquiry the pathologist has highlighted a series of marks cut into the body’s stomach. Professor McCormack has every confidence that these are the killer’s calling card.” He tapped the photographs showing the symmetrical incisions ‘I I V 3’ along Rebecca’s abdomen. “Never in my career have I seen or known of anything like this. The professor says she is only aware of similar cases from her past work in America. Quite clearly we are dealing with someone who is very disturbed, and judging by this calling card, we cannot rule out that they haven’t struck before.”
The SIO paused again, roaming his eyes around the room, scrutinising the faces of the MIT detectives. He continued, “I want to know what the significance of these marks are? What do they mean? Do they have any links to either religion or the occult? What also is the significance of the seven of hearts playing card found placed on the body? Whoever is given that task check the Internet for anything similar. Nothing is ruled in or out.”
Superintendent Robshaw placed a hand, palm flat, against the wipe board. “This is a really vicious murder. The extreme violence and sadistic nature of the attack shows we have someone with a very sick mind. We need this person behind bars as soon as possible. I want no stone unturned. Now let’s get out there Ladies and Gents and see if we can wrap this enquiry up quickly.”
* * * * *
This was one of those moments that Hunter Kerr hated most. He could face angry and violent men without being emotionally disturbed, but facing grief stricken parents, particularly those of young children, had always brought a lump to his throat. Rebecca Morris had become the victim of a crime that haunts the mind of every parent. He and Grace had been given the job of visiting Rebecca’s parents to tease out as much background information as possible, whilst also bearing in mind there was always the possibility that one or both of them could be involved in the crime.
Before that they had driven back towards the scene of the murder. Hunter was pleased to see that roadblocks had already been put in place, and he could see that groups of uniformed officers, some with sniffer dogs, were now combing the area around the derelict farm. Specialists were carrying out fingertip searches, and scythes and rakes were being used to hack back the thick undergrowth in the search for clues. A dirt track running from the rear of the farm into the village of Harlington had diversion signs in place, and a white tent protected the area where Rebecca had been found slain.
He noticed several young people had started to arrive with bouquets of flowers, and small teddy bears. He knew very soon there would be a special school assembly in honour of her memory, where the likelihood that both pupils and staff would be reduced to tears, and he felt an involuntary shiver move down his spine, as he drove away from the scene.
This would not be easy, Hunter thought as he pressed the doorbell on the front door of the Morris home. It was a typical semi-detached house in one of the many council estates in the area, though looking at the PVC door he guessed they had been one of the many who had bought their own home during the Thatcher era.
During the next hour or so he knew that both he and Grace would be constantly questioning and cross-questioning, probing those long forgotten secrets and opening up old hidden wounds, at a time when they were at their most vulnerable.
DC Caroline Blake, who had been appointed as the Family Liaison Officer, greeted them at the door.
“Anything?” Hunter enquired. It was typical opening parlance between detectives when visiting the homes of murder victims. What it actually meant was, ‘Have they revealed or given anything away;’ until Mr and Mrs Morris were ‘alibied’ they were suspects.
Caroline Blake shook her head. “They’re just numb. Still finding it difficult to accept that their daughter is dead.” She showed them into the front room and went off into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea.
He was pleased Caroline had been given the job as the FLO. He could remember interviewing her for this position only two months ago and guessed this was her first case. Despite her newness to the job he knew from her background that she would cope admirably.
He and Grace could see as soon as they entered the room that Mr and Mrs Morris had suffered a sleepless night, and the redness of their eyes revealed many hours of crying. As soon as the questioning began it was obvious they were trying to be strong despite the intense sadness and pressure that was consuming them. Mrs Morris broke down repeatedly and tears welled in Jack Morris’s eyes as he spoke of a very happy daughter and showed off felt-tipped messages on cards from well-wishers that had been pushed through their door.
Hunter and Grace questioned them for almost two hours, going over home and school routines and asking about her closest friends.
“Any boyfriends?” Grace explored.
“There were boys who were friends,” Mrs Morris replied “But she had no boyfriends that we are aware of.” She always checked her room, she added, glancing at her husband.
They could not give any explanation for Rebecca changing out of her school clothes into the T-shirt and jeans she had been found in.
Hunter could see from their returned looks, that was a mystery, which was tearing at their heartstrings.
“She was a typical teenage girl, loved her boy bands, dressing up and playing around with make-up. She was always so cheerful, the life and soul of the house. Rebecca was a very special person who touched the lives of so many people. We don’t know anyone who would want to hurt her like this,” ended Jack Morris, a film of tears suddenly washing over his eyes, and as he hooked an arm around his wife’s shoulder she began to sob uncontrollably.
“Can you let us see her room?” Hunter asked. “Just in case there’s anything which may give us a lead,” he added.
Mrs Morris guided them upstairs and to the left of the landing. There was a plaque on the door — ‘Rebecca’s room’ — more than likely put there when she was just a young child. A more up to date one, no doubt added by Rebecca, stated ‘KEEP OUT — GENIUS AT WORK’.
“Do you regularly check her room?” chipped in Grace.
“Not exactly check. The odd flick round with a duster and a bit of straightening. Rebecca is a very tidy girl — was,” she corrected herself and fresh tears welled into her eyes. Hunter touched her gently on one shoulder. “I’m afraid we need to do a thorough search of her room. If you find this upsetting you can wait downstairs.”
“No I’ll be okay” she sniffed and dabbed at her eyes “It still doesn’t seem real. I feel as though she’ll burst through the door at any second.”
Hunter couldn’t find the right response and chose to shrug his shoulders as he pushed open the bedroom door. He paused for a second, surveying the surroundings. The first thing he thought was how bright and airy the room was. A stream of bright sunshine warmed it. The pink and beige décor of the walls matched the bedding. Two large purple cushions lay against the pine headboard, surrounded by a hoard of fluffy teddy bears and other creatures. Having already gathered from the Morris’s that their daughter was still a child at heart. It was these things that reinforced in his mind the innocence of the girl. Posters of several boy bands, whom he had heard of but couldn’t name the individual members, adorned the walls, together with photos of A list celebrities snipped out from magazines. Coloured ‘post its’ and paper arrows, with handwritten personal comments, such as ‘gorgeous’ and ‘luv u’ covered some of them: She had stamped her own identity on this room.