Amongst them, in the centre of the wall, opposite the foot of the bed, was a pin board filled with photographs. Many were of Rebecca in different poses and in different periods of her young life. All happy scenes. On the beach. At fun parks. Pulling faces. On rides. With family and with friends. He scanned them for the up to date ones. And they were there. Her brown hair longer, and styled, blue glistening eyes, a nose that was a little prominent. The word cute came to mind. These were more serious poses — more grown up. A smiling face amongst her friends, and he wondered for a second which one of those she had confided in. As he took a last look at them he knew in his mind that these would be the last treasured memories Mr and Mrs Morris had of Rebecca.
He and Grace separated and began to move methodically about the room, checking under the bed, dressing table, wardrobe, and bedside cupboard. Opening drawers, and rifling through her clothing. They picked up books, CDs, DVDs, opening, shaking them and then replacing them. The two detectives had done this many times before and were on autopilot as they went about the task. Hunter caught a glimpse of Mrs Morris, motionless in the doorway, hands clenched together, prayer-like and stifling a sob. He wondered if she could feel the presence of her cherished child as they disturbed Rebecca’s things. He fired off several questions about her regular habits and then asked, “Did she have a computer?”
“No she shared the one downstairs,” replied Mrs Morris, “so we could keep an eye on her, what with these chat room perverts you read about.” Then she checked herself and her voice faltered.
“Did she keep a diary, that you know of?”
“No. Not to my knowledge. If she did it was more than likely in her school bag. She did the odd scribble in her school planner, but I’ve not checked that for weeks. She recorded most of her stuff on her mobile. Those are with her.” She paused. “Who could have done this to her?”
He saw that her face looked tired, care worn, and that dark lines were etched around her eyes from lack of sleep. He wished he had an answer for her.
As he finished he gave the room a final, once over look. He just knew that this would probably remain untouched for many years to come. It would be the Morris’s’ dedication to Rebecca’s memory. A shrine to their beautiful daughter. He felt a cold shudder move down his spine. Someone had walked over his grave.
Hunter finally closed the bedroom door with a sense of foreboding. He had hoped for an early breakthrough. Some sort of discovery. A name, or an indication why such an innocent girl had met a brutal death. But there had been nothing. If she had any secrets, they hadn’t found them in that room.
* * * * *
There was a deathly silence about the evening, broken only by the soft squelch of his rubber soled training shoes on the wet garden path as he moved through the fine drizzle. Despite the rain it was still warm. He glanced back up the garden where the lounge window of his home was illuminated in a warm yellow glow, and where he could see the flashes of light coming from the television. Looking at his watch he realised his mother would be fully engrossed in one of her favourite soaps. For at least half an hour he knew he would not be disturbed.
Snapping back the padlock of the old shed he slowly eased open the paint-blistered door. It creaked slightly. The sound cascaded images around in his head from the many horror movies he had watched and he momentarily stiffened, frame upright, and gave another glance over his shoulder. The evening was still. The rain was keeping everyone indoors. He stepped into the wooden hut and secured the door after him. The interior was dingy and he had to strain his eyes whilst surveying the muddle of garden equipment and discarded household items. Finally piercing the darkness and identifying the pile he required he began to pull at several old wooden packing crates, garden tools and old blankets he had placed there several days ago. Lastly he opened one of the plastic sacks that lay in an ordered heap. A pungent musty smell hit his nostrils, and almost simultaneously black and white images of a girl struggling, flashbacked into his mind. He shuddered for a split second and then composed himself.
Item by item he spread out her school shirt, skirt and tie and then removed books, a pencil case and the mobile phone from the pink bag she used for school. He double-checked the battery and SIM card ensuring they were still disconnected. He’d read somewhere that whilst the battery and SIM card were connected that a mobile could still be tracked, even if it wasn’t in use.
After yesterday’s close shave he couldn’t afford to take chances. Not now, after all this time.
He picked up her school shirt, white cotton, freshly washed, and he pulled it towards his face, sniffing deeply, picking up the fragrance of her deodorant. His flesh began to go goosey, and a cold sensation tingled up his spine. The muscles of his face twitched involuntary as he caught a final glimpse of her face in his mind. He felt himself getting erect again.
He knew he would have to get rid of all these soon just on the off chance he was questioned.
Folding the clothing carefully and mentally double checking each item’s return to its bag, he replaced everything as it had been, and then putting an ear to the door he confidently stepped out into the warm summer rain.
CHAPTER THREE
DAY SIX: 11th July.
In contemplative mood Hunter Kerr stared into the bathroom mirror, ran a hand around his freshly shaved jaw line, dabbed water from the bowl onto his head, and then rubbed a wet hand through his brown receding hairline, temples now flecked with grey. He stroked the few mature hairs slowly, for a second thinking about colouring them, then caught himself, and smiled at his vanity.
Stepping back into the bedroom he fastened up his shirt and slung a loose tie around his neck. He saw that Beth was still snug beneath the duvet. He diverted his gaze to the bedside alarm clock and saw that in twenty minutes’ time it would be buzzing away. He knew that within five minutes of it sounding Beth would be into her routine, sorting out their two sons for school, whilst at the same time preparing herself for her job at the Doctors’ surgery where she worked part time as a nurse practitioner. It always amazed him how she could juggle managing the house, their boys, and still hold down a professional career. He knew he couldn’t do it. He bent down and kissed her forehead. She half opened her eyes and smiled.
“Just off love. Don’t know what time I’ll get in. Got a busy day ahead.”
She muttered back something incoherent and rolled over.
In stocking feet he crept downstairs, so as not to wake his two boys, and eased a newspaper from the letterbox of the front door, before creeping through to the kitchen at the rear.
He made tea lazily, dunking a tea bag directly into a mug, at the same time slotting two slices of bread into the toaster. He made the tea strong, adding a heaped teaspoon of sugar to wake himself up. Waiting for the toast he stood before the kitchen sink, mug clutched to his chest, staring dreamily through the window, taking in the sights of the morning freshness stirring his garden. Everywhere was still damp from the overnight rain, and a fine mist was rising as the warmth of the sun slowly appeared over the distant tree tops. He thought for a moment how fortunate he was. His home overlooked farmland that formed part of the old Wentworth estates. A gate at the bottom of his garden opened up onto fields and many a time he had watched his two boys making dens amongst the bushes, or jumping into the stacks of newly cut wheat.