Dead Man's Daughter Read online

  ‘Yes. Four years ago.’

  ‘Well, that was . . . ’ Karen picked her pen up again and fiddled with the end of it. ‘Anyway, Rachel had a psychotic episode afterwards.’

  ‘What were you going to say about Jess? You cut yourself short.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. I don’t know the full details.’

  ‘Of how Jess died, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Phil didn’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘Just tell me what you know.’

  Karen wriggled in her seat. ‘She fell out of a window. In that weird house. Not long after Rachel and Jess moved in.’

  ‘From a window?’ I was momentarily pitched off course. Why had I thought about dead children at the top window? Maybe I’d seen a news report and then forgotten it.

  ‘The attic window. The girls weren’t supposed to go up there.’ Karen grabbed her pen and doodled again. Jagged lines this time, like the start of a migraine. There was something she didn’t want to say. Something around Jess’s death. ‘It’s a weird house. Out in the middle of the woods. I remember when he bought it. He got obsessed with it. Had to have it.’

  ‘Did you know why?’

  She relaxed a little with that question. ‘It seemed to be something to do with those weird statues in the woods. He was into art so maybe he liked the idea of owning them. I mean, I suppose they are cool in a creepy sort of way. But he was in a strange state at that time – I think he was in shock about his ex-wife dying.’

  ‘His ex-wife as in Abbie’s mother?’

  ‘Yes. She died not long after they separated.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘Laura? In a car crash.’

  I pondered the statistically improbable amount of death in this family, and made a note to do a check on the car crash, as well as the daughter’s death.

  ‘Rachel got really overprotective about Abbie,’ Karen said. ‘She adores Abbie, Phil said. As much as if she was her own daughter. And she kept thinking Abbie was ill all the time, even when she wasn’t, because she’d been diagnosed with Phil’s heart condition.’

  ‘Phil and Abbie had the same condition?’

  ‘Yes. Phil had a heart transplant a few years ago. I think he had to go abroad for it, actually, to China or somewhere. He’s fine now, but he has to take medication for the rest of his life. So of course they knew all the issues about waiting lists and how Abbie could die before a suitable heart came up. She got the symptoms younger, obviously. Phil was lucky in a way that it didn’t come on till later in life.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So, Rachel didn’t cope very well with Abbie’s condition?’

  ‘No, I suppose having already lost a child . . . ’

  ‘I don’t see the relevance of this,’ Craig said.

  Karen reddened. ‘I just thought I should tell you Rachel has some strange beliefs. She could be going psychotic again.’

  I gave Craig a Shut up look. At this stage anything could be relevant and I didn’t want to close Karen down. There’d be time to push her later if we got more evidence against her. ‘What beliefs does she have?’

  ‘It was because Abbie was having night terrors. She was screaming that her dad was trying to kill her or something.’

  I glanced at Craig. He was very still, staring at Karen.

  ‘Did you say Abbie was dreaming that her father was trying to kill her?’ I said.

  ‘That’s what Phil told me. He was really upset about it. Obviously. He would never lay a finger on Abbie, so it was awful.’

  ‘It must have been. And he shared all this with you?’

  Karen reddened. ‘Only because it was so weird and upsetting. Rachel thought some bizarre stuff about Abbie.’

  ‘What did she think?’

  This seemed to be getting us off track and was probably a distraction, but I thought we might as well hear her out.

  Karen pushed her hair off her face. ‘Rachel got it into her head that Abbie was remembering what had happened to her heart donor.’

  I looked up sharply from my notes. ‘What do you mean?’

  Craig stopped fiddling with his pen.

  ‘She thought Abbie was having nightmares because she remembered what had happened to the girl she got her heart from. Rachel had this theory that the donor child had been abused or even killed by her father.’

  Nobody said anything for a moment. The room seemed to shrink a little. ‘Rachel Thornton thought that was why Abbie was having nightmares?’ I said. ‘Because of her new heart?’

  ‘Yes. She thought Abbie’s dreams were from the donor child’s memories. From her death, in fact. That’s why she thought Abbie was scared of Phil. She thought Abbie was confusing him in her sleep with the donor child’s father.’

  This was one of the stranger things I’d heard.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You’re right to tell us anything you think could possibly be relevant.’

  ‘I think you’re trying to distract us,’ Craig said. ‘There’s no way a kid could remember something that happened to a different child.’

  ‘I didn’t say Abbie remembered,’ Karen said. ‘I said that was what Rachel thought.’

  ‘Thank you, Karen,’ I said. ‘It could be relevant, so thank you for telling us.’

  She smiled and said almost under her breath, ‘I just thought it was weird.’

  I left it a moment and then said, ‘We still need to know if you were having a relationship with Phil.’

  She shook her head. ‘My husband mustn’t know . . . ’

  ‘There’s no reason your husband need find out.’

  ‘The children. He’d . . . He mustn’t know.’ She put the pen down. Her hand was shaking.

  I waited.

  ‘It’s been over with Phil for ages. Please don’t tell my husband. He . . . He gets angry sometimes.’

  ‘Did you go to Phil’s house last night?’

  She blinked several times and licked her lips. She’d be wishing she’d asked for a lawyer, wondering what we had on her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I know the phone calls look bad. But I didn’t go to the house. I didn’t kill him.’

  *

  I sat at my desk, looking sightlessly at piles of paperwork, deep in thought. Karen Jenkins had been right that her phone calls to Phil in the middle of the night looked bad. And she clearly had been having a relationship with him. It was hard to imagine her slitting someone’s throat, but if he’d finished the affair and she was furious with him, and maybe panicking that he’d tell her husband . . . She seemed the most likely suspect at the moment.

  My mind drifted to her odd comment about Abbie’s dreams. I supposed having someone else’s heart inside you was potentially quite traumatic. It made sense that Abbie could have imagined what might have happened to the donor, and got scared. She wouldn’t actually know how the donor died – I knew that would have been kept confidential, but her imagination could have run away with her. Was she imagining that the donor child’s father had had something to do with her death? And then mixing him up with her own father in her dreams? That could have been horrible for Phil Thornton. Was that the reason for his artwork, the obsession with hearts? Intriguing though it was, it was hard to see how it could have had anything to do with his death.

  Something slammed down on my desk.

  Craig’s backside.

  ‘Jesus, Craig, you gave me a shock.’

  He shoved some papers out of the way and settled down, angled towards me so I could see his flesh straining against his trousers. I needed to stop being so irritated by him – it was like in a relationship gone sour, where every little move sets your teeth on edge. He twisted to look at me. ‘I’ve spoken to one of Karen Jenkins’ colleagues. Karen’s sounding guilty as hell.’

  ‘What did her colleague say?’

  ‘He ended the affair. She has debts, and she’s terrified her husband will leave her. And she has a drink problem. The colleague’s happy to come in and make a statement.’

  ‘Obvi
ously a good friend. I thought I smelt drink on Karen.’

  ‘Her husband might be violent too, this woman said. Maybe Phil threatened to tell him about the affair, and Karen was frightened.’

  ‘You got all the gossip.’ I was about to say more, in an attempt to be pleasant, but caught myself. The last time I’d said Well Done to Craig he’d asked if I was going to pat him on the head and give him a doggie biscuit for doing his job.

  He sniffed. ‘Yeah, she was well up for dishing the dirt. And she said some bloke had come to the office to see Phil. The guy was furious, but no one knew who he was.’

  ‘That’s promising. Could it have been Karen’s husband? Could he have suspected about the affair? Or would her colleagues have recognised him?’

  ‘Not sure. I’m looking into it. And I asked her about the stalker. Phil hadn’t said anything about that. Seems likely it was Karen, but there had been an accident with a kid and Thornton got the blame. So the parents could have had a grudge against him. Apparently it happens quite a bit.’

  ‘What was the accident?’

  ‘The social workers took some kids who were in care to the beach, and one of them slipped on a rock and got badly injured. Phil was supervising when it happened. He wasn’t blamed officially – it was just an accident – but the parents might not have seen it that way.’

  ‘Karen didn’t mention that. She must have known. I agree she’s dodgy. But we need to look at Thornton’s wife as well. If he was having an affair, she’s got a motive.’

  ‘I checked with Rachel’s mother.’ Craig had been quick to start using Rachel Thornton’s first name. I wondered if he’d taken a shine to her. ‘She slept late and when she woke, Rachel had already left, but she woke at three thirty in the morning to go to the loo, and she heard Rachel snoring then. It’s Karen Jenkins. I’ll have a little bet with you.’ Craig leant across my desk, shirt stretching, and held out his right hand. ‘Fifty quid says it’s her.’

  I was relieved Craig was being pleasant (ish), although I didn’t quite trust it, and I wasn’t sure what to do with his outstretched hand. If I shook it, he’d probably tell Richard I’d bet on the outcome of the case. If I didn’t shake it, he’d think I was snubbing him. I was sure other people didn’t put this much thought into every little interaction. I ignored the hand.

  Craig pulled his arm back. The atmosphere stiffened.

  ‘Did you get the name of the parents?’ I said. ‘Of the child who had the accident on the beach?’

  ‘Of course I did. Mr and Mrs Darren O’Brian.’

  ‘She not have a name then?’

  ‘Don’t get all feminist with me – that was what they gave me.’

  ‘Get her name too, please, and check them out. They could have a motive.’

  Fiona poked her head through the door. She caught my eye and a trace of a smile flitted across her face. ‘Craig, your wife’s in reception. With your kids.’

  Craig jumped up, his bulk shoving my desk backwards in a persuasive demonstration of Newton’s Third Law. ‘Oh, Christ.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shit.’ He blundered out of the room.

  I beckoned Fiona over. ‘What are his wife and kids doing here?’

  She moved close and spoke quietly. ‘I got the impression he’d promised to be home early, and he must have forgotten, so she’s dumping them on him.’

  Craig was the kind of father who called it babysitting when he looked after his own children, so this was a fun development for Fiona and me. ‘Good for her,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose a new murder case is quite an excuse for being late though.’ Fiona was so damn reasonable.

  ‘But someone’s got to take responsibility, haven’t they, Fiona, and if it’s always women, nothing will ever change. Look at all the female detectives we know – hardly any of them have kids. And then look at the men – they’ve nearly all got them, but little wifey’s there in the background taking responsibility. Even if she has her own job – even if it’s a good job – somehow it’s always her taking little Johnny to the doctor when he’s got a snotty nose. And if it’s not kids, it’s sick relatives.’

  ‘It does seem to work out that way.’

  ‘Never mind the glass ceiling – there’s another ceiling made of nappies, baby sick, and grandparents’ corn plasters.’ I wondered what it would have been like if I’d had a brother – whether he’d have felt as responsible for Mum and Gran as I did. ‘And nobody questions it.’

  ‘Well, you clearly are. And so’s Craig’s wife.’ She gave me a conspiratorial look. ‘And luckily us two are better than the men here, so we can afford to spend more time on other things and still do a better job than them. That’s why Craig hates you so much.’

  That felt like a punch. ‘Does he really hate me?’

  ‘Maybe that’s putting it a bit strongly. He knows he’s not DI material and you clearly are. And he’s maybe jealous we’re women and yet we can stay late, whereas he’s getting stick from his wife.’

  ‘I’m not exactly commitment-free.’

  ‘No, and the less said about my family, the better. It’s not exactly a positive thing that I don’t have much to do with them.’

  Not for the first time, I wondered about Fiona’s family. She rarely mentioned them, apart from her gran and a brother who she liked, but who I got the impression wasn’t her only sibling. I vowed to get to know her better. But now wasn’t the time. Rachel Thornton was waiting to give a statement.

  ‘Have you met Craig’s wife?’ Fiona asked.

  ‘Yes, at that gruesome barbecue Richard organised, after he’d been on a course about how to make us all bond. I admit I may have made assumptions about her based on the quantity of make-up she was wearing. What’s her name again?’

  ‘Tamsyn. I think she’s actually alright. And I’m sure she has a point, but Craig needs to pull his weight on the case, doesn’t he? Kids or no kids. She can’t expect him to act like he’s got a nine-to-five job.’

  He’d pull his weight alright. His desperation to undermine me would ensure that.

  I looked at my watch. ‘Right. I’m interviewing Rachel Thornton. Craig was supposed to be doing it with me. Can I give you a shout if he’s had to go home?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I set off towards the interview room, and as I was passing through the reception area, I saw Craig’s wife shooing a child towards the door. She looked up, saw me, and gave a bright smile. ‘Meg! Hello.’

  Thank God I’d asked Fiona for her name. I smiled awkwardly. ‘Tamsyn.’

  ‘I wanted a word actually, if that’s okay.’

  Oh God. ‘I’m just on my way to an interview now. But . . . ’

  ‘It’ll be quick.’ She moved closer. She looked like she’d recently applied foundation and lipstick. How did these women find time? The child had plonked himself on a seat and was looking at his phone and swinging his legs, in a way which made him appear both engrossed and pissed off at the same time. ‘I’ve said it’s okay for Craig to stay late tonight, in the circumstances, but I was going to ask you if you could maybe go a bit easier on him?’

  I took a step back. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘He’s been working late a lot and I need him to do more with the kids, and the pressure seems to be coming from you.’

  Had he been working late? I didn’t remember much of that. I didn’t know what to say.

  Tamsyn lowered her voice. ‘He wants to impress you.’

  Now I was in some kind of parallel universe. ‘Right. I don’t think I’m putting pressure on him but I’ll bear it in mind. I’d better go. Sorry. Nice to see you.’

  I smiled at a point above her head and scarpered.

  *

  The light flickered overhead, emphasising the deep, February blackness outside. We were in our oldest interview room – the only one that had been available – and it was rich with layers of unidentifiable smells which no amount of cherry disinfectant could remove. We couldn’t even leave suspects in there because it had too many ligature point
s.

  Rachel Thornton perched on the edge of her chair, bouncing her knee and tapping her fingers on the table. There was a tension in her upper body that seemed set into the bones, as if she’d been anxious for so long it had become part of her structure.

  She’d got a lawyer in, as some people always did – midrange, I guessed. Not super-smug and shiny, and with a rather unfortunate mole on his chin, but not actually downtrodden.

  ‘We have a few more questions for you,’ I said. ‘And we need to get you to sign a statement for us.’

  I had to focus on the interview, but couldn’t get Craig’s wife out of my head. Was any of what she’d said true, or was Craig making it up for his own reasons? I knew for sure he wasn’t trying to impress me.

  Rachel’s gaze darted between Craig and me. ‘Why’ve you asked me to come in here? Can you not imagine how I feel? And I don’t want to leave Abbie for long. She’s distraught.’ She seemed very different from earlier – as if she’d moved past her initial shock and into defensive mode. When she mentioned Abbie, I saw a lioness protecting her cub.

  ‘It’s important for us to move quickly,’ I said. ‘We realise it’s difficult for you, but the first forty-eight hours are vital. We want to find who did this to your – ’

  The lawyer butted in. ‘We’re very unhappy about your actions this morning.’ He stared aggressively at me.

  I jerked upright. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We’re considering a claim for police brutality.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  Craig visibly perked up. He looked from me to the lawyer and back again.

  ‘It’s clear you used unnecessary force against my client. You pushed her to the ground, causing injury to her arm and hip.’

  A wave of anger swept over me. ‘Let’s get it on record, shall we, that I used reasonable force to attempt to prevent your client compromising a crime scene. In retrospect, I clearly didn’t use enough force, because she has indeed compromised the crime scene, making it harder for us to catch the perpetrator. And incidentally, she punched me.’

  The mole twitched. He clearly hadn’t known about the punch. ‘We reserve our position. I’m just putting you on notice.’

  I took a breath and turned to Rachel. Was this coming from her or from her overpaid lawyer? I decided to ignore it for now. ‘When did you last speak to your husband?’