Missing pieces, p.14
Missing Pieces, page 14
She said, ‘I could do that, too. He started looking for special teachers and finding out how blind musicians manage. I became a project.’
Faintly now, Waters could hear music somewhere – a piano. If he could hear it, so could Miriam. He waited for her to show some reaction. She closed her eyes and said, ‘The Well-Tempered Clavier…’ She listened a little longer and added, ‘Andras Schiff. So, this is my father making a point. I refused to play but he will hear it anyway. He has it turned up pretty loud or we wouldn’t be able to hear it. He wants to be sure that I can.’
‘You said you became a project. What did you mean?’
Miriam was speaking more freely now, as if relieved to get past her initial reluctance. She said, ‘I didn’t get it at the time – I was only a kid. But later I realised he was devastated by having a disabled child. That’s never a part of the plan, is it? We were meant to be high-achievers, and in particular, Jewish high-achievers. Religiously they’re about as devout as Ben but socially and culturally it’s a big deal for them. Anyway, something had happened beyond his control – I got ill and disabled. Then, when he realised I could still play, he saw a way back. Not for me – for him. He would become the father of a high-achiever who had overcome the odds. I would be a famous, blind, Jewish concert pianist now, which might be even better than just an ordinary one.’
As a detective, Waters had learned to listen to every story with a little doubt, with a modicum of suspicion that the teller’s point of view must re-shape events to suit their idea of themselves, if only unconsciously. He was hearing Miriam’s version of what must have been a complex and difficult relationship. On the other hand, one of the country’s leading criminal lawyers really had turned up the hi-fi to make a point to his blind daughter whom he hadn’t seen in almost two years.
She said, ‘I’m not saying I was locked in my room and made to practise ten hours a day. Music became more important to me as well. There were many things I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever be able to do now, but I could do that. He paid for everything I needed and lots that I didn’t. But even blind kids become teenagers, and he was unrelenting…’
She paused and he realised she was listening to some particular phrase in the music downstairs – she was keeping the time with her right forefinger, as if playing a single key.
‘… to cut a long story short: at the age when other kids are getting ready to go off to uni, he had arranged a place for me at a private conservatoire in London. I’d be given a final polish. And he had found an agent who would put me onto their books. I assumed I’d be a sort of classical novelty act but they were serious. They believed I’d have a career as a performer.’
Waters said, ‘And you didn’t believe that?’
She said with a touch of sharpness, ‘That wasn’t the point – I didn’t want it.’
He waited, and downstairs the great Andras played on. Miriam was thinking as she was talking, he could see that – perhaps revisiting these things for the first time in years.
‘Nowadays I can accept that partly I didn’t want it because I knew he did. I wanted to make him angry, to make him see that he couldn’t dictate… I’m supposed to be cutting this short, aren’t I? It all blew up one Christmas. I told him I was going to a normal uni like a normal person – I’d study music but not as a performer. There was a horrible row. He said in front of all of them, my brothers and sisters, that I had more talent than the rest put together and I was wasting it to spite him. Imagine saying that to your own children, and how I felt about it? It got pretty nasty. Daniel stood up for me like he always did and they actually had a bit of scuffle, him and my dad. Not what you imagine behind an upper middle class front door, is it?’
Waters had seen and heard enough as a detective not to be surprised by what goes on behind any sort of door. He noticed the house was silent now – the music had come to an end. He asked whether Daniel was her oldest brother.
She said, ‘No, the youngest, two years older than me. We always had each other’s backs! He got out, too. He’s very clever.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He teaches at Stanford. He said that was about as far away as he could get in the civilised world. He was one of the youngest people ever to teach there.’
‘What about Australia? That’s even further away.’
She smiled and said, ‘At that point Daniel would ask you to define “civilised”.’
‘What’s his subject?’
‘Philosophy. His research is into the philosophical foundations of psychological practice. He says he went that way to keep some focus on psychology because it helped him to understand his childhood. I’m not the only casualty around here.’
Waters turned to look down at the garden. The light was going now but in the gloom he was surprised to see someone on the lawn, standing still and apparently staring up at him. It was Abigail Josephs. She continued to stare though she must have realised he had seen her. Then she raised a hand and he thought she was going to wave, which would have been something, but in it she held a cigarette. She drew once, making the tip glow in the coming darkness, and then she turned and walked away.
Miriam said, ‘Are you staying over there? Having second thoughts about getting involved in all this?’
He said no, that he was enjoying the sense of anticipation, and she told him she’d had enough anticipation and it was time for him to make his move. When he reached her she kissed him unequivocally, and he said, ‘I wasn’t sure they’d even let us share a room. Are you sure? We don’t have to-’
It seemed that she was very sure indeed, and what is a man to do in circumstances such as those? But it was several minutes before he could forget entirely the image of her mother staring up at him out of the darkness.
Chapter Fifteen
On the following Tuesday, some minor consternation originated on the top floor of the main building at Kings Lake Central police station. Having originally agreed to the 25th, the exact twentieth anniversary of the discovery of the young woman’s body, the local television company who were to make and broadcast the appeal announced that the date was impossible – it would clash with the national coverage of Wimbledon. No one at the station ever understood why this might be a problem but scheduling, it seemed, was more of a dark art than a science. Detective Chief Superintendent Allen was given a choice – to make the appeal before or after the anniversary date. He chose the former, and Freeman and Greene had agreed with that but now there was even less time to put the material together.
On the 10th of June, Allen attended the team’s nine am briefing and things were a little tense. He congratulated them on just how thoroughly they had re-examined the original investigations – with just a touch too much emphasis on the ‘thoroughly’ – but surely they had something new to offer? He could hardly make this appeal worthwhile unless there was some fresh information, could he? Allen talked a little about airtime and slots, and Waters was impressed by how quickly Lake’s most senior detective had, as Smith might have put it, picked up the lingo. But he was right, of course; the appeal needed either new evidence or a new angle on the old.
The meeting continued after Allen’s departure. What did they have? Chasing forensics is futile – begging the pardon of the ladies present, John Murray said it was like pursuing a young woman; the harder you try, the more they seem to enjoy making you wait. Clive Betts was of the opinion that although he had no personal experience in the matter, for obvious reasons, he thought Murray’s take on that matter might be a little out of date. For once Serena did not take up the challenge – Freeman’s look was a serious one and Allen had asked for another progress report in person by the end of the day.
Greene had various files open in front of him. Was there information from the earlier investigations which had not been made public? That would count as ‘new’ in the circumstances and just conceivably might produce a response. Freeman asked what he had in mind.
He said, ‘We could give details of the murder weapon – the piece of cord, ma’am. It’s unusual enough to jog someone’s memory, especially if we mention the repairs or replacement of windows. We could show the photos, just as we would if it were a knife.’
Freeman said, ‘Agreed. Let’s look at including that. What else?’
She looked around the table, and Denise Sterling, still with the old habit of raising a finger, said, ‘I agree with what John says about forensics. But what about the computer modelling from the skull? Does anyone know how long that takes?’
The answer was no. Freeman said, ‘Let’s chase it, then. It could be sitting on some hard drive in Cambridge already. If we can show that, it will get attention, perhaps beyond the local broadcast. Come on, this is good. Keep the ideas coming…’
“Family – a group of one or more parents and their children living together as a unit.” The afternoon had been a busy one after DCS Allen had turned up the dial in the morning, but Waters had found time to look up the meaning of a word and an idea he had always taken for granted, as most of us do. “As a unit…” What precisely is meant by that? It implies, surely, some sense of cohesion, of common purpose; the Army creates units to carry out particular missions. Close relationships, bonds that are difficult for outsiders to break through, and difficult for insiders to break away from. If I’d gone missing, he thought, my parents would have moved heaven and earth to find me. If I had never been found, my father, ex-detective sergeant Douglas Waters would still be looking for me today. That’s normal, isn’t it?
Yes, is the proper answer, but then he had to consider the events of last weekend. Miriam’s “unit” seemed to be dysfunctional in ways he had never imagined. They lived a morning’s drive away but she hadn’t visited them in two years. Having met them himself now, he could begin to understand but that was all – how can our experiences of something so universal and fundamental as being a member of a family be so different? And the question was pertinent to the case; the young woman had a family, somewhere. Why had they never come forward or been found? For Waters, this was still the most puzzling aspect of the case – he had seen several murders and killings up close and he knew there are many dark recesses in the human heart, but the thought that she had lain alone and unclaimed in the churchyard for almost twenty years troubled him. Even if they could not find her killer, surely they could find someone to acknowledge her as one of their own.
Waters was in the main office when Professor Lindsay returned DI Greene’s call early that same afternoon – Greene had only been able to leave her a recorded message. The rest of the team were on short lunchbreaks. Greene waved him over to listen in to the call on a second handset.
Alice Lindsay told them first that she had been in touch with the artists, by which she meant the people who were reconstructing the face of the girl using only the bones of her skull. They anticipated having something to show for their efforts early next week, which would be in time for the television appeal, and Tom Greene thanked her, saying that had been the reason for his call in the morning.
She said, ‘Oh, fine. Well, I’m delighted we could be of assistance. Shall I call you back with the other stuff or just email it through to you?’
Greene said, ‘The other stuff, Professor Lindsay? What is that exactly?’
‘From Oxford. A whole batch of results is sitting here in my inbox. It must have arrived this morning. I’ve had a quick look.’
Greene pointed, indicating that Waters should be ready to make notes, and then asked what, if anything, had been discovered by the analysis of the samples taken from the exhumed body. The professor’s answer began with a list of scientific provisos and cautions; Waters listened, looked at Greene and then wrote down simply the word “Possible’ and waited.
When Alice Lindsay had finished setting up her dialectical Sicilian defence, Greene said that he would examine all the material and get back to her with his questions – but in the meantime was there anything that might point his officers in the right direction? He was asking for – and almost certainly not expecting to be given – the bottom line.
Lindsay said, ‘Give me a moment to double check what I glanced at a little while ago, Tom.’
Waters had to look at his line manager then, as every single one of us would have done, but the would-be fighter pilot’s nerve held steady – Greene’s expression never altered.
She came back after around a minute’s silence.
‘Well… They’ve examined the hydroxycarbonate apatite of the bone samples and the tooth enamel, looking at the phosphate groups, which are more resistant to change than the hydroxyl and carbonate groups…’
Waters had a pen poised over the notepad – he looked again at Tom Greene who, to his great credit, simply shrugged and turned up the palm of the hand that wasn’t holding the phone.
‘… now, the rate of turnover of isotopic oxygen isn’t known precisely but it’s long been thought to be the same as that of collagen, which is ten years. There is no turnover rate in the tooth enamel, so that remains fixed from the time of the formation of the tissue. The bone and tooth enamel samples are in line with each other, so I’d say these results are pretty sound.’
Greene said, ‘Good,’ and then, ‘So what exactly do the results tell us?’
She said, ‘You just want the bottom line, don’t you?’
Tom Greene smiled and said he was afraid that he did, yes.
‘Very well. The probability is high that she grew up somewhere around the Mediterranean. My colleague in Oxford notes here that it was more likely to have been southern Europe than northern Africa because of some trace elements. I won’t go into all that…’
Greene’s spare hand became a fist briefly. Waters wrote quickly, adding in a note of his own in brackets – it said “foreign dental work”. Those two pieces fitted together snugly now, no forcing needed.
Greene was thanking the professor and saying this was a significant step forward in their investigation. Waters was still listening in and heard her say in an abstracted way, ‘Just casting my eye over this for any more highlights. It’s all very technical…’ as if she was teasing the detective inspector with the interesting skull. Then, ‘No, not much else. Except that she was breast-fed. I don’t suppose that’s very useful.’
Greene had to ask, and the answer was something about different types of oxygen deposition, but somehow that incidental fact brought it home again – that the girl had been a baby at a mother’s breast, that there had been once a family that fitted the definition he had found.
Denise had returned to the office a couple of minutes ago, and she had realised immediately that there was a development taking place. While Greene closed down his conversation, Waters explained what had been found. He said to her, ‘The second investigation tried to include some European missing persons cases. We’ll need to double check exactly what they did.’
It was not an order, of course, because she was of equal rank, a detective sergeant like himself, but immediately she went to search for the relevant file; Waters still had a slightly surprised look on his face when he saw Greene had been watching and listening. Had he stepped out of line? Greene gave him a single nod as he reached for the internal line to Freeman. Apparently he had not, then.
The next meeting took place just over an hour later and it was run by Cara Freeman – Priti was with her now and she was kept busy making notes about the new line of investigation. Freeman said, ‘OK. Europe’s a big place, even just the southern bit. Obviously we can’t go randomly contacting the police operations of several different countries. I’ve just come off a call with Harry Alexander. He will speak to his contacts and they will speak to theirs but eventually we should get a line of our own to,’ glancing at Priti’s notes, ‘the European Union Agency for Law Enforcement and Cooperation, otherwise known as Europol. This won’t be evidence chain material so I’ll deal with all that myself.
‘It’s early days, as you all realise, but this could explain why no one ever came forward to report her missing in the UK. If her family didn’t know she was here – and that’s odd but by no means impossible – why would they? Next – assuming for the moment that she was a foreign national, that makes her stand out from the great unwashed who were camping on the Wissingham Hall lawns twenty years ago next week. We’ve said, asking people if they remember a girl in jeans and a T shirt would be pointless, but people might remember a girl in jeans and a T shirt, with a foreign accent. It’s not much but it’s more than we had a couple of hours ago. So this is what I’m thinking; as soon as we have the reconstruction of her face, we go back and speak to everyone we’ve connected to Wissingham with that new information, and in the meantime we locate anyone we can from the Leadsom family who owned the place at the time. If we can’t find the younger brother, let’s start with the older one. I think John knows where he lives…’
Murray nodded and said, ‘It’s not much more than an hour’s drive, ma’am.’
Freeman said, ‘A phone call will do at this stage,’ and then Greene spoke – ‘We don’t have a number for him, ma’am. I’ve had a good look for it.’
By which DI Greene meant that the usual ways the police have of discovering private mobile numbers had on this occasion failed. Freeman did not hide her surprise.
‘Really? I suppose he isn’t likely to know very much… We’ve been told he wasn’t around at the time. On the other hand, we would like to speak to his brother, wouldn’t we?’
Greene said, ‘Yes. And we cannot locate him at the moment either, ma’am.’
Freeman bit her lip and then said, ‘I’ll leave the decision on that to the team. Just let me know what you plan to do. I’m off to give Chief Superintendent Allen the good news. At this rate he might decide to make his TV appeal into a three-part special.’
