“Ashleigh, are you in your school
uniform yet?” Mrs. Hendry called up to her 16 year-old daughter.
This was the second summons
issued to the teenager upstairs dressing. Fortunately, a third was redundant.
Ashleigh half ran, half strode into the living room. In front of the mirror
above the mantelpiece, she sloppily adjusted her tie and checked to see if
she’d brushed her properly. Tugging at the hem of her skirt, she was able to
straighten it. One wiggle of her hips to and fro finished the job of making the
area around her backside more comfortable and less likely to chafe.
“Where’s your blazer?”
“Fuck, mum, it’s still in my
bedroom!”
“That’s a quid in the swearing
jar, young lady” exclaimed Sylvia. “You’re not eighteen yet!”
“I’m not the one who keeps
filling it” said Ashleigh, “You and dad swear far more than me.”
“We’re the adults here,
Ashleigh!”
Sylvia’s child was back upstairs
before she expanded on her reply. Tom left the dining table and the remnants of
the 2 slices of toast on his plate to straighten his tie. He was better at it
than his daughter.
“I’m going to be late again
tonight, Silvia.”
“That’s the third after hours
meeting this week.”
“Can’t be helped, love.”
Ashleigh was two steps away from
the downstairs corridor when two heavy knocks on the door caught her attention.
She yelled to her mum “We’ve got a visitor!”
“What are you doing here?” was
Sylvia’s response to seeing Suzanne on her doorstep.
“Sylvia Hendry – I am arresting
you on suspicion of obstructing an investigation!”
“Are you on drugs, Detective
Inspector? I told you what you needed to know about Samantha over a pub
dinner!”
“Really”
“Yes, I said I didn’t know this
Helen Stephenson, and I also made it crystal that I’d no idea what she meant by
the remark “She’s resurfaced”. I’ve
nothing else to tell you in my own home.”
“Is Thomas in, Mrs. Hendry?”
Sylvia looked in Ameera’s
direction. DC Jahil used eye contact with the woman who’d answered the door to
her and DI Andrews to try and get some measure of Mrs. Hendry’s character. Not
saying a word aided the process.
“How do you know my husband’s
name?”
“I’ve been to see Olivia
Blackwell.”
“Ashleigh, go into the living
room” Sylvia said, half-turning to her daughter.
“No, I want to know what’s...”
“Just do it, Ashleigh!” barked
Mrs. Hendry.
When her mother’s back was
turned, Ashleigh stuck two fingers up at Sylvia. She then did as she was told.
Unseen defiance was safer: no chance of punishment coming her way.
“What did she tell you?”
“Just what you didn’t”
DI Andrews was glad to see an
expression of defeat on Sylvia’s face. Getting the proper facts from her had to
be easier from this point.
“And what was that, DI Andrews?”
“The murder of Alice Thomas”
With the mention of that name,
Sylvia’s air of defiance was stolen. Opening the door a little wider Suzanne
identified as resignation. It was one of the physical gestures that people rely
on when giving up.
“Can I get dressed properly?”
“Ten minutes – no longer,
please!”
For the second hour running,
Laura Blackwell was sat on her bedroom floor, amidst an ocean of displaced
belongings. They had been flung around as part of her emotional eruption.
Fondness and familiarity were two sensations Olivia’s revelation had rapidly
torn to shreds. Through this painful turmoil, Laura was now looking at her room
as a jail cell. This perception was perhaps a tad dramatic, but thinking
rationally after realising every aspect of her childhood was a lie was
currently improbable. Anything near her that she owned, she tried to kick away.
From outside her bedroom, Mrs. Blackwell’s footsteps got closer. Laura reacted
by standing up and pushing something in front of the door to bar Olivia’s
entrance.
“Laura, I’ve brought you a
cuppa.”
“I don’t fucking want it!” Laura
screamed. “You’re not my mum! I don’t want a bastard thing from you!”
The side of Olivia that wouldn’t
allow a member of her family to talk to her so harshly had been locked away for
the moment. Chastising her was not going to be the way to re-establish some
line of communication with the person she’d come to think as a daughter. A
truth of this nature was bound to be devastating for any young woman to hear.
Olivia was in no position to force her into talking about it, and she
understood that if she’d been in Laura’s shoes, this reaction would be the one
to be easily predicted. Strong language was an inescapable part of that, and
Mrs. Blackwell saw there was no way Laura could steer herself past coming out
with bad language. A retreat downstairs was Olivia’s sole move. Silence and
personal space were granted to the person whose life had been turned upside
down yesterday. The fall-out from that had invaded this household’s normal
atmosphere.
It was another hour and a half
before Laura made her way downstairs. There were reddish trails on her cheeks
where the tears had descended. She entered the kitchen in an emotional daze.
Finding the beverage Olivia had made, she took a swig, without realising it was
stone cold. She expelled it into the sink and set about making herself a fresh
one. As splintered as Laura’s ego was, she was ready to talk and not succumb to
another bout of rage-fuelled vandalism. After downing three consecutive sips,
she said to the woman who’d been assuming the maternal role in her life “Why
didn’t you tell me when I was 16?”
“What good would it have done –
have I not been enough of a mum to you?”
The guilt trip employed within
the question had no effect on Laura. She was adamant on wanting to hear a
reason Olivia didn’t come clean.
“I could’ve handled it.”
“The state you left your room in
says otherwise, Laura.”
Olivia wasn’t going to dare to
try and get an apology from her over that. She knew there were matters that
shouldn’t be brought up in this variety of domestic drama, and this was a prime
example of one. Four gulps away from finishing her drink, Laura said “I want to
see her – I want to see my real mum!”
“I’ll arrange with DI Andrews and
her superior for you to see the body in a few days time.”
“No, I want to see her today! I’m
never going to see my real mother alive again, so I decide when I get to see
her body.”
The insistent nature of Laura’s
declaration bulldozed over any objection Mrs. Blackwell might’ve raised, if she
saw herself in a position. At the moment, that wasn’t a viable prospect. Agreement
to Laura’s demand was something she wouldn’t be able to skirt around. An OK was
what she received, but Laura was miles away, mentally, from showing signs of
gratitude or, most importantly for Olivia, forgiveness.
“How was she killed, Olivia?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
Laura raised her voice when
repeating her query. Her tempestuous mood wasn’t going to allow any more truths
to be shielded from her. She was determined to know, regardless of whether she
was ready for those facts or not. Olivia didn’t want to be blunt, but the
manner of Samantha’s death was laid bare. Protecting her had only paved the way
to a sudden deterioration of Laura’s love for her: it wasn’t beyond repair but
the relationship they’d had needed more fixing that Olivia thought. She was
stark in her description. There were no details omitted on this occasion: the
whole set of ghastly circumstances formed the core of what Suzanne had
permitted Mrs. Blackwell to know about the killing of Samantha. Even the
mutilation got a foothold in DI Andrews’ chronicle of the situation, which she
was passing onto Laura.
Finishing the beverage had
somehow caused Laura to brandish a stoical attitude. The expression on her face
became a little harder. It was much more competent at restraining visible
emotions. They seemed to be going through a type of partial shutdown. Denial
was morphing into the disguising of sentiment. The pulling away from
psychologically counter-productive method was yet another coping strategy.
Laura was uncovering many that blotted out any mental pain. Putting on a front
was instrumental in getting excellent results in that area. Laura was burdened
with the awareness that she had probably less than a week to come to terms with
this traumatic revelation and have any chance of being Samantha’s daughter for
real. After that, her mum’s corpse would end up in a graveyard plot, deep in
the ground. Saying goodbye permanently was all Laura could care about now. The
shift to being an orphan was hard enough without the likelihood of feeling any
guilt over venting her spleen at Olivia in the near future. Mrs. Blackwell
wasn’t going to be the individual to double Laura’s emotional strain by making
her regret her actions during the previous evening and those of this morning.
A female constable handed Sylvia
Hendry the cup of coffee she had requested. Suzanne and Ameera watched her
drink it for about a minute. DC Jahil inserted the cassette into the tape
machine – the last preparation to be carried out for the interview about to
happen. A quarter of the cup’s content vanished down Sylvia’s throat before
Suzanne began the recording, pressing the two buttons needed at the same time.
“Interview commenced at 10:06am”
said Suzanne, looking directly at Mrs. Hendry. “Officers present are Detective
Inspector Suzanne Andrews and Detective Constable Ameera Jahil.”
Sylvia fumbled aimlessly with the
bottom of her coffee cup whilst she was waiting for DI Andrews to ask the first
question. Suzanne took a sip of her own coffee, prolonging the wait by a few
seconds.
“Could you give your full name
for the benefit of the tape, please?” she said dryly.
“Sylvia Marianne Hendry.”
“I would like you to tell me all
you know about Alice Thomas’ murder.”
“She was strangled.”
“I need more than three words,
Mrs. Hendry. Lying to the police or withholding information is serious: you
need to be more giving about the details I require from you. We can start with
the alleged motive for Helen Stephenson doing away with Alice.”
“Did that cow Olivia tell you
what it was?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hendry, she did.”
“Well, why do I need this
question?”
“Because I’m doing the asking,
that’s why!”
“Alice took great pleasure in
telling all and sundry that Helen and Samantha were an item.”
“Why should that be so
scandalous? Nobody gets their knickers in a twist about lesbians anymore.”
“In this day and age maybe, but
in the Eighties it was still a huge deal when women fell in love with one
another.”
“True as that might sound, Mrs.
Hendry, it’s a fact that the public as a whole don’t go around strangling and
cutting out the tongues of those who spread rumours to do over their sexuality.
Only Helen Stephenson did that! What you’re talking about is the justification
of an indefensible act.”
“I’m not justifying what she did!
Look, Helen said she was going to make sure Alice wasn’t going to be handing
out vicious gossip about anyone else ever again – I never thought she’d carry
out that threat!”
“Well, she did, Mrs. Hendry! So,
where is she now?”
“I don’t know...really!”
Sylvia was quick to include that
word on seeing Suzanne’s distrustful stare. She had no intention of being
accused of lying when she was actually telling the truth this time. Mrs. Hendry
then added “I haven’t seen from that day to this. She went completely off the
radar.”
“Well, Samantha Williams saw her
or came into contact with her, probably within the last week or so – and I
imagine Helen thought she was the one who shopped her to the police.”
“I don’t know who it was that
shopped her. When Sam talked about Helen being in Manchester, I did honestly
think she was being a drama queen. It may appear I lied to you during the meal
you paid for, but the truth is I didn’t want dredge up that business again.”
“I can half understand that, Mrs.
Hendry, but this business, as you call it, is tied up with the murder enquiry
I’m involved with – there’s no way to avoid the matter being resurrected.”
Temporarily, Sylvia put her
distaste at having to relive those dark events from three decades ago aside.
She didn’t want to increase the risk of facing a charge of obstructing a police
enquiry, and total transparency was her ticket out of that.
“Okay, I’ll be honest as I can.”
Seeing there was no hope of
negotiating for a higher level of cooperation than what Mrs. Hendry was
offering, Suzanne said “That’s a start, at least! Did DCI Bauer have any other
suspects when he was trying to catch Alice Thomas’ killer?”
“None – Helen was the prime
suspect. I was interviewed, of course, but as far as I was aware, most of the
evidence gathered back then pointed to her. What clinched Helen being the culprit
in the police’s eyes was her alibi being pulled apart by the DCI leading the
case.”
“You previously said Ms.
Stephenson went off the radar after the killing, Mrs. Hendry – did DCI Bauer
mount a search for her whereabouts?”
“Yeah, it went on for a few months,
but it was eventually called off and the police never caught up with her. Lord
knows where she is now!”
“What do you think she did during
those years?”
“Became a different person,
obviously: if I were trying to evade capture by the police, that’s the first
thing I’d do”
“If Helen wanted revenge against
Samantha, why wait thirty years to do it?”
“You’ll have to ask her that once
you arrest her, whatever name she’s adopted now.”
“What can you tell me about Helen
Stephenson as a whole?”
“Before she became a teenager,
next to nothing – social services is your best bet.”
“Social services”
“She was in care homes since she
was six.”
“Something else you failed to
tell me whilst I funding your evening meal at the pub we met in.”
“I didn’t realise that kind of
personal info was needed to aid ongoing police investigations.”
“That’s something we officers
decide for ourselves; it’s not up to civilians to do that.”
Finding Suzanne’s exclamation a
little overly egotistical, Ameera applied the throat-clearing gesture. DI
Andrews automatically got the gist of it without the need for words.
“Another of Samantha’s workplace
colleagues reported to the police that she was being stalked by someone wearing
a red and blue hooded top. Did you see this individual in and around where you
and Ms. Williams worked?”
“No, I never....hang on – did you
say a red and blue hooded top?”
“Do you know who it belongs to”
“Yeah, its’ Ashleigh’s”
“Ashleigh? Was that the young
woman in the corridor with you?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Why would your daughter be
stalking Samantha?”
“She wouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hendry, I don’t
understand what you’re...”
“I hung it on the washing line
overnight, a couple of weeks ago – the next morning someone had nicked it. Sam
was still alive then.”
Though it was off-topic, a short
conversation was triggered in which Ameera revealed that her parents were also
targeted by a clothes line thief; an all too serious glance from Suzanne
stopped DC Jahil from being more detailed about this incident.
“One final question, Mrs. Hendry
– do you know who Laura Blackwell’s biological father is?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Because Samantha didn’t share
that information with Olivia: I was wondering whether she felt more able to
confide in you about that.”
“She didn’t – that was definitely
one of the details she never shared with me.”
“There were others?”
“Yes, but since she never shared
them either, I can’t tell you what else she was tight-lipped about.”
DI Andrews ultimately found she
was lumbered with an irritating pause that followed Sylvia’s last answer.
Suzanne couldn’t think of any further questions to highlight more details about
the victim.
“Interview concluded at 10:12am.”
Mrs. Hendry didn’t like the sound
of that statement. It drew up images in her mind of spending an entire night in
a police cell.
“Am I going to be charged with
obstruction?”
“No, you’re free to go. Don’t
suddenly decide to take a holiday, though!”
The resulting facts from Mrs.
Hendry being interviewed were added to what was already on the glass board by
one of the constables attending this new briefing. As before, the CID officers
were stood in locations reflecting their ranks.
“Helen Stephenson” boomed
Josephine, “that’s now the second name that’s at the centre of the enquiry.
Unlike Samantha, we have no photograph of this woman.”
“How are we supposed to identify
her then?”
DS Pickford sounded like he’d
ushered in his query randomly. However, it entered his mind when he was
privately briefed that the team had a name to give the prime suspect. When he
was told there was no picture, he tried to calculate how he was going to spot
her face when perusing through CCTV footage. DCI Andrews verbally handed over
the briefing to her daughter.
Stepping forward, Suzanne
answered “The only visual aid we have to locate her happens to be a red and
blue hooded top. Mrs. Hendry said that it was stolen from her daughter Ashleigh
a fortnight ago, so this suggests it was already on Helen Stephenson’s mind to
kill Samantha.”
“I thought Ms. Williams’ stalker
was wearing that” interrupted DS Pickford.
“Until I come across a fact which
tells me otherwise, I’m preparing to go with the assumption Helen was
Samantha’s stalker. The two problems this enquiry faces are that we don’t know
what this Helen Stephenson looks like and we are in the dark over what alias
she is using to stay hidden.”
“What’s the plan here?” asked
Ameera. The question was meant for both Suzanne and Josephine but DI Andrews
was the first to answer.
“You’re with me, Ameera. The
other Detective Constable will be partnered with the other Detective Sergeant.”
“And Pickford will be shadowing
me” said Josephine, preventing him from looking foolish asking a question with
an all-too obvious answer.
“DC Jahil and I will be seeing
DCI Bauer in Morecambe tomorrow. He has information crucial to understanding
the character and psychology of Helen Stephenson. He also might give us some
further clues that can lead us to pinpoint where she is living and what her
current name is.”
“What is this woman’s motive for
killing Miss Williams?”
“Revenge, DS Pickford,” replied
DI Andrews “she believes Samantha gave up her up to the authorities. We have no
way, yet, to discover whether she was the one who put DCI Bauer on her trail,
but our immediate line is that she bestowed the same murderous justice upon
Samantha that she visited on Alice Thomas.”
Taking control of the briefing
again, Josephine announced “What it basically boils down to is that Helen
Stephenson committed two murders. They were carried out thirty years apart, but
they have the same M.O.” DCI Andrews had put too much finality into what she’d
said. It sounded like a closing statement, and the officers were all venturing
to their desks. Suzanne timely copied Ameera’s throat-based gesture to get them
all re-gathered.
“There are a couple of things I
have to add to the briefing” began Suzanne. “Firstly, Laura Blackwell, who is
Samantha Williams’ biological offspring, will be coming in to make a statement.
She has only just learned the victim is her mum: she’s liable to be feeling raw
and will find an over-abundance of questions too much at this stage. Ameera and
I will be handling this. Her adoptive mother, Olivia Blackwell, will also be
making a statement. I don’t want anyone else, except my mum, shadowing or
interfering in this responsibility.”
This was a more erudite way of
telling the other offices to butt out of this procedure. Suzanne knew what to
expect with Olivia and the young lady she’d been raising as her own daughter,
and did not feel that Pickford or the other DS and DC would handle the
situation correctly.
