Her Cold Eyes Page 3

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ he addressed Valentine, but his attention was on the uniforms unravelling the canvas.

  ‘Can you take the face mask off,’ said Valentine, ‘we’d like to hear you properly.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ He tugged down the pale blue mask, revealing a simpering smile. ‘I have some more masks and gloves for you.’

  The detectives plucked latex gloves from the cardboard box on offer, as they did so a black Lexus pulled alongside them on the road. The front side window was already lowering as the car slowed to a halt. When Valentine caught sight of the driver – a broad-faced man in his forties – leaning out, he wondered if there were any officers controlling traffic further down the road.

  ‘Has there been some kind of accident?’ asked the man.

  Valentine formed a fist around his gloves; he was more than vaguely irritated by the interruption. ‘You realise this is a crime scene, don’t you?’

  The man offered a hand through the window. ‘I’m sorry, I work in the Sutherland estate.’

  The detective stared at the man’s hand, toying with the idea of slapping a handcuff on it, but it was sharply raised to point beyond the road. ‘Over that wall is David Sutherland’s property. I’m his head of security . . . hang on, I’ve a card somewhere.’

  When the card was presented Valentine read the man’s name, Ray Coulter, and then he questioned another one of the details. ‘It says Laverock Holdings here. I presumed you meant a private estate?’

  ‘Yes, well, both really. Mr Sutherland has his business on the estate, works from home so to speak. Look, this is a main access route for the estate, is there going to be a lengthy disruption here?’

  Valentine was growing tired of the man’s officious tone. He handed the business card to DS Donnelly and ordered the Lexus be removed from the crime scene. ‘And tell him we want full access over that wall. Set up a fingertip search right away and let me worry about the overtime budget.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As the DCI walked off he could hear the estate’s head of security continuing to question him, then DS Donnelly’s gruff voice drowned everything out – ‘Shift your vehicle now!’

  DS McCormack smirked. ‘I don’t think the “I want to see the manager” shtick works with Phil.’

  ‘It works better with Phil than it does with me. Remind me to send Phil if we have any more dealings with his lordship.’

  The officers circled the corpse as the covering was removed. Beneath was the naked body of a young girl, her head pushed westwards at an unnatural angle. As Valentine looked at the pitifully contorted figure he was drawn to her eyes – bulging, staring front – which seemed to beg him for sympathy. For a second the pain in his neck, which he had felt all morning, started to intensify and then it promptly vanished.

  ‘This is how we found her,’ said the SOCO. ‘The driver was certain that she was dead before he could do anything.’

  ‘Did he move her?’ said Valentine.

  ‘No, sir. He said he checked for a pulse, but that was all.’

  The DCI knelt down and took a closer look at the girl’s face, three quarters of which was covered in blood and dirt. He tensed up when he realised the severity the impact had on her pathetically delicate body.

  ‘Is it Abbie?’ said DI McCormack.

  ‘I’ve no idea. She’s in some state; we’ll have to get her face cleaned up before we can ID her properly.’

  Valentine removed the remainder of the tarpaulin, which was covering the lower portion of the girl’s legs. He expected to find her legs bare, in line with the rest of her, but found instead a pair of white sports shoes covering her feet.

  DI McCormack leaned in to get a better view. ‘Tennis shoes?’

  ‘Yes. A pair of Dunlop Green Flash, didn’t even know you could still buy them.’

  ‘They look brand new,’ said McCormack.

  ‘She couldn’t have been running very far, then.’

  ‘No. It makes me wonder about her clothes. If it was a sex assault you’d expect to see some clothes, but with nothing on at all, I don’t know, it doesn’t fit.’

  Valentine had moved on from the shoes and was eyeing some markings on the torso. He removed a pencil from his inside pocket and pointed the end towards the marks.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said.

  The SOCO turned around. ‘It looks like bruising.’

  ‘With flesh tearing?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I know how sinister that sounds.’

  Valentine rebutted the remark with a look his wife called his ‘stink eye’ and got up to face the SOCO. ‘What else is there? Markings, abrasions, bruising?’

  ‘Oh, well, there’s abrasions on the knees, a fall likely, and there’s some grass staining on the elbows which would indicate that, too. There’s also a lot of scratches.’

  ‘Scratches?’

  The SOCO indicated a set of seriatim lines criss-crossing the girl’s forearms. ‘Looks like she was running through heavy foliage; they’re not defensive, they’re not deep enough to indicate a weapon was used. There’s a couple of sets of contusions on the upper wrists that look suspicious but I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess as to their cause, sorry, above my pay-grade that one.’

  Valentine rose and looked at the girl lying prone and exposed on the cold tarmac. ‘Cover her up. I’ve seen enough.’

  As the officers grouped again, the DCI edged away from the tarpaulin towards the grass verge. He was forcing the edge of his blunt thumbnail into his chin as he spoke again, ‘The doc’s been and gone so let’s get her on the slab right away, Sylvia. I want to know what we’re missing because none of this makes any sense out here.’

  ‘Yes, boss. Do you want me to call Pathology now?’ said the DI.

  ‘Now. And you can tell Wrighty to bump everything else. This is our priority.’

  ‘Will do.’ McCormack removed a mobile phone from her pocket and pressed it to her ear. ‘It’s ringing. What do you think the cause of death will be, sir?’

  ‘I don’t need to think, I know. Her neck was broken.’

  ‘Is that an educated guess?’

  ‘Call it a feeling I have,’ said Valentine.

  A stray gale whipped down the road and raised a corner of the white tarpaulin, exposing again the girl’s lower legs. The sight of the tennis shoes poked at Valentine’s thoughts once more and he turned away to feel the brunt of the wind lashing at his face. As he turned he spotted three young uniformed officers wrestling with the skeletal structure of a scenes of crime tent, moving it tentatively towards the victim’s resting place.

  ‘They’re not much older than that girl themselves,’ said Valentine as McCormack rejoined him.

  ‘I don’t remember being that green at their age.’

  ‘They say each generation gets softer, makes you fret for the future.’

  McCormack nodded. She held up her phone before dropping it in her bag. ‘Wrighty’s ready and waiting. He’ll dig in when the SOCOs are finished later today and suggests we go over first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to see here now. You can chase up the HGV driver once his nerves have settled.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s get back to the station before Dino starts calling.’

  In the car Valentine fiddled with the position of the driver’s seat as he pulled into the road. He trailed the wall, which looked to be about three metres high and was made with interlocking concrete sheets. Every six metres or so was a solid concrete stanchion with an outward-facing lip which could hold barbed wire, though that option had been left out.

  ‘It’s some size of wall,’ said McCormack. ‘It looks like the kind of thing Trump’s been pushing for.’

  ‘Seems to be covering almost the same distance as the Mexican border as well.’

  Approaching the side road to the village of Monkton, Valentine spotted what looked like an entrance. On the opposite side of the road was farmland, all the way to the bypass. He
scanned for a property, farmstead or similar, but couldn’t see any in the immediate view.

  ‘I think we’ll just take a look in here.’ He pulled into the thick, grassy verge and parked with two tyres on the road, stilling the engine.

  The officers got out of the car and walked towards a gate that was wide enough for two cars to pass side by side. The gate was an imposing statement, made of thick steel and painted black. There were no markings on the front panels aside from the rows of rivets, set in two parallel lines all the way around the edges.

  Valentine pressed a hand on the front of the black panel. ‘Solid.’

  ‘And not even an intercom,’ said McCormack.

  ‘Nothing. Very strange, don’t you think?’

  ‘It could just be a service entrance, where they have the rubbish collected.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  A low rumbling like the sound of a two-stroke engine from an old lawnmower started behind them, and as they turned a slow-moving scooter passed by. The whiny engine noise carried on, accompanied by a silvery smoke-line, towards the town when the hardier noise of a tractor engine came in to block it out altogether.

  Inside the tractor’s cab, a man in a plaid shirt looked startled as he eyed the officers. He slowed the vehicle and drew up beside the Audi at the verge. The driver was removing a set of orange ear-guards as he spoke from the open window of the cab.

  ‘You won’t get anyone to let you in there,’ he yelled.

  ‘Why not?’ said Valentine.

  ‘Well, for a start, you don’t have a Range Rover with blacked-out windows.’

  Valentine glanced at McCormack, he could almost sense the DI’s brains itching. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  The driver switched off the engine and leaned out the window. ‘Down the pub they call it Area 51 in there.’

  The DCI turned around to see if McCormack was able to decipher this conundrum.

  ‘Erm, I think he’s referring to a spot in Nevada they call Dreamland, it’s some kind of covert government facility.’

  Now it was Valentine’s turn for his brain to itch. He started to walk towards the man in the tractor; by the time he reached him, the detective was starting to sense a shift in the man’s demeanour. He was settling back in his seat, withdrawing his elbow from the window.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ said the DCI.

  The man’s voice grew nervy. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘We’re police officers.’ He presented his warrant card and immediately regretted it. It had been an instinctual response, but there were times when instincts had to be resisted and this was one of them.

  The man turned away and started the engine of the tractor once again. He had one hand on the wheel and another engaged in closing the cab’s window as he spoke. ‘I think I’ve said too much already.’

  The tractor pulled away, scrunching gravel beneath its heavy tyres, and proceeded effortlessly up the road. ‘Everyone’s a bloody conspiracy theorist these days,’ said Valentine.

  ‘If only they actually wore those tinfoil hats we’d be able to pick them out a lot better,’ said McCormack.

  ‘It would save on time wasting, I suppose. Right, c’mon, let’s get back to the station.’

  McCormack followed Valentine’s steps to the car. ‘Boss, do you want me to call Abbie McGarvie’s father to come and ID the body?’

  ‘No. Contact the mother.’

  ‘But the father has legal custody, sir.’

  ‘I know, but looking at DI Davis’s file I’d say the mother might tell us more. We can get the father in afterwards, when we’ll hopefully have more to challenge him with. There’s some old wounds I want to pick with him.’

  2009

  Mummy leans down beside me. Her eyes are wide and shiny and her voice doesn’t sound like it used to. Her words are all wobbly and some even get trapped inside and don’t come out at all. I watch her gulp down something, but she hasn’t eaten a thing and that’s when I see the little tear rolling.

  ‘Now,’ she says, ‘what a big girl you’ve become today. Six, how big a girl is that?’

  ‘Very big! Huge!’

  Mummy smiles again and I see her eyes are red too, red and shiny because of all the water inside. She has a white tissue in her hand and she turns away and touches her eye with it. I don’t know what she’s looking at because she’s staring at the carpet, and I wonder if she doesn’t want to look at me any more.

  I don’t like to watch Mummy, it feels wrong, and I start to look at the purple and pink streamers behind her, hanging from the fireplace. Some of the streamers, the blue and red ones, have fallen on the floor. The fallen streamers make me sad because it makes me think that my birthday party is over now.

  The party had been so nice. All my friends from school were there. Mummy was there, and Daddy too. And Tyler was a good boy, but now he’s gone to Gran and Papa’s and the party is all finished. It makes me sad to think that my birthday party is finished and I don’t like to feel sad, not ever.

  ‘Have you had a nice time, darling?’ says Mummy.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ I watch Mummy tuck her tissue in her sleeve.

  ‘It’s been a lovely party, I think your friends enjoyed themselves.’

  I nod and smile, and try to look happy. The big sign in the living-room window says Happy Birthday. My Mr Happy card sings ‘happy birthday’ when you open it up and you’re supposed to be happy on your birthday. I’m only six and even I know that.

  ‘But, Mummy. It makes me feel sad.’ The words just came out, I don’t know from where.

  Mummy’s face changes again; her words come out clearer. ‘Why does it make you feel sad?’

  I don’t know what to say. I think being sad is just something that happens now. ‘Now I’m a big girl I have to be sad.’

  Mummy’s mouth opens and closes very slowly. Her eyes aren’t so big and bulgy now, but go all narrow. I can tell I’ve said something that I shouldn’t and I wonder what will happen.

  ‘Abbie, who told you big girls have to be sad?’ says Mummy.

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Come on, you can tell me. You won’t get into trouble.’

  ‘Nobody said anything.’ I feel like I am going to get a row and my lip starts to curl up.

  ‘Okay, darling . . . that’s okay. Don’t upset yourself.’

  I’m a big girl now. I’m six. I shouldn’t cry, but the tears come anyway. I start to cry and my hands cover my face and my shoulders start to shake. I’m crying and crying and I don’t want my Mummy to go away ever again. I’m crying and I can’t stop shaking and I want to say about the box and the spiders and how scared I get, but I know if I tell it will be worse.

  ‘Now, Abbie, what’s the matter? What is it? Why the tears?’ Mummy grabs me close and lifts me. I grip tight and I know I’ve done wrong because I could be found out and that would be the worst thing ever.

  ‘What’s happened?’ says Dad. He’s come through from the kitchen with bubbles on his hands and his arms from the washing-up. He has an orange dishtowel tucked into his trousers like he does when he can’t find an apron.

  ‘You tell me, Brian. She’s upset out of nowhere.’ Mum has her grumpy voice on now.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ says Dad.

  ‘It means what it means. Look at the state of her.’

  ‘Perfect. Is this what you had in mind all along? Disrupt the peace and quiet, even on your daughter’s birthday.’

  I don’t want to hear them rowing. I don’t want to hear any more shouting. ‘Can you stay, Mummy?’

  Mum looks at me and her lips go into a little line.

  ‘Can you? Can you stay?’ I know she has to go, but I don’t want her to go anywhere ever again. I want her to stay here with me and play with my new toys and games and put face-paints on. I want to be a tiger. ‘Can you paint a tiger face on me, Mummy?’

  ‘Mummy can’t stay, Abbie,’ says Dad.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. I have to go.’

&nb
sp; ‘But . . .’ I want her to stay. I want her to do the face-paints with me. I want to cuddle up with Mummy and watch Toy Story on the television all night and in the morning for her still to be there and everything to be like it used to be, but it can’t be like that any more and it makes me sad.

  ‘Now, now, Abbie.’ Dad starts to peel my arms away from Mummy’s neck. ‘Mummy has to go. Don’t you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

  ‘Say goodbye to Mummy.’

  I know not to make a scene, that’s what he always says, ‘don’t make a scene’, and so I stay at the window and wave to Mummy. She gets into her little white car and smiles. There’s a wave as she drives away and then I watch her car until it’s out of sight. I feel cold on the windowsill, there’s a chilly bit here, but I don’t want to get down. I still want to hope that Mum will drive back in her little white car and we’ll do the face-paints I got for my birthday and have chocolate milkshakes and watch Toy Story, but she never comes back and I have to get down.

  Dad is standing there in the middle of the floor and his face is very hard, like he’s angry but hasn’t said so yet.

  I wonder what will happen next. It’s my birthday and you are supposed to be happy on your birthday, but I know from Dad’s face that my birthday doesn’t matter.

  ‘You know what you’ve done,’ he says.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I don’t care if you’re sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I feel warm tears again.

  Dad lunges out and grabs my hair. He drags me into the hall and opens the door to the cupboard under the stairs. I’m screaming and screaming as he opens the box and forces me in. I can see the spiders wriggling about in the bottom of the box and I’m terrified, but then everything is dark and I’m alone in the place I fear most in the whole, wide world. I kick and scratch and try to get away from the spiders but I can’t, there isn’t anywhere to go.

  I’m alone and scared and I scream and scream until I have no screams left.