Her name was Uzomamaka Darego, but she liked to be called Zoe. She was twenty-six years old. A description of the girl in the park and an artist’s sketch of her face circulated in the local press. No one needed to see a photograph of a dead girl with missing eyes. Her uncle had formally identified her while Henley had been dropping Emma off at nursery. Linh had done a good job of making it look as though Zoe were whole, her eyelids lowered as though she was sleeping. Henley placed Blu Tack onto the A4-sized photograph and placed it on the whiteboard next to the photograph of Daniel Kennedy. It was a recent photograph, taken three weeks ago on a girls’ night out. Zoe’s eyes were large, light brown and bright.
‘She was working as a nurse at Lewisham Hospital, and as we know, Lewisham Hospital backs onto Ladywell Fields.’ Henley turned her back on the whiteboard and faced the office. Stanford, Eastwood and Ramouter had all arrived at the SCU early. It was almost nine and unusually there was no sign of Pellacia.
‘Pretty girl,’ Eastwood said, peeling back the plastic cover of her coffee cup. ‘What are we thinking? Maybe she was killed on the hospital grounds and dumped nearby?’
‘It’s a possibility, but remember her right arm was found the day before in Greenwich. There’s 2.4 miles between the two locations. Her grandparents reported her missing on Sunday evening at Forest Gate police station, but her details weren’t sent to the Missing Persons Unit until the next day. Her information wasn’t circulated among the station, social media or the press. The last time that I checked our internal database there were 10,980 black females missing but the public website that Ramouter checked only shows details for fourteen.’
‘Fourteen!’ Stanford said incredulously. ‘How could it only be showing fourteen?’
‘The website only shows unidentified missing people, but let’s not get distracted with how rubbish the system is. Right now, we’ve got names for our two victims. Linh is carrying out a post-mortem this morning. Daniel Kennedy’s post-mortem has been completed but we’re still missing his left arm.’ Henley flipped open her notebook. ‘Stanford, I know that you’re due back at court this afternoon but I want you and Eastie to go to Lewisham Hospital. Speak to her colleagues and also check with hospital security. They must have CCTV of Zoe Darego leaving the hospital. Uniform have completed house-to-house on Watergate Street. No one saw anything that could be described as suspicious behaviour and there are no CCTV cameras on that street. So, in terms of eye-witnesses we’ve come up short.’
‘Right, boss.’ Stanford screwed up the paper bag that had contained his bacon sandwich and threw it into the bin.
‘What about Greenwich Pier?’ asked Pellacia.
Henley hadn’t heard him come in and wondered how long he had been standing there watching her. The look in his eye signalled more than professional interest. Henley looked away.
‘I’ve asked Joanna to chase Greenwich Council and also the service management company for the flats along the river,’ she replied.
‘Good. She’ll definitely put the fear of God into them.’
‘Oi,’ said Joanna from her desk at the back of the room. ‘I’m right here, you know. Manners will take you far.’
‘My apologies, Jo,’ said Pellacia as he bowed mockingly. ‘Can you pull up the CRIS reports for the Daniel Kennedy GBH case and his current ABH case?’
‘Already on it. Ramouter emailed me last night.’
‘In that case, I’ll leave you all to it. I’m going to give the guv’nor at Lewisham a call. See if they’re prepared to spare us any bodies from the Community Safety Unit to help us with the CCTV.’
Henley nodded her thanks and caught Pellacia’s gaze a second longer than she should have.
‘And what will you be up to?’ Pellacia asked Henley.
‘Ramouter and I are going to pay a visit to Zoe Darego’s grandparents.’
‘We tried to report her missing on Friday night, but they said that we had to wait forty-eight hours. Why forty-eight hours? I told the woman at the counter that there was something wrong, but no one cares about a black girl going missing.’
Henley saw Ramouter flinch, but she didn’t. It wasn’t the first time that she had heard those words ‘No one cares about a black girl.’ She had echoed those words herself throughout her life and career, knowing that the usual stereotypes and negative images of black people meant that the media didn’t care and were biased towards reporting the disappearance of a blonde, blue-eyed white girl instead of a black woman.
Khalifa looked up at Henley with angry red eyes. Looking at her as if she was responsible, as though she could have done more. Khalifa’s wife, Ndidi, sat next to him and reached for his hand. She hadn’t said a word since she opened the door to Henley and Ramouter. Just silent acceptance when they showed her their warrant cards.
They weren’t the only ones in the house. A man who looked to be in his mid-fifties sat on a high-backed chair in the corner of the room. Khalifa had introduced him as their pastor and he eyed Henley cautiously. She knew that internally he was asking why a black woman had chosen to work for them? The rest of the family – an aunt, an uncle, a family friend and a boy and a girl who were no more than fifteen and sixteen had been sequestered into the back room. Through the closed door, Henley could faintly hear someone crying.
‘No one cares,’ Khalifa said again. ‘And they did nothing.’ He pulled his calloused hand away from his wife and she clutched the gold crucifix around her neck. They were probably in their early seventies. The room they were sitting in was clearly the ‘good room’. The hoover had left faint lines in the oatmeal-coloured carpet. The couch cushions were still firm, hardly sat on. The room smelled of pine furniture polish and sandalwood air freshener. Against the far wall was a fake mahogany sideboard covered with framed photographs. A photograph of their granddaughter showed her in a graduation gown and holding a scroll, a mortar board balancing precariously on top of her long braids. Her smile was large and bright. Henley could see the mixture of excitement and anticipation in her eyes.
‘Uzomamaka,’ Henley said gently.
‘Zoe.’ Ndidi spoke for the first time. Her voice, filled with pain, carried a hint of a Nigerian accent that had anglicised over time. Henley couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
‘Uzomamaka,’ Khalifa said stubbornly. ‘Our granddaughter. She always came home. Always. She was a good girl. Not running around the streets. She was training to become a midwife. She could have been a doctor, but she said no.’ His wife nodded in agreement.
‘When was the last time that you saw Zoe?’ asked Henley.
Ndidi reached for a black leather bag and pulled out a slim red diary. ‘I always put Zoe’s shift times in my diary. On Friday, her shift was 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. but sometimes she finished later. They’re short-staffed.’
‘How long had she been working at Lewisham?’
‘Almost two years now. She started at Park Royal Hospital but that was too far. It used to take her almost two and a half hours to get home. It takes her about an hour to get home from Lewisham. She didn’t have a car. If she had a late shift, Khalifa would sometimes pick her up.’
‘But she didn’t come home?’
Khalifa shook his head. ‘Sometimes the traffic makes her late. I called her phone, but it went straight to voicemail. My son texted her, but nothing. At eleven o’clock we went to the hospital, but no one had seen her. I went to the police station. They refused to report her missing. They said that maybe she was with her boyfriend.’
‘Her boyfriend? Do you know his name?’
‘Daniel. I can’t remember his last name.’
‘Was it Daniel Kennedy?’ asked Ramouter.
‘I don’t know.’ Ndidi looked confused. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure.’
‘He was a bad influence,’ Khalifa shouted. ‘Uzomamaka was a good girl. She went to work, and she went to church. She was a good…’ His shoulders collapsed, and he let out a guttural wail.
The pastor, who had been sitting silently, got up and gently lifted up Khalifa by the arm. ‘Maybe some air will be good for him,’ he said. Henley nodded her agreement.
‘She loved him, and he loved her very much,’ Ndidi said as soon as the door was closed. ‘Daniel wouldn’t have been my choice but… What can you do?’
‘How would you describe their relationship?’ asked Henley.
‘They seemed happy.’
‘Happy?’ Ramouter seemed surprised. He bent his head as Henley shot him a disapproving look.
‘Yes. Happy. I mean, she didn’t talk about him all of the time. Zoe wasn’t like that. She was discreet.’
‘You weren’t aware of any problems?’ asked Henley.
‘No. I don’t know how things were in the beginning. She didn’t tell us straight away that she was seeing Daniel.’
‘When did she tell you?’
‘About a year later.’
‘How long have… had they been together?’
‘I’m not too sure. A couple of years.’
‘They didn’t live together?’ Henley asked.
‘No.’ Ndidi’s eyes were filled with water but the tears did not fall. ‘They were planning to. They had found a flat near Zoe’s work but after all of the trouble they couldn’t move there because of his bail conditions, so they had to wait. Have you spoken to him yet?’
Henley shot a glance at Ramouter. ‘I’m afraid that Daniel Kennedy is dead,’ she said.
Ndidi’s hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened with shock. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘His body was found on Monday morning in Deptford.’
Ndidi began to cry. ‘Who would do such a thing?’ She reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out a tissue. ‘Why would they… why?’
‘I wish that I could tell you, but I honestly don’t know,’ Henley said. ‘That’s why we have to investigate. Did Zoe mention anything to you? Anything that would have made you concerned about her safety?’
Ndidi began to cry again and Henley let her.
‘If there was anything,’ Ndidi said after a minute had a passed. ‘I would have told you. She was a good girl, but who knows? She kept Daniel a secret for so long. Who knew what else she was keeping from us?’
‘What about her work? Any problems?’
Ndidi shook her head. ‘She loved her job. She loved to help people. She wanted to bring life into the world. How could anyone want to kill her for doing that?’
Henley’s throat tightened. ‘We will find who took Zoe away from you,’ she managed to say.
Ndidi got up and walked to the mantelpiece. She picked up a photograph of a smiling baby. ‘When can we bring her home?’ she asked, gently stroking the glass.
Henley hated this question the most. There was never a satisfactory answer, because the truth was that she didn’t know.
‘The police didn’t care when we said that she was missing,’ said Ndidi. ‘You need to promise me that you will not let Zoe be forgotten.’
Henley could hear her old boss’s words echoing in her head. Rhimes had repeatedly told her, ‘Don’t make promises to the family that you can’t keep. This ain’t about you.’
‘I promise,’ said Henley.