DS Clarke rubbed his temples with his fingers, trying to ease the tension headache that had been bothering him all morning. The last thing he needed was for it to turn into another migraine. He’d found himself on the kitchen floor at six a.m., disoriented and confused, a fresh bruise on his head. It wasn’t the first time. He’d staggered up from the floor in a daze and started frantically calling out Kacey’s name, unsure how long he’d been out. He’d found her, sitting up on her Peppa Pig junior bed, cuddling her favourite teddy. Unharmed, this time.
“You all right, Sarge?” asked Rebecca, who had evidently noticed the stress on his face.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just was up half the night with Kacey again. Then got an earful from my mother-in-law, well, ex-mother-in-law … you know what I mean.”
“Oh dear. What was she getting on at you about?”
“Always being here, not at home with Kacey, you know.” He sighed. The worst thing was that she was right. But what could he do? He had a job to do. And, if he were being honest, he’d go mad if he didn’t have work.
“I hope this isn’t a result of the tiff with the mother-in-law?” Rebecca gestured at the fresh bruise just above his left eyebrow. “What happened there?”
“Oh, I opened the bathroom cabinet door right into my face.”
“Seriously? You sound like a DV victim. ‘I walked into the door, I swear.’”
“It’s true,” he bristled. “I was tired.”
“Okay. Yeah, I get it. I actually did walk into a door once. My mum thought my ex was beating me. Was quite funny, really.” Rebecca shuffled towards the door. “So, we off to see Hilary Andrews then?”
Hilary Andrews lived in one of the expensive detached houses on Newmarket Road in Norwich. It was beautiful, with big bay windows and a solid oak door with an old-fashioned knocker. The house sat at the end of a huge driveway with a navy blue BMW parked on the front.
“This seems a bit out of the means of a County Council team manager wage,” mumbled Clarke as they waited for Hilary to open the door.
“Divorce settlement,” Rebecca whispered back.
The door opened to a woman in her late fifties to early sixties, wearing a floor-length burgundy skirt and a crème blouse. She had dark, curly hair and piercingly blue eyes. In her younger days, she must have been quite the looker.
“Ms Andrews? Thank you for seeing us on a Sunday.”
“You best come in,” she said, a solemn tone to her voice.
They followed her through and sat down on the crisp tan leather sofas. The room was filled with floor to ceiling bookshelves, one of which was filled entirely with social work textbooks and law books, another that held a selection of crime and romantic fiction. Clarke’s eyes briefly clocked a copy of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy, books that Emily had professed to be “the worst books in the world.”
“What a lovely place you have here,” said Rebecca as she sank back into the cushions.
“Thank you. What it is you need to know, officers?” It seemed Hilary wasn’t a fan of small talk, which Clarke appreciated.
“As you are aware from the phone call with my colleague, DC Reynolds,” Clarke said as he waved towards Rebecca, “Suzanne Walker’s daughter, Teigan, is missing.”
Hilary nodded. “Yes, awful.”
“Yes. Teigan didn’t attend school on either Thursday or Friday. The school had tried several times to contact Suzanne, but were unsuccessful, so eventually on Friday afternoon they called us to report their concerns.”
“I believe Suzanne often forgets to bring her personal phone in. She relies heavily on her work mobile. I would have thought school had her work number?” Hilary sat back in her armchair, her hands clasped together in her lap.
“Apparently not.”
“Well, surely they should have contacted you Thursday, when they couldn’t get hold of Suzanne?”
“Ideally, yes, but we’re not going to get into the blame game. They assumed she was poorly and that Suzanne had just not gotten around to calling in. They knew how busy she can be with work. When the same happened Friday, they reported their concerns.” Clarke leaned forward, resting his own hands against his knees. “What we are concerned about, Ms Andrews, is that it took until Friday evening for Suzanne to even realise her daughter was missing. She claims she last saw her Thursday morning.”
“Mm-hmm.” Hilary was clearly a professional at not giving anything away. She didn’t show any obvious reaction to the news that Suzanne hadn’t even realised Teigan was missing for nearly forty-eight hours. He imagined she must be good at chairing child protection meetings, hearing horrific stories of neglect without so much as flinching.
“What we need to know is if there was anything odd about Suzanne’s presentation on those days? Anything that could suggest any knowledge of Teigan’s disappearance? Or any mention of a fight or strong disagreement between them?”
Hilary shook her head, a dangly pearl drop earring swinging from the motion. “No, there was no evidence to suggest that at all.” She spoke formally, as if she were back at work in a meeting. “Suzanne was indeed flustered that day, but I believe that was due to the news of Emma Beale’s death. I’m assuming you’re aware Suzanne was the case accountable social worker?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Yes, so, naturally she was upset about that. She had to attend a review panel first thing, where she would have been asked some difficult questions. She also had to go to a television interview to promote her charity, The Walker Foundation, that afternoon. She’s never done anything like that before, so she was understandably tense.”
“Of course,” Clarke agreed as he made notes. So far it all tallied up with Suzanne’s own account of the morning.
“She had another busy day on Friday, making sure she got in a visit to one case in particular that she’s worked for a long time, despite it being past five o’clock before she was available to go. She’s a good social worker like that, very committed. To my knowledge, she went straight home after that visit. She called me at quarter past six to let me know she was finishing off and heading home. We have a call-in system for when staff aren’t returning to the office, to ensure their safety.” There was a distinct air of pride in Hilary’s voice.
“Sounds good. How about Thursday? What times did she clock in and out?”
Hilary paused a moment, deliberating over her response. “She was with me Thursday evening in the office, finishing off a report. She left about — I’m not sure exactly — I think it was just gone half seven. Yes, because I stayed for roughly another half hour, then headed home at eight.”
“Great, and the morning?”
“She got in a bit late, quarter to ten, it was.”
Clarke frowned. “Quarter to ten?”
“Yes, she said she had to sort something for Teigan before school, or something along those lines. I figured she was in a flap because of the Emma Beale news.”
Clarke mentally reviewed the timings Suzanne had given him. She’d said that Teigan had stormed out the house after their argument around half past eight. She’d claimed to have left within ten minutes, after clearing the mess on the floor. Living in Norwich, she should have been at work by nine, quarter past, at the absolute latest. Friday morning traffic was an issue, but certainly not that bad.
There were forty-five minutes unaccounted for in their timeline. And Clarke knew all too well what could happen in forty-five minutes.