Ben meets Diana Lawson outside the police morgue. From a distance, stepping from the back of the silver Mercedes, the woman looks polished and elegant, ash-blonde hair falling to the cowl neck of a grey cashmere sweater, tailored black trousers and patent court shoes, a handbag and camel coat draped over one arm. It’s only as she draws closer that Ben can see the traces of a sleepless night from a long-haul flight and the deep worry etched across her face. He introduces himself as they shake hands.
‘Is my brother here?’ Diana asks, glancing over his shoulder. ‘We spoke in the car. He said he’d come.’
‘Not yet. Would you like to wait?’
Diana shakes her head. ‘No. I need to know.’
Ben is relieved. They all need to know. ‘I’m taking you to a viewing room,’ he tells her, leading her through the muted grey corridors of the building, the air heavy with a sterile chemical smell, as if the linoleum floors have only just been mopped. As they walk, he tries to prepare her for what she will see. ‘She’ll be lying on a gurney, dressed in a blue gown, the sort of thing you might wear in hospital. She’ll be covered with a sheet. The forensic technician has advised me that they will keep her face covered. Given the extent of the head injuries, they felt it would be less distressing for you.’ Ben knows it’s important to prepare a person as much as possible for a viewing like this, though in this case he’s not entirely sure he can.
Diana flinches but keeps pace beside him. ‘So how will I know it’s Sarah… if I can’t see her face?’
‘There’s a chance you won’t. We’ll run DNA samples, but we’d like you to confirm if you recognise any obvious marks or features. If it’s too distressing, you just let us know. You can leave at any time.’
Diana nods, though her face appears to have blanched even paler. ‘None of this feels real. Since I took Christopher’s phone call… I keep thinking it must be a bad dream, that I’m going to wake up any minute.’
He nods. It’s a refrain he’s heard many times over the course of his career, but he relates on a personal level, too. Nothing can prepare you for that moment when life diverts without warning onto a sickening new course, one where you are expected to just carry on without a precious loved one. He holds his own painful memory of being walked through this facility, prepared by a police officer, readied to come face-to-face with his own unfolding nightmare. ‘I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy.’
They come to a halt outside a door. Through a small, high-set window he can see the technician dressed in scrubs waiting on the other side. ‘If you’re ready, I’ll take you in. Anytime you want to leave, you just say. OK?’
She nods, her mouth set into a grim line.
The tech steps forward to greet them. Diana issues a curt nod, but her gaze is already fixed on the trolley.
The technician lifts the far end of the sheet and pulls it back to reveal most of the victim’s body, though as promised, he keeps the head covered, just a few strands of blonde hair visible, falling around the shoulders. ‘Take your time,’ he murmurs, standing back to allow Diana to move closer.
She takes a hesitant step forward before skirting the trolley, giving it a wide berth at first, as if afraid to go too close. Ben sees her eye the body, slim and frail in the blue hospital gown, pale legs and arms now washed and free from the dirt and the awful, scrawled words that had marked her skin. Here in this room, she no longer looks macabre and frightening. She looks young and delicate. Frail. Helpless.
Ben can see the distress in Diana’s face as she moves closer, the slump of her shoulders. She staggers slightly and Ben steps forward to catch her elbow, afraid she might collapse. ‘It’s her,’ she says, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘It’s Sarah.’ The handbag on her shoulder slips to the floor, but Diana doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Are you sure?’
She nods. ‘That birthmark.’ Diana lifts a trembling hand to point at the girl’s right ankle. ‘She always hated it. She wanted to get it lasered, but David told her it made her unique. I thought it was nice. Like an oak leaf.’ Diana’s voice cracks. She closes her eyes and tries to draw a steadying breath.
Ben can see she is holding on by a thread. It doesn’t get much worse than days like this. It’s always more shocking when the victim is young. What a waste of a life. It’s as if a terrible sadness lingers, swirling with the cool air and that distinct, sterile smell that never fails to tug at his guts.
Diana opens her eyes. ‘Can I touch her?’
At the technician’s nod, Diana moves a little closer and lift’s the girl’s hand to lay it gently in her own. She traces the skin on the back of Sarah’s hand, her nails with their pink varnish shining under the bright strip lighting as the first of her tears starts to fall. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought this would be a happy place for you.’ A moan leaves her throat. Pure pain, Ben thinks, the sound tugging at him. Tears stream down Diana’s cheeks as she bends to kiss the girl’s hand. The red scratches on her arms are vivid against the bloodless white of her skin.
Ben has to swallow hard, looking up at the ceiling to hide his emotion, feeling a deep ache in the hollow of his stomach. Waiting… waiting… just the sound of a mother’s grief until Diana wipes her face and turns back to him. ‘You mentioned a necklace? Was there anything else?’
He moves to a table where a silver tray holds the necklace and a ring Sarah had been wearing. ‘These were found on her.’
Diana studies the jewellery. ‘The ring was a gift, for her sixteenth birthday…’ Her voice catches in her throat. ‘I’m not sure about the necklace.’
‘It’s a friendship necklace. Olivia’s confirmed she has the other half. Sarah gave it to her.’
‘Poor Olivia.’ Diana crumbles again, pressing her fist to her mouth. She turns to Ben, her eyes filled with pain and confusion. ‘What happened? Who did this to my daughter?’
‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’ He holds her gaze. ‘I promise.’
Diana stays with Sarah’s body until the sound of voices out in the corridor penetrates the silence of the viewing room. Ben looks through the glass panel and sees Christopher Easton with his wife, waiting outside, a wool coat slung over the man’s arm, his other wrapped around Philippa’s shoulders. Philippa looks as though she’s aged several years in the hours since he last saw her, her face drawn and sallow, not a scrap of make-up. ‘Your family’s here,’ he tells Diana.
Diana Lawson gives a small nod. ‘Thank you.’
He holds the door for her and watches as Diana walks out to greet her brother and sister-in-law, the question evident in their faces. Diana bows her head and allows herself to be enveloped in Philippa’s stiff embrace. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Philippa says. ‘I’ve been praying it’s not her.’
As Diana collapses into her arms, Christopher steps forward to help support her. ‘It’s confirmed?’ he asks Ben.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Diana is weeping into Philippa’s shoulder. ‘I should never have let her come. She should’ve stayed in Dubai.’
‘But she was adamant, Diana,’ says Christopher. ‘She was desperate to be here. You remember how the girls begged?’
Ben clears his throat. ‘How is Olivia?’
‘I’m not sure she’s slept at all since we found out Sarah was missing. She wouldn’t leave her bedroom this morning.’
‘What do I do now?’ Diana gazes at Ben with a blank, tear-streaked face. ‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘You come home with us,’ says Christopher, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘We let the police do their work. We let them catch whoever did this to Sarah.’
Ben nods. ‘My colleagues have been at the school since first thing this morning, poised to brief the staff. Given that the last time we know Sarah was seen alive was on Saturday night at the party, we’ll be asking any students who were in the woods to come forward.’
‘And that boy,’ says Christopher, his eyes narrowed. ‘The one Olivia mentioned. Danny Carlisle. You’re talking to him?’
‘He’s first on our list.’
Christopher nods. ‘The Carlisles certainly seem to have an interesting reputation. I’ve been asking around some of my contacts.’
Ben experiences a flicker of alarm. The last thing they need is a man like Christopher Easton, with all his influence, starting a witch hunt for a teenage boy without any evidence of his involvement. ‘It’s important we all keep an open mind at this stage. Danny may well have vital information to share with us, but you need to let us conduct our interviews and gather evidence, if we’re going to catch and, most importantly, prosecute whoever did this to Sarah. I know you want answers. Believe me, Mr Easton, we do, too. We’re on your side.’
Outside the morgue, Ben watches the trio walk towards a green Jaguar, parked in the disabled bay near the entrance. Christopher Easton charges ahead, but Philippa’s stiff gait keeps pace with Diana’s bowed form. Christopher presses his key fob, headlights flashing, and the two women slide into the back seat, hidden behind tinted windows, but Christopher walks a short distance away, mobile in hand. Ben watches with a growing unease as he speaks animatedly into the phone. Even at this distance, Ben can feel the anger bristling off the man. He watches until Christopher tucks the mobile back into his pocket and slips behind the wheel of his car, driving away with a squeal of tyres. Ben sighs. Christopher Easton on the warpath adds a whole new level of stress to their investigation.