‘Maddy’s set up a meeting with Timothy Dunlow this afternoon. He’s the owner of the estate.’
‘Good.’ I checked my mirrors before turning right. ‘What do we know about him?’
Juliet laid her phone on her lap and rolled her shoulders. She’d been focused on the device for most of the short drive. I’d been working with her long enough to know this wasn’t rudeness, but an unwillingness to let any moment go to waste during an investigation.
‘Not much yet. Filthy rich, obviously. Owns the estate and the surrounding land. He has a reputation for being ruthless in business, but I’m not sure exactly what his company does. Some kind of consultancy. He has two sons, Leonard and Terence. Wife died a few years ago. Cancer. He’s not involved in politics, not in the local paper much, doesn’t get involved in the community.’ Juliet paused while I merged with traffic. ‘Maddy said he was a shit when she called him.’
‘Did she actually say that?’
‘It was the subtext.’
I turned right, as directed by the silent satnav. Juliet insisted that if I wanted it on, I wasn’t allowed to force her to endure the tinny voice as well. ‘Have the Dunlows got any guns?’
‘Many.’ Juliet tapped her nails on her knee, her eyes sweeping over the blocks of flats and stunted trees coasting past the window. ‘The groundskeeper, Karl, told me they have an outhouse full of them. I’ve asked the forensic team to take a look when they finally get there. There are dogs on the estate too. Part of Karl’s job is looking after them. Apparently, they use them on the hunt.’
Everything needed to kill Melanie was primed and waiting on the estate. I pulled my grey Vauxhall Astra into a car park overshadowed by several tall buildings and reversed into a visitor’s space.
‘Timothy Dunlow is definitely a person of interest,’ Juliet said, as she climbed out of the car. ‘But I can’t see a connection between him and Melanie.’
‘Hopefully he’ll clear that up for us this afternoon.’
‘Case closed by dinner?’ Juliet raised one pale eyebrow.
‘Ideally.’
I locked the car and we walked through the car park to the front of a block of flats. The area our station covered was a mix of urban and rural, stretching between the City of Southampton and the surrounding areas, right over to the north-east of the New Forest. The obscenely wealthy in Dunlow’s neck of the woods had little reason to mingle with those who lived in more built-up areas, like the estate Melanie Pirt had lived on. Juliet was right, it was hard to see the connection between the seventeen-year-old and the middle-aged man. They lived in relative proximity but, in reality, inhabited different worlds.
This was one of the nicer housing estates. Most of the residents owned their properties or had lived here long enough to take pride in their surroundings. Balconies were filled with bright pots, the plants coming to the end of their season but eking out the last of the sun. Rubbish bracketed the bin store, but the paths were clean and any graffiti was contained to council signs.
It reminded me of home until I closed my eyes. Then, the ever-present cries of gulls reasserted themselves. That was a sound rarely heard in north London, but it couldn’t be escaped this near to the sea.
‘You want to take the lead in here as well?’ Juliet swept through the unlocked front doors and unfastened her coat as she climbed the stairs.
I couldn’t see her face, but knew she’d be smirking. If there was one part of this job where I excelled over Juliet, it was interacting with a victim’s family. She could maintain a mask of sympathy when sitting dumbly, but if she got too talkative she’d start asking about movements and samples far too quickly. It wasn’t that Juliet didn’t know where the line was, but she disregarded it. If there was anyone as concerned with seeking justice as her, it was a victim’s nearest and dearest, but that didn’t manifest in the same way as it did for a seasoned detective. I’d only sat in on one of these meetings before suggesting I take over. It was not appropriate to discuss blood spatter with the recently bereaved.
At least Juliet was here. I hadn’t been working on the force for more than a month when someone described these moments before a conference with the families of the deceased as the long, lonely walk. It wasn’t quite so lonely with another officer by my side, even if it was someone as forcefully tactless as Juliet.
Outside a blue door on the fifth floor, I undid my coat and adjusted my ID badge. Who knew what the worst part of our job was, but this had to be near the top. Melanie had lived with her grandmother, so we were unlikely to be faced with a suspect. All that awaited us here was a life-altering conversation.
There was no knocker or doorbell. I rapped on the wood and stepped off the bristly welcome mat. Juliet clicked her phone onto silent.
‘Yes?’ The door half opened, revealing a stooped Black woman. Her white-grey hair was pulled into a tidy bun and thick glasses balanced on the end of her nose.
‘Hello. I’m Detective Sergeant Gabe Martin and this is Detective Inspector Juliet Stern. Is this the residence of Melanie Pirt?’
‘Yes. Is she in trouble?’ The elderly woman gripped the door, pressing the edge into the folds of her floral print dress.
‘Might we come in for a moment?’ Better not to get into a discussion of this nature on the doorstep.
Melanie’s grandmother pulled the door wide. I gestured for her to lead the way along a narrow corridor. She moved slowly, balancing between slipper-clad feet and a sturdy wooden stick.
In the living room, photos covered the walls, the old and more recent mingling in gaudy frames. A young Black girl waved from behind polished glass, hair contained by tight plaits. Older incarnations of the same face pouted, her lashes impossibly long. The room smelt of stale cigarettes. One butt rested in an ashtray on a round table beside the reclinable chair Melanie’s grandmother lowered herself into. She leant her stick on an ancient electric heater. Juliet and I sat on the sofa opposite, sinking into the soft cushions.
The old woman fiddled with a remote, turning off the already muted TV, while I slid forward to perch on the edge of my seat. I didn’t want to have this conversation while slouching.
‘How are you related to Melanie?’ I pulled out my notepad and rested it on my knee.
It was always best to check. One of Paul’s favourite stories was how, as a fresh-faced PC, he’d broken the news of a break-in to the wrong person. Juliet couldn’t understand why he would willingly divulge the details of one of his mistakes, and that was part of the reason she wasn’t invited out to the pub with the others on our floor.
‘I’m her grandmother.’ She knotted her hands together on her knee. ‘Ida Pirt.’
‘Thank you, Ida.’ I made a note, then put down my pencil. ‘We’re here because there has been an incident, and we think Melanie may have been involved.’
Ida’s hands tightened, wrinkling the fabric of her skirt. ‘Is she in trouble?’
‘Early this morning, a body was found on the Dunlow Estate in the New Forest.’ I maintained eye contact. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we believe it’s Melanie.’
Shock pulsed through Ida’s body. She sat back, her mouth forming soundless words. Her dark eyes filled with tears that spilled onto her wizened cheeks.
‘Is there someone we can call for you?’ I asked.
Ida batted at her glasses, letting them fall onto the chain looped around her neck. She wiped her face. ‘Evie, next door.’ She thumbed at the wall to her left.
‘I’ll go.’ Juliet rose in one fluid motion and let herself out of the flat.
‘Ida?’ I waited for her to focus on me. I resisted rearing back from the expression of unadulterated pain on her face. ‘How can we contact Melanie’s parents?’
‘They’re dead.’ Her voice was blunted by years of loss.
‘I’m sorry.’ I pressed my thumb into the corner of my notepad. ‘Is there anyone else we should contact?’
Ida shook her head. Brittle strands of hair clung to her forehead as fresh tears filled her eyes. ‘We only had each other.’
The front door swished open and a squat white woman entered the room. In contrast to Ida’s neat dress, she was in a stained pair of dungarees and her light grey hair corkscrewed around her wrinkled face.
‘Ida?’ Her Irish accent was strong. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s my Melanie,’ Ida croaked. More tears snaked down her cheeks, making dark tracks across her skin. She reached out a shaking arm and Evie grasped her hand, engulfing it in both of her own. Evie’s knuckles were warped by arthritis. Gripping so tightly must have hurt, but she didn’t let go.
‘Ida?’ I stood, not quite managing Juliet’s grace. ‘If it’s alright, we’ll come back tomorrow morning? We have a few more questions.’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Evie answered for her. Ida had closed her eyes, retreating into herself.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
Neither woman replied. I walked out of the flat, slotting my notepad into my pocket. Juliet waited in the hallway. I pulled the door shut and followed her down the winding stairs.
‘That was unpleasant.’ Juliet walked out to the car park. ‘But at least we know she’s not a suspect. I can’t see her running around a forest.’
That was all this meeting was about for Juliet; a chance to sound out the next of kin and remove them from the investigation early on. I unlocked the car and let her climb inside while I stared at the block of flats, wondering which balcony belonged to Ida. She already knew grief, had buried a child when Melanie’s parents died. Would that make losing her granddaughter anymore bearable?
‘Hopefully she’ll be more talkative tomorrow,’ Juliet said, once I’d climbed into the car.
I punched the station postcode into the satnav and waited for the map to load. I was learning our patch and used the colourful maps as a guide despite Juliet’s disdain. She was engrossed in her phone by the time I pulled out of the car park.
Everything she’d said was true. That had been an unpleasant experience, we could rule Ida out of the investigation, and it would be helpful if she was able to talk to us tomorrow. But it was callous to focus on those things while a woman mourned the loss of her beloved granddaughter.
I wasn’t thinking of the case as I drove away from Ida’s flat, but the young woman who featured in the photos on Ida’s wall. Her smile sat in my mind alongside the mauled body lying in the woods.