DCI Culverhouse sat in his living room armchair and glanced forlornly at the photographs of Danielle Levy. Barely seventeen years old and, in his heart of hearts, he knew the increasing likelihood was that she would be found dead. Once forty-eight hours had passed, the odds were approaching certainty. That left two questions: who and why?
The why was probably more difficult than the who. A chance abduction seemed unlikely, particularly as she’d lived in a fairly busy part of the town. People just didn’t tend to be successfully abducted in a busy town in the middle of the day without anyone noticing. Small children, perhaps, but not streetwise seventeen-year-olds.
He found himself lost in a world of imagination as Danielle almost came to life before his eyes. Even though it was rare that he ever met any of the victims while they were alive, every time he investigated a murder or potential murder case he almost brought the person to live in his own mind. Having to research every aspect of their past, their family and their life meant that the victim became real once again. Sometimes, it helped. Other times, it made things very tough indeed.
He had visions of Danielle getting ready for a night out, sitting around with her friends, discussing boys and make-up. She would have had no problem getting into nightclubs, that was for sure. Her looks were mature, and she would certainly pass for being in her twenties, no problem at all.
All girls grow up too quickly nowadays. Jack's own daughter would be almost in her teens by now. Not far off Danielle’s age. To him, she had almost become ageless now. She’d been so young the last time he saw her, he couldn’t envisage her being anything other than the smiling child that he’d known and lost, grinning and laughing as her pigtails swished around at the back of her head.
The pain and sorrow choked him up as his visions of Danielle Levy became visions of his own daughter, her features transforming before his very eyes. It was true to say that he had no idea what she would look like nowadays, but he was sure she'd be beautiful. He could see her all grown up. The boys and make-up, the getting into nightclubs. The screams of terror. The dark, congealing blood and empty, staring eyes.
Shaking the vision from his mind's eye, he reminded himself that Danielle Levy could still be alive, his daughter even more so. He was not a religious man, but he hoped to God he would see them both soon.
Culverhouse was jolted out of his phantasmal daydream by the ringing of his mobile phone. As he pressed to answer the call, he could utter nothing more committal than an absent-minded ‘Mmmm?’
‘Guv, it's Frank Vine. Listen, we’ve received a call from a dog walker. They've found a body. We think it might be Danielle Levy.’