It was tanking down when they parked at Housesteads car park and made the short, grim journey across fields to where Amy Grainger met her death. The crime-scene tent was now gone. In its place, officers from MIT had left a discreet bunch of flowers to mark the spot. Under a large umbrella, Mr and Mrs Grainger held hands for a few moments of solidarity and quiet contemplation before returning with Daniels to her car.
The Toyota sped south as the rain began to ease. Daniels was worried about her passengers. Amy’s mother was in a severe state of shock, eyes fixed straight ahead, hearing and seeing nothing. Almost catatonic. Mr Grainger had his arm around her. He was staring blankly out of the window at countryside so beautiful it took your breath away, even on such a dull, damp day. Unmoved by the stunning landscape, he was a broken man, a torn soul. He may as well have been peering into hell, or so Daniels thought as she glanced at him in the rear-view mirror.
‘Amy would have loved it here . . .’ He returned her gaze. ‘Did you know she was studying the countryside?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
Daniels fell silent, taking in this new information. If Amy was not a med student, why then had she bought a medical textbook? Principles of Anatomy and Physiology, according to the receipt Stanton had found in her jeans pocket, retailing at around forty-five quid.
‘Environmental something or other.’ Mr Grainger was really losing it now.
Eyes back on the road, Daniels spotted a lay-by up ahead. She signalled her intention to pull over and steered towards it, parking the Toyota as far off the road as she could get. She cut the ignition and turned to face her passengers. Mr Grainger took his wife’s limp hand in his and again looked out of the window. It was brighter now. The rain had stopped, the sky was less threatening and there was a hint of blue appearing in between empty clouds.
‘Amy loved the outdoors,’ Mr Grainger said wistfully. ‘Even as a kid we could never get her to come inside. She loved plants, animals. Life was one big adventure for her from the day she was born. What I don’t understand is why she was here, so far from home. Like I said, she never missed a day at school. She wouldn’t wag off, I know she wouldn’t.’
‘I’ll need to speak to her pals.’ Daniels was grateful that one of her passengers felt able to talk. She’d known times when neither parent of a murder victim could find words. Others raged against the injustice of having lost a loved one; unable to keep it together, unable to assist investigators in the vital hours following the discovery of a body. She needed to piece together Amy’s last movements, find out who the last person was to have seen her alive – and where. ‘Was Amy close to anyone in particular at university?’
‘Nobody special.’ Mr Grainger rubbed at the stubble on his chin. ‘She had lots of girlfriends, though. She was a typical student . . . liked to party, but was otherwise a hard worker.’
Daniels nodded her understanding. ‘Did she work – outside of her studies, I mean?’
‘A part-time job at the students’ union bar. Said she didn’t want a loan, didn’t want to get into the debt trap, or freeload off Jen and me.’
Mrs Grainger broke down again and buried her head in his shoulder.
‘She sounds like a lovely girl,’ Daniels said.
‘She is, was . . .’ Mr Grainger bit his lip. ‘The best.’
He patted his wife’s hand and forced a smile. Daniels asked if he was up to continuing with the journey. He said not. He asked to sit for a while longer, said he felt closer to his daughter here. He would visit this place in years to come. Daniels knew he meant it. She turned her back on the couple, trying to make herself invisible, allowing them a few quiet moments of reflection.
‘Did you find Amy’s mobile phone?’ The words stuck in Mr Grainger’s throat as they came out. ‘She was never off it, was she, Jen? You’ll find details of her mates in there, no doubt.’
His comment hung in the air.
Daniels turned back to face him, forced to explain that no mobile phone had been found on Amy’s body. No bag either. Mr Grainger suddenly got angry, began raging over the fact that the person responsible for her death still had his daughter’s private things. They had no right. What kind of animals were these people?
A good question.
‘Did Amy ever mention a student friend studying medicine?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Why d’you ask?’
‘We found a till receipt for a medical textbook in the back pocket of her jeans.’
‘She wasn’t wearing jeans,’ Mrs Grainger said softly. ‘She never wore jeans.’