‘We’ve identified several sets of fingerprints at a location close to the crime scene,’ Gabby’s voice echoed around the open space. She was talking about Blackhall Manor. Anyone familiar with the area would have known that. ‘There’s one person in particular we’re keen to speak to. Further investigations are underway to facilitate that.’ Gabby glanced around the hall. ‘Before you ask for more details, we can’t disclose anything further at this stage. But I can assure you that every member of my team is working around the clock.’
A pang of jealousy burned in Sarah’s chest.Everyone except me.
‘Never mind that, we want to know how this happened in the first place!’ A gruff voice rang out from the crowd. It was Mr Palmer, a resident of Upper Slayton. Sarah remembered her husband saying what a pain in the arse he was due to his overzealous involvement in the local Neighbourhood Watch. Mr Palmer stood with his arms tightly folded, awaiting a response. He was a pock-faced man, and a keen runner. Sarah had grown used to seeing him on the roads. Not that he got very far, the number of times he stopped to talk to neighbours along the way. Today, he leaned on a crutch, and Sarah wondered if he’d had an injury of some sort. Her attention switched to Gabby, a reed in a storm as the locals voiced their annoyance in turn. DI Lee had been called away and left Gabby to hold the fort on her own. It wasn’t like Bernard to let people down. As the cameras closed in on a shot of Gabby’s face, it was disconcerting to see so many reporters here. But one camera belonged to the Slayton Police media department and she watched it pan the room. The crowd didn’t know it, but they were being filmed. Sometimes perpetrators of crimes attended meetings like these to keep one step ahead.
Not every murder made such big news, but Slayton’s history gave the case an edge. People wanted to hear about the residents of the town with the dark past. It brought an extra twist that the daughter of the man who had promised a secure neighbourhood had been murdered. A suited man stood at the front of the room, jabbing the air with his finger. ‘We bought these houses in good faith. The developer made a promise. Upper Slayton is meant to be safe.’
Sarah noticed the name ‘Upper’ Slayton had been used, not Slayton as a whole. She rolled her eyes. They’d be talking about building a wall to separate them next.
‘Slayton is a safe community,’ Gabby spoke. ‘This was a one-off, a tragic, unfortunate event.’
Mr Palmer stood for a second time to voice his discontent. ‘But it wasn’t a one-off, was it? What about Blackhall Manor? I said it before and I’ll say it again, that place should be knocked to the ground.’
Gabby gave him a withering look. ‘Mr Palmer, what happened in Blackhall Manor was twenty-five years ago.’
‘What about that pervy police officer? That was last year!’
Sarah’s face burned as a few heads turned to peer at her. She tugged her fringe, realised what she was doing, then sat on her hands. She would forever be known as the wife of the ‘pervy’ police officer.
‘Nothing was proved,’ Gabby responded firmly, and Sarah shrank in her chair a little more. The hall was growing uncomfortably warm, and her armpits were damp with sweat.
‘Only because you lot covered it up!’ Mr Palmer bellowed, encouraged by several nodding heads. ‘I don’t know why I came to live here. If the police can’t protect us from perverts and murderers, then who can?’
‘Councillor Dean, I’ve got a deposit on a new property.’ A bearded middle-aged man remained seated as he spoke. ‘Is it safe to live here?’ With evident relief, Gabby took a seat and allowed Councillor Dean to take the microphone. Red-faced and sweating, his neck bulged over the tight collar of his shirt.
‘I can assure you,’ Councillor Dean said. ‘Slayton is perfectly safe.’
‘Slayton is safe? Tell that to Angelica Irving’s family!’ a woman from the crowd shouted. She didn’t stand. Most likely didn’t want her face seen. A steady click of footsteps rose from the curtain on the left. A low mumble spread as Simon Irving walked onto the stage. Had he been watching from the wings all this time, or had he just got here?
As always, he was smartly dressed, from his expensive leather shoes to the silver tiepin and cufflinks catching the stage light. Scanning the crowd, he took the mic.
‘Most of you here know me. Angelica was my daughter. We are devastated by her loss.’ Slowly exhaling, he pulled a tissue from his suit pocket, but no tears came. The room fell into a hush as Irving cleared his throat.
‘I’m here tonight to reassure you. I’ve spoken at length to the police. I’m confident this will not happen again. No other family will suffer our agony.’ He brought the tissue to his face before continuing. ‘This was a game. One with a tragic ending. My daughter has paid the price.’ He looked from left to right, taking in the crowd. ‘House prices are booming. Any property purchased in Upper Slayton is as good an investment now as it ever has been.’
What the hell?Sarah thought.His daughter has just died and he’s talking about investments?
‘Thank you for your support,’ he continued, pocketing the tissue that seemed little more than a prop. ‘But my family and I would like to be left alone to grieve.’ Stepping back from the microphone, he turned and left the stage.
The crowd fell into eerie silence. Sarah was stunned. This wasn’t natural. Any parent in his situation would be baying for blood, not worrying about house sales. She caught the surprised expression on Gabby’s face as Mr Irving left. She seemed taken aback too. After a short pause, Superintendent Marsh took the microphone, giving advice on general safety and taking questions from the floor.
Sarah had heard enough. Pushing past the crowd she walked through the internal double doors to use the bathroom. She knew her way around the school, which had been refurbished in recent years. As well as attending briefly as a pupil, she’d given talks to various classes while working in uniform. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, the walls adorned with student posters, trophy cases and lists of upcoming events. She stilled at the sounds of harsh whispers rising from a classroom.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’ Sarah leaned against the wall to listen. It sounded like Councillor Dean.
‘I didn’t do it for you,’ a second man replied, an edge to his tone. ‘I’ve got too much money wrapped up in these developments for things to go pear-shaped now.’
Sarah listened intently. It was Simon Irving.
‘As for Blackhall … the less said about that, the better. We don’t want that rearing its ugly head again.’
‘I’m doing everything I can to keep it out of the press.’
A sudden thump of fist against wood. ‘Your best isn’t good enough! Do I need to remind you what’s at stake here?’
‘I … I … of course you don’t,’ Dean stuttered in response. Silence. ‘Once again, I’m sorry for your loss,’ Dean continued. ‘Do they have a suspect yet?’
‘Yes they do, and when they bring him in I’m going to string him up by the balls. My wife’s at home now, in bits. I can barely get a coherent sentence out of her. I only hope me coming here tonight pays off.’
