My phone pings as Davis and I ready ourselves to head off to the Bull and Barrow. A SWAT team has been deployed, largely due to the Bull and Barrow’s notorious reputation and clientele. We don’t believe Erin is armed, but that’s not to say the occupants will welcome us with open arms either. Some pretty nasty characters have been known to frequent that particular establishment, so the element of surprise is paramount.
Parker has sent me those images of the female seen leaving Tilly Ward’s apartment yesterday morning – the redhead. Only, once again, it’s tricky to get a clear view of her face. In every shot, her head is either lowered or she’s turning away in the opposite direction of the camera,almost as if she’s aware of it. You can’t miss the glossy red hair though, and she’s wearing the same burgundy-coloured coat that she had on when I saw her at the conference.
‘We need to find out who this is, Mitchell.’ I slap the image on DS Mitchell’s desk in front of her. ‘I saw her at the press conference, and she was seen coming out of Tilly Ward’s apartment that same morning. I think she may be a journalist. Check which publications and news crews attended the appeal, see if we can identify her and then get her on the phone if you can.’
‘No problem, gov. Oh, by the way, boss, I wanted to introduce you to one of our new recruits, DC Adriana Ayers.’ She turns to the young-looking woman next to her.
‘This is your first assignment since qualifying, isn’t it, Adriana?’
She smiles up at me, a touch shyly. ‘And it looks as if she may have come across something interesting already.’
The twinkle in Mitchell’s eye piques my intrigue. ‘Great. Well, welcome aboard, Adriana. It’s all hands on the pump for this one.’ Frankly, we need all the help we can get.
‘Nice to meet you, sir.’ She shakes my hand firmly – always a good sign. No one likes a limp handshake.
‘Oh, don’t bother with all that “sir” nonsense, please. It’s embarrassing and it makes me sound like an old school master.’ To be fair, she doesn’t exactly look long out of school herself.
‘You know you’re getting old, son, when policemen start to look young.’ I hear my dear old dad’s voice in my head. Four years have passed since he died, and yet sometimes it feels like three days.
‘Where were you stationed before, Adriana?’
‘Nowhere, sir. I’m a graduate.’ She looks a little apologetic about this admission.
‘Fresh from college, aren’t you?’ Mitchell raises an eyebrow. ‘Hasn’t had to deal with the dregs.’
‘Oh,’ I say. She’s one ofthose. ‘Lucky you, then.’
These days, with a degree under your belt, you can bypass the traditional route of earning your chops in uniform and fast-track straight into a DC position – no need to pass GO. There’s a shortage of detectives at the Met, you see –though I can’t imagine why that might be– and not everyone with a desire to do the job has had to earn their stripes ‘dealing with the dregs’ before they reach such lofty status.
For what it’s worth though, in my humble opinion, a stint in uniform stands you in good stead for a future detective role. As a uniformed officer, you have to see and deal with all sorts – especially the ‘dregs’. You’re the troops on the ground, the foot soldiers, and getting your hands dirty prepares you for this job more than any degree ever could. But I’m not judging Adriana as a privileged fast-tracker, at least not just yet. Especially since Mitchell says she has something interesting for me.
‘I’ve read through all the files, sir,’ she says, ‘all the statements. It’s quite a perplexing case.’
That’s one word for it.
‘You’ve hit the ground running with this one, my apologies.’ I smile broadly at her, clap my hands together. ‘So, what you got then?’
‘A comment on social media.’
I decide to hear her out before I let my heart sink. We’ve had nothing helpful from social media so far, no real leads. Most of what’s been written is either pure fiction, supposition, hate, or a cocktail of them all.
‘Go on…’
‘Someone made a comment on the Samantha Valentine sketch that drew my attention.’
Adriana’s shyness seems to have evaporated as she flips the screen around to show me with a confident spin of the laptop. ‘As you can see, there’s hundreds of comments, and this one was published yesterday at 16.04 GMT.’
I start to read it.
I had a best friend at prep school called Samantha Valentine back in the 80s, before my parents dragged me to the UK when I was eleven years old (I feel like it hasn’t stopped raining in 30 years – lol!). She dumped me for a new best friend – ironically some Pom who joined our class mid-term.(sad emoji face). I don’t remember her name, but I remember hating her for stealing my BFF at the time!
A couple of months after I moved to the UK, I found out that Samantha had killed herself. She hanged herself from a tree, only no one really knew why. (Crying emoji face) It was such a shock. I knew her since kindergarten and she was just eleven years old! (Another crying emoji). I remember her always being such a happy, sweet, fun-loving little girl – no one understood why she did it. This isn’t her in the sketch (obvs) btw, but the name made me think of her and so I felt I had to share! Be kind, folks, you never know what others are going through!
‘The location of the sender says, Subiaco, Perth, Western Australia.’ She looks up at me. ‘Didn’t Erin claim in one of her original statements given at the time of Radulovic’s murder, and, most recently, in your transcripts from your phone interactions with her, that Samantha Valentine’s mother lived in Australia?’
‘Yes, that’s right, she did.’ Clearly, Adriana wasn’t lying when she said she’d read through all the statements.
A chill lightly tickles my spine.
