“Yes,ma’am,” Sam corrects again.
“Yes, ma’am,” Taylor mumbles.
The young man starts toward the kitchenette, and Sam notices some of the other staff turning away to conceal their smiles.In for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thinks, before raising her voice and adding, “TDC Taylor?” The young man turns. “While the tea’s brewing, you can take yourself down to the lower basement and borrow some footwear that conforms to police uniform code SL354. Unless Christian Louboutin has started reinforcing the toes in his loafers?”
Taylor’s face now perfectly matches the soles of his £750 shoes. A few officers near by chuckle, without looking away from their monitors, knowing full well that there is no code SL354, and no lower basement in the building, either. Taylor nods and hurriesaway. When the young man is out of range, Sam slumps exhausted into her chair.Where did that even come from?she wonders. A wave of guilt washes over her.I’ve got to be better than that.She promises herself she’ll start afresh as soon as he gets back.
Straightening in her chair, she opens the brown case file that Harry gave her and scans the documents. Charlotte Mathers’ picture is clipped to the inside of the cover—a different one from the one on the whiteboard; a professional school photograph. She forces herself to breathe as she takes in every detail. Her finger traces the girl’s pale cheeks. Charlotte’s smile reaches up to her green eyes in a way that Sam knows is missing from her own school photographs when she was this age. Charlotte must have been truly happy at the moment the camera snapped this shot.
Charlotte wears a green uniform, beaded with gold, an understated 18-carat Rolex on her wrist. Her curly red hair reminds Sam of Merida from the Disney movieBrave.Sam’s vision blurs as tears rim her eyes. She wipes at them before they have a chance to spill on to her cheeks, or on to Charlotte’s.
She flips to the file’s summary page. Murdered by strangulation. No evidence of sexual assault. Time of death between 10 p.m. and midnight on Thursday. Just hours before Sam’s meeting with Dr. Thomson, less than ten minutes away from Holland Park. The child’s body was posed, as if sleeping, against the trunk of an oak tree, beneath a carved love heart containing her initials and those of an unknown person: CM + DB.
Sam does not open the envelope marked “Crime Scene Photos.” There’s no way she can handle that today. Instead, she opens a fresh notebook and writes “Who is Denver Brady?” at the top of the page. Then she reaches forHow to Get Away with Murder. Then she reaches forHow to Get Away with Murderand turns it over in her hands, as if considering it in a bookstore. Denver, or whoever he hired to design the cover, has done a decent job. A textured red, the color not of fresh, but of slightly dried blood. The centersection on the front torn away, giving a tempting glimpse of the pages beneath. The title, prominent in a classic serif font with a single splattered droplet over the i. It’s definitely the kind of book she’d have bought for herself, before her world fell apart. She takes a deep breath, opens to page one and begins to read…My name is Denver Brady, and I am a serial killer.
By late afternoon,Sam is only three chapters in. She remembers a time when she could fly through a book the size of this one in a single sitting. Now, though, she’s moving at a snail’s pace, unable to concentrate and having to read most sentences twice. It’s grueling.
Denver’s grimly detailed description of his murder of a boy has left Sam with a tight feeling in her chest that she knows will build into something debilitating if she doesn’t manage it. She marvels at the effect the words of others can have; even through pages, Denver has made her feel sick. It’s the way he sexualizes Jono’s murder, coupled with his compelling voice and vivid description. One line in particular circles in Sam’s mind: Denver’s eerie comment about the buoyancy of fresh water, which echoes what her mother used to say to her as a little girl. There’s something about hearing her lovely mum’s words from the mouth of a murderer that leaves Sam reeling. She glances down at the list in her notebook.
Who is Denver Brady?
Grew up in a “village” with a market square and a library.
Lived (lives?) near a quarry with a shale floor. Could mean a limestone, sandstone, clay or shale quarry.
Had a cousin called Bobby. Could be Robert or Robin.
Friends: Jono/Gordie—could be John or Jonathan/Gordon or George.
Thinks Mary Ann Cotton is innocent and is angry about that—why?
Sam needs to take a break from Denver for a while, but the last thing she wants is to stop pushing forward with her investigation. She decides she’ll bring herself up to speed with the provisional interviews the homicide team will have conducted. That way, she’s making progress for Charlotte, while still looking out for herself. Besides, being au fait with the details of Charlotte’s life and murder will help her spot connections if and when she comes across them in Denver’s book.
Sam powers up her computer terminal, navigates to Charlotte’s digital case folder and finds the interview videos. She clicks on the first file and puts on a headset so she can listen. The girl being interviewed identifies herself as Jessica Patel. Even though Sam can only see the backs of their heads, she doesn’t think she knows the officers conducting the interview: a blond-haired Detective Constable—perhaps the officer Sam encountered in Holland Park?—and a male officer.
“For the purposes of today, Jessica,” the blond officer says, “you can call me Chloe. You don’t need to say DC Spears, okay?” Jessica nods, her hands twisting inside one another on the steel table.
“How old are you, Jessica?” DC Spears asks.
“Thirteen years, ten months, two weeks and six days,” she says. “I’m in Year 9 at school. So is Charlotte, but she’s older than me.” Jessica looks back at the woman sitting close behind her, presumably her mother. To Jessica’s left is an older man wearing a turban, who must be the family’s solicitor.
“Tell me about Charlotte,” DC Spears says. “What was she like as a person?” They wait for a moment as Jessica takes a few deep breaths. Her hands continue to twist, white knuckles and red fingertips.
“Charlotte is… was… one hundred and sixty-two centimeters tall and a UK-size seven shoe. She was in the top set for all classes and achieved on average a grade eight in her subjects. Shejust had her braces removed after sixteen months of treatment. She plays center in the school netball team and has a ninety- three percent success rate delivering the center pass and receives forty-three percent of our POMs. Charlotte—”
“Tell them about Charlotte’s pranks,” the woman behind Jessica says softly, giving the girl’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Then, turning to the officers, she adds, “Jessica finds comfort in numbers, Detectives. Go on, sweetie. You’re doing really well.”
“Charlotte was a real prankster.” Jessica smiles. “Never cruel pranks, only ever funny ones to make people laugh. There are over seventeen pranks that I can recall in detail, but I estimate more than twenty-five total pranks.”
“That’s great, Jessica,” Chloe Spears says, nodding. “What was your favorite one of Charlotte’s pranks?”
“Mmm.” Jessica casts her eyes to the ceiling in concentration. “Probably the time she renamed all the contacts in my mum’s phone.”
“She changed them all to celebrities,” her mother says. “My auntie rang me and it showed up as Jason Statham. Charlotte had even added a topless photo of the actor, which flashed up on my screen.” The woman smiles, then shakes her head sadly.
“My absolute favorite was Charlotte’s Steve Buscemi phase,” Jessica continues, and her mother laughs. “Charlotte loved old movies, mainly ones from the nineties. She was obsessed with action films likeCon AirandThe Rock, and romance movies like10 Things I Hate About YouandNever Been Kissed. Anyway, there’s this one movie, I think it’sCon Air,with a guy called Steve Buscemi in it. He has kind of a funny face. Charlotte printed out more than twenty photos of Steve Buscemi and snuck into the headmaster’s office. She took all his framed certificates down, and all his family pictures too, and replaced every picture with a different photo of Steve Buscemi.”
“That’s funny,” Chloe says.
