Chapter Thirty-Nine
Josie
Daniel Neal, usually a man of strong emotions, appears uncharacteristically subdued. His once-vibrant eyes are now lifeless. Beside him stands Gil, her eyes red and swollen. Neal’s voice trembles as he murmurs, ‘I can’t do it, I can’t look at the photo.’
Roy, understanding the weight of the situation, nods solemnly. The room holds its breath. Identifying the body is crucial. I offer Daniel a chair, and he collapses into it, burying his face in his hands. Surprisingly, his recriminations remain unspoken.
Gil steps forward, determination etched on her face.
‘This is my photo,’ she says, handing over an envelope. ‘If it’s the same, then I can confirm it is Joanna Neal.’
I touch Gil’s arm gently as I take the envelope from her.
‘Let’s go somewhere quiet,’ I say.
Her gaze shifts to Daniel, and then she nods and follows me.
Alone in the interview room, I slide the two photos from their envelopes. Gil looks at them, her breath catching. I slip them back into their envelopes.
Her eyes water, and her lips quiver. ‘That’s Jo,’ she says.
I get a cup of water from the dispenser and hand it to her. She sips between sobs. ‘Oh, Jo,’ she cries. ‘What did that bastard do to her?’
‘I’m so sorry, Gil. I know you’re upset, but I have to ask you some questions.’
She wipes her nose with a tissue and nods.
‘When did you receive the photo?’ I ask.
‘Today. You can see it was hand-delivered. It wasn’t there when I got home yesterday.’
‘Did you see anyone?’
She shakes her head. ‘I was vacuuming.’
‘There was nothing else in your envelope?’
‘No. Do you think it’s some sick joke? You can take people’s faces and do things with photo apps, can’t you?’ she asks, her eyes pleading with me.
‘We believe it’s real, Gil. I’m sorry.’
She exhales heavily. ‘I should have made her get into my car.’
I lay a hand on her arm. ‘We received a flash drive with the photo. It’s a message from the kidnapper to Daniel.
We need both you and Danny to hear it. Although he has disguised his voice, see if there is anything about it that you recognise.
See if he uses any phrases that seem familiar to you. Anything at all will help us.’
Gil’s body starts to tremble. ‘Can we wait a bit? I need a cigarette.’
I nod.
‘Do you think if we’d called the police earlier, she—’
‘She tried to escape. She saw his face.’
Gil shakes her head from side to side. ‘Oh God. We left it too long.’
***
Neal’s reaction to the news that the photograph genuinely is of his wife is intense, and suggests deep emotional turmoil.
He refuses to look at the photo and now fixes his unwavering gaze on the speaker, as the kidnapper’s message plays.
The only movement he makes is a rapid fluttering of his eyelids.
Then, abruptly, he scrapes his chair back and rises, shaking his head in violent denial.
Gil gasps. ‘It can’t be.’
‘No,’ Neal says firmly. ‘No way. 13 Millwall Lane is our new house. She can’t be there.’
Gil, trembling, nods. ‘That’s the house Danny and Jo are – were – having renovated.’
I glance at Dario. Of course, it was the one place we never thought to search. Why would we?
Already halfway out the door, Roy bellows, ’Let’s move. We need everyone on this.’
Neal steps forward. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I tell him, but he gives me a scathing look.
‘I don’t give a damn what you think.’
***
With a convoy of officers, we head towards Millwall Lane in Wootton.
The Neal residence sits back from the road, accessible via a long driveway.
We screech to a halt, sirens wailing. The house looms; it’s a grand house, with white pillars framing the front.
An old-fashioned bell hangs beside the door; ornamental, not functional.
A flicker of envy stirs in me, quickly replaced by guilt. This was a dead woman’s home.
Neal bolts from his car.
‘Stay back, Mr Neal,’ Roy commands. ‘This is a crime scene. You’ll be kept informed.’
Neal obeys, stepping away from the front door.
I suit up in protective gear and wait for Roy’s signal. ‘Who else has a key to the house?’ I ask.
‘Jo had one,’ Neal says. ‘She met regularly with the interior designer. I have one, too.’
Roy narrows his eyes. ‘The builders?’
‘All keys were returned,’ Neal insists.
‘Anyone can duplicate a key.’
‘We changed the locks once they’d finished. Jo was paranoid that someone might have copied one. There was this incident at the hospital… An abused child she operated on died. Not her fault, but she had to testify in court. She feared the family might come after her.’
Roy glares. ‘You’re only telling us this now?’
Neal shrugs. ‘Didn’t seem relevant.’
‘Everything is relevant,’ Roy snaps. ‘No matter how small.’
‘I was on that case,’ I add quickly. ‘The parents were given long sentences. I’ll look into it again.’
Roy shoots me a sharp glance. ‘Nothing should be overlooked, DS Blackford.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Shit. Why didn’t I make that connection sooner?
Roy looks back at the house. ‘No security cameras?’
‘Just the alarm. Jo thought cameras would make it look like a prison,’ says Neal.
‘When were you last here?’
‘Not since Jo disappeared. We never moved in.’
‘I’ll need your key.’
Neal hands it over, Roy unlocks the door and shouts, ‘Police! Coming in.’
Inside, the scent of polish is strong and the floor gleams like glass. The house is open plan, with a living room, dining area and kitchen all flowing into each other. A staircase curves gracefully upstairs. Everything smells new. Surprisingly, the place is warm.
My gaze falls upon a stunning Moroccan carpet.
‘Blackford, check upstairs,’ Roy barks.
I head up the hallway, carpet soft beneath my feet. The master bedroom is pristine. The mahogany furniture gleams; the canopy bed looks untouched. A rose-and-ivy quilt is spread across it.
‘Blimey, I should have such a home,’ I mutter, thinking of my poky mid-terrace.
At the dressing table, I catch my reflection in a gilded mirror. I look pale and exhausted. I turn away and sweep the other rooms. All empty.
I head back down.
‘Bloody waste of time,’ Roy says, clearly disappointed.
‘Bloodstains in the kitchen,’ Dario calls out.
Burrow’s eyes light up. ‘Finally. Get Forensics in.’
I can’t help but touch the Moroccan carpet. It’s soft. Very soft, and oddly warm.
Neal is allowed inside and looks around, dazed.
‘Is the heating on?’ I ask.
He looks confused. ‘Heating?’
‘Do you have it on?’
‘Only low.’
‘This rug is very warm.’
I lift a corner of the rug and see the hinges of a trap door. One hinge is broken.