she loaned the necklace to Amy.’
‘No.’ Finch fixed on Daniels. ‘My daughter may take financial risks, but she’s got her head screwed on properly when she chooses her friends. She would never associate
with a bad crowd. She’s got too much to lose. She stands to inherit a substantial fortune one day. Anyway, I hardly think this girl would be her type. She’s a medical student, not some
tree-hugger.’
Daniels’ jaw went rigid.
Finch was acting like a prat with no thought for anyone but himself. She could already imagine the tirade that would follow from Gormley on the way home. Eyeballing Jessica’s father, she
didn’t bother to hide her disgust. ‘A young girl is dead, Mr Finch. A girl you saw with your own eyes lying on a slab in the mortuary. Her parents are beside themselves too, so perhaps
you’d care to show a little respect.’
Finch made no comment.
‘There’s something else I need you to look at.’ Putting a hand in her pocket, Daniels pulled out her car keys and gave them to Gormley. ‘Will you get the box from my
car?’
Gormley’s expression conveyed a clear message:
It’ll be my pleasure.
He left the room, passing Mrs Partridge who was on her way in with a tea tray. She poured Finch some tea
and handed it to him. He sat down at a partner’s desk near the window, saucer in his left hand, cup in his right. Then Gormley was back, carrying the same evidence box they had shown the
Graingers the day before. He set it down on a chair, took out six bags and placed them in a line on Finch’s desk, the items clearly visible through cellophane windows: a pair of jeans, a blue
top, a green scarf, underwear and a pair of shoes – left and right in separate bags.
‘Are you able to identify any of these?’ Gormley asked. ‘You can pick them up, but I can’t allow you to break the seal.’
Finch looked at him as if
allow
was not a word in his vocabulary.
Daniels gave him a nudge. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir. It’s very important.’
Finch shifted his gaze to the bags. ‘I recognize the shoes. Jessica has a pair just like them, though I couldn’t say for sure they’re hers. Jeans are jeans, aren’t they?
Frankly, I wouldn’t know one pair from another. I hate the things. My daughter’s underwear is not something I’m privy to.’
‘And the scarf?’ Gormley asked.
‘Is identical to one I bought for her last Christmas when we were in Milan.’
Finch sat back in his chair avoiding eye contact with them both. Daniels detected a chink in his armour. He didn’t say anything, but his hand shook as he put down his tea. She gave him a
moment, assured that he’d already worked out what was coming next.
She hated saying it. ‘These are the clothes we took from Amy Grainger’s body.’
‘Then she must’ve stolen them!’ Finch snapped.
The man was in denial, a normal reaction under the circumstances. He didn’t want to believe that his daughter was in danger.
Or worse
. Why should he? It was unimaginable for any
parent to contemplate.
The DCI chose her words carefully. ‘We know nothing of Amy that would suggest she’s anything other than a lovely girl who tragically met her death wearing Jessica’s clothes.
I’m so sorry.’
Finch broke down.
Picking up the evidence bag containing the scarf, he held it to his chest and wept.
‘Sir, we’d be lying if we told you that we’re not worried. Of course we are. We all are. But we’ll do everything we can to find her.’
The man’s bluntness was shocking. ‘Dead or alive?’ he asked.
‘My officers are the very best, sir.’ Their eyes locked as Daniels tried to reassure him. ‘They’ll work day and night to find Jessica and I’ll personally keep you
updated on all new developments. I assume you’ve had no further contact, from anyone?’
Finch glared at her. ‘Don’t you think I’d have said?’
Gormley had had enough. ‘We will, of course, need to search the house and grounds.’
Finch rounded
‘No.’ Finch fixed on Daniels. ‘My daughter may take financial risks, but she’s got her head screwed on properly when she chooses her friends. She would never associate
with a bad crowd. She’s got too much to lose. She stands to inherit a substantial fortune one day. Anyway, I hardly think this girl would be her type. She’s a medical student, not some
tree-hugger.’
Daniels’ jaw went rigid.
Finch was acting like a prat with no thought for anyone but himself. She could already imagine the tirade that would follow from Gormley on the way home. Eyeballing Jessica’s father, she
didn’t bother to hide her disgust. ‘A young girl is dead, Mr Finch. A girl you saw with your own eyes lying on a slab in the mortuary. Her parents are beside themselves too, so perhaps
you’d care to show a little respect.’
Finch made no comment.
‘There’s something else I need you to look at.’ Putting a hand in her pocket, Daniels pulled out her car keys and gave them to Gormley. ‘Will you get the box from my
car?’
Gormley’s expression conveyed a clear message:
It’ll be my pleasure.
He left the room, passing Mrs Partridge who was on her way in with a tea tray. She poured Finch some tea
and handed it to him. He sat down at a partner’s desk near the window, saucer in his left hand, cup in his right. Then Gormley was back, carrying the same evidence box they had shown the
Graingers the day before. He set it down on a chair, took out six bags and placed them in a line on Finch’s desk, the items clearly visible through cellophane windows: a pair of jeans, a blue
top, a green scarf, underwear and a pair of shoes – left and right in separate bags.
‘Are you able to identify any of these?’ Gormley asked. ‘You can pick them up, but I can’t allow you to break the seal.’
Finch looked at him as if
allow
was not a word in his vocabulary.
Daniels gave him a nudge. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir. It’s very important.’
Finch shifted his gaze to the bags. ‘I recognize the shoes. Jessica has a pair just like them, though I couldn’t say for sure they’re hers. Jeans are jeans, aren’t they?
Frankly, I wouldn’t know one pair from another. I hate the things. My daughter’s underwear is not something I’m privy to.’
‘And the scarf?’ Gormley asked.
‘Is identical to one I bought for her last Christmas when we were in Milan.’
Finch sat back in his chair avoiding eye contact with them both. Daniels detected a chink in his armour. He didn’t say anything, but his hand shook as he put down his tea. She gave him a
moment, assured that he’d already worked out what was coming next.
She hated saying it. ‘These are the clothes we took from Amy Grainger’s body.’
‘Then she must’ve stolen them!’ Finch snapped.
The man was in denial, a normal reaction under the circumstances. He didn’t want to believe that his daughter was in danger.
Or worse
. Why should he? It was unimaginable for any
parent to contemplate.
The DCI chose her words carefully. ‘We know nothing of Amy that would suggest she’s anything other than a lovely girl who tragically met her death wearing Jessica’s clothes.
I’m so sorry.’
Finch broke down.
Picking up the evidence bag containing the scarf, he held it to his chest and wept.
‘Sir, we’d be lying if we told you that we’re not worried. Of course we are. We all are. But we’ll do everything we can to find her.’
The man’s bluntness was shocking. ‘Dead or alive?’ he asked.
‘My officers are the very best, sir.’ Their eyes locked as Daniels tried to reassure him. ‘They’ll work day and night to find Jessica and I’ll personally keep you
updated on all new developments. I assume you’ve had no further contact, from anyone?’
Finch glared at her. ‘Don’t you think I’d have said?’
Gormley had had enough. ‘We will, of course, need to search the house and grounds.’
Finch rounded
Similar Books
