wouldn’t
want that.’
‘But whose clothes are they?’ Mr Grainger asked. ‘Why would—’
‘You think another girl’s been taken, don’t you?’ Mrs Grainger was talking now. A good sign, Daniels thought. ‘You do! I can see it in your eyes. What are you not
telling us? Oh my God! Terry, what’s happening? I can’t bear the thought of another family going through . . .’ Her voice trailed off as something caught her eye.
Carmichael had arrived in the nick of time.
Gormley opened the door, inviting her to step inside. ‘This is Lisa,’ he said.
Daniels’ stomach was leaden as a flicker of life appeared on Mrs Grainger’s face. It was almost, but not quite, recognition. Lisa Carmichael was not unlike Amy Grainger to look at:
she was fairly tall with long blonde hair and a youthful, cheery face. Not the most appropriate officer to be around right now. From the looks on their faces, Gormley and Carmichael had spotted her
reaction too.
‘Lisa will see to it that you get an escort home,’ Gormley hurried on.
‘Or if not home, somewhere else . . .’ Carmichael smiled. ‘A relative perhaps?’
Mrs Grainger managed a weak smile. ‘It’s OK, Lisa.’
She’d said it in a way they all understood.
Daniels repeated her condolences, advising the couple that a Family Liaison Officer would be in touch, a person designated to answer any questions they might have about the case, and whose job
it was to keep them informed of developments as and when they occurred.
Carmichael eased the couple out into the corridor. As she closed the door behind them, Daniels blew out her cheeks and breathed a hefty sigh of relief.
‘What?’ Gormley pulled a face. ‘What did I miss?’
‘Get the exhibits officer on the phone, right away.’ Daniels held the necklace up to the light. ‘I’ve seen this before, Hank. Jessica Finch was wearing it in a portrait
hanging in her father’s library. We need to get over there, first thing in the morning.’
13
‘I t’s a one-off Cartier piece which belonged to her mother,’ Adam Finch said. ‘I don’t like Jessica wearing it because of its monetary value. But
you can’t tell them, can you? My daughter thinks of it in purely sentimental terms. Her mother died when she was four years old. It’s the only thing she remembers her
wearing.’
They were in the Mansion House library standing in front of the cavernous fireplace, Adam Finch with his back to it, Gormley and Daniels facing him. He was dressed more casually than when
she’d seen him the day before yesterday: brown corduroy slacks, a fawn cashmere sweater and a pair of brogues on his feet. Under the circumstances, she thought he looked far too rested.
She’d expected more of a reaction when she showed him the necklace. But the man didn’t flinch. If he was nervous or even curious as to how she came by it, he certainly wasn’t
letting on.
Gormley scanned Jessica’s portrait. ‘She wears it all the time?’
‘Never takes it off,’ Finch said. ‘May I ask where you found it?’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but it was taken from the young woman you were asked to identify at the morgue.’ Daniels watched for a reaction but there was none. ‘Her
name is Amy Grainger. She was also a Durham University student.’
Finch swallowed hard and didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘I told Jessica time and again that someone would lift the damn thing one day. But, as always, I was wasting my breath. This
girl,
this . . . Amy, did you say her name was? She was obviously up to no good. She’s probably in cahoots with whoever sent me those dreadful threats. Perhaps now one of them has come
to a sticky end, they’ll stop tormenting me. Even if they don’t, I will not be blackmailed!’
‘Has your daughter ever talked about Amy Grainger?’ Gormley asked.
Finch shook his head.
‘She was studying Environmental Management,’ Daniels said. ‘Same intake year as Jessica. If they were mates, perhaps
want that.’
‘But whose clothes are they?’ Mr Grainger asked. ‘Why would—’
‘You think another girl’s been taken, don’t you?’ Mrs Grainger was talking now. A good sign, Daniels thought. ‘You do! I can see it in your eyes. What are you not
telling us? Oh my God! Terry, what’s happening? I can’t bear the thought of another family going through . . .’ Her voice trailed off as something caught her eye.
Carmichael had arrived in the nick of time.
Gormley opened the door, inviting her to step inside. ‘This is Lisa,’ he said.
Daniels’ stomach was leaden as a flicker of life appeared on Mrs Grainger’s face. It was almost, but not quite, recognition. Lisa Carmichael was not unlike Amy Grainger to look at:
she was fairly tall with long blonde hair and a youthful, cheery face. Not the most appropriate officer to be around right now. From the looks on their faces, Gormley and Carmichael had spotted her
reaction too.
‘Lisa will see to it that you get an escort home,’ Gormley hurried on.
‘Or if not home, somewhere else . . .’ Carmichael smiled. ‘A relative perhaps?’
Mrs Grainger managed a weak smile. ‘It’s OK, Lisa.’
She’d said it in a way they all understood.
Daniels repeated her condolences, advising the couple that a Family Liaison Officer would be in touch, a person designated to answer any questions they might have about the case, and whose job
it was to keep them informed of developments as and when they occurred.
Carmichael eased the couple out into the corridor. As she closed the door behind them, Daniels blew out her cheeks and breathed a hefty sigh of relief.
‘What?’ Gormley pulled a face. ‘What did I miss?’
‘Get the exhibits officer on the phone, right away.’ Daniels held the necklace up to the light. ‘I’ve seen this before, Hank. Jessica Finch was wearing it in a portrait
hanging in her father’s library. We need to get over there, first thing in the morning.’
13
‘I t’s a one-off Cartier piece which belonged to her mother,’ Adam Finch said. ‘I don’t like Jessica wearing it because of its monetary value. But
you can’t tell them, can you? My daughter thinks of it in purely sentimental terms. Her mother died when she was four years old. It’s the only thing she remembers her
wearing.’
They were in the Mansion House library standing in front of the cavernous fireplace, Adam Finch with his back to it, Gormley and Daniels facing him. He was dressed more casually than when
she’d seen him the day before yesterday: brown corduroy slacks, a fawn cashmere sweater and a pair of brogues on his feet. Under the circumstances, she thought he looked far too rested.
She’d expected more of a reaction when she showed him the necklace. But the man didn’t flinch. If he was nervous or even curious as to how she came by it, he certainly wasn’t
letting on.
Gormley scanned Jessica’s portrait. ‘She wears it all the time?’
‘Never takes it off,’ Finch said. ‘May I ask where you found it?’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but it was taken from the young woman you were asked to identify at the morgue.’ Daniels watched for a reaction but there was none. ‘Her
name is Amy Grainger. She was also a Durham University student.’
Finch swallowed hard and didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘I told Jessica time and again that someone would lift the damn thing one day. But, as always, I was wasting my breath. This
girl,
this . . . Amy, did you say her name was? She was obviously up to no good. She’s probably in cahoots with whoever sent me those dreadful threats. Perhaps now one of them has come
to a sticky end, they’ll stop tormenting me. Even if they don’t, I will not be blackmailed!’
‘Has your daughter ever talked about Amy Grainger?’ Gormley asked.
Finch shook his head.
‘She was studying Environmental Management,’ Daniels said. ‘Same intake year as Jessica. If they were mates, perhaps
Similar Books
