Mentally he crossed Sally Evans’ boyfriend off his suspect list. Moving on, he asked Cheryl if Sally had mentioned anything strange over the past few days. Had any ex-boyfriends turned up on the scene or had she mentioned any disagreements with friends or co-workers?
To every question, Cheryl shook her head firmly, insisting that Sally told her everything.
“She didn’t have much of a history before Darren. He was her first really serious boyfriend. She dated a couple of lads at university, but never for more than a few months and I think they are all happy and married now.” She blushed slightly. “She wasn’t…inexperienced before she met Darren, you know, but she didn’t put it about and she’s been faithful to Darren ever since she met him — I’m absolutely sure of that.”
“What about co-workers? Is there anybody who could have perhaps mistaken friendliness for a bit more and got jealous?” Warren was grasping at straws now. The statistics showed that so-called ‘stranger attacks’ were far rarer than the public feared. Almost all victims had had some prior contact with their murderer, no matter how slight. Attacks by a total stranger were not only rare, they were also inherently more difficult to solve, because so many of the leads that the police would normally follow were absent.
In answer to his question, Cheryl was again equally firm. Almost the entire company was composed of females, varying in age from twenty-something to late fifties. Warren wasn’t quite ready to dismiss them yet; he’d interview them first. He couldn’t rule out that they were working a partnership with a male accomplice, but he knew it was unlikely, given that Sally Evans had probably been sexually assaulted as well as murdered.
The two male employees were added to the interview list, but again Warren’s instinct told him that, based on Cheryl’s description, Kevin the seventeen-year-old Saturday boy and Angus the openly gay former flight attendant, who lived in a civil partnership and took care of his elderly mother, were unlikely to be responsible.
Finally, Warren could think of no more questions. As they left he heard the sound of the kettle being filled again and smelt the first wisps of tobacco smoke, as Sally Evans’ best friend settled down again with her grief.
The final visit of the morning, before returning to the station to take stock, was to Sally Evans’ parents.
The small house where Sally Evans had spent most of her childhood was filled with mourners. Grandparents, aunts and uncles occupied every chair. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and every surface held an ashtray, a teacup or both. The atmosphere was one of grief but also mutual support. Warren couldn’t help contrast that with the loneliness of her boyfriend — why wasn’t he here?
Don’t judge, he chided himself. For all he knew, Blackheath could have spent the last two days here and only returned to the flat to get changed. He’d probably have found the smoky atmosphere hard going as well. Warren remembered that when the law changed to outlaw smoking in enclosed public spaces, some bright spark with more legal sense than common sense had noted that when a police officer visited a person in their house, it could be argued the house was now a ‘place of work’ and so the occupants should be asked to refrain from lighting up whilst the visitor was present. Needless to say, as much as Warren and his colleagues might dislike sitting in a cloud of fumes when they did their job, it would be regarded as rather poor taste to ask a grieving family if they’d mind stubbing out their cigarettes before the police could interview them.
After expressing their condolences to the many family members, Jones and Hardwick were led into the kitchen where Sally Evans’ parents were sitting. The similarity between mother and daughter was immediately apparent, even through the tears and running make-up. The two even sported a similar haircut, although Jane Evans’ hair was running to ash-blonde, rather than the dark blonde of her late daughter.
Bill Evans bore only the most superficial of similarities to his daughter. A tall, craggy man of late middle-age, he had steel-grey hair and a slight paunch. Behind rimless reading glasses, his eyes were also puffy.
After declining a cup of coffee — there was a limit to how much he could drink in one morning — Warren turned to the matter in hand. Focusing first on Mrs Evans, he asked her to recount the events of the night Sally went missing. Again, the details matched exactly those told to the missing persons team and most recently to Jones and Hardwick by Cheryl and Darren.
Moving on to the subject of Darren, Warren asked about the relationship between the two young lovers. Suddenly, Bill Evans surged to his feet, his face reddening. “Don’t speak to me about that man in this house — if it hadn’t been for him, our girl would be sitting here safe and sound, not dead and lying on some…” His voice choked off and, brushing away his wife’s hand, he raced out of the room.
* * *
Warren rocked back in surprise at the man’s sudden outburst. Everything they had heard about Darren Blackheath had been good so far, so why animosity from Sally Evans’ father?
He turned to Jane Evans, who looked as if she was about to start crying again. Visibly pulling herself together, she waved a hand in the air as if to ward off their concern.
“Don’t read too much into that, Detective,” she started. “He doesn’t mean it really. He’s just upset.”
“I’m a little surprised,” admitted Warren. “I thought Darren was popular with Sally’s friends and family?”
“Oh, he is, just not with her father.”
“Why is that?” Warren had been all but certain that Blackheath was in the clear, but obviously at least one person wasn’t so sure.
Jane Evans sighed and took a long sip of her tea.
“Sally has always been a Daddy’s girl and she was the apple of Bill’s eye. She’s our only child and he worshipped her from the moment she was born. Truth be told, I don’t think that any man would ever be good enough for her in his eyes, least of all Darren.”
Warren waited silently as she composed her thoughts.
“Sally was a slow developer at school and she was finally diagnosed as dyslexic. That was a real blow for Bill as he is dyslexic also. It’s silly, I know, but he always felt guilty that he’d passed on some gene. Anyway, the school were fantastic and, with lots of support from them and us, Sally started to pick up the ground that she’d lost. By secondary school, she was scoring average grades and her reading and writing was almost normal for her age. She worked so hard and when she finally got the A levels to go to university we were both so proud. Nobody in our family had ever been before.”
As the topic of conversation switched from her dead daughter to her husband, Jane Evans visibly softened. Warren wasn’t certain where her long, rambling tale about her husband’s achievements in spite of a disability that forty years previously had seen him dismissed as thick and lazy was headed, but he let her talk at her own pace.
“The thing is, Sally may have got the dyslexia from her father, but she also got his work ethic and determination. Despite joining the company straight from school, with no qualifications, Bill is now national sales manager. He’s based in Cambridge, but travels all over the country.”
As the conversation wound its way back to her murdered child, Jane Evans’ eyes filled with tears again. Nevertheless, she forced the words past her trembling lips.
“Sally graduated with a two-one from university. We were both so proud.” She smiled at the memory. “Bill can be a bit abrupt and stern if you don’t know him, but he cried all the way through her graduation ceremony. He truly believed that she could accomplish anything now and I think he wanted her to do all of the things he never got the chance to do. Anyway, she moved back here with us and got a job at the travel agents Far and Away.”
She paused for a moment, before continuing, “At first I think Bill was a little disappointed, but Sally convinced him it was only temporary — she wanted to learn the ropes somewhere