‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this,’ he started, his voice calm, neutral, ‘but I thought it should come from me. This morning, a few hours ago, a body we believe to be your daughter was found in the middle of a church.’

The shrill cry left Roy Whitaker’s mouth before Tomek could continue. He immediately began to sob and his head collapsed into his hands, his body shaking as the tears began to flow. Meanwhile, Johnny Whitaker leapt off the sofa and began pacing from side to side, hands clenched into fists, body tensed.

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, no, no. She can’t be dead. It ain’t her. Can’t be her.’ Then he turned to Tomek and pointed an intimidating finger towards him. ‘How d’you know it’s ’er?’

‘We don’t definitively,’ Tomek asked, his voice measured still.

‘So maybe it ain’t then?’

‘Sir,’ Anna said softly. ‘We have reason to believe the victim in question is your sister. Now, her body’s been taken away so we can conduct a post-mortem. And we are going to need someone to come down and identify the body for us. I understand this has come as a terrifying and painful shock to you all, but we will need to identify the body as quickly as possible so our investigation can continue.’

‘Fuck no. I’m not going down there. I can’t! Someone else’ll have to do it!’ Johnny yelled at the top of his lungs, as he crouched into a ball and began crying into his knees. Sensing her husband’s obvious discomfort, Rose hurried towards him and consoled him with a hug. As she bent down to his side, he shoved her off and pushed her onto the stone floor. She quickly righted herself, and tentatively hovered beside her husband, failing to hide the embarrassed expression on her face. Next to her, on the sofa, Daphne had wrapped her arm around her husband and was rocking him back and forth like a baby.

‘My angel girl,’ Roy said between ragged breaths and behind the tears. ‘How did… how did she look? Was she… was she… Did she suffer?’

‘It’s too early for us to say,’ Tomek answered. ‘The post-mortem will hopefully answer a lot of those questions.’

‘How did she… how did she die?’ Roy continued.

‘Again, too early for us to say. The post-mortem will indicate that to us.’

‘When is the post-mortem?’ Daphne asked, her voice stronger, more held together.

‘Tomorrow morning.’

Suddenly, Johnny stopped crying and stood, his back straight. ‘Why’ve we gotta wait? Why so long?’

‘It’s just the time we’ve been given.’

‘That’s fucking bullshit! Why can’t you do it straight away. I wanna know⁠—’

Tomek rose from the sofa and stepped between Johnny and Anna. There wasn’t much in it height wise, and they were both of a similar build, but Tomek had put his to more use, and was more than prepared to intervene if necessary.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I understand that you’re upset. But we’re just trying to do our job. We want to find the person who did this to your sister as much as you do, okay?’

‘I’ll kill ’em! I’ll fucking kill ’em!’

The movement was so sudden, so quick, there was no time for Tomek to react or even flinch. In a flash, Johnny had grabbed the nearest picture frame from the wall, yanked it from its hook, and launched it over Anna’s head into the dining table. The glass smashed onto the surface, scattering across the floor. By the time Tomek had finally reacted, the man had picked up the South African musical instrument and had hurled it across the room in the same direction. Tomek grabbed the man’s hands and held him back. Rose joined his side, and placed a hand on her husband’s face, forcing him to look into her eyes. They held each other’s stare for a fraction of a second – seemingly enough to communicate what needed to be said – and then she pulled him out of the living room and into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind them.

‘I’m sorry about him…’ Daphne started, her voice softer than before. ‘He’s always… he’s always had a temper.’

‘It’s fine. It’s nothing we’re not used to.’

‘You’re just trying to do your job.’

Tomek appreciated the sentiment with a soft smile and returned to his seat, reaching for his mug. For a long moment, he held it to his lips. The sound of arguing and sobbing and wailing filtered through from the kitchen, echoed by Roy’s sobs right in front of them.

Meanwhile, Daphne’s expression had become blank, vacant. She was lost in deep thought, staring at the place on the wall where the picture frame and instrument had just been. When she spoke, it took him by surprise.

‘Where did you find her body, Detective?’

‘Park Road Methodist Church,’ Tomek answered.

Roy pulled himself out of Daphne’s arms and they looked at one another.

‘Park Road?’

‘Do you know it?’

‘It’s… it’s where the kids were christened,’ Daphne explained. ‘We were some of the last people to use it before they ran out of funding.’

Tomek made a mental note.

‘Do you think the killer might have known that?’ Daphne asked.

‘Possibly,’ Tomek said, though he decided not to add what he was really thinking: Either that, or the killer found an abandoned building by luck and used it as his art studio.

Daphne must have read the expression on his face, because she said, ‘You haven’t told us how you found her, Detective.’

Tomek swallowed deeply before responding.

‘Are you sure you want to hear it?’

Daphne and Roy shared a glance before nodding simultaneously.

‘She was naked,’ he explained. ‘Lying on her back, in the middle of the church. Around her body, wings had been painted in what we think was her blood. There were no obvious physical wounds or lacerations to her body, so we don’t think she suffered. But what I can tell you is that we will do everything in our power to find who did this to your daughter, and Anna here will keep you updated with everything that comes in, when it comes in.’

Tomek gave Angelica’s parents time to embrace one another, to be with one another in this moment where their lives had just become fractured, torn apart.

It was a while before anyone spoke. In the end, it was Roy who did. His face was flushed red, his eyes bloodshot, dribbles of snot hanging from his nose.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘My darling angel baby girl. I can’t believe she’s gone.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Anna had buckled beneath the Whitakers’ pressure and arranged for them to identify Angelica’s body as soon as was practically possible. Almost four hours after their original meeting, and nearly ten hours in total since the body had first been found, Angelica had been moved from the church to the mortuary at Southend Hospital. Right now, Anna was down there with them, confirming Angelica’s identity ahead of her post-mortem in the morning. Meanwhile, Tomek was in the major incident room with Chey, Rachel, and DC Oscar Perez, or Captain Actually, as he was more affectionately known. Since the investigation’s upgrade to murder, Tomek had been allowed to draft in an extra member of the team, and so the number had increased from two to three. It was still a ridiculously low number for a murder investigation, but Tomek was confident he had the best people for the job.

They had locked themselves in the MIR for the past thirty minutes, leaving a note on the door saying that they weren’t to be disturbed. A neighbour of Angelica’s – someone who lived farther up the road – had sent in a handful of home security footage from their front door. It included footage from the night of her disappearance, but Chey had also requested the days prior to it, in case they noticed someone hovering around Angelica Whitaker’s flat before she’d gone missing. First, they had started with the night of her disappearance, right at the time she’d left the house to go to the club. She had appeared on the camera screen at 10:30 pm, walking towards a taxi and climbing inside. Since then, all they’d watched was a handful of cars driving back and forth, and the odd outdoor cat strolling in front of the lens. Now they were up to 1:28 am, the time she was due back from the club.

She arrived a few seconds later. The image on the screen was black and white and heavily pixelated, which made it difficult to discern certain features – in particular the make and model of passing vehicles – but there was no confusing the cab that had dropped all the girls off, and there was no doubting that one of the passengers had been Angelica Whitaker. After sliding precariously out of the minicab, stumbling on her high heels and lowering her skirt to a more comfortable length, she kissed her girlfriends goodbye, shut the door, and then waved as the car had turned in the road and driven off. Then, once the car had disappeared out of shot, she stayed there, still waving, still watching, as if frozen.

For a moment, Tomek wondered whether she would either turn left or right – left towards her home or right towards her death. A second later, she turned left, sauntering drunkenly towards her house.

And then the footage went silent for a while. Nothing, save the odd leaf blowing or a fox trotting past. Tomek always found there was something eerie about looking at a still image on the CCTV. His brain knew there was nothing there, but because he knew it was a video, his mind played tricks on him and made him believe that something was going to jump out and attack him, like a scene from Paranormal Activity.

Tomek glanced at the timestamp on the screen. It said 01:51. One minute until her phone disconnected from the cell towers. Less than thirty seconds later, a car emerged from the main road, its LED headlights blinding the security camera and distorting their view of the vehicle. Tomek ordered Chey to pause the footage. He climbed out of his chair and moved closer to the monitor to inspect the vehicle. The lights were too bright, and it was shielded by other cars on the road. That, and the fact the footage’s clarity was as grainy as something from the eighties meant it was impossible to identify the car.

Tomek told Chey to resume the playback.