‘Or both,’ Tomek added.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rose Whitaker had closed her jewellery store early so that she could be with the family to hear the latest news. The four of them, with Tomek and DC Anna Kaczmarek, the team’s family liaison officer, were gathered in Daphne and Roy’s sprawling living room. They lived over thirty minutes away, in the quaint town of Witham, near Brentwood, a location made famous by the reality TV show, The Only Way Is Essex. Despite the appearance of wealth – with their Barbour coats, Joules bags, Ralph Lauren polos, and Nautica trousers – Roy and Daphne lived in a modest two-bedroom house. The property was built in the nineteen hundreds, and featured oak beams across the ceiling, tiled flooring from a local stonemason, and a brick fireplace. In the living room were two sofas, facing a small television in the corner of the room. Along the walls were several model aircraft perched on shelves, and photographs of Roy and Daphne throughout the years; photographs of them in different countries, with the year and location engraved in the picture frames. Tomek quickly counted fourteen. Fourteen countries that he’d only dreamt of going to. Mauritius. Bali. Thailand. Australia. New Zealand. And several more. And that was just in the living room; there had been dozens more in the hallway, stairs, and in the kitchen. Sitting alongside them, above the fireplace, were various artefacts and relics from each country that they’d brought back with them. Most interesting was a small wooden instrument in the shape of a maraca that had been painted with red, yellow, and white spots. Beneath it was a small plaque that read, South Africa, 2003.
Tomek was in the middle of staring at it when a tea was placed into his hands. He thanked Daphne, then took a quick, polite sip as Daphne returned to her seat and placed a hand on her husband’s knee. From left to right were Rose, Roy, Daphne, and their son, Johnny, all wedged into the same four-seater sofa. On the end, Johnny sat tilted forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together, his left knee bouncing repeatedly, eyes fixed firmly on Tomek. It was clear to see from his pained expression, his narrow eyes and his pursed lips, that he was fighting back the tears. That he already knew what was coming. Seeing the family members sitting next to one another, Tomek wouldn’t have said that they were related. There was no resemblance between Johnny and either of his parents. The man was physically much larger than his father, with broader shoulders, thicker tree trunks for legs, and more defined muscles. His nose was thinner, ears slightly pressed against his head, and his skull was an oval shape compared to Roy’s and Daphne’s circular skulls. Not to mention Johnny’s balding hair that must have skipped Roy’s generation. On the whole, Johnny Whitaker was blessed with the good looks that his father had never had. The same had applied to Angelica too.
‘How was Dublin, Johnny?’ Tomek asked, taking the man aback.
‘Dublin?’
‘Yes. Rose said you’d been away for work.’
‘Ah, right.’ He turned coy, nervous. ‘It was… fine. Just a routine trip. Nothing too exciting.’
‘Great.’
Now that little catch-up was over, Tomek cleared his throat and prepared himself to say the same thing he’d said hundreds of times over the years, the same words that never got any easier.
‘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?’
