She opened the door to a vacant side office and they all went inside. Grace steered her towards a chair, pointedly looking at it until Emma sat down.
‘Is this your daughter, Lauren?’ Nick showed Mrs Gillespie a photo that had been printed off from the school computer.
‘Yes.’ Worried blue eyes flicked from one to the other.
Grace pulled a chair over and took Mrs Gillespie’s hands in her own as Nick began to speak.
‘I’m afraid we have some very bad news,’ he started. ‘This morning, the body of a young girl was found on a field near to Dunwood Academy. We have reason to believe that person is Lauren. I’m so sorry to tell you that she’s been killed.’
‘Lauren?’ Emma shook her head. ‘No, she’s at school. I dropped her there myself this morning.’ She looked at Nick for confirmation. ‘There must be a mistake. It can’t be her.’
‘I know there’s a lot to take in, Mrs Gillespie. We’ll ask you to make a formal identification of the body, later this evening or tomorrow, if you’re able.’
‘No, this can’t be right.’ Emma shook her head in denial. ‘What happened to her?’
‘We’re treating Lauren’s death as suspicious,’ Nick said. ‘We believe the injuries she’d sustained were caused by someone else.’
‘What do you mean?’
Grace watched as the first few tears began to trickle down Mrs Gillespie’s face, the news finally beginning to sink in. When she turned towards Grace, willing her to say that Nick had got it all wrong, it almost broke Grace’s heart.
Emma crumpled and began wailing loudly. ‘Where is she?’ she managed between gasps.
‘She’s still at the crime scene. We have officers—’
‘The field!’ Emma’s voice grew hard. ‘You’ve left my daughter lying dead in a field!’
Grace could see she needed someone to blame, but Nick explained what he could of the situation amid her gasps of disbelief.
‘I dropped her off at school! She should have been safe.’ Emma stood up. ‘I want to see her.’
‘You can.’ Nick nodded. ‘Once she’s away from the crime scene.’
‘No, I want to see her now.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Nick’s tone was insistent.
Emma gasped. ‘Please tell me she wasn’t raped.’
‘We don’t think so.’ As she began to cry again, Nick continued, ‘Is there anyone we can call for you? You mentioned Alan.’
‘He’s my husband. Lauren’s father Richard needs to know, too. We’re divorced.’ She looked at Grace.
‘We informed him on our way to see you,’ she said. ‘We’re here to do as much as we can. Later, there will be a family liaison officer to help.’
Emma gave another loud sob. ‘Please. It can’t be her,’ she cried. ‘Not my Lauren.’
As Grace left the room to inform Mrs Gillespie’s colleagues that she’d be leaving with them, she wondered how she would have coped if it were her daughter. Lauren was an only child. It meant their family had been wiped out in one hit. It was beyond cruel. But then when had a murderer ever been bothered with that?
As she explained what had happened to the receptionist, watching her go to pieces too, Grace realised that keeping this under wraps was going to be hard. There were already so many people who knew what had happened. But even if there had been no official identification, everyone knew they had the right person.
Lauren Ansell had been strangled and Grace was going to find out who had done it.
She stood in her tiny kitchen looking out of the window. There were three boys playing football on the green down in front of her, two jumpers on the grass to mark the goal. Their shouts didn’t bother her, but she’d only give them a few more minutes before someone came out and moved them on. She remembered that feeling well – a sense of no one wanting you around, not fitting in anywhere but having nowhere else to go.
The flat she was in was her fifth rental since she’d left home at sixteen, and it felt right. It was a maisonette really, upstairs in a block of four. Two up and two down, with tiny shared gardens back and front, and her own front door at the side. This had been one of the better places she’d stayed in over the years. The wallpaper wasn’t peeling from the walls. The carpets didn’t stick to her feet – hell, even having carpets had been a bonus. The furnishing wasn’t too old-fashioned and there was no scratching as a result of bed bugs in the mattress.
The tenant downstairs was Arnie Jerold. He was in his eighties and apart from having his TV on full blast most evenings, she had no complaints. Arnie also looked after the garden and didn’t mind sharing it with her.
Last summer, she’d drunk many a glass of something cold with him as well, to pass the time. She liked him and the tales he told her of his family. He didn’t have many visitors, but his two sons came once a fortnight and for that he was grateful. They took him out for Sunday lunch with the family. It was enough, he’d tell her.
He’d asked about her life and she’d told him all of it, knowing he wouldn’t believe her. He’d smirked and she’d laughed, and then she’d told him a whole bunch of lies about a happier, made-up life. Arnie seemed to like her but he only saw the woman that she wanted him to see and not who she really was.
After the boys on the green had scored five goals, she poured another glass of wine, congratulating herself on fooling people again. She was so good at it now – a player, she liked to call herself. So far, everything was working out to plan – even better, actually. She’d chosen him well and he was like putty in her hands. He was turning into a great disciple. It had taken time to find him, but after several aborted attempts she had found the right one.
She remembered a few of the men she had tried to lure into her game. Trevor Wilde had lived up to his name, been willing to do a lot with her sexually, but after she’d tried to asphyxiate him once, she’d never seen him again. He’d turned white and practically ran out of the flat, even though she had told him what she was about to do and he’d agreed.
Then there was Lester Baker. Now, he was really weird and she hadn’t liked him at all, but had gone through with everything in case he was the one. In the end, he’d turned out not to be.
But this one? He had stayed the test of time. She’d been able to mould him, manipulate him into what she wanted. So far, so good. And her man had been pleased, too.
She logged onto the website with anticipation. She had found ‘All Talk’ three years ago and it had been perfect for her to recruit from. It was a website for people who wanted more sex in
