‘Move it if necessary. I don’t intend being long,’ she said.
She got out and stood for a moment looking up at the building. John Snow College – named after the nineteenth-century Yorkshire obstetrician to Queen Victoria – was a modern,
purpose-built affair with a waterside location on the south bank of the river Tees. Impressive too, Daniels thought, as she walked through the front door.
Inside the main entrance, Jessica’s personal tutor was waiting to greet her. Maria Wilson was a lady nearing retirement age. She had funky, spiky, dyed red hair peeping out from a purple
and blue headscarf which she had tied with a bow at a natty angle, floppy ends hanging loose over her brow. Very cheerful and arty. Much like the woman herself. She was anxious about Jessica and
keen to assist in any way she could.
‘I was horrified to learn she’d gone missing, and so soon after the death of poor Amy Grainger.’ Maria told Daniels that the whole university community had been stunned by
recent events. Her peers were holding their collective breath that Jess hadn’t suffered the same fate. ‘If there is anything we can do, anything at all, just ask.’
‘Do you happen to know who her close friends were?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t. Jessica was a sociable girl, I’m sure, but her dealings with me were purely academic. I’m certain no student, or indeed staff member, has heard
from her though, or they’d have come forward by now. We put a poster up with the telephone number of your incident room in case anyone wanted to ring you in confidence.’
‘That’s really kind.’ Daniels wished the public were always this helpful. ‘Was Jessica the type to go off without telling someone first?’
‘I wouldn’t have said so.’ Maria Wilson sighed. ‘She always struck me as such a level-headed student. It’s in the genes, I guess. I take it you’ve met her
father. He’s a formidable man, if ever I saw one.’
Deflecting her away from Finch, Daniels asked about the boyfriend. ‘I’ve been led to believe Jessica was close to a fellow student, though I gather it wasn’t common knowledge.
I’d like to speak with Rob Lester as a matter of urgency. It’s possible he may have been the last person to have seen her before she disappeared. If you could see your way to supplying
his contact details, I’d appreciate that.’
The woman left the room and came back a few minutes later with a sheet of paper in her hand. Daniels took it from her, scanning the document, noting a mobile number in a box on the right.
She pulled out her phone, began entering it into the keypad.
‘If you want to speak to him now,’ Ms Wilson interrupted, ‘I’ll point him out to you.’
Daniels stopped dialling. ‘You know where he is?’
Maria glanced to the left. ‘He’s right outside.’
She led Daniels to the window. The campus grounds were full of students taking time out on perfect lawns, enjoying unseasonably good weather. Some were reading, others sleeping, Robert Lester in
their midst. He was a handsome young man with exquisite skin. He wore dreadlocks, collar-length, tied at the nape of his neck, one or two shorter braids hanging loose around his face.
Daniels thanked Maria Wilson and left the building immediately. Seconds later, she approached a group of four students and held up ID. ‘Rob Lester?’ She smiled as he looked up.
‘Could you spare a moment?’
Robert Lester put down his book: Graham Poll,
Seeing Red.
On the front cover was a photograph of the author holding up his right hand, whistle at the ready – a warning look on his
face. Seeing red was something Daniels knew a lot about. In her years in the police force she’d witnessed the descent of the red mist on numerous occasions, more often as not from violent
offenders and occasionally from those charged with bringing them to justice. It was hard not to let the job get to you sometimes.
Lester’s friends made themselves scarce. Picking up their belongings, they scarpered to the edge of the freshly mown lawn where they gathered in a huddle, just far enough away to allow
Daniels space to do her job but near enough to hear every word being said. The DCI sat down in the space they had vacated, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt your break.’ She gestured towards a triangular cellophane packet on the ground. ‘Don’t mind me if you want to finish that. I’d like to
ask you some questions about Jessica, if that’s OK, purely for information purposes, nothing at all for you to worry about. I gather you haven’t seen or heard from her for some time. Is
that right?’
A slight nod – almost imperceptible.
Lester pushed away the half-eaten sandwich.
His eyes grew sad.
‘When exactly did you last see her?’
‘About eight o’clock, Tuesday.’
‘The fourth?’
Lester nodded.
‘Night or morning?’
‘Night.’ He wiped a tear from his cheek and cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, we both had a free afternoon so we went for a walk down at the river and a bite to eat. Then I
took her home to her place. We had a quick coffee and I left pretty much straight away. I had revision to do, y’know, stuff I’d been avoiding.’
‘And you didn’t call her after that?’
Lester shook his head. ‘She was getting an early night.’
‘What kind of young woman is she?’
Lester raised his head, light filling his bloodshot eyes. ‘She’s brilliant. Not just academically but a brilliant person too. We’re on the same med course. You think something
awful has happened to her, don’t you?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. The more information I have, the quicker I can get on with it.’ Daniels tried not to sound alarmist. ‘Would you describe
Jessica as happy?’
‘Now she is.’ The student hesitated. ‘She was a bit withdrawn when she started her course last year, wasn’t really sure what branch of medicine she wanted to study. This
term she really got into it though, said she could see herself being a regular doctor, making a difference in the Third World. She has plans to go to Africa, but her father doesn’t approve.
He wants her to be a surgeon like his father was.’
‘You’re more than just good friends?’
‘Yes, we are. Something else her father disapproved of.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘You’re suggesting he’s a racist?’ Daniels said, considering motive.
Lester was struggling for composure now. He looked away and didn’t answer. His fellow students were still keeping watch, their fingers hovering over their mobiles. Daniels had to be
careful not to give anything away that might make a social media network and queer her pitch. She asked Lester to walk with her. When they were out of earshot of the others, they danced around the
subject of Adam Finch until the young man finally lost his cool.
He didn’t even try to hide his contempt. ‘The guy’s a control freak. We’ve had to keep our relationship a secret. You have no idea what that’s like.’
Daniels knew exactly what it was like. ‘Is that why she moved out of halls?’
Lester nodded.
‘You have a key to Jess’s accommodation?’
‘I’ve told you, she’s not there!’
‘I believe you, Rob. All the same, I must check it out. I take it nothing’s been touched in her digs since she disappeared?’
‘No, nothing, as far as I can tell,’ he said, his voice softer than before.
‘Is it far from here?’
‘She commutes from Durham, unless she’s staying over with me.’ He dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys, removing one from a VW key ring. Handing it to the
DCI, his eyes misted over as if he were about to cry. ‘She was happy in halls until her father stuck his nose in. He thinks we’ve split up.’ He took in Daniels’ nod.
‘She loves Durham. She loves the cobbled streets, the shops. She’s really into the history and culture of the place. We spend a lot of time there.’
Daniels took down the address, a flat in Old Elvet. She thanked him, saying she’d be in touch, and walked briskly back to her car.
T
wenty minutes later, Daniels entered the Durham City charge zone. The county council had levied a congestion charge between the hours of ten a.m. to four p.m. – a
traffic and pollution reduction measure aimed at improving air quality in the heavily pedestrianized streets.
‘Or so the blurb would have people believe,’ Daniels said.
‘It’s just another stealth tax . . .’ Carmichael moaned. She unclipped her seat belt as Daniels parked the car. ‘It’s bloody ridiculous. Can’t we have one of
them exemption permits?’
‘What’s up with you? It’s two quid. We can claim it back!’
‘I’ve got news for you, boss. We didn’t even need to be here. You should’ve turned left back there.’
‘I need an ice cream and some fresh air.’
‘I bet you know where to get one too.’
Daniels grinned.
Parking on a double-yellow, she chucked a POLICE sign in the window and got out. She waited for Carmichael to follow suit, then locked the car and slipped on her sunglasses against the midday
sun. It felt good to have contact with the outside world, to feel the warmth of the sun on her face and the breeze through her hair, to be mingling with civilians for once. She’d spent far
too long in her car in the past few days, and she hated the way it made her feel.
She led Carmichael down some steps to the riverside, then they nipped into a shop and bought an ice cream, which they ate as they wandered back up the steps, turning left across Elvet Bridge
with its cobbled stones.
‘Ever been in there?’ Carmichael asked, pointing at the Swan and Three Cygnets public house, a great place to sit out and watch the world go by.
‘Couple of times.’ Daniels took another lick of her ice cream. ‘When you work with Hank, you get to see the inside of most pubs eventually.’
At the traffic lights, they crossed the road into Old Elvet. On the left-hand side there was an ancient pub with a tiny front door, so small Gormley would have to duck his head to enter.
Jessica’s flat was a really old property right next door. They let themselves in, unsure what to expect.
‘Bloody hell!’ Carmichael said as she walked through the door. ‘Is she for real?’
Daniels looked sideways. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, this!’ Carmichael swept her arm around the immaculate room. ‘Have you
ever
seen student accommodation look quite this orderly? Mind you, I’d have thought
her old man would’ve bankrolled a better pad than this one. That Mansion House was something else, wasn’t it? I guess this could be construed as slumming it for her.’
‘Maybe she wasn’t interested in a better pad.’Daniels opened the door to the only cupboard in a room no bigger than a prison cell. Jessica’s clothes hung from a rail, all
ironed to perfection, dark shades to the left through to white on the right and all colours in between. ‘Maybe she just wanted to fit in. Be normal like other students on her
course.’
‘Yeah, right, like
they’d
be any different!’
‘Rob Lester isn’t posh. And he’s a nice quiet lad, from what I could tell.’
‘That him?’ Carmichael pointed at a photograph on the wall.
Daniels nodded.
‘Well, he might be the exception—’
‘Bring that with you. We might need it.’
Carmichael bagged the photograph, set it to one side, then got down on her knees to look under the bed. There was a suitcase underneath and she began rifling through it: keepsakes mainly,
photos, trinkets, letters posted from all over the globe, a pressed daisy chain.
‘You don’t get many med students from socially deprived areas, not any I’ve ever come across,’ Carmichael said. ‘Even though they’ll tell you otherwise,
there’s still a class divide in academic institutions.’
Daniels ignored the comment, too busy with her own search. A mini chest, each drawer packed with clean socks and multi-coloured underwear, pyjamas right at the very bottom. On top of the chest
was a course timetable, a medical textbook and a three-ring binder. Daniels opened it. Jessica had typed up all her lecture and tutorial notes and put them neatly in chronological order, the last
sheet dated Monday the third of May. Carmichael had gone back to the wardrobe, was moving clothing along the rail and rummaging through pockets.
‘Remember that kid a couple of years ago?’ she said. ‘The brilliant one who had the best grades and applied to Oxford?
She
was turned down. Ended up going to America to
study! Now what’s fair about that? If I’d been her mother I’d have had something to say about it.’
Daniels moved to the desk.
At last, a junk drawer
.
‘You listening to me, boss? Or should I shut my trap and get on with it?’
‘No, stay on your soapbox, Lisa. I’d hate to cramp your style.’ It was a nice way of saying
shut the fuck up
.
Daniels smiled to herself, more interested in the contents of the drawer in front of her. She removed it from the desk completely and set it down on the bed. There were various documents inside:
an appointment with a dental surgeon for a date in the future, a donor card with Jessica’s name on it, detailed information from international, medical and humanitarian aid organization
Médecins Sans Frontières and some personal mail from Rob Lester – raunchy stuff that made her blush.
She sifted through some Barclays Bank statements, noting that Jessica received a monthly allowance of one thousand pounds from her father’s account, which was more than generous if her
balance was anything to go by. On the most recent statement, there were several entries she couldn’t immediately identify, quite a large one – five hundred pounds – to an extreme
sports organization, a regular transfer to another account in Jessica’s name within the same bank, and generous donations to MSF (UK).
As far as she could tell, Jessica Finch spent very little on herself.
Further back in the drawer, Daniels found a neat pile of ATM withdrawal slips securely fastened in a giant paper-clip, timed and dated from a machine she assumed might be close to the
university. Pocket money really – no more than a few pounds – enough to keep her going for a day or two at a time. The most recent one, a withdrawal of twenty pounds dispensed at just
after nine o’clock on the morning of Sunday, 2 May. Jessica Finch obviously wasn’t keen to carry large amounts of cash around. Neither was she as gung-ho in life as her father would
have Daniels believe. No. Her financial accounts drew a very different picture, of a young woman who was not only organized and methodical but cautious and caring too.