Dead To Me - [17]

‘Did you have a lot of contact with her?’

‘She’s my daughter,’ Denise replied.

‘How often did you see her?’ Janet rephrased the question, aware that Denise had sidestepped it.

Denise gave a bitter laugh. ‘More before he came on the scene. And then he sends her up here to scrounge. Expecting me to give them drug money.’ She shook her head.

‘Lisa was in Ryelands House until this April?’

‘I couldn’t manage. I tried…’ Janet sensed the woman’s shame at her inadequacy. ‘My sister took Nathan, but she couldn’t cope with the baby as well.’

‘When did Lisa first go into care?’ Janet said.

‘Four months.’

An infant. ‘Was she in care all her life?’

‘No,’ Denise tapped the ash off her cigarette. ‘Only till I sorted myself out. I got her back when she was six, then… the end of primary and she just went wild. Running away, going missing, drinking.’ Taisie’s age, thought Janet. At least we’ve not had any of that to deal with. ‘I tried everything, but I couldn’t handle her. I’d school attendance on my back and your lot every five minutes. I thought it was for the best, but Ryelands – there’s more drugs in there than there is on the streets. Same as prison. Paedos hanging round an’ all,’ she said. ‘Some of the kids in there’ll do anything for twenty quid.’

Janet knew Rachel would follow up on this when she spoke to Lisa’s personal advisor. Get details, help them sort out fact from fiction. But from what Denise said, it sounded as though Lisa had been experimenting with drugs before she hooked up with Sean. Janet brought the question round to recent contact again.

‘Have you seen Lisa recently?’

Denise’s eyes filled. She was in bits. ‘No.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘My birthday – in October.’

‘Had you spoken to her on the phone?’

‘Yes, well… I tried, but, because she knew I didn’t want her with him, then she wouldn’t always pick up. Talk to her personal advisor,’ Denise said. ‘He’ll tell you, same as I have, Sean was bad news, every which way.’ She played with the tissue, unfolding it then crushing it again.

‘Can you remember when you last spoke to Lisa on the phone?’

‘Yesterday.’ Her voice cracking. ‘She said she was busy. She hung up.’

Oh, God. Janet could imagine the ‘what ifs’ piling up in Denise’s head. If only I had insisted, gone round there, got her to talk to me. Changed the future. Interrupted the sequence of events. ‘Do you remember what time that was, Denise?’

She pressed the tissue to her eyes. ‘Why?’ She turned on Janet, distraught, her face a mess of snot, lips cracked and swollen, the cigarette burned down to the filter now, an awful stench in the room. Janet saw she didn’t want to think about the phone call, didn’t want to be reminded of how things might have been different.

Because we want to get a time of death as close as we can, Janet thought. But said quietly, ‘It’ll help us with the investigation.’

‘After dinner.’

Dinner being the midday meal in these parts, tea the food you had at the end of the working day. ‘Could you tell where she was when you spoke to her?’ Janet asked.

‘She was out.’

‘Did she say where?’

‘No, but it was noisy.’

‘What sort of noises?’

‘I don’t know!’ she snapped, her patience thinning. The questions distracting her from her grief.

‘People, traffic, music…?’ Janet suggested.

‘Traffic.’

‘It was after dinner, long after dinner? Could we check on your phone perhaps?’

‘It’s dead,’ Denise said. A shocked silence in the room. And Janet saw the stumble, the echo that came back at Denise like a boot in the face. Dead phone. Dead daughter. ‘I’ll put it on charge,’ Denise whispered, ‘get it for you then.’

‘Thank you,’ Janet said. ‘You told me Lisa said she was busy. How did she sound otherwise?’

Denise took another cigarette and lit it. Janet thought she’d die from asphyxiation. If only they could open the window. But it was cold and bleak out there, sky the colour of grubby white sheets. Maybe more snow coming.

‘Did she sound tired or anxious or frightened?’

‘No,’ Denise said.

‘Did you get the sense that she was with anyone else?’

‘Erm, no.’

‘OK, is there anyone you know who might have wished her harm?’

Denise pressed her lips tight together, shaking her head slowly. ‘I did my best,’ she said, her voice quaking with emotion. ‘I always…’ She couldn’t continue.

They heard the door go, the FLO returning. ‘Denise…’ He entered the room, heading for the scullery kitchen at the back of the house, took in the scene. The weeping woman. ‘Denise, a cup of tea?’

She didn’t respond, too far gone for politeness. Janet caught his eye. ‘We’ll be on our way.’ Signalling with a tilt of her head that she wanted a word.

He stepped outside with them. A woman across the street with twins in a double buggy stopped to gawp.

‘Take a picture,’ Rachel muttered.

‘Keep a close eye,’ Janet said to the FLO. ‘The woman’s lost both her kids, she’s already struggling, too fond of a drink, on tablets for her nerves, she’s a wreck.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I will. SIO tells me there was some problem at the scene.’

‘Bit of rearranging of the furniture that shouldn’t have happened. Can you get Denise’s phone charged, check her calls.’