Letters To My Daughter's Killer - [15]

She has a pent-up energy to her as though she’s idling and ready to take off at speed. It’s there in the intensity of her gaze, eyes bright, and the pace of her speech. In repose there is a hint of a smile about her mouth, as though life is everything she hoped it would be. She stands and greets Jack and Tony.

When everyone is settled, DI Ferguson says, ‘I’m the senior investigating officer, and that means I’m in charge of the inquiry into Lizzie’s murder. Kay will remain your liaison officer and she’ll pass on to you any significant information, but I want you to know that if you ever need to speak to me directly, if you’ve any concerns or questions that Kay can’t answer, please get in touch. I’ll leave my card before I go. What happened to Lizzie,’ she says, ‘is simply unforgivable.’

I try not to weep, because I need to hear what she has to say.

‘No one should lose a wife, a daughter, a mother, a friend in that way. From your position you may feel as though there is little news, as if things are not moving quickly enough but I want to reassure you that we are making steady progress. The results of the post-mortem, which Kay related to you, have given us the cause of death but also flagged up a number of forensic items of interest which we are now examining. The same goes for the evidence recovered from the scene at the house. But it’s not like on television. Some of the forensic tests we need to do will take several days to be completed, sometimes weeks. They can’t be rushed. They have to be done to an exacting standard, robust enough for prosecution.’

‘Lizzie’s phone,’ I say, thinking of that text she sent me. ‘Did she try and call for help?’

‘No. Her phone was recovered from the house. There was no activity from her after the text she sent to you,’ says DI Ferguson.

No chance to use her phone, perhaps she was oblivious to the danger. Perhaps she never knew what was coming. I think of Florence asleep as the carnage unfolded downstairs. Kay has asked her if she saw or heard anything the night Mummy was hurt but Florence simply shook her head.

‘Our door-to-door inquiries are continuing as well, and calls from the general public are being fed into the investigation and followed up. Officers are examining footage from CCTV cameras in the vicinity to see if the perpetrator can be identified.’

‘Broderick Litton?’ I say.

‘We’ve not found him yet,’ says DI Ferguson.

‘He’s out there,’ Tony says hotly, ‘and…’ He crumples.

‘I can assure you we are making every effort to find him, and as soon as we do, you will know about it.’ She turns to Jack. ‘We have traced and interviewed the man who broke into your neighbour’s property on the Tuesday night. He admits to also having entered your garden on Wednesday.’

I hold my breath.

‘But we have eliminated him from our inquiries.’

‘How come?’ Jack says.

‘He has a watertight alibi for the Saturday evening.’

‘Are you sure?’ Jack says.

‘Yes,’ says DI Ferguson.

Questions toll in my head again: who, why, how?

‘Is there anything we can do?’ Tony says.

DI Ferguson gives a nod. ‘There are two ways you might help, but I want to stress that there is no obligation on any of you to do so. Different families react very differently, and what is right for someone else may not be right for you.’

‘What are they?’ Jack says.

‘We would like your help with a fresh appeal to the general public. A quote from you about Lizzie, saying what sort of person she was, would be very helpful. We want to keep the public involved in assisting us, we want to make her as real as possible to people who have never met her. There is already a high degree of interest because of the circumstances of Lizzie’s murder, because she was an ordinary young woman, a mother, expecting to be safe in her own home.’

Like we all do.

‘Also, well-wishers have been leaving flowers outside the house. If this is something you would like to do, we can arrange that, and if you are willing, we’d like to film your visit and that would form part of a new press release. Again, that’s entirely up to you.’

‘You want to keep it in the news?’ Tony says.

‘That’s right. I certainly do,’ DI Ferguson says keenly.

‘Yes, we’ll help,’ I say, looking to Jack, who nods his agreement.

‘Yes,’ says Tony.

‘Thank you. Kay will go over the details. Now, is there anything you want to ask me? If I can answer you, I will.’

Marian and Alan arrange takeaways for our meal that evening. My table only seats four, but we crowd round it, joined by Tony and Denise. Jack tells his parents what we’ll be doing for the appeal, then people make gentle conversation, mainly on safe topics. We’re all too numb to exchange any more reactions about Lizzie’s death. The medication has kicked in, making me feel dopey.

Marian and Alan go back to their hotel, Kay goes home, Tony and Denise leave and Bea arrives. We hug for a long time. Death does this: suddenly human touch, physical expressions of comfort and warmth, is instinctive. Freely given and received.

We settle in the kitchen and Bea makes coffee. ‘God, Ruth, I don’t know what to say. It still doesn’t seem real.’