My phone trills. It’s Gil. She’s sobbing.
‘Gil,’ I say, ‘calm down. Speak slowly.’
‘Someone…’ she begins, then hiccups. ‘Someone sent me a photo of Jo.’ There is a tortured moan before she adds, ‘I think she’s dead.’
‘We’ve had a photo too. You’d better come in.’
But there’s more, a cruel twist to this macabre puzzle. I tip the envelope, and a flash drive slips out. A label stuck across it reads:Joanna.
Roy snatches it, and there is urgency in his eyes. He puts it into his laptop, connects the speakers, and we wait, our collective breaths held. The computer has become the epicentre of our attention. The haunting melody of ‘Danny Boy’ fills the room.
‘What the fuck?’ says Roy with a scowl, his confusion mirroring our own.
The music ceases abruptly and is replaced by a voice. An eerie overlay, clearly overdubbed so it can’t be recognised.
‘Hello, Danny boy,’ it begins, the tone chillingly calm. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I sent this to the cops. But I thought it would be easier for you. I’m thoughtful like that.’
Bad news follows, an ominous revelation.
Guilt, the speaker insists, is a terrible emotion, one that Danny need not bear. The blame doesn’t lie with him; it lies with Joanna, who ruined everything. She dared to try to escape despite the comforts he provided, excellent food, a lovely haven, and even tampons when she needed them.
‘Whatever she wanted, I got her,’ the voice continues, dripping with bitterness. ‘And then she abused my trust, Danny. She sawmy face. You can see I had no choice. You can be proud, though, Danny; she put up a good fight. Anyway, this is goodbye, Danny boy. Oh, just one last thing. There are always consequences, and you betrayed me. I said no police. It wasn’t much to ask. So I must punish you. I’ve destroyed the body, but I’ve left a few souvenirs for you. Don’t bother looking for her. She’ll never be found. You’ll find the mementoes at 13 Millwall Lane, Wootton. Joanna and I spent some nice days there. Shame she had to spoil things.’
A punishment for betrayal. What kind of monster is this? Joanna’s fate is sealed, her memory now forever entwined with the haunting strains of ‘Danny Boy’. Daniel’s punishment for involving us is never being able to give his wife a proper funeral.
The voice stops, and the ‘Danny Boy’ song starts again.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Roy bellows, switching it off. ‘Someone contact Neal. We need him to identify the body. It could be a prank.’
‘Should we go to Millwall Lane?’ asks Dario.
‘Get Neal here first. As I say, it could be a prank.’
I’m left to phone Daniel Neal, knowing deep in my heart that this is no prank.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Josie
Daniel Neal, usually a man of strong emotions, appears uncharacteristically subdued. His once-vibrant eyes are now lifeless. Beside him stands Gil, her eyes red and swollen. Neal’s voice trembles as he murmurs, ‘I can’t do it, I can’t look at the photo.’
Roy, understanding the weight of the situation, nods solemnly. The room holds its breath. Identifying the body is crucial. I offer Daniel a chair, and he collapses into it, burying his face in his hands. Surprisingly, his recriminations remain unspoken.
Gil steps forward, determination etched on her face.
‘This is my photo,’ she says, handing over an envelope. ‘If it’s the same, then I can confirm it is Joanna Neal.’
I touch Gil’s arm gently as I take the envelope from her.
‘Let’s go somewhere quiet,’ I say.
Her gaze shifts to Daniel, and then she nods and follows me.
Alone in the interview room, I slide the two photos from their envelopes. Gil looks at them, her breath catching. I slip them back into their envelopes.
Her eyes water, and her lips quiver. ‘That’s Jo,’ she says.
I get a cup of water from the dispenser and hand it to her. She sips between sobs. ‘Oh, Jo,’ she cries. ‘What did that bastard do to her?’
