Free Charisma by Jo Bannister Page A

daughter?’
    Shapiro took his elbow and guided him through the barrier. ‘I’m not sure, Mr Elton. From your description it could be. In a minute I’ll ask you to look at her and tell us. But first, I’m very sorry to have to tell you that the girl is dead.’
    The blood drained from Sam Elton’s face. His mouth opened and closed twice, then his knees buckled and he went down.

8
    Dr Crowe had done a good job in the short time he’d had. He’d closed her eyes, folded his jacket under her head to close the gaping wound in her throat and drawn the blanket up to her chin. She still wore the Pony Club-approved hat that was designed to protect her from any misfortune she met while riding but was no defence at all against a man with a knife. Under it the long fair hair framed her face. With the wound hidden she hardly looked dead, just somehow a little more stolid than a child asleep. She couldn’t have looked less like Charisma.
    Sam Elton whispered, ‘My baby.’ Then he began to cry.
    Shapiro took him home. Liz was relieved that it wouldn’t be her breaking the news to the girl’s mother. When Elton was safely installed in his car, Shapiro turned back and his face was grim. ‘We’re going to take flak on this one.’
    â€˜Because of who she was?’
    He nodded. ‘Because of who she was. Because of her age. Because of where and when it happened. If a thirteen-year-old girl from a decent family can’t ride her pony in a public park in broad daylight without getting her throat cut, nobody’s kid is safe. We have to get this man, Liz. This town’s going to be in a state of panic until we do.’
    â€˜I’ll start a house-to-house round the park,’ she said. ‘At least this time we know where and pretty well when the attack took place. People are getting ready for work about eight, someone may have seen him. The ground staff start about then too: I’ve got them together in the park-keeper’s hut, I’ll talk to them next. Somebody may have seen him this time, even if they didn’t see anything suspicious.’
    Shapiro indicated assent. She was making all the right moves, a fully functioning detective inspector again. ‘I’ll go back to the office when I’m finished with the family. I want to start a search for this man’s MO. I bet he’s left a trail of young girls with slit
throats: we’ll know more about him when we find out where he’s been. I’ll get Donovan on to that: it’ll keep him away from Bailie if nothing else.’
    â€˜What about Bailie? Do we ask him about this?’
    For a moment Shapiro was undecided, then he shook his head. ‘I don’t see much point. His connection to the last one was tenuous enough, to this one it’s non-existent. Unless we get a description, of course, in which case we’re into a whole new ball game.’ He winced. He hated using expressions he’d picked up from Donovan.
    The park-keeper’s hut began life as a garden pavilion for the family at Belvedere House. They kept their croquet mallets and tennis racquets there. When private enjoyment gave way to municipal endeavour it became a repository for scythes, billhooks and pruning shears, and the place where the gardeners took their tea and sandwiches. It was also where they punched their time-cards as they came on and off duty.
    There were four of them: an old man well past retirement age, gnarled and bent enough to have been undergardener to Adam; a powerful middle-aged man, a young man and a boy. The boy, who might have been about seventeen, was clearly shocked. He was trying to drink from the mug of his flask and his teeth were chattering on its lip.
    Liz took their names and addresses and asked when each had arrived at work that morning. The old man was the foreman: he fetched the time-cards from the clock. His deputy and the younger man arrived a few minutes either