Letters To My Daughter's Killer by Cath Staincliffe Read Free Book Online Page B

Pear Plum,
still doing the rounds. I remember reading it to Lizzie.
    ‘Okay.’ I sit on the sofa and she clambers on to my lap.
    We say the words together, and she tilts her head from side to side as she chants, pointing with her finger at the characters hidden in the pages. Mother Hubbard, Cinderella, Robin Hood.
    And for a few minutes Florence and I escape, float down the river with Baby Bunting, tumble down the hill with Jack and Jill and climb through the branches of the great tree.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    17 Brinks Avenue
Manchester
M19 6FX
    DI Ferguson takes my hand in both of hers when we meet, her grasp firm. She looks me in the eyes and says, ‘I’m so sorry. We are doing everything possible to establish what happened to Lizzie and bring whoever is responsible to justice.’ She glances around. ‘Is Mr Tennyson here?’ she says to Kay.
    ‘I’ll get him. Tony, Mr Sutton, will be here any time.’
    We go in the dining room. I call it that but no one ever eats in here. I use it for overspill, for hobbies and storage. The inspector takes her jacket off and drapes it over the back of an armchair. She’s small next to Kay, close to my height though slimmer than me. A black woman, her clothes stylish, her hair pulled up away from her face in a topknot. Specs, red and white and brown patterned frames, on a chain round her neck. A touch of pinky-red lipstick.
    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