He nods. ‘In theory. If the triggers were powerful enough. If, say, she caught Daisy and her husband together in a situation that suggested anything remotely sexual – in a moment like that, when the red mist came down – I don’t think she’d have seen the husband as being the one to blame. I don’t even think she’d be capable of seeing Daisy as her daughter. All she’d see was a rival.’
He sits back. ‘What you also need to remember is that if Sharon was complicit in some way with the sister’s death – even if only by failing to do anything to save her – then she’s long since come up with a narrative that shifts the blame on to everyone else. The parents, the bystanders, even Jessica herself. And if she really did do something to Daisy, the same thing will be happening now. It will be all the husband’s fault, or even the daughter’s. Textbook denial, fathoms deep. You won’t be able to get her to admit she was in any way involved without tearing down psychological defences she’s taken years to build. Don’t underestimate how hard that will be. I’m prepared to bet this woman never apologizes for anything, however trivial.’
I turn to Anna. ‘That woman – Pauline Pober – any chance of tracking her down?’
‘I could try. It’s an unusual name. And Wokingham isn’t a big town.’
‘And the parents – do we know if they’re still alive?’
‘I checked. Gerald Wiley died in 2014. Heart attack. Sadie is in a care home in Carshalton. Sounds like she has fairly advanced Alzheimer’s. So I suppose you could say Sharon’s the only one left.’
‘It explains a lot about Sharon.’
She glances up at me. ‘The story?’
‘Not just that. The picture.’
‘The Wiley family in happier times’, the caption says. It shows Gerald with Jessica on his knee and Sadie beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Jessica’s wearing a white dress with a sash and her hair is in long ringlets tied with ribbons. She looks eerily like the pictures I’ve seen of Daisy Mason. As for Sharon, I would hardly have recognized her. A heavy, awkward child, standing on the edge of the picture as if she’s been Photoshopped into her own life. Her mousey hair hangs in dull strands. No ribbons for her, it seems. I wonder what it was like living in that house, after Jessica was gone.
It’s the first time I’ve actually felt sorry for her.
*
When I look up, they’re both standing there. Quinn and Gislingham. Together.
I look from one to the other, not bothering to hide my surprise. ‘What is this – are you two declaring a ceasefire? Have we called the UN?’
Gislingham has the grace to look sheepish. ‘Not exactly, boss. It’s Mason’s phone. Forensics have confirmed there are indecent images on it. Videos, to be exact, and it’s really hardcore stuff. They were deep down on the memory card, but they’re definitely there.’
I sit back. ‘So he was lying.’
‘And that’s not the only thing,’ says Quinn. ‘It’s the car. The one Daisy was seen in. We know who owns it.’
He pauses. ‘Azeem Rahija.’
It’s a hot day, but I’m suddenly icy cold. ‘Bloody hell, not – ’
He nods. ‘Younger brother of Yasir Rahija, and cousin of Sunni Rahija.’
He doesn’t need to say any more. Yasir and Sunni Rahija were at the heart of one of the rings of particularly vicious sex abusers who targeted vulnerable white girls in East Oxford. And it took this police force far too long to nail them. It wasn’t my case, but we’ve all been scarred. We all feel guilty.
‘Azeem is only seventeen,’ says Quinn, ‘and there’s nothing to suggest he was involved in the grooming or the gang rapes, but in the circumstances – ’
I put my head in my hands. I’ve been so sure – so sure – that Daisy was killed by someone close to home, but what if I’m wrong? What if, all this time, she’s been in some filthy cellar on the Cowley Road, subjected to the most disgusting –
‘And there’s something else.’
Gislingham this time.
‘Everett just called. She says she showed Leo the picture of the boy on the CCTV, like you asked. He said he didn’t know his name. He also said he’d never seen him with Daisy – ’
I sigh. ‘I guess it was too much to hope he’d seen him before.’
‘But that’s just it, he had seen him before. But not with Daisy – with Barry.’
I stare at him. ‘I don’t get it – what possible connection could there conceivably be – ’
But Gislingham has had more time to think about that than me.
‘It could add up, boss. I’ve been asking myself for days now what happens to Mason’s money. He’s ripping people off right, left and centre, taking thousands of pounds for work he never actually does, and yet everyone says the family are hard up. But all that money has to be going somewhere. And he must be getting people to pay him in cash too, because as far as I can see, there’s nothing like enough in his bank account, compared to the size of jobs he’s doing.’
‘Could be going on gambling? Drugs?’
But Gislingham’s shaking his head. ‘We’ve not found any evidence suggesting that. But what we do know is that he got hold of kiddie porn on that website. A habit like that – it gets expensive. And the more illegal it is, the more it costs.’
‘So you think it’s more than just staring at videos? He’s actually paying for sex with children – with underage girls like the ones the Rahijas were abusing?’
Gislingham shrugs. ‘Like I said. It adds up.’
‘And this boy on the CCTV that Leo saw him with – he’s Mason’s contact with the paedophile ring?’
Quinn intervenes. ‘Just because most of them are in jail, doesn’t mean we managed to close it all down. Azeem may have picked up where his brother and cousin left off.’
‘So what was this boy doing talking to Daisy?’
They look at each other. ‘Perhaps Mason owed them money,’ says Gislingham eventually. ‘Perhaps they were using Daisy to put pressure on him. Threatening her as a way of showing him what they were capable of if he didn’t cough up.’
‘Let’s hope so. Because the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. There’s no healthy explanation for a boy that age being interested in a child like Daisy. Especially a boy who has paedophiles for friends.’
But even as I’m saying it I’m remembering that her friends said she was angry after she met that boy. Not upset, not distraught. Angry. But it’s only what we were told – I don’t know it for sure. And that’s one reason why the Rahija gang got away with it for so long – people like me saw what we wanted to see and heard what we wanted to hear. I can’t afford to let us make the same mistake again.
‘OK, round up some uniforms and warn the community team and the press office, so they know what to say when the phones start ringing. I’ll clear it with the Super. I’m sure he’ll be absolutely bloody ecstatic.’
I get to my feet. Given the state of community relations in East Oxford, this is one operation I can’t delegate.
*
12 May 2016, 7.47 a.m.
68 days before the disappearance
5 Barge Close, kitchen
Barry Mason is at the breakfast table and Sharon is by the window, feeding chunks of fruit into the juicer. Leo and Daisy are in school uniform and Daisy has a pink cardigan over the back of her chair.
‘I think we should have a party,’ says Sharon. ‘For the end of term.’
Barry looks up from his bowl of cereal. ‘A party? Why?’
‘Well, we never did have a housewarming, and I know people would like to see the place.’
On the other side of the table, the boy looks up and the girl looks down. Barry picks up his spoon again. ‘Wouldn’t something like that be a lot of work?’
Sharon glances back at him. ‘We could do a barbecue. With salads and sandwiches and jacket potatoes. You’d hardly have to do anything.’
Barry opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. The children exchange glances as their mother starts to chop up more fruit, knifing it with far more effort than appears required by the task.
‘What if it rains?’ Barry says eventually. ‘We couldn’t fit everyone in here.’
‘Fiona Webster says we can borrow their gazebo. And I’m sure Owen wouldn’t mind helping you put it up.’