Bryant stopped the car outside a tiny terraced house in Coombs Wood. The property overlooked the valley that had once been home to the Stewarts & Lloyds tube works. Back in the 1950s the site had supplied more than 3,000 local jobs and had been known for looking after their workforce. The 56 acre site had been swallowed up by the British Steel Corporation in 1967 when the steel industry was nationalised for the second time. The works had eventually closed in 1990.
A twelve-year-old white Mini parked along the street confirmed their witness was at home.
‘Anything?’ Bryant asked as Dawson ended his calls.
‘Nothing,’ Dawson confirmed. ‘Definitely no phone collected at the scene.’
‘Damn it,’ Bryant said. He still wasn’t convinced that Henryk’s story was true, but if it was, the phone message could have offered them a clue as to who had arranged to meet him at the car park.
‘And let me do the talking on this one,’ Dawson said, as Bryant locked the car.
‘Why?’ he asked.
He shrugged. ‘A young girl…’ he said, as though that explained everything.
Bryant knew his colleague was young and good-looking. How that helped with interviewing a witness he wasn’t sure.
The door was opened by an attractive woman who appeared to be early thirties. Long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, and grey jeans hugged a shapely figure.
‘Marie West?’ Dawson asked, holding up his identification.
‘My daughter,’ she said, standing back for them to enter. ‘I’m Christie West.’
Bryant hid his surprise. How old had she been when she’d given birth, twelve?
As he stepped inside, his nostrils were assaulted by a smell he knew well. Dogs. No matter how well you tried to eradicate the aroma they insisted on leaving something behind.
Two Jack Russells hurtled down the hallway towards him, yapping excitedly.
The woman leaned down and expertly caught one in each arm.
’Marie, police are here,’ she called up the stairs.
A quick look around told Bryant it was just the two of them. Ladies’ trainers were parked beside the mat. A collection of hats, scarves and gloves erupted from two hangers behind the door.
‘She’s not going back to that shop,’ the woman said, as Marie appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Having one staff member on for late-night opening,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Not happening.’
‘Mum, I have to go back.’
‘Try it, love,’ Christie said, putting the dogs down and scooting them in the direction of the kitchen. ‘If I have to lock that door and physically restrain you, I will.’
One look at her face and Bryant believed her.
‘I wasn’t hurt,’ Marie said, rolling her eyes.
Christie looked his way, sensing a fellow parent in him.
His own daughter was the exact same age as Marie, and he allowed the smile to rest briefly on his lips.
Marie would never understand that her mother was now consumed with nightmarish visions of what might have been. Men, darkness, violence – and her daughter, all alone. He got it.
‘I’ve disagreed with members of staff being alone late at night. Kids given the responsibility of locking the premises. She wouldn’t let me fetch her just to be safe and—’
‘Mum, please, I’m fine,’ Marie said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. She looked at her mother and smiled tolerantly. Side by side, they looked more like sisters.
A look passed between them. These two were a team.
‘Okay, okay, I’ll make coffee,’ Christie said.
Marie guided them into a front room that was small but furnished tastefully and to scale.
A two-seater sofa and a single chair huddled around a fireplace. Two occasional glass tables were placed either side. A matching glass unit supported a flat-screen television and DVD player. The laminate flooring helped to add to the illusion of more space.
Bryant remained standing behind the sofa while Dawson took the single chair.
‘I know that last night must have been quite a shock for you,’ Dawson said, surprising Bryant. The kid’s interviewing skills were not as coarse as he’d expected.
Marie placed a bright smile onto her face.
‘It’s okay. I’m okay,’ she said, nodding vigorously.
A deep swallow gave her away.
‘Did you sleep much?’ Dawson asked, perceptively.
Very few people could witness what she had and bounce back immediately.
Bryant remembered the first major incident he’d attended as a police officer. A kid had been stabbed in Lye High Street. When he’d arrived the paramedics were struggling to stop the blood flow from the male’s inner thigh. He had concentrated on his own job of questioning witnesses and had eventually finished his shift and gone home, feeling fine and unaffected.
His dreams had been filled with images of streaming blood-filled rivers and waterfalls. Eventually he had risen early, headed for the gym and beat seven shades out of the punchbag.
Feelings had to come out. And they would find a way. If this young girl held in negative emotion for the sake of her mother, it would bite her in the end.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Dawson asked, gently.
She nodded and sat forward in the seat, her hands neatly folded.
‘The first thing was the sound. I had my back turned. I was locking the door.’
She made the motion with her right hand.
She kept her eyes on Dawson. ‘It was sickening, the cry, like an animal being hurt. At first I thought a dog had been hit by a car. It took me a minute to see where it was coming from. I didn’t know it was a person.
‘I crossed the road, and I could tell the noise was coming from the car park, but at the back. And then I heard a voice…’ Again she swallowed the emotion down her throat and into her body.
The door opened and Christie entered with a tray that she placed on the glass table beside Dawson.
Dawson offered her a smile of thanks then turned back to her daughter.
The woman stepped back but didn’t leave the room.
‘Go on,’ Dawson urged.
Bryant watched with interest as she continued.
‘I know I should have stopped and called the police, but I just kept moving forward. I could hear punches and kicks landing,’ she said, as her fists began to clench. ‘And horrible names…’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Was there any accent to the voices you heard, Marie?’
She thought for a moment and shook her head. ‘Local, I think.’
‘What happened next?’ Dawson asked.
‘I stood still for a second, not knowing what to do. My phone rang. The noise stopped.’
Bryant looked to the mother. She offered a wry smile that acknowledged it had been her calling.
‘There was a pause and then I heard footsteps running along the back of the cars.’
Bryant knew the layout. It was single storey, one lane in, one lane out.
‘Did you see them at all?’ Dawson asked.
Marie shook her head.
Bryant imagined they were running away along the exit aisle, and Marie’s viewpoint was blocked by cars.