‘Did something else happen today?’ I ask.
‘A man was murdered. His daughter is missing.’
My stomach clenches. ‘Is she in danger?’
‘I don’t know.’
Cyrus doesn’t like talking about his police work because he’s worried it will give me nightmares or trigger bad memories. I have enough of those already.
I suddenly remember my cake and rip open the oven door.
‘Bugger!’
‘Did you burn it?’
‘It sagged in the middle.’
‘That’s perfect,’ says Cyrus. ‘We get more icing.’
10
Cyrus
The TV lights have bleached Gary Hoyle’s face whiter than a wedding cake. He’s wearing his dress uniform for the cameras – a pressed white shirt, black tie and polished epaulettes. His hat is resting on the podium.
Reporters have gathered in the conference room at Radford Road police station, a stark windowless space with plastic chairs arranged in rows. Media conferences used to be much bigger affairs, but nowadays the newspapers and wire services pool their resources and share stringers to save money, which means only the front seats are taken.
I recognise some of the faces. Latisha Davies of the Daily Telegraph. Bryan Madden of the Nottingham Post. Richard Holiday from Associated Newspapers. Holiday is a foot-in-the-door specialist, who covered the murders of my family. He was a young reporter back then, who famously spent days perched in the branches of a tree, until he snapped the first photographs of the boy who survived – images of me kicking a football in my grandparents’ garden.
Hoyle reads from a prepared statement.
‘We have grave fears for the safety of a young Nottingham woman, Maya Kirk, who has been missing for more than twenty-four hours.’
A photograph appears on the screen behind him. It shows Maya laughing at the camera, with her head thrown back and her hair looking wind-blown. She looks like a woman in a shampoo commercial, or advertising toothpaste.
‘Miss Kirk was living with her father, Rohan Kirk, aged sixty-seven, who was found beaten to death in the sitting room of a house in Hyson Green, early yesterday morning.’
Another image fills the screen. Rohan Kirk looks self-conscious, as though aware that he’s being photographed and unsure of whether to smile or to look serious and is caught in between.
‘We know that Maya Kirk went out on a date on Sunday evening, but we haven’t identified the man she was meeting. Using mobile phone triangulation, we have traced Maya’s approximate movements. She met her date at a pub near the river, the Canalhouse, at seven-thirty and later visited two more bars in the Lace Market. CCTV footage shows the couple crossing St Peter’s Square shortly before ten o’clock.’
The grainy colour images were taken by a street camera. The male figure has his arm around Maya’s waist, making them appear quite cosy, but neither face is visible.
‘We are urging this man to come forward so we can discount him from our investigation,’ says Hoyle. ‘We know that Maya returned to her home shortly after ten-thirty and her phone ceased transmitting fifty-eight minutes later.’
Lenny has slipped quietly into the room and stands beside me, leaning her back against the wall. It’s strange not seeing her on stage running the show. Hoyle has invited questions. Hands shoot upwards.
‘What makes you think she was abducted?’ shouts Latisha Davies, without waiting to be called.
‘Maya hasn’t answered her phone or contacted her family since Sunday evening,’ says Hoyle. ‘She also hasn’t accessed her bank accounts or kept her work appointments.’
‘Could she have killed her father?’ asks Holiday.
‘That’s not our belief.’
Another hand is raised. ‘What’s taking you so long to identify this guy in the footage?’
‘Maya met him and communicated with him via a dating app. We are seeking that data from the company, which is based in America.’
Another reporter shouts, ‘Could she be a hostage? Has there been a ransom demand?’
‘Her family are not wealthy.’
‘Do you have a murder weapon?’
‘No.’
‘Did Maya kill her father?’
‘We don’t believe so.’
Hoyle is growing annoyed by the questions. ‘You will be issued with photographs of Rohan and Maya Kirk. We are asking for the public’s help in tracing Maya’s interactions on Sunday evening. Who did she speak to? Did she go home alone? Was she followed? If anyone saw her, please come forward. You can give information anonymously using the Crimestoppers’ number.’
Hoyle picks up his hat and tucks it under his arm. The reporters are unhappy. Most are still looking for an angle – something that lifts this crime above the ordinary, tragic banality of another act of violence and puts it on the front pages of the national papers or the evening news bulletins.
Upstairs in the incident room, a task force of forty-plus detectives has gathered for a briefing. Some I recognise or know by name. DC Monroe gets called Marilyn, which she doesn’t seem to mind. She shuffles sideways and offers me a corner of her desk.
‘OK, what do we have?’ asks Hoyle.
DS Edgar speaks. ‘None of the neighbours saw or heard anything unusual on Sunday night. A little boy in the house opposite says he saw a ghost out his bedroom window, but his parents say he’s always seeing monsters when he eats too much sugar.’
There are chuckles around the room.
‘We’re still collecting footage from home security cameras and CCTV; and checking vehicle movements in a four-hour window either side of midnight. So far, we’ve clocked fifty-eight vehicles in Beaconsfield Road, many of them cabbies using it as a short cut. A food truck was parked on the nearest corner for two hours. We’re looking for the owner.’
Edgar hands over to another sergeant, Paul Lennox, whose nickname is Prime Time because of his love for cameras and his reputation for getting himself on TV.
‘The Sex Offenders Register has thrown up eighteen possible suspects living within two miles of the murder scene. Twelve have alibis. We’re looking more closely at the other six, but most are your garden-variety perverts and groomers.’
‘Any of them have links with Maya Kirk?’ asks Hoyle.
‘None, but she made a complaint about a peeping tom a few weeks ago. Paulie Brennan lives two streets away. He was stopped by a patrol car, but denied he was watching her undress. Brennan was out on Sunday evening with two mates, both with biker connections. The Blue Angels MC.’
‘Trace his movements. I want to know if they crossed paths. Where are we with former boyfriends?’
Monroe speaks: ‘Maya had a two-year relationship with a local builder called Daryl Branagh, which ended acrimoniously. Branagh posted naked photographs of her on a revenge porn site but took them down within forty-eight hours. Police interviewed him, but no charges were laid because Maya declined to make a statement.’ Dropping her voice, she mutters, ‘We should have charged him anyway.’
Another detective, whom I don’t recognise, delivers a backgrounder on Maya: ‘She was born in Nottingham and educated at St Mary’s Catholic Academy, which is in the same street as her house. Later she went to Nottingham Free, a co-ed secondary school in Sherwood, where she sat for her A-levels. She studied for a Bachelor of Science degree at Nottingham University and spent three years working for the National Health Service. After that, she drifted from job to job as a receptionist, office manager and sales rep. She set up her dog-grooming business two years ago. Most of her bookings are online or over the phone. Mainly cash. No receipts.’