He keeps going, the bile flowing free. ‘I’d show her. I was going to become the man everyone needed to know. If you want something doing, Danny Greene is your man. People came to me, not her.’ He looks at me straight. ‘Pretty Lanes offered me something no one had ever offered Suzi Lake. To be part of a company that created drugs that helped people live. I’d be a miracle worker, don’t you see? The giver of life.’
The vomit is shooting up my throat. I force it back down.
Danny sits back. ‘There was another company they were in competition with who were leading the field. Cut a long story short, Pretty Lanes needed humans to work on to get ahead.’ He smiles. ‘And like I said before, if you want anything doing Danny Greene is your man. The deal was they give me a directorship and I provide the humans. Poppy Munro was a mistake. After that, you’re so right, I only chose the black girls—’
The door burst open. Two detectives, a uniformed officer and the prison governor march in.
Danny looks stunned. He looks at me. ‘What did you do?’
Remembering all the women he has sent to their deaths, I inform him with the greatest delight, ‘This visitors’ room doesn’t just have security cameras, it has mics. Every last word you said is on tape.’
Danny lunges at me. The police officers quickly subdue him.
After he is read his rights and handcuffed I tell him with the greatest triumph, ‘Do you know what you said to me at my first dinner at your house: “The best thing I ever did was to put my DNA out there.” And I agree because if you’d never used your DNA to contact me I would never have caught you, the killer of my mother and two other women and a defenceless girl.’
CHAPTER 52
Two weeks later
We all gather for Poppy’s vigil on a spring evening. The park is packed, including the press. When the news became public that Poppy was the first victim in a serial-killer case where the other victims were young black women, including her best friend, there was a public outcry and a lot of soul-searching in the media. The terrible thing is, it’s still happening. Other black families who had the disappearance of their loved ones ignored or looked into too late are here too. They have come armed with placards with the names of other black children and women who have gone missing.
I’m here with Ronnie, Miriam and Sugar. We each have a placard.
Ronnie’s says: Hope Scott. Why didn’t you look for me? SAY MY NAME
Miriam’s: Sheryl Wilson. Why didn’t you look for me? SAY MY NAME
Sugar’s: Amina Musa. A child. Why didn’t you look for me? SAY MY NAME
Poppy’s younger sister’s: ALL our sisters, daughters, mothers count. ALL
And the moment that no one realised would be happening. Poppy’s mother and Hope’s mother, my new gran, come out to the front united in their grief, united in their courageous determination that things must change. There’s already been a change with the foundation set up in Poppy’s name by her family renamed The Poppy and Hope Foundation.
The crowd quietens. Then Grandmother, with the help of two of the younger ladies from Mummy Cherry’s church, sings ‘How Great Thou Art’， the same hymn she defiantly sang twenty-eight years ago, alone in a police station reception under the threat of arrest because all she wanted was answers about her daughter’s disappearance and for the police to do their job. Everyone shines their phone torches into the sky as she sings in her frail voice.
And it’s Ronnie who steps forward with another placard:
It’s an enlarged copy of Grandmother’s photo of Hope and Poppy smiling like crazy together, their arms around each other’s shoulders.
Underneath is written:
TIME FOR REAL CHANGE
EPILOGUE
Hope
Poppy
Amina
Sheryl
Hope
Poppy
Amina
Sheryl
Hope
Poppy
Amina
Sheryl
AUTHORS’ NOTE
Writing Say Her Name has been a passionate and emotional journey for us both but especially me, Dreda. As a woman I feel deeply upset and traumatised when I hear the news that another woman or girl has disappeared and feverishly pray that she will be found safe and reunited with her loved ones. As a woman of colour I have to wrestle with the issue that women and girls of colour who disappear in suspicious circumstances often receive little to no media coverage and, sometimes, a lack of law-enforcement engagement when compared to their white counterparts. The shock I felt when I started reading statistic after statistic still leaves me numb and distressed.
Legendary PBS news anchor, journalist and author Gwen Ifill coined the term ‘missing white-woman syndrome’ to describe how the mainstream media are more likely to cover stories about missing white women and girls rather than those of women or girls of colour. Think about all the high-profile stories of missing women or girls you know? Are any of them women or girls of colour? Why is that? Why does society view the safety of women and girls of colour as less worthy? Are their lives not just as valuable?