‘No. Leave it to me.’
‘Have you done it before?’ Whitney asked, knowing full well he hadn’t. At least, not in his role as a police officer.
‘No. But there’s always a first time.’
‘Why don’t you let me do it and you observe? It’s often better coming from a female officer, in my experience.’ Anything to stop him from going in and making the situation even worse, because after she’d delivered the news, she needed to talk to them about Millie.
She glanced at her watch before ringing the bell. It was nearly eleven. She hoped someone was in and they weren’t all out at work. After a few seconds, the door was opened by a well-dressed woman with short grey hair, who looked to be around fifty.
‘Mrs Carter?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Whitney Walker, from Lenchester CID, and this is Detective Superintendent Tom Jamieson.’ She held out her warrant card, and Jamieson did the same. ‘May we come in?’
‘What is it?’ Mrs Carter frowned.
‘It’s best if we talk inside,’ Whitney replied gently.
Mrs Carter held open the door, which led into a long hallway. ‘The lounge is on the left. We can talk there.’
‘Is there someone else at home with you?’ Whitney asked, following Mrs Carter into the room.
‘My husband, Rex, is off work today with a bad back. He’s in the kitchen.’
She hated all this small talk, but it was better to have both of them there, so they could support each other.
‘Can you call him for us, please?’
‘What is it?’ Mrs Carter asked, her voice raising in tone and sounding anxious.
‘Call your husband and we’ll explain,’ she replied.
While Mrs Carter went into the kitchen, Whitney took a moment to scan the room. Above the fire place were lots of photos. All of them Millie. Was she an only child? She shuddered, knowing in a few moments these people’s lives would never be the same again. How would they cope? If anything happened to Tiffany—she couldn’t even go there.
‘What’s all this about?’ Mr Carter stood in front of them, his arm placed protectively around Mrs Carter’s shoulders.
‘Take a seat.’ Whitney gestured to the sofa, and she sat on one of the easy chairs next to it. Jamieson sat on the other.
Mr and Mrs Carter both sat down, and she took hold of his hand.
‘Is it Millie?’ Mrs Carter asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Whitney drew in a breath. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but a body has been found on the university campus, and we have reason to believe it’s Millie.’
The room fell silent. Then Mrs Carter let out an agonising scream. She sobbed uncontrollably, her whole body shaking. Mr Carter held her tightly in his arms, not uttering a sound. He just stared blankly at Whitney over the top of his wife’s head, the colour drained from his face.
‘Is there anyone we can call?’ Whitney asked.
Mr Carter jolted back into alertness. ‘No. Thank you. When can we see Millie?’
‘We’d like one of you to come down and formally identify the body. It doesn’t have to be straight away. Later today or tomorrow will be fine.’
‘What happened to her?’ Mr Carter asked.
‘We’re treating the death as suspicious. That’s all we can say at the moment,’ Whitney replied.
‘Murder?’ Mrs Carter said, lifting her head from her husband’s chest. ‘Who would murder my Millie?’ Her voice cracked.
Whitney glanced at Jamieson, who was sitting back in the chair looking on.
‘I know this isn’t easy, but if we’re to catch the person who did this, we need as much help from you as you can give.’
She hated this part of her job. She’d just given them the worst possible news ever, and now she needed them to give her some information. It just wasn’t fair.
‘Of course,’ Mr Carter said, his back ramrod straight, as though he might totally collapse if he relaxed his body.
‘When was the last time you saw Millie?’ she asked.
‘Two weeks ago,’ Mr Carter said. ‘She comes home for the weekend once a fortnight. And she phones two or three times a week, to speak to her mum. I’m not very good at chatting.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’ Whitney asked.
‘N—’ Mr Carter started to reply.
‘Yes, she did,’ Mrs Carter interrupted, giving her husband an apologetic look. ‘She told me last week she’d just started seeing someone. I don’t know his name. All I know is he’s a student.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Mr Carter asked his wife, frowning.
‘Because it wasn’t anything serious. And I know how protective you are of her. Oh my God. Was it him? Do you think he killed Millie?’ Mrs Carter’s hand slammed over her mouth.
‘We can’t jump to that conclusion. We’ll find out who he is from her friends. May I take a look at Millie’s bedroom?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes. It’s upstairs the first door on the right,’ Mr Carter replied.
‘Thank you. Sir, why don’t you make everyone a cup of tea,’ she suggested to Jamieson before she left the room.
Whitney walked back into the hall and headed up the stairs. When she reached the top, she noted there were four doors. She quickly peeped into all the rooms and then went into the one belonging to Millie. There were stuffed animals placed along the windowsill. It reminded her of Tiffany. She kept all the teddies she’d had from when she was a child. When Whitney had suggested getting rid of some of them, Tiffany had refused point blank.
They were still so young.
Whitney peered at some of the photos stuck onto the mirror of the dressing table. Most from picture booths. Millie appeared like a normal young woman having fun with her friends. There was a pile of magazines on the floor. She took a look. Some of them went back years. She opened the wardrobe. It was half full of clothes; nothing out of the ordinary in there either.
The double bed was covered with a blue and white striped duvet, and beside it stood a white cabinet. Whitney opened the drawer and found last year’s diary. She flicked through it. Millie clearly wasn’t one to pour out her feelings. The only entries were dates of birthdays, deadlines for assignments, and appointments with the dentist and doctor. Nothing useful.
Not wanting to be away from the Carters and Jamieson for too long, she went back downstairs. As she approached, she could hear Jamieson talking sympathetically.
‘I’m happy to come back later and pick you up and take you to identify Millie’s body. You let me know when.’
She walked down the stairs, just in time to see him giving Mr Carter his card. Maybe she’d misjudged him.
‘Thank you for letting me go up to Millie’s room,’ she said to Mr and Mrs Carter. ‘Are you sure there isn’t someone we can call?’
‘No,’ Mr Carter said. ‘We don’t have any other children, and my sister is in New Zealand. Pat has a sister, but she’s in Scotland.’
‘Friends?’ Whitney asked.
‘We don’t have many. We keep ourselves to ourselves. I’ll come down to the station later to identify the body. No need for a lift.’