Dougal doesn’t react, but I can already sense the tension between husband and wife. The recriminations are just beginning. Guilt has to fall somewhere when logic fails.
‘What time did you last see Jodie?’ I ask.
‘She found me at eight o’clock,’ says Maggie. ‘She asked if she could sleep over at Tasmin’s house. I told her she had to be up early for training.’
‘Training?’
‘The nationals are coming up,’ explains Bryan Whitaker. ‘We’re on the ice by six-thirty, six mornings a week.’
‘You’re Jodie’s coach,’ I say.
‘I taught her to skate.’
‘Almost before she could walk,’ echoes Maggie.
Brother and sister have similar eyes and the same shaped noses. Maggie is rounder and softer while Bryan has slim hips and slender hands. He looks like a dancer in the way he stands with a straight back, square shoulders and raised chin.
Attention shifts to the TV where the football has been replaced by a news bulletin. Drone footage shows the pale outline of a forensic tent, almost hidden from view by over-hanging branches. The next pictures are of police searching the uncut meadow, walking in a long straight line through knee-high grass. One of them pauses, crouches and picks up a discarded soft-drink can, which he places in a plastic evidence bag. The picture changes again. This time Jodie’s body is being carried up the embankment.
‘Turn it off!’ begs Maggie. Dougal reaches for the TV remote. Fumbles. Curses. The screen goes black.
‘Why would anyone hurt our baby?’ whispers Maggie. Her shoulders heave, as though shifting weight from one to the other.
Lenny glances at me, but I have no words to make this right. I know what awaits them. In the days to come, Jodie’s life will be picked apart by the media, who will feast on this story: the young ‘golden girl’ of skating, who dreamed of Olympic glory but died in a cold, muddy clearing less than a mile from her home.
As a forensic psychologist, I have met killers and psychopaths and sociopaths, but I refuse to define people as being good or evil. Wrongdoing is an absence of something good rather than something fated, or written in our DNA, or forced upon us by shitty parents, or careless teachers, or cruel friendships. Evil is not a state, it is a ‘property’, and when a person is in possession of enough ‘property’, it sometimes begins to define them.
Would it benefit the Sheehans if I told them this? No. It won’t bring them comfort when they lie beside each other tonight, staring at the ceiling, wondering what they might have done differently. People who lose children have their hearts warped into weird shapes. Losing a child is beyond comprehension. It defies biology. It contradicts the natural order of history and genealogy. It derails common sense. It violates time. It creates a huge, black, bottomless hole that swallows hope.
Dougal is pouring himself a drink at a bar cabinet. Most of the bottles have duty-free stickers still attached. Maggie seems more relaxed when he’s not focused on her. She talks more freely. Remembers.
‘When Jodie learned to ride a bike, I wouldn’t let her leave the cul-de-sac because I didn’t want her riding out of sight. People said I was over-protective, but I know how these things happen. Later, when she started school, I let her walk to Tasmin’s house, but never in the dark – not on that footpath. We used to call it the Black Path because it had no lights. Even when the council finally put them in, we still called it the Black Path.’
‘Why did Jodie and Tasmin split up last night?’ I ask.
‘Jodie went to get fish and chips,’ says Felicity.
‘By herself?’
Nobody answers.
‘Does she have a boyfriend?’ I ask.
‘Not a proper one,’ says Felicity. ‘Sometimes she hangs out with Toby Leith.’
‘The rich kid?’ Dougal says, in a mocking tone.
‘He’s not that rich,’ says Bryan. ‘His father has a car dealership.’
‘How old is Toby?’ I ask.
‘Too old,’ says Dougal.
‘He’s eighteen,’ explains Felicity, who doesn’t like correcting her brother-in-law. ‘They only hang out.’
Dougal reacts angrily. ‘What does that even mean? Jodie was supposed to be in training, not running around with some horny chav with a flash motor.’
Maggie flinches and looks even more miserable.
‘When did you realise that Jodie was missing?’ I ask, wanting to change the subject.
‘She was supposed to come back to ours,’ explains Felicity. ‘Tasmin waited up until eleven and then fell asleep.’
‘Did Jodie have a key?’
‘Tasmin left the patio door unlocked.’
‘She was out there all night,’ says Dougal, his voice breaking.
Felicity sits on the edge of his armchair and brushes his cheek with her hand. It’s an intimate gesture, like watching Androcles pulling a thorn from the lion’s paw. These people are close, I think. They have raised their children together, celebrating birthdays, christenings, anniversaries and milestones. The highs and the lows.
‘I went to wake Jodie for training, but she wasn’t in Tasmin’s room,’ says Bryan. ‘I figured she must have gone home last night, so I drove by here to pick her up. That’s when we realised that she’d been missing all night.’
‘And you phoned the police,’ says Lenny.
The couples look at each other, waiting for someone else to answer.
‘We looked for her first,’ says Bryan defensively. ‘I went to the ice rink. Tasmin began phoning her friends.’
Lenny studies Dougal. ‘What about you?’
He motions to the window and the black cab outside. ‘I was working last night. I got home around seven and went straight out again, looking for Jodie.’
‘Where?’
‘I walked along the footpath.’
‘What made you immediately think of Silverdale Walk?’
‘It’s the way home,’ he replies, as though it should be obvious. His voice catches. ‘I must have walked right past her.’
Maggie is staring at the wall, as though looking into the past.
‘What did you do?’ I ask.
‘I prayed.’
‘Someone had to stay here in case Jodie called or came home,’ explains Felicity.
Lenny seems to be quietly plotting the timeline of events. It made no difference when the police were called. Jodie had been dead for hours.
‘Is there anyone who might have wanted to harm your daughter?’ asks Lenny.
Maggie answers. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Did she talk about anyone following her? Someone who might have looked out of place or made her feel uncomfortable, or unsafe?’
Nobody responds.
‘Is there anyone who might want to hurt your family?’
Dougal makes a scoffing sound. ‘I drive a cab. Maggie works in the school canteen. We’re not low-life crims or scumbags.’
Lenny doesn’t react. Perhaps she should be talking to the parents separately to gauge their different responses. Dougal has the stronger personality and Maggie defers to him, never questioning his answers, or interrupting. She’s not subservient, but neither is she an equal in the relationship.