Throwaways (3 page)

The story of Sheena Andrews’ downward spiral had been the one the press had revelled in telling. Horse-loving, private school educated teen ends up going from a girl in pigtails to a slapper in fishnets, selling sexual favours for the price of a lottery ticket; one newspaper columnist’s words, not mine.

The Andrews lived in a fancy townhouse on the outskirts of Glasgow in an area where the house prices were in the hundreds of thousands. We knew this because we’d Googled the place. Years ago, I’d dated this guy who lived nearby called Paul Slater whose parents restored and sold antique furniture for a living. They were very well to do –“we count the new Chief Constable of Scotland’s police as a close personal friend” kind of thing – but even their house wasn’t as big as this one.

The red sandstone villa was set on enough land for Sheena to have a horse in the back garden if she’d wanted – if her parents didn’t mind their Wimbledon standard lawn being chomped away and covered in hoof marks.

When Tommy and I first saw the house, we exchanged incredulous looks, but I was the one who spoke first. “How the hell does someone who comes from a house like this end up prostituting themselves?”

Maybe the answer to that question would help us find Sheena and the others.

The tall but stooped figure of James Andrews opened the door after we’d rung the bell. His hair was peppered with grey and he wore thick, round glasses that made him look like an ageing Harry Potter. Our introductions barely registered on his gaunt face before he invited us in. I recognized him from the pictures in the newspapers of the couple at the emotional press conference where they’d pleaded with Sheena to contact them.

As the director of a multi-million engineering company, he
was used to being in front of the cameras announcing deals, but he’d looked ill at ease at the press conference, unable to make eye contact whilst his wife had stared straight ahead as she’d wept.

His movements were stiff as he led us into the living room. Sheena’s dad was sleepwalking his way through the days. I’d been that way after my parents were killed.

Helen Andrews was sitting on the couch doing a crossword and looked up at us and nodded when her husband introduced us. He sat down besides her and she put down her magazine and her hand slid into his.

They would have once been a handsome couple, but grief had wrung every last ounce of life from the pair. There were grey bags under Her eyes; the kind you get from crying so much you think you’ll never stop. She was a trim woman in her 40s with short brown hair that might once have been bobbed, but now looked in need of some TLC.

We sat down, taking care that we didn’t crinkle the couch cover that looked like Harris Tweed. My eyes zoomed in on a photograph in a solid silver frame, sitting on the mantelpiece of the original Victorian fireplace. The girl in the picture was at that age where you’re trapped between childhood and adolescence. Her blonde hair was the colour of ripe corn. She was standing next to a pony with a fuzzy mane of shocking white hair. They were both showing off their teeth.

James Andrews caught me looking. “Yes, that’s our Sheena. Beautiful, isn’t she?” A wistful smile played on his lips, bringing some light to his grim face.

“Yes, she is,” I said as Tommy nodded.

Rummaging about in my handbag, I brought out a pen and a notepad. “I hope you don’t mind if I write this down? We’d appreciate anything you can tell us that might help us find Tanya.”

They both shook their heads, so I got started. We’d decided it’d be better if I did the talking.

“What can you tell me about, Sheena? What was she like?”

The full focus of Helen Andrews was on me. “I’m glad you say was and not is. Because they haven’t found Sheena’s body we’re supposed to have some hope that she’s still alive.” She exchanged a glance with her husband who quickly looked away, then dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then clamped it shut. He’d spoken about their daughter in the present tense. He was clinging to the hope that she was still alive.

Helen Andrews carried on. “If Sheena were alive, she would have found some way of contacting me. She phoned me every day, even when things were bad and she knew I wouldn’t like what she was telling me. And, I’d always beg her to come home. I’d tell her we’d get her back on her feet and she could go to university and train to be a vet like she always wanted to be.”

Her face lit up as she spoke about her daughter and just for a moment, I saw how she must have looked before grief drained her beauty. “She was a lovely little girl. She was bright, warm and funny and she loved horses. That’s why she wanted to be a vet.” She motioned towards the picture. “That’s her pony, Chester. We still pay for his keep at the stables. She adored that horse.”

Her features relaxed; remembering was helping her to cope with the grief and I knew how she felt. Since my parents and brother were killed, remembering the good stuff had stopped me from falling into a deep depression. When you’d lost someone you loved, the memories were all you had left.

My eyes scanned the room, taking in all the antiques. The next question wasn’t going to be easy, but it had to be asked. “Did you know what Sheena was doing?”

James Andrews clenched his other hand into a fist. “No, not at first.”

His wife finished answering the question. “We only found out when the police brought her home one night. We made her see a psychologist after that. Dr. Cassidy. He was so good with her.
Wasn’t he James?”

He nodded. “If it weren’t for him we wouldn’t have known about the abuse.”

This was news to us: there’d been no mention of this in the media and we thought they’d eked out every last drop of salacious detail.

“What abuse was that?” said Tommy.

James Andrews seemed to have trouble focusing. As he stared straight ahead, his wife was the one who spoke. “Sheena was taken advantage of by a teacher at school. Her art teacher. We’d no idea what had been going on until she told her therapist.”

“Was he ever charged?” I asked. Maybe this teacher had snatched Sheena as an act of revenge and grabbed Suzy Henderson to muddy the trail leading back to him?

A brief look passed between the couple. I didn’t know what it meant until Helen Andrews spoke. “It wasn’t a man, dear. It was a woman. If it’d been a man, there’d have been no chance of him avoiding prison. At least that’s what our lawyer said.” She turned to her husband. “Isn’t that right, James?”

Her husband’s face reddened. “That predatory bitch. She destroyed my little girl. Sheena was never the same after that woman got her claws into her. She started cutting school, drinking, smoking and staying out late. When I’d ask her where she’d been, she’d give me that impish smile of hers.” His face softened. “It was the smile she used to give me whenever I’d come back from a business trip. She’d come bounding in to see what I’d brought her from Tokyo, Singapore or Dubai, or wherever I was coming back from this time. Only this time it turned into a smirk. I…”

His voice wavered and he pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m ashamed to say that I wanted to wipe it off with my fist.” His eyes fixed on me and he didn’t seem to catch the disapproving glance from his wife. “But, I didn’t hit her. As I told the police, I would never hit Sheena. My father used to batter me senseless
with a leather belt; usually with the buckle end. I vowed never to hit my children.”

We already knew Sheena was an only child, so there was no way of being sure that he hadn’t hit her, although he didn’t seem like the type.

“What was this teacher’s name?” I kept my voice steady and calm like I was making a comment about the weather. “The one who abused your daughter?”

“Marie Fredericks.”

I noted down the name.

“Do you have any idea how we can contact her?”

James Andrews snorted. “After what she did, the only place she could get a job was in a prison. Ironic considering she should have ended up behind bars.”

“So, you reported it to the police?” I said.

James Andrews shook his head. “We discussed it with the school and our lawyers and they thought it was best that they dealt with it internally. I wasn’t happy about that. Neither of us were.” His wife nodded. “But, we didn’t want to ruin Sheena’s future by dragging her through the criminal justice system. You read about what they do to the victims of sexual predators, making out like it’s their fault or like they’re fantasists. Imagine how they’d treat a young girl who’d been taken advantage of by her female teacher. They’d have destroyed her. She wasn’t strong enough for that. On the outside, she may look like an adult, but on the inside she’s just a child.”

Whilst understanding their reasoning I couldn’t believe that they hadn’t gone to the police. Surely they would have had it been a male teacher, so why was a woman any different? But, I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “How long did this go on for?”

“Two years we think,” said Helen Andrews. “It started when Sheena was 14. That’s what she told Dr. Cassidy. We’d no idea anything was wrong until she started to turn into a wild child. It wasn’t just the bad habits she picked up; it was the way she
started to dress. Like someone much older, who was trying to attract the wrong kind of company. She’d always dressed like a teenager, but never so…” She looked sheepish. “Provocatively.”

“We tried to talk to her, but it was no use. She acted as if we were in the wrong. Said we were suffocating her.” She took a pronounced breath as though bracing herself for what she was about to say next. “Things got so bad that when Sheena turned 16 we found her a place of her own.” Her face relaxed. “While I helped her to decorate she was happy. She became her old self again. It was almost like I had my daughter back.”

“What happened?” said Tommy. He’d been listening intently. And knew there was a but coming.

The couple eyed each other wearily.

“She moved this man in,” said Helen Andrews. “She said he was her boyfriend. He was at least ten years older than her. It wasn’t until later that we realised he was he was the one encouraging her to sell herself, to fund his habit.”

“Did you speak to him after she disappeared?” He had to be a strong suspect. She was his cash cow. What if she’d threatened to go home to her parents, cutting off his access to money? That would have given him a motive to kill her.

“No,” said James Andrews, “by then he’d died of a heroin overdose. The police told us. They think our Sheena had been selling her body to pay for his drugs. They said they saw that kind of thing all the time and there was little they could do because she was 16.”

In Scotland, 16-year-olds were treated pretty much like adults and were allowed to get married.

Helen Andrews’ gaze moved from me to Tommy. “Is that what happened to your cousin? Did she meet the wrong kind of man who took advantage of her?”

“We’re not sure,” said Tommy. “Tanya didn’t have the best start in life. You probably read about that?”

Little had been written about Tanya Baker in the papers,
except for the sorry tale of how she’d ended up as a throwaway child. Of all the throwaways – one newspaper reporter who I wanted to slap, had coined that term for the women – she was the one they’d ignored.

Sheena’s dad shook his head. “We’d never have one of those scurrilous rags in the house. They’re not fit to line a rabbit hutch.”

Worried he’d ask some questions I couldn’t answer about my “cousin” I jumped in with, “When did you last see Sheena?”

Helen Andrews gazed down at her lap, tears glistening in her eyes, whilst her husband held his hands together like he’d caught a rare butterfly and didn’t want to let it go. He’d let go of his wife’s hand and I wondered if they were going to be one of those couples driven apart by loss.

When Helen Andrews spoke, her voice surprised me. Despite her tears it was strong and controlled. “A few months ago, Sheena came here for dinner. She brought that man with her. James wouldn’t have him in my house. He said he was poison.” She gave her husband a stony gaze. She obviously hadn’t forgiven him for costing her the chance to say goodbye to her daughter – or, at least that’s how she saw it.

“What about on the phone?”

“I spoke to her a week before she was last seen; before we went on holiday. She was talking about going to college and changing her life. I said I’d help her once we got back from holiday.” She shot her husband another sharp look that could have seared his flesh. “I didn’t want to go on that cruise, but James insisted. There were business associates of his coming along with their partners.” She gazed over at the photograph of Sheena. “If only I hadn’t gone…”

With her words of resentment ringing in our ears, we made our excuses and left, promising to tell them whatever we discovered.

Walking down the long driveway, past the rosebushes that were in full bloom, I couldn’t help thinking that despite their
wealth nothing had protected them from the bad stuff. In that way they were the same as the rest of us, only in fancier clothes.

As we drove off, Tommy’s words echoed my thoughts. “Do you think this Fredericks woman really did abuse Sheena, or is there more chance that the girl had a schoolgirl crush on her teacher and Fredericks rebuffed her advances?”

“You think she lied about the abuse to get revenge?” I found that difficult to believe.

“I don’t know,” said Tommy, “I’ve never been a teenage girl. But whatever did happen, having your career ruined is a pretty good motive for murder.”

But, I wasn’t buying it. “Why would this teacher kill Suzy Henderson? Sheena Andrews’ finger was in Suzy Henderson’s stomach. The only way it could have got there was if whoever took Sheena also took Suzy.”

Tommy bashed his fist against the dashboard. “Damn, I forgot about that.”

“I can see Fredericks killing Sheena in an act of revenge, even though the damage was already done, but why would she kill Suzy Henderson? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re right,” said Tommy.

We both agreed that we needed to meet this Fredericks woman.

Fredericks wasn’t a common name in Scotland and when we’d Googled it, a profile came up that showed she worked as an art teacher at tough Saughton Prison in Edinburgh. She agreed to see us. Tommy put her on speaker phone and her voice had remained level even when we’d mentioned Sheena.

At the prison, we had to go through scanners, then we were searched and made to put our possessions, including mobile phones and chewing gum (apparently prisoners can use it to make an imprint of keys) in a locker. Everyone who entered the jail had to do this, including staff. I’d visited my brother Shug in prison so many times that I was used to this ritual. Tommy was unperturbed as a beefy prison guard patted him down.

“I don’t like to say this,” chirped the skinny, tall man who took over and briskly led us through the security gates, “but it’s the folk who work here who are just as likely to bring in contraband as prisoners’ relatives. Sometimes they’re under duress. Other times they’re doing it just for the money. Reflects badly on the rest of us, I can tell you.”

Marie Fredericks was not what I’d expected. Working at an exclusive girls’ school, I’d expected a prim librarian-type in a twinset or New Ager in a sunflower smock with beaded hair. Instead we got
America’s Next Top Model
. Marie Fredericks was supermodel tall and had long curly chestnut hair and a smile that exposed perfect white teeth that I bet came courtesy of some expensive orthodontics. Her online profile said that she was 42, but she could have passed for 30. I hated her on sight, from the toes of her Louboutin shoes to the tips of her effortless curls, although I had to admit that if a schoolgirl was going to have a crush on a teacher, it would probably be the fragrant Fredericks. Tommy was transfixed by her – maybe it was the novelty of watching a real lady in action – but a swift boot to the heel soon
brought him to his senses.

Fredericks suggested we go to the canteen so we’d be more comfortable. I’d have been more comfortable had she been as ugly as sin with huge big facial warts and a great big hump on her back.

The canteen was empty but for two men behind the counter, they both looked like civilians, but I knew that some prisoners were allowed to wear their own clothes. Fredericks flashed them a smile and one of them winked at her. Fredericks didn’t so much as sit down as arrange herself in a chair. Before we’d even asked her about her relationship with Sheena, she’d started talking about her former pupil.

She had a husky voice like Marlene Dietrich – my guess was it came courtesy of Marlboro. “Sheena was a wonderful girl: bright, intelligent and unlike so many of my other pupils, she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to go to art school in Paris and to open her own gallery one day.”

So far, that’d been all she’d said: how wonderful Sheena was as she’d nibbled delicately at the corners of a Rich Tea biscuit and daintily sipped her Chamomile tea (she’d produced a teabag from her handbag and asked for a cup of boiling water).

More time-wasting platitudes about what a dream Sheena was to teach followed, so I threw in a hand grenade. “You were accused of having an inappropriate relationship with Sheena and sacked. Can you tell us about that?”

Fredericks raised an eyebrow – perfectly arched of course. “Sheena had feelings for me. I didn’t handle it well.”

No shit
, that’s why she was here working with killers, rapists and granny muggers.

I wasn’t done. “You abused your position of trust, to have a relationship with a pupil.”

Fredericks’ face twitched. At last a chink in her ice-cool demeanour. “Sheena did all the running – buying me flowers, sending me poetry books with verses marked. I didn’t even think
I was interested in women. I’ve been happily married for thirteen years.”

She fingered the diamond ring she had to prove it. The rock was huge and I was surprised she was allowed to wear it at the prison with so many thieves around. I wondered if she was still married, or had she kept the ring to show off. If I’d had a rich husband, I wouldn’t have been caught dead working here.

For the first time, she looked earnest. “I know what you’re thinking. I’d be thinking it too. A teacher seducing a teenager seems more likely than teenage girl seduces teacher.”

It was Tommy’s time to play good cop. As I’d got stuck into Fredericks, he’d sat there impassive. “When she made the accusations did you speak to Sheena about what she’d said about you?” He leaned in closer as if to show her this conversation was between him and her and I didn’t exist. “I know you’re not meant to, but if you thought your actions had been misconstrued you would have tried to talk to her. It’s understandable. I know I would if I’d been in your situation.”

“No,” said Fredericks. “I never got the chance. They weren’t interested in my side of the story. I was told to empty my desk and escorted out of the school grounds by security. It was humiliating.” She made a little sigh and her lips quivered, but not enough to give her frown lines. “I loved that job.”

“Did you have any contact with Sheena after you were fired?” I asked.

Fredericks shook her head, making her perfect curls bounce. “No, I never saw or heard from her again and I was glad. She almost ruined my marriage. My husband found one of her letters. She made it sound like we were together. As though we were going to elope.”

Grudgingly, I believed her. There was no indication she was lying.

Tommy and I swapped glances. Maybe angry at his wife’s “affair” Mr. Fredericks had gone after Sheena? Things could have
got out of hand and she ended up dead. I made a mental note to check out the husband, although the chances of him being involved were slim because he’d have had to have been involved in Suzy Henderson’s death.

“Look,” said Fredericks, flashing her doe eyes. “I’m not comfortable about discussing this with strangers. I also fail to see how this will help you find your cousin.”

For the first time, I smiled at her. “Thanks, you’ve been really helpful, but I think you could be right. I don’t think you can help us. Thanks for your time.”

* * *

Before we went to see Sheena’s best friend Donna Di Marco (we’d got her name from Sheena’s parents), we decided to stop off for something to eat. Whilst I stood in line, Tommy went outside to phone his police pal to ask him if they knew anything about Fredericks’ husband.

Our order was ready by the time he got back. “It’s a dead end,” he said. “Marie Fredericks is married to an Arthur Schubert. He’s stinking rich, 30 years her senior. Oh, and he’s been in a wheelchair for 3 years ever since he broke his spine in two places in a skiing accident.”

Damn
. Unless he was faking it or had an Iron Man costume he put on, there was no chance he was our man.