she'd had a text
message telling her Allison had been found in a bin. I asked her how
she was doing and what could I do to help and she asked how much I'd
pay her for her story.”
28
Natalie
Kirk was a scrawny looking woman with an instantaneously off-putting
attitude. Even reminding yourself she had lost her daughter did little
in the way of balancing the scales in her favour. She stood in the
small interview room in Nottingham Today's fourth floor suite telling me how hard done to she was. Her talon
shaped red nails pointed towards me in an attempt to claw their message
across, heaving breasts barely contained by the skimpy cloth passing as
a t-shirt. Ethan sat in the corner in a coffee coloured armchair. A
small silver rectangle object sat on the low table at his side and I
realised the conversation was being recorded.
“My baby's gone and what are you doing about it?” Natalie Kirk wailed at me.
“Mrs
Kirk, I'm sorry for your loss. I have a full team of officers, seasoned
detectives working all hours in an effort to identify and arrest the
offender.” I paused, giving her time to take in what I'd said. I wasn't
sure she was listening. Her concentration seemed limited, fractured,
and not just by grief, but by other conversations she seemed to be
wanting to have. Her head flicked between Ethan and her beeping phone.
She'd tut as she pulled it out of her bag, but check anyway, to see if
it needed responding to. The majority of time, I could see, she had the
sense not to send messages as we stood there. “Please,” I continued,
“can we sit down?” I gestured towards the comfortable plush sofas
positioned around the room. Natalie sat, crossed skinny legs in a tiny
skirt, and waved four inch heels towards me. Her fingers once again
went to her tired red handbag. My patience was about coming to an end.
The conversation was the most stilted I'd ever attempted to hold with a
parent of a murdered child. Eventually she pulled out a pack of
cigarettes and a lighter. The screwed up look on her face softened. She
flicked at the lighter and sucked hard on the cigarette between cherry
lips.
“Natalie, you can't smoke in here. I'm sorry,” Ethan said.
She
eyed him, head to toe and back up again, seemed to consider her options
before she stubbed it out on a saucer in front of her.
“It
may be more comfortable if we talked down at the station where we can
discuss Allison and make arrangements for you to see her,” I said.
“I'm
not going anywhere with you. I'm staying here.” She raised her voice
and the barely restrained breasts were pushed forward in some kind of
protest. “ Notts Today wants my story.” She glanced at Ethan for confirmation, who looked at
me and had the sense to keep his mouth shut at this point. She
continued, “Maybe I can come and see you when I've talked to them?” Her
bony hands rubbed at her cheeks, where no real tears were falling.
“Mrs
Kirk, this is a murder investigation and we need a formal
identification of Allison. It's imperative this is done. If it's
delayed, the rest of the investigation is delayed. After the ID we need
a chat with you, we need to get an idea of who Allison was as a girl
and where she may have been hanging out, who her friends were, what her
likes and dislikes were. Just a general feel for her. That way, we can
start to make enquiries, question people and find the person who did
this.”
Natalie
jumped from her seat, heels wobbling from the ferocity of the movement.
“They did this to me as well. She's my baby. It's hurting right in my
heart.” Her hand went dramatically to her chest. My sympathy was
non-existent. I didn't feel bad about that either, Natalie Kirk wasn't
feeling guilty for her lack of parenting skills. I was not surprised
Allison had struggled to remain in her own home with a mother who cared
so little for her. The recorder caught my attention again. Ethan
evaded my silent, querying look. I stood.
“I
know you're hurting,
message telling her Allison had been found in a bin. I asked her how
she was doing and what could I do to help and she asked how much I'd
pay her for her story.”
28
Natalie
Kirk was a scrawny looking woman with an instantaneously off-putting
attitude. Even reminding yourself she had lost her daughter did little
in the way of balancing the scales in her favour. She stood in the
small interview room in Nottingham Today's fourth floor suite telling me how hard done to she was. Her talon
shaped red nails pointed towards me in an attempt to claw their message
across, heaving breasts barely contained by the skimpy cloth passing as
a t-shirt. Ethan sat in the corner in a coffee coloured armchair. A
small silver rectangle object sat on the low table at his side and I
realised the conversation was being recorded.
“My baby's gone and what are you doing about it?” Natalie Kirk wailed at me.
“Mrs
Kirk, I'm sorry for your loss. I have a full team of officers, seasoned
detectives working all hours in an effort to identify and arrest the
offender.” I paused, giving her time to take in what I'd said. I wasn't
sure she was listening. Her concentration seemed limited, fractured,
and not just by grief, but by other conversations she seemed to be
wanting to have. Her head flicked between Ethan and her beeping phone.
She'd tut as she pulled it out of her bag, but check anyway, to see if
it needed responding to. The majority of time, I could see, she had the
sense not to send messages as we stood there. “Please,” I continued,
“can we sit down?” I gestured towards the comfortable plush sofas
positioned around the room. Natalie sat, crossed skinny legs in a tiny
skirt, and waved four inch heels towards me. Her fingers once again
went to her tired red handbag. My patience was about coming to an end.
The conversation was the most stilted I'd ever attempted to hold with a
parent of a murdered child. Eventually she pulled out a pack of
cigarettes and a lighter. The screwed up look on her face softened. She
flicked at the lighter and sucked hard on the cigarette between cherry
lips.
“Natalie, you can't smoke in here. I'm sorry,” Ethan said.
She
eyed him, head to toe and back up again, seemed to consider her options
before she stubbed it out on a saucer in front of her.
“It
may be more comfortable if we talked down at the station where we can
discuss Allison and make arrangements for you to see her,” I said.
“I'm
not going anywhere with you. I'm staying here.” She raised her voice
and the barely restrained breasts were pushed forward in some kind of
protest. “ Notts Today wants my story.” She glanced at Ethan for confirmation, who looked at
me and had the sense to keep his mouth shut at this point. She
continued, “Maybe I can come and see you when I've talked to them?” Her
bony hands rubbed at her cheeks, where no real tears were falling.
“Mrs
Kirk, this is a murder investigation and we need a formal
identification of Allison. It's imperative this is done. If it's
delayed, the rest of the investigation is delayed. After the ID we need
a chat with you, we need to get an idea of who Allison was as a girl
and where she may have been hanging out, who her friends were, what her
likes and dislikes were. Just a general feel for her. That way, we can
start to make enquiries, question people and find the person who did
this.”
Natalie
jumped from her seat, heels wobbling from the ferocity of the movement.
“They did this to me as well. She's my baby. It's hurting right in my
heart.” Her hand went dramatically to her chest. My sympathy was
non-existent. I didn't feel bad about that either, Natalie Kirk wasn't
feeling guilty for her lack of parenting skills. I was not surprised
Allison had struggled to remain in her own home with a mother who cared
so little for her. The recorder caught my attention again. Ethan
evaded my silent, querying look. I stood.
“I
know you're hurting,
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