The victims’ prison tunics

The victims’ prison tunics are both part of the captor’s system of confinement and a crucial physical clue in the investigation. Their coarse, unmistakable association with captivity is matched by a practical forensic significance: the fabric used to make them points detectives toward the local furniture trade, and a small group of tunics found in a spare bedroom helps confirm that the police are searching the right place.

Appearance and Material

The garments are described as ugly tunics, and they are the clothing worn by women when they are found. The narrative does not give a detailed account of their cut or construction, but their fabric proves distinctive enough to be identified: it is upholstery material of the kind used on the bases of chairs and settees. The tunics therefore connect the women’s confinement to an ordinary domestic material, repurposed as part of a captive’s clothing.

That material is not merely descriptive. Once examined, it changes the direction of the inquiry. A detail that might otherwise seem to belong only to the captor’s private regime becomes a trace capable of linking the crime to businesses that make or reupholster furniture. The tunics acquire investigative force precisely because their substance can be recognized beyond the room in which the women were held.

The Forensic Breakthrough

Eve Strong tells DCI Kirsty Summers that the clothing worn by the women found by police has turned out to be made from upholstery fabric. The discovery comes through an ordinary domestic encounter rather than a planned forensic test: after having a chair reupholstered, Eve happens to look underneath it and notices the relevant kind of material. She calls it a minor breakthrough, while Kirsty welcomes a lead after the investigation has been waiting for one.

Eve’s observation gives the fabric a concrete investigative use. She has Gina Cross compile a list of local firms that make or reupholster furniture, turning recognition of the material into a search for possible sources. The tunics thus carry information about their manufacture even though the evidence does not yet identify a particular supplier. Their importance lies in narrowing the field of inquiry and giving the police a new route to follow.

Discovery in the Spare Bedroom

Later, during a search of a house, Paul Forrester finds a box of adult nappies in a spare bedroom and, beside it, another box containing a couple of the ugly tunics worn by the women police have found. He calls Eve over and holds one of the garments up in gloved hands. Eve treats the discovery as proof that they have reached the right place, then immediately redirects attention to the next urgent task: finding the women.

The placement of the tunics matters alongside the other objects in the room. They are not an isolated garment discovered in a general store of household belongings; they are boxed near adult nappies, another item associated with the captives’ treatment. The evidence does not by itself explain every stage of how the clothing was used, but the pairing strengthens the significance of the find. The tunics make the house legible as a place connected to the victims and turn the search from a suspicion into a more concrete location-based inquiry.

The adjoining bathroom reinforces that reading of the house. Bill Nicol reports that it has only a toilet and washbasin, a groove cut beneath the door, and a window nailed shut and painted over. That arrangement recalls the controlled bathroom routine experienced by Felicity Wanless, in which a rope passes beneath the locked door and her time alone is limited. The tunics are not the only evidence in the house, but they form part of a material cluster that connects objects, rooms, and the conditions of captivity.

Captivity and Public Visibility

The tunics also stand in contrast to the public campaign surrounding Terri Briggs and Berri Briggs. While the women found by police are associated with prison clothing, the twins’ friends and neighbours arrange for T-shirts printed with the girls’ photograph and a missing-person appeal. Linda Briggs explains that the community has contributed to the cost and will wear the shirts until the twins are found and home. The garments serve opposite purposes: the tunics belong to a concealed system of control, while the T-shirts carry the missing girls’ faces into public view.

That contrast takes on weight in a story attentive to unequal attention. A newspaper article speculates about the twins and calls them little tearaways, while Linda argues that pretty, wealthier victims receive more press attention than her working-class daughters. Iris hopes the T-shirts will make the girls as important in public discussion as The Phantom and his victims. The tunics themselves do not explain this disparity, but, set beside the community’s effort to circulate the twins’ image, they sharpen the difference between clothing that marks women’s captivity and clothing deliberately made to resist their disappearance from public notice.