NEVER CAME HOME an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2)

by Gretta Mulrooney

  NEVER

  CAME

  HOME

  An addictive crime thriller with a twist you won’t see coming

  GRETTA MULROONEY

  Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2

  First published in Great Britain 2020

  Joffe Books, London

  © Gretta Mulrooney

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this. The right of Gretta Mulrooney to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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  ISBN 978-1-78931-525-7

  To C.A.M.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Prologue

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  28 July 2013

  Adam roamed around the house, trailing restlessly from room to room. Now and again, he rubbed the edges of his trainers on the wood floor because he enjoyed the mousy squeak they made. Usually, his mum would tell him off because it might leave marks, but today she was distracted, so he reckoned he’d get away with it. He made a little noise in his throat as he went, to reassure himself: ‘Catchungcatchungcatchung.’ There was an exciting, expectant atmosphere like Christmas morning. Everything was unsettled. He liked it and was a bit frightened at the same time.

  The house smelled of a cocktail of nail varnish, shower gel, hair products and mingled perfumes. Jeff from next door had popped in to return the strimmer, and he’d laughed and said the place ‘ponged like a tart’s parlour’. When Adam asked what that meant, Jeff had put his hand over his mouth and then said, ‘I’d forgotten small boys have big ears. You know, Adam — like a fruit tart.’ When Jeff had gone, his mum had muttered, ‘Bloody annoying pest, always turning up when he’s not wanted.’

  There were six girls filling the house with giddy exhilaration: his older sister Lily and her school friends. They called themselves the Damsels, and they were like brightly coloured, long-legged birds from a rainforest, swooping and chattering before resting on chairs or beds. They giggled and called to each other: ‘Oh no, I’ve got a humongous spot, has anyone got concealer?’ ‘Help! I’ve smudged this — I need emergency nail varnish remover.’ ‘Eye alert! I’ve forgotten my mascara.’ When Tasha wasn’t looking, Adam picked up her pearly orange nail varnish and sniffed the acid-drop scent.

  The girls were sipping a light, rosy drink that fizzed. Lily had offered him a taste and he’d taken some, then pulled a face because although the bubbles were nice, it was bitter. Lily laughed and told him to scram, to go and play or watch telly because he was being annoying. ‘Children shouldn’t be seen or heard,’ she told him, making the others giggle. He wandered from her room but loitered on the landing, listening to the girls singing along to Olly Murs, Adele and Rihanna. They fell silent only when they delved into make-up bags and gazed intently in mirrors, their mouths open as they concentrated on drawing steady lines around their lips and eyes. He hung in the doorway and watched as they worked magic with wands, pencils, palettes and brushes. They barely noticed him, other than to warn him not to touch their dresses. Except for Izzie, who bent down, caught him under the chin with one light hand and deftly dotted her cherry-flavoured lipstick on his cheeks. ‘It’s called “Beach Babe” so I’ll put some on you, babe.’ Her braids tickled his face. She smiled and turned her mirror to him so that he could see the two red spots. He smiled too, at the pleasure of being included. Izzie was nice. She ran her hand through his hair and handed him a Twix, his favourite. She smelled of soap and something else, like the tinned sweets Papu bought in the chemist.

  Lily was complaining as he came downstairs. He sat on the bottom step, picking at a scab on his knee, listening to her high, whiny voice and his mother replying in that quiet, level way she had when she was trying to smooth things over. She’d been talking like that a lot lately.

  ‘Mum, stop fussing, will you. Go away!’

  ‘I was just checking your bow.’

  ‘Well, don’t! And that’s enough photos for now, you’re in the way.’

  ‘D’you want a hand with your hair?’

  ‘No, I can manage.’

  ‘Is that a bit too much eyeshadow?’

  ‘No, it’s exactly how I want it.’

  ‘It’s quite thick around . . .’

  ‘Mum! Just get lost, would you? You’re doing my head in. I need to concentrate on my hair. Where’s the tongs? Rosie, have you got my tongs?’

  Lily had been talking about the prom for weeks. She’d bought her dress online and had then had it altered by Elsa at Quickstitch in town. Pearce, her boyfriend, hadn’t been allowed to see it. He was meeting her at the prom and it had to be a big surprise. Mum had said, ‘That’s usually the custom for a wedding dress,’ and Lily had replied, ‘Well, we are getting married soon, so this can be a practice run.’ His mum’s face had gone strange and tight when Lily had said that, and there was that funny atmosphere in the house, as if the roof was pressing down and the walls were squeezing together.

  His mother came to the top of the stairs and stared into space for a few moments. She fiddled with her ponytail and sighed, then slumped and leaned her head against the wall so that she was half in shadow. It was a warm evening, and she wore a bright yellow dress with bits of white on the shoulders that were called epaulettes. It was strange, peering up at her with his head back. She was small but from where he sat, she seemed taller and very like Lily.

  She glanced down and saw him. ‘Okay there, Adam?’

  He wasn’t but he couldn’t explain. He asked, ‘Has Dad phoned?’

  ‘No.’ She came down slowly, peering at him. ‘What’s that on your face?’

  ‘Lipstick. Izzie did it.’

  ‘These girls! What’ll we do with them? They’re a law unto themselves, that lot. Don’t pick that scab, it’ll never heal and it might get infected.’

  He felt sorry for his mum. She was dying to be in the bedroom with Lily, involved in the make-up and hair. She would put photos of herself and Lily on Facebook, saying things like, ‘Guess which is the mum?’ She l
oved it when people mistook her and Lily for sisters. Lily would say things like ‘Yeah, only when the light’s dim,’ that Mum was ‘sad,’ and didn’t she realise people laughed at her when she posted stuff like that? If Dad ever heard Lily being horrible, he’d ask her if she’d been sharpening her tongue.

  Adam missed his dad. He’d been gone for a while now. He’d heard his mum on the phone, saying Dad might have a disease. He wondered if Dad might be in hospital with no one to visit him. Although he was friends with people who worked there, so they’d probably take him fruit and stuff. When he asked Mum, she said he’d see his dad soon enough, but in a flat, abrupt way that Adam didn’t believe. And what did ‘soon enough’ mean? Next year? Lily refused to talk about him at all and had told Adam to shut up when he had said it would be Dad’s birthday soon. If Dad were here, he’d have made a dry comment when Jeff brought the strimmer back. Something like, ‘Oh, you’ve had it so long, I thought I must have sold it to you.’

  Adam drifted out to the dusty back garden and sat in his tepee for a while, with the zip closed. He picked up his big sketch pad, laid it across his knees, and drew astronauts and planets. He could hear bees clustering around the lavender. His mum said that they love-bombed it. The air was syrupy. Sweat was pooling on the back of his neck, but he didn’t want to open the tepee and anyway, it was just as hot outside. He liked being tucked away inside while everyone else was out there. The tepee smelled faintly of cheesy socks and cat pee. Adam was supposed to leave it zipped up all the time so that cats couldn’t get in, but he usually forgot. Last week, he’d found a dead shrew in there and he’d chucked it over the fence into the weeds at the bottom of Jeff’s garden. That would have made Dad laugh.

  His stomach grumbled, so he ate a malty biscuit from a packet he kept under an old cushion for this kind of emergency. A couple of ants ran out when he picked it up and darted into a corner. Adam had read that an ant could carry up to fifty times its own body weight, so they’d probably hauled a chunk of biscuit between them. He crunched a couple more. It was past dinner time, but his mum wouldn’t be able to think about food until the girls had gone. Now and again, he glanced at the shifting shadows on the side of the tepee and heard Jeff whistling softly while he opened his barbecue. It was his pride and joy and had cost nearly a thousand pounds. Mum said, ‘He treasures that dual fuel as if it was one of the crown jewels.’

  The sun was low on the horizon when he heard his mum call. ‘The limo’s here, girls! Come on, I want to take photos.’

  He ran down the side of the house past the whiffy dustbins to peep at the limousine. He’d never seen one before. It was silver, massive and gleaming, a sleek monster with a huge grille at the front like a mouth. The orange sun sparkled off the shining roof. Pink and white ribbons stretched across the windows. The girls’ parents had clubbed together for the evening’s hire and his mum had organised it, a special package called ‘Perfect Prom.’ There would be chilled Prosecco and tiny frosted cupcakes on offer for the journey to Newton High, although Lily had stated that she wouldn’t touch a cake in case she got stuff on her dress. The driver got out and doffed his peaked cap to the girls, who were skittering out through the front door, giggling like mad and holding their skirts. Several of the neighbours came out to watch.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely!’

  ‘Ah, so beautiful!’

  ‘Just like princesses, all of them!’

  ‘Have an amazing evening!’

  ‘Wish I’d had something like this in my day. I got a Mars bar when I finished school.’

  ‘Jealous? Me? Too right I am!’

  ‘And me. Pea-green with envy!’

  Adam’s mum got the girls to line up by the limo and snapped away with her phone. Lily was in the centre of the group, in a blue fishtail dress with sequins and a huge bow at the back. Adam had crept into her room and touched the dress when she was out. It hung from her wardrobe door, slippery, scaly, and cool, just like a briny mermaid. He’d pressed his face to it and squirmed at a weird ripple in his guts.

  The air was shimmering with heat and blueish smoke from next door. Adam smelled sausages. His mouth watered. Jeff made great hot dogs and spicy chicken wings, too. The girls were jiggling up and down as if they needed the loo but they were impatient, wanting to get going. Mrs Devani from two doors up took a photo and called, ‘This’ll be a night you’ll always remember!’

  At last the chauffeur said, ‘Are we ready, ladies?’ They all climbed into the limo, giggling and settling their dresses. His mum took final photos as they were driven away, waving to anyone watching. The driver tooted his horn as they turned the corner.

  ‘Bloody hell, they think they’re royalty,’ Jeff said. He was leaning against his gate, holding a pair of tongs and wearing an apron with a picture of sausages in a pan and the caption, Prick With A Fork.

  Adam saw his mum glance at the apron and frown. Sometimes she said that Jeff was ‘a bit much.’

  ‘They are for tonight!’ she replied.

  ‘Want to come and have a bite now the girls have flown?’ Jeff asked. ‘Be ready in about twenty minutes and there’s plenty. Judy’s coming over with the kids. Forecast says a storm’s coming later so might as well make the most of the dry evening.’

  Adam was disappointed when Mum said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks, I’ve got something prepared.’

  Indoors was silent and flat. Traces of scent lingered in the hall. His mum picked up a tangle of moulted hairs from a corner by the door and rolled them in her hand, looking sad. Adam couldn’t smell anything cooking.

  ‘I’m hungry. Can’t we go to Jeff’s?’ He leaned his head against her.

  She put an arm around him. Her skin was warm and she smelled of peppermint tea. ‘Course, you must be starving. You’re an angel for waiting. I’m a bit of a grump these days but things will get better, I promise. We can’t go to Jeff’s tonight because I’ve got to pop out in a bit. Just to the shop for a few things. Will you be okay if I do sandwiches?’ He didn’t reply but she carried on. ‘You can have them on a tray and watch a film, stay up late. I’ll nip out while you eat, and then when I get back, we can watch the rest of the film together and have hot chocolate. Okay?’

  He’d have preferred barbecue food from next door but he agreed. He’d never been left on his own before, and he’d usually rather go out with his mum but he was hungry and excited about staying up. He busied himself flicking through the TV menu and choosing a film. He sat on the sofa with his ham and tomato sandwiches, crisps and a glass of milk and raised a thumb when his mum stuck her head through the door. She’d combed her hair out from its ponytail and it fell in soft, glowing waves around her shoulders. He smelled her peachy hair mousse.

  ‘Mind you don’t spill that milk. Back soon. Don’t open the door to anyone. Oh good, Toy Story, my favourite! I guessed you might choose that.’ She crossed to the sofa, kissed the top of his head, and was gone.

  He’d seen the film many times before but sat, entranced, chuckling, saying the lines with Woody and Buzz Lightyear and taking a bite of sandwich now and again. Halfway through, he paused it, ran to the window, and peeked out into the violet evening. No sign of his mum. She hadn’t taken the car, so she’d only gone to Smart Mart. She must be chatting to someone. Lily said she couldn’t leave the house without swapping her life story with a stranger.

  When the film ended, he pushed the unfinished crusts into a pyramid in the centre of the plate. He licked his finger and harvested crisp crumbs, enjoying the last taste of vinegar. His milk had turned warm and cloying. It coated the roof of his mouth. The house was quiet, but not in a friendly way. He was suddenly aware of the silence and held his breath for a moment, listening. The sweat on the back of his neck had grown cold and itchy. He crossed to the window again but the street was empty, curtains drawn. Mrs Devani’s cat was sniffing at something in the gutter and batting it with a paw. He stared into the dark, willing his mum to walk through the gate. She always pushed it shut with her hip and rested aga
inst it for a moment. He closed his eyes tight and counted to ten, but when he opened them, she still wasn’t there.

  The sky was a deep, brooding blue now. Night loomed against the house and then there was a quick spark of lightning, like someone flicking a torch on and off. He knew that light travels faster than sound waves and that there would be thunder soon, but when the loud roll sounded, it made him start and grab at the curtain. Goosebumps prickled on his arms.

  Adam ran to tell Jeff that his mum hadn’t come back.

  Chapter 1

  2019

  The sprawling building in Orford End had been standing empty for years. It was in the north, less desirable area of Berminster, boxed in by streets of shabby Victorian houses and near the rail station. Trains rattled the crumbling windows as they pounded to and from London and the south coast, and the air vibrated when the fast, non-stop ones raced through.

  Steiner & Sons Removals had operated from the cul-de-sac since the 1930s. Bernie Steiner had taken the business over from his father and had hopefully added the ‘& Sons’ when he had redeveloped it. Fate had sent him a daughter, Maria, who took no interest in the removals business and became an agronomist. The business had been in decline towards the end of Bernie’s life and when he died Maria had closed it down and put the premises on the market. It was dilapidated and had idled on the agent’s books with just one viewing. The prospective buyer had offered for the premises, but had then withdrawn when he couldn’t get outline planning permission to convert it into flats. When it had come up for auction, it didn’t meet the reserve price.

  Maria Steiner led a busy life and had moved away from the town. She was financially secure and laid-back about when she might realise money from the sale, aware that the land would increase in value. So, Steiner’s stood empty, gathering dust, visited by foxes, mice and roaming cats. Rising damp climbed up the internal plaster and penetrating damp seeped down from damaged gutters. Cracks and huge, dark stains appeared where they met.