by Vicky Jones
“Not right now, Charlotte,” came Jenny’s stern reply.
Tom watched on as Katie talked to another mourner.
“It’s a lovely spread, dear,” the curly-permed old lady said to Katie as she scooped up another two triangle sandwiches and placed them on her china plate. “Joan, Doris and I used to play bridge with the ladies down at the community centre. Youngest one there, she was. Do you remember me?”
Katie smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course I remember you, Violet. Auntie Joan said you taught her all the tricks of the trade.” She tapped the end of her nose.
“Never lost a match, us two. I wouldn’t have wanted to play with anyone else. Doubt I’ll play again.” Violet clasped her arthritic fingers around the plate, which wobbled slightly in her grasp. “She loved you so much, though, dear. As if you were her own. After you moved down here when you were not much older than that little one over there,” she pointed to Charlotte. “Joan never thought of herself as your aunt. She saw you as her daughter.”
“I know, Violet. I’m going to miss her so much.” Katie sniffed and dabbed at her eyes.
“How’s the studying going? It’s nursery teaching you’re going in for, isn’t it?”
Katie blushed. “Yes. Yes it is. I’m loving it. It’s my dream to have my own nursery one day. I wished Auntie Joan could be there to see me graduate next year. She’s the one who encouraged me to go on the college course. I would never have had the guts to believe in myself enough to apply.”
Tom rushed over holding a fresh tissue. “Here, babe. It’s OK.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.
“Oh, you two are so sweet together. So, will it be little ones for you two soon then? I remember Joan mentioning that you were trying, and I’ve not seen a couple more in love than you two,” Violet gushed as she reached out to stroke Tom’s arm.
“Hopefully, fingers crossed,” Tom replied.
As Katie excused herself to fix her makeup in the downstairs toilet, Tom continued, in more hushed tones this time. “It’s taking a bit longer than we’d originally hoped it would, but that could be down to stress, you know. I’ve taken a few less shifts at the boatyard, but now, with Joan passing away, we might need to take it easy for a while. Just to let Katie adapt to life without the only mum she’s known since she was seven. Poor thing, she didn’t have the easiest of starts in life. So we want to get it absolutely right with our first one.”
“That girl has had more than her fair share of heartache, you can’t argue with that. Only five when her own mum died, then having to split from her sister and move down here all alone a couple of years later, when her dad couldn’t cope with raising them both on his own up in Liverpool. I mean, that has to have an effect on you. Joan was the only stability that girl has ever known. Well, until you came along, young Thomas.” Violet linked her arm with his.
“I’d give her the world if I could. She’ll be an amazing mum, I just know it.” Tom gazed adoringly at Katie as she re-entered the living room, fresh makeup applied to her eyes. “You OK, babe?” he asked as she walked back over.
“I’m fine now. Just needed a moment.”
“It was a beautiful service,” a voice sounded behind them. Katie turned to meet the cold, blue eyes of her sister. She was similarly dressed in a black trouser suit and a black blouse with white edging. Her mid-length blonde hair was poker straight and her makeup pristinely applied. Only three years older than Katie, Jenny looked at least twice that, with her heavily applied foundation barely covering the lines around her nose and mouth.
“Hi, Jenny. Thank you for coming down. I know it’s a long journey for you and Charlotte.” Katie looked over Jenny’s shoulder to see Charlotte walking up to them. She stopped by Jenny’s side and reached up to grab her hand.
“The thought that’s gone into everything. Every little detail. Aunt Joan would have been proud of you.” Jenny paused to pick a piece of lint off her shoulder, inspect it and flick it away.
“That’s all down to Katie here. A bit OCD, but I love her for it. How are you doing, Jenny? How’s old scouse land?” Tom added.
Jenny’s eyes didn’t lift from Katie, and vice versa. “It’s fine, Tom. I can’t stay down here for long though. I’ve got the yoga studio to sort, you know?”
Katie and Jenny stood with fixed smiles on their faces. Tom looked between them both, the cool atmosphere between them tangible.
“Right then, I’ll leave you two to catch up. Orange juice, was it, babe?” Tom waited for Katie to nod before relieving her of her empty glass and heading over to the kitchen, linking arms with Violet as he moved away.
“That’s a shame you can’t stay. How long has it been since we last spoke properly? Five? Six years?” Katie asked. She looked down at Charlotte and smiled. “This one was a tiny baby in the photo I’ve got of her. Look how you’ve grown. I like your ribbon.” She reached down to stroke her hand over her niece’s silky brown hair, but Jenny clasped Charlotte’s hand tighter and ever so slightly pulled her back.
“I know. But life gets in the way, you know.”
“How’s the business going?” Katie asked, determined to crack the thick layer of ice between them. “I saw your pictures of the studio on Facebook. It looks amazing.”
“It’s doing really well. I have three sessions of yoga per week now. I get instructors coming in now too. We’re still building, so there’s always going to be some ups and downs. But I’ll get there.”
Katie smiled, radiating genuine warmth from her eyes. “I’m proud of you.”
Jenny’s smile was cooler. “Thank you. And this little monster just keeps on growing.” She scooped Charlotte up in her arms and tickled her underneath her chin. It was the first sign of softness Katie had seen in Jenny throughout their stilted conversation. Charlotte giggled and squirmed in her grasp.
“She’s grown so much. I’d love to get to know her.” Katie reached out again but Jenny put Charlotte down.
“Go play,” Jenny commanded of her daughter. Charlotte obeyed and ran back over to Timmy who was now lying in his basket by the fireplace.
“I know. But we both have such busy lives, and live at opposite ends of the country. So it wouldn’t be practical,” Jenny said.
Katie let out a long sigh. “Look, can you at least stay for a cuppa after everybody has gone? I’d really like to talk. I can’t remember the last time we actually spoke properly. Texts don’t count, and Facebook Messenger feels so impersonal. It’s like I haven’t heard your voice for so long. I’m all alone here now. Well, apart from Tom. But I could really use having my sister around right now.”
“I’ve booked a hotel nearby and I need to check in soon to keep Charlotte to a routine.”
Katie’s eyes widened. “Cancel the hotel and stay here. Charlotte would love it. She’s five minutes’ walk from the beach. And she can walk Timmy with me. It’ll be lovely to spend some time together.” She beamed as the idea formed in words from her mouth before it had in her head.
Jenny remained stone-faced. “I think it’s best the way it is. Charlotte is looking forward to her big breakfast in the hotel. I’ve told her they do chocolate pancakes. And today has been tough on her with being around so many strangers. She doesn’t really understand why we’ve travelled all this way to the funeral of an old lady she never even met. I’m only letting her play with that old dog to keep her settled.”
They both looked over to see Charlotte almost lying in the basket with Timmy, who didn’t appear to mind.
Katie’s optimistic expression faded. “OK then. I suppose that’s for the best. For Charlotte. But maybe I could come over to the hotel tomorrow, before you leave?”
“Um... Yeah. Sure.” Jenny slung her black Fendi handbag over her shoulder and checked her watch. “We’d better be going. But thank you again for your hospitality.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you out.”
Katie walked a step behind Jenny, who’d scooped Charlotte out of Timmy’s ba
sket and brushed the dog hair off her once perfectly pressed, now crumpled, black skirt. She sat her on her hip as she opened the front door. “Bye, Katie.”
Jenny’s farewell bit into Katie’s face as painfully as the stiff sea breeze that blew through the open door.
Chapter 2
DI Rachel Morrison stood in the foyer of Merseyside Police’s headquarters. It was her first day in her new job and on her way into work that morning she’d taken a drive past the building and all around the city centre to acclimatise. She’d spent the rest of the morning in HR filling in forms and other induction paperwork and, given a half an hour break before meeting her new team, she’d decided to go for a breath of fresh air outside the building. After taking in a huge lungful of salty air drifting over from the Irish Sea, far out beyond the River Mersey, she’d walked across the busy main road to explore the pedestrian zones along the promenade. A few minutes along from the Albert Dock, the Royal Liver Building loomed large above her. The opposite-facing green copper cormorants, one on the top of each of the grey-white building’s towers, had their wings raised as if protecting the sea and the city. This city was Rachel’s new home. A world away from the bastite rocks of the wild Cornish coast she’d left behind, but not so dissimilar from where her career had begun at the Met Police, she thought as she wandered back along the pathway. Two of the docks in Liverpool, Canning and Wapping, shared their names with towns and boroughs in London, she noticed. There was even an area in the city called Kensington—even though on her drive around it earlier she’d noticed the neighbourhood looked strikingly more deprived than its southerly counterpart. It’s a fresh start, though, just what I need, she’d thought on her walk back across the road to the police headquarters, a massive eight-floor modern building with brown-red bricks and glinting windows.
Rachel’s air of calm, collected authority was reinforced by the smart, navy blue tailored suit she was wearing. Smoothing down her long, dark brown hair, she stood up and reached out to shake the hand of the young detective sent down to the foyer to greet her.
“Detective Inspector Morrison, welcome. I’m Detective Constable Johnny Bradley. Now you’re all finished over in HR, I’ll show you up to your new office.”
DC Bradley was in his early thirties, wearing a pristinely pressed dark blue three-piece suit with a striped blue and white tie. Tall and athletically built, he flashed her a set of bright white, perfectly straight teeth and with a tanned hand smoothed his sandy blond hair back into its shaped quiff. He held out his other arm to show the way to the lift.
Rachel smiled back. I can see my face in those shiny black shoes of his, she thought. A good start. “Lead the way, DC Bradley.”
As they exited the lift on the floor where the Reactive Crime Unit was based, Bradley continued his tour. “So, the tea and coffee machines are located down that corridor there. Interview rooms down there, and toilets in there,” Bradley pointed. “Canteen is back on the ground floor. But if you get lost then you can ask anyone. We’re a friendly bunch. It’s probably a bit bigger here than down in Lizard, right?” Bradley grinned.
“Well, I started my career in the Met, so I’m sure I’ll readjust,” Rachel said. Bradley’s confident grin faded.
“Sorry, boss, forgot about that part of the briefing on your transfer up here,” Bradley replied with an apologetic raise of his shapely eyebrows.
Rachel fixed him with an authoritative, but pleasant stare. “First rule of detective work, Bradley. Check your facts. Now, let’s crack on, shall we?”
“Yes, boss.”
Bradley pushed open the door of the Reactive Crime Unit. There was a hive of activity going on inside. Phones were ringing, detectives were scribbling down notes and conversations around case whiteboards were being had. They walked through the centre aisle of the countless rows of desks until they reached the open door of a small partitioned cubicle. Inside there was a desk, bookshelves behind it and to the right of the room, and in the left was a rectangular table with four metal chairs with royal blue fabric seat covers tucked in underneath. A thick layer of dust gave the table top a dull, chalky appearance.
“Here we are. Sorry it’s not been properly cleaned and organised already. We only had the briefing that you were coming up to join us last week. Thought we had longer. Don’t you normally have to give a month’s notice before transfer?”
“Normally. I asked to come up immediately.” Rachel cast her mind back to her last day in Cornwall and the note left on her car window. She’d packed her stuff up that same week, her new accommodation in Liverpool hastily found. “Just needed last week to get myself moved into my new place so today was agreed as my start date.”
“Fine by us. We could use the expertise you bring. We’ve heard all about the cases you boxed off down there. Bit of a legend, you, boss. I’ll go and get some cleaning stuff and we’ll get you settled in, shall we? I’ll get you a coffee too.”
“Thanks. Black, two sugars.”
Bradley nodded and slipped past her, leaving her to take in her new surroundings. The cubicle was a few feet larger than her old one down in Lizard Police station, but it was hard to tell with the amount of old dusty files and paperwork piled up on the shelves that had seen better days. She leaned down and blew off the top layer of dust off her desk, then coughed.
“Rachel, hi. You made it up here in one piece, then? Superintendent Graham Jenkins. We spoke on the phone.” Jenkins held out a hand and shook Rachel’s firmly.
He was in his early fifties, tall and thin, with his greying hair combed back neatly. His police uniform was as perfectly pressed as Bradley’s suit was. Clearly they have higher standards here, Rachel thought, her mind drifting back to some of her former colleagues and their bacon grease-smothered ties and rounded bellies. Smiling, she remembered the one exception to this, PC Michelle Barlow, the only fast food junkie with a size eight waist she’d ever met.
“It’s good to finally meet you, young lady,” Jenkins said. He swept his hand horizontally across the air as if painting a newspaper headline on it. “The detective inspector who brought the Killer of Kynance Cove to justice. You’ve brought quite the reputation up with you. No pressure, eh?” Jenkins chuckled.
“No, sir, none at all,” Rachel replied with a wry smile.
“When the Assistant Chief Constable heard about your recent success in Cornwall, solving the mystery of all those missing people, he thought you might be the ideal person to carry out a structured review on our own misper enquiries. To be honest, we’ve got a few problematic cases on the books, and it would be nice to have a fresh set of eyes on them as they seem to be going nowhere. We’re hoping you can make some headway on a few of them, but even if you can’t, the fact that we’ve bought in a specialist to carry out a stringent review will be very well received by the families when we call to give them their weekly update. Not to mention the good feeling we’ll get on social media. Those faceless keyboard warriors can be brutal and do no end of damage to morale around here.” He leaned in and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, some of the families have been kicking up a bit of a stink, saying we haven’t been putting enough effort into finding their loved ones for them, and your timely arrival will take a bit of pressure off us in that respect.” Standing straight again, he offered her a sympathetic smile. “I appreciate that low and medium risk misper enquiries don’t come under the purview of reactive crime, but you would be doing us a huge favour. We’ve allocated you a budget that will keep you going for a couple of months and, after that, we can see about getting you settled into a far meatier role. Robbery, perhaps? Or taking over as the DI for the main CID office? If you do well on this assignment, you’ll be able to take your pick. Would you have any objections to doing that for us?”
Rachel had been in the job for long enough to know how these things worked. The ACC Jenkins reported to was obviously a very savvy operator. Having read Rachel’s CV, he had seen a way to transform a gnarly situation into a gre
at public relations success story. No doubt, there would be a press release in a day or two, announcing the formation of a new Task Force and crowing over the positive action the ACC had taken to improve the Force’s success at tracing missing people. It would, no doubt, be loaded with the usual top brass type rhetoric, emphasising the ACC’s undying commitment to provide the people of Merseyside with the best police service that money could buy. Her recruitment would probably be sold to the public as a sign of Jenkins’ personal commitment to provide answers for the troubled families who were so desperate to know what had happened to their missing loved ones. And as for Jenkins asking her if she had any objections? Well, that was just him being polite. The police force was a disciplined service, not a democracy, and they both knew she would do exactly as she was told, whether she liked it or not. Still, it was nice of him to dress the order up as a request, and there was no point in being cynical about it, or in kicking up a stink. It was just the nature of the job.
“None, sir. Just happy to contribute in the best way I can around here,” she said, toeing the party line. “I just hope I don’t disappoint. I had a great team down in Cornwall. I can’t take all the credit.” Rachel’s mind drifted back once again, to Amanda Walker and the sight of the gaping bullet hole in her forehead that still gave her cold sweats at night.
“Speaking of teams, let me introduce you to Detective Constable Maggie Chapman. She’ll be assigned to you for the misper reviews. She’s a very experienced officer.”
Rachel looked over Jenkins’ shoulder to see a plump, middle-aged woman, with spiky blonde hair and bright red lipstick, get up from her cluttered desk and walk over to them. She was dressed in a loose fitting black suit jacket, over a gaudy red and white stripy dress. A long chain hung around her neck, to which her red, horn-rimmed reading glasses were attached.
