by D. S. Butler
Charlotte took a deep breath and then said, “I can give you the number of a counsellor at a women’s crisis centre. She can help you. If you want to leave him—”
“What?” The woman’s voice was sharp, and she stared at Charlotte angrily. For the first time, she raised her face and Charlotte inhaled sharply as she saw the bruise beneath the woman’s cheekbone.
“I don’t want to leave him,” she said. “I just want your advice on how I can stop making him angry. You were with him for a long time. I just want to know how to make him happy.”
Charlotte took a step back and shook her head. What the hell?
“I’ll give you some advice,” she said. “But it’s not the advice you’re looking for. You need to wake up. He is nothing but a bully, and you will never make him happy. You’re wasting your time and you should get out while you can. I’m guessing that bruise was from him.”
Charlotte raised a hand, but the woman slapped it away.
“I should’ve guessed you would say that,” the woman spat. “You want him back yourself, don’t you?”
Charlotte stared at her for a moment, unable to reply. Unbelievable.
“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous.” Charlotte started to walk away. “And stay away from me in future.”
Furious, Charlotte stalked off in the direction of St Paul’s Way and didn’t look back.
38
AT EIGHT THIRTY SHARP, Chloe and Mackinnon sat in Mrs. Doyle’s office. Mrs. Doyle was the sharp-faced headmistress of Katy’s school.
“Now, I’ve asked you here today to discuss Katy,” Mrs. Doyle began in a soft Scottish accent. “Because of the serious nature of Katy’s actions, I believe I would be well within my rights to exclude her. But I’m willing to take her recent troubles into consideration. I think some time away from school and a stern talking to from her parents would make her realise the gravity of her actions.”
“I’m sorry,” Chloe interrupted. “Would you mind telling us exactly what Katy is supposed to have done?”
Mrs. Doyle pursed her lips, then said, “It’s a rather serious situation. Katy’s class has been studying business models for economics. One of their tasks has been to prepare items to sell at break times. The idea is to generate a profit and understand things like turnover and profit margins. Most of the children, Katy included, have opted to sell things like cakes.”
Mackinnon guessed that Chloe must have known about this, but it was news to him.
“Katy made fairy cakes,” Mrs. Doyle said. “We had a situation yesterday when a girl from Katy’s class was taken seriously ill. She had a rather nasty stomach upset. We found out that Katy had added laxatives to the cakes.”
Chloe blinked and then looked at Mackinnon. He was lost for words.
“As I’m sure you can understand, we have to take this very seriously. The girl’s mother is understandably extremely upset,” Mrs. Doyle said.
“Are you absolutely sure that Katy did this?” Mackinnon asked.
Mrs. Doyle nodded. “Katy admitted as much yesterday. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get her in here to explain.”
Chloe nodded numbly and Mrs. Doyle got to her feet, walked around her large desk and opened the door. Katy, whom they had left sitting outside beside the secretary’s desk, came in with a sullen look on her face, refusing to look at Mackinnon or her mother.
“Did you do what Mrs. Doyle said?” Chloe’s voice was shaky and Mackinnon wasn’t sure whether she was close to tears or just absolutely furious.
When Katy didn’t reply, Chloe tried again. “Did you put laxatives into the cake?”
Katy looked up, defiant. “Yes! She deserved it, and I’m glad I did it.”
Chloe looked taken aback and even Mrs. Doyle looked shocked.
“You told me I shouldn’t run away from my problems, so I was just sticking up for myself. You wouldn’t help me, the teachers don’t help either,” Katy said, pausing to shoot an accusing look at Mrs. Doyle.
“Don’t be so stupid. I can’t believe you would have done something like this,” Chloe said.
Katy promptly burst into tears. She got up so suddenly that she knocked the chair to the floor as she fled the room.
Mackinnon’s phone was on silent, but he could feel it buzzing in his pocket. “I won’t be a moment,” he said and left Chloe and Mrs. Doyle talking in the office.
Mackinnon headed straight for the exit, and just outside he found Katy leaning against the wall.
At first, he thought she was going to yell at him again, but she didn’t. She quickly stepped forward and leaned her forehead against his chest.
She started to sob. “Please don’t make me come back here, Jack. Please.”
39
AN HOUR AND A half later, Mackinnon arrived at Wood Street station. He threw his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down, powering up his computer, ready to start work.
But he didn’t get very far.
DCI Brookbank poked his head out of his office and waved Mackinnon over. “We have got the warrant for that weekend paper, the one we think was printing the obituaries. The owner is a woman called Lorraine Collier. She may give us a bit of grief. She is very anti-police from what I have learned from DC Webb.”
Brookbank’s mouth spread into a wide grin. “That’s why I have decided to send you. You’ll have to lay on the charm, Jack.”
Mackinnon took the paperwork from Brookbank’s outstretched hand. “Great,” he said without enthusiasm. “I’ll go there now, shall I?”
He opened the file and looked at the address on the front page.
“No time like the present,” Brookbank said. “Did everything go all right this morning?”
Mackinnon hadn’t gone into detail about why he needed to start late today. Before meeting with the headmistress that morning, he’d had no idea what Katy had been up to anyway, and he didn’t want to start explaining things to Brookbank now. They had too much work to do.
“It went fine,” Mackinnon said.
Brookbank nodded, satisfied, and Mackinnon headed out to track down Lorraine Collier.
***
The outside of the building that housed the weekend paper wasn’t exactly impressive, and the inside was even less so.
Lorraine Collier was running the paper out of a solitary office over a fish and chip shop in Whitechapel. It was just off the Whitechapel Road and took Mackinnon only minutes to walk there from the tube station. As he passed the Royal London Hospital, he thought of Tyler. He’d heard that morning that Tyler remained unconscious and it was still touch-and-go.
Lorraine Collier took her sweet time answering the intercom. After Mackinnon gave his name, he had to repeat it numerous times before she buzzed him in.
Rather than greet him by the door, she stood at the top of the stairs, blocking the doorway to the office as if she was standing guard.
She was a tall woman with curly hair bordering on frizzy. Her eyes were close-set and she gave Mackinnon a severe look as he approached the door.
“No warrant means no names,” she snapped.
Mackinnon smiled and held up the paperwork. “That’s not going to be a problem. Let’s go inside and have a chat.”
He gestured to the small office behind Lorraine Collier. There were two desks crammed into the small room, one of them was occupied by a young girl of around twenty. As the girl had the same frizzy hair as Lorraine Collier and the same pointed nose, Mackinnon guessed it must be her daughter.
“Go and get yourself a coffee, Lillian,” Mrs. Collier said.
After eyeballing Mackinnon in obvious curiosity, Lillian grabbed her handbag and left the office.
“Was that your daughter?” Mackinnon asked.
Lorraine Collier pursed her lips and then made a tutting sound. “Let’s not waste time,” she said. “I’d like to see the warrant, please.”
Mackinnon handed her the papers. “Of course.”
After she had spent some minutes reading the documents, Mackinnon
said, “I think you will find everything is in order.”
She looked up sharply and then scowled. “Fine.” She flung the paperwork down on the desk. “Knock yourself out. It’s all yours.” She gestured to the computer on her desk and the untidy piles of paper and gave Mackinnon a smug smile.
“I would appreciate it if you could give me the name of the person who ordered the obituaries for Beverley Madison, Joe Griffin and Troy Scott.”
“It’s all there,” she said. “Somewhere. I’m sure it won’t take a smart chap like you very long to find it. There’s a filing cabinet too. You’re welcome to go through that as well. I’ll just sit over here.” She went and sat at her daughter’s desk, crossing her legs, smiling and looking very pleased with herself.
Mackinnon didn’t have time for this. He didn’t know what Lorraine Collier’s personal issue with the police was, but she obviously had some kind of agenda.
“It would be a lot quicker, and I’d be out of your hair a lot sooner if you could find it for me,” Mackinnon said.
“I don’t doubt it.” Lorraine Collier gave him a cold smile. “But I’m not going to do your job for you.”
Mackinnon exhaled a long slow breath and did his best to smile at the woman. She was now really irritating him. “Do we have a problem here? You obviously have an issue with the police. Or is it just me?”
“Why would I have a problem with a corrupt dictatorial police system?” Her voice grew shrill. “Why would I object to things like racial profiling, to a police force that stops and searches based on the colour of someone’s skin?” She was really warming to her theme now.
“I don’t have time for this,” Mackinnon said. “I’m sorry if this offends your principles, but right now, I’m trying to locate a killer before anyone else gets hurt. Three people have already been killed. Those three people all had obituaries posted in your paper before they died.”
Lorraine Collier looked uncomfortable. Mackinnon knew that this wasn’t news to her. DC Webb had already explained why they needed the names.
“I’m cooperating, aren’t I?” Lorraine Collier said in a belligerent tone. She folded her arms over her chest, but Mackinnon saw the brief hesitation on her face.
“Three people, Lorraine. Three people with families and friends left behind. Don’t you care about their families? Don’t you think they deserve justice?”
Lorraine Collier glanced at the window and then back at Mackinnon. She bit down on her lower lip and then said. “There were four.”
“Four?”
Lorraine Collier nodded. Mackinnon held his breath and waited for her to continue.
Lorraine shrugged. “The same person ordered four names. All at the same time. I thought you knew that.”
“What was the fourth name?”
She swallowed, but still made no move towards the computer.
“If you don’t hand over that name right now, I’m going to hold you personally responsible if that fourth person is killed. Do you understand me?”
Lorraine Collier blinked rapidly and then she finally moved to the seat behind her computer and tapped on the keyboard. She opened up a file.
“All four names came in from the same order ID number, but I don’t actually have the name of the buyer, the person who ordered the obituaries. The paper has been struggling recently, and sales have been down. I was looking at ways to increase our revenue. One of the marketing ideas I had was to offer people free adverts or family notices in the hope that they would go on and pay for further adverts the following month.” She screwed up her face. “So far it hasn’t worked very well.”
“Why can’t you give me the name of the person who ordered these obituaries?”
“Because nobody actually paid, so we don’t have a financial record. I have an email address. I can give you that.”
Mackinnon nodded. It wasn’t what they needed, but it was better than nothing.
The woman pressed a few buttons on the keyboard and the printer hummed into life beside Mackinnon.
“Now,” Mackinnon said. “I need the fourth name please. The name the other obituary was ordered for.”
“Lauren Hicks. The last obituary was ordered for Lauren Hicks.”
Mackinnon leaned forward so that he could see the name on the computer screen for himself. “This is the obituary they wanted to post?” he asked, pointing at the screen.
Lorraine Collier nodded. “Yes, they were very specific in their wording. It’s exactly what they asked for.”
“I need anything you can tell me that might help us identify her, find out where she lives,” Mackinnon said. “We need to track her down.”
They needed to find her fast. It could already be too late.
“I haven’t got an address,” she said. “But I think she must have worked in some kind of legal profession. It says here in the obituary that she will be sadly missed by her colleagues and never forgotten for her work in the legal field.”
Mackinnon leaned forward again and scanned the contents of the obituary. “Can you print me a copy, please?”
Lorraine Collier did as he asked as Mackinnon loomed over her.
She handed Mackinnon the sheets of printer paper and he looked down again at the name. Lauren Hicks. He needed to call this in now and hope they weren’t already too late.
Mackinnon called DC Collins straight away. “I’ve got a new name,” Mackinnon said without preamble. “There was another obituary ordered by the same person.”
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Collins said, and Mackinnon could hear him fumbling around on his desk for a pen. “Name?”
“Lauren Hicks. I think she has some kind of job in the legal field. The obituary mentions her contributions.”
“Right,” Collins said. “I’ll check it out now.”
There was a pause and Mackinnon could hear Collins tapping on the keyboard. After a moment, Collins said, “I think I’ve got a match. Lauren Hicks is on the school records, the same year as the others. Born June 1976. Luckily for us she didn’t get married and change her name.”
“Address?”
“I’m looking now… Got it!”
“Great,” Mackinnon said. “Let Brookbank know, and get a team there straight away. She is definitely the next target.”
40
I WATCHED LAUREN HICKS climb out of the taxi as I stood at the bus stop across the street. Even from this distance, I recognised her easily. She had tucked her hair behind her ears, the same thing she used to do when she was fifteen. It made her ears stick out and made her a target for teasing at school.
Out of all of them, Lauren seemed the most familiar. She hadn’t changed much in the intervening years. Even her hairstyle was the same.
Beverley Madison had highlighted her hair and had it cut into a short, layered style. She’d also had some cosmetic work done, which had given her bloated lips and the kind of plump cheeks that didn’t look natural. When I’d confronted her at the hotel, it was hard to see past all that to the schoolgirl she had been.
When Joe Griffin had been at school, his hair had been his crowning glory. He’d grown it long, taking pride in his floppy fringe. He’d worn it in a curtain style, parted down the middle. When I’d seen him in the car park, he was thinning on top, and it wouldn’t have been long before he was completely bald.
Troy Scott had aged the worst. I would never have recognised him if I had passed him on the street. It was only down to diligent research that I was able to track him. His lifestyle probably hadn’t helped. Sitting behind a computer screen all day hadn’t been good to him.
But none of them had to worry about getting any older now.
I smiled, but the smile soon slid from my face when I saw Lauren Hicks had pulled a baby basket out of the back of the taxi. I felt my body stiffen.
I hadn’t known about the baby.
It made me uncomfortable. But Lauren hadn’t shown any sympathy back then, so why should I? Besides, the baby wouldn’t remember a thing.
I shifted the bag between my hands. It was surprisingly heavy. I’d spent some time debating whether to bring it. It did seem a little dramatic, but as this was to be the last one, I wanted it to be the best.
I put my hand in my coat pocket and felt the smooth paper of the obituary.
I took a deep breath. Everything was ready. I was prepared.
It was time to go to work one last time.
41
LAUREN HICKS JUGGLED HER laptop bag, handbag and the baby bassinet as she let herself into her terraced townhouse.
She had only popped into Chambers today to say hello to her colleagues. The first step in getting back to work. She had been away for six months and getting back into the routine was going to take some adjustment. Her plan today had been to test the waters slowly. She had left baby Mia at the nursery for the first time, just for a couple of hours, then had a meeting with some of the senior members of the Chambers, followed by the annual Christmas lunch with the firm.
She’d left them there still drinking. The day had dragged, and she had been so glad to see Mia safe and sound and gurgling happily at the nursery.
She had managed to convince herself that Mia would have been crying all day, but the nursery staff said she had been a perfect angel.
Lauren looked around at the state of her kitchen. Returning to work was going to be harder than she’d thought. She had been in such a rush to get ready that morning, she hadn’t done any washing-up or even tidied away the breakfast things.
Mia started to squirm, so she put her in her favourite little bouncy chair, keeping her in the kitchen so she could keep an eye on her as she tidied up.
Mia had seemed perfectly happy at the nursery, and of course Lauren was glad she hadn’t been distressed, but at the same time, she would have liked to have been missed just a little bit.
