Within minutes, her therapist was counting backwards, in a warm, soothing voice, until Mo’s limbs relaxed.
Then she was twelve years old again, with Jacob’s chubby fingers poking her face. He used to wake her in the mornings by lifting her eyelid. But today they were clamped shut. Mo could feel his sticky little fingers, prodding her cheek. ‘Me hungry, Momo.’
Yawning, Mo blinked as she took in her brother’s face. Jacob’s blue eyes were as vast and infinite as the sea. Mo had known better than to ask him where their mother was. Steve, her stepfather, had won some money on the horses yesterday, and last night he’d taken her mum to the pub. Neither of them would emerge from bed until at least twelve o clock, when Steve would bark at Mo to make him bacon and egg sandwiches. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Mo slipped out of bed and pulled her tracksuit bottoms on.
As Mo scraped some butter on to Jacob’s toast, her thoughts wandered to school the next day.
‘Where are you now?’ The therapist’s voice floated into Mo’s consciousness as she glided through time.
‘I’m in school . . .’ Mo paused. ‘There’s a new girl. It’s lunchtime, and she’s just sat next to me. Ow!’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I was about to talk to her, but Lizzie’s just punched me in the back.’ Mo recalled how she had jolted forward, Lizzie’s punch making her drop her fork on to her plate. ‘Hey, new girl.’ Mo gritted her teeth as Lizzie’s squeaky voice pierced her consciousness.
‘You don’t wanna sit next to Puddles.’ Lizzie’s shrill laughter filled the air. ‘Unless you like the smell of pee!’ Lizzie’s group of hangers-on guffawed with laughter, right on cue. ‘Come on.’ She gestured at the new girl to join them. Nobody said no to Lizzie Hall.
The new girl threw Mo an apologetic gaze before being whisked away. Quietly seething, Mo sat, her small, skinny hands curled into fists.
Lizzie’s mum was the headmistress, so Lizzie got away with murder. Nobody dared to speak out against her. Mo’s features hardened as she remembered Lizzie’s simpering face, her button nose and cartoonishly big eyes. She was sickly-sweet and surprisingly manipulative for her age.
It wasn’t as if things were any easier at home. Mo was the outsider. Unlike her sibling, Steve wasn’t her dad, and there wasn’t a day that passed when he didn’t remind her of how worthless she was. Mo stared without seeing, frozen in the past as his taunts rebounded in her mind. Perhaps it hadn’t begun when she was twelve. Maybe the root of her behaviour went back farther than that. Lots of kids lived in abusive households. Being bullied at school was a rite of passage where she had come from. But not all kids turned out to be murderers . . . did they?
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday 26 July
As Monday mornings went, today was up there with the best of them as far as DC Molly Baxter was concerned. She packed her things, feeling the same shot of excitement that preceded every big case. DCI Donovan had informed them they were to drop everything and head to Clacton to give them a ‘dig out’. She couldn’t believe how quickly he’d organised it, given how slowly things moved in the police. His words were grave as he informed them of the loss of his old colleague, his face strained as he spoke of her death. It gave Molly chills to think of a fellow police officer being murdered on duty. You joined the job to help victims, not to become one. But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t secretly thrilled to be asked along. Despite the incident being reported as suicide, Donovan was adamant Carla’s death was part of something bigger, and Molly was on board with that. Given her short service in the police, she was lucky to fill such a valued role. She rifled through her office drawers, taking the pens and notebooks she could not do without. She scrunched up an empty crisp packet and threw it in the bin. Next to her, Steve Moss was clearing his emails. She could tell that he was secretly pleased too. None of them could have anticipated just how high-profile their team would become.
She had DI Winter to thank for that. As she’d got to know her better, she’d discovered that her work was more than a passion; it was a compulsion. When her background was revealed, everything clicked into place. It was hardly any wonder she was desperate to make up for past wrongs. The dark side of her parentage must have clung like tar. Molly could sympathise. She knew how hard it was to let the past go. Jack and Lillian Grimes were a horror-movie couple – as evil as they came. What must it have been like, growing up in a house with bodies beneath the floor? She stole a glance at Paddy, who was discussing the logistics of them travelling together to Clacton with DI Winter. The corner of his shirt had untucked from his waistband and his chequered tie swung loosely around his neck. Molly smiled. He might be a sloppy sod, but he was the best sergeant she’d ever had. It was good to work with a team of people who brought out the best in her. She rested her bag on the desk, content her favourite pens were packed and ready to go.
To the outside world, everything seemed to have fallen into Molly’s lap. She had been an exemplary police officer, and her cheerfulness had warmed her to all. But there was a force behind her smile that propelled her forward every day. The thought cast a shadow, and her excitement waned. Life had taught her to put her best foot forward, no matter how badly things were falling apart. But good fortune smiled upon her with a set of rotting teeth. Which was why she tried harder than her colleagues to squeeze the most out of every day. That was a trait she shared with DI Winter. It had been tempting to confide in her. There was a small chance she’d understand, given her own background. But her DI would never know. Molly’s heart faltered at the thought of them uncovering her secret. They would never treat her the same again.
People thought she’d had easy access into the police because her father was high in the ranks. The truth was, her parents had begged her not to join. They thought it was too dangerous because they knew her past and what she’d become. It had taken some convincing to make them see she was made for the role. Even now, she was terrified that her second chance of a normal life would be snatched away. She had found a home here, with a boss who bore mental and physical scars. Someone like her.
Winter had once told her, ‘You know what I like about you, Molly? If I put a little deadline under you, I can stand back and watch you run.’ It was true. Deadlines were important, because life was so very frail – it could be snatched away without a moment’s notice. She’d had personal dalliances with death and not just through her job.
She gazed at her DI, unable to hide the admiration in her eyes. Winter was not one to lavish praise. She would never know just how much her words had come to mean to her. Her colleagues laughed at her belief in spirituality, but fate had brought them together. She would follow her without question. They were kindred souls.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘What happened to the Skoda?’ Amy pulled down the sun visor in Paddy’s new car. She regretted her wardrobe choice of black shirt and trousers, which were now absorbing the morning sun.
‘I got shot of it.’ A smile rested on Paddy’s lips as he negotiated traffic. He seemed much happier behind the wheel of his Jaguar. ‘Nice, isn’t it? It’s like driving on air.’
Men and their toys, Amy thought, trying to look suitably impressed. She rode a bicycle to work most days, one with high handlebars and a basket on the front. ‘It’s lovely. I thought you were tightening your belt?’
‘It’s a lease car,’ said Paddy. ‘The payments aren’t too bad.’ He waved a hand over the dashboard. ‘It’s got all these gadgets . . . Talks to you too.’
‘Gadgets are only good if you know how to use them.’ Amy smiled. She was painfully aware of Paddy’s limitations when it came to technology.
Flexing his fingers on his steering wheel, he shot her a sideways glance. ‘I’ll learn.’
‘I can show you if you like,’ Molly said from the back seat. ‘Dad’s got the same car.’ Next to her, Gary Wilkes fiddled with a Spotify playlist on his phone. One earbud dangled from his ear, and the tinny sound of rap music buzzed like a trapped fl
y.
‘I’ll figure it out,’ Paddy replied, most likely saving himself the embarrassment of being unable to pick it up straight away.
Amy lowered the car window an inch, inhaling salty sea air. It felt strange to be travelling with her team outside the confines of her office. Just three days had passed since Carla’s death. She didn’t know what Donovan had said to get their transfer authorised so quickly, but already they were familiarising themselves with the seaside suicides that preceded Carla’s death.
‘I take it you’ve done your homework?’ Amy said, referring to the case.
‘Yep,’ Molly said, always keen to demonstrate her knowledge. ‘In three months, we’ve had two deaths in Brighton, one in Blackpool and now, one in Clacton-on-Sea if you count Carla Burke. They’re reported as suicides but we’re not ruling out murder.’
‘But it’s not straightforward,’ Gary joined in, plucking the earbud from his ear. ‘There’s no evidence to say the victims were murdered. There’s no similarities between them, and no motive for anyone to kill them. But suicide . . .’ He glanced at Amy. ‘Sometimes they follow in a pattern. People talk online. Plan it out. Some of them left suicide notes. I don’t think anyone would have looked at this if there hadn’t been a police officer involved.’
‘Well, it’s not as straightforward as our last case.’ Amy touched her neck as thoughts of the Love Heart Killer crept in. The physical scars may have healed but Samuel Black still lingered in her thoughts. He definitely had a type. But these victims varied in age, physical descriptions and social status. Apart from Carla, the only thing they had in common were the fact that they were all male and visitors to the area. Now the pressure was on Amy’s team to get to the bottom of it before further attempts were made. But Carla’s colleagues might not appreciate their presence. Emotions were bound to be running high.
On the car radio, the presenters of a local news channel seemed more concerned about the effect on their tourism. Multiple suicides made big news, but the death of a police officer instilled an extra layer of unease. Whatever the reason behind it, Carla’s loss had been felt.
‘Ask yourself, why?’ Amy said. ‘Why did it start with Chesney Collier in Brighton? Why visit a seaside resort to kill yourself? And if it is murder, where’s the motive?’ They were questions they had no answer to – yet.
Donovan had already gone ahead. Amy knew he was itching to return to his old team. Such ties were hard to cut in the police. Yet not so long ago, Amy had thrown the dice on her career, because Lillian Grimes had wormed her way into her head. How could she have been so stupid, risking everything she had worked for? All for the sake of a woman who was hell-bent on bringing her down. Amy had not forgotten her promise to monitor Lillian’s every movement. She could rest easy, knowing it was being taken care of in her absence. In her back pocket was a business card with Darren Barkey’s credentials. Both a private detective and ex-detective inspector, he had been hired by Amy to monitor Lillian’s every move.
‘Hey, listen to this Google review . . .’ Molly scrolled her iPhone screen. ‘Clacton has one of my favourite police stations. The general ambience of the cells with their barred windows, bed, toilet and doors is up there with the very best.’ She continued to read aloud. ‘After settling into the comfort of my cell, I examined in great depth the menu and may I say – extensive wine list. The Château Margaux was an excellent recommendation from the sommelier and accompanied the scallop perfectly . . . These are a hoot!’ Laughing, she scrolled further. ‘Here’s another one . . . They have a great cab service that drops you there, but they don’t drop you back. The staff are really good, with a wide food and drink menu. What’s more, it’s free. Thanks, guys, I can assure you, in my line of work, I may be visiting this great bed and breakfast again.’
‘Show me that,’ Gary replied, grabbing her phone.
‘Hey, hands off!’ Molly shrieked as she yanked it from his hands.
Amy rolled her eyes. She hoped that Molly would start taking things seriously when they reached the station. Paddy had volunteered to drive, with Amy, Molly and Gary accepting a lift, while Donovan and Steve Moss drove in their own cars. The day felt surreal as they took Saint John’s Road and headed into Clacton town centre. Amy tensed as they approached the place she had visited with Jack and Lillian Grimes as a child. It had taken her time to come to terms with her parentage, but at least now she could cope. Thanks to the recent documentary, Amy’s ‘special skills’ were in demand.
Sensing her disapproval, Molly quietened down. ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ she muttered, before pocketing her phone.
Amy turned to face her. ‘Best foot forward when we meet the team, eh? We’re ambassadors for the Met, and Carla’s colleagues are grieving.’ Amy knew there were plenty of older, more experienced detectives desperate to be considered for her team. But Molly was bright, hard-working and honest. She had a lot to bring to the table, and Amy was unwilling to let her go.
Molly stared through the window at the rows of shops and brightly coloured displays. ‘Ah, isn’t it lovely? Where’s the pier?’ She paused, the excitement leaving her voice. ‘That’s where that officer drowned, isn’t it?’
‘Which is why we need to be careful.’ Amy glanced back at Molly. ‘We don’t know what we’re dealing with.’ It would not be long before their presence was reported in the press, and that would lead to speculation about why they were there. It was only just gone ten, but the jingle of arcade machines filtered through the air as Paddy negotiated his Jag through the heart of the town. The streets were already heaving with holidaymakers taking advantage of the warm weather, and there was a lot of pale British flesh on show. Paddy gently pressed his brakes as traffic slowed. The sound of the amusements brought a wisp of memory into Amy’s consciousness: holding her father’s hand as they crossed the road, which took them from the pier to the main strip. The slap-slapping sound of her mother’s flip-flops as she tried to keep up. Her brothers and sisters trailing behind them, their faces sticky with candyfloss. Amy glanced out of the car window as thoughts of the past drifted through her mind. The place had not changed much.
‘Boss?’ Paddy said, and Amy realised he was waiting for a response to something he had murmured seconds before.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘What did you say?’
‘Will we go to the station or the hotel? Do you need to freshen up?’
‘Go to the nick,’ Amy replied. It was too early to check in at the Premier Inn. Besides, they were on work hours, and there was plenty to do. ‘The car park is a bit tight, so if you can get a space outside, take it.’ Officers often had more prangs with their cars in station car parks than out on the road. The last thing Paddy needed was a scratch on his paintwork. The tick-tock of his indicator signalled the end of the journey as he pulled up outside the station.
As they got out of the car, Amy stretched her legs. Molly turned her face to the sky as a pair of screaming seagulls fought over a crust of bread that they had scavenged from an overflowing bin. ‘Cool,’ she said, snapping a picture with her phone. It was as if she had seen them for the first time.
‘You’ve been to the seaside before, haven’t you?’ Paddy said, obviously thinking the same as Amy. Her face had been filled with wonder since she arrived.
‘Nope,’ she said. ‘First time.’
‘What?’ Amy’s face creased in disbelief as she stood. ‘Didn’t you go on holiday when you were young? No day trips?’ Even she had been brought to the seaside as a child, and her early years were abysmal.
Molly shook her head. ‘Dad was always too busy with work, and, erm . . . Mum didn’t drive.’
Amy had only been in Clacton seconds, but she had already learnt something new about Molly. Her father was a high-ranking police officer in Scotland Yard, who was obviously devoted to his job. Still, she thought, you’d think he could have found the time . . . Clacton was no distance from London via public transport and the train station was only a couple of minutes’ walk from the seafront. ‘
Hopefully you’ll find some time to enjoy the sights while you’re here,’ Amy said, making a mental note to get to know them all a little better.
There was no shortage of places to eat in Clacton, as well as the usual amusements you’d expect in a seaside resort. But the once-prosperous area had gone downhill when the Butlin’s holiday camp left in the early eighties. It brought on a decline that had been felt for many years. Nowadays, Clacton still had some battles with drug use and homelessness. But there was another side to the area: one with a thriving sense of community. A location with the best weather in the country and stretches of sandy coastline to rival any Spanish beach. A neighbourhood policing team who had vowed to bring real change. There was regeneration, but the publicity from the recent deaths would not be welcome.
Amy couldn’t wait to get her teeth into the finer details of the case and texted Donovan to alert him as Paddy locked the car. Shading her eyes with her hand, she stared at Clacton police station. The building was round, with unusual architecture and porthole windows, which carried a nautical theme. She liked the look of it already and hoped its occupants would welcome her team. She followed Paddy across the road towards the entrance. They would find out soon enough.
CHAPTER SIX
Donovan quietly paced the office, trying not to disturb the officers at work. Since arriving in Clacton CID, his presence had been greeted with begrudging acceptance by his old team. The order had come from the top. His officers would work alongside Carla’s colleagues and be given full privileges while they were there. If he said jump, the team jumped. But they didn’t have to like it. This branch of CID was small, with just over half a dozen detective constables on each shift. Donovan’s team would work their own hours, also liaising with officers in the other seaside resorts where alleged suicides had been reported. It was their job to pull everything together into one investigation to ascertain if there had been foul play. It felt good to be of some use. Having spoken to Bicks, it seemed they had been ready to write off Carla’s death as another suicide.
Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) Page 3
