by M. A. Hunter
It kills me that I’m so far away and unable to help her. The walk back to the house is tearful, but silent. When I am back inside, as much as I long for a hug from Angus, I’m relieved he is still in bed. The thing is, he doesn’t know about these annual jaunts to the nearest phone box, and if I tell him I’ve been in touch with Gwen, he’ll be angry that I’ve put everything – our whole life – at risk. So I will have to keep this news to myself, even though it is eating me up inside. Why does life have to be so cruel at times?
Chapter Fourteen
Now
The Scientific Services department occupied the top two floors of the building, and had an unwelcoming, sterile feel. DI Mike Ferry took the lift up to the reception area, nodded at the inexplicably handsome administration assistant behind the desk, and signed in.
‘Ah, you’re here about the big murder case,’ the younger man said, grinning inanely.
Mike considered him for a moment. A millennial, part of the new generation of police fast-tracked into roles with too much responsibility and not enough experience. Could he really be held responsible for his naivety?
‘Haven’t ruled out self-defence yet,’ Mike corrected, but resisted the urge to tell the kid to act with more professionalism. ‘I had a call about the suspect’s clothes.’
The kid began hammering the keys on his computer, talking as he read the detail from the screen. ‘Dr Towser is overseeing that. I’ll message and let her know you’ve arrived. Grab a seat. I’m sure she won’t be too long.’
Mike took a seat against the wall across from the unnecessarily large desk, and pulled out his phone, opening the email app to see if any of the rest of the team had sent an update. He’d left DS Nazia Hussain in charge of canvassing the area around the house for any kind of surveillance footage that could help provide a timeline of the evening’s events. The house was halfway along a residential street, but in an affluent area like Northwood, he was hopeful private security cameras and vehicle dash cams might be able to confirm the movements of the victim and suspect.
She had yet to confirm her level of success, but it was still early. Given the timing of the incident, it was also possible that some of the neighbours might have seen or heard what happened. The initial responders had been called by a next-door neighbour who had heard banging and crashing inside the house, but hadn’t overheard an argument.
The secured doors to the suite of laboratories swished open and Dr Emily Towser emerged, removing the thin mask covering her mouth and nose, and extended her hand towards him. ‘DI Ferry?’
‘Mike, please,’ he replied, shaking the hand.
She was far prettier than he’d anticipated, her mouse-brown hair tied in a small pony-tail, but he also caught sight of an engagement ring on her finger.
‘Do you want to follow me through?’ she said, turning on her heel, and heading back towards the doors, swiping the pass around her neck against the paddle on the wall.
The doors swished again, and as they stepped through, Mike couldn’t ignore how clean the air smelled. Frosted glass cubicles lined both sides of the corridor, beyond which ghostly figures in white concentrated on their business, oblivious to the man in the tie and jacket being led past them.
At the end of the corridor, Dr Towser stopped abruptly at a more traditional wooden door, opened it, and stepped inside, holding it open for Mike to follow. A large, shiny, black rectangular table dominated the room, with half a dozen chairs around it. For anyone wondering what happened to the money saved by budget cuts and lower police officer numbers, one look at this place would answer that question.
Dr Towser handed him a thin pink paper file. ‘Here’s my report on the blood samples taken from your suspect’s clothing. You can take that away with you to read in full, and we’ll add a digital copy of it to the HOLMES case file.’
He turned it over in his hands, another example of modern policing; no more boring pastel-coloured files. ‘Can you give me the highlights, doc?’
‘Sure. We examined blood samples taken from the suspect’s T-shirt, jeans, bra, socks, and underpants, along with samples taken from key areas of the suspect’s body, notably wrists, fingers, neck, and hair. All samples came back as belonging to the victim. Judging by the volume of blood discovered on the suspect’s clothing, she was in very close proximity to the victim when he bled out. I would almost go so far as to say she was beneath him when the fatal blow was struck, judging by the spatter pattern identified through the photographs of her taken when she arrived at the station.’
‘So, you’re saying she did it?’
‘We never confirm one hundred per cent, you know that.’
‘Has the weapon been examined yet?’
Dr Towser nodded. ‘Back page. The six-inch blade is consistent with the images of the wound the forensic pathologist sent over. Three sets of fingerprints have been identified on the handle of the knife: the victim’s, the suspect’s, and an unidentified third party.’
Mike flicked to the final page of the report and skim-read what she’d just told him. ‘Prints not on the national database then?’
Dr Towser shook her head. ‘What’s interesting is that we recovered both bloodied and non-bloodied prints from the handle for the suspect, which suggests she handled the weapon both before and after it had penetrated the victim’s neck. His prints were made pre-puncture.’
Mike reflected on the crime scene photographs that would remain permanently etched on his memory. ‘The knife was found beside the victim by the first responders, suggesting it was removed after the fatal blow.’
Dr Towser was nodding again. ‘Given the nature of the prints, it’s pretty safe to conclude that the suspect was probably the one to pull the blade out and leave it beside the body. Have you spoken to her about what happened yet?’
Studying the image of the blade in the report, he noted the call-outs where the prints had been located. ‘Not yet. Still trying to piece it together in my head. We’re holding her as a witness until we’re ready to interview her under caution.’
‘You know, what amazes me is that she made no effort to clean herself up. Didn’t even wash the blood from her hands. Even if she wasn’t looking to cover her tracks, it’s human nature to clean death’s stain from ourselves.’
Mike snapped his fingers together. ‘That reminds me, the pathologist said there was a scratch on the victim’s neck. Any skin cells found under the suspect’s nails?’
‘I’ll double-check and let you know.’
Mike stood, tapping his fingers against the file. ‘Thanks. There was one other question I had; in your experience, did she do it on purpose, or could there be more going on that we realise?’
‘I can only tell you what the evidence tells me; she was there when he was struck and she watched him die. Why that happened is your field of expertise. Good luck!’
Chapter Fifteen
Before – Jess
The sun is streaming through the dining-room window as I pick at the croissant on the plate before me. It’s going to be another hot day today, but given my experience yesterday, I think I’ll keep myself wrapped up and in the shade. The after-sun did wonders to cool my skin, but now my neck and shoulders feel sticky, and I’m desperately craving a shower and clean clothes.
Charlie’s mobile vibrates on the table again, and he quickly turns it over and chuckles at whatever he’s read.
My early-morning internet search revealed absolutely no clues about Morag, Angus, or Daisy. Without knowing their surname, there was just too large a pool of social media accounts to trawl through. The ones that did have profile pictures didn’t match Morag or Angus’s faces, and there were no news stories about them in Wolverhampton or Aberdeen, but that’s hardly surprising unless they’d done something newsworthy. Out of curiosity, I searched my own name, and found my Facebook and Twitter profiles – neither of which I have accessed in the last six months. The only other hits for me were on the newspaper site where I worked, my name credited on the sta
ff list. Hardly fame.
‘You not hungry today?’ Charlie asks, and I suddenly realise he’s been watching me. ‘I’d have thought after yesterday you’d be ravenous.’
‘Still a little queasy,’ I say, tearing at the pastry and delicately placing it on my tongue. The truth is I just don’t have an appetite right now. Because of the lack of sleep, I feel like I’m running on empty, and as tempting as it is to return to bed, I know I won’t be able to drop off again.
Charlie’s phone buzzes again. He reads and chuckles again before placing it back on the table face down.
‘What’s so funny?’ I ask, envious that he can find amusement in such a cruel world.
‘It’s from Doug.’ He grins. ‘He set up this WhatsApp group for those of us from the office and he keeps uploading pictures from Friday night. Hilarious! I can’t remember half of them being taken.’
I don’t ask to see them, as I doubt they’re as humorous to someone who wasn’t there.
His expression tightens. ‘Are you sure you’re okay, Jess? I know yesterday was unpleasant for you, but you shouldn’t let it ruin the weekend. What do you fancy doing today?’
My eyes fill like some switch has been flicked in my head. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to stay cooped up inside, yet the thought of going out and facing all the curious questions and awkward stares fills me with dread. Before I was confined to the chair, we rarely stayed in at the weekend, even when it was bucketing with rain. We would go for a drive, stopping off at a pub for lunch, or we’d just step out of the front door and walk for miles, Grace in her pushchair. It pains me to remember how much freer we were before all of this.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, pushing the plate from me, listening to the birdsong just beyond the patio doors.
‘I was thinking,’ he says, reaching over, picking up the remains of my croissant, and shovelling it into his mouth in one, ‘we should probably invite Morag and Angus over for food at some point. Not today, obviously, but maybe next weekend? Return the favour.’
I study his face for any trace of mirth, but he is serious.
‘We barely know them.’
‘Exactly, but that’s how friendship works, isn’t it? You take an interest and get to know someone. It would be good for you, I think, to know another mum in the playground.’
I know he’s trying to be supportive, but sometimes I just wish he’d lay off it. It’s the same reason he keeps urging me to return to counselling. He thinks that my pain and frustration can be healed with some kind of band-aid, when all I want is time to understand my new destiny.
‘I don’t want to invite strangers into our house,’ I say bluntly.
‘They’re hardly strangers, and they weren’t afraid to welcome us into their home. What are you worried about? They don’t strike me as serial killers.’ He laughs mockingly.
‘We know nothing about them! I don’t even know what their surname is.’
‘Kilbride.’ He says it so matter-of-factly, like I’m being dim for not knowing it myself.
‘How do you know that’s their surname?’
Charlie wipes crumbs from his chin, and then brushes the mess from his T-shirt. ‘I saw an envelope on the side in the kitchen. Redirected mail from their home in Wolverhampton. It was addressed to Mr and Mrs A Kilbride.’
A thought fires in the back of my mind. I’ll have a better chance of tracing them online with a surname and former postcode.
‘What was the address?’
He shrugs, and his face contorts into a ball of confusion. ‘I have no idea; I didn’t look at it properly. I’m not in the habit of rifling through our friends’ post. What does it matter?’
I know he’ll laugh at me if I tell him I still have major doubts about the backstory Morag and Angus presented.
She’s not my mum.
Charlie’s mobile vibrates, and again he quickly looks at the screen.
‘I was thinking of going to visit my mum,’ I say suddenly, though the thought has only just entered my head. ‘With Grace starting school on Wednesday, I thought Mum would like to see her before. It’s been a few weeks since we were last up there. Do you think you could get the day off tomorrow or Tuesday to drive us?’
His eyes rise from the screen in astonishment. ‘What?’
‘Mum’s,’ I repeat. ‘Would you be able to get a day off this week to drive us up there?’
He pockets the phone, and stands, reaching for my plate. ‘Are you joking?’ His cheeks are flushed, and he’s glaring at me as if I’ve asked him to sever a limb. ‘You know how busy I am this week. And what kind of notice is this? Why do you suddenly want to drop everything and go to your mother’s?’
‘I think it would be good for her to see Grace before school starts, that’s all.’
My plate rattles as he drops it onto his own, quietly seething. ‘Well, no, I’m sorry, Jess, but unlike you I can’t just drop everything on a whim. You know how hard I’ve been working to secure this new client.’
‘Exactly,’ I fire back in anger. ‘With all the extra hours you’ve been putting in, the least they can do is give you some time back.’
‘What’s Doug going to think if I suddenly ask for a day out of the office in what could be the most important week in the company’s history? I’m meeting with their Chief Risk Officer tomorrow, and then I’m away at the client’s offices in Oxford on Tuesday. No. It’s out of the question.’
I was not prepared for him to react like that. I know he hasn’t always seen eye-to-eye with my mum, but I thought they’d put all that behind them. And it isn’t like the drive to Southampton is particularly long. Ninety minutes at most, depending on traffic.
He carries the plates out to the kitchen, and I hear them crash into the sink. Have I done something wrong? My request for a lift wasn’t unreasonable, and it really has been a few weeks since Grace saw her grandmother. I make an effort to call my mum at least once a week, but it’s not the same as spending time there.
Charlie returns, collecting the butter and jam and leaving without even looking at me. When he returns again, I wheel around to block his exit.
‘What is wrong with you? If you don’t want to take me, all you had to do is say no. Why are you so angry?’
There’s venom in his eyes as he glares at me. ‘Because this is so typical of you at the moment, expecting me to drop everything and wait on you hand and foot.’
My hand shoots to my mouth. I had no idea that is how he feels. I don’t think I’ve made that many demands of him, and sometimes I do need his help because there are things I can’t do alone.
He must notice my hurt, as his expression softens with regret. ‘I’m sorry, that didn’t come out how I meant it. I’m under a lot of pressure at work, but all the extra hours are an investment in our future. I know it’s tough and I miss being around you and Grace, but it will be worth it one day. You’ll see.’
I wheel myself away so he won’t see the tears refilling my eyes. I hate being so reliant on Charlie for everything. I wish I could see a clear path forward that would allow me more independence and to contribute to our finances again, but it feels so far away at the moment.
A taxi to Southampton will cost too much, and the only alternative is a train, but I’d need to take the Tube to get to Waterloo. I don’t feel confident managing my chair on public transport, let alone with Grace in tow.
The real reason I am so keen to return to the family home is to pick my mum’s brains about the adoption process. It’s one thing to read about it online, but better to speak to someone with first-hand experience. I wheel towards the kitchen to ask Charlie if we can afford for me to catch the train, but his head is bent over his phone as he taps out a message. He hears my wheels clatter over the carpet trim and looks up in panic, quickly pocketing the phone again.
I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when Grace comes bounding down the stairs, swimming goggles swinging in her hand. ‘Come on, Daddy, we’ll be late for swimming.’
I’ve been lying on top of the bed sheets for at least twenty minutes since Charlie and Grace departed, but am no closer to dozing off. Every time I close my eyes and try to empty my brain of thoughts, something else rears its head, such as that bloody cobweb, dangling out of reach, yet somehow watching my every move. I feel so physically drained, but I’m too alert to sleep.
I hope Grace is enjoying her swimming lesson. Charlie’s been taking her to the pool regularly since her third birthday. I remember how timid she was stepping into the water unaided that first time, her little legs rippling the water with nervous energy. She hadn’t wanted to let go of Charlie’s hand that day. I’d been watching from the edge, subtly taking pictures of the two of them when the lifeguards’ heads were turned.
To see her now, fearlessly jumping into the deep end and swimming back to the side, or diving under the water in the shallow end and swimming along the bottom of the pool, you’d never know she was that timid girl who wouldn’t let go of Charlie’s hand on that first visit. I’m amazed at how far she’s come under his watch. I stopped going with them when Charlie asked for it to become a daddy-daughter activity – an opportunity for the two of them to bond. I remember how encouraging I’d been of that choice, and now I hate myself for how envious I am of that special time they get to spend alone. I can’t remember the last time Charlie and I were alone as just husband and wife, enjoying each other’s company. But I suppose that’s the deal you strike when you become parents.
