by Carol Wyer
‘Nothing in the bedroom or bathroom.’
‘We’ll get this one checked out for DNA, and these boxes. Hang on a sec.’ She headed to the bedroom, chose a pot of nail varnish and dropped it into a bag too. ‘We can check for fingerprints and DNA. I’m sure nobody will miss them. Now we need to get out of here and let the others know what’s going on. Pull the door to.’
She’d require a warrant to search the flat thoroughly and ascertain if Katie had been living there. They’d followed procedure and gained entry because they’d believed Tommy to be hurt or at risk when they’d found the door to be open, but they would have to do everything else by the book, which meant returning with the correct paperwork. Besides, she needed Tommy to believe he hadn’t been rumbled. She wanted him caught, not frightened off. If he found out the police had been in his flat, he might well do a runner.
Murray’s phone buzzed. He answered with a gruff hello and then, after a moment, ‘Is she sure? Yep. Okay. Great. Thanks.’ He pocketed the mobile. ‘Celeste has found another girl who works the streets and who claims Katie regularly solicited in a doorway close to the back of Hardy’s store.’
‘So, Katie was soliciting.’ The news came as no surprise but Natalie was nevertheless troubled by it. Katie had been a teenager, and not much older than Leigh.
‘Seems to be the case. Celeste’s trying to get the girl to come to the station to make a statement but I wouldn’t hold your breath. Do you want to break the good news to the pair downstairs that they’re getting no sleep tonight, or shall I?’
‘I’ll let you have that pleasure and I’ll meet you back at Holborn House. I think we’re pretty much done for tonight but I want to drop these off with Forensics,’ she said, lifting the bags.
Tossing the bags onto the passenger seat, she slipped into position and retrieved her buzzing phone. David’s name was flashing across the screen. She hadn’t spoken to her ex-husband for almost a month, and her immediate reaction was one of guilt. She picked up.
‘Hi. How’s it going?’
He sounded chirpier than he had for some time. ‘Great. I’m well and I’m enjoying the work at the courts. I thought it was about time I invited you out for a thank you drink and maybe have a catch-up.’
Natalie had tried on several occasions to find work for him, translating for the courts or for non-English-speaking detainees. With his background in legal translation and an ability to speak three languages, she’d always believed him to be an ideal candidate, but up until recently, when she’d put his name forward, there’d been no vacancies. ‘I’d love to but I’m tied up at the moment on an investigation.’
She expected a sour retort but instead got a, ‘No probs. Let me know when you’re free and we’ll sort something out… soon. How’s the promotion going? Must feel strange being DCI and not as hands-on.’
‘It’s certainly different.’
‘I bet. Less action and more paperwork?’
‘It’s supposed to be although not at the moment. I’m more involved than I expected to be. Actually, I had intended ringing you. I wondered if you had any plans over Christmas. I know it’s a while away yet, but if you are free, we’d really like you to come and spend Christmas Day with us.’
There was a sudden silence. Had she offended him? Maybe it was too much to expect him to eat, drink and be merry with his ex-wife and his best friend, even if Josh were there. She ought to have talked this over with Mike before she’d rushed in with an invite. Her mouth pulled into a grimace. She hadn’t thought this through.
David finally answered. ‘That’s… sweet of you and considerate… but I’ve made other arrangements.’
‘Oh, okay. Well, maybe you could drop around for drinks at some point over the festive season.’
‘Erm, I’m not actually going to be free.’
‘Right. Well then—’
‘I appreciate the thought but you don’t need to worry about me being alone and depressed at Christmas. I don’t need watching over or protecting from myself any longer.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Honestly, I’ve made plans. I’m getting back on my feet, Nat. Things are looking up… work… and… well, I’ll tell you everything when we go for that drink.’
‘We’ll fix up something as soon as this investigation is over.’
‘Don’t forget. Are you at work now?’
‘Yes. I’m about to head back to the station.’
‘I won’t hold you up any longer. Ring me as soon as you’re free.’
‘Will do.’
She ended the call feeling discombobulated. David sounded different – happy and cheerful, the opposite of the man who’d attempted to take his life the year before. She cast off her curiosity and suspicions as to why and decided to be pleased for him. He’d suffered enough. They all had, and he, like Natalie, deserved happiness, although she couldn’t help but wonder what or who was making David feel like a new man.
Chapter Ten
Saturday, 2 November – Evening
The trendy bar on Marston Street was fairly empty for a Saturday night, which made Rachel Hardy feel all the more conspicuous. She’d been there long enough to go through the entire range of emotions: anxiety, excitement, doubt, denial, irritation and now full-blown anger. Rachel swigged the dregs of her second glass of rosé wine. Stood up! She couldn’t believe it. Well, it was his loss if he wanted to pass on the opportunity to have his brains shagged out.
Although it was fruitless, she couldn’t help but glance in the direction of the front door. She’d looked at it at least eighty times since she’d ordered her first drink. Bastard!
She checked her phone. No, he hadn’t replied to any of her WhatsApp messages. The usual blue ticks indicating messages had been read were still grey, proving he’d not yet seen any of them. He was probably under the watchful eye of his wife, the suspicious cow, and would explain why he’d not replied to her messages or turned up, even though they’d arranged this night over a week ago.
She sighed. It was more difficult being the other woman than she’d suspected. She ought to ditch him and go back to the single scene, although blokes didn’t usually stick around long after the first date or two. The last one had accused her of being a patronising bitch purely because she’d been vocal in her sexual demands. This was the twenty-first century, wasn’t it? And she was perfectly at liberty to expect a man to satisfy her properly, not grope and wrestle her for his own ends. The wine left a sour taste in her mouth, or was that the memory of his face? He’d sneered at her and told her she had an inflated opinion of herself. She twisted the Gucci lion head ring on her middle finger. It had been a gift from her father for being promoted to senior sales manager at such a young age. It had an aged gold finish, and in the lion’s open mouth, held fast between its teeth, was a blue sapphire.
‘Because you, my dear girl, are fierce as a lion but also gentle and feminine,’ he’d said.
She embraced that idea of fierceness. One day, she would run Hardy’s department store, and she had plans to get it back on its feet long before that time. She flicked on her mobile again. It was gone 8 p.m. and there was no sign of or response from her lover. She may as well call it a night. The fucker was going to be in major trouble when he finally contacted her; in fact, she’d probably dump him. She was better than him. Way better.
She shrugged on her dusty-pink faux-shearling coat, a recent purchase so soft against her flesh, she’d fantasised about wearing it and nothing else while they made love in her office. That had been the plan: drinks here at Di Angelo’s, then walk the few steps to Hardy’s to make full use of her office with its wide settee or the large leather desk chair on which she’d have straddled him, naked apart from the coat. She bet his wife wouldn’t be as raunchy. Bugger! She loved the sense of power it gave her to make love there in the dark. Now she’d have to wait for another opportunity to live out her fantasies.
She slid from the private booth deliberately chosen for their clandestine meeting
. She avoided the eye of the good-looking guy behind the bar. He was too young for her taste. She preferred older men.
Leaving the seductive, cosy atmosphere of the dimly lit bar, she stepped onto an empty pavement. The cold took her breath away and she cursed the decision to leave her car at home and take a taxi to town. It was a ten-minute walk to the far end of the road to the pedestrian square and taxi rank. She resisted the urge to check her mobile again. He could go to hell. In fact, if he did ring her, she’d not respond. What a waste of an evening! She strode along the gloomy street, lined with office blocks. This way took her past the back of the department store and its shuttered goods entrance. She could turn around and take the alley adjacent to the store to join the busier main street that also led to the square and taxi rank, but she decided against it. She marched on, wondering if she ought to have remained in the bar in the hopes of meeting somebody else. The trouble was, one-night stands were unsatisfactory, and things had been going pretty well recently even if he was married. He was a great lover. No. He was a fantastic lover. Her mind flashed back to their last meeting and she decided not to make a fuss about this evening. She’d hear him out first and then force him to make it up to her. In ways only he could dream of. She stalked past the store.
‘What the fuck!’
She didn’t notice the figure pressed right back against the wall until she drew level with it. She jumped back, startled. ‘What are you doing here?’
Chapter Eleven
Sunday, 3 November – Morning
Music was playing loudly and Mike whistled along to a classic Queen track as he scraped butter onto a piece of toast, in time to the tune.
‘Daddy, can Olaf have more cereal?’ said Thea, already reaching for the packet of Frosted Flakes on the table. The toy snowman was on the table, positioned next to the bowl, and Dog was on the chair next to her.
‘Maybe he’d like to try some toast,’ suggested Mike.
Thea shook her head quickly, face determined. ‘No. Cereal. He’s hungry.’
‘He’ll get fat,’ warned Mike, wagging his finger at her.
Thea giggled. ‘Snowmen are supposed to be round and fat.’
Mike couldn’t dispute her logic and reached for the jam. He’d burnt the bread and even the thick layer of strawberry jam wouldn’t disguise the flavour. Thea had eaten most of the loaf at teatime the day before, making sandwiches for a picnic tea with her toys. He’d add bread to the shopping list today. The front door opened and shut, and Natalie appeared, dressed in a long black coat. He hadn’t heard her go out. Must have had the music on too loudly.
‘Morning!’ Natalie called.
Thea ignored her and continued spooning cereal into her mouth. Natalie hadn’t made it home in time to play the Mario game with them, and it seemed as if Thea was holding that against her.
She rustled a paper bag. ‘I’ve bought us some breakfast.’
‘I made toast, although it is a little well done,’ said Mike.
‘And it stinks,’ mumbled Thea.
‘Yes, I smelt it in the hallway. Anyway, I got us something special.’
‘I’ve had enough breakfast,’ said Thea, pushing her now finished bowl away.
‘What about Olaf?’ asked Natalie, spotting the toy on the table.
‘Him too.’
‘What a shame because I got him a treat.’ She removed several French pastries, their glazed surfaces glistening brown, placed them in a dish and put it on the table. ‘Those have chocolate in them and those have sugar and raisins.’
‘My favourites!’ said Mike as he snatched a raisin-filled swirl, with sugar grains scattered on its surface, and raised it to his lips. He took a bite and exclaimed, ‘Delish! And still warm.’
‘They were fresh out of the oven.’
‘Heavenly!’ He made appreciative noises as he chewed.
Natalie casually removed her coat, hung it over the back of a chair and headed across the room to make a cup of tea. Thea adored the chocolate pastries. It was only a matter of time before she cracked. Sure enough, by the time she’d boiled the kettle and turned around, Thea was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and reaching for a second one.
‘Good?’
The girl nodded.
‘I’m sorry I got home too late last night to play with you both.’
‘S’okay. Daddy said you were hunting for some bad people.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you find them?’
‘We’re still looking for them.’
She turned the pastry around in her small hands, seeking out the chocolate filling before nibbling at it. A dark smear appeared by the corner of her lips. Natalie couldn’t help but think of Leigh, who’d loved chocolate too.
‘What will happen to them when you catch them?’
‘They’ll go to prison.’
‘Do you think you’ll find them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it hard being a detective?’
‘Sometimes it’s very hard.’
‘Harder than what Daddy does?’
‘It would be even harder if we didn’t get help from forensic scientists like him.’
The answer seemed to satisfy her. The child might only recently have turned seven but she wasn’t naive when it came to understanding what Mike’s job entailed, and she understood they couldn’t both always be at home to look after her. She pulled the bread into small pieces, unveiling the remainder of chocolate inside, and pretend-fed the dog on the chair.
‘I’ll try to get away earlier today but I can’t promise.’
Thea nodded. It was progress again.
Mike licked sugar from his fingers and sat back in his chair. ‘Better than burnt toast.’
‘Ah, you admit it was burnt.’
‘It was a little on the well-done side.’
‘Shall I bin it?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Wise decision.’
‘Bother, that’s my phone.’ She reached for the mobile buzzing on the kitchen top. ‘Morning, Lucy.’
‘Hi, Natalie. I’m afraid it’s not good news. Another woman’s been found dead.’
‘Same MO?’
‘I’ve been told the vic is a young woman in her mid-twenties, possibly strangled. Not sure about anything else yet. I’m on my way to the crime scene now.’
‘Where was she found?’
‘Marston Street, in the doorway of a disused office block, three doors from the back entrance to Hardy’s store.’
‘The same area where Katie was spotted on CCTV.’
‘Yep. Murray brought me up to speed when I got back last night. Can you join us?’
‘On my way.’ She chucked the undrunk tea into the sink. ‘I’m going to have to leave you two to finish those pastries. I’ll try and nip back later before Thea goes back to her mum,’ she said to Mike, who dropped a sugary kiss on her lips.
She turned to the little girl and fought the urge to give her a hug and kiss goodbye. Their relationship wasn’t strong enough for such displays of affection yet. ‘Bye, Thea!’
‘Bye, Natalie.’
She left the warmth of the house and tumbled back out into a chilled wind that caught the ends of her coat. A third victim in as many days. This definitely warranted some urgent action. The perpetrator needed finding quickly or the new crime squad would be in serious trouble.
Marston Street was filled with emergency service vehicles, and even at 9 a.m. on a freezing-cold Sunday, several onlookers had gathered at the police cordons either end of the lengthy road. Natalie was waved through and away from the crowds, grateful she didn’t have to face any journalists. She passed Hardy’s store, a four-storey building with no windows to the rear, an emergency exit and a wide, shuttered door that led to an offloading goods area. Adjacent to it was a dentist clinic – a banner in the window offering teeth whitening at an affordable price – and next to the surgery, a gym, offering tai chi and karate classes. The remaining buildings on this side of the street w
ere all office blocks, and the one where the victim had been uncovered had been vacated several months earlier, a large ‘To Let’ sign in an upstairs window.
Two men in running gear were in discussion with Ian. She cast about for Lucy and spotted her talking to a uniformed officer directly in front of the doorway to the unoccupied office block, their bodies shielding the woman on the ground. Natalie headed towards them.
‘No pathologist yet?’ she asked.
Lucy answered, ‘He’s on his way. This is PC Hull. He was first on the scene. The joggers over there, giving their statements to Ian, found her body.’
‘Morning, ma’am.’
‘PC Hull.’ She acknowledged him with a nod.
‘Will that be everything?’ he asked Lucy.
‘For now. Thanks. You’ll email your report over, won’t you?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He took his leave and Natalie’s eyes fell immediately on the woman propped in the doorway, head tilted against the wall, arms by her side and legs out straight, like a broken mannequin.
‘The photographer’s here and has already taken pictures of the deceased but we’re waiting for Forensics before we begin. It could be the work of our killer,’ said Lucy. ‘Although if it is, there’s another striking difference – the message. Looks like it’s been written in ink.’
Natalie’s gaze travelled the length of the deceased’s body, noting the navy scalloped suede pump on her left foot, its twin on the ground beside her, the designer’s logo, Chloé, embossed on the soft beige leather insole. She took in the dusty-pink coat and lingered over vivid violet and crimson abrasions covering the victim’s throat and neck before passing over lips the colour of cherries and bloodshot, glassy eyes, to stare at the woman’s smooth forehead where one word had been written in black capital letters: GUILTY.
