by D. S. Butler
Mackinnon stared at the image, but it was impossible to tell. It could’ve been anyone. The man’s build and height was similar to Noah’s, but the baggy clothing made it hard to tell how muscular the suspect was.
Mackinnon smiled at the woman who placed a freshly made ham sandwich on the table in front of him. It was a proper doorstep sarnie, with thick, fresh, crunchy bread and salty, smoky, thick-cut ham. Mackinnon dug in as he pondered what to do next.
Following the bus route would probably be the most sensible thing to do. That wouldn’t be easy on his phone. It would be far easier on his computer back at the station. He polished off the sandwich quickly, hoping he wouldn’t get instant indigestion after eating so fast, then drained the last of his coffee.
He paid the bill, which was surprisingly cheap, and left a good tip. He had just stepped outside the café when his phone rang. It was DC Collins.
“Hello, mate,” Mackinnon said. “Any news?”
Instead of answering straight away, Collins asked, “Where are you?”
“Burdett Road. I’ve finished with the pest control expert but unfortunately haven’t managed to put the pieces of the puzzle together yet. I didn’t get much from him, apart from the need to wash my clothes at sixty degrees tonight.”
“Sixty degrees? Why? Never mind. I’m calling because there’s been a disturbance reported at Noah Thorne’s block of flats, and I thought you’d want to know.”
Mackinnon stilled. Interesting. Things kept coming back to Noah Thorne.
“Do we know if the disturbance has anything to do with Noah Thorne?”
“We do, Jack. Noah Thorne called it in.”
Chapter Nineteen
Despite the heavy traffic, Mackinnon made it to Noah Thorne’s address in good time. He pulled up outside Great Arthur House and parked beside the marked squad car.
He took the lift up to the fifth floor and on exiting saw a female uniformed officer talking to a very distraught Melissa West.
Neither of them noticed him at first, and he took a moment to assess the situation.
Melissa was sobbing, and the officer was trying to comfort her. On the floor was a half-empty litre bottle of vodka. Mackinnon pulled out his ID and approached them.
“DS Jack Mackinnon, City of London Police,” he said for the benefit of the officer.
Melissa grabbed his arm. “Please, you have to help. They don’t believe me, and he killed my friend.”
The door to Noah’s apartment was partially open, and from inside Noah’s voice boomed out, unleashing a stream of expletives and vile language directed at Melissa. He yanked open the door and screamed at her. “You absolute psycho! They need to lock you up. You delusional bitch.”
His face was distorted with rage and flushed red with anger. Melissa’s lower lip wobbled as she took a step away from him, shrinking back against the wall.
“You killed her,” she said in a shaky voice.
Another PC, a male officer, had his hand on Noah’s shoulder, trying to hold him back and calm him down. “Please go back inside, sir. That sort of language isn’t going to help anyone.”
“It helps me. She just can’t come round here shouting the odds, calling me a killer. Stupid dumb cow doesn’t know anything.” He sneered at Melissa. “You ought to be careful about the sort of things you say. They could come back and bite you.”
Melissa wrapped her arms around her stomach and started crying again.
“That’s enough,” Mackinnon said coldly. “Any more of that threatening behaviour and you will be the one arrested, Mr Thorne.”
Noah turned on Mackinnon, his teeth bared. “Arrest me? For what? This is the psycho you need to arrest!” he said, pointing a finger at Melissa.
She was obviously overwhelmed, distressed and very drunk. Clearly scared of Noah, she still refused to back down. “You won’t get away with it.”
“Get away with what, you stupid cow? I haven’t done anything.”
Noah turned to Mackinnon. “Tell her. I didn’t do anything. Tell her I didn’t hurt Ashley.”
Mackinnon ignored him and instead turned to Melissa. “I think we should get you home.”
She hesitated, glancing back at Noah.
“Go on, go! If you don’t go now, I’m going to be severely tempted to push you down the stairs,” he snarled.
Mackinnon shot Noah Thorne a look. Was he really stupid enough to threaten to do such a thing in front of three police officers?
Before anyone could say anything, he turned around and stalked back into his apartment.
“Come on,” Mackinnon said gently. “My car’s outside. I’ll give you a lift home.”
Mackinnon spent the whole journey suspecting Melissa would throw up at any moment. The officer who organised the pool cars would not be best pleased if he took back the car stinking of vomit.
Fortunately, Melissa wasn’t sick on the journey. She spent most of the time staring blankly out of the window with glassy, tear-filled eyes. There had to be more to this than the fact Melissa just simply didn’t like Ashley’s boyfriend. She suspected Noah of her friend’s murder, and she had to have a reason.
It took a while for him to get Melissa out of the car and into the lobby of Marlyn Lodge.
When he saw the state of Melissa, the concierge intervened.
“Could I take your name, sir?” he asked. He then turned to Melissa. “Are you okay? Have you been drinking?”
Supporting Melissa with one arm, Mackinnon fished his ID from his pocket with the other and held it up for the concierge. “She’s had some bad news and has been drinking heavily. I’m making sure she gets back okay.”
The concierge exhaled in relief. “Oh, I see. Let me get the lift for you.”
It was nice in this day and age to see someone looking out for a drunk, vulnerable young woman. There were so many cases where people simply looked the other way.
Upstairs, Mackinnon lowered Melissa onto the sofa and then went to the kitchen to make coffee. There was only instant, so he put three spoonfuls into a mug and filled it to the brim with boiling water. When he took it back through to Melissa and set it on the coffee table, she was almost asleep.
“Who can I call to come and be with you?” Mackinnon asked.
He had work to be getting on with and wasn’t the right person to stay up all night making sure Melissa didn’t choke on her own vomit.
“I just want to be alone,” she slurred.
“That’s not a good idea. Where is your phone?”
“In my bag.”
“I’m going to get it, and then I’m going to call your mum, all right?”
“Okay,” she said sleepily and closed her eyes.
Mackinnon pulled an iPhone from Melissa’s bright pink bag and then shook her gently to wake her up so she could unlock it.
He found the right contact under 'Mum’ and pressed dial. He didn’t relish the fact he was going to probably scare the life out of Melissa’s mother. It was either a phone call from a police officer or one from Melissa slurring and not making any sense. Both would probably cause her mother to panic, but he couldn’t leave Melissa there alone in good conscience.
The call answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello, darling. How was your flight home?”
“Mrs West?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is DS Jack Mackinnon of the City of London Police. I’m with your daughter at the moment. She’s okay but very drunk. I was hoping you could come to her flat to be with her.”
“That doesn’t sound like Melissa.”
“I’m afraid she had some very bad news today and has taken it hard. Her friend Ashley has died.”
“Oh no, poor Ashley! I’m leaving now. Depending on traffic, I can be with you in fifteen minutes. Are you at Melissa’s flat?”
“Yes.”
As the minutes passed, Mackinnon coaxed Melissa to take sips of coffee, but she seemed determined to sleep it off. She was responsive when he could g
et her to wake up, and her eyes did focus when he could persuade her to open them. She’d probably be all right, but he wasn’t comfortable leaving her until her mother arrived.
It took twenty-five minutes for Mrs West to arrive at Melissa’s flat, and when she did, she was full of effusive thanks for Mackinnon bringing her daughter home.
As he made to leave, Melissa roused herself from the sofa. “Promise me you won’t let him get away with this,” she said, fixing him with a piercing look.
Mackinnon hesitated but was saved from answering as Melissa slumped back onto the sofa with her eyes shut.
Chapter Twenty
Brendan peeled his clothes off in the bathroom and let them fall to the floor. Tammy was upstairs, sleeping off the second lot of sedatives he’d been forced to give her. That hadn’t been his plan, but she’d really freaked out. She was strong for such a slight thing.
Brendan inspected the bruises on his shins. They were tender to touch, but the dark colour of the bruises hadn’t yet blemished his skin. She’d kicked, thrashed, slapped, scratched, and done everything she could to overpower him.
He’d tried to reason with her, but it hadn’t worked. He couldn’t work with someone like that. Eventually, she would see that she was part of the plan, a very necessary part. But until then, she would have to learn who was boss.
Like Ashley before her, he’d been forced to bind her wrists with cable ties. It wasn’t ideal. The last thing he wanted to do was to make it difficult for her to go to the toilet and to feed herself, but she’d given him no other choice. Her screeching made him worry she’d draw unwanted attention from the neighbours so he’d gagged her mouth. That was another irritation because it meant he had to help her every time she needed a drink. He didn’t really have time to be playing nursemaid. There was important work to be done, and Tammy was wasting time.
She was lucky he hadn’t lost his temper. He’d been tempted. Very tempted.
One well aimed punch to her stomach would have winded her and forced her to listen to him as she caught her breath.
But that would’ve meant they’d get off on the wrong foot, and despite her behaviour, Brendan didn’t want that. He wanted them to be friends, partners.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew that wouldn’t happen straight away. They needed trust, and that was built slowly over time. But unless Tammy let him get a word in edgeways before freaking out, they weren’t going to get anywhere.
He hadn’t even had a chance to do any experiments yet. Which was very disappointing.
He leaned over the bath and added extra hot water. Steam slowly filled the room. He unwrapped a fresh packet of coal tar soap, and the scent made him gag. Not surprising, really, when there were so many bad memories attached to it.
His mum had scrubbed him all over the night he’d come home from school with a letter about an outbreak of nits in the primary class.
He’d sat in the hot bath as she’d scrubbed his skin with coal tar soap and wire wool until it was red raw.
Then she’d coated his head in medicated shampoo, even rubbing it into his eyebrows and eyelashes. Pushing the thick liquid against his eyelids until it seeped inside, burning his eyes.
“Dirty boy, bringing nits into my clean home,” she’d muttered continually under her breath as she’d scrubbed his skin.
He hadn’t been able to go back to school for two weeks due to the abrasions on his skin. The following day, the scratches had formed scabs, but they’d looked so shocking that his mother wouldn’t let him see anyone until he was completely healed.
Luckily, that meant it was the last time she’d used wire wool on his skin, though it wasn’t the last time she’d used coal tar soap and medicated shampoo.
Satisfied the bath temperature was scalding hot, Brendan stepped in, lowering one foot at a time slowly, inch by inch. The heat made his pulse shoot up, and his breathing became rapid as he slowly lowered himself into the searing hot bath. Finally submerged, he reached for the coal tar soap and began to methodically lather every inch of his body.
She’d loved him, of course. And she’d done what she’d thought was right, trying to rid him of those nasty little biting parasites. It wasn’t her fault if she’d gone about it the wrong way, not really. It wasn’t him she’d wanted to hurt. She’d wanted to help him, but she hadn’t known how.
But thanks to Brendan’s work, everyone would soon know the truth and they’d be able to eliminate all these disgusting, biting insects and their associated parasites once and for all.
Of course, all the published scientific literature said that the biting insects didn’t spread disease. Brendan thought that was laughable. Mosquitoes spread malaria, ticks spread Lyme disease, yet they were supposed to believe that bedbugs, dust mites, and head lice were completely harmless.
Brendan gave a snort of disgust as he reached for the medicated shampoo.
Well, soon everyone would know the truth. That all these tiny, biting insects spread parasites that then bred beneath human skin. They didn’t kill you, just made life a misery. He would be the one who led the way, the pioneer who’d determined the cause behind chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, and numerous diseases that were classified as autoimmune but were really down to parasites.
As the water began to cool, Brendan reached for the plug and then for the shower attachment to rinse his body thoroughly of any lingering parasites.
He reached for a towel, patted his face and the skin on his arms and chest dry, and then wrapped the towel around his waist.
He paused in the hallway and listened.
All was quiet upstairs. Was Tammy still under control of the sedatives, or had she decided it was finally time to work with him and behave herself?
He considered going back upstairs to see if she needed a drink but then changed his mind.
After her behaviour today, she really didn’t deserve any kindness.
Instead, he made his way downstairs and walked to the corner of the living room. He stared down at the fabric-covered case and smiled.
His mother had been annoyed about the head lice, but she’d be absolutely fuming if she could see what he’d brought into her house now. He chuckled.
Leaning down, he grabbed the fabric firmly and ripped it off, revealing the glass box beneath.
Reacting to the light, the insects scuttled into corners of the glass box.
Brendan grinned and tapped the side of the glass. “Hello, my little friends. Are you ready? I’m going to have some work for you to do tomorrow.”
He watched the insects trample all over each other in an attempt to conceal themselves in the corners, but in a glass box there was nowhere to hide.
With a steady hand, he lifted the lid, reached inside, and plucked one of the flat reddish-brown bugs from the box. Then he squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger until the insect’s legs stopped moving.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mackinnon was just pulling into a parking space at Wood Street Station when his mobile rang. The screen displayed Kate Squires’s name.
He answered. “Any news on the laptop, Kate?”
“Yes. It’s not here, but it’s linked on a family account. Tim Burrows has an app on his phone, and all the devices are listed, along with their locations.”
“The app tells you where to find the laptop?” Mackinnon asked as he climbed out of the car.
“It does. It says the laptop is in Noah Thorne’s block of flats, Jack.”
Mackinnon paused. More and more evidence was pointing at Noah Thorne.
He leaned against the car. “What about Ashley’s phone? Is that linked on the app?”
“It should be, but unfortunately we haven’t got a location. Probably because the battery’s flat. It does have the last known location for Ashley’s phone, and that was outside her place of work on the evening she went missing.”
“That’s really helpful, Kate. Thank you. Please thank the Burrowses as well. I believe we are actively trying to get a warrant to
search Noah Thorne’s property. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“How much of this information do you want me to share with the parents?” Kate asked in a low voice.
“Keep the warrant and search to yourself for now. Once we get hold of the laptop, I’ll keep you updated.”
“All right.”
After he hung up, Mackinnon called DI Tyler’s direct number. He wanted to know where they were on the warrant. It looked like he might have to turn around and go straight back to Noah Thorne’s flat.
Mackinnon found it difficult to keep personal feelings out of investigations sometimes. His immediate feeling about Noah Thorne was that he wasn’t to be trusted, and he didn’t find him particularly likeable. But that didn’t mean he was a killer.
DI Tyler picked up the phone. “Jack, I hear there was a disturbance at Noah Thorne’s place?”
“There was. Ashley’s friend, Melissa West, got very drunk and turned up outside Noah’s flat shouting the odds. She is of the opinion Noah is responsible for Ashley’s death.”
“And what do you think?”
“Not enough evidence to say. But I’ve just spoken to Kate Squires, and she tells me the parents have an app which monitors the location of all their devices, including Ashley’s laptop. It’s at Noah Thorne’s flat. I asked him about it directly, and he denied having seen it recently.”
“Very interesting,” Tyler said.
“I’ve just pulled up outside the station. Shall I go around Noah’s now and ask to see the laptop?”
“Actually, this is perfect timing. We’ve just got the warrant. Are you in the car park?”
“Yeah,” Mackinnon said.
“Stay there. I’ll be right down. I’m coming to Noah Thorne’s with you, and we can execute the warrant together.”
“We don’t need a search team?”
“I’ll arrange for one en route. But we need to get there and get hold of that laptop before he does something stupid and tries to destroy it.”
Two minutes later, Tyler was sitting beside Mackinnon in the car, and they were heading back to Great Arthur House.
