‘Okay. It’s not a bad idea to keep our eye on the situation on the West Shore.’
‘Yes and I’m happy to continue getting up an hour earlier to see if anything materialises with the dog walking,’ Jax interrupted. ‘After all I don’t live far away and my mother’s dog still has to be walked.’
Gaby nodded in his direction before focusing again on Marie. ‘Okay, I’ll expect you to feed back twice a day and, in the meantime, you can carry on with the interviews as well as working on finding that blasted knife. I’m not sure that we’ve got a handle on who Nikki was as a person yet. We still need to check with both her previous and current employers. You have my number. Keep me posted.’
She continued walking only to stop a second time, the sound of DCI Sherlock’s voice ringing in her ear.
‘I’d like to see you in my office.’
DCI Sherlock tilted his head for her to take a seat before speaking. ‘My reasons for inviting you in for a little chat, so soon after your promotion are twofold,’ he said, resting his elbows on the desk. ‘Firstly, I wanted to check if you’re completely happy to take the lead on both investigations?’
Gaby opened her mouth to speak but Henry stalled her with a flick of his hand. ‘Now don’t go thinking I have any doubts on that score. I have every faith in your ability but it’s a big step.’ He rubbed his hand across his chin, his gaze finally meeting hers. ‘This isn’t for public discussion, but DI Tipping won’t be returning in the immediate future. Obviously we all hope for the best, but the super has to plan for the worst. I know that heading up two potentially huge cases will be a challenge, especially as you’re brand new in the post, but I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think that you were up to it.’
‘You have no need to continue, sir. I view it as an honour to look after both cases until DI Tipping’s return.’
‘You’re a good lass,’ he said, slipping back into the broad Scots accent from his upbringing on the Western Isles. ‘Right, back to business. I have a funny feeling about this missing woman, so I’d like all the stops pulled. I’ve already been in touch with the superintendent and he’s arranged for additional officers to help with the search.’ He picked up his pen and unscrewed the cap before continuing. ‘Now, with regards to that other unfortunate incident along the West Shore. I take it you don’t have enough to arrest the key suspect? As the clock’s ticking, we could ask for a twenty-four-hour extension, if you think it would make any difference to the outcome?’
‘I don’t think so, sir. Forensics hasn’t come up with any new leads we can follow yet. But Dr Mulholland’s testimony is forcing me to look harder into de Bertrand’s claim that there’s another party involved but as to who that might be—’
‘What about the husband?’
‘He’s certainly on the list of possible suspects,’ she said. ‘I plan to bring him in for questioning again but not until we’ve found Tracy Price.’
‘Yes. Indeed.’ He ran his hand over the back of his neck. ‘I can’t stop thinking about those poor children.’
‘Neither can I.’
Chapter 21
Gaby
Tuesday 12 May, 11.40 a.m. St Asaph Police Station
‘Thank you for coming down to the station, Mr Price, at such a difficult time,’ Gaby began, pulling out a chair and indicating that he should do the same. ‘You’re already acquainted with DC Bates and this is DS Potter, our Family Liaison Officer.’ Gaby inclined her head in Amy’s direction.
After well over a decade in the force Gaby had thought herself one of the most astute of coppers. She’d seen most of it and heard the rest. No one was a shock just as no one person’s actions could surprise her. Most members of the human race were too busy going about their lives to be bothered about others. There were, of course the minority. That small group of individuals who’d sell their granny to the highest bidder, adding their child in as a bonus. But she thought she’d had people’s measure, both good and bad, right up until Leigh Clark’s wife had dissuaded her of the notion. Her mind, usually so focused, couldn’t help dipping back to those dark days in Cardiff when she’d taken the bait he’d been dangling of a single man about town looking for a little woman to share his life – she’d swallowed the line, hook and all. She should have known that a man like Leigh wouldn’t have come without baggage. What she didn’t realise was how much until his heavily pregnant wife had decided to tell her in front of the whole station. She was over him now. He rarely figured in anything that was relevant except in her reaction to a certain type of man. Barry Price was that type – she hated him on sight.
It wasn’t that Price was good-looking – and he was. It wasn’t that he was also tall and with a figure of a committed gym aficionado. It wasn’t even his coal-black hair trailing his collar or the firm set of his jaw. It was the fact that he reminded her of Leigh – something she was struggling to forgive him for.
But for all his model looks and swaggering gait, he appeared both haggard and tense as if it had been a long time since he’d slept and, with his wife now missing for twenty hours, Gaby couldn’t blame him one little bit. She watched him pull up a chair and take a seat before folding his arms across his chest, his look frank.
‘I’ll do anything if it will help get Tracy back. The boys …’
‘Ah yes,’ Owen said, his voice low. ‘Twins, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Saul and Solomon. They’re staying with my wife’s parents until—’
‘Good plan. Best all round to try and keep things as normal as possible. So, Mr Price, can you tell me about the last time you saw your wife?’
‘Yesterday morning, just before leaving for work.’
‘And your work is?’ Gaby said, her unopened notebook on the table in front of her. She’d rely on the microphone, set into the wall beside the table, when writing up her notes.
‘I work at the family business, Price’s Butchers.’
‘Along Madoc Street? I know it well. Now, can you tell us exactly what happened yesterday?’
Barry raised his head from where he’d been staring at the top of the table. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary if that’s what you’re asking. Tracy runs a mobile hairdressing business so she can still drop off and pick up the kids. I leave at seven and it was the same yesterday. She was in the kitchen messing around with the boys’ lunch boxes.’ He sniffed hard, running the back of his hand across his nose. ‘She handed me my sandwiches and said, “See you later”. That’s it.’
‘And was she working yesterday, do you know?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t. She has a little diary, which she keeps in her handbag. It’s the only thing that seems to be missing along with her mobile.’
‘Okay. So, yesterday everything seemed perfectly normal. What about before yesterday? Any problems? Both of you in good health? Any financial concerns, that sort of thing?’
He held her gaze. ‘Not more than most people, Detective. If you’re trying to ask, in a roundabout way, if our marriage was on the rocks then the answer is an emphatic no. Oh, like most people we’ve had our moments, but we’ve always managed to kiss and make up.’
Gaby forced a smile, in the same way she forced herself to keep an open mind. Just because Leigh Clark had been a toad was no reason to suspect Barry Price of the same behaviour. She decided to end the conversation. He looked as if he’d been through enough for one day.
‘Thank you once again for coming down to the station. We’ll need your permission to go through her things in case there’s something you may have overlooked. We’ll also need to speak to your children in case they can add anything to your statement.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ he said, his voice sharp. ‘They’re only six and I don’t want them to be affected by whatever’s going on.’
Gaby placed both hands flat on the desk, struggling to choose the right tone of voice that spelt compassion married with authority. ‘I can assure you that the wellbeing of your children will be our paramount concern during the session
, which will be conducted by a police social worker specially trained in carrying out a joint investigative interview. Really, Mr Price, we do need your cooperation in the search for your wife but your consent to interview your children is something that, while desirable, isn’t required,’ Gaby said, nodding in the direction of Amy. ‘DS Potter will escort you back to reception.’ She touched Amy on the arm briefly as she passed ahead of her through the door. ‘Come and find me after. I’ll be in the custodial suite – I have a little job for you.’
Chapter 22
Christine
Tuesday 12 May, 12.10 p.m. St Asaph Police Station
Christine was going stir crazy. She’d already been locked up for three days – three days with nothing to do other than stare at four walls and hope the next meal would be better than the last.
She dropped the spoon back in the bowl of watery soup and picked up the hunk of bread, which at least looked and smelt familiar. Taking a large bite, more to stave off the hunger pains that had become an unwelcome friend during her days of detention, she concentrated on chewing and swallowing – anything to pass the time, which dragged with an unbearable intensity.
The faint noise, more of a vibration, didn’t initially pull her out of her reverie. She wasn’t expecting any visitors. That was a laugh for a start. She’d had her daily visit from her solicitor when he’d left her with the joyful tiding that there was still no news about the case, either positive or negative. Andy’s final comment about no news being good news was far from helpful.
She only lifted her head at the sight of the door opening. The female detective walked into the room, a smile of sorts on her face. Christine had never been any good at reading expressions. Oh, she’d improved since her hearing loss, but she’d learnt the hard way that a smile didn’t always mean good news just as a frown didn’t always mean bad. But, after being left to her own devices for the last couple of hours, she’d welcome anyone to break the monotony – even the Grim Reaper with or without his scythe. She started to get up from the side of the bed only to pause at a touch on her arm and, lifting her head, realised that the detective was already speaking.
‘Hold on a minute.’ She put her hand to her hair and, removing the hearing aid from first the right and then left ear, proceeded to fiddle with the switches before reinserting them. ‘I don’t have any spare batteries and it’s not as if I have anyone to speak to in here.’
Gaby frowned, a proper annoyed frown that stretched across her forehead in a myriad of lines. ‘You should have said. Just because you’re here doesn’t mean we don’t have a duty to look after your needs.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Detective … I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name?’
‘Darin, Gaby Darin.’
Christine watched her walk around the cell and, for the first time, wondered what exactly she was doing there. Even her solicitor had met with her in one of the small interview rooms at the end of the corridor and it wasn’t as if there was space in here to swing a mouse let alone a cat. She was obviously here to give her some news and, with that thought, Christine’s temper flared. It was one thing being left for hours on end with no idea as to what was happening in the outside world. She’d had no contact with her family. She hadn’t even been allowed to read any newspapers in case she saw something she wasn’t meant to about the investigation. Christine had had all she could take and suddenly she didn’t care anymore if she said what she thought. After all, what could they do? They’d already locked her up and taken most of her life away. They’d certainly stripped her of her dignity – her eyes lingered on the toilet in the corner before shifting to the wall-mounted camera above her head. She opened her mouth to speak only to close it again at the detective’s next words.
‘I’m here to tell you that you’re free to go. While our investigations are ongoing, I do need to ask you to keep us informed as to your whereabouts. I’ve asked DS Potter to escort you back home or wherever it is you’d like to be dropped off.’
‘Please tell me that you’ve found Nikki’s killer?’
‘No, not yet. But we’re doing everything we can.’
All Christine could do was stare. She’d been hoping and praying that they’d realise it was one big horrible mistake but, now that her wish had been granted, it all seemed somehow hollow.
So that was it, was it? Over? No. It would never be over until she found out what had happened to Nikki. But the worst part in all of this was that the case might be one of the many that never got solved. It’s not as if the detective had given her any guarantees – far from it! The truth was she might never know.
She rested her head back against the wall. She felt drained, when her forced inactivity should mean she was bursting with energy but that wasn’t the case. When she finally got home, she’d go to bed for a week—
Another thought struck, the same one that haunted her dreams. She had no home – not now. There was no way she could ever return to the flat … all that blood. Oh God, she felt the colour drain from her face, her gut twisting. Her beautiful home. How could she ever go back? She felt like screaming, screaming until her lungs burst. Her beautiful home, the thing that she’d scrimped and saved for, would never be the same now. She’d known from the very first sight of the shingle-laden beach with the backdrop of the Carneddau Mountains that here was a place she could call home. Christine had always loved the sea and, being brought up in Llandudno, she’d been able to indulge her passion for water-sports from kite-surfing to swimming, diving and even a little fishing. She’d poured her soul and most of her resources into turning the top floor into a light, spacious sanctuary where she could try and fill the gap left by the failure of her marriage. Now she had nowhere to go except back to her parents.
She’d all but forgotten she wasn’t alone until she heard soft words spoken close to her ear. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’
‘Only my life back,’ she said, even though as soon as the words left her lips, she realised how stupid they sounded. Her life wasn’t over, far from it. She still had her small cohort of close friends and hopefully she’d still have her work; work she’d grown to love over the last couple of years. It was poor Nikki who’d suffered, not her, not really. But the last few days had changed how she viewed her life – it suddenly seemed so bloody pointless. It had only taken a second for her imperfect little world to collapse and, the worst of it was, she still had no way of knowing what exactly had happened that morning.
Detective Darin was shouldering the door, her thick roped plait hanging down the centre of her back. But for all her kindly smile and friendly words, she was still investigating the most serious of crimes, a crime Christine was up to her neck in. Struggling from sitting to standing, she brushed her hand over her hair.
‘So, what happens now? I take it I’m still a suspect?’
‘Currently we’re following numerous lines of enquiries but, at this stage in the investigation, there’s no evidence that you participated in the murder so, for now, you’re good to go. That doesn’t mean that we won’t need to get in touch sometime in the future. There’s still some forensics that we’re waiting for and there are bound to be further questions.’
Gaby took one step to reach the door and, holding it open, gestured for her to precede her before following her out of the room and slamming it shut behind her. ‘You’ll need these,’ she added, digging around in her pocket and holding out a small bunch of keys.
Christine stared at them, taking a step backwards. ‘I don’t think I …’
‘It’s perfectly understandable to feel anxious given the circumstances,’ Gaby said, breaking eye contact briefly and looking over her shoulder. ‘Ah, here’s DS Potter. Amy will tell you that it’s natural not to want to return home after something like this.’
‘Absolutely,’ Amy said, offering her a brief smile. ‘But there truly won’t be anything to see to remind you. The CSI team will have removed all the relevant evidence for analysis so it will be as if it never happened. H
ow about I take hold of the keys for now and we take a drive towards the West Shore. When the time comes, if you really can’t face going in, perhaps I could collect some of your things for you?’
Christine felt she was on a conveyer belt or should that be rollercoaster? Now they’d decided she was free to leave, they wanted shot of her as swiftly as possible. She scanned the wall of identical grey metal doors and suddenly her eagerness to exit the building dissipated as quickly as air leaving her lungs. They wouldn’t want her back at work until the mess had been cleared up and she certainly couldn’t stay at the flat with no mattress except the one in the spare room. Nikki’s room. She heaved a sigh at the only option left to her, the only place that would accept her back with open arms.
Moving back into her parents’ house after an absence of twelve years wasn’t the best idea Christine had ever come up with, but it wasn’t as if she had any alternative. At least she was free of that blasted station and, the one thing she was sure of, she’d do anything to never have to go back. After three days in captivity, where every thought and action centred around what had happened in her bedroom that morning, it felt as if she’d almost forgotten she’d led an existence outside that microcosmic spec of time.
She stood outside the station doors, taking a moment to lift her head and stare at the couple of straggly trees in the distance. The world seemed brighter somehow. The sky bluer, the clouds less imposing. She felt a laugh bubbling, a feeling that had been lost to her in recent months, outside the confines of her classroom. Her life hadn’t been right for a long time, but it had taken the shock of the last few days for her to realise it. What she could do to change things was currently out of her hands but there was, at least, a determination to try. Hovering on the top step, she allowed her mind to dip into the past, a place where hurt reigned supreme. She’d learnt the same salutary lesson when the doctor had broken the news about her impending deafness. She could have rolled over and accepted what the gods or fate or whatever had thrown at her, but she’d decided to act and, with her actions, had changed not only her own life but that of Paul’s too.
Darkest Night Page 12
