by D. E. White
“So you popped over and gave them to Caz?” Steve suggested.
“Yes! I know it was late, but Caz has been up with the baby most nights. We, um . . . text sometimes.”
“Was Jamie there when you visited?”
“No, Caz said he was working, but we arranged I should take the pictures over and she would show him the next day.”
“What were the photos of?” Dove asked casually.
“Oh, nothing special, just some from us messing in the woods, by the quarry where we used to hang out after school . . . There were a few extra competition ones from our coach. I just thought they would like to have them . . .” Her voice trailed off again, before noise from the corridor outside made her snap back to the present. She squared her shoulders, blue eyes steady and hard now. “I really need to get on now, sorry.”
The door opened, and two small girls dressed in leotards appeared. A woman in gym gear called over to Jenna. “Do you want me to get this lot started on the warm-up, if you’re busy?” Her stare was curious.
“Yes, please, Angie.”
There was a babble of voices and laughter as a group of kids were ushered past into the connecting studio by the other teacher, ponytails flying, faces bright with fun and exercise.
Jenna watched the kids go. “Just one thing I want to say before you go. Ellis Bravery killed Mickey. Everyone knows he finally caught up with her, and he attacked her.”
“That’s certainly what Jamie thought, isn’t it?” Steve said.
She shot him a quick look and fidgeted with her phone in its pink sparkly cover, turning it around and around with shaking hands. “We all did.”
Dove smiled reassuringly at her. “You aren’t going to get into trouble, and we are not working on Mickey’s case. We are working on a separate investigation that has links to Jamie Delaney and Ellis Bravery.”
Jenna’s face changed, her voice all at once passionate and filled with pain. “The filthy perv. My mum told me he looked at porn and the police once arrested him for it, but he got off.”
“That wasn’t exactly what happened,” Steve commented mildly.
“No? Everyone knew about it. He was always spying on us from behind the hedge, or walking that ratty dog of his when we were playing up on the waste ground. I told the police all of this, and how Mickey said he watched her all the time . . . And my nan said he never had a proper job, was just creeping around like a loser. He was a right weirdo!”
Dove felt it was interesting how Jenna’s mood seemed to have changed. Earlier in the conversation she had almost dismissed Ellis Bravery, and now, suddenly she was determined to pin Mickey’s attack on him? It was almost like she had just remembered her lines . . . a bad actress who had dropped out of character and was desperate to regain the confidence of her audience.
“There was no evidence to show Ellis was even in the woods at the time Mickey died. You must know that. It would have been made clear at the time. He had an alibi, and even though he may have been cast as the perpetrator by your friends and family, we deal in facts. Ellis Bravery was not in Salthaven at the time of Mickey’s attack,” Dove said firmly. Jenna’s account now echoed Caz’s so neatly they might have been planned. Why was everyone so sure Ellis was guilty? “So unless one of you has rock solid evidence against Mr Bravery that you aren’t sharing for some reason . . .”
“No! Of course not. It was just . . . Jamie said his alibi was a load of crap because his car was caught on the motorway cameras, but anyone could have been driving.” Jenna was getting agitated. “He was the only person who could have attacked Mickey.”
“You were investigated too, weren’t you?” Steve said casually, tapping a few notes into his iPad.
Surprisingly, Jenna laughed, but the sound was shrill and painful. “It was so wrong it was funny. We were crazy with worry about Mickey, and the police were asking if I hated her enough to beat her up and push her over the edge of the quarry. I was the last person to have seen her alive, and yes, I knew my mum was going to be mad because Mickey had been chosen to represent our area instead of me, but that’s life. Things that matter so much when you’re fourteen don’t matter at all when you’re older, do they?” Her voice softened. “I love Mickey, I would never hurt her.”
“And Jamie never thought it was you?” Dove queried.
Jenna stared at her. “Of course not, nor her mum and dad.” She was shaking with emotion and dropped the empty smoothie cup. Steve bent down to retrieve it for her.
“Do you really think Jamie killed Ellis and the others?” Jenna asked now. “Because I don’t think he would do that.” It sounded lame and mechanical, as though she felt she needed to add this into the conversation, or perhaps had been told to.
“And you haven’t had any contact with Jamie recently?” Dove asked.
“No! I already told you. Why don’t you go and catch whoever really did this and leave Mickey and Jamie alone?” Jenna stared at them defiantly.
“We are pursuing all leads at the moment,” Steve told her gently. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“I went to visit Mickey last week.” Jenna had picked up the mat and turned to go, but seemed suddenly reluctant to leave the conversation. “I try and go every week and I just sit and talk or play music. I wonder what she would be like now, at eighteen, what kind of person she would have become . . . I think she would have got her Olympic gold, because for the rest of us it was just a dream. She was the only one who could have done it for real.” Tears were spilling from her blue eyes now, leaving wet trails on her cheeks, and she scrubbed at them with her fingers. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. If you do want to talk to us about anything at all, just call, okay?” Dove said, passing her a card. “Ring any time at all.”
Jenna hesitated, opened her mouth as though to say something else, but instead gathered up her phone, and headed swiftly towards the laughter and the running feet without a backward glance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The rush-hour traffic slowed their progress back to the station for the evening briefing, and Dove, still the driver while Steve updated their notes, drummed her fingers on the wheel as they queued at the roadworks. “She’s lying with that bullshit story about memorabilia. What could she possibly have taken over to Ship Street at that time of night?”
“Of course she is, but what if it wasn’t just memorabilia. What if Jenna Essex found something in her old photos that showed Ellis Bravery, defying all odds and a solid alibi, did attack Mickey?”
Dove considered this, ignoring the driver to her left who flicked a V-sign even though it was her right of way. “Wanker,” she muttered.
“Thanks.”
She grinned at Steve, but her voice was sober. “Why not tell us, then, if that was the case? She seemed pretty certain Bravery was behind the attack, but even if she found evidence, and showed it to Caz who showed it to Jamie, how could they possibly have known the man himself would walk on to the pier as a client the very next evening?”
“No idea. The second problem is, as you just pointed out, why didn’t she give us the evidence, if that’s what it was? All three, Jenna, Caz and Jamie seem to be so very sure it was Ellis Bravery who beat Mickey and pushed her into the quarry, and are quick to say the police investigation fucked everything up, but none of them have volunteered why. Maybe we need to ask all three why they are so very sure about this, and if, just maybe, they took matters into their own hands, taking out Ellis Bravery on home turf?” Steve suggested, as they finally reached the roundabout.
“Let’s just stop by and rattle Caz’s cage on the way to the station,” Dove suggested.
“Why?”
“Just a thought.”
After a quick detour, and turning left down Penny Lane, Steve obligingly waited outside while Dove ran across the road to Caz’s and Jamie’s house. She was grudgingly admitted and cursed her spontaneity when she saw Caz had company. Another mum and baby were sitting on the sofa.
“I just wanted
to give you a quick update on how the investigation is going.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Caz said, after Dove had told her a few select details. She shifted her sleeping baby to the other arm, casting a quick, anxious glance at the little face. But Lila remained fast asleep. “You’re acting like Jamie and I are guilty, when you should be finding out who killed these people.”
The other woman, who had been introduced as Emma, smiled supportively, if a little smugly. Her own baby was wide awake and sucking at a toy, held on her lap. “Caz told me what happened. I think it’s shocking. I don’t know why you haven’t solved the case already. The police round here have always been shit.”
Dove grimaced politely at her and silently wished she could boot mother and child out through the open back door. “There are several issues, as you know, Caz. The first being that both you and Jamie lied in your initial statements to us.”
“We have to make money somehow, and this was a perfectly legitimate business transaction,” Caz shot back.
“Then why lie about it?” Dove queried.
“Because we knew how it would look. Fantasy Play isn’t something everyone would understand. I mean, these people are desperate and usually a bit pissed when they turn up,” Caz explained.
“Desperate?”
“You know . . . To have to go on some hook-up site to find someone to have sex with. Jeez, if you want it, you just walk out and get it round here. There’s enough bars and clubs around,” Caz said, disdain seeping into her words.
Emma’s eyes were enormous, and she was clearly drinking in every word, but Caz didn’t seem to mind her friend hearing about Fantasy Play. Either that or she simply didn’t care anymore.
Interesting, Dove thought. She spoke slowly and calmly. “Our issue at the moment is firstly that you both lied, and secondly you must see it seems a huge coincidence that Ellis Bravery happened to be one of the victims, given his historical connection with Jamie’s family.”
“Your colleague already said all this. Like we don’t know, for Christ’s sake.” Caz scowled at Dove and opened her mouth to make another comment, but the baby woke up and started crying. “Just go, and get on with finding the real murderer, if there even is one. Maybe, like I told you, they did this to themselves.”
As Emma’s baby started crying too, Dove made a hasty exit. Steve had taken the wheel while she was inside. She slid into the passenger seat, shaking her head at his look of enquiry.
“Told you it was a waste of time. She wears the trousers in that relationship and she hates us,” Steve said.
“Why do some people just hate us on principle?” Dove sighed, rummaging in her pocket for a snack.
“Do you really want an answer to that?”
“No, it would take all night and we’ve got visits to tick off.” Dove tore open a packet of jelly sweets, tipping half into her mouth in one go, relishing the hit of sugar on her tongue. “Let’s stop at McDonald’s on the way through and grab a burger. We’ve got an hour.”
Obligingly, Steve turned into Penny Lane, which took them through the one-way system and spat them out opposite North Point Hotel. “I was just thinking about Billy Jackson again . . . What if the Fantasy Play site was hacked? What if the victims’ burn phones were hacked and somebody was tracking their movements?”
“I don’t see Billy as a hacker,” Dove said thoughtfully. “I agree he’s still vaguely in the frame, though. Let’s check in on the forensics on his electronic devices.”
“I’ll call Cybercrimes when we get back,” Steve agreed.
They drove in silence for a moment before Dove said, “Hey, you know what I really want to do?”
“Visit Mickey Delaney.” Steve looked at her.
“How did you know?”
“It’s obvious you’ve got something else going on in the background, and this case has stung you, stirred something up,” Steve explained.
Stung me. Dove sighed, and told Steve about the gymnast who had been at Ari’s Bar around the same time Mickey had suffered her near-fatal fall. “It just got me right in the heart too. You know how some cases are. They stick with you and don’t let you . . .”
“What happened to your prostitute?”
She shrugged. “She was tortured and murdered because they thought she was an informant.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
* * *
Greenview Hospital was on the outskirts of the town, a specialist facility mainly dealing with rehabilitation for patients recovering from strokes and head injuries.
Steve and Dove introduced themselves and were led down the cool, clean corridors to Mickey’s room by a grey-haired consultant, wearing scarlet lipstick.
Dove stared down at the girl, looking so peaceful in her white sheets. She could have been asleep. She is asleep, she thought, but it was the deepest sleep anyone could imagine.
The fiery energy that had translated into her gymnastic performances had gone, and her face was closed, pale and blank, wiped clean by the injury to her body and brain, by the drugs and machines keeping her alive.
The room smelled faintly of lemons, and Dove noticed a candle on the window sill.
“Will she wake up?” Steve asked Mickey’s consultant, as they concluded their visit with a quick chat in her bland, clinical office.
“It’s hard to say. She is one of the exceptions in that we have detected very distinct patterns of brain activity, but after nearly five years, it would be a miracle.”
“She yawned when we were in there,” Dove said.
“Yes, that is perfectly normal for many coma patients. They sleep and wake as normal, but the waking stage is never what you would call waking. That is to say they are not in any way conscious or alert. But we know from other cases that people in comas do hear, and are often responsive to touch and hot and cold.” She smiled. “It depends a lot on which part of the brain is damaged. For example if the visual cortex is badly damaged, visual dreams will be lost, and so on.”
“So she might be able to understand what’s happened to her?” Steve asked.
“Very unlikely, but I have read of patients experiencing a dream-like state while in a coma. Mickey has been with us here for three years now, and we are rather protective of her. Journalists often try to gain access, but the visitor list is short and security is maintained throughout the whole facility.”
“Could we see the visitor list before we go, please?” Dove asked.
“Of course.” The consultant printed off a sheet of paper. “Her parents, of course. Initially Caz, who I understand is her sister-in-law now. She doesn’t visit very often. Her brother, Jamie, and her best friend, Jenna. Jenna comes every week, sometimes very late in the evening, but it seems to help her grieve for her friend, being with her, and hopefully it is helping Mickey.”
“Do you think Mickey is aware of who visits her?” Steve pondered, studying a diagram of the brain on the wall.
“It’s hard to say, but her brain activity indicates she does know on some level, even if it is just that she is able to register a familiar presence. We try our best for our patients, but you must understand the brain, even at full health, is very complex. There are some injuries we simply cannot fix.”
* * *
Back at the station, Dove and Steve sorted through the statements in silence, updating their own paperwork, adding it to the online file system, emailing copies of relevant information to individuals. It was tedious but essential work.
“Feels like we’re doing more on a cold case than on the actual investigation,” Steve grumbled, yawning.
Lindsey heard him and called over, “Don’t whinge, Parker. At least you’ve got some leads. All we’ve got are the poor spouses, who had no idea what their other halves were into in the evenings. It’s such a crap thing to have to deal with: the grieving process, as well as the betrayal that comes with the discovery the victim had a whole other part of their life you knew nothing about.”
&nbs
p; Lindsey wasn’t often sincere, preferring to hide behind sarcasm and briskness, so Dove could tell the case was getting to her.
By the time they got into the evening briefing, Dove was also feeling shattered, her head spinning and her injury throbbing. She touched the side of her head with gentle exploratory fingers before she saw Steve looking at her with concern and hastily dropped her hand.
DCI Franklin kicked off with a quick summary before he handed over to DI Blackman. DI Lincoln was still in the main office, talking urgently into his phone. He looked the most energetic Dove had ever seen him.
“We’re just waiting on last results from the lab on the house search, but I’ll start with well done for all your hard work.” DI Blackman smiled round the room. “Jamie Delaney is still with us at the station, and we have a new statement from him. Caz Liffey has also as a consequence revised her initial statement. Both are claiming they did have the four murder victims as clients, but swear they were sent merrily on their way after an hour in Escape Room Six. There is no evidence to suggest any of them left the pier in between their initial visit and their deaths.”
He looked down at his notes and clicked to bring an image up on screen. “This is footage showing someone swimming under the pier towards the outflow pipe of Escape Room Six on the night in question. As you can see, it isn’t possible to ID who this was. Both Caz and Jamie were by their own admission up on the pier during this time.”
DI Lincoln joined them, flushed and slightly sweaty, and DI Blackman immediately paused and nodded at him.
“Results from the house search. The bonfire in the backyard showed traces of a wetsuit and diving gloves, presumed to belong to Caz Liffey as hers are missing from both the house and office premises. We also recovered smashed glass from the recycling bin, which shows DNA matches to all four victims and, when examined closely, is the remains of a litre bottle of Smirnoff vodka and four shot glasses.”
“Excellent,” DCI Franklin said, as a murmur of approval and relief spread around the room. “So we now have additional evidence to nail Jamie and Caz.”
