No Safe Home: the gripping new crime thriller everybody is talking about

by Tara Lyons

  “Really, gov? I haven’t had that much to drink,” Clarke said, and folded his arms across his chest.

  “A few pints are enough and you know that.” Hamilton raised his eyebrows at his partner, who surrendered both hands in the air in agreement. “Fraser and I will handle it tonight, but I don’t want to see a glimmer of a hangover from you, or you, Wedlock, in the morning.”

  The two men elevated their pint glasses – it wasn’t the dutiful response Hamilton had been hoping for, but it was their night off. He left them to it, taking comfort in the fact they’d never let him down before.

  The drive from Charing Cross to Kilburn was short and tranquil. Although Hamilton enjoyed Fraser’s company, and she’d shown some impressive skills since joining his team four months ago, he was too lost in thought about the upcoming case to hold a conversation. A weeknight, and yet nightfall still enticed people to the area with its busy bars, restaurants and cinema. The streets of London never slept and Hamilton watched the strangers, oblivious to everything happening around them. Especially now, as Fraser navigated the route and finally turned onto a residential street, parking near the house they’d been called to; a home tucked away from the high street that had just become a murder scene.

  Muted sirens blazed colour around the darkened streets, and neighbours stood on their doorsteps watching the activity unfold; some brazen enough to directly point their phones at the house and capture everything.

  “Officer, get those people moved further away,” Hamilton instructed, once he’d made his way to the front door. “If they won’t get back into their homes, then they must get behind the barrier, now!”

  His blood boiled at the invasion these vulnerable families were being subjected to, all in the name of getting videos and private information onto Facebook or YouTube first. They would be forced to watch their nightmare over and over, whenever it was shared, or liked, or tweeted again. A deep sadness consumed him; relieved social media wasn’t as popular five years before. He knew only too well the evil power it possessed.

  “Here you go, boss,” Fraser interrupted his thoughts, and handed him a pair of shoe covers. “I just had a quick chat with that uniformed officer. The body’s upstairs in the bedroom. Cause of death is unclear at this point, but forensics are doing a full sweep for prints and the parents are in the kitchen at the back of the house.”

  Hamilton lightly nodded. “Right… let’s have a look up there first.”

  The muscles in his thighs were like cement, grinding and mechanical, forcing him to stop for a moment and abandon his ascent. Over twenty years of working for the Metropolitan Police had prepared him to walk into a crime scene and remain unemotional and detached. But, the brief details given by DCI Allen were enough to make even his hand shake as it traced its path up the banister.

  Officials in white suits buzzed around the bedroom and the pathologist, who Hamilton had never met before, inspected the motionless body on the bed. He couldn’t see the victim’s face and took a few more steps inside, while Fraser shot off to speak to the attending officer.

  Hamilton gasped and covered his mouth; he couldn’t contain it. The young girl was wearing a Tinkerbell nightshirt, her long black hair fanned out on the bed and her glassy eyes bore into the ceiling, while vomit stained her chin. He looked away. Her laptop, on the computer table next to the bed, was open on her Facebook page and a sprinkling of white powder covered its surface. The pathologist stood up and outstretched her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Audrey Gibson, one of the new head pathologists.”

  Hamilton tore his gaze from the screen and accepted her handshake. “DI Hamilton. I thought Laura might have been on call.”

  “She is, but on another case. Don’t you find, as we creep towards the weekend, the crimes escalate like crazy?”

  Audrey was obviously a talker, and right now Hamilton ached for Laura Joseph’s military precision in delivering the forensic report. The new pathologist wore a warm smile, but he couldn’t reciprocate the gesture, the thick air restricting any effort on his part to be courteous. She brushed the wisps of fiery red hair away from her face and peered up at Hamilton towering over her petite frame.

  “Suspected overdose, Inspector.” Audrey adopted a formal tone he was grateful for. “I’d rather not comment further until after the post-mortem. We’ll be wrapped up shortly.”

  He offered a brief grin and swiftly left the room. In the hallway, Hamilton filled his lungs, drinking in the cool air as though he’d just surfaced from a river of dirty water. He bombed downstairs, the earlier cement in his legs now wobbled like jelly.

  “Boss! Boss, are you okay?”

  Fraser’s puzzled face came into view, just as the weeping sounds echoed throughout the hallway and he nodded. Clearing his throat, Hamilton pulled himself up straight, recognising this was not the time to break down.

  “Absolutely fine, Fraser. What did you find out? Because I’ve been told it’s a suspected overdose, so I’m unsure as to why the first thought was to call us in?”

  She hesitated, scanning his sweaty face. He remained quiet, scowling at her without a sound, and Fraser launched into an explanation.

  “The victim is Paige Everett, a fifteen-year-old high school student. Found by her mother, Mrs Everett, who is adamant her daughter has been murdered, so we’re here to scope out the initial crime scene. Are you sure you’re alright, boss?”

  “Let’s have a chat with the parents.” Hamilton dismissed Fraser’s concerns, about-turned and entered the kitchen.

  Once the formal introductions were made, Fraser set about making a warm drink for the two Everetts who sat huddled together at the dining table. The woman’s auburn hair was pulled back in a clip, silent tears streaming down her pale face.

  “My daughter did not commit suicide,” she screeched. “She is a happy, beautiful teenager… she was…”

  The woman wailed and her husband pulled her tighter to his large chest. Fraser placed two mugs of steaming coffee in front of them, but they were left unacknowledged.

  “How could… not even be safe at home…?” Mrs Everett’s voice was muffled.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this now, but we have to gather all the information as soon as possible. What leads you to believe she was murdered?” Hamilton said.

  Mr Everett’s head snapped up. His red and swollen eyes tugged at Hamilton’s heart. “Because we know our daughter, and she would not end her own life. I’m telling you, it was that boy who visited her earlier today.”

  “What boy?” Hamilton asked.

  “I don’t know, I’ve never seen him before. Paige didn’t bring many friends home, and when she did, they were all girls. But, anyway, that’s the thing, she wouldn’t let him in. They spoke for a little while outside on the front porch, and then she stormed upstairs saying she didn’t want any dinner. It was when my wife went to bed, to say goodnight, she…” Mr Everett lowered his head back onto his wife’s shoulder.

  “Can you tell us anything else about the boy?” Hamilton pushed for more details.

  “Not really. I saw him briefly from the living room window. He was white. Tall. Older than Paige, maybe early twenties,” Mr Everett mumbled.

  “Okay, we’ll ask the officers to have a chat with your neighbours and see if they saw him coming or going. Maybe he was driving a car,” Hamilton said, as he stood up from the table. “We’ll also have a chat to Paige’s head teacher and her school friends. Hopefully they can identify this boy. I’ll leave my card with you. Please feel free to call me day or night, if you think of anything else.”

  He knew they were no longer listening to him, but he went through the motions before leaving the house, hoping they’d be in contact with him soon. When someone takes their own life, especially a child, families automatically look to place the blame elsewhere, but Hamilton didn’t want to discount the mysterious visitor.

  As their car pulled away from the house, Fraser broke the silence. “That wasn’t much of a description of the
lad, hey, boss?”

  “Fuck’s sake, Kerry! They just found their daughter dead in her bed, what do you expect?” Hamilton snapped.

  “Sorry… that was insensitive of me,” she whispered.

  He sighed, immediately regretting his outburst. “Look, it’s late. Let’s get home, have a few hours’ sleep and regroup in the morning.”

  With silence restored, Hamilton’s mind started to wander again; how was he going to tackle this case? He had changed so much in the past five years; having buried so much regret and torture, he wasn’t prepared for the ghosts of his past to return to haunt him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Frankie bulldozed into the room, yelling good morning as he jumped onto the bed. Katy opened her sleep-deprived eyes and hugged her son tightly. She checked her watch and chuckled. Seven a.m., he was like clockwork. Her fatigue was pushed aside just by the sight of him; the awkward way his blonde hair spiked up after a night’s sleep, and the dimple on each cheek when he smiled. She was overwhelmed with the urge to protect him.

  He settled himself under the duvet, switched the TV on and quickly became engrossed watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, while Katy busied herself making them both tea and toast. After they had finished their breakfast in bed, and with the sun shining through the window, she relaxed on the pillow finally feeling content enough to sleep, knowing her son was safe beside her. With school on a summer break, and Frankie unable to enrol until the new academic year in September, this had become their morning routine.

  “Where are we going today, Mummy?”

  Katy pulled herself from the clutches of slumber and stroked her son’s hair. “What would you like to do today?”

  He hummed, tapping his finger on his chin, considering her question. She smiled, unsure of how a typical five-year-old would behave or speak, Frankie being the first child she’d ever really interacted with. He always seemed so intelligent and beyond his years.

  “Can we go to the park, if you’re not too tired?”

  “I’m fine, and it’s a lovely day. Brilliant idea.”

  “Maybe I can meet some friends to play with. You could talk to the other mummies and daddies.”

  “Perfect plan, sweetie.”

  Frankie turned his attention back to the cartoon and a pang of guilt stabbed Katy in the chest. When they moved from London three months ago, she had taken her son out of a nursery he’d adjusted to so well; she now worried it would have a huge impact on him. To then find out he’d have to wait even longer until he could join a local school, only intensified her anxieties. As always though, Frankie continued to surprise her as he swiftly fell into step with their new habits; some kids are resilient like that, she thought.

  With the pair washed and dressed, they made their way downstairs. Katy was furious to find the main communal front door on the latch, open and unsafe, and not for the first time. There were eight apartments in the block of flats, leaving the unknown culprit to continually allow anyone to just wander through the building. She made a mental note to write another email of complaint to the owners of the building, once she had returned from the park.

  “Frankie, come back! We’re not going that way,” she called out after her son.

  “But, Mum! This is the way to the park. You said we could go to the park,” he moaned.

  “And we are, but we’re going a different way today.”

  He scrunched up his little face. “But why? The park is just that way, behind those big houses. It’s quicker and I want to get there now.”

  Katy closed her eyes for a few seconds; the need to frequently explain herself to him was frustrating, and sometimes she wished Frankie would simply listen without all the questions. Still, she had to remember his overtly inquisitive nature and, as clever as her son was, he was young and impatient and essentially, he just really wanted to get to the park.

  She smiled. “Let’s think of it as an adventure.”

  “Oh, you mean like a treasure hunt to find the park?” His eyes widened and he clapped his hands.

  “Exactly! We’ve been to the park that way before. It’s boring. Let’s find a new way.”

  “You’re so much fun, Mum! Okay, come on,” he squealed, grabbing her hand and pulling her in the opposite direction to where they wanted to go.

  New to the area, Katy wasn’t entirely sure of where they were going. But the playground was surrounded by a huge swathe of grassland, and she’d seen people enter from all different directions on their last visit. She followed what she thought was the only logical direction that would lead them back around on themselves. Frankie skipped a few paces ahead of her, collecting large sticks and odd-shaped rocks, which he’d only abandon once the lure of the climbing frames and monkey swing came into view.

  As they turned the corner, Katy wasn’t the only one to spot the sign with ‘Greenhill Park’ written on it. Frankie shrieked in delight, shouting they’d found their treasure and quickened his pace from a skip to a clumsy jog. A man stepped out of the road adjacent to the park and blocked her son’s path.

  “Frankie!” she screamed, bolting after him. “Frankie, wait!”

  He stopped yards from the man and turned around. “What?”

  The air caught in Katy’s throat as she caught up with her son and grabbed his arm. Her mind was clouded. She couldn’t decide if she should whisk him into the park, hoping it would be filled with people, or run back to their home.

  “Excuse me, do you know where Uphill Drive is?” the stranger asked, as he walked closer. “I feel like I’ve been walking around in circles for hours.”

  Katy shook her head repeatedly and pulled Frankie closer into her. The man frowned and curled his top lip. Her feet couldn’t move and the silence was sickening.

  Why won’t he go away?

  As if he read her mind, the stranger shrugged and breezed past them.

  “Mum! Come on… can we go to the park now? It’s just right there. We’ve found it!”

  She mumbled incoherently, releasing Frankie from her grasp and followed him through the entrance. An elderly lady was crouched over collecting items that had fallen from her shopping bag, and Frankie stopped to help her.

  “Oh, aren’t you a lovely young boy,” the lady said. “You’ve raised him with manners, dear. You don’t see that type of behaviour very often these days. Good for you.”

  “Thank you.” Katy smiled, and handed the lady a can of mushy peas.

  Frankie ran into the playground and jumped straight into a game with a group of children. Katy held her breathe in anticipation. Occasionally, a crowd of kids were either related, or friends from school, and became cliquey, shunning a newbie to their territory. The first time it happened to Frankie, Katy was overcome with an alien feeling; she wanted to cry for her son, while simultaneously wanting to punch the spoilt brat who said he couldn’t play with them. Deep down though, she knew that this was the harsh reality of life, and sadly something Frankie would have to learn on his own. He accepted it better than his overprotective mother, leaving the group instantly and amusing himself on the swings until a lonely girl entered the playground. He was drawn to her immediately, and they quickly sparked up a friendship for the next hour.

  Katy was overjoyed to see it was a different troop of kids playing today and the young lad with the football threw it to Frankie. Her son had been welcomed. She looked over at the group of parents, sat chatting on a nearby bench, and smiled. That was enough to let them know she and her son were friendly, but she had no intention of approaching them or making conversation. Frankie wanted to make friends, and she was happy for him to do so, but it was the last thing she wanted for herself. Her son ran free, laughing with the other kids, while Katy dropped to the grass and sat alone.

  After two hours of playing in the fresh air with a multitude of children, Frankie was finally tired enough to call it a day. This time, they took the quickest route home and Katy was horrified to find the apartment communal door had now been jammed open with the fire ex
tinguisher from the wall. She contemplated creating a leaflet and posting it under every front door, but soon decided against it, afraid it would bring unwanted attention her way. For now, she locked the door with an exaggerated tut of annoyance.

  Once inside, Frankie asked for a drink and headed straight for the sofa to get comfortable in front of the television. Katy knew he’d be asleep in a few moments, which worked for her; her exhausted body demanded some time-out. The blazing sun shone through the bedroom, but instead of opening the window, she turned on the fan and lay on top of her duvet. Something didn’t feel right and she couldn’t relax. Bolting upright, Katy stared around the room, a strange smell insulting her nostrils. She stood up and inspected the chest of drawers, which also homed her laptop, and then the dressing table. Her eyes roamed across the surface until she noticed it… her make-up bag was open and on the wrong side of the mirror. She shook her head, the tiredness causing her to leave things out of their usual place. Zipping the bag shut, she returned it to its usual position on the left-hand side. Katy now felt far too edgy to rest.

  Powering up the laptop, Katy sat on her bed and composed an email, requesting management to remind all tenants in the building that the communal doors must be locked at all times. It wasn’t something she enjoyed doing, it almost felt like snitching, but Frankie’s safety was her top priority and she clicked the send button without another thought. Once Frankie had fallen asleep, she turned the television off and, as the flat fell silent, Katy peered over her shoulder, listening intently for a few minutes to check he hadn’t woken up. Back in her bedroom, she selected the favourites tab on the internet taskbar, opened the Friends Online website and logged in to her profile.

  Katy had only been a member for a month and hadn’t uploaded a profile picture. Various people, both women and men, had contacted her and started conversations, and Katy was pleased for them. It was the only way she could make friends – if that’s what you could call strangers on the internet. They didn’t know what she looked like, who she really was and couldn’t judge or hurt her. Choosing to be invisible, free to leave the chat rooms whenever it suited her, had a calming attractiveness to it. She finally had the chance to form thoughtful replies without speculation or command.