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

by Tara Lyons

  “Can you remember anything before you were attacked, Mr Royal?”

  “Yeah… I had a chat with Katy but this fellow got in the way of us. It was late and she ran off, so I thought it was best to leave things to calm down and try again when she was in a better mood. Women, hey! She left me a few months ago, but the truth of the matter is, she’ll never get away from me… I’m her husband. Yeah, I can have any woman I want – and have done,” he laughed. “There’s loads of women like her, but that one will always be mine.”

  Hamilton groaned. He hated this man already. “The night you were attacked, Mr Royal, what happened once Katy had left?”

  “Oh, right, yeah… well I thought, bugger this I need a drink. Walked back to that pub Katy works in to see if it was still open like, but just before I put my hand on the door, I was hit over the head from behind. Never even saw his face. That’s the coward’s way out, you know? Next thing is I’m waking up here two days later and the police are asking me if I attacked Katy.”

  “So, you’ve been told she was attacked?” Clarke asked.

  “That Indian copper mentioned something about it, but wouldn’t give me any details. I’ve got a top-notch alibi anyway, haven’t I? So, can you tell me… Katy and Frankie, are they okay?”

  “They managed to escape the intruder,” Hamilton answered.

  “Good. That wife of mine sure has grown some balls, so I guess I should be proud. She used to be very submissive and –”

  “Mr Royal,” Hamilton interrupted, his irritation mounting at yet another arrogant husband to interview on this case; they really gave young men a bad reputation. “Do you know of anyone who would want to harm your wife or son?” He refrained from adding, ‘Other than yourself.’

  Brad turned down his lips and looked away from the officers, slightly shaking his head. Hamilton wasn’t satisfied with the answer and probed the man further, but he continued to evade their glance.

  “This is very serious, Mr Royal. We haven’t been able to locate your wife and son –”

  “She left me, remember? I have no idea what she’s been up too recently.”

  The tone of Brad’s voice made Hamilton pause. He stared at the patient, the collection of bruises making it difficult to study the facial expression beneath them. But, there was a sense of dishonesty about the man.

  “We had hoped you might be able to help us find them,” Hamilton finally said.

  Brad shrugged, the simple movement evidently an agonising one, judging by the pain etched across his face. Hamilton couldn’t help but feel pleased.

  “How the hell should I know… at home?” Brad snapped.

  “We’ve checked the apartment and she hasn’t been back. However, Katy did mention an old family friend, someone who was like an aunt to her. Do you know who that might be?”

  “Oh, that old bag! Should have known Katy would have gone running to her. She used to say the woman was the only connection she still had to her parents, but I made her cut those ties. No point in wallowing in the past.”

  “The woman’s name please, sir,” Hamilton said through gritted teeth. It was hard to remain professional when there were degenerates like Brad Royal walking the streets. He clocked his partner’s tapping foot and knew Clarke’s patience was running just as thin as his own.

  “Linda Hill, she lives in Chelsea, down near the Royal Hospital, at least that’s where she used to live. Katy said the old woman helped her, interfered is how I’d explain it.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Hamilton said, and pushed his way through the heavy hospital curtains.

  He heard Brad shout something uncouth about compensation, but Hamilton chose to ignore it. When they stepped back into the corridor, PC Lakhani was waiting for them.

  “We got some useful information from him, but we need to head back to London,” Hamilton explained, ready to pass on further instructions and then stopped himself; he wasn’t in Charing Cross now.

  “No problem, DI Hamilton. I’ll deal with as much as I can this end. Just shout if there’s anything we can do.” Lakhani shook their hands before they left.

  “Well, he was a lovely piece of work,” Clarke commented once they were away from the ward. Hamilton grumbled, nodding in reply. “Can’t really be a coincidence that all three women have men trouble; one’s dead and the other two come across as right bastards.”

  “I doubt it’s a coincidence at all, Clarke.”

  Hamilton reached for his mobile, wanting an exact address for Linda Hill without delay. Before he opened his contact list, Fraser’s mobile number appeared on the screen.

  “Sir, it’s Rocky,” the lad said as soon as the call was answered. “I have a name for –”

  “Linda Hill, I know. We need an address.”

  “Already in hand, sir. You’re actually on speaker phone now because I’m driving over to the woman’s house. Fraser gave me her mobile phone as she thought it would be the easiest form of communication with you.”

  Hamilton realised there had been no exchange of telephone numbers with Rocky, and thankful Fraser was one step ahead. He asked why she wasn’t with him.

  “Stayed back at the office, sir, as there were some more files she needed to look at. I thought it would be okay for me to head over to Mrs Hill’s address, and at least update Katy Royal on her husband’s situation.”

  “I agree, Rocky, you did the right thing,” Hamilton said, in hot pursuit of Clarke as they marched through the hospital and back to the car park. “Stay with Katy and wait for us. We’re driving back to London now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After sitting in mind-numbing A1 traffic, Hamilton was pleased to see Marble Arch in the distance. The iconic London landmark meant they were only a ten-minute drive from the surviving victim, and there was an invisible force urging him to get there faster. The high-pitched ringing of his mobile distracted him.

  “DI Hamilton.”

  “Boss, it’s me,” Fraser rushed. “Bad news I’m afraid. Rocky’s just arrived back at the office.”

  “Why? Is Katy Royal with him?”

  “No, and she wasn’t at Linda Hill’s home either. Apparently, the woman hasn’t seen Katy for months. She gave her some money to help get out of London and hasn’t heard from her since. Rocky said the woman was adamant Brad Royal’s a bully and Katy had no life with him.”

  “I could have told you that,” he grumbled.

  “What, boss?”

  “Nothing, never mind.” Hamilton mulled over the information as they continued towards Linda’s address.

  “Anyway, I have some more information, boss,” Fraser continued. “The reason I stayed behind earlier is because some of the financial files came back. I haven’t had a chance to fully inspect them, but an interesting nugget of information jumped out at me.”

  Hamilton listened while mouthing to Clarke to pull over, gesturing at an upcoming side-road. They’d have to be watchful of parking attendants; even they weren’t above the law when it came to parking on double yellow lines in an unmarked car.

  “Before moving to Welwyn, Katy worked as a hairdresser at a salon called Styled Up on Warwick Way… it’s a five-minute drive from Scarlett Mitchell’s house. And, from the bank records, guess who was a customer once or twice over the last year?”

  “Please say Emma Jones.”

  “Got it in one, boss. So far, it’s the best connection we have for all three women.”

  “I could kiss you!” Hamilton exclaimed, knowing Fraser would take it in the light-hearted way it was meant. “Finally, we have something! Okay, Warwick Way is close to Linda Hill’s home, so we’ll head straight there instead.”

  Clarke indicated and pulled back out into the traffic before Hamilton ended the call. He updated his partner as they cruised around London’s streets and, surprisingly, found a parking space directly outside the Styled Up salon.

  Humidity greeted Hamilton the moment he stepped into the hairdresser’s, just as the mixture of dryers and loud musi
c simultaneously attacked his ears. He approached the young woman at reception, unsure of her actual age due to the thickness of her make-up and height of her heels; he never could fathom how women felt comfortable wearing sky-scraping shoes all day. The war paint was another mystery to him.

  The pair held out their warrant cards and Hamilton asked to see the manager. The receptionist looked more intrigued than surprised at their request, and as she tottered off on her errand, he rolled his eyes. On numerous occasions, his wife had explained she’d heard the latest snippets of gossip while having her hair blow-dried.

  “Hi, I’m Noelle Knight, the manager. Can I help you?”

  Hamilton turned to find a tall, slim woman wearing a pair of jeans, ripped at the knees, and a Rolling Stones T-shirt. Her silvery, purple hair was pulled back into a messy bun and she fiddled with a pair of scissors between her fingers; not the image he’d conjured up for a salon manager. He explained why they needed to speak to her, hoping she would invite them into an office or back room. It was difficult to hear over the various hairdryers being switched on and off at different intervals.

  “Follow me,” Noelle said, and walked to a workstation where she continued to cut a woman’s hair. “Katy worked here for about two years. She was a really lovely person, chatty and fun…. I liked her but… I don’t know, I shouldn’t really say this, but I think it was obvious she had some problems.”

  “What do you mean?” Hamilton asked, resigned to the fact they were having the conversation here, or not at all.

  “Well, you know, she wouldn’t socialise with us much. I mean, she only lived in Bayswater, it’s like half an hour from here on the tube. But, she’d never come for a drink and she always rushed home as soon as it hit five o’clock.”

  “So, would you say she had a strict routine?”

  “Hell yeah,” Noelle continued. “You could set your watch by Katy. Heaven forbid if an appointment ever ran over. You’d swear if she did something off schedule there’d be hell to pay.”

  “When did she stop working for you?”

  “About six months ago. Not even a bloody warning. Just called me and said she was moving out of London. I gave my other half a right old earache that morning, poor sod. He humoured me and pretended to care, but I could see he had other things on his mind. Anyway, do you know how long it took me to find someone to replace her? Her regulars were not impressed, she was good at her job.”

  “Speaking of her customers,” Hamilton continued. “Did Katy ever see a woman called Emma Jones, or Scarlett Mitchell?”

  “Have a chat with Leanne, she’ll be able to search our client list on the database for you.” She tossed her head back in the direction of the woman at reception.

  “Did you ever meet Katy’s husband, or see her with anyone else, maybe on her lunch break?”

  “Yeah, he picked her up a few times after work and, wow, what a looker. Didn’t think shaved head and muscles would be her type. Lunch? I guess she mainly had it in the staff room when she had a few spare minutes. If she did go out, I never noticed her with anyone. Like I said, wasn’t a social butterfly. Is everything okay?” She stopped twisting the customer’s hair and looked at Hamilton.

  “We’re trying to locate Katy’s whereabouts to help us with an inquiry. If you, or anyone else, hear from her I’d appreciate a call. I’ll leave my card at reception.”

  Noelle smiled and nodded, turning her attention back to the woman in the chair, who’d been fixated on the same page of the magazine the entire time Hamilton was there. As they returned to the reception area, his phone buzzed again. This time it was DCI Allen.

  “Clarke, I’ve got to take this –”

  “Go for it, gov. I’ll have a chat with Leanne here,” he replied, and winked.

  Hamilton knew Clarke was a professional, and would never jeopardise their investigation, but just sometimes he worried about his partner’s bachelor persona. Still, it wasn’t a fact he could dwell on and rushed back outside, relishing the cold air against his face.

  “DCI Allen, thanks for getting in touch with me.”

  “Betty informed me of your message, Denis. But I’ve just ended my meeting and we’ve decided we need to hold a press conference about the bedroom killer. I want you present.”

  “Okay, sir. In that case, you’ll need to hear my update now.”

  Allen remained quiet, grunting in places, while Hamilton divulged information about Katy Royal and her current missing status. The chief was in agreement that she should be included in the press conference, if only as a potential witness at this stage.

  “We’ve just spoken to her previous boss, but we haven’t uncovered anything much of value,” Hamilton said. “To be honest, I’m thinking if she didn’t return to Linda Hill’s house, which was the intention, I can’t see any reason why she’d come back here. We’re waiting to see if there are any hits on the computers for the other two female victims.”

  “Okay, Denis. Get onto the team at Welwyn and ask them to check the hospital’s CCTV. If we can get a still image of Katy Royal leaving the area, then we can circulate it to the press.”

  “Yes, sir. When is the conference scheduled for?”

  “In two hours, at Scotland Yard. We want to ensure it makes the evening news. I’ll see you there.”

  Before Hamilton could protest about the short time frame, the phone line went dead. He rushed back into the hairdresser’s, the same mugginess engulfing him, and collided with his partner.

  “I’m afraid Leanne doesn’t have much for us,” Clarke said. “She could confirm Emma Jones’ previous appointments, none of which were ever with Katy, and she also hasn’t been here for months. Scarlett Mitchell isn’t on the database at all.”

  His partner stepped around him and opened the door. Hamilton held up his hand and thanked the receptionist. He stopped suddenly, his eyes drawn to a noticeboard he hadn’t observed earlier. Frowning, his mind raced as he reached over and selected one of the many business cards pinned to the board.

  “Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked the wannabe cover girl.

  “Go for it. We’ve got loads,” Leanne replied, and returned to flicking the pages of her glossy magazine.

  Once they were outside, Clarke questioned what the chief’s call had been about. Before answering and relaying all the details, Hamilton slid the business card into his coat pocket. There was something he needed to review when they returned to the incident room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Fraser parked the car outside Katy Royal’s address and cut the engine. It was a peaceful, residential street made up of mostly terraced houses, with the exception of the apartments at the end of the road, which backed onto a huge country park. An ideal place to raise a family, Fraser thought, but quickly shook the fantasy away. She’d been so busy fulfilling her career goals, being single had become a way of life for her.

  Rocky and PC Lakhani followed her to the apartment block, and while the men browsed the various names and numbers on the intercom panel, Fraser pushed open the heavy black door.

  “Smarty pants,” Rocky said with a smile, and they entered the building.

  An hour earlier, when Hamilton had visited Linda Hill after leaving Styled Up, he had requested the woman file a missing person’s report. While, at the same time in Welwyn, Lakhani took a similar statement from Brad Royal. With the possible threat to Katy and Frankie, their disappearance was graded as a high alert. Meanwhile, Fraser and Rocky travelled to Welwyn to find sufficient information in preparation of the evening’s press conference.

  “You have the keys, right?” Fraser confirmed.

  “Yes, Katy gave them to me the night she was attacked,” PC Lakhani replied. “One more flight of stairs and it’s the door on the left.”

  The trio stopped outside apartment six and Fraser took the keys. Before opening the door, she banged heavily and called Katy’s name, informing the woman of their identity. When no reply came, she unlocked the door.

  Fraser ins
pected the bathroom, noting the bottles of blonde hair dye and, using clear evidence bags, collected the two toothbrushes on the sink. She also looked in the bin, but it was empty. Making her way back into the hall, she glimpsed the stained blood on the wall that they were still awaiting results from.

  PC Lakhani joined her from the living room, holding a photograph. “In the absence of anything of quality from the hospital CCTV, this could be used for the press conference. It’s a perfect shot of Katy and her son.”

  “DI Hamilton won’t be pleased. He really thought we’d get a lead from the hospital image.”

  “The exterior camera faced outward away from the hospital, and so had only caught the back of Katy Royal’s head. Worse still, it didn’t catch the car she jumped into. It was a foolish error on my part, not to get the number plate, but I only realised it was her inside after it was too late. It was a dark Toyota, but I know that doesn’t help.”

  Fraser looked at her watch and groaned. “Honestly, I really don’t think we’re going to make it back to London before DCI Allen is interviewed; the rush-hour traffic on the A1 will be manic. But maybe… do you think you could get back to your station and email a copy over to my boss within the next half hour or so?”

  “Of course, it’s only a twenty-minute walk from here. Rocky’s got the victim’s laptop and mobile phone. I’ll go and log all this for evidence as well.”

  Fraser thanked him, and he left to go and discuss the plan of action with Rocky. Just as her foot stepped into the smaller of the two bedrooms, Fraser heard a woman’s voice outside in the corridor, and she rushed out to see who was there.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” she called out to the figure climbing the stairs.

  The woman stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Erm… no… just on my way home.”

  “Barefoot?” Fraser replied, forcing the woman to turn around and face her. “What’s your name?”

  “Alexina Golding… I live upstairs. I just heard the noises down here and was being a bit nosey is all. Sorry. I must get back indoors, my kids will cause a riot without me there.”