by M K Farrar
Besides, moving would mean taking Poppy away from the only home she’d ever known, the place that held the most memories of her dad, and all her friends were here, too. Since Erica had been at home more after Chris’s death, she’d found many of the school mums had gathered around her and Poppy in support, overwhelming them with offers of playdates and dropped off lasagnes for the freezer. Erica felt horrible about all the negative thoughts she’d had about the school mums in the past when they clearly meant well.
Taking a breath, she swung open the car door and climbed out. Several marked vehicles were already parked nearby. Though it was early, small gatherings of students hung around, an air of nervous excitement surrounding them. Uniformed police kept the students at a distance, and behind them was the blue and white tape of the outer cordon. Beyond that was the inner cordon, another uniformed officer guarding the way, and a privacy tent that was used to block out the view of the body.
She spotted a familiar figure chatting to one of the uniformed officers.
DS Shawn Turner had been a godsend to her since Chris’s murder. She’d always considered him a friend as well as a colleague but had previously done her best to make sure she was professional around him. He’d seen her in some of her rawest moments over the past few months—especially soon after Chris’s murder, and during Nicholas Bailey’s trial—and she hadn’t been able to keep up her professional shell during those times. It had definitely cracked, but he didn’t seem to think any less of her because of it.
Her sergeant must have sensed her presence as he finished speaking with the officer and turned to face her.
He jerked his chin at her as she approached. “Morning.”
“That was an early wake-up call,” she said as a greeting. “What have we got?”
“Eighteen-year-old Adam Humphries, found this morning by one of the professors at the university.” He checked his notes. “Professor Paul Young. The professor wasn’t too smart when it came to finding the victim. He called nine-nine-nine, but by the time emergency response officers had reached him, he’d already picked up the brick and rolled the victim over. He was covered in blood, mainly on his knees from where he knelt down beside the victim.”
“Does the death appear intentional rather than just an accident?” she asked. “You know what students can get like at the start of the academic year. First taste of freedom and their own money, and no parents to report back to. They are known to overdo it.”
Shawn nodded. “You’re right, of course. We both know it’s far too early to jump to any conclusions. He could have fallen and hit his head on the wall, knocked off a brick, and landed face-first.”
She didn’t miss the slightly humorous tone to his voice. He didn’t think for a second that those were the turn of events, but of course, they all had to keep an open mind. It was too easy to get led down the path of assuming what had happened and overlooking vital evidence because of that.
The end part of the low wall had crumbled at the top. Had that happened because Adam Humphries had landed on it, drunk, and knocked it down with his bodyweight? Or was the wall already like that before last night? She made a note to double-check with security.
Erica glanced up at the tall buildings on the other side of the courtyard. The halls of residence. How many of those rooms gave a direct view onto the body, and—assuming the young man had been killed here—the incident, as well? Though it was daylight, and the incident had happened at night, someone might have seen something. She looked around for outside lighting. There was some around the entrance to each of the halls of residence and some streetlights positioned in a square around the courtyard and benches outside, but nothing near where the body had been found. Even if one of the students had been standing at their window, they might not have seen anything. There were also bushes and other shrubbery in an adjacent large raised bed that also shielded the area from view.
The two detectives flashed their IDs at the uniformed officer to gain access and then pulled on protective clothing so they didn’t contaminate the scene. SOCO had arrived before her, and the crime scene had already been numbered. A brick, the victim, a cigarette butt left nearby, a discarded Coke can. All the usual detritus of a university—though they didn’t normally have to worry about a body and a potential murder weapon. Nothing was left unmarked.
Erica turned her attention to the body.
It was always hard to face death like this, but it made it harder when the victim was so young. Adam Humphries was tall—over six feet, at an estimation—with hair that bridged somewhere between red and blond. He seemed even younger in death, his features smoothed and serene, his youth heightened by a spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. If it weren’t for all the blood, both on the ground beneath him and smeared all over his skin, he would have looked as though he was sleeping.
Sergeant Mark Coggins approached. He was a short, girthy man in his late forties, with more forehead than hair. Erica remembered him from the work he’d done during the Eye Thief case. She assumed he was the sergeant coordinating this crime scene as well.
“DI Swift. Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” She smiled, but she was aware the expression didn’t touch her eyes. She had nothing against the sergeant—she just found it far harder to smile these days. “Happy to help.”
He appeared to be about to say something, hesitated, and then blurted it out anyway. “How are you getting on since... everything?”
“I’m fine, thanks.
He tutted and shook his head. “Terrible incident. Truly shocking. Everyone down at the station was talking about it.”
He was making things awkward, and she wanted to move the conversation away from herself. She sensed Shawn standing beside her, his lips clamped shut. Shawn was aware that she wouldn’t want to talk about what had happened, but he also knew her well enough not to attempt to talk on her behalf.
“Right, well,” she said, interrupting Coggins. “Shall we get on with it? DS Turner says a professor at the university was the one who found the body.”
Coggins cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, that’s right. According to the professor, he found the victim facedown and he flipped him over to see if he was alive.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do we believe him?”
“Not sure yet. He’s been taken back to the station for questioning.”
“What time did he find the body?”
Coggins checked his notes. “Six-fifteen this morning.”
Erica frowned. “Do university professors normally start work that early?”
“I have no idea.”
Erica glanced to Shawn who shrugged and shook his head.
She pursed her lips. “Then that’ll be one of the things we’ll have to find out. Do we have an estimated time of death?”
“Unsure yet,” Coggins continued, “but we’re guessing recent. Some time during the night, at least, but most likely in the early hours, since any earlier than that and someone would have stumbled across the body sooner.”
“So, it’s possible the professor killed him, panicked, called us, and then pretended to have found the body.”
Coggins nodded. “Yes, it’s possible. Though we have no motive.”
“Not yet we don’t. What about any other witnesses?”
“None that we know of, but I have some officers asking around. A couple of the students mentioned that everyone was at the student union last night, including the victim, so we have his whereabouts until about one a.m.”
“Good. He might have been on his way back from the student union when this happened. We’re going to need to talk with all the other students who might have seen him last night. We need to find out who he was with, who he was talking to, if he might have had a run-in or altercation with someone. I also want to know what his relationship was with the professor who found him. Was the victim in any of the professor’s classes?”
“The university also have security on site.” Coggins jerked hi
s head across the courtyard, towards a ground-floor building nestled between the halls of residence. “The security guard who was on last night says he didn’t see anything unusual, but there is also CCTV that covers a lot of the campus.”
Erica gave a wry smile. “I don’t suppose there’s much chance we had any cameras pointed where the body was found.”
Coggins returned the smile. “Sorry, no such luck.”
“Figured as much, but we’re going to need to interview the security guard as well, find out if he saw something.”
“I’ve got my officers going door-to-door to question the students.” He paused and glanced up at the multi-storey buildings that housed many of the first-year students and then added, “Or should that be room to room?”
“I’ll get Howard and Rudd to liaise with your officers,” she said, mentioning the names of the two detective constables on the Violent Crime Task Force that they were a part of. “They can question any witnesses. Also, we need to know who the victim’s friends were. If he had any. What about family? Have they been notified yet?”
“Not yet,” Coggins said. “I have contact details from the university’s Residential Services, but the parents live up in Middlesbrough.”
While Erica always preferred to break news like this directly to the family, that would mean an eight or nine hour return trip when she was needed here. “Shit. We’re going to have to send round local uniform to break the news to them. Poor people. Must be a parent’s worst nightmare when they wave their kids off to university.”
The thought tightened her chest. It was hard to think of another person’s loss without bringing back emotions about her own. It was all still so raw, and she could hardly believe it had been months since Chris’s murder. There were moments when she walked into her house where she still expected him to be there, or something would happen in her day and her first instinct was to pick up the phone to tell him about it. Her bed hadn’t been left empty, though. Poppy hadn’t gone back to her own since Chris died, instead spending every night—when Erica wasn’t working—curled up in the empty space Chris had left. Erica didn’t mind. She’d rather have the solid, warm body of her daughter there than have to cope with the void that Chris had left. She knew it couldn’t last forever, and that it wasn’t good for Poppy to be so reliant on sleeping with her mum, but for the moment, she wasn’t going to force her daughter out of her bed. Poppy was only five years old, but Erica wouldn’t have cared if she was fifteen, she’d still have wanted her there.
“Yeah, it must be,” Shawn agreed, though Erica knew he couldn’t really understand. He wasn’t even married, never mind have any children, so it was impossible for him to really put himself in another parent’s place.
“What about the other students?” she asked Coggins. “Has anyone shown any sign of being particularly upset at the news of Adam Humphries’ death?”
He planted his hands on his hips. “Not yet. But then they haven’t been here long. He’s a first year, so they just started last month.”
She twisted her lips as she thought. “Even so, teenagers do everything to the extreme. They only need a matter of weeks to become best friends, or even fall in love. I doubt Adam Humphries hadn’t made any friends since he’d been here.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t have if he was shy or something,” Coggins suggested.
“Would someone who was shy be out in the student union drinking until the early hours?” She sighed. “We need a better picture of who he was, and why someone would want him dead.”
Shawn nodded. “Agreed.”
“Can I leave you here to work with SOCO?” she asked her sergeant. “I want to find out what our professor was doing out and about so early.”
Chapter Three
A commotion was going on outside.
Paige squinted at the clock on her bedside table. Seven forty-five. It was still stupidly early. Why the hell was she awake already? She felt like shit, her head pounding, and she had her first lecture at ten.
She sat up, and the room spun around her. Lurching to the side of her bed, she managed to grab a wastepaper basket before the contents of her stomach erupted from her mouth. Bitter, acidic, a combination of acid and alcohol. She was left panting, her eyes watering. A cold knot of dread formed where the acid and alcohol had just been.
Something had happened last night.
Something bad.
What had she done?
She remembered leaving the student union, but after that, everything was a blur. In fact, less than a blur. When she sought back in her memories, she realised she couldn’t even remember getting back.
She obviously had, though, given that she’d woken in her own bed—thank God. She was also still fully dressed.
Her head thumped, the drumming directly behind her eyes.
Paige lifted her hand to shield her gaze from the brightness of the morning, but the light brush to the bridge of her nose sent a burst of pain through her head. She sucked air in over her teeth. That was more than just a hangover. She’d hurt herself somehow.
Her focus swam, everything blurry, and then fixed on her hands.
Her palms were covered in dried blood.
Paige let out a yelp of shock and scurried out of bed, her heart racing. Pain lanced up between her legs at the movement, and she yelped and doubled over. Her lower stomach cramped, as though she was about to start her period.
She took a moment to check out her bed, and her mouth dropped open in shock.
Blood had soaked into her sheets and was smeared across the pillow and all over the duvet. She glanced down at herself. She was wearing the dress from last night, except it no longer looked how it had when she’d put it on, both excited and nervous about the night out. Now it was covered in blood, and the slit at the back was torn up to almost her backside, and the right strap hung loose.
Had she started her period during the night? Was that what had happened? It would explain all the blood and the pain, but she’d finished her cycle the other week and she was normally regular to the day. Plus, it didn’t explain why her nose felt so sore, or why the rest of her body ached as well. She felt bruised and tender all over. Her eyes welled with tears, her mind fuzzy with confusion.
She looked around for her phone, and her stomach sank once more. Normally, she slept with it beside her bed, within reach so she could swipe a hand down and grab it if either her alarm went off or if someone called or texted her, but it wasn’t there. Of course, she’d taken her little shoulder bag out with her last night. With relief, she saw the bag lying on the floor near the door. She must have dropped it the moment she’d walked in. She winced as she crossed the room to retrieve it, but the moment she picked the bag up, she could tell there was no phone inside. The weight was all wrong. Nevertheless, she double-checked, only to be proven right. At least her bank card was still in there, but the catch of the bag hadn’t been done up, so the phone must have fallen out at some point.
“Shit. Bollocks. Shit.”
Moving cautiously, aware of her injuries, she lifted her pillow and shook out the sheets, just to make sure the phone wasn’t anywhere in the room—fallen down the side of the bed, or down the back of her bedside table—but it was nowhere to be found.
Paige sat on the end of the bed and put her face in her hands, mindful of her tender nose. When was the last time she remembered having her phone? She’d had it in the student union, before she’d left, hadn’t she? She was sure she remembered taking selfies with Jasmine and a couple of the others, when she’d still been trying to convince herself she was having a good time. Hopefully, she’d lost it in there and someone had handed it in. She didn’t want to go through all the hassle of cancelling the phone, especially not when she felt like utter shit.
A shout came from outside, and she remembered the commotion that had woken her. She went to the window and pulled up the blind just enough to allow her to peep out.
Parked below her building were police cars with flashing blue lights and
marked vans. Important-looking people in suits milled around, and tape cordoned off the far side of the courtyard. Was that a tent? What the hell was that doing there?
Paige reared back from the window, dizzy with fear. Were they there because of her?
She took in the state of her bed and clothes with fresh eyes. The blood. There was so much blood. What if the police came and banged on her door and demanded to be let in? They’d see it right away, and how would she explain it? She couldn’t.
The sensible part of her brain told her that it was her blood, but what if it wasn’t? She couldn’t remember a thing about last night after doing shots in the union. Now the police were here, and she had blood all over her bed.
What did I do?
Paige hurried to her tiny bathroom and frantically scrubbed her hands in the sink. She caught sight of her face in the mirror and winced at how the bridge of her nose was swollen and then tentatively checked between her thighs. She let out a sob. Large bruises were already turning to hues of blue and purple, and more bruises marked her hips—five circles on each hip, equally spaced apart.
Like fingerprints.
Oh God. What had happened?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Memories tried to flash into her head, but a part of her didn’t want to know. Whatever she was going to remember, it wasn’t going to be good. Something horrible had happened last night.
Something terrible.
With panic driving her, Paige stripped off her clothes and leaned into the small corner shower and turned it on. She wanted to stand beneath the water, the heat near to scalding, and scrub her body for hours. Scrub away the certainty that something awful had happened last night. That she might have done something dreadful.
Though she’d have stayed under the shower for hours if she could, the thought of the bloodied sheets, clothes, and the police in the courtyard outside pushed her out. Moving gingerly, but as fast as she could, she threw on a clean pair of joggers and a t-shirt, and then stripped her bed. Thank God the blood hadn’t made it down to the mattress.
