by M K Farrar
“I’m really tired, Jas. I want to go to bed. You have a good night, and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” She leaned in and gave her friend a hug.
Jas pouted. “Oh, okay then.”
She didn’t really put up much of a fight.
If she’d really wanted her to stay, she would have fought for her. But truthfully, Jasmine only had eyes for Lucas.
“See you later, Paige,” Lucas said.
He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was all for Jasmine’s benefit, she was sure. He didn’t want her here anymore than she wanted to be here.
“Yeah, later.”
She picked up her bag and turned from the table, and hurried to the exit, her head down.
Tears of anger and embarrassment burned in her eyes as she shoved open the restaurant doors and stepped out onto the street. It was stupid to be upset. Jasmine was allowed to have a boyfriend.
Still, telling herself that didn’t make her feel any better.
Chapter Sixteen
It had been a long day.
Talking to the parents of a murdered child—even if that child was an adult now—always took it out of her. She wasn’t really in the mood to talk about her own loss, preferring to go and spend time with her daughter and maybe drown her sorrows in a large glass of wine, but she didn’t have any choice.
Erica sighed and then pushed her way into the office building.
She’d been cleared to go back to work after everything that had happened, but on the condition that she continue with these weekly appointments to speak to someone, at least during this transition period. She guessed they wanted to make sure her being back at work wasn’t going to set her back, as far as her mental health went. It was like a buzzword lately—mental health—and the commissioner wanted it to seem as though they were doing everything they could for their staff. The Eye Thief and what had happened to Chris had been a high-profile case, and it wouldn’t look good for them if she went and threw herself under a train or something as well.
She walked to the reception desk where a pretty woman in her twenties was speaking on the phone. She lurked awkwardly, waiting for her to finish. A couple of other people sat in the waiting room, either staring at their phones or thumbing through a magazine from the selection that was stacked on the table. Around the walls were posters that spoke of various aspects of taking care of mental health, including emergency helpline numbers. In the corner, a large water dispenser had a sign about staying hydrated and pointed to the stacked paper cups with a cheery ‘help yourself!’
The receptionist ended her call and smiled up at Erica. Erica didn’t need to introduce herself. She’d been here often enough for the woman to recognise her.
“She’s just running five minutes behind,” the receptionist said. “Take a seat.”
Erica nodded and backed away. She sought the seating area for a chair farthest from any other patient and sat. Like the others waiting, she slipped her phone from her bag and checked it for any updates. Things could change in the blink of an eye in cases like this, and she didn’t want to miss out on anything.
After five minutes, the office door opened, and Ana Webb appeared in the doorway.
“Erica,” she said warmly. “Come on through.”
Erica rose to her feet and followed the therapist into her office.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Erica gave a half smile. “Not at all. I only just arrived.”
“Did you come straight from work?” She must have noted Erica’s less-than-casual suit.
“Yes. We’ve got a big case on, so it’s all hands on deck at the moment.”
The therapist knew which borough Erica’s team covered, since they’d spoken at length about what had happened.
Ana winced. “Oh, not that student who was found killed?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“I hope you find whoever did it. It always seems more tragic when someone so young dies like that. They had their whole lives ahead of them.”
Erica couldn’t help her thoughts going to Chris—they always did when people mentioned someone dying, and how much life they were missing out on. It wasn’t only Chris who was missing out, it was also Poppy missing all those years of having her father in her life, and Erica no longer having a husband to share things with.
One person’s death was like a stone thrown into a pond. The ripples always travelled wide.
Erica kept finding herself thinking back to all those occasions she’d taken for granted before. When she’d thought she’d had problems and was stressing about dealing with them, but she now looked back on and wondered what she’d been so unhappy about.
When I was happy...
That was how it was. That time before. That time she could last remember being happy, and living life, not just forcing her way through each day.
What broke her heart even more than her own grief was the idea that Poppy might feel the same way. What if she went through life always feeling like something was missing, that she was never fully whole? But their daughter was young, and she would adapt. Maybe one day Poppy wouldn’t even remember Chris at all or would just have memories that could have been recreated in her head from photographs she’d seen. Erica hoped not. She hoped Poppy would be able to keep her memories of her dad fresh in her head, but five was so young. Perhaps it was kinder to forget? That way you didn’t know what you were missing.
Ana Webb’s office was typical of a modern, central London office—all tall windows that offered a view out onto the skyline, leather furniture, and light wood, and walls painted in a subtle grey that was probably called something like Winter Stone. It was comfortable, though, softened by leafy plants and cream cushions and pictures of cherry blossom on the walls.
Erica sat in her usual spot on the couch, with her legs crossed, the top foot tapping at the air. “He was playing on my mind today,” she admitted.
Ana sat as well, but not behind her desk, not wanting to create a physical barrier. Often, when she was talking to the therapist, Erica automatically found herself comparing the different techniques Ana used when she was speaking to her, wondering if she could apply some to her own interviews.
“Who? Chris?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Nicholas Bailey. I kept thinking about what he was doing in prison. Had he made friends in there? Was he studying, or did he have a job to do? Was he having a better time of it inside than he had on the outside?”
“Why do you think that was playing on your mind? Do you think it’s because of this new case?”
Erica was careful with what she said, not wanting to give Ana any impression that she wasn’t strong enough to be working another murder case. “I guess I wondered just how much of a punishment being inside was to him? He had a pretty terrible life anyway. How much worse could it be for him in prison?”
“Prison is not a fun place to be,” Ana reassured her. “You of all people know that.”
“I worry that he’s got some kind of notoriety in there because of how high-profile the case was. Do the other prisoners call him the Eye Thief? Do they look up to him? Admire him? Nicholas Bailey did what he did because he felt as though he’d never really been seen. Even he didn’t know who he actually was. He’d either been bullied or ignored his whole life. But now...well, now everyone sees him. Everyone knows who he is, and what he’s done, and what he’s capable of.”
Ana leaned forward slightly. “You know, we’ve talked about forgiveness before. How by forgiving Nicholas Bailey, you might be able to move on.”
Erica shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“Even if it’s better for you? For your daughter?”
Erica tightened her lips. “I just can’t.”
She’d tried to find it in her heart to at least feel sorry for him. Nicholas Bailey had had a horrific upbringing. He’d been mentally abused so badly by his mother, that he’d grown up believing he had a facial deformity when he didn’t, and then he and his bro
ther had tried to conceal their mother’s death by burying her in the back garden. He’d later witnessed his brother throwing himself under a Tube train—the same suicide she’d been unable to prevent. He’d been picked on his whole life and had gone through some terrible things, but that still didn’t excuse what he’d done, and no part of her could bring herself to forgive him.
Hate had settled deep, and sometimes she had to remind herself of her role as a detective, that she believed in the justice system. But she couldn’t help but look ahead to a time when he might be out of prison and walking the streets, and wonder if she’d be able to control herself if she were to see him face to face again.
She let out a sigh and scrubbed her face with her hands. “What if he’s happier now? I guess that’s what’s bothering me the most. He got a life sentence, but with good behaviour he’ll be out in fifteen. He’ll only be in his late thirties then—just a little older than I am. He’ll go on to have a future, assuming he doesn’t come out and kill someone else, and I’ll still have a daughter who’s had to grow up without a father because of him.”
Ana softened her voice. “Someone like Nicholas Bailey will never be happy, Erica, but you still have the chance to be, and so does your daughter. Don’t throw that away.”
Erica knew the therapist was right, but that was easier said than done.
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning, Erica left the daily briefing to be accosted by Karl Hartley from Digital Forensics.
“Swift, I thought you’d want to know that we cracked the phone.”
She stopped walking to face him. “Excellent news. Did you get the name of who it belongs to?”
Hartley pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose. “Yes, a Miss Paige Arland.”
A woman’s name. She hadn’t expected that. “Do we have a current address for her?”
“She’s a student at the university. The address she gave is her parents’ home in Plymouth, but a little digging showed that she’s staying in the halls of residence on campus.”
“Did you check with the phone company? See if she’d reported it lost or stolen?”
He nodded. “Yes, we did, and no, she hasn’t.”
“Interesting.” Why hadn’t the owner of the phone put a stop to the contract? Surely she would have wanted to make sure no one else could use it to make calls or run up big bills on the internet. Plenty of people also used apps that contained credit card information, too, and she would have wanted to make sure none of that could be accessed. “And has anyone gone through the phone yet?”
“We’re working on it. I thought you’d want the name first, though.”
“Yes, thank you. Check for any messages sent around the time of the murder. Also, if there were any photographs taken from inside the student union. She might have unwittingly caught something.”
Gibbs had already told her to go back to the university that morning, see if they could find anyone who recognised the young woman in the CCTV footage. She’d stop by and speak to Miss Arland as well.
“What about the laptops,” she asked Hartley.
They’d seized both Adam Humphries’ and Paul Young’s laptops in the hope of finding a motive behind Adam’s murder.
“We’ve only just started work on them. We haven’t found anything of interest so far, though we’re still looking into the social media accounts and emails.”
“Let me know if you do.”
He ducked his head. “Will do.”
Shawn had been lurking nearby. “So, this Paige Arland was the one who lost her phone in the same spot where the body was found, not the victim.”
Erica checked her notes. “Did we speak to her yet?”
“No, not yet. We’ve been making our way around the student body, but there was a lot of them at the union that night.”
“I think she needs to be moved up the list of priorities, don’t you?”
“Definitely. She might have seen something.”
“Let’s find out what her relationship was with Humphries as well. How well did she know him?”
Shawn cocked an eyebrow. “You think she might have been involved with the victim?”
“I think we need to find out exactly who Paige Arland is and what her involvement was with Adam Humphries.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they pulled up at the university.
It seemed as though everyone had that Friday feeling, and the sombre mood that had been present after Humphries’ body had been found had all but vanished. Young people walked around or stood in groups, smiling and chatting, most of them with their phones attached to their hands. Why hadn’t Paige Arland reported her phone missing with her provider? With the amount that teenagers relied on their phones these days, there was no possible way she hadn’t noticed it was missing.
There was nothing about the atmosphere here to give any inclination towards the fact one of their own had been murdered, his head bashed in with a brick, near to where they stood and walked. The death would have been pushed to the backs of their minds, though perhaps the rumours about one of their lecturers would continue to circle.
Erica had no idea if they would find Paige Arland in her dorm room, or if they’d have to get a copy of her schedule and try to track her down to a lecture hall. It seemed like the best place to start, though. They’d got her hall name and room number from administration.
They received a few curious glances as they crossed the courtyard, towards the halls of residence. The buildings opposite the student halls were all open today—a coffee shop, a travel agent’s, a bookstore. The university really was a little self-contained community.
They took the stairs up to the third floor and counted down the numbers on the doors until they reached seventy-three. They passed a few more students, who frowned at them but didn’t ask who they were or what they wanted. Erica assumed they could probably guess.
She stopped in front of the correct door and lifted her hand and knocked.
Movement came from inside, and then the door opened a crack, the person behind it clearly cautious.
“Yes?”
A girl’s face filled the space. Erica frowned. Though she wore makeup, it was the sort of makeup Erica had seen multiple times before, on the faces of women whose partners liked to have too much to drink and then take out their frustrations on their wives and girlfriends.
Erica flashed her ID. “Miss Arland? My name is DI Swift, and this is DS Turner. We wondered if you have a few minutes for a quick chat?”
The young woman glanced over her shoulder at the room behind her. Did she have someone else in there with her? “Err, my room is a bit of a mess. Can we go down to the kitchen?”
“We don’t mind mess.” Shawn flashed her a winning smile of white teeth. “You should see my flat.”
The girl’s cheeks twitched. “I just think the kitchen would be better. These rooms are stupidly tiny.”
“I’d prefer somewhere more private.”
“No one uses the kitchen at this time.”
Erica wasn’t going to press her any further. They were here to talk, not to search her room. “That’s fine.”
Paige Arland nodded then opened the door enough to let herself out. Erica caught a glimpse of the room behind her. It was exactly as she’d expect a student’s room to be—a laptop on an unmade bed, makeup and toiletries everywhere—the opposite to how they’d found Adam Humphries’ room. But there was no sign of anyone else, or any obvious reason why she wouldn’t let them in.
“It’s this way.” Paige gestured down the hallway.
Paige Arland was young and pretty, with silky brown hair with what appeared to be natural highlights framing her face. But she moved hesitantly, treading lightly, her shoulders rounded, and head slightly bent. Both her t-shirt and jogging bottoms were baggy, as though she was trying to hide her figure.
What had happened to Paige? Why was her face bruised? Did it have anything to do with her losing her phone?
It suddenly h
it Erica. This was the girl from the CCTV images who they’d been searching for. The face was a fit, and the hair was the same as well. Of course, her outfit was completely different, but that was hardly surprising, given that it was the morning and she wasn’t on her way for a night out.
Erica tried to shoot Shawn a couple of wide-eyed stares to catch his attention, wanting to mouth her suspicion to him without Paige knowing, but she couldn’t catch his eye.
They reached the kitchen. There was an island in the middle, with stools around it. Paige chose one of the seats and slid up onto it.
“How are you getting on at uni? Must be a big change from living at home,” Erica asked, trying to get the girl chatting.
Erica wanted Paige to open up before she showed her the images and asked to know if that was her. Would her story change once she knew they had her on camera around the same time Adam Humphries had been murdered? Would she be able to account for the missing half hour?
“Yeah, it is.” Paige was a closed book. “I guess this is about Adam Humphries.”
She’d got straight to the point, not bothering to preamble with any niceties.
“Yes, it is,” Erica agreed, “in a way.”
“Oh?”
“When our team went over the area where Adam was killed, we found a mobile phone. We later discovered that mobile phone is yours.”
Her eyes brightened at the news her phone had been found, and then dimmed again at the realisation it had been tied into a murder investigation.
“Oh, right.”
“We wanted to talk to you about what it was doing in the bushes. Have you got any idea how it got there?”
She glanced down at her hands and shook her head. “No, I don’t. Sorry.”
“You have no idea?” Erica probed.
“No. I supposed I must have lost it on my way back from the student union.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“I thought I might have left it at the union. I went back the next day to see if it had been handed in, but obviously it hadn’t.”
