The Forgotten Mother: A spine chilling crime thriller with a heart stopping twist (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 3)

by M. L Rose

  He ignored the bead of moisture hovering in the corner of his eye. It blinded him, till he didn't know if it was the weather obscuring his vision, or the difficult memories of the man he called his father.

  Had called his father.

  Luke looked at the phone screen again. There was no mistaking it. Cherie had tried to call several times and sent texts. The last one said simply:

  He’s dead. Someone broke in and killed him. Call me.

  Luke’s finger hovered over the green button. He knew he had to press it. A simple motion of his thumb would connect him to Cherie. But it wasn’t that easy.

  His hand sagged downwards, and the phone remained silent. Deep down, Luke had known this day would come. It was inevitable. He didn't feel any remorse. He hadn't done anything wrong. Still, he couldn't explain the choking sensation in his throat, the frustration gnawing at his fingertips.

  The mode of death wasn’t surprising either. He had known it would end this way. There was nothing he could have done to stop it. His dad would never have listened and besides...father and sons don’t talk to each other that way. They don’t have a heart to heart like mother and daughter. Not after a certain age, anyway.

  After his teenage years, Luke had learnt most of what was hidden from him. He wanted to leave home. He knew it was an illusion. His father was barely there and Cherie...well, she was just a human doll. She performed her functions and kept her mouth shut. He didn’t even call her mother anymore.

  It was odd, he knew. To have been surrounded with comfort from day one, but not know any love. Most wouldn't understand what that felt like, and would call him a spoilt brat. A hypocrite.

  But Luke knew the truth. His childhood had twisted his soul, like a tree deprived of light, but forced to grow by artificial chemicals. Until he could satisfy his urges, living was like walking around wearing underwear that hurt. He couldn't share the pain with anyone, but the material dug deep into his skin, gripped his testicles. Odd, how long he had lived like that for.

  And the man to blame for it was now dead. But that man was also his father.

  Where did that leave him?

  Luke turned away from the window and paced the living room. Now what? He was sure the police were involved. Sooner or later, they would come knocking. He wondered how much Cherie would tell them. The stupid bitch would crack probably. She was a softie. She would tell the cops everything just to get them off her back.

  Would the police suspect him? Luke blinked. He had to do something. Somehow, he had to find an alibi for last night. If he couldn't, he was in deep, deep trouble.

  CHAPTER 14

  Arla was watching Cherie closely. She asked, “Mrs Longworth…”

  “Please call me Cherie.”

  Arla paused as Cherie held her eyes. It was fair enough. Every mention of her married name must be torture for her.

  “OK, Cherie. Don’t you find it a bit strange that your son has not called you back as yet?”

  “Like I said, I think he might have tried already. But I was on the tube so maybe I missed him.”

  “What sort of a relationship did Lucas have with the...I mean with his father?”

  Another pause that was noticeable. Another shift of the body and a tensing of the arms which probably meant under the table she was gripping her hands tightly.

  “You could say…” her voice trailed off.

  It was silent for a while, then Harry said softly, “Go on, Cherie.”

  Her face had lost some colour when she looked up. “David was a busy man. He was away a lot. That affected Luke. But David loved him, and Luke knew that.”

  “Are you saying they weren’t close?” Harry asked.

  “No, they were. We went on holidays together. David was there at his graduation. You know, all the normal things that parents do.”

  Arla said, “I sense a but.”

  Cherie shook her head, but avoided their eyes. “There isn’t. Ours wasn’t any different to any other family. We had our moments, but it worked out in the end.”

  She looked up and stared at Arla in the eyes. There was a vulnerable, almost scared expression in her face. Arla leaned forward.

  “Cherie, if there is anything you want to tell us, now is the time to do it. It will save you a lot of trouble later.”

  “I have nothing more to say, Inspector. Am I free to go now?”

  Harry said, “Of course. Anytime. But before you go, a couple more questions about David. What was his daily routine like? Had he been abroad recently?”

  “As he got older, he spent less time shooting abroad. He was in more of a mentorship role at the BFI and BBC.”

  “What’s the BFI?”

  “British Film Institute.”

  “Did he get many visitors?”

  Cherie shrugged. “Every now and then. If you’re asking me if he had many visitors recently, then the answer is no.”

  Arla and Harry exchanged a glance. Cherie said, “Look, I am tired. I have a lot to sort out as well. Can I leave?”

  Arla nodded. “Of course. But if you can think of anything at all, please give us a call.” She handed a card over, and Harry did the same.

  Harry spoke into the microphone. “Interview terminated eleven-fifteen am.”

  They got up and followed Cherie out of the room. Arla let Harry see her out at the main desk and went back to her room.

  She stopped by the desk of Lisa and Rob, who sat opposite each other. Lisa was on the phone, her blonde curls shaking as she nodded. She glanced up at Arla, holding up one finger.

  “Sorry,” she said, putting the phone down. “My mother’s not well, just spoke to the doctor.”

  “Oh,” Arla said, concerned. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s cancer,” Lisa sighed. “Started in her bowels, and now spread to her liver. Poor thing doesn’t have long, apparently.”

  Arla gripped Lisa’s shoulder and saw the younger woman’s eyes moisten. “Are you sure you’re coping?”

  Lisa lowered her head and sniffed. She took out a hanky and blew her nose.

  Arla said, “Because if you’re not, I’d rather you took leave now. Work will only get busier over the next few days.”

  “I’m fine, guv, I really am. I go every evening to sit with her. Not much I can do now. She’s on this thing called a syringe driver which pumps morphine into her. She has a bed in the Palliative Care Home, where they care for people like her. Half the time she’s asleep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lisa shook her head. “Don’t be. To be honest work is keeping me going right now. I need the distraction, if that makes sense. If something does happen, I will let you know.”

  “Promise?” Arla smiled. “I mean it. You can go off anytime you want.”

  “Thanks boss.”

  Rob came around the desk. Rob was rotund and short, shirt chafing at his pot belly. He dressed smartly enough and looked older than his thirty years due to his balding head.

  “Everything OK?” he asked, looking at Lisa.

  “He knows,” Lisa told Arla.

  “OK,” Arla said. “Back to work. Cherie just told me she went for dinner at Zizzi in Dulwich High Street. Can we check CCTV please? And any CCTV images from the Longworth house?”

  Rob shook his head. “No guv. It’s the cross between Clapham and Wandsworth Common so there’s no CCTV there. All woodlands, I’m afraid, with one road bisecting the two.”

  “Bring up the map,” Arla said. She leaned over the desk as Lisa brought up the maps.”

  The road was called Bellevue, and it was one of South London’s most sought-after residential addresses. Not far from the tube and train stops, yet exclusive and private. Arla saw the prison behind the bulge of Wandsworth Common.

  “HMP Wandsworth,” she said. “I know it’s a long shot, but can we just make sure no inmates escaped from there last night?”

  “Talking about me again?” Arla half turned to see Harry standing behind her. His light coffee coloured cheeks were
smooth, and his chestnut brown eyes danced. The tie was a perfect Windsor knot, and the tips of his black Loake shoes gleamed.

  Arla said, “Yeah, because you look like a jail bird who just broke out.”

  “I can be crazy when the situation demands,” he smiled. She wanted to retort but relented. Things were different between them since they had started seeing each other. An awkwardness still prevailed at work, where secrecy was paramount. But Harry still riled her with his jibes, and she was happy enough to give it back. Only now, she held back more, because she knew he did too. They had gone from being sparring partners to lovers, and although they joked around, she had to admit it was getting serious.

  She had feelings for Harry. And it wasn’t just because he brought her to toe clenching, whole body shuddering orgasms. Well, that helped.

  But he was also a mature and discreet man, a responsible adult who hid his seriousness well behind his jokes and Ralph Lauren suit. He judged people well and gave Arla sound advice. He was her harbour in the tempest.

  “So,” Harry said, cocking his long neck to one side, “What’s going on folks?”

  CHAPTER 15

  Arla folded her arms across her chest. “Just making sure insane people like you aren’t roaming the streets.” She turned to Lisa. “Check with the HMP Chief Warden please. And the CCTV from Dulwich.”

  She asked Harry, “What did you make of Cherie Longworth?”

  “She’s hiding something, that’s for sure. Have we checked her maiden name, Cherie Reeves for any PNC’s?”

  “No,” Arla said. “But we can do that now.” She walked towards her office and Harry followed.

  “I got that report guv,” he called out, loud enough for Rob and Lisa to hear.

  Arla stood by her desk and Harry shut the door, then came over. Arla wrinkled her nose.

  “What aftershave is that Harry? God you smell like a tart’s boudoir.”

  Harry grabbed her wrist. Arla’s cheeks flushed hot. She gave him daggers with her eyes and whispered, “Let go, Harry. Not in the office!”

  Harry didn't listen. He hooked an arm around her waist and held her against him. She felt the taut muscles of his abdomen, the warmth of his legs and her mouth opened. A knot of desire untangled itself deep in her guts. Harry lowered his face towards her.

  “No,” she whispered, but her voice was weak. He breathed heavily on her neck, and God, she wanted to feel his lips on hers.

  “Still think I smell like a tart’s boudoir?”

  He nuzzled her neck with his nose, breath hot and tight on her skin. Arla gasped. She was getting aroused.

  “Harry, please…”

  His voice was low and throaty, his grip still tight on her wrist. “All I want is an apology.”

  Despite being caught between desire and duty, she almost grinned. “No fucking way.”

  His tongue started to lick her neck and he ground his hips against her.

  “God, Harry…”

  There was a knock on the door. They separated instantly. Harry moved near the door and took his phone out. Arla sat down at her table, breathing heavily. She opened up her laptop and pretended to look at the screen.

  She cleared her throat. “Come in.”

  Lisa walked in. She held a piece of paper in her hand. “I got the warrant for the Longworth house.” She put it on the table. “And I called Banerji. He’s done a miracle. Worked through the victim early this morning.”

  “Thanks Lisa. Leave the door open, in case I need to shout for something.”

  “No worries guv.”

  Lisa glanced at Harry as she left, a look Arla didn't miss. She picked up the warrant and read through it.

  Harry said, “I’m calling Cherie.” Arla didn't reply. She smoothed her shirt down, stood and left the room.

  She was in the rear car park when Harry arrived. The tension between them was palpable. Harry walked to the black BMW 7 series that the Serious Crime Squad had as a fleet car. He checked it over once, much to her annoyance. He treated that car like a precious object.

  They drove out of the station into the serpentine narrow streets of inner-city Clapham. Tall council block apartments, housing low income and ethnically diverse families sprouted all around them. It was less than five miles from the glamour and wealth of the manors on the Common side, but several lifetimes away in reality. London’s nexus of great wealth and its welfare state funded chronic poverty never made much sense to Arla. Especially when most of those mansions were empty half the year. But she had more important matters to deal with.

  She saw Harry take the opposite direction to the Bellevue Road. “Where are you going?” She asked with a frown.

  “The hospital mortuary. Thought you would like to stop by to meet Banerji on the way.”

  That much was true, she would like some clarity from the pathologist. Harry knew the way she worked. Hell, the man could read her thoughts. For a few seconds, she felt that warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest, the sense of belonging. It was tempered by cold reality. Everything in her life ended in disappointment and heartbreak. Why would this be any different?

  She was emotional, headstrong. She opened her fat gob and said things without thinking. Sexy gob, Harry called it. But she was who she was. After all the tragedies involving Nicole and her family, she had lost hope on matters of the heart and hearth. Maybe that was why she loved her job so much. It made up for loneliness.

  It made her angry. Another part of her messed up mental state. Why me? What have I done to deserve this?

  She hit the side of the window with her fist, jaws clenched in sudden frustration.

  “Hey,” Harry said, glancing over. “Look I’m sorry about the office. I got carried away…”

  “Shut up!”

  She closed her eyes and her head sank back in the seat. She felt angry with Harry too, and felt bad because of it. This emotional torpor was present often these days. Arla had been with men before, but none had made her feel like Harry. No one knew her like Harry did, not even her sole surviving, dysfunctional relative; her father.

  Harry drove in silence. Arla murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He gave her a sidelong look. “You OK?”

  “Bloody brilliant.”

  Wisely, Harry refrained from further comment.

  CHAPTER 16

  Arla showed her badge at the entrance of the mortuary and they were allowed in. An elevator took them down to the three basement levels, one of them on the same level as the medical school dissecting rooms. A gaggle of white coated students entered on the last level. Looking at their eager, fresh young faces, Arla felt a twinge of melancholy. She had never looked forward to life the way they did. She never would. It was scary to think that the spark of happiness in her life currently was Harry. It would be good while it lasted. Because she had no doubt, like everything else in her life, that spark would never become the flame of a candle, lighting up the darkness of her life. Harry would leave. Once he had a proper look into her scarred, bitter soul, he wouldn't stay. She knew it, and it made her unbearably sad.

  The elevator doors opened then the students poured out and dispersed down the corridor, laughing and talking. Arla rang the bell to the mortuary and Chen, Dr Banerji’s assistant opened the door.

  “Hi Chen,” Arla said. They were ushered in, and through a narrow corridor, entered the large hall that made up the mortuary’s main floor.

  Banerji was leaning over a dead body. He was dressed in surgical gown, with a mask over his face. He saw them, left the gurney, got rid of his gloves and mask, and walked over.

  “Thanks for doing it this early,” Arla said.

  “No problem,” the pathologist said. He shuffled over to another gurney with a covered body, smoothing down his white hair as he did so. Harry walked ahead with Arla following behind.

  Banerji put a pair of gloves on, then flung the covers off. Arla tried to keep her eyes off the white, taut face of David Longworth, but with Banerji in full flow, it was virtual
ly impossible.

  “First, the skull.” Casually, Banerji lifted the shaved head by putting his hand underneath it. “As you can see here, there is a contusion. It’s where a blunt object hit his head. Must be a hammer of some sort. Left quite a dent.” Chen helped to rotate the head, so the others could see.

  “That made him unconscious, right?” Arla asked. “But did it kill him?”

  “Loss of consciousness from head trauma is not as easy as you think. The whole point our skull has evolved to be thicker than the rest of our bones is to protect the soft brain. But this blow was hard enough to cause a depression. That’s important, as it hits the blood vessels right underneath the skull.”

  “Causing a bleed?”

  “Exactly. This portion of the skull that we sawed off,” Banerji spoke as Chen lifted a square piece of bone off the skull. She adjusted the light, till it shone at the black, congealed mass inside the hole.

  “That is a clot. A subdural haematoma if you want the medical term. Once the clot is formed it presses on the brain, causing various malfunctions.”

  “Hang on,” Harry said. “Isn’t this how that Hollywood movie star’s wife died? It was a ski injury. And it took a while to form, so she was fine for a while then just dropped dead?”

  “Had your Weetabix this morning, Inspector?” Banerji quipped. “Yes, very good. A subdural haematoma is often undiagnosed. Why? Just as you said, the clot takes time to form. It can be a killer, but not for a day or two.”

  “So this didn't kill him?” Arla asked.

  “I didn't say that,” Banerji said with a crafty look in his eyes. He went to the head of the body. He pointed a green-gloved index finger to a jagged line at the hairline. Arla understood. As Banerji gripped the skull with both hands, she averted her eyes.

  With a squishing sound, the skull came off. Arla stepped back to find Harry’s reassuring body. He rubbed her back discreetly and she was glad. When she looked again, Banerji was beckoning them to come forward.

  The pale pink convolutions of the naked brain seemed to be made of bubble gum. Banerji said, “That blow caused some of the arteries to rupture. That created a clot sure, but at the brain level it caused a massive bleed.”