Shorestone Murders: Book #1 of The Detective Isobel Hester Series

by Karina Evans

  “It was a stupid thing to do, that’s all. If we want a girl in the alleyway, we’ll arrange it ourselves. Anyway, what did you say the guy’s name was? Did you search him?”

  “No grounds, no need. I know him from old,” Isobel snapped. “He’s less likely to be a murderer than you or me.”

  “Ok. In answer to your previous question, if we hadn’t brought you in before, we would have once you started receiving all these letters. Is there anything familiar about them at all? And have you got anything back from forensics on the latest one? I’m only asking because your welfare is quite high on my list of priorities. Not because I particularly like you, but because I need an investigative partner.”

  Isobel looked up sharply and, seeing the humour playing around Dominic’s mouth, softened slightly. “Nothing familiar. However, the guy seems to think he’s some sort of Hannibal Lecter-type, destined for notoriety. Certainly has ideas above his station, but that’s not unusual for someone as power-hungry as this guy seems to be. Nothing from forensics, but no news is good news, right?”

  “Great insights. Isobel — are you ok? You seem a little distracted.”

  Isobel looked over at Dominic in surprise; it had been a while since someone had seemed so concerned for her welfare. “Yes, yes. Just a blast from the past, that’s all. The last thing I need right now, but I can deal with it. Thank you.”

  Isobel’s phone rang, Robert’s name flashing up on the screen. She hadn’t expected to feel so strongly about anyone in this town, but something had stirred inside her when she bumped into Robert in the alleyway. Excusing herself from her conversation with Dominic, Isobel walked over to an empty corner of the office to answer the call. Taking a deep breath, she answered the call in her most professional voice.

  “Hello? Isobel Hester, Major Crime Team.”

  “How formal. No need to pretend — I know you know it’s me; I put my number on your phone. A police officer, eh?”

  “Robert? It’s.. erm… good to hear from you. How can I help you?”

  “We need to talk. I’m at 129 Seaside. Can you meet me there?”

  “Sure, I knock off at 8. I’ll come straight over — be there by 8.15.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Isobel showered in the police station shower, noting the missed call from Bradley from earlier that afternoon. She quickly sent a text to appease him, then brushed her hair and tied it in a ponytail. She was just about to walk out the door of the communal bathroom when she caught sight of her face in the mirror. She was looking pale and tired — just a few days back in Shorestone had aged her by half a decade. She scrabbled around in her bag, finding a blusher palette and a lipstick, applying a dab of each and studying herself in the mirror again.

  “What am I doing?” she said out loud, angrily rubbing off the make-up. “What on earth am I doing?”

  She reached Robert’s seafront building at 8.15, secretly pleased she wasn’t early; no harm in reminding him he wasn’t the boss. She felt nerves in the pit of her stomach as she rang the buzzer and heard Robert’s familiar warm voice answer the intercom, reminding herself to be reserved — he had, after all, caused much of her teenage angst and was the reason she and Scarlett could not bond with each other. The door opened and there he was.

  “Hi, Isobel. Come in. You look lovely, so good to see you.”

  Everything Isobel had decided to say, all the feelings she had repressed, the nerves she had told herself she didn’t have — everything she had worked to become over the past two decades, it fell away, stripped, leaving her vulnerable and open to this man standing in front of her. The one man she had connected with, the one man who she had allowed close enough to hurt her.

  “I can’t do this, Robert, I’m so sorry.”

  Isobel turned to leave, but Robert grabbed her wrist. “No, stay, please. We have to chat.”

  “Five minutes. You’ve got five minutes.”

  Robert’s flat was on the first floor and had a view of both the sea and the pier. Isobel headed straight for the balcony; being indoors with Robert felt dangerous. She accepted the glass of wine he held out to her, deciding to leave her car in the car park overnight, and sat on one of the wooden balcony chairs.

  “Talk, then.”

  “As warm as ever, I see. I wanted to apologise —”

  “There’s no need; I don’t accept it. There’s absolutely no point.”

  Isobel peered over the balcony. Something didn’t feel quite right; there was something niggling in the back of her mind.

  “The other night when I saw you?”

  “Yes?”

  “You said you had to go back to get your wallet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you head into town rather than home?”

  Robert paused and took a sip of wine. He was standing in the balcony doorway, and Isobel, in her seated position, felt even more vulnerable.

  “Oh, I’d left it somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  “Nowhere, it’s not important.”

  “It’s odd. You chased after that woman, you said you were getting your wallet, you headed off in the wrong direction. Why? Where?”

  “Jeez. I didn’t chase her! I was running to get my wallet, I was late. I told you this.”

  “Where was your wallet, Robert?”

  “Shit, I can’t tell you.”

  Isobel felt anger rise in her throat.

  “You need to tell me. You need to tell me now.”

  “Right, but you’re not going to like it.”

  Robert unfolded another chair that was leaning against the balcony wall and sat next to Isobel. As he stared out to sea, he told Isobel how terrible he had felt after she left, how he had frequently tried to contact her to make amends to both her and the baby, and how, after being shunned every time, he had given up. But just recently he had looked within himself, at all the bad things he had done in his life, at all the responsibilities he had shunned, including his responsibilities for both Isobel and Scarlett, and had turned to Scarlett, begging her to forgive him. And how Scarlett had wanted him in her life; how she had forgiven him with ease, and how he had since been a fixture, helping her with money, meeting her for dinner, getting to know Elizabeth and James, going round their house once a week for family meals. And he had been at Elizabeth and James’ house for a meal just before he had seen Isobel that night, and that’s where he had left his wallet.

  Isobel felt the colour drain from her face. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. She had walked away from Scarlett, yes, but only because Robert had walked away from her. How dare he suggest it was easy to repair a relationship so devastatingly crushed; Isobel had been trying for years. And how dare he swoop in and pick up what he forced her to drop? How dare he fix the very thing he had broken?

  She drained the last drop from her glass, stood on her unsteady legs, and walked out of the flat without saying a word to Robert.

  “God, Iz. Isobel. Fuck. I’m sorry, I couldn’t… how could I not be there for her? You had left her? Our girl had to grow up without parents. Fuck, Isobel. If you’re angry, be angry with your parents for hiding it, for forcing me to hide it. Isobel!”

  Robert’s voice faded into the background as Isobel ran, faster than she had ever run before, through the town that failed her, through memories and trauma, through hope and abandonment, through grief and hatred. She no longer knew where she was heading and didn’t know how she would ever stop.

  Dominic dialled Isobel’s number, swearing when it went straight through to voicemail.

  “Isobel, call me, as soon as you get this.”

  He sat back down at his desk, taking a swig of coffee from his oversized mug and glancing at the paperwork in front of him: Ruby Dixon’s missing person file, just waiting for confirmation before he could conclude that part of the investigation. He closed the file and again dialled Isobel. Straight to voicemail again.

  Heather wal
ked into the office, offering Dominic a biscuit from an open packet. “Want one?”

  Dominic shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.

  “Alright, Dominic? What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t get hold of Isobel — any idea where she is?”

  “She’s finished for the day; let the poor girl have an evening off!”

  “I can’t. They’ve found a body in Valley Woods, about a mile from Violet. They think it’s Ruby Dixon.”

  Dominic dialled Isobel’s number again — this time it rang five times and then went to answerphone. He slammed his mobile on the desk in frustration.

  “If it helps, guv, I saw her running along the seafront when I was driving into work, about five minutes ago. Weird, I thought; she wasn’t wearing jogging clothes, so it seemed like an odd —”

  It was too late — Dominic had grabbed his phone and coat and was already heading out of the office.

  It was a twenty-minute walk from the police station to the seafront, so Dominic drove. It was 10 pm, and he guessed the seafront would be clear of traffic, enabling him to drive along slowly in his hunt for Isobel. He started at the west side of town, figuring that Isobel wouldn’t jog towards the large shopping mall; more likely, she would head for the quieter end of town, towards the cliffs. He drove slowly, past the pier, past the buildings on the seafront — the confectionery shops with dusty sticks of rock in baskets in the windows; the hairdressers with peeling vinyl chairs; the arcades where the teens with ASBOs were always hanging out, way past their curfews; the small newsagents, which, against licensing regulations, stocked piles of cans of cheap cider amongst their more expensive options, encouraging the street drinkers to drink the stacks of cans dry by 10 am.

  There was no sign of Isobel along the entire length of the seafront and Dominic gave up, stopping at red traffic lights just before Cliff End car park, where he planned to turn around and head back to the office. As the lights changed, his eyes flicked to a woman sitting on a bench opposite the car park entrance, staring out to sea and drinking from what looked like a bottle of spirits. The light was now failing, and it was difficult to tell from behind if it was Isobel, but her hair and build seemed similar. He drove into the car park, quickly parking up and walking back to the bench. As he approached, he could see that it was Isobel, her eyes closed and her face tear-stained, swigging from the bottle of vodka.

  He sat down gently next to her, coughing quietly to announce his arrival and, as she turned to him, he held his hand out for the bottle.

  “It’s not for you,” Isobel said.

  “I know, but I have a vested interest — your shift starts at 7 am.”

  Isobel sighed and tipped the bottle as though to take another swig.

  “I really don’t need to know what’s going on here, Isobel, but you need a clear head. They’ve found Ruby Dixon’s body.”

  “Shit.” Isobel put the bottle down on the floor next to the bench and wiped her mouth with her hand. “Fuck, ok.” She shook her head and inhaled deeply as though to bring herself back to the present. “You sure?”

  “No, but I’m pretty confident.”

  “Right. Ok. Can you drop me home? My car’s over there,” Isobel pointed at the parking bays “… and I’m… well… a quarter of a bottle in,” she gestured towards the bottle on the floor. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “You didn’t answer your phone, so I went down the old school route of hunting you down in person.”

  “Ok, well, that worked.”

  “If you want to talk —”

  “I don’t.”

  “Ok.”

  Dominic dropped Isobel off at the B&B, nodding to Cara, who stood at the door, frowning at them both. When he got back to his desk, he again opened Ruby Dixon’s file, flipping through to a clean, white page.

  Found Deceased.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Him

  DS Isobel Hester

  Shorestone Police Station

  It appears you have some relationship issues with your daughter, Isobel. Would it help if I spoke to her for you?

  Regards.

  Isobel rejected Robert’s third call and waited for the voicemail notification to play. Sure enough, a minute later, there it was.

  “Call me. I’d like to help you get to know Scarlett.”

  Isobel put her mobile in her rucksack, picked up her jacket and headed down the stairs to wait for Dominic, who was picking her up to take her to work.

  “Hey!” Cara’s raspy voice travelled through the air thickly, making Isobel jump.

  “Oh, hey, Cara, all well?”

  “Is it true that you’re Scarlett Edwards-Walsh’s mum?”

  Isobel bristled. “Scarlett Edwards-Walsh? Since when has she been an Edwards-Walsh? He’s only been in her life for a few months. Surely, you mean Scarlett Hester? Yes, yes, I am. Gotta go.”

  Cara said nothing, instead bending down to turn on the vacuum cleaner, a look of disappointment and judgement etched upon her usually soft and welcoming face.

  Isobel paced up and down the pavement outside the B&B while she waited for Dominic to pick her up. He had said 8 am, and it was already 7.55 — she couldn’t understand people who turned up late — surely an 8 am appointment should cause a 7.50 arrival. Just as Dominic’s car pulled up, her phone beeped in her bag; surely not Robert again? She glanced at her smartwatch, which showed previews of her phone notifications — it was a text message from Bradley: You free tonight? Would love to hear how it’s going. Isobel sighed and pressed the automated ‘OK’ reply button on her watch before climbing into Dominic’s car.

  Dominic looked over at Isobel. “You feeling ok this morning? Kept away from the bottle?” He took a swig from his takeaway coffee cup. “Look, I don’t want to pry. I really don’t. In fact, I don’t care enough to pry. I just want to say that I’ve been at the bottom of that bottle and it’s a lonely place. I’m on the coffee now, so if you need a sponsor, you know, if you… well, you know where I am.”

  Isobel remained silent, staring out the side window of the car.

  “Ok, less of the prying — let’s go catch a serial killer.”

  The office was buzzing with the tension of an unsolved case: the awful potential of yet another death before catching the killer: the dread of handover in case something had happened overnight: the stomach-flipping possibility that the killer could be minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years away from being caught. Dominic headed over to Heather’s desk — she was just about to clock off, having just finished a twelve-hour stint, while Isobel went to her allocated locker to dump her rucksack and coat. When she got to Heather’s desk, Heather was already briefing Dominic on the ongoing forensics at Valley Woods, where Ruby Dixon’s body was found.

  “It was just beyond our original search perimeter,” Heather said. “Had we gone just six metres further in towards the stream, we’d have noticed the disturbed earth and dug down. The entire woods are still taped off, with forensics on the scene and expected to be for some time. Her parents have identified Ruby, and we are running further forensics on the items in her handbag and trawling CCTV, although there are multiple entry points at Valley Woods and the CCTV only covers the ones usually used by walkers.”

  “Can you start again, Heather, please? I missed a lot of that.”

  “I’m sure you’ll pick it up,” Heather replied. “Your reputation as a genius precedes you. Apparently it was your idea to move the cordon in the woods further out? And, apparently, had we not done that, we would never have found Ruby, so yeah, gold star to you.”

  “Right, like that, is it? Ok, how long had Ruby Dixon been in Valley Woods before we found her?”

  “You know that isn’t an exact science. Forensics said pooling suggested a over a week, but apparently she was more likely killed at another location, perhaps the alley, and moved — she’s small, like Violet, so moving her alone isn’t impossible. Typically, there’s no direct vehicular access at the CCTV-cove
red end of the alleyway, although there is somewhere to park at the other end, which isn’t covered at all. We’ll check CCTV anyway, and also pull it from central Market Square to look for late-night car-parking. Do you ever feel like there are just a few too many strands of string? Anyway, I’m sure you can solve this in a matter of minutes, eh, Isobel?”

  “Heather, seriously, we are all on the same side here,” snapped Dominic.

  “Yes, so I gather.” Heather turned and walked towards the kitchen at the end of the corridor, her cheeks reddening and her eyes stinging. Why couldn’t Dominic see what was in front of him? How could he not recognise that Isobel was manipulating him into thinking she was normal, that she cared about people, that she didn’t sit back and allow her peers to be raped in front of her? How could he not see that?

  Isobel looked at Dominic, who shrugged and mouthed that he thought they had sorted out their differences. Isobel rolled her eyes and took her mobile out of her pocket — unfinished business seemed to be the theme of her life right now, with Heather an unwanted and impossible challenge — Isobel would concentrate on the issues she felt she had some control over. She sent a brief message to her mum to let her know she would pop by after work, undoubtedly giving her father a chance to escape. She followed the text up with one to Scarlett, letting her know she would be around and asking if she would like to go for a drink after her visit. To Isobel’s surprise, Scarlett answered the text almost immediately. Yes, I would. See you tonight. Isobel smiled to herself: perhaps it wasn’t all as bad as she had thought, after all.

  “DS Hester!” Isobel turned round to see Heidi, the front office clerk, in the doorway. “A letter for you.”

  Isobel took the note and read it, handing it straight to Dominic, who stood beside her. He turned it over in his hands, studying it.