by M K Farrar
He looked at the book again. “Around oneish.”
“In the morning,” she checked.
“Yeah.”
She’d thought if he’d been to Newcastle with work, it would be an automatic alibi for him, but if he got back at one in the morning, he might have still had time to kill the family. Unless he was with someone else, of course. He might have a girlfriend or a new wife who he went home to, so providing him with a different alibi. Until she tracked him down and found out for sure, she couldn’t rule him out as being a suspect.
“I’ve been to his flat and tried his mobile, but I haven’t been able to get hold of him. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
The man sniffed. “Sorry, I’m not the keeper of the people who work here. As long as they turn up for their shifts, they can do whatever they like outside of hours.”
She gave a sweet smile that she didn’t mean in the slightest. “I’m aware of that, I was just hoping there might be a pub or something that the people who work here hang out at.”
He shrugged. “There’s the Pig and Whistle down the road, towards Avonmouth. You might find him there.”
“Can I check the phone number I have for him, in case I’ve been trying the wrong one?”
“I suppose. Give me a second to look it up.”
He did, and she compared the two. It was the same number.
“Do you have a landline on file at all?”
“He never gave us one. Probably doesn’t have one. Why bother these days when you can get by on a mobile. All a landline does is encourage spam calls.”
He was probably right about that. She found more and more that people weren’t bothering with a landline unless their internet provider insisted on having one. With how cheap mobile data was these days, it hardly seemed worth it.
“Thanks, I appreciate your help. Oh, before I leave you in peace, would you be able to let me have a copy of Conrad’s shift pattern for the past week? That would be really helpful.”
He eyed her with mistrust, so she widened the smile, feeling like her cheeks were about to crack. She tried to go with the idea that you caught more flies with honey than vinegar, though she was more than capable of dosing people with a good helping of vinegar, too, when the situation called for it.
“I suppose that would be all right,” he grumbled.
She waited while he went on his computer and clicked through a couple of screens. A moment later, the printer in the corner hummed to life and spurted out a sheet of paper. The man rose to his feet and grabbed it off the printer and handed it to Mallory.
“There you go.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your time. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Peter,” he said. “Peter Phipps.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr Phipps.”
He grunted again and dropped himself back into his seat. Mallory turned and left, grateful to be out of the stuffy little portacabin. She checked the address for the Pig and Whistle on her phone. He was right when he’d said it was down the road. It would only take her a matter of minutes to drive there.
Could Conrad Smales be dangerous?
The thought gave her reason to pause, and she used her phone again, but this time for a different reason.
“Hey, boss. I might have tracked Smales down to a pub at the end of St Andrews Road. Want to meet me outside before I go in?”
His voice came back down the line. “Absolutely. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
She’d feel better about having him there. As much as she wanted to be a strong independent woman who didn’t take shit from anyone, she still had to be realistic, and going alone into a pub known for groups of truckers to hang out was one thing, but going into one as a police officer who was also trying to track down one of their own who might also have murdered his ex-partner’s family was plain reckless.
She drove to the location of the pub and parked across the street. She did a bit of research on her phone on the haulage company until Ryan’s car pulled up behind hers.
Mallory tucked her phone into the inside breast pocket of her jacket and climbed out of the car.
Ryan was already out of his and standing on the pavement. She instantly felt safer with him around. At well over six feet, his height was enough to make someone think twice before trying anything stupid. He glanced over at the front of the pub. A couple of large men stood outside the front, smoking.
“Good call on getting me to come along,” he said. “This place looks dodgy as hell.”
“I thought it was sensible, and since I haven’t been able to get hold of Smales, and his work can’t provide him with a solid alibi, I didn’t want to rush into anything.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You think we might need to consider him as a suspect?”
“If he’s made himself scarce straight after the family was murdered, then absolutely. He’s got another shift at work tomorrow morning, and if he doesn’t show up for that, we’ll know for sure that something’s not right. How did it go with the interview of the family friend? Did she have anything to say about him?”
“Not much. It had been some time since she’d seen him. She said there weren’t any real issues between Smales and the Wyndhams, though, more that they were just distant.”
“What about the son?” Mallory asked.
“She thinks there’s no way he could be responsible. Says he’s just a normal teenage boy.”
She grimaced. “How well is a friend of the family really going to know a teenage boy? I’d say even the mother might not have known her son deep down.”
Ryan shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “You might be right. Shall we do this then?”
They crossed the street together, and Ryan led the way, pushing into the dingy innards of the pub. Mallory followed close behind. The pub wasn’t busy, pockets of men gathered in murky corners. As Mallory had suspected, there was a noticeable lack of female clientele. The only woman was the one on her phone behind the bar.
“We’re looking for a Mr Conrad Smales,” Ryan said to the barmaid, showing her his ID.
She seemed bored. “Never heard of him.”
Mallory swung her gaze around the room. “Do any of these men work at the lorry depot up the road?”
She jerked her chin towards one of the corners where four men sat around a table. “I think they do.”
“Thanks for your help.”
They approached the group of men who lifted their heads from their pints with expressions full of suspicion.
“Something we can do for you?” said the one closest.
Being the boss, Ryan took the lead. “We need to speak to one of your colleagues, Conrad Smales, and was told he might be found drinking here.”
The man checked left and right as though searching for him. “He does normally drink here, but he’s not been in today.”
“Is that unusual, for him not to come in, I mean?”
The man shrugged. “Not really. I’m sure he’s got other things going on in his life.”
“Such as?”
“I dunno. I only work with the bloke.”
Ryan’s head turned towards the other men around the table. “What about the rest of you? Any idea where we might be able to find Conrad?”
“Is he in trouble with the law?” an older, weatherworn bloke said.
“Not at all. We have some news we need to deliver, and it really is vital we find him.”
Mallory knew he was simply trying to ensure these men didn’t feel the need to protect Conrad’s whereabouts. Any hint that they wanted to talk to him about an entire family’s murder might have them shutting down.
Weatherworn shrugged. “Sorry, mate. Can’t help.”
This was frustrating. They weren’t getting anywhere, and she felt as though she’d wasted Ryan’s time.
Ryan dropped his card on the table. “If he shows up, can you give me a ring?”
No one bothered to pick up the card.
“Sorry about that,
” Mallory said as they left the pub. “It was a wasted journey.”
They came to a halt beside their cars.
Ryan took his keys from his jacket pocket and dangled them from a finger. “Not at all. I’d always rather you called me than you took a risk. Nothing worse than hearing about a colleague hurt while on the job and knowing it could have been prevented.”
“You’re right, thanks, boss.” She let out a sigh. “Now what?”
“I’m going to circulate Smales’ name as someone who needs to be chased, but you should go home. Not much more we can do for tonight. We’ll have to see if Conrad shows up for work tomorrow and try and catch him there. You’ve got his schedule, right?”
“Yep, it’s in my car.”
“Good. Now go and get some sleep. I hope Ollie has a better night.”
She offered him a grateful smile. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
***
Mallory fitted her key into the front door and opened it.
It had been a long day, and she was exhausted. Though she was looking forward to getting her head down, a knot of dread existed inside her. She knew there was little chance of her being able to sleep the whole night through. Ollie would most likely wake her at some point because of his night terrors. The experience had traumatised him, and the one place he’d always thought of as being safe—their home—now held the possibility of danger.
“Hi, I’m home,” she called out.
She’d been expecting her parents’ voices to answer, but instead it was a man’s.
“In here.”
She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. Of course, it was Daniel’s turn to sit with Ollie. She’d lost track of the days.
She went into the lounge where Ollie and Daniel sat over a large jigsaw puzzle. It was one of Ollie’s favourite things to do, and she was glad for the hobby. Even though it took him weeks and even sometimes months to complete one, it kept him occupied and focused.
She mustered a smile for them both. “Hi. You look busy.”
Ollie got up and came and gave her a big hug. “Hi, Mallory. Daniel’s helping me. See, we’re nearly done.”
“Wow, well done you.”
Ollie went back to his jigsaw.
Daniel Williamson worked for Helping Hands and came a couple of times a week to offer respite. He was laid-back and easy-going—the complete opposite of her. She could be hard and spiky, but she put that down as being a big sister who had to grow up defending her younger brother.
She’d got to know Daniel over the past few months, despite her not being there more of the time when he was around. Ollie chatted insistently about his new ‘friend’ and told her everything that Daniel had been doing—the football team he played for on a Friday night, the band he went to see, the takeaways he enjoyed—so even though she didn’t spend much one-on-one time with Daniel, she still felt she knew him. She wondered how much Ollie told Daniel about her and hoped it was nothing embarrassing.
“How was work?” Daniel asked her. Then he saw her face and frowned, concern in his hazel eyes. “Is everything okay? You look tired.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I assume that’s not a compliment.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” He gestured towards her. “You look great. You always look great. Just tired, that’s all.”
She tucked her dyed black hair behind her ears and wished she’d thought to check her eye makeup in the rear-view mirror before she’d got out of the car. It was probably smudged halfway down her face, making her appear even more emo than normal. She was conscious that she probably didn’t fit everyone’s idea of what a detective looked like, and she’d done her best to tone down the style she’d cultivated in her twenties, but she had never been able to bring herself to get rid of it completely.
Ollie was staring at Daniel, trying to work out his reaction. “Daniel is embarrassed.”
Mallory pressed a smile between her lips. It did seem that she had flustered him somewhat. “Yeah, well, work’s really busy right now, and we haven’t been sleeping too well, have we, Ollie?”
Ollie bent his head over his jigsaw. “Sorry, Mallory.”
“It’s okay, bud. It’s not your fault.”
Ollie’s gaze darted towards Daniel. “I’m still having bad dreams.”
Daniel twisted his lips. “About the fire?”
Ollie nodded.
Daniel patted him on the back of the hand. “I’m sure they’ll stop soon.” He got to his feet. “I’ll be back in a couple of days, okay, Ollie? Do you think you’ll have this jigsaw done by then?”
Ollie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll help again if you haven’t, okay?”
“Okay.” Ollie was already back engrossed in finding the next piece, so Daniel left him to it.
Mallory saw Daniel out, but he hesitated at the front door. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it when I said that you looked tired. In my job, I see a lot of carers at breaking point, and it doesn’t help the person they’re taking care of if they do break.”
“I’m not really a carer,” she insisted. “It’s not as though Ollie is sick or anything.”
“No, but he does need you. You have a demanding job on top of taking care of Ollie, and I’m just wondering who is watching out for you.”
“I’m a thirty-one-year-old detective. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“You know I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s okay to be a strong person and still need help sometimes.”
“I get help. You help, and so do our parents. It’s just that no one is here in the night when things get bad.”
“Can your parents stay overnight to give you a break, and maybe you go and stay at theirs?”
She shook her head. “As much as a full night’s sleep sounds like heaven, I don’t want to put that on them. Sometimes when Ollie has the nightmares, it’s like he doesn’t wake up properly and he’s kind of trapped inside them. I don’t think my folks are strong enough—physically or emotionally—to cope with that.”
“There are other—”
She already knew what he was going to say and put up a hand to stop him. “No, I will not be considering any kind of care home for my brother. He’s perfectly independent and was doing great before all of this happened. He’ll get over it. It’s just taking a bit of time.”
“It wouldn’t have to be forever. Just for a short time so you can get a break. It might even do Ollie some good to be out of this house. Like a reset for him. So he’s not constantly thinking about the fire or worrying he might do it again. It might be the worry every day that’s causing the nightmares. Maybe he needs to be somewhere he feels safe.”
“He’s safe here.” She bristled. “He’s safe with me. His confidence has taken a knock, that’s all. I’m not going to palm him off on someone else just because of that.”
“That’s fine, I totally understand. You know Ollie better than anyone and will do what’s best for him. Just don’t forget that you’re important, too.”
He held her gaze for what felt like a fraction too long, and heat flooded her cheeks. She quickly glanced away. “I’d better get back to Ollie.”
“Of course. Take care of yourself.”
She nodded and, after he’d left, closed the door behind him.
What had all that been about?
Daniel was nothing like the sort of man she normally went for. She preferred a big build, tough kind of bloke, where Daniel was slight and fair and softly spoken. Not that any of her previous relationships had been anything to write home about, but then by the time the men found out she was not only a police officer, and normally panicked about whatever stupid shit they might have done when they were younger, but also learned about the important part Ollie played in her life, they tended to run for the hills. She was too serious for them, when all they wanted was a little fun, at least at the start.
“Mallory,” Ma-llor-wee, “I need help.”
She let
out a tired sigh. “Coming, Ollie.”
Chapter Seven
Ryan got into work the following morning.
Conrad Smales had been playing on his mind. Despite circulating his name, no progress had been made overnight in tracking him down. That the man had vanished not long after his son and his ex-wife’s family had been brutally murdered didn’t look good for him, despite there not being a motive they’d uncovered yet. Ryan hoped he had a good reason for going AWOL.
The moment Ryan’s backside touched his chair, the phone on his desk rang.
“DI Chase,” he answered.
“Morning, sir. It’s Ben Glazier. I thought I’d let you know I’ve uploaded what we’ve processed from the crime scene so far, though I suspect we’re going to be at the property for a few days to come. With the size of the house and the number of victims, it’s going to take a while.”
“I understand. Thanks for getting what you have to me.”
“We’ve been working on it all night. I figured it was going to be information you’d need.”
“You’re right, it is. Anything specific of interest?”
“The blood on the clothes Sheldon Wyndham was wearing when he died does belong to the other members of his family. The pattern of the blood isn’t what I would expect, though. It’s been smeared as opposed to sprayed, which is what I’d have expected to see from the wounds on the other victims, especially those sustained by the mother.”
“So, someone could have smeared the blood on him to make it appear as though he was the one responsible?” Ryan checked.
“That’s how it looks to me. The murder weapon made for particularly interesting viewing. The only prints on both the handle and the blade were from Sheldon. If this was a knife he took from his own kitchen, I would have expected to find other family members’ prints on there as well.”
“He wiped it clean before he used it?”
“Possibly.” Ben paused for a moment before continuing. “Also, the prints on the knife were from his right hand, which matches up as he was right-handed. They were positioned in an inverse hold, which is what I’d expect from someone who turned a knife on themselves, but something does bother me.”
