From the Shadows (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book 3)

by Lisa Hartley

  Jo accepted a bowl of pasta from Knight, who rushed off again to open some wine.

  ‘How are you, Catherine?’

  Jo’s tone was light, but Catherine reddened under her gaze. Though she was more relaxed than she had been in days, Jo was a professional, a physician. There would be no fooling her.

  ‘I’ve been better,’ she admitted.

  ‘Have you seen your GP?’

  ‘No. No, not yet.’ She kept her eyes on the bowl on her lap, tears welling in her eyes, her throat tight with the effort of holding herself together.

  Jo leant forward and gently touched Catherine’s hand.

  ‘Do you have someone you can talk to?’

  ‘There’s my brother. There’s Ellie.’ Catherine fumbled in her trouser pocket for a tissue.

  ‘And there’s me, and Jonathan. I know he’s been concerned.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘As long as you know we’re here.’

  ‘I do.’ Catherine got to her feet, clutching the empty bowl. ‘Honestly, Jo – thank you.’

  In the kitchen, Knight was rummaging in a drawer.

  ‘Can’t find the bloody corkscrew.’

  Catherine set her bowl in the sink. ‘Thanks, Jonathan.’ Leaning back against the worktop, she made the decision. ‘You’re right, you know.’ Her voice caught, the words garbled.

  Knight glanced at her. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Forgetting. Moving on.’

  He stared, aware she was talking about more than a previous case. Her smile wobbled, but she fought to keep it in place, ignoring the tears filling her eyes again. Knight turned to pour the wine, giving her space.

  ‘I know why you asked me here tonight,’ she told him.

  ‘I’d made too much pasta sauce.’

  She managed a laugh.

  ‘I should be going. Early start tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll be okay. We’ll see you soon.’

  ‘You will.’

  As she passed, she threw one arm around his shoulders, pressing herself to his back for a second. She shoved her feet into her shoes and called a farewell to Jo before closing the front door behind her.

  Knight took the glasses of wine into the living room where Jo was waiting, concern clear on her face. Knight handed her a glass and sat beside her. He leant closer, resting his head on her shoulder, Jo’s familiar smell and the warmth of her already a comfort. Jess snored at their feet.

  ‘Well?’ Knight mumbled into Jo’s hair.

  She sipped her wine.

  ‘You’re right – she’s struggling. She knows this goes deeper than simply having a bad day.’

  ‘I hope we’ve done the right thing.’

  ‘Her working with a different team, you mean?’

  ‘Maybe it was a bad idea.’ Knight hadn’t given Jo any detail, but he needed reassurance.

  ‘After seeing her tonight, I understand why you’re worried,’ Jo said. ‘But we can’t help her until she’s ready to ask us to, Jonathan.’ She slid her arm around him, drawing him closer. ‘She’ll be okay. She’s pretty tough.’

  Knight laughed. ‘You think?’

  9

  Jasmine’s rucksack was thrown on the bed she’d been allocated. Ghislaine saw it as she was folding her clothes and called to her friend, who was brushing her teeth in the bathroom next door.

  ‘Jas? Do you want me to shove your bag in a locker?’

  Immediately, Jasmine was at the door, glaring, her toothbrush clenched in her fist like a weapon.

  ‘No. Mind your own business.’

  Ghislaine stared at her, shocked. ‘All right. I only asked.’

  Jasmine marched forward, abruptly bending forward until her face was level with Ghislaine’s.

  ‘Don’t ever touch my stuff. Are you listening to me?’

  Ghislaine took a step backwards, keenly aware of Jasmine’s considerable height and weight advantage.

  ‘Yeah, okay. Forget I said anything.’

  There was a cough in the corridor and the female night support worker stuck her head around the door.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  Jasmine’s snarl was gone, an easy smile taking its place. Shaken, Ghislaine sat on the chair standing between the two beds.

  ‘Yeah, we’re getting into bed,’ Jasmine told her. The support worker was clearly unconvinced. She had a phone in her hand, ready to call her male colleague from the men’s rooms above if necessary.

  ‘Ghislaine?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Goodnight.’

  She got to her feet and pulled back the duvet. Jasmine watched as Ghislaine got into bed and turned to face the wall. Soon, the light snapped off, and there was silence. After a while, Jasmine said, ‘Ghis? I’m sorry.’

  Ghislaine pulled the duvet higher, wiping the tears from her eyes in one quick movement.

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Go to sleep, Jas.’

  Later, she lay awake, loneliness coursing through her like a drug. Jasmine grunted and turned over with a deep snore. Ghislaine closed her eyes, willing sleep to come but knowing it wouldn’t. She raised her head to gaze over at Jasmine. She couldn’t trust her after all. The truth of it hit her hard, her face contorting as though she were in physical pain.

  She was left with no one.

  10

  Catherine had woken early, thrown a few items of clothing into a holdall without stopping to think. A woman hurriedly leaving an abusive partner wouldn’t have the opportunity to consider every item in her wardrobe, and why should Catherine? She left a note for Thomas in the kitchen explaining she would be away on a training course for a few days, and quietly left the house. He would have risen early and given her a lift to the train station if she had asked him, but she didn’t want to have to lie to him about her whereabouts. She didn’t know if Anna had spent the night with Thomas or not, but Knight and Kendrick would no doubt find a way to explain her absence in the morning briefing. It was out of her hands. There was a small tingle of relief as she realised she was taking a break from her responsibilities, her caseload, her life. From the second she had opened her eyes this morning, she had assumed her new identity. The idea was reassuring. Pressing pause on the life of Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop of Northolme Police Station was an attractive idea.

  *

  It was a cold, bright morning with frost glinting on the pavements, the grass verges white and crisp. The sun had made an appearance, hovering as if undecided whether to stay or to disappear again. Catherine huddled further into her coat as she walked, the icy air biting at her face. Her bag was heavy, and she already wished she had packed a rucksack instead. She strode through the shopping complex in Northolme’s town centre, passing bleary-eyed office workers streaming towards the local council building. One or two shops were already open, and Catherine stopped at a bakery for a cup of tea and a bacon roll. Before the bowl of pasta Knight had prepared for her the previous evening, she couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed the food she had eaten. Tried to eat. Every meal lately had the culinary appeal of stale bread and water, even the food at the Italian restaurant. She had to admit though, the bacon sandwich tasted good.

  At the station, she had a short wait for the train in a draughty shelter by the platform, her hands now feeling frozen around the handle of her bag. A few other people were waiting for the train, students or people who worked in Lincoln. An elderly couple waited nearby, well wrapped in thick woollen coats, gloves and scarves. They stood close together, holding hands, and Catherine turned away with a smile. There had been relationships in her past of course, but they had dwindled away, the initial excitement replaced by a kind of inertia. All wrong. There had been someone with whom she had imagined a future, but she hadn’t been who she had seemed to be. Catherine had fallen in love with an illusion, a mistake she didn’t intend to repeat. Dolan was a senior officer, no doubt a straight one. The reaction Catherine had experienced meant no more than catching the eye of
an attractive stranger in the street, passing them, and going on with your day. What about Ellie? Should she have phoned to explain she was going away? But Ellie would want to talk about what had happened in the hotel corridor, and Catherine wasn’t ready to yet. Her behaviour had been poor, and there was no excuse. Ellie deserved a proper explanation, but how could Catherine give one when she didn’t understand the reason for her reluctance herself? No, best to leave it for now. Anyway, the train was approaching. Catherine stepped out onto the platform, refusing to acknowledge her own cowardice.

  *

  ‘Morning, Maggie.’ Jasmine lifted her hand in a jaunty wave as she and Ghislaine swept by the older woman who stood at the admin desk, leafing through a pile of letters.

  ‘Hello, you two. What are you doing today?’ Maggie looked tired, Ghislaine noted, her stringy hair even more windswept than usual.

  ‘Off to the job centre,’ Jasmine replied.

  ‘Excellent. Well, good luck.’

  Jasmine snorted as they clumped down the stairs.

  ‘“Good luck”. As soon as anyone sees ‘Care of Phoenix House’ on our application forms, they’ll chuck them straight in the bin.’

  Ghislaine considered pointing out that most applications were completed online these days, but decided against it.

  ‘You never know, Jas,’ she said instead. ‘Someone might give us a chance.’

  ‘It’s all right for you with your clean record and your big eyes,’ Jasmine sneered as they crossed the road. She put on a high-pitched, lisping voice: ‘“Go on, please give me a job, I’ll be ever so good”.’

  Ghislaine bared her teeth, but when she spoke her voice was steady. ‘You’re the one with the qualifications, not me.’

  Jasmine tossed her hair and pouted. ‘Yeah, well maybe we make a good team,’ she relented. She patted her jeans pocket. ‘Come on, let’s get a hot chocolate. My treat.’

  *

  He entered the shop and stood behind them, enjoying the view. Jasmine was taller, fit and lithe with a body he’d like to explore. The other one was slim, verging on skinny, scurrying along beside her friend like a puppy eager to please. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Jasmine was doing most of the talking. No change there. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze on Jasmine’s arse. He smiled to himself. Perk of the job.

  He watched Jasmine take two paper cups from the woman behind the counter, handing them to Ghislaine while she fumbled for her money.

  ‘Wait, I’ll get these.’

  They both turned, surprised, as he strode towards the counter. He knew they’d seen him at the shelter, but he was new, he’d only stayed one night. He’d have to work hard to gain their trust.

  Jasmine eyed him with suspicion.

  ‘We can pay for our own.’

  ‘I know you can. I’m being neighbourly.’

  ‘Have you been following us?’ Jasmine sipped her drink, glaring at him over the rim of the cup.

  ‘As if. I saw you through the window, thought I’d stop and say hello.’ He handed over a folded note, his last fiver, and waited for his meagre change. ‘Shall we have a seat?’

  Jasmine shook her head. ‘We’re fine standing.’

  He raised his eyebrows, flashed Ghislaine a mocking grin. ‘What’s wrong, can’t you speak for yourself?’

  She said nothing, holding her cup in both hands, watching him steadily. Irritated, he shook his head and turned back to Jasmine. ‘I’ll talk to you. At least you’ve got the decency to reply.’

  Jasmine thrust her chin towards him. ‘Leave Ghis alone. You know nothing about her.’

  ‘I know she’s got no manners.’ Instantly, he berated himself for the dig. Winding them up wasn’t going to help. Ghislaine straightened her back, looking him in the eye.

  ‘I’m sorry. Thank you for the drink.’

  He nodded, confused, as she held his gaze. Grey-blue eyes, not cold, but appraising. Intelligent. He blinked, realising he’d misjudged her, having decided before she was some kind of half-wit. He’d watched her in the shelter’s television room the night before, curled up in a chair and hardly speaking. He’d have to keep an eye on her after all.

  ‘Come on, are we going to sit?’ He adopted a friendlier tone.

  Jasmine took a long swallow from her cup before bothering to reply. ‘We’re not, but don’t let us stop you. What do you want?’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘We’ve seen you at the shelter. Doesn’t mean we’re friends.’

  ‘Do you know my name?’

  Drinking the last of her hot chocolate, Jasmine scrunched the cup in her fist. ‘Lee. And?’

  He sighed. ‘Look, I’ve heard one of the people who’ve stayed at Phoenix House recently is dead.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s not a secret.’

  ‘It doesn’t worry you?’

  Jasmine was already turning away. ‘Worry me? Why should it? Risk you take when you inject. See you.’

  He stared after them, his mind working. Ghislaine. Quiet, but watchful, alert. Maybe she’d be more talkative if they were alone, if he didn’t give her the opportunity to walk away from him.

  He clenched his jaw. Time to plan.

  *

  Catherine approached the church nervously, clutching her bag close, convincing herself everyone would realise she was a police officer as soon as she stepped through the door. People could tell, couldn’t they?

  Having spent the morning trudging around the city centre, aimlessly examining window displays, she was ready for some hot food and a rest.

  Her own mobile, the one she shouldn’t have brought with her, had buzzed for a while earlier. She guessed it was Thomas, calling to ask where she was and why she hadn’t told him about her “course” before. She had ignored it, knowing she would have to find a place to ring him back in private.

  Hopefully, Knight and Kendrick would have explained her absence to the team of officers at Northolme by now and Anna would be able to reassure Thomas all was well. Catherine knew she should have told him, perhaps even confided in him, told him the real reason for her sudden disappearance. She swallowed, pushing away the rush of guilt which rose in her throat. No, it was better Thomas didn’t know. He had given her one concerned glance too many recently. He would have tried to dissuade her, and she might even have listened.

  The crawling sensation was back, creeping along her arms and across her cheeks like a rash. She stopped, raised a hand to her face and touched her skin with her fingertips.

  Hearing footsteps clattering on the tiles behind her, Catherine started. How long had she been standing there? She lifted her head as two young women strolled in and passed her, their glances curious. Could these be the residents of Phoenix House Dolan had mentioned? The taller woman stopped, and her friend followed suit.

  ‘All right? Are you here for some food?’

  Catherine let out a croak, cleared her throat and managed to reply. ‘I was told there’d be soup?’

  The woman pointed to a closed door, her fingernails painted a vivid purple, glittering under the meagre light.

  ‘This way.’

  The only other options were a door labelled “Ladies” and a substantial stone archway leading to what was obviously the church itself, but Catherine appreciated their friendliness.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’ They moved off.

  Still, Catherine hesitated. She could turn back, contact DCI Dolan and tell her she had made a mistake, she was not the person for this job. What had she been thinking, anyway? She was barely functioning in her own role, how could she expect to take on a new one, as well as a new persona? The face she saw in the mirror no longer felt her own. Her body wasn’t reliable either, twitching and pulsing with strange, unfamiliar sensations. Why shouldn’t she be someone else for a while, when the transformation had already started without her consent?

  Catherine lifted her chin, remembering Isla Rafferty’s sneer.

  *

  Lentil. Of all flavours
, they were serving lentil. Catherine watched the beige liquid gloop off the ladle and into the cup, telling herself not to be ungrateful. She smiled as she thanked the woman who was serving and turned to look for a table, keen to sit alone if possible. Not only because she imagined the woman she was portraying would avoid company on her first visit to the soup kitchen, but because she would find it more comfortable. Her task was to chat to people and befriend them, but she also had to play her part convincingly. Interrogating people wouldn’t be helpful.

  The room was rectangular, a typical church hall with cream-painted walls displaying various posters and children’s artwork, perhaps from Sunday School activities. The wooden flooring was scuffed in places, and the tables and benches were battered, but the place had an air of welcome. As Catherine slid onto a bench, she saw a man wearing casual trousers, a woollen sweater and a white cleric’s collar enter the room. His eyes travelled over the twenty or so people who were tucking into their soup before coming to rest on Catherine. She swallowed a mouthful of bread as he approached.

  ‘Hello there. I don’t remember seeing you before? I’m Joel Rushford.’

  Rushford. He had given a statement too, brief and vague, like the others. He was in his early forties, she would guess. Handsome. His voice was distinctive, quiet but with a musical quality. Was it natural, deliberate, or a result of years standing before a congregation? Rushford slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, waiting.

  ‘I heard I could get some food,’ Catherine said.

  He smiled, his teeth straight and white.

  ‘Well, we offer support too, but yes. As you’ve discovered, there’s a hot meal available every weekday, sandwiches at the weekend. And you can drop in anytime for a cup of tea and a chat.’

  ‘A chat?’

  He nodded, maintaining eye contact.

  ‘Some people find it helps. Keep it in mind, we’re here to help. Will you need a bed tonight?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Okay. There’s a homeless shelter, you can try there – I’ll get you a leaflet.’