by Tara Lyons
‘Where’s your daughter?’
Valerie flapped her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. ‘No, that’s not what I mean. I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to understand what multiple personalities means, how a person develops it — how my baby developed it — and, most importantly, why the hell I didn’t realise what was going on. But I'm stumped with all of those questions. Since the day I became a mother, I made that role my life. Forfeited nights out, relationships with friends and lovers, gave up the chance on my dream job. Those were my choices, I wanted to live like that because I wanted my baby girl to have all of me. And it paid off because she turned out to be my best friend. When she started working at the theatre, my heart burst with pride. I knew how much she wanted it, and she had gone for it with all she had. I just …’
Dixon moved forward on the sofa, closing the gap between herself and Valerie. ‘I understand how you’re feeling, but—’
‘Is your daughter a murderer?’
She shook her head, locked in on Valerie’s expressionless eyes — despite the interruption — and continued. ‘I do have a daughter, and can only imagine what you’ve been through and what you’re going through again now.’
‘How can I know every single detail about the disorder that stole my daughter, yet still know so little about the reasoning behind why she did what she did? You know, I didn’t believe it for months after Grace had been arrested … assumed your lot had made a huge mistake. But there was one day in court.’ Valerie turned her head and gazed out of the window. ‘Something about the way she continually scratched her palm, like a twitch, and then I remembered reading how these alter personalities literally become a different person with their own ways, their own habits, even their own accents and sexuality and gender. And that’s when I heard it too, the sweetness of Grace’s voice laced with … with evil.’
Dixon waited until Valerie’s focus returned to the present. ‘That was something you’d never noticed before?’
A deep grumble escaped Valerie’s lips and silent tears fell as she spoke. ‘I don’t know, it’s just so difficult to look back, to try and remember … remember when and why. All those people, who the police say Grace … you know … well, all those people who were murdered around the time my father passed away.’
‘It was cancer, wasn’t it?’
Valerie nodded. ‘Grace and I watched the man we loved, a fighter who taught us both to be strong and independent, fade away to someone who needed help going to the toilet. Where’s the dignity? Fucking cancer.’ She paused to wipe her jumper across her cheeks. ‘Grace said that a lot after he died. She was as close to my father as if he were her own. So, you’re asking me to examine my daughter’s behaviour at a time of utter grief. Yes, she had changed; mood swings, heavy drinking, undeniable anger at everyone and everything. But, throughout that time, there were also the familiar warm hugs, laughter, reminiscing together and gentle tears. Anything out of the ordinary, I attributed to grief. We all grieve in different ways, Sergeant.’
‘Yes, you’re right, Valerie, but I’m afraid we’re not here today to discuss last year’s events. We’re here because last night your daughter escaped Manor Hall Hospital.’
‘And killed another person, you say?’
‘Yes, one of the night shift security guards.’
Valerie inhaled sharply and asked for his name.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t share that information with you at this time. The family are being informed and it wouldn’t be right—’
‘Why hasn’t it been on the news?’
Dixon wondered briefly if the questions were a stalling technique, but when she looked into Valerie’s tear-rimmed blue eyes, the pain tugged at her heart. Sabrina and Ali, her own children, flashed in her mind, and she could imagine herself asking as many questions or attempting to decipher her muddled memories just as Valerie did now. Whether a mechanism to deal with the inconceivable pain or the hope that knowledge would shield the oncoming blows, Dixon couldn’t decide which, but she did empathise with the lost mother sat in front of her.
‘A media embargo, for now, has been put in place,’ Dixon explained. ‘However, we realise it won’t take long at all for a journalist to get wind of the escape and the hospital grounds will become a circus. Names will be protected until our say so is given and then, at that time, I’m sure there’ll be a press conference because … we have reason to believe Grace has kidnapped one of our colleagues.’
Dixon ignored Valerie’s wide eyes and open mouth and continued blowing the punches; not a job she relished, but if the mother had any information whatsoever, she’d do anything necessary to get the woman to talk. Valerie stood and paced the room, shaking her head the entire time Dixon informed her about Fraser, the slaughtered cat and the handwritten note.
Valerie finally flew back into the armchair, hunched her back and rested her elbows on her knees. Clasping her hands together, in an imitation of prayer, she exhaled between pursed lips. ‘I can’t believe this … that she would …’
‘When did you last see Grace?’ Dixon asked.
‘It’s been months.’ Valerie sucked in her cheeks and over-blinked her eyelashes in a bid to hold more tears at bay, Dixon surmised. ‘Before the hospital, I saw Grace as often as I was allowed, trying to comfort her however I could. Then, after she transferred to Manor Hall, I had to wait until she was settled … or something like that. The first time I visited, she told me not to come back until she requested I did.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
Valerie shrugged, looking everywhere but Dixon’s eyes. ‘She said it was to do with her treatment. That distractions from the outside world wouldn’t help her process everything, but …’
‘You didn’t believe that?’
‘She looked so sad, and angry, and confused … all those emotions, all at once, I could see it all in her eyes. I could see the pain … I … I don’t know, I hadn’t seen it before. Grace wasn’t herself when I visited her there, but the doctors were no help. At the end of the day, my daughter was serving a sentence and if I had no visiting order, I couldn’t get in the place.’
‘You may not have seen Grace, but in the past five months, have you had any phone conversations with her or letters sent between the two of you?’
Valerie shook her head and folded her arms, leaning back in the chair once again. ‘Nothing from Grace. I’ve written a letter every week, just to tell her how much I love her and that I’m here for her, but there’s been no replies.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Dixon said, and she truly meant it. However, as much as she felt Valerie’s parental pain, she couldn’t let it cloud the job expected of her — and, therefore, she didn’t share details about the officers stationed outside surveilling the woman's house. ‘Is there anyone you can contact? Someone who could come and be with you, perhaps?’
‘I had just got off the phone to Grace’s father before you turned up. He’ll be over shortly.’
Dixon rose from the sofa and handed Valerie her card, asking her to call immediately if she heard from Grace, or if she remembered anything significant that could help the police find her daughter.
‘She isn’t an evil person,’ Valerie whispered.
Dixon peered over her shoulder before leaving the room. But she is a murderer, she thought with a pinch to her heart.
16
Hamilton turned in his office chair and glanced out of the window. The rain has finally passed and left a clear, inky-blue night sky to cover London. Street lamps and office lights from the surrounding buildings illuminated his high view of the city. A city that never sleeps — he thinks of how well that old saying describes his home town.
He can’t quite believe how the day has escaped in a flash; now Saturday night and not much further along than what they were at the beginning of the day. A text message beep from his phone distracts him and he suddenly thinks of Elizabeth, who he hasn’t replied to since before he visited the mortuary. With Clarke and Dixon re
turning to the station any minute, he takes a moment to call his wife.
After the usual apologies and mumblings about the importance of his latest case, Hamilton paused, confused by Elizabeth’s uncharacteristic silence.
‘So, how are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘What are you plans for tonight?’
‘Nothing.’
He sighed. After all this time, he knew Elizabeth understood the reasons he fled from the house at a moment’s notice so often, but must she guilt trip him with silence and short answers? On the other hand, he thought, how would he feel if the shoe was on the other foot?
‘Look, I can’t keep apologising.’
‘I really needed to speak to you this weekend, Denis. It was important,’ she blurted, and he heard her voice catch in her throat.
‘Oh, love. It’s just—’
‘I thought I was late.’
He frowned, thrown by his wife’s interruption. ‘Late for what?’
Elizabeth sighed heavily, and he could picture her rolling her eyes. ‘Denis, I thought my period was late. I thought I was pregnant.’
Hamilton’s own eyes grew wider with every word she said. He tried to speak, but his lips ended up mirroring that of a tropical fish sucking oxygen through the water. To call this unexpected would have been an understatement, he thought. Granted, he panged to once again have that father-daughter relationship, perhaps even more so recently after watching his friend Billy with young Amelia. But to admit that out loud, to Elizabeth, felt like a betrayal to Maggie, and so he never spoke of them adding to their family.
When he said nothing, Elizabeth cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, I went to see the GP—’
‘What?’ he blurted; his wife had his attention again. ‘How could you not tell me, but you had time to get to the doctors?’
‘It’s not me who doesn’t have the time to talk, Denis.’ The fact he heard no menace in Elizabeth’s voice was the real slap to the face.
‘You’re right, I’m sorry, love. Work still takes priority, doesn’t it? No matter how much I like to think I’ve changed since Maggie left us … But, anyway, you’ve been now. To the doctors. What did he say? Are you?’
‘No,’ Elizabeth replied abruptly. ‘I’m not pregnant, Denis.’
‘Oh.’ He didn’t know how he felt, but there was a swishing sensation whirling in his stomach.
‘It’s premature menopause.’
Hamilton’s mind turned another corner in this maze of a conversation. ‘Well, that can’t be right. We’ll get a second opinion. You’re not even forty yet, for crying out loud.’
‘Yes, therein lies the premature part of the diagnosis, Denis. It’s not very common, one in a hundred women, the doctor said, and there’s varying reasons as to why this happens …’ Elizabeth trailed off and matched her husband’s silence.
Uncharacteristically, Hamilton was speechless, and he hated himself for it. A pin-like prick continually jabbed his head, urging him to say something to his wife, but what could he say? He was sorry. But what exactly was he sorry for — what Elizabeth now had to go through, or the fact that the possibility of more children had now come to an end? He hated himself again, this wasn’t about him. His selfishness irritated his mind.
‘Adoption is always an option,’ she blurted out again and took him by surprise. For a second, he wondered if he had uttered his own thoughts out loud.
‘What?’ he replied, managing to sound rude and abrupt.
Elizabeth released a long sigh into his ear, a sad and exhausted sounding one. ‘Oh, Denis, I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just, maybe this has finally made me realise I do want another child. No, that’s a lie, I think I’ve always known, but I couldn’t say it out loud. How could I? It would have felt like I was trying to replace Maggie, and I couldn’t have …’
Hamilton’s mind shattered into a million thoughts; how could he not have known his wife had always wanted another child? Had his guilt over losing Maggie been the reason Elizabeth hadn’t told him? Could they seriously consider raising a child, who wasn’t biologically theirs, after everything they’d been through?
‘Denis.’
His wife’s melodic voice brought him back into focus, but the image of his daughter’s face never faded from his mind. Right now, he couldn’t confess that the idea of more children had indeed crossed his mind in recent weeks.
‘Elizabeth, I…I’m—’
‘Denis, don’t.’ He heard the smile in her voice. ‘Listen, I’m fine, and anything else we need to discuss can be done another time. This really isn’t a conversation to have over the phone, and I probably shouldn’t have said anything … but I couldn’t go another day without you at least knowing.’
‘Do you need me to come home?’ he asked while peering into the main incident room to find his team forming a group around the white board. ‘I’ll come if you need me.’
‘No, you won’t.’ She paused, but there was no deep sigh, malice or blame. Instead, she continued with a softness in her tone. ‘I’m fine, Denis, I promise. You’re needed there more than here, so go do what you do and stop that woman from hurting anyone else and make sure you bring Kerry back safe and sound.’
Hamilton had never wanted to hug his wife more than he did in that moment. He could have argued her point about not needing him at home, but it would have been fruitless, they both knew that. So, he agreed, told Elizabeth he loved her and ended the call before her sweet voice hammered another hole into his heart.
Once Hamilton had joined his team in the office — as well as the many officers who had now been added to the investigation — Clarke and Dixon gave updates about their questioning with Valerie Murphy and Natasha Holten. Information and action points, including interviewing Grace’s father, were posted on the white board, and Hamilton confirmed he wanted surveillance to stay on the two women. He found it hard to believe Murphy wouldn’t reach out to them. Hamilton then updated the team about a possible press conference scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning.
‘There appears to be some outrage from the victim’s family about a cover up,’ he explained.
Dixon was the first with a question. ‘Are the family aware Manor Hall Hospital homed criminals who were serving a custodial sentence?’
Hamilton shrugged. ‘How much they know is unclear. But they’re not impressed with Mr Hardy’s name being glanced over, which is prompting them to ask questions.’
‘Understandable. So how much information will be given to the press?’
‘DCI Allen is in a meeting about all of that right now. We’ll know more shortly, but the feeling is we’ll launch a search appeal for Grace Murphy.’
Rocky bolted up in his chair. ‘Won’t that put Kerry in jeopardy? What if Murphy runs, and we haven’t found her yet, or what if she …’ Though the constable's sentence trailed off, it was clear to Hamilton what he had meant. Fraser’s life could very well be in danger if Murphy’s mug-shot was plastered all over the news.
‘Well, we have tonight to do as much digging as possible and hopefully find their location,’ Hamilton said, hoping he had subtly side-stepped Rocky’s question. ‘The desk sergeant has already ordered in some food, but don’t think that’s opportunity to sit on your laurels. Eat and work. Comb through the old case files and see if there’s anything we have missed so far, maybe another friend Murphy could have turned to for support. And I don’t care what time it is, get her father brought in ASAP.’
While Rocky was handed the baton to update the room on his findings, Hamilton took a seat at a nearby table. He steepled his fingers and blew a long puff of air through them, his heartbeat quickening at the impending situation.
The young sergeant placed a map of Central London on an empty white board — a map he had clearly been working on. Various circles graffitied the paper and Rocky explained they contained ANPR cameras that had captured Fraser’s car in the past twenty-four hours.
‘Christ, she’s been busy?’ PC Shand shouted
from the back of the room.
‘Why do you think she’s driving all over town?’ PC Goldberg added.
‘She’s not,’ Rocky snapped. ‘It’s Murphy.’
This time, Shand raised a hand before speaking. ‘To put us off the scent, perhaps?’
Rocky nodded. ‘Exactly that. The car has been driven within a mile of this bloody station. Covent Garden, Hyde Park, Soho. All over, really. Murphy isn’t stupid; if we went by these sightings, we’d be chasing our own tails for hours, days even.’
‘So what’s the plan?’ Another officer asked.
‘I’ve focused on the very last sighting I could find of the car, about two hours ago, just here …’ Rocky pointed to the map. ‘And I’m looking into possible directions of travel.’
‘What if it’s not Murphy at all?’ Dixon threw in. ‘What if she paid some kid to joyride the car around for the day while she’s been making a run for it in the opposite direction?’
Rocky’s eyebrows flew upwards. ‘Well … I don’t know … I guess that’s a possibility I hadn’t thought of,’ he stuttered, as the room came alive with mumblings and theories from the other officers.
Hamilton pulled himself up from the chair. Whether it was his six-foot stature or his contorted expression that silenced them again, he didn’t know, but he was pleased for the respect nonetheless.
‘While it’s an excellent observation, Dixon, I don’t think it’s the correct one.’ He raised a hand to cut off her counterargument and continued with his thoughts. ‘Rocky, I also think we’re wasting time looking at where Murphy could have possibly travelled to from the last sighting.’
‘Why?’ a lone voice called from the sea of officers.
Hamilton glanced at Clarke, who simply answered the question with, ‘Because she’s still in London.’
Glad his partner had jumped on the same train of thought, an internal buzz of hope spread through Hamilton like the first rays of sunshine warming his face on a summer’s morning. He unclasped his hands and bounded over to the white board.
