The Stranger Within

by Tara Lyons

  ‘Well, come on,’ Rocky snapped, ‘what does it say this time?’

  One by one, Hamilton looked at each of his team in their eyes and then focused back on the paper. He exhaled a deep sigh before mustering the energy to read out loud. ‘If you’re reading this, Inspector and friends, you made it in time before this godforsaken place burnt to a crisp. Shame, really. But even still, once again, you were too late, but I’ll give you a round of applause for good effort. Sadly, a good effort won’t save your friend. Don’t you want to see her alive? Have you not worked all of this out yet? I’ll give you one more chance. Just one. For now, this means you’re too close to me and the curtain hasn’t risen on the final act just yet, so I’ve had to move on. Yes, your precious sergeant is still alive … I can’t promise how long that will last with the amount of fucking questions she asks, though. However, it’s almost Sunday. A day of rest. I mean, even God rested on the seventh day, right? But it's more important than that; it's the day I've been waiting for. So that’s the only time we have left. Tomorrow, Inspector.’

  Despite the crashing and banging of the firearms unit and other officers, the four of them remained silent. The piece of paper, gripped in Hamilton’s fingers, took centre stage in front of all of them.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Rocky asked, his tone no more than a whisper.

  ‘If we don’t find Fraser tomorrow, there’s a chance we never will.’ Hamilton clenched his teeth, screwed the paper into a ball and stormed out of the auditorium.

  19

  Hamilton threw a folder on the office table, ignoring it as it continued to skid along, sending papers flying into the air and onto the floor. The noise in the incident room hitched up a level as the officers piled back in, all preparing for a debrief of the raid and all disappointed with their wasted efforts. Though he stood like a statue watching his exhausted team, his feet unsure where to take him, Hamilton’s mind whizzed like an aircraft propeller; each question and image and thought spinning and merging with the next, his mind unable to settle on one.

  DCI Allen shouted Hamilton’s name and tipped his head in the direction of the corridor before leaving the office as swiftly as he’d entered it. A lifebuoy had been thrown and Hamilton grabbed it with both hands. Saying nothing to the officers crowding the incident room, Hamilton followed his superior and welcomed the coolness of the empty space.

  ‘This is a shambles, Denis,’ Allen fired off as soon as the pair had walked out of ear shot of the office. ‘How in God’s name did this happen? Didn’t you cover all your bases before sending teams of officers into that building? Had you no intelligence of whether your suspect was in the theatre or not?’

  The two men, similar in six-foot stature, stopped and glared at each other. The questions continued. Hamilton’s hovercraft mind finally came to a stop and he focused on Allen’s round face growing redder and redder the more he spoke. He threw his hand up and watched the horror cloud Allen’s face as the interruption froze him mid-sentence. Although Allen was a fair boss, hardly ever poking into Hamilton’s decision and always allowing him to guide his team as he saw fit, the entire station knew you never interrupted the stout and stubborn DCI from Cork.

  But it was too late for Hamilton. He lowered his hand and let it shake beside him, his chest rose and fell furiously in front of him and he snorted a puff of air before he spoke. ‘Yes, sir, how in God’s name did this happen?’

  Allen frowned. ‘What—?’

  ‘I’ll tell you how it started, and then you can tell me why you think my team are to blame.’

  ‘Now you wait one minute, Denis—’

  Hamilton’s hand reacted again, this time a steady palm flying up to Allen’s face. ‘A convicted murderer’s lawyer uses the disguise of mental health issues to get her a pass at a safe-haven where she could enjoy nice chats with a chilled out doctor, be free to wander around a stately home and—’

  ‘You hold on one second, Denis.’ Allen wagged his finger in the direction of Hamilton’s hand. ‘Manor Hall Hospital is not a safe-haven as you so blasé put it. It is a government institution for … for … ill criminals to serve their sentences in a protected environment.’

  Hamilton threw both hands in the air now. ‘A trial government institution, that no one seems to have known about … certainly no one I’ve spoken to … and it sounds like not even you’re sure what or who that place is for. Sir.’

  ‘I’m well aware—’

  ‘Of the key cards and small access points?’ Hamilton snapped. ‘Don’t label something as a secure institution for criminals and then have inexperienced security guards chilling out on the night shift and informal doctors prancing around in their trainers. Whoever set this up might like to think that mental health issues or disabilities or illnesses make these criminals less of a threat, but the truth of the matter is that building, filled with murderers, rapists, drug dealers and paedophiles, is not conducting itself under the Prison Service Instructions. Jesus Christ, at the very least, where are the officers and actual keys to lock the damn doors? And because of that … Grace Murphy killed a man, escaped and is now driving round London with her middle finger up at us for kicks. And that, sir, is how in God’s name this all happened.’

  ‘Denis, I understand your frustrations, but with job cuts and the like …’ Allen sighed, stopped defending the situation and looked Hamilton square in the eyes. ‘Yes, it was still a trial and Manor Hall Hospital is a facility that … and I hate to say this because it sounds like a huge cliché … was on a strictly need-to-know basis.’

  ‘I think I, and every officer who makes an arrest, have the right to know where that criminal is held. Although, I’m no fool, so please don’t treat me as one, sir. Manor Hall Hospital has continued to slip under the radar because of the press and community. The uproar it would cause from the locals would be problematic, shall we say, for the force. Correct?’

  Allen tipped his head once more, and the pair walked along to the end of the corridor and stopped at the small square window overlooking London’s Charing Cross. Allen puffed his cheeks and wrought his hands together. ‘Whether you’re correct or not, Denis, is neither here nor there.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A press conference is taking place at 7am in the hunt for Grace Murphy.’

  Hamilton glanced at his watch: five hours. ‘Full disclosure?’

  ‘The press team are working on the wording and logistics about what to share regarding Manor Hall Hospital,’ Allen said, a seriousness darkening his face as he leaned closer into Hamilton’s personal space. ‘But, Denis, whatever qualms you have about this place, put it to one side for now and concentrate on catching that woman.’

  Hamilton flinched. ‘That woman has kidnapped a member of my team. Of your bloody team, sir. Don’t for one moment think that is not my top priority.’

  Allen held his hands up in surrender for a moment before nodding his head. ‘Yes, yes, I know. I’ve requested a couple of officers from Kent Constabulary visit Fraser’s parents at the crack of dawn. They’ll stay with them during the press conference. I suggest you and your team get some shut eye and refuel in the next few hours too.’

  DCI Allen patted Hamilton’s shoulder as he walked away, with the gait of a professional soldier, and climbed the stairs to his own office. Hamilton stared into the void, his mind turned from propeller to black abyss in moments. It was the flash of Fraser’s face that pulled him from the wreckage.

  While he knew conferences and appeals aided so many investigations, Hamilton worried that all this press could have come too late. Thinking over the words on Murphy’s last note, he knew they didn’t have time to be chasing down hundreds of possible sightings or taking calls from the public. He rushed back to the incident room, his brain in full circulation once again, and split the officers into teams, telling them to get a couple hours of rest in the interim. His own team of three, like him, refused to slowed down.

  ‘Right, guv,’ Dixon said when the four of them had
regrouped at the white board. ‘Before the raid, you said you wanted Murphy’s father brought in.’

  ‘Damn it, yes, I—’

  Dixon shot her hand up and stopped his flow; he light-heartedly grunted at life’s karma. ‘Well, I remembered that after questioning Valerie Murphy she said Grace’s father was on his way to her house.’

  ‘Brilliant, let’s get over there.’

  ‘No need,’ the DS continued, ‘while you were with the DCI, I contacted the surveillance team outside the Murphy residence and they’re bringing him in now.’

  ‘Right, I want some background on this guy before I have a chat with him.’

  Rocky hunched over a near-by keyboard and spoke to the computer screen. ‘I’m already on top of that, boss.’

  ‘Good work.’ Hamilton beamed, impressed with the initiative of his team. ‘What do we know?’

  ‘Not too much, but still more than what we had a few hours ago,’ Rocky replied, and once comfortable in his chair, he continued to read. ‘Thomas Billows, now a driver technician for Crawford Limited, one of the largest vehicle logistics companies that services the UK, he’s actually worked for them for almost thirty years in different roles.’

  Hamilton nodded. ‘So that confirms what Natasha Holten said about the father being on the road a lot, worked more than he was at home. Okay, what else?’

  ‘No parking fines, no arrests, no county court judgements.’

  ‘A law-abiding citizen … they still exist, then,’ Clarke quipped.

  ‘Apparently so,’ Rocky continued. ‘The man owns no properties and his last known address is still documented as Valerie Murphy’s home. The newspapers barely commented on his presence during his daughter’s trial last year, focusing more on the mother who Grace actually lived with. I guess the press assumed he wasn’t on the family scene.’

  Hamilton’s eyes ran over the white board for a few moments, his team silently watching him, until he asked, ‘Any social media presence?’

  ‘A Facebook account, but it’s slim on updates and postings. I couldn’t find anything of interest at a quick glance.’

  ‘Dig a bit deeper,’ Hamilton requested. ‘Check out his list of friends and see if any of those match up with Murphy’s, then thoroughly look at any of his photos … I’m not sure what for, but …’

  ‘Anything suspicious. I get it, boss.’

  Hamilton turned around, nodding his head to Rocky’s comment and folding his arms over his chest. ‘Clarke, check out the financial side of things, will you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Grace Murphy isn’t stupid, and it seems even less so when her alter personality is running things. We don’t know what her plan is, but we’re concluding we’ve got twenty-four hours until Fraser stops becoming useful to her. Why is that? Is she leaving the country? We know she wanted to escape to Spain before. Perhaps holding Fraser hostage has been to keep us focused on that, rather than the bigger picture of her fleeing London. But, whatever it is, she’ll need money.’

  ‘You think someone’s helping her?’ Clarke asked.

  ‘It’s the only explanation,’ he replied with a heavy sigh. ‘Check for any abnormalities in withdrawals, purchases or transfers. Her father, mother, friends … anyone at this point. Murphy must have received funds somehow, and I want to know from who. We’ve been duped by this woman before, I won’t let it happen again. I won’t let her take another innocent life … especially not when she’s messing with one of our own.’

  20

  Half an hour later, Hamilton and Dixon were sitting across from Thomas Billows in the interview room. The man’s forehead etched into a deep frown, and his small dark eyes were a stark contrast to his pale oblong face. He drummed his fingers on the table rhythmically, drawing the attention of the two officers to his dirty fingernails. He kept eye-contact with Hamilton during the initial few moments of silence.

  ‘Are you going to tell me why on earth you’ve dragged me in at this ridiculous time?’ the man blurted. ‘Have you found Grace?’

  Hamilton smiled internally, the silence had broken Thomas Billows in less than two minutes, and he believed that said a lot about a person. The tone in which he spoke only piqued Hamilton’s interest further in this man. Why does Mr Billows sound so irate?

  ‘Strange your daughter was your second thought,’ Hamilton replied.

  Thomas’s frown burrowed further. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You seem … annoyed, Mr Billows, why is that?’

  ‘Well, your lot dragged me in here, with no explanation, away from Valerie when our daughter is missing. Yes, I’m a little annoyed and want to know what the blazing hell is going on.’

  Hamilton turned down his lips and cocked his head from one side to the other. ‘Missing … that’s a strange word to use.’

  ‘What the fuck are you on about? Stop talking in riddles and tell me why I’m here.’ Thomas’s fingers stopped drumming, his face flushed red and his small eyes grew wide.

  Hamilton eased forward, his arms resting on the table, and spoke gently. ‘Yes, I suppose, technically, your daughter is missing, in that we don’t know where she is. But she’s a criminal on the run, escaped from prison—’

  ‘Hospital,’ Thomas interrupted.

  ‘An institution where she was serving a prison sentence, Mr Billows.’

  ‘But she needed help … she still needs help. Can’t you see that? You have to find her.’ A change in the man’s voice, almost like a desperate whinge, made Hamilton sit back and fold his arms. He studied the man’s face; the redness had subsided, but the wrinkles and creases remained.

  ‘Do you know where your daughter is?’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Why do you think she needs help?’

  ‘Are you joking? It’s you who says she’s murdered people.’

  ‘You don’t believe she has?’

  The man sighed. ‘No one wants to believe that of their own child.’

  ‘Why do you think she’s doing it?’

  Thomas broke eye contact with Hamilton, stared at the table and rubbed his hand over his white bald head; back and forth, back and forth. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally murmured.

  ‘You haven’t been around much.’ Hamilton decided to change tack. ‘I mean, you and Valerie aren’t together, are you?’

  The man’s eyes shot up. ‘No, we’re not, haven’t been for some time. What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘We’re trying to find your daughter, Mr Billows, who not only murdered someone on Friday night, but who also kidnapped my sergeant. Everything has an importance. So, if I ask a question you’ll answer it, because, after all, I’m doing all this to find your missing daughter.’

  Thomas flinched momentarily, but nodded and slumped backwards in the hard, plastic chair. ‘Okay … no, I haven’t been around much since Grace was a teenager.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A combination of reasons.’

  Hamilton raised his eyebrows and extended his hand out and around, gesturing for Thomas to elaborate.

  The man cleared his throat. ‘Valerie and I … we … had some issues. I guess, if I’m honest, I stopped finding her attractive. I was offered a promotion, it meant more time on the road, and … well … I couldn’t get out of that house quick enough.’

  ‘What about your only daughter? Did she play no part in your decision making?’

  Thomas shrugged his shoulders and looked away again. ‘Fatherhood … I don’t know … wasn’t for me.’

  Hamilton edged closer again, steepled his fingers and rested his chin on his knuckles, glaring at the man in front of him. An unexpected emotion coursed through his veins: hate. Here sat a man with every chance of watching his daughter turn from child to woman, but who chose to abandon her because he no longer fancied her mother. Hamilton took a deep breath, remembering there was more than one side to every story, and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Why were you and Valerie M
urphy never married, Mr Billows?’

  ‘We met young. She got pregnant pretty much straight away. I guess we didn’t really know each other … we thought it was love, but what do teenagers really know?’

  He briefly thought of his own relationship with Elizabeth, and how their situation sounded so similar to this one … yet, theirs worked. Why? he thought. The difference in people’s relationships is fascinating.

  ‘But Grace Murphy is your child?’ Hamilton asked.

  The crimson patched reappeared on Thomas’s cheeks and neck. ‘How fucking dare you? Because I never married Valerie, it must mean she was shagging every man in town, so she couldn’t possibly know who the father was.’

  Hamilton raised his palms. ‘It was just a question, Mr Billows. You said she got pregnant straight away and that Grace doesn’t have the same surname as you—’

  ‘That means nothing.’

  ‘It’s just strange that you never came up before. I mean, last year, I had quite a lot of interaction with Grace, even before she was arrested. Then, during her trial, where were you? No one seems to remember you, Mr Billows.’

  ‘Like I said, my job took me away a lot. I don’t really have a place to call home, and Valerie calls me when she needs me. If I’m in London, I’ve sometimes kipped on her sofa, but mostly I’d stay with a friend or in a bedsit.’ Thomas paused and wiped a hand along his thigh. ‘Valerie didn’t tell me … or couldn’t get in contact with me straight away. I came when I could.’

  Hamilton raised his eyebrows and looked to his side. He tipped his head, silently asking Dixon if she had anything to ask Thomas. She puckered her lips, nodded and made a humming noise as she turned away.

  ‘Mr Billows, what do you do with all your money?’

  He shook his head once again. ‘Now what are you on about?’

  ‘Well, from what I know, driver technicians of your experience get paid quite well. Travelling the country, working through the night and being away from your family … for those who have families, of course. It’s strange that you choose to sleep in bedsits or on your ex’s sofa.’