by Tara Lyons
‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ Murphy whispered, and just by the sing-song tone, Fraser knew Grace now spoke to her. ‘Things have gone too far and … I just can’t … I mean, I’m not in control of anything. I’m sorry.’
A fire of hope ignited in Fraser’s stomach and she tried to sit up, to look into Murphy’s eyes. ‘Grace, don’t be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong. Of course you have control, you have control right now, Grace. There’s still time to do the right thing; untie these ropes from my hands and feet, Grace.’ Fraser hoped the repetition of the woman’s name would help keep her focused long enough to free the shackles.
Murphy turned down her lips and shook her head from side to side. ‘It’s too late. For both of us. I’m so sorry. None of this was supposed to happen, and my dear, dear grandad would be turning in his grave to know she’s killing people and connecting his name to it. Yes, he was my saviour, and he pulled me from the darkest ditch of my life … I never knew his own death could awaken a monster within me. I-I never knew she was there.’
‘Grace, you just need some help. The doctor … at the hospital … there was progress. Just let me help you now. We can do this together,’ Fraser desperately reasoned.
Murphy sighed and reached into her jeans pocket. ‘I managed to swipe this from the chapel. It’s not much, I know, but perhaps you could leave a note … I don’t know … for someone special in your life, for someone you love.’
Fraser looked at the crumpled piece of blank paper and small biro, like the kind she’d seen in the betting shop when she would pop in to back a horse in the annual Grand National. She frowned, her chin trembling. ‘I don’t understand.’
Murphy smoothed the wrinkles out of the paper and rested it on Fraser’s knee before slipping the biro into her right hand and angling her constrained wrists into a writing pose. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just not … I’m not strong enough. This is all I can do for you,’ Murphy whispered. ‘Use this to say goodbye to your family and friends.’
29
As Hamilton’s car whizzed along the Harrow Road, passing Queen’s Park Library while he impatiently waited for his team to call him back, he ran a red light with a honk of his horn. With Kensal Green station now on the horizon, he continued to head in the direction he assumed to be their final destination — the place they’d find Murphy — and he knew he couldn’t be wrong; he would be gambling with Fraser’s life if he was.
His mind raced as fast as the vehicle he drove, while contemplating the lead-up to Murphy’s arrest last year. When he had first met the young woman after the New Year celebrations, she had been grieving the loss of her grandfather and then a colleague who had been murdered. She had openly told Hamilton and Clarke she feared for her own life, that she felt convinced someone had been watching her from the shadows. Then, when an old school friend of Murphy’s had also been murdered, Hamilton immediately put her on the possible victim list … rather than potential suspect; a decision which had plagued him ever since. But, to him at the time, Grace Murphy felt no more a murderer than his own mother could be; and Hamilton had always prided himself on his ability to successfully judge a character. After he and Fraser had arrested Murphy, and following the trial, Hamilton felt he had been tricked; she had a dark and disturbing personality unseen to the world. And although he found that secrecy in many abusers and murderers and psychopaths he had arrested in the past, he had felt — at the time — that the diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder had been a ploy by the woman’s defence team to get her a reduced sentence.
The short, sharp ringtone pierced through Hamilton’s memories and Rocky’s docile tones soon filled the car. The constable quickly confirmed that he had spoken to Valerie Murphy and Hamilton had been right about where the grandfather’s grave was situated.
‘How did you know?’ Rocky asked.
‘I couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure it was Kensal Green cemetery,’ Hamilton admitted, ‘but when you said Murphy’s direction of travel was along the Harrow Road, I made an educated guess. It’s the Murphy’s hometown, and I know the area well enough. If it had been one of the other two catholic cemeteries I can think of, she would have been driving a different route to the one she had been on.’
‘It doesn’t mean she’s still there,’ Clarke’s voice came from a distance, and Hamilton assumed he was driving the car his team now travelled in to meet him.
Hamilton nodded in agreement to himself before saying, ‘You’re right, it doesn’t, but what else do we have at the moment? The team in the incident room are still fielding calls from the press conference, so we have that as back-up. If anything else, we might find another clue or note—’
‘Hopefully not another body,’ Clarke interrupted, throwing a blanket of awkward silence over them. A shiver snaked down Hamilton’s back because, while he understood it hadn’t been his partner’s intention, they were now all clearly thinking of Fraser — and if her cold body could be hidden somewhere in a mass of graves.
Dixon cleared her throat, the noise grating through the car’s sound system. ‘How far out are you, boss?’
‘I’m here, just pulled up at the Saint Mary’s Catholic Cemetery entrance, but I can’t take the car any further past these gates. I’ll run the rest of the way. Any idea where—’
‘Ms Murphy said her father’s grave was located at the back of the cemetery, at the top of a raised hill and slightly concealed by a large tree,’ Rocky answered before the question had been asked.
‘Okay, I’m disconnecting now but will have my phone with me.’
‘We’re about twenty minutes behind you and a firearms team have been deployed also,’ Dixon explained. ‘But, boss, hold back as much as possible until you have the back-up. Just in case it’s a trap.’
Hamilton mumbled something about having everything covered, grabbed the keys from the ignition and clicked the lock button as he jogged away from the car and through the single rusted iron gate. Although he knew the location of the cemetery, he was unfamiliar with the actual grounds, and once he’d run along a gravelled track with a few headstones on either side, he was surprised to come to a huge opening. In front of him stood row after row of different coloured and conditioned headstones; white and black with beautiful gold lettering as well as large statues weather-beaten and unloved. The memorials lined up further than he could see and narrow walkways leading to his left and right and down the centre called to him like a challenging maze.
He scanned the area, desperate to choose the correct direction, when a building caught his attention. Hamilton jogged down the path to his right until he stood dwarfed by a tall-but-tapered chapel. Although the structure looked out of place, its faded brick work and dark windows gave the impression that it had, in fact, been there since time began. It just felt …unexpected, he thought. If he’d chosen the left path, he could have missed the chapel completely, and he’d not noticed any signs of its existence on his sprint into the cemetery. Suddenly, a light flickered from behind the window furthest from him and it was then Hamilton noticed the large wooden door slightly ajar. He stepped forward and lifted his hand to the brass doorknob, but hesitated for a few moments.
What if Murphy is luring me into a trap? Although there’s no way she could have known I would have connected her grandfather to all this … or is there? Surely, she knew her mother would have recognised Gabe Hardy and reported that information to us; the rest would have been a gamble whether or not we would have spoken to Doctor Emine and learned about the possible trauma in Murphy’s life. Had she been relying on me to connect the dots?
Hamilton’s internal speech persuaded him to reach for his mobile and text his team — who, from what they told him on the phone, he hoped wouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes away by now — with details of his location and plans to enter the chapel. The last thing he wanted to do was join his captive colleague rather than freeing her.
Fraser handed back the piece of paper, bile rising from her stomach as she thought about th
e final words she had just written for her mother, and by the look in Murphy’s eyes, she knew that Carly’s sadistic personality was in control once again. She found it difficult to understand, considering all she’d learnt about dissociative identity disorder, that Murphy had such a sinister alter. From what she had read, people with the disorder weren’t the monsters, but were rather the victims of monstrous abusers and events. However, from the things Fraser had seen in her life — from her own best friend’s drug addiction and the cheating and lying from the many criminals she’d arrested — she knew only too well that you can never truly understand individual people. Even those you think you know so well, there can so easily be a side to them you’ve never seen, a stranger within the person you think you know, a side that they keep hidden from absolutely everyone … until something breaks, and they unleash it on the world. Fraser thought about how Murphy must have pushed her demons so far to the back of her mind, so deep down into her subconscious, that the woman unintentionally created an evil side to herself that demanded revenge and retribution for what she’d had to face when she was an innocent child.
After Murphy took the farewell letter, Fraser lowered her head and blew on her shackled hands, hoping her breath would go some way to warming her numb fingers. As though it had sparked an opposite reaction, her whole body trembled and she had to open her mouth to stop her teeth chattering against each other. The cold bit at her skin as though it contained broken shards of glass. The heavy, grey clouds above whizzed past — her eyes couldn’t focus on which direction they were headed in — as if they were in a race to get away from the horrors about to unfold. Although confident it must be Sunday now, she didn’t have a clue what time it was. For a moment, Fraser thought of asking Murphy, but the question was slammed out of her head by more pressing matters — questions she had the right to know the answers to.
‘You know, I had Felix for three years before he went missing—’
‘Who the fuck is Felix?’ Murphy spat.
‘My cat,’ Fraser replied, and as she gazed up at the woman, saw an evil grin tug at Murphy’s lips. ‘I thought that maybe he’d just got lost and some kind person decided to feed him and then … well, you know, cats become attached to that sort of thing. He was happy in another home … that’s what I had hoped, anyway. But you, you had him, didn’t you? How? You would have been in Manor Hall Hospital then.’
Murphy sighed heavily and moved from one foot to the other as though agitated with the situation, and possibly the conversation, but Fraser couldn’t care less; it was she who had been forced to write a farewell letter on the brink of being murdered.
‘You owe me answers.’
Murphy roared laughing and scratched the palm of her hand. ‘I owe you nothing. You arrested me, remember, and—’
‘And now you’re free! About to get the freedom you’ve been so desperate for while I … well, you’re taking my life … aren’t you?’
Murphy pouted in contemplation and then tipped an imaginary hat in Fraser’s direction. ‘I get it. You want things all tied up neatly in your head before you meet your maker. Obviously, you’re talking to the right person when it comes to feeling confused in here …’ She jabbed her index finger on her temple repeatedly. ‘So, I’ll grant your request. Another ten minutes or so won’t hurt. It’s still the twenty-sixth of November after all.’
The woman pulled a gun from the waistband of her jeans, rested it on the top of her grandfather’s headstone and sat cross-legged opposite Fraser, as if the two were about to light a bonfire and share spooky tales. Fraser snorted at the thought — there were no tales, only real-life nightmares the pair were about to discuss.
‘So, Felix?’
‘You became a project to me, Kerry … it’s okay if I call you by your first name, isn’t it? Detective Sergeant just doesn’t seem fitting for someone sitting on a cold, wet grave bound by thick ropes.’ Murphy paused and waited for Fraser to nod in agreement before she continued. ‘You see, when Grace first saw him working at the hospital, it spun her back into the fear and pain she had felt when she was thirteen. Then, when you came along trying to visit, it sparked an anger inside that only I could fulfil. Grace was surrounded by people who had abused her, tortured her and captured her — I had to get us out of there. And, as difficult as I knew it would be, I also knew I had no choice.’
Fraser frowned, but decided against posing any further questions. Although it seemed confusing, hearing Murphy talk about Grace and Carly as two completely different people, she felt confident enough she could keep up.
‘Anyway.’ Murphy exhaled deeply and theatrically. ‘I formulated a plan, and one day, I made sure that as he was coming off his shift at 7am, I was being escorted to Doctor Emine’s office. I had fed the doctor some spiel about needing to see her first thing, even before breakfast, because that’s when my mind felt the clearest … she bought it.
‘His eyes flashed when I walked past him coming out of the staff office. I knew all I had to do was wait … and sure enough, the following night, the monster found his way to my room and let himself in. Just like he had before … when I was young and … that first night he had come into my bedroom. The lies and the soft voice and the roaming hands.’
Murphy lowered her head and looked to the side, as if her eyes only need her grandfather’s name to give her the strength and courage to continue. Fraser mirrored the action, but only to rub away an unexpected tear falling down her cheek.
‘But this time, he wasn’t dealing with a scared and vulnerable child, like before.’ Murphy’s dark eyes focused on Fraser, and it brought goosebumps to her already pimply, cold skin. ‘I used him. Told him if he wanted anything from me this time, he had to do a few tasks for me first … and he liked it, the fucking bastard. He actually enjoyed it. The thought of rewards and treats for doing as I instructed—’ Fraser watched the woman heave and spit phlegm on the grass. Murphy’s gaze didn’t return to her but stayed fixed on the ground as she continued. ‘You had the audacity to stroll into the hospital, wanting a chat … who did you think you fucking were? So, after that, I gave him your name and told him where you worked and made him follow you, find out everything he could about you. He broke into your home one day while you were at work. That same night, when he told me everything, I ordered him to return and take your cat. Felix was looked after, so you were right, but only until I could escape from Manor Hall. I had the keys to his flat, so I went there first, before coming to your house.
‘The bastard seemed to take a liking to you … it must be your youthful, girly looks. And, after a month or so, he started telling me things you were doing and places you visited without me even asking.’ Murphy drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. ‘He told me about a time he had followed you while you were working with your team, but that, for some reason, you’d been left on your own to chase a guy … he saw an opportunity and took it. He knocked you out. How he laughed about it; the sick fuck told me how it filled him with a sense of power he hadn’t felt in ages, to leave you helpless in the street, admitting he would have raped you if the area hadn’t been filled with people. But instead, he stepped over you like a piece of rubbish, leaving you vulnerable … You see, that’s what he likes, to feel in control and powerful. He’s an animal. Was an animal. But I didn’t like where things were going, and I had to put a stop to it.’
Murphy paused and looked at Fraser — the frightened woman’s eyes widened with obvious anticipation of what she could possibly say next. Murphy sighed long and hard while dragging her long nails back and forth over her red palm until spots of blood appeared.
‘I didn’t touch him, you bitch,’ Murphy yelled. ‘Just having him in the same room as me, sitting on my bed again, revolted me. I threw up every time he left, but I knew he was the key to me getting out of that prison. I just had to learn everything about the cameras and the exits and other night security staff. It took some strength not to slit his throat straight away … but there was an end goal, an
d I had to play the game. I knew I had to do it just right, just like this, to get rid of you both and be free—’
‘How the hell will you be free? You’ve killed people, escaped from a criminal institution and have threatened to kill an office—’
‘It’s no threat.’
Fraser flinched, mad at herself for letting her emotions get the better of her and blurting out her thoughts. But fear, with its vice-like grip, quickly strangled any other emotion from her body and left only trepidation in its place. She watched Murphy’s face; the contorted way her skinny, brown eyebrows knitted together, her eyes scrunched into small, black holes, and her lips pulled back to bare clenched teeth.
She shifted from one numb buttocks cheek to the other and swallowed the saliva in her throat with some difficulty as Murphy stood up and rested her right hand on the gun. She closed her eyes momentarily, faces whizzed past in her mind; her mother, Johnny, Audrey, Hamilton — people who meant something to her but who she would never see again. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open and peered up at Murphy, the first drizzle of rain making her squint.
‘Who?’ Fraser asked. ‘Who did this to you?’
Murphy relaxed her face and a distant, far-away look took hold of her features. ‘Gabe,’ she replied. ‘Gabriel Hardy.’
Hamilton held the door and gently closed it behind him, careful not to disturb the silence within the chapel. He took a step forward and then stood still in the darkness, his ears straining for any sound — a creak from a floorboard, a whisper carried through the shadows or a person breathing. But nothing came. Convinced he was alone, Hamilton fiddled inside his pocket, grabbed his mobile and blindly turned on the phone’s torch.
