by Tara Lyons
He shined the beam around, quickly taking in the derelict building; cobwebs and broken pews as well as dusty statues and candle holders. Something caught his eye and he walked along the filthy dark carpet towards the altar. He stopped short at the stairs and crouched down, letting the light beam hover over a particular area of the wooden floor. The wet, ruby blood glistened in the light, and he was under no illusions that it wasn’t fresh. He shot up, quickly scanned the area for another door or office, but he could see nothing other than a few empty water bottles and cables of rope.
With the phone held high, Hamilton ran back the way he came out the chapel door. His heart-rate had doubled in speed, not from the quick jog but from a tension squeezing his chest, and his breathing became laboured. He looked around the eerie quiet cemetery, begging himself to choose a direction, but his feet froze to the spot. Despite it only being Sunday afternoon, the dark, moody clouds threatened to bring nightfall early, and as he looked to the sky hoping for an answer, a rain drop smacked him on the forehead.
As Hamilton’s eyes drew back down on the burial ground surrounding him, he noticed a small incline to the pathway up further to his right. He thought back to Rocky’s explanation of where Murphy’s grandfather’s grave was situated and took off in that direction before his brain could try and rationale his actions.
The drizzle of rain mixed with the sweat beads on Hamilton’s forehead, the deceiving slight incline actually much steeper than it had looked from afar. He clocked a large oak tree up ahead and used that as his focus while bypassing memorial headstones and weaving over flowers as best he could. A pink teddy bear briefly caught his attention and he thought of the many children buried beneath the earth he now sprinted over — just like his own daughter was in another cemetery not a million miles from there. His thoughts gained momentum as his legs climbed higher and higher.
Thanks to the words he had read in the book by Doctor Emine, he couldn’t shake the idea of Maggie suffering from a mental illness. Well, the possibility, he thought to himself — it was something he found hard to believe. Could he really have been so blind to his daughter’s traumatic experiences? Could there really be any similarities between his sweet, kind-hearted only child and the woman who used her past as an excuse to kill innocent people?
His internal questions went unanswered as he came to a halt behind the tree which he had used as his goal. He scanned through the heavy drizzle and around the numerous headstones until his eyes finally settled on two women about a hundred yards in front of him. Fraser’s tethered ankles and wrists sparked a range of emotion in Hamilton. While relief that she was still alive flooded him, a ball of anxiety made him wonder what she had already been through.
Just as he tried to formulate a plan in his mind, unable to hear the words Murphy uttered, he saw the unstable woman snatch a gun off a near-by headstone and casually point it in Fraser’s direction.
30
The beep from the mobile phone in Rocky’s hand startled Clarke, and he took his eyes off the road for a moment to watch his colleague read the message. He refocused his attention and indicted left to exit the Harrow Road and drive onto the narrow path leading into the cemetery.
‘For crying out loud, what does it say?’ he snapped as the silent seconds began to feel like suffocating minutes.
‘It’s from the boss.’
‘And?’ Dixon piped up from the back seat and Clarke clocked the roll of her eyes in the rear-view mirror.
‘Give me a sec,’ Rocky replied slowly while continuing to read.
Clarke tutted and twisted his body slightly to try to snatch the phone from Rocky, but before he had a chance to reach out, Dixon screamed for him to stop. Simultaneously, Clarke whipped his head back to the road and slammed his right foot on the brake. The car stopped inches from Valerie Murphy’s knee caps.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Clarke panted and cut the engine.
‘I’ll go to her,’ Dixon said and dashed out of the car.
‘Rocky, what the hell does the message say?’ he demanded.
‘Sorry. Okay, the boss says that Murphy has a gun and Fraser is tied up.’
‘Are they in the chapel?’
‘No, the grave … the grandfather’s grave.’
‘Shit. Quickly reply; tell Hamilton to stay put and that we’re here. Then, get on to the armed team in transit and update them.’
Clarke jumped out of the driver’s seat and left the car door open behind him. He came face to face with a hysterical Valerie Murphy — tears streaming down her red and puffy face, and the skin on her arms a tinge of blue, the white T-shirt doing nothing to fend off the winter chill — and Dixon, who seemed to be having trouble placating the woman. He slipped off his coat and wrapped it around Valerie’s shoulders, telling her to put her arms into it. Although the woman continued to cry and mutter something incomprehensible, she did as she was told. His black Superdry Camden overcoat hung from her small frame, but it went some way in calming her, as if the mere touch of wool on cold skin awoke her from the crazed trance she’d been in.
‘Ms Murphy, what are you doing here?’ Clarke asked as he clocked Hamilton’s car parked a few yards ahead of them by the gates to the catholic cemetery.
The woman inhaled deeply and pulled the coat closer against her body. ‘Well … well, when you rang … not you personally, I don’t think, b-b-but—’
‘Calm down, Ms Murphy,’ Dixon said softly, but Clarke tapped his foot in annoyance — there was no time for this, he thought.
Valerie sniffed back her tears and cleared her throat. ‘When I was asked about my father’s grave, it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t even looked for Grace here … and of course, this is where she would be. I found her here many times after her grandfather died. A few times, she … she drank too much and passed out at his grave and—’
‘Ms Murphy, I’m going to need you to sit in the car and wait,’ Clarke interrupted, and turned to Rocky who had now joined them.
‘The armed response unit gave an ETA of ten minutes,’ the constable explained. ‘A protest of some kind is scheduled for this evening in Marble Arch, but the traffic and crowds are building in the street already.’
‘Great,’ Clarke moaned. ‘That’s all we flaming well need.’
‘Armed response unit,’ Valerie echoed Rocky’s words, her blue eyes wide with terror.
‘Ms Murphy, please remain calm and stay in the vehicle,’ Clarke reiterated his command to the woman, but he could see the frenzy return as she dragged a skinny hand through her wild hair, her eyes darting from him to Rocky and back again. ‘Ms Murphy, your daughter is armed and—’
‘No, no, no, no,’ Valerie repeated the word over and over again, but Clarke saw a shift in her — there was now a look of determination and strength as she stopped shaking, her eyes stopped wandering and her body visibly stood straighter. ‘My daughter is not dangerous. You have to let me see her.’
‘That’s not a good idea,’ Clarke said, and peered at his watch; he knew anything could happen in the next three minutes in that graveyard, let alone ten minutes.
‘Perhaps …’ Dixon hesitated and stared at Clarke briefly. ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have Ms Murphy talk to her daughter.’
He felt torn. It wasn’t procedure to bring a civilian into the line of fire — whether it was a family relative or not — but he also knew Hamilton would not be up there sitting tight as requested. With the backup team still too far out to offer any assistance, he knew he couldn’t leave his colleague and boss in the hands of an unbalanced criminal.
Could this mother be our only chance of making sure no more blood is shed today? Is she the answer to saving Fraser … and Hamilton?
Clarke had made a decision. He pushed the car door shut, clicked the lock button and told everyone to follow his lead as he turned and darted into the catholic cemetery.
Murphy aimed the gun towards Fraser and stood still, listening to the rain grow louder with a backing track of
wind whistling through the large trees around them. The cold crept to her bones, seeping through the man’s clothing that still clung to her body, and although the combination of those two things should make her skin crawl, a rare calmness washed over her. But, just as quickly as it had come, the tranquillity was snatched away again. She frowned and brought her left hand up to the side of her head, pushing her palm into her temple in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. Murphy felt her skull shattering under her fingertips, her throbbing head demanding her to drop to her knees as a kaleidoscope of memories whirled inside her mind.
‘Why does the peace never last?’ she yelled, succumbing to the pain and falling to the ground. ‘Why do they have to show me over and over again? I don’t want to see this in my head any more. I-I-I …’
‘He’s gone now … he can’t hurt you any more, Grace,’ Fraser whispered.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Murphy raised her head slowly, the crushing weight subsiding slightly, and she looked into the sergeant’s kind eyes.
Am I Grace? Or Carly … or Livia … or Stan? Help me.
The internal questions repeated over and over again until the voices in her head — demanding to know who she was — deafened her. She frantically shook her head from side to side and let a blood-curdling scream escape.
‘Grace, please don’t do this,’ the detective sergeant continued to whisper, the soft tone of the woman’s voice now grating on her as it fought to be heard over so many others in her head. ‘You can get the help you need. I can help you … I want to help you. Will you let me help you, Grace?’
Who am I? Am I really still Grace? The little girl who wanted to be on stage, who wanted to be an actress … who, even back then, wanted to be someone else. Play a different role.
Murphy slumped her shoulders and lowered her arm slightly, the gun now pointing to the wet grass by Fraser’s feet. The heavy drizzle came fast, scratching her body like shards of glass falling from the sky.
Why can’t I remember what I’ve done? Why am I here?
‘Grace, let me help you,’ Fraser repeated. ‘You’re not alone. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t need to keep trying to get revenge … the monster who hurt you is gone.’
Am I Grace?
Murphy looked up to the sky and let the rain pelt against her face, washing her skin clean, looking for answers to her questions that wouldn’t come. She thought of her grandfather, and completely understood why she was in fact at his grave. He had saved her as a child, taken her away from the monster who stole her childhood, but she couldn’t understand why it was now her passing on the pain and fear to someone else. She gazed down, staring at the cold metal in her hand: Where the hell did I get a gun from?
A twig snapped, not too far in the distance, and broke her concentration. Murphy raised the weapon again.
Hamilton crouched down and moved away from the security of the large oak tree. With nothing to hide him, he moved slowly from one headstone to the next, hoping the memorials of the dead would shield him from Murphy’s sight until he could get closer to Fraser.
His eyes never faltered from the two women. As he slinked closer, he heard Murphy roar; a chilling scream that sent the birds fleeing from the safety of the trees, their squawks of panic mingled with her shrieks of instability. He paused and lowered his body behind a white headstone, the rain making it harder to see exactly what was happening in front of him. He squinted, watching Murphy fall to the ground and wail. This was his chance.
Hamilton’s heart thumped, despite him moving at a snail’s pace, and he wiped a hand over his face in hope of removing the droplets of water falling from his eyebrows and nose, but they were replaced with fresh ones as soon as he did. The rain soaked through his clothes and his brogues squelched in mud that made the grass underneath feel unstable. He moved forward, Fraser’s quavering voice pulling him along. His crouched strides grew wider as Murphy lowered the weapon to the ground. With the woman’s attention elsewhere, Hamilton decided to take a giant leap forward; his plan to knock the gun from Murphy’s hand.
The mud squelched underfoot again, sending Hamilton’s left knee to the ground. He cursed as he landed directly on a mound of fallen sticks, the edges prickling his shin and the noise alerting Murphy to his presence. He pulled himself back up, not wanting to give the woman a height advantage as she raised the gun again. Her nostrils flared when she caught sight of him and he took a few steps closer to her and Fraser.
‘Grace Murphy, put your weapon down.’
The woman pointed the weapon at Hamilton’s chest and, with her free hand, yanked Fraser by the hair, dragging his colleague onto her knees and using her as a human shield between them. When she had Fraser in place, Murphy then turned the gun and rammed it into the side of Fraser’s head with such force, the sergeant almost toppled sideways. Hamilton saw the fear in Fraser’s eyes and stopped in his tracks. He wiped the rain from his face again and then made a surrender gesture with his hands.
‘Okay, okay, I’m not coming any further,’ he said.
‘How nice of you to join us, Inspector,’ Murphy said with a half-smile. ‘Front row seats for the final act of the show … only right, really.’
Hamilton lowered his hands and tried to steady his breathing; it had been a long time since he’d seen Murphy, and yet despite the vicious actions in front of him, he couldn’t shake the image of the fragile, grieving woman he’d first met.
‘Put the gun down, Grace,’ he repeated.
‘I’m sorry, she’s not here at the moment, please leave a message.’ Murphy laughed at her own joke while tugging harder on her prisoner’s hair and peering over Hamilton’s shoulder. ‘I see you’re alone, Inspector. Couldn’t get the backup this time, eh?’
‘They’re on their way, Grace. So why don’t you just put down the gun now before this gets out of hand,’ Hamilton said, and slowly inched one foot forward. ‘Harming DS Fraser will only make things worse for you. Stop this now and we can still help you.’
‘What is it with you two wanting to help me,’ Murphy yelled, her voice carried with the wind and echoed in the distance. ‘I don’t want your fucking help. Maybe if Grace had been given a bit of help when she needed it, we wouldn’t all be here right now.’
Hamilton slid the other foot forward. ‘We know what happened. We know all about Gabe Hardy and your grandfather. I understand,’ he said, and outstretched his hand. ‘Just give me the gun.’
Murphy applied more pressure to the gun, forcing Fraser’s head even further to the side and exposing the straining veins and muscles in her neck. ‘I. Don’t. Want. Your. Help. I want to fucking finish this. I feel like I’m going to explode. It has to end here.’
31
Hamilton jumped when he heard commotion from behind him, but felt thankful it had also startled Murphy enough to freeze her to the spot. As the women looked over his shoulder again, he took the opportunity to peer around. Relief and panic flooded him simultaneously; grateful to have the support of his team but frustrated the noise hadn’t come from the armed response unit he’d been expecting. He was also surprised to see Valerie Murphy leading his team towards the grave. He mopped the rain from his face again — his wet hand adding rather than taking away — and the heavy downpour made the world around him look like an old black and white movie.
He cast his eyes back to Murphy. The woman’s focus now on the four people approaching them. He took a risk by taking another step towards her. Fraser tightened her jaw and slightly shook her head, but he ignored her warning and attempted another move.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ Murphy hissed while dragging Fraser a few steps back in the mud; this time, the detective sergeant couldn’t mask the pain and yelped like a wounded puppy. ‘And you lot can all stop right there too.’
Hamilton didn’t need to turn around again, obvious that Murphy had directed her last sentence to his team and her own mother. He knew they would do as instructed. But as he heard the voices of Clarke
and Dixon yell out, he saw a figure move past him in his peripheral vision. He instinctively threw out his arm and turned to block the oncoming threat.
‘Ms Murphy, stop right there,’ he yelled, and fumbled with the woman in a soaking coat at least four times too big for her, as she attempted to push past him. ‘Stop.’
‘No,’ she screamed. ‘Let me get to my daughter. She needs me.’
‘I don’t need you,’ Murphy yelled. ‘You’re too late, Mother.’
Valerie stopped squirming, giving Hamilton a chance to lock his arms around her body — in case the woman decided to sprint off again. Right now, Murphy was in charge on the situation, and he wouldn’t let anything endanger Fraser’s life any further. Again he thought back to his first encounter of Grace and Valerie, and what a tight mother-daughter relationship they had — a bond similar to that of his own wife and daughter — yet now, the pair looked like complete strangers to one another.
‘Don’t antagonise her,’ Hamilton whispered in Valerie’s ear, who now slightly blocked his view of Fraser and Murphy. ‘Your daughter is very confused right now.’
She nodded slightly, took a deep breath and called out to her daughter, ‘I want to help you, darling.’
Murphy’s eye roll was not subtle, and for the first time, Hamilton could understand why the woman was so furious. In the last year, everyone who spoke to Murphy promised they wanted to help her, promised they could help her, Hamilton thought. But that was only because now Murphy was the wrongdoer … who offered to help her when she truly needed it? Who put out their hand when she was an abused child and vowed to rescue her, vowed to stop her pain? When Murphy was alone and frightened, with obviously no one to turn to or talk to, she only had herself to rely on. And that’s exactly who she was relying on now, today, and in her moments of fear and uncertainty. Watching the look of pure disbelief on Murphy's face, Hamilton finally got it.
