“Denied it, of course. But if it ever gets out, I’d be up shit creek for not reporting it. Mary was kidnapped, for God’s sake.”
“It won’t get out, and if it did, you’d both have to deny it. As far as you all know, Mary is Andrew’s daughter.”
Adam nodded as he turned into The Bed Superstore carpark. “Yeah, you’re right. Nobody would be able to prove that Andrew confessed to Amanda.”
“Exactly. Okay, are you ready? You can play bad cop, seeing as you’re grumpy today.”
“Gee, thanks.” He smiled.
Inside, they knocked on the office door, and when nobody answered they strolled up and down the aisles searching for a staff member. There were only two, a large-boned woman deep in discussion with a couple who seemed to be trying out each and every bed in the place, and the nerdy guy from the other day who seemed to be stalking a woman and her two children.
After a few minutes of being ignored, Adam approached the lad.
“Hey, mate. We’re looking for Natasha Barker.”
He looked over to Adam and then back to his lady, before reluctantly walking towards him. His name badge said Reuben. “She’s sick I think.”
“You think?”
He nodded. “She’s not come in. Left us in a right mess since we were already short staffed.”
“Did she call in sick?”
He shrugged. “Not to us, she didn’t. Maybe head office.”
“Thanks.” He handed Reuben a card. “Could you ask her to call us when she gets in?”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Frances mumbled, as they walked away.
“I’ll call Cal for her address and get uniform to go around there.”
“Why not us?”
“I don’t want you walking into yet another massacre. Let someone else do it.”
“Bullshit, Adam! This is what I meant about treating me differently. It’s not on.”
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll get the address.”
Chapter 19
A burnt out car at the side of the road greeted them as they pulled onto one of the rougher council estates in Pinevale. The solid brick houses were, on the whole, uncared for and run-down.
They parked the car outside number nineteen, and a group of yobs sauntered over to them.
“What you looking for, mister?” the taller of the gang said.
“None of your bloody business. Now hop it.”
“They’ll probably let your tyres down now,” Frances said, once out of earshot.
“Let them. I’ll cart their arses off to the nick if they do. See how they like that.”
Mud covered the uneven path, and Frances jumped over the worst parts trying to keep her highly polished shoes clean.
Nobody answered their knock, so they walked down the passage between the houses to the rear of the property.
“Ayup,” Adam said, reverting back to his northern slang. “What do we have here then?”
He pointed to a key in the lock.
Adam banged his palm on the wired safety glass that filled the top half of the door and listened for any sign of movement inside.
“Open it,” Frances said, nodding at the key.
“What if she’s in the shower? She’ll have a fit!”
“Either you do it, or I will. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
He turned the handle and it opened.
A cat made a dash for the open door, startling them both.
Frances screamed and almost toppled over into a puddle. She’d made no secret of the fact she had a cat phobia, but she managed to calm herself relatively quickly.
Adam stepped inside with Frances hot on his heels.
The contents of the house were basic, not very clean and tidy, but there was no sign of anything untoward.
Then the smell hit them.
“Oh, fuck!” Adam said. “Go and call it in, Frances.” He wanted to get her out of the way.
“Call what in? Someone might’ve just taken an extra-large dump in the toilet.”
Adam shook his head at his stubborn partner. “Okay, if you insist.”
He called out several times as they climbed the stairs. As he reached the top, he saw Natasha lying on her back just inside the bedroom in a pool of blood.
“Now call it in, Frances. Go!” His raised voice finally got through to her, and Frances turned and ran back down the stairs.
There only appeared to be one stab wound to the head from what he could see. Natasha, her face fully made-up, stared with milky-coloured eyes. She was wearing a cerise-pink dress and strappy high-heeled sandals. Her clothing didn’t appear touched.
The shit smear across the wall said GOBBY BITCH.
As Adam turned to leave, he noticed more blood dripping off the bed and did a double-take.
Another woman, naked except for her underwear, was lying on her back with a gaping wound in her throat. Her large, floppy breasts spilled out of the flesh coloured bra and the straps had been cut. Was Miles escalating his attacks and getting some kind of sexual thrill from his victims?
***
Amanda opened the front door to Sandra, her foster mother. “Is it that time already?” she said, glancing at her watch. “Do you fancy a coffee while I finish preparing dinner?”
“Of course. I’ll make it.” She hugged and kissed Amanda on the cheek before holding her daughter at arm’s length and scrutinising her face. “Are you all right? You’re looking a little peaky.”
“I’m fine. How are you?” Amanda tactfully switched the conversation back on the older woman knowing she hated being asked the same question.
She shrugged. “What time are you picking up the car?”
“They said any time after eleven.”
Sandra filled the kettle while Amanda continued chopping carrots and onions for the slow cooker.
“So what’s new?” Sandra sat at the dining table.
“Not a lot. Adam’s stressed out over a case he’s working on. Plus he discovered Holly’s husband is seriously ill and dying.”
“Bugger! Poor girl.”
Amanda nodded. “She apparently didn’t want any special treatment at the station.”
“I can understand that. When my Peter got sick and died, I hated the pitying way everybody looked at me.
Amanda had been living in Italy when her foster father passed away.
“Yeah, but at least you had a handful of close friends to lean on. I couldn’t imagine dealing with something like this alone.”
“She’s got family, hasn’t she? Her career is important to her. I had a long chat with her at your wedding.”
“I’m aware of that, but...”
“We all deal with trauma and death differently, Mand. You know that.”
She nodded. Sandra was right. Amanda was well known for suffering trauma-induced black outs, similar to a coma, that could last for weeks. Her shrink convinced her she had a dissociative disorder brought on by her childhood abuse. Thankfully she hadn’t had any episodes since being with Adam, even coping well with the death of her only brother.
She threw the last of the vegetables in the slow cooker. “Well, so long as she turns to us if she does need support. I like Holly. She’s a decent woman and good partner for Adam. She keeps his feet on the ground.” She wiped down the worktop and plugged in the slow cooker before sitting across from Sandra.
“Are you eating properly, love? You don’t seem yourself.”
“It’s Mary. She’s been playing up lately, which is understandable, I guess. But then last night, she found the newspaper clippings from my dad’s trial.”
Sandra winced. “I told you to throw those bloody articles away. Or at the very least, store them at my house. This is what kids do. They rummage.”
“I meant to, but I just couldn’t face them again.”
“You didn’t need to face them. You could have just chucked the whole thing in the rubbish.”
“I’ve got other stuff in the box that I want to keep. Besid
es, the secret’s out now. She would have found out eventually anyway, but I wanted to wait until she was a little older. She asked if she was the child I’d given away.”
“Jesus, Mand. What did you say?”
“That she definitely wasn’t, but I barely got a wink of sleep last night.
“She’s clever, that one. I hope she drops it now.”
“So do I. Have you nearly finished?” Amanda nodded at Sandra’s cup.
Sandra drained the last of her coffee and got to her feet. “Right, you are. Let’s be off.”
***
Adam headed down the stairs to Frances who was talking on the phone.
He lifted two fingers up and nodded at her.
“Hang on a minute.” She turned the phone in to her shoulder. “Sorry, boss?”
“There are two dead bodies. Both women.”
Frances gasped and spoke slowly into the phone, “He said there are two dead bodies, both women.”
Within the hour, he’d handed the crime scene over to SOCO. The overcast, grey street was suddenly alive with flashing blue lights and uniformed officers.
Cal texted through Natasha’s next of kin details, and as they left they bumped into Felix, the medical examiner, dressed in his best golfing attire.
“Busy on a course, were you, Felix?” Adam laughed.
“Ho-ho. Very funny. There’s no let up with this bloody guy, is there?”
“No. He’s prolific all right. Although, he may have done you a favour, I suspect the heavens are about to open.” Adam patted the older man on the shoulder. “We’re just off, mate. Can you give us a shout with approximate times of death etcetera—just the usual. We’ve got the thankless task of informing the parents.”
“Yep. Someone’s got to do it, unfortunately.”
They made it to the car just as large drops of rain began to fall.
Once inside, Adam turned on the engine, flicked the wipers on full pelt, and cranked up the heater. After a few minutes, he dialled Sally’s number, letting it go through to the loud speaker while he put the car in drive and headed across town.
“Hello?” Once again the woman seemed wary of who was on the other end of the phone. Adam was used to this reaction as his number came up withheld.
“Sally, DI Stanley. How was your evening?”
“Fine. I had an early night and slept like a baby. I did feel a little sorry for your man in the car though. It was freezing. I took him out a flask of tea before I went to bed.”
A flash of lightning lit up the sky.
“That’s nice of you, and I’m sure gratefully received. I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.”
“More bad news? What now?”
Startled by a crash of thunder that sounded as though it was directly above them, he gripped the steering wheel and turned to look at Frances who held onto her seat and stared at the road ahead.
“Detective?” Sally said.
“There’ve been another two murders. Natasha Barker and another unknown woman. The same MO as before, so...”
“So, it was Miles again?” She sounded shaken up and close to tears.
“It looks that way, yes.”
“What’s wrong with him? He’s completely off his rocker!”
“I know how frightened you must be, but we have another car booked for tonight, so don’t fret. Just stay indoors, if that’s possible, and call me if you’re concerned about anything.”
“Thanks, detective. I will do.”
Chapter 20
The GPS directed them to another rough part of town. Seven high-rise concrete blocks of flats loomed above them.
The rain had eased off, but when Adam opened his door, he could still hear the trickling as the water made its way through the drains and gutters.
“We’re looking for Pendleton Court,” he said, reading his phone.
“That one there.” Frances pointed to the second building in the row. “What number is it?”
“Eight-one-nine. That will be the eighth floor.”
“Oh, sweet joy. Yet another elevator ride from hell.”
“You could always wait down here,” he suggested, tongue in cheek.
“Piss off!”
They ran through the light rain to the main door. He got there first and held it open for her to enter. A stench of stale urine and vomit hit them.
The only colour in the dark, grey foyer was the masses of graffiti on every single surface.
“Seems this is your lucky day.” He nodded at the tape and the out of order sign that covered the lift doors.
Frances groaned, shaking her head, and trudged towards the stairs.
Two flights up and they came across a man lying on the concrete, his head beside a pool of yellow puke.
“Classy bloke.” Adam held his hand out and helped Frances step over him.
Barely able to breathe as they reached the eighth floor, they had to take a few minutes in order to compose themselves.
Flat eight-one-nine stood out from the others. A brightly coloured welcome mat lay outside the door, and a hanging basket, filled with artificial flowers, was padlocked to the wall-holder.
Adam raised his hand to knock just as the door swung inwards. A man dressed in a long grey overcoat, matching blue woollen hat and scarf, and pushing a shopping bag on wheels, appeared. He gasped and clutched his chest when he saw them.
“Sorry to startle you, sir. We’re looking for a Mrs Joan Barker. Do we have the correct address?”
“Yes. But she’s not been called that for almost ten years. She’s Joan Morris now.”
Adam nodded. “My apologies. Are you Mr Morris?”
“I am. What’s this about?”
They pulled out their ID. “I’m DI Stanley and this is my colleague DS Frances. May we come in, sir?”
“Now’s not a good time. Can you come back later? I’m just going to the supermarket.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr Morris. Is your wife home? We need to speak with her, urgently.”
“She is, but she’s unwell. Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”
“It concerns her daughter, Natasha. Can we come in, please, sir? It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
He angrily yanked the shopping bag back inside. “Come in then, but be warned. Joan won’t like it.”
He led them inside the tiny square hallway and through a door opposite.
“I thought you went to the shop,” a woman cried out as the man entered.
“We have visitors, Joanie,” he said, in a hushed voice.
“No! Don’t let them in. I’m not up to seeing anybody today.”
Adam stepped into the large, artificially lit living room and noticed the heavy curtains were all drawn.
“Who are you?” the woman screeched. “Get out! Get out of my home. Now!”
“Mrs Morris. My name is Detective Inspector Adam Stanley, and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Holly Frances.” He spoke slowly and clearly, hoping to calm the woman.
Mrs Morris jumped to her feet and climbed on top of the sofa when Frances entered the room. “Out! Tell them, Bill. Tell them to go.”
Adam turned to her husband. “We need to speak to your wife, Bill. Can I call you Bill?”
Bill nodded.
“Is there anything you can do to calm her down for a sec?”
“I’ll try.” He shrugged and approached his wife, hands outstretched as though she were a rabid dog. “It’s okay, Joanie. Let them tell you why they’re here, and we will clean everything once they leave. I promise.”
She gripped her husband’s hand and allowed him to pull her back down to a sitting position.
“We’re here about your daughter, Natasha,” Adam continued.
“That girl’s nothing but a fucking problem. What’s she done this time?” Joan spat.
“Actually, Mrs Morris. You daughter was found dead this morning,” Frances said.
Adam expected screams, but the woman bent her head, inspecting her hands.
“We will need somebody to identify the body, of course, but we are quite certain it’s her.”
Mrs Morris silently got to her feet and walked through a door to the side of her.
Adam raised his eyebrows at Frances before glancing back to the sofa. “Do you want to go and check on your wife, Bill?”
He shook his head. “Best not. She’ll let me know when she’s ready to talk. Sorry. Take a seat.”
Adam sat in the only other chair and Frances leaned on the arm of it, beside him.
“Can you tell me who would want to harm Tash? She’s a lovely girl,” Bill asked, sadly.
“I’m guessing you didn’t see the local news last night?” Adam said.
“No.”
“Well, Natasha gave them an interview about an ex-boyfriend who’s currently wanted for murder.”
“And he killed her too?”
“It certainly seems that way. A friend of hers who was staying at the house was also a victim. Do you know any of Natasha’s friends?” Adam felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
“She never comes here anymore. Since Joanie’s illness took a turn for the worst, the kids are never in touch. Joseph called around to tell us of his wedding, but Joanie wouldn’t allow his fiancée to set foot inside the flat. As you can imagine, he left soon after.”
“As I already mentioned, somebody will need to identify your step daughter’s body in the next few days. I guess, considering the circumstances, that task will fall to you.”
Bill nodded.
“I believe Joseph, Natasha’s brother, is overseas at the moment?”
“Yes. He’s still on his honeymoon and isn’t due back for weeks.”
“Is there any way you can contact him?”
“No. Another one of Joanie’s phobias is we aren’t allowed a phone or television in the house. She even makes me shave off all my hair.” He removed his hat showing a smooth head. He had no eyebrows either.
“Has anybody examined your wife, Bill?” Frances asked.
“How can they? She won’t leave the flat, and won’t allow anybody in. We’re stuck. To be honest, I’d have left her years ago, but how can I? She needs me. I’m as much of a prisoner to this illness as she is.”
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