by Helen Phifer
‘Sorry to hear that. The thing is if we don’t have someone you can go and stop with, you’ll have to come back to the station with us and the social will come and get you. Have you not got any aunts or uncles, family friends? Someone we can take you to tonight until we’ve sorted this mess out?’
He racked his brains, he didn’t really have anyone. No one bothered with them because his dad was a Bible-bashing, wife-beating, alcoholic.
‘The vicar, I could go to his house. He’s all right.’
‘Which vicar?’
‘Father Vincent, from the church a few streets away.’
‘Right, well you get dressed and we’ll take you there. See if he can keep an eye on you until we’ve sorted out this mess. I’m sure he won’t mind, being a man of God and all that. It’s what they do, isn’t it? Help out people in their hour of need.’
He watched from the safety of the back of the police car as his dad was bundled in handcuffs into the back of a big blue van. The woman with the big earrings was holding some toilet roll to the cut above her eye as she told the coppers what had happened. She was still chewing gum, the whole time she was wailing and throwing her arms up in the air. The nice copper who’d spoken to him climbed into the front of the car.
‘Blimey, she’s loud, isn’t she? She’s enough to wake the dead that one?’
He nodded, she was, especially when they were doing the stuff grown-ups liked to do. He hadn’t really known an awful lot about sex before she’d started coming around. Now he knew everything there was to know and then some. He’d watched them do all sorts of things, some of them she liked and some of them she didn’t. Once when he’d snuck down, she was on all fours on the carpet with his dad ramming himself into her. She’d looked over and seen him peeping through the door. His heart had almost stopped, and he’d thought she’d scream at him. Instead she blew him a kiss and ran her tongue around her lips, moaning even louder.
‘Does your dad hit you often, son?’
He shrugged. As much as he hated him he didn’t want to end up having to live in some kids’ home; lately he hadn’t really battered him as much.
‘Not really, he was drunk tonight.’
‘Does he drink a lot?’
‘No.’
Finally, the woman left, the blue van drove away and the other copper got into the driver side of the car.
‘Right then, we’re taking him to the vicar at St Aidan’s. Then we’ll go back to the station and deal with Rocky Balboa.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Finishing the dregs of her vanilla latte, Lucy knew she needed to go home and eat. She hadn’t slept for days. If he didn’t turn up soon she’d be falling asleep at the wheel of her car. A car began to slow down to turn into the dead-end street, and she jumped out and ran across the road. There was a loud screech of brakes and she closed her eyes wondering if the impact of Tom’s heavy car would be enough to kill her. It stopped inches from her, and she opened her eyes.
‘You bloody idiot, have you got a death wish, Lucy?’
Before he could do anything she ran around to the passenger side and climbed inside.
‘We need to talk and I don’t think you want us to have this conversation in front of Alison and the boys.’
The animosity he’d been wearing like a mask slipped away and he shook his head.
‘Christ, what a mess. Talk about what?’
‘Yes, it is a mess. Tom, I need you to be honest with me. You know fine well that it’s my job to ask you where you were last night.’
‘I left work and went home, Alison can tell you that, Lucy.’
‘You left work at six. I know that because I followed you out of the gates.’
‘Did you follow me to Sainsbury’s as well?’
‘No, sir, I didn’t. I went home.’
‘Well after I’d been shopping so did I.’
‘You spent ninety minutes in Sainsbury’s? That must have been a big shop.’
‘Fucking hell, Lucy, I didn’t murder my mother. Why would I? So you can drop this bullshit now.’
‘I know you didn’t but I have to ask and you know that. You’d be the same if it was me. I’d hope that you’d be the same if the tables were turned.’
He shook his head, not speaking, and she got out of the car. He sped off towards his drive, and she got back into her car. As much as it made her feel like a bitch she needed to get hold of the CCTV from the supermarket. Although she didn’t think he’d killed his mum she did think he was lying to her and she wanted to know the reason why; she’d never pegged Tom as one of those men who slept around. He’d always come across as a decent guy, a family man. Maybe she was wrong and he wasn’t who she thought he was, which would be a huge blow to her because she liked and respected him a lot.
* * *
Lucy could feel her insides simmering, this wasn’t good. Her phone rang and she answered it hoping that hearing George’s voice would soothe her frazzled nerves. It always used to do the trick before he ran away with a woman half his age and left her alone.
‘Can Ellie come back home to sleep? I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’
Lucy laughed. ‘It’s called being a teenager. What’s she done now?’
‘Called Rosie a slut and a whore.’
At this Lucy’s voice filled her car as she laughed even harder.
‘I should have known you wouldn’t care, forget it.’
‘George, come on. I’m sorry, that was childish. Have you punished her?’
‘If you mean have I grounded her and taken her phone off her, yes, I have. Do I think it’s going to make any difference? Not really, she doesn’t care. She’s too much like you; too stubborn for her own good.’
‘Ouch, thanks. You’ve brought this on yourself, George, maybe if you’d kept your hands to yourself we wouldn’t be in this fucked-up mess. I have a serious case on. Tom’s mum was found murdered last night and another victim the night before. I can’t really look after her at the moment; I haven’t been to bed for two nights. I’m exhausted.’
She knew he would be shaking his head with frustration at her. He didn’t get her dedication to the job. He never had, their arguments were always about how she sacrificed her home life to catch the bad guys.
‘Why am I not surprised? I’m sorry to hear about Tom’s mum, but come on, Lucy, wouldn’t it be better for someone else to deal with it? Your daughter needs you, she’s still alive.’
Lucy spat out her reply. ‘My daughter needs me? Or is Rosie cracking under the strain of having to look after a kid not much younger than herself?’
The phone went dead, and Lucy threw it onto the passenger seat where it bounced off and landed on the floor. She knew she should go and see Ellie, bring her home with her, but George could go and fuck himself. She’d end up arguing with all of them if she went there; instead she drove home, leaving her phone where it had fallen; she didn’t care if there was another murder tonight. If she didn’t get some sleep, she wouldn’t be any good for anything. George could deal with their daughter. It must have been quite a shock for him to hear his little girl speaking like that. Welcome to the real world, George, this was what being the parent of a teenager was really like. When they were all one big happy family he worked late, had weekends off and was only there for the good parts. He always missed the bad parts, letting her be the parent that laid down the rules. Well she was glad he was finding out for himself how bloody hard it was. Was he that foolish that he didn’t realise how upset Ellie was, under all her teenage bravado? She’d never admit it, but Lucy knew that she wasn’t as tough as she liked to make out. She knew this, because she wasn’t either.
Inside the house which was so silent it was creepy, Lucy set about turning on lights. She pressed the button on the remote to bring the TV to life. She loved this house, but not living here alone. It was far too big; she’d put an offer in on a semi a few streets away. It didn’t need anything other than a coat of paint and some new carpets – three bedroo
ms with a small front garden and a good sized back garden. She would make some vegetable beds and get them planted up; she’d always wanted to grow her own. George wouldn’t let her dig up the back gardens of this house that he’d paid a fortune to get landscaped. It looked nice but it wasn’t very practical. The thought of having a place of her own put a smile on her face. She couldn’t wait to tell George he could shove this house where the sun didn’t shine. No doubt he’d move Rosie in with him; she didn’t care. At least that’s what she told herself. The sharp pain which stabbed her in the chest told her otherwise.
Putting a microwave meal in to cook, she took the extra-large gin glass out of the cupboard and filled it to the top with wine. When the microwave pinged she put her spinach and ricotta lasagne on a plate and carried her wine into the lounge. The television played in the background while she wrote notes for what she needed to do tomorrow. The top of that list was to locate that bloody dead cat that Browning had managed to lose and to secure the CCTV from the supermarket. She just hoped that in the meantime their killer decided to have a night off and let her get some sleep because, otherwise, she was going to struggle to remember her own name, never mind anyone else’s. That couldn’t happen; if she dropped the ball it would spell disaster for them all. She needed to prove Tom’s innocence. He was a good man, and even though Lucy knew good men could act in the most heinous of ways, she didn’t believe he was like that at all. Tom was an even better boss, and she owed him big time for believing in her and pushing her to go for the promotion to DI. She knew he was a mess, grief affected people in different ways, but she didn’t like to see him falling apart like this. Once she’d taken him out of the equation she could focus on catching the sick bastard who liked to crucify women, kill their pets and display them in public places for the world to see.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lucy opened her eyes and pressed the home button on her phone to see what time it was; she had to look twice and then it died. How could it only be six a.m.? She’d expected to wake up late, not early. Tossing and turning she tried to force herself to go back to sleep, but her body was having none of it. She was wide awake. As she lay there, her head a jumbled mess of thoughts, she realised she needed to do something to clear it. If she’d been a runner, she’d have laced up her trainers and run herself into oblivion. She was no runner; she liked walking though, so she got out of bed and pulled on her joggers, a hooded sweatshirt, beanie hat and a pair of reflective trainers.
Grabbing her phone she plugged her earphones into it and left the house; she shivered. The air was damp and chilly. Her head down, she began to power-walk towards the seafront and the pier. That was the thing she loved about this town, the fresh sea air, the smell of the salt. There was something soothing about watching the sea as it came into the bay; whenever she was stressed she’d come and walk along the seafront – the sea breeze guaranteed to blow the cobwebs away and clear her mind. As she reached the part of the promenade that looked onto the dilapidated pier, she stopped and leant over the railings. The sea was swirling in the bay, the waves crashing against the wooden struts of the rotting pier. She stood on the first metal bar of the railings to get a better view. As she stared out at the roaring, blackened waves she couldn’t help wonder how she was going to solve this case without fucking up her own life in the process.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and she fell backwards as a loud screech left her lips. Swinging round she saw a man in his best running gear standing behind her with his hands up.
‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was a bit worried. I’ve been running along the prom and saw you from a distance staring out at the sea. When you climbed on the railings, I almost had a heart attack. I had to run so fast to reach you.’
Lucy realised that he thought she’d been about to jump into the murky water below her and felt her cheeks burn. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. You thought I was going to jump in? I wasn’t, I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to clear my head and I love watching the sea.’
He patted his chest. ‘Thank God for that. I’m a great runner and a terrible swimmer. Sorry for scaring you, I had to make sure you were okay. You are okay, aren’t you?’
She laughed. ‘I’m okay, I promise. Thank you for asking, I’m sorry for scaring you.’
He grinned. ‘Phew, you’re welcome. Have a great day and stay clear of those railings.’ He winked at her, and she smiled back.
‘I will, you too.’ He lifted his hand and waved, then turned and began to run once more.
Lucy felt foolish. She also wished there were more people in the world like that man. He was a complete stranger and he’d bothered to come and check she was okay. How many suicides could be prevented if more people took a moment to ask a stranger if they were okay? She began to head back to her house; she might as well get showered and go to work. She had a killer to apprehend.
* * *
She walked into the CID office and headed straight for Browning, who was on the phone. He ended his call, and she smiled at him.
‘Did you find that cat?’
He nodded. ‘Sort of.’
‘What does sort of mean? It’s vital; it’s evidence in a murder investigation.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, Lucy. I left it in the boot of the car I was driving. Whoever got in it next must have binned it.’
She bit her tongue, because she didn’t want to start the day off by biting off his head instead.
‘So do you have a sample of the cat hair or not, Browning?’
‘I thought we could get CSI to go in and get a sample of it. Margaret’s house is still under scene guard. It was searched last night by task force. They didn’t find anything to suggest it was the primary scene. She treated that cat like royalty; there will be cat hairs everywhere. On the sofa cushions, the bed – it had its own cat bed by the fire.’
He had a point. ‘What colour was the cat anyway?’
‘Black and white, mainly black.’
‘Any grey?’
He shook his head.
‘Right, you go with Amanda and see if she can find some samples for Catherine to send off for comparison. If her cat was black and white, the hairs on Margaret were grey.’
‘It wasn’t her cat then, boss.’
‘If it wasn’t her cat, it means our killer could have a grey pet at home. Locard knew what he was talking about when he said that every contact leaves a trace. Let’s hope this is the one and not some stray cat that just happened to rub itself against Margaret while she was hanging there.’
Browning grimaced at the thought. ‘If a cat had been near her, wouldn’t it have had a go at, you know.’
‘You know what?’
‘Well wouldn’t it have had a nibble? Did the doc mention anything?’
‘No, thank God. She didn’t.’
Lucy walked towards her office to retrieve her mug. Today she wanted to kick ass and without coffee it wouldn’t happen. She plugged her now dead phone in to charge; nothing could have happened last night because they’d have sent a response officer around to knock her up. It had happened many times in the past, in the days before such amazing technology that meant they could trace you at the touch of a button.
Instead of going down to the briefing room, Lucy waited until her team were present and then told them to meet her at the conference room on the top floor. Though she trusted every one of her team, she didn’t know most of the response officers, therefore she didn’t trust them not to gossip. When they were all sitting down, she stood up at the front of the room.
‘You might be wondering why I’ve brought you up here instead of down to the usual room. Things are a little bit sensitive – what we discuss is between ourselves. I’ve spoken to the boss and I need to clarify the timing of him leaving the station on the night of Margaret’s murder and the time of his arrival at home. As you can appreciate this is highly sensitive. If I so much as get a hint that response are gossiping about this, I’ll know it’s come from this room, and when I fi
nd out which of you it was you will be facing a disciplinary.’
A murmur went around the room.
‘Do I have your word on it? We need to rule him out so we can concentrate on catching the killer. He’s a little bit preoccupied at the moment, so I want Col and Rachel to go to Sainsbury’s as soon as I’ve finished. I need the CCTV footage from Friday night; the DCI finished work at 18:00 hours, and told me he went straight there. I have no reason to doubt him, I just want the proof on DVD so we can cover his arse.’
Col leant forward. ‘If you have no reason to doubt him, boss, why are we seizing the CCTV footage?’
‘Because it’s crucial. There is a slight discrepancy between the timings he’s given me and what his wife says. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s our job to find out. This is strictly confidential; I don’t want to hear any of you gossiping about it. Do you understand?’
Their heads nodded in unison.
‘Browning and Amanda are going to go back to Margaret’s house. The doctor found some pet hairs on Margaret’s trouser leg. I need comparison hairs from her cat – Browning left the cat decomposing in the back of a div car which has since been disposed of.’
There were groans and laughter; Browning was glaring at her, but she didn’t care. After dropping the bombshell about Tom, she needed to lighten the mood, even if it was at his expense.
‘Margaret was heavily involved with organising events for St Aidan’s, so I want to speak to the vicar and his wife. Mattie, you can come with me. Col, when you finish at the supermarket can you come back and run comparisons with the Sandy Kilburn case? I want you to check the records for cat killings, see if they’re the precursor for any violent crimes. I don’t think Sandy was his first violent attack; I think he’s probably been attacking animals and people for some time while trying to pluck up the courage to take it one step further. He’s finally done it, and now he’s crossed the line he’s not going to stop. I’ll see if Leanne has finished inputting everything in to Holmes. That should pick up any similarities, but Col, we all know you’re a hundred times better than that computer programme. Thank you, let’s kick some arse today and get some hard evidence and a suspect we can bring in for questioning.’
