Lonely Hearts: Killing with Kindness takes on a whole new meaning (DI Falle)

by Gwyn GB

  ‘Eat some toast dad,’ she says to him, gently, tentatively. This is a role she’s unused to. At first he doesn’t respond. ‘Dad, here…’ she places a piece of toast in his hand and at last he looks at it, although his face remains impassive. Rachel encourages his hand towards his mouth and he takes a bite, chewing it slowly. There’s no hungry eagerness to his eating and if she leaves him the toast will just sit there. It’s a slow process, but she manages to get a whole slice into him before he takes the plate and puts it down, shaking his head when she asks him to eat the other. Progress. He’s communicating.

  Around 45 minutes later some colour returns to his cheeks and Rachel watches her father slowly return to her. She’s no idea of the time, but the sound of knocking on the kitchen door brings her back into the real world.

  It’s Reg and George wondering where her father is.

  ‘Y’alright missy?’ Reg looks uncertain, peering into the kitchen behind her. ‘We wondered where your dad was, like? You not gone to school?’

  Rachel’s throat tightens. This is the first time she’s had to say it aloud, give it a physical existence.

  ‘My mother, she was killed yesterday in a car crash.’ The words come out, an announcement before a performance - not true, not real, just acting.

  Both men gasp, ‘No!’ says Reg and they exchange glances.

  ‘Good God,’ exclaims George, then more gently, ‘Where’s your dad love? Is he OK?’

  ‘He’s… He’s inside.’ Perhaps they’ll help. ‘Do you want to come in?’ Rachel opens the door wider and lets the two men enter. The prospect of grown-ups in this strange new world, a relief.

  The two men, both in their fifties, are dressed for the cow shed. They pull off their boots and leave them outside. The normality of it all bringing home just how different life has suddenly become.

  As she closes the door Rachel sees the smiley face on the window. Her mind flickers back to yesterday afternoon and using her finger she smears the smile into a big downward grimace.

  13

  Claire, 14th October 2016

  It isn’t the greatest board in the history of police investigations, and that fact shows on Bob’s face. Claire knows he’ll be getting it in the neck from above, keen to get this wrapped up. She’s also spotted Julian from the Press Office, lurking in the background with his notebook. The media love a clean-living murder victim, Neil connects to their readers far better than a scummy drug dealer’s death. The headlines will, no doubt, make people feel uneasy in their beds tonight so the media liaison will be keen to get out a release that shows some progress in the investigation.

  Their lack of suspects is stressing Bob, who now also has Rachel’s well-being forefront of his mind. Throughout the briefing he paces back and forth in front of the room, an agitated bear, twisting his wedding ring on his finger.

  Lew has been unable to track down Neil’s friend, Mike, but he does at least know which club it is they frequent, so Claire can guess where she’ll be spending the evening. She is tired, it’s been a long day and a slight headache has settled at the back of her eyes - probably too much screen work. Jack flashes into her mind again, if he is still at home he’ll wonder if she’s coming back. She really should give him a call.

  ‘Right it’s 6.30pm. We’ve no definite suspects and no real motive apart from the possibility this could relate to his womanising. We have a potential link with Rachel Hill’s stalker. They knew each other so could whoever it is that’s obsessed with her, be the one who killed Neil Parsons? Is this a jealous delusionist who thought Neil was seeing Rachel? She called him on his mobile the night of the murder, could the killer have seen her number and name flash up on Neil’s phone? Did Neil know or do something he shouldn’t and now the killer thinks Rachel could also be involved?’

  Bob pauses to survey the faces of his team. They stay silent.

  ‘What we do know is it looks like whoever did this is either a professional or someone who has researched this meticulously. This wasn’t a heat of the moment attack, this was carefully planned. The killer left no traces, so how was he not seen? How did he get into the flat? I want every person in that block of flats investigated. They’re all suspects for now. It would be by far the easiest explanation of how they were able to do this without trace. Get their names and divvy up the work.’ He directs this to Tasha and Claire sees her nod.

  She takes the few moments silence to speak.

  ‘The one link we do have between Rachel and Neil is the dating agency,’ she offers to Bob. The SoulMates name sits on the board in black and white but to Claire, it throbs red. ‘Could well be some anti-social nutter on their books.’

  ‘Yup,’ agrees Bob, ‘And that’s why you and I are going over there first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Before tomorrow morning there is still this evening and the nightclub reccy. It would be useful to see where Neil chose to hang out and who it was he liked to spend his time with, plus the elusive Mike could show. His name currently sits in the potential suspects list and while there’s no obvious reason why he would have chosen to murder his best friend, they need to rule him out and see if he has any information.

  Before she can brave a nightclub Claire decides to get something to eat. The sugar rush from the doughnut Lew bought her has long since subsided and she’s craving something savoury. Heading back to her desk for her purse, she can’t avoid Lew sitting hunched over his keyboard, concentrating on his screen, face illuminated by the blue light. He’d bought her two coffees and the doughnut, she feels obliged to ask him. Trouble is, if you ask one person, you have to ask the others too. She could end up with a massive tea and coffee order that she just doesn’t have the energy to deal with right now.

  Instead, she sits down at her desk and sends Lew a message, ‘Off to the canteen, want anything?’

  He looks up and smiles at her. A new message from him appears in her inbox. ‘Flat white cheers.’

  ‘Jack on tonight?’ Lew asks out loud.

  Claire shakes her head, ‘No, we were supposed to be off for a long weekend.’

  ‘Ah, hazard of the job for you Brangelinas.’

  ‘Brangelina!’ Claire exclaims, ‘Yeah right! Anyway, we’re still together.’

  ‘Still together? Yeah I know,’ replies Lew, puzzled.

  ‘You do know that Brad and Angelina are separated? Right?’ she asks him bemused.

  ‘No! No way. Really? Brangelina is no more?’

  ‘Yeah, they split in September. It was all over the news, I can’t believe you don’t know.’

  Lew looks genuinely shocked and turns to the young PC next to him who has been patiently sorting through records.

  ‘Yo Duster, you know that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have split?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, course,’ he replies, a little bemused.

  Lew shakes his head.

  ‘I don’t believe it, what hope is there for the rest of us mere mortals?’

  Claire smiles and heads off to the canteen, suspecting he’s now Googling the Hollywood couple rather than getting on with investigating Neil Parson’s death.

  Claire is just heading down the corridor thinking how awful it must be to have your private life splashed across the world news, when her phone starts to vibrate in her pocket. ‘Mum and Dad Home’ comes up on the screen, she answers it.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hello love,’ it’s her mum, ‘you at home?’

  ‘No mum I’m still working.’

  ‘Oh sorry, do you want me to ring off?’

  ‘No it’s fine, just on the way to the canteen.’

  She wonders how many times her mother is going to apologise during this conversation.

  ‘Everything alright? How are you and dad?’

  ‘We’re fine. Mary Gruchy had a car accident last week, you remember Mary?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do mum.’

  ‘She broke her pelvis and arm. Drove into a granite wall. Pressed the accelerator instead of the brake in her new au
tomatic. I don’t know how she’s going to manage in that house on her own. Your dad is taking me out tomorrow to the cinema. We’re off to see Deepwater Horizon, not sure what it’s about. I’d rather see Girl on a Train but your dad isn’t interested in that. We won’t be getting any sweets at the cinema, far too expensive. I might buy a bag of Maltesers from the Co-op to take with me. How are you?’

  Claire is used to her mum’s verbal diarrhoea, a symptom of a day spent on her own.

  ‘Fine thanks mum, just got a new case today so busy.’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry to disturb you. Your dad used to like the first days of a case, said he loved the buzz of it all… They’re building a new police station here now you know?’

  Claire thinks back to her childhood and the rare times her dad was actually home.

  ‘Yup you told me, it must be ready soon.’

  ‘Yes I think so,’ her mother trails off, ‘Did I tell you that Mary Gruchy has had a car accident?’

  ‘Yes mum. You OK?’

  ‘Me? Yes I’m fine, it’s Mary who isn’t, I wasn’t in the car you know.’

  Claire has arrived at the canteen now and the inane chatter from her mother is rejuvenating her headache.

  ‘No, look, sorry mum I’ve got to go now.’

  ‘OK of course, sorry to take up your time when you’re busy. Give us a call soon. We miss you, you know.’

  ‘I know, I will, bye mum.’

  Claire pockets her mobile and studies the canteen menu, but she’s not really concentrating. She doubts her dad is missing her, and that conversation with her mum was a bit weird. Her mother can ramble and talk about the most mundane things for hours, but that took rambling to a new level. She guesses her dad is out again with his old police buddies at the golf course. Her mother gets lonely in the house on her own and she can be quite adept at making Claire feel guilty for not being around.

  It’s nearly 12 years since she left Jersey for University in the UK and she’s never been back - apart from holidays. It’s not that she doesn’t like the island, she does, it’s just it can be career limiting. Thankfully for people in Jersey, murders and serious crimes are few and far between. Her dad used to get excited about cases they wouldn’t even investigate over on the mainland. The low crime rate is a great bonus for those living there, but not a great way to get career experience if you’re a police officer.

  She considers getting something hot to eat but then decides against it. A full belly on a late night after a long day is more likely to slow her down and make her sleepy. She chooses a salad with lots of bacon pieces and cheese and gets another latte for herself and a flat white for Lew.

  As Claire is paying, a big hoot of laughter comes from a group of uniformed men who have just finished up and are on their way out of the canteen. It’s Jack’s posse, the bunch of guys he hangs out with and who invariably end up round their house drinking beers. They’re alright, most of them, a bit immature for her liking and she winces when one of them catches her eye and they drift towards her, enveloping her in their group.

  ‘Claire. You good?’ James Baxter beams at her, they call him the ginger whinger, but he’s probably the smartest out of the bunch.

  ‘Yeah fine James, just starting a new case.’

  ‘Craig had a good collar today didn’t you mate - although it’s made him feel a bit funny.’

  The other men smirk and Craig raises his eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Arrested one of those killer clown pranksters,’ Craig explains to her, ‘The prat was terrifying a group of pensioners on Putney Heath. This lot won’t let it drop.’

  Claire wishes she could come up with a clown one-liner to join in, but her mind is blank - like it always seems to be in these situations.

  ‘Boys!’ is her lame response and all she can think of saying as the group moves on, joking and laughing and slapping the brunt of their fun on his back. Her response goes almost unnoticed. Thankfully.

  Claire follows them out and Jack flashes through her mind again but her hands are full so she can’t call. She’ll ring him later.

  Zero:Ten is what she’d call a middle-class nightclub. They’ve gone to town on the decor and the drink prices and cocktails would preclude anyone on an average wage from being able to afford a boozy night out.

  Bob has assigned her and Lew to the task of checking out Neil’s stomping ground, while he reviews all the day’s work. She knows attention to detail is his thing. He’ll be wanting to make sure he’s not missing anything in what they’ve found so far and what they still need to find. She also knows he’s more of a fan of Frank Sinatra than the latest dance club mix.

  On the way to the Club Lew is his usual unsubtle self.

  ‘So, how’d you feel about this Rachel being stalked after what happened in the Stiller case?’

  He takes Claire by surprise. She knows people realise it upset her, but everyone has to deal with things. You either get on with it or you spend a few sessions talking it through with the duty psychologist. Did she come across as being that weak? Or has Jack been talking?

  ‘It’s different, this time we are being forced to take it seriously and not writing her off as some neurotic air head.’

  Lew steals a quick glance at her.

  Claire tries to change the subject.

  ‘You’re not planning any more Jager Bomb nights at ours again are you?’

  Lew laughs and the ensuing reminiscing lasts until they pull up outside Zero:Ten.

  It’s early but the club bouncers are already on the door. Claire and Lew aren’t in the usual clothes they’d go clubbing in, but they have both changed into slightly more relaxed outfits. Nevertheless, the bouncer is still able to spot that they’re police at first glance. He’s in his fifties, built like a brick outhouse - no neck and his arms are thicker than Claire’s legs. As they approach she sees him say something on his radio microphone - no doubt warning management that they’re arriving. She wonders if that’s an old habit born of years working in rougher clubs than this one, or if there might be something illegal going on inside.

  He introduces himself as Tony and is actually quite friendly, especially when they say they’re investigating Neil’s murder.

  ‘Terrible,’ he says shaking his head, ‘Nice bloke, charmed the ladies no end. Mikey will be gutted.’

  ‘We haven’t been able to contact Mikey to tell him,’ Claire replies, ‘Do you know where we’ll find him?’

  ‘No, haven’t seen him in for a couple of weeks,’ the bouncer replies. ‘Neil’s been coming in on his tod, not quite so frequent like, but yeah, come to think of it, not with Mikey.’

  Tracking down Michael Stratton has just become their priority number one.

  14

  Rachel, 14th October 2016

  It’s on evenings like this that Rachel thinks she’d like a glass of wine or something stronger - but she’s not going back there. Besides, she needs her wits about her. The last thing she wants is to dull her senses. Somewhere out there is a person who wants to hurt her. She has no idea who or why, but she’s certainly not going to make it easier for them.

  It’s too early for bed and so instead she tries to focus on doing a bit of work. She took on a couple of new clients this week and needs to suggest some suitable dates for them. She loves this part of her job, the buzz of possibility, the swell of hope ahead of each date. Deborah is in her forties, divorced three years and has two teenage children. She’s quite self-deprecating, probably a result of her bad marriage and the fact her ex went off with a woman ten years younger. She’s actually attractive both inside and out and so Rachel pairs her with two men who she knows Deborah would never normally pick because she’d think them out of her league. They’re also both nice guys, she’d be in good hands. Rachel smiles at the thought of Deborah’s dates. She’ll find someone, she’s sure of it.

  Rachel can’t help it. Her mind keeps going back to Neil. Dead. Murdered. His life taken violently and for what?

  This house has been her s
anctuary for 20 years but now she feels like dark shadows have crept in under the door. The spectre of Neil’s murder swirls in front of her, but in the corner of every room stands another black shadow - the threat of the stalker. She wants to close the curtains to prevent anyone from looking in and watching her, but that feels like she’s blinding herself. She’s no idea if they’re out there or what they’re doing.

  She imagines pulling the curtains open and seeing a face right up close to the window, eyes staring at her. Skin bleached white by the lights. She could be surrounded, oblivious.

  Even work can’t help her settle and she keeps getting up and going into the kitchen, lights off, to peer into the darkness of the garden. The glow that is the London outpost of Wimbledon Village, helps with the illumination. So far she’s seen nothing. Perhaps the police presence has scared them.

  The card the female detective gave her is propped up against her mug rack, DI Claire Falle. She said to call her if she was worried or saw someone, although she also said to dial 999 if she thinks she’s in any danger. How is she to know she’s in danger until it’s too late? Until they’re upon her?

  Rachel hasn’t felt this upset in years.

  15

  Rachel, February 1994

  Thinking about her mother and the fact she will never see her again - takes up the whole of Rachel’s head and heart. It is day two, a full 24 hours from hearing the news, before she feels even remotely able to look upon the world outside her inner pain. What she sees is her dad, a man who she’d always looked up to, loved and felt secure with, gone. In his place is a crumpled bag of human bones riven with a grief that sees no boundaries.