“I can’t believe I forgot she was coming.”
“It’s alright, it’s not your fault,” Mitchell reassured his friend. “It’s no surprise you forgot about Daisy, the arrangements were made at the last minute, and you had much more important things to worry about.”
Glen nodded, though it was clear he didn’t quite believe Mitchell. “Is she alright?” he asked. “What happened to her? Why didn’t she come out to the farm?”
Looking at his friend, Mitchell realised Glen wasn’t thinking straight, he was too distracted by concern for his daughter, which was perfectly understandable. “We think she did come to the farm,” he said in a gentle voice, not wanting to add to the distress his friend was clearly suffering, though he realised it couldn’t be avoided. “We think she was on her way to the farm when she ran into Wild, and that he took her so she couldn’t tell anyone she had seen him. Her body was found a short distance from Emily in the Harwell Farmhouse.”
“My god!” Glen’s left hand went to his mouth, while his right shook, spilling coffee from the cup he held. “You mean she’s – she’s dead? That if she hadn’t been coming to the farm, if I hadn’t said she could stay the night, she’d be alright? Oh god! It’s my fault isn’t it, that’s what you’re telling me; it’s my fault she’s dead.” The paper cup fell from his hand, spilling the last of the coffee it held over his shoes. “I should have made certain…”
Mitchell cut him off quickly before he could say anything that might incriminate either of them. “It’s no good thinking about what you should or shouldn’t have done, or blaming yourself for something that isn’t your fault; you didn’t kill Daisy, or Georgina, or Lucy, it was Wild, and now we’ve got the evidence to prove it.” He couldn’t keep the satisfaction he felt from his voice. “There’s something else; I’m going to have to have a forensics team search your house and yard for evidence that Daisy made it as far as the farm before Wild grabbed her. The more evidence we can find, the better our case against Wild.”
*****
Melissa followed her superior through the door and into the private room occupied by Zack Wild, though it felt more like she was swept along in his wake. If she could have, she would have chosen to be just about anywhere else in the world rather than in Wild’s hospital room; following her grandmother’s suggestion had only left her more confused than before regarding Wild’s guilt or innocence, if that were possible, and that confusion, worsened by what had happened to her cousin, left her deeply uncomfortable in his presence.
The shock of her cousin’s murder was massive, and it was all she could do not to break down in floods of tears – why Mitchell had insisted on her accompanying him, first to the hospital, and then to this room, she didn’t know, but it felt cruel. She wanted to be with her cousin’s parents, or with her own, though that was not easy since they no longer lived in the village, or her grandmother, she would even have preferred to be at home on her own with a large bottle of something for company while she allowed her grief to run its course.
Zack was surprised when he looked up from his book and saw that it was not a nurse who had just entered - Sergeant Mitchell was the last person he would have expected to see at that time.
“You’re here late, sergeant,” he remarked as he set aside his book and reached for the cup of water on the cabinet next to him. “What can I do for you?” Even if the lateness of the visit hadn’t told him that something more had happened, the look on Mitchell’s face would have. “Have you found Emily?”
Mitchell nodded, his head jerking up and down in short, sharp movements as he said, “We found her alright; we found her and she’s still alive. Does that surprise you?”
It was Zack’s turn to nod. “Given what you’ve said of what was done to Georgina Ryder and Lucy Goulding, I’m very surprised. She must be tougher than she looks.”
“More like luckier, certainly luckier than the other two,” Mitchell said. “She’s only alive because you were too busy raping and murdering Daisy Hawkins.”
“Who?” Zack had no idea who his supposed victim was, though he suspected, given that they shared a last name, that she was related to his neighbour, which meant she was also related to the constable at the end of his bed, who looked about as miserable as a person could.
“Who?” Mitchell went red in the face. “Who?” he said a second time, a moment before he launched himself across the room.
The sudden move caught Melissa by surprise. Before she realised what Mitchell had in mind, let alone could react to it, he had Wild by the throat and was choking him.
“Who?” Mitchell demanded. “She was only fourteen, you sick sonofabitch. Fourteen! You rape and murder a fourteen-year-old girl, and you don’t even know her name.”
Zack tried to pull himself free from Mitchell’s grasp, but it wasn’t easy. Not only was he growing steadily weaker as the life was choked out of him, but he had been half-dragged out of bed, and now hung down with the blood rushing to his head. His fingers scrabbled against those around his throat but he lacked the strength to break their grip, and what strength he did have was disappearing rapidly as blackness crept in at the edges of his vision.
Melissa was horrified by what her superior was doing right in front of her, but she was unable to move to do anything about it. It wasn’t until a nurse entered the room, stopped dead for a moment when she saw what was happening, and then hurried forward, bumping into her on the way past, that Melissa found the will to move. Coming to her senses, she rushed to help the nurse pull Mitchell off Wild, whose eyes were mostly closed, and whose lips were starting to go blue by the time they were successful.
“Are you alright, Mr Wild?” the nurse asked as she heaved her patient back onto the bed, proving that even a medical professional could ask a stupid question when someone was hurt.
“Is he alright?” Mitchell asked in disbelief. “That sick sonofabitch should be dead. He’s a goddammed murderer, who the hell cares if he’s alright.”
It took every ounce of strength Melissa had to keep hold of Mitchell and stop him finishing what he had started. She was glad when two more nurses, and a security guard, entered the room in a rush, responding to the alarm the first nurse had sounded.
The nurses went to help their compatriot with the patient, whose face was beginning to regain some of its colour. They got him straightened up and checked him over, making sure that he was as alright as he could be under the circumstances; fortunately, the attack had done no apparent lasting damage. While the nurses did that, the security guard helped Melissa to guide Mitchell from the room. Only when they got him out into the passage did Mitchell calm down and allow himself to be led away.
Melissa felt the eyes of both the security guard and the senior nurse watching them as they headed down the passage towards the lift; she could tell they wanted to say something about what had happened, so did she, but she couldn’t think what to say – Mitchell’s actions had come as a complete shock to her.
41
Melissa was on the doorstep for a couple of minutes before a light came on in the passage; she had to wait another couple of minutes for the door to open, and the moment it did she burst into tears.
She felt vaguely ashamed at collapsing emotionally, but that disappeared as her grandmother stepped out of the house and wrapped comforting arms around her. They remained like that for a minute or so, until her sobs subsided, at which point Melissa allowed her grandmother to lead her into the house and down the passage to the kitchen, where she was pressed into a seat. She put the batch of papers she had brought with her on the table, but that was as much as she could bring herself to do, after that she simply sat there, her cheeks wet with tears as she stared ahead, looking at nothing.
“Here, drink this.” Constance pushed a glass into her granddaughter’s hand and then guided it to her lips.
Melissa gasped as the strong liquor burned its way down her throat. She hadn’t realised what it was she was being given to drink until it was too late to wo
rry about. Now, though, she knew it was some of her grandfather’s favourite whiskey, which her grandmother kept around for special occasions and emergencies, and this was definitely an emergency. The second sip went down a little easier than the first, though it still burned and made her eyes sting with tears that had nothing to do with grief.
“Do you feel any better now?” Constance asked once Melissa had finished the whiskey.
“A little.” Now that she was more with it, Melissa could see that her grandmother’s eyes were puffy and red from her own tears and she reached out to take her hand. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better. As you get older you think nothing can shock you, and you can cope with anything, even the death of those near to you; somehow, though, life has a way of proving you wrong. I can’t believe Daisy’s gone,” she said. “She was so young. Too young to die, especially like that.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths.
Melissa gave her grandmother’s hand a quick squeeze, and then released it so she could get to her feet and put the kettle on. She barely had a chance to pick it up before her grandmother recovered, as much as she was going to just then.
“Is this that thing you were going to do, everything that’s happened since Georgina went missing?” Constance asked, pulling the small stack of papers across the table so she could take a look.
Melissa nodded as she filled the kettle from the tap. “It’s not finished, though; I haven’t had a chance to add everything…” She had to stop for a few long seconds to collect herself before she could go on. “Everything that’s happened today, especially tonight.”
“Well then, you sit yourself down and finish it, I’ll make the tea.” Constance got to her feet and took the kettle from her granddaughter, she then nudged her towards the table while she set about preparing the pot and their cups. “I called your parents after I heard what happened.”
“What did they say?” Melissa asked. She couldn’t help wondering if her parents were going to come back to the village as a result of her cousin’s death – she couldn’t bring herself to use the word murder, even in her mind, because she was sure it would make her break down again; her parents hadn’t returned to Oakhurst since leaving the village several years before, when her father got a job in London.
Constance returned to the table while she waited for the kettle to boil. “Your mother will be here sometime today; she couldn’t say when, but she thinks it will be before lunchtime. Your father…” She hesitated for a moment, which was as close as she came to showing disapproval for the man her daughter had married; it wasn’t that she disliked Eric Turner, she just thought him more interested in work than in people, even family. “Your father will be here for the funeral, once he knows when that will be, but he apparently has a couple of meetings he can’t get out of today, and too much work that he can’t afford to leave.”
The news upset Melissa a little, though it wasn’t unexpected. She was pleased – as pleased as she could be under the circumstances – that her mother was going to be around, but she would have liked her dad to be there as well; she had only seen him a couple of times since her parents moved to London, and both times she had had to all but force him to spend time with her. She would have liked to think he could put work aside at such a difficult time to help support his family.
“Where’s mum going to stay?” Melissa asked. “Does she want me to make up the spare room?” It only occurred to her then that she hadn’t checked her phone to see if anyone had tried to call or text since she was given the news of her cousin’s murder.
Constance shook her head as she filled the teapot and brought it over to the table. “She’s going to stay here. I’ve got the space, and it will be easier than putting you to any trouble.”
Melissa was relieved by that news; as much as she wanted to have her mum in the spare room, close by, it would have felt awkward for the house she lived in belonged to her parents until they moved.
*****
It took Melissa until after two in the morning to bring her account of events up to date, at which time her grandmother read it. Despite the hour, neither of them thought about going to bed, they were both sure they would only lie awake, thinking about Daisy and what she must have gone through as her life was taken from her.
Melissa was especially keen not to have the time or the opportunity to think about it since she had seen Georgina’s body, and so was more aware of what her young cousin had almost certainly endured.
Instead of trying to sleep, they did everything they could think of to keep themselves occupied, both physically and mentally. In Constance’s case that meant filling the kitchen with the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked cakes and biscuits, enough to fill a shop; Melissa’s way of distracting herself was to finish the chronology, and then to make herself more than a little sick by eating her way through as much of what her grandmother had baked as she could, which still left a significant amount for someone – about half the village it seemed – to eat.
“Is this everything that’s happened?” Constance asked once she made it through the last page of what her granddaughter had written. When Melissa nodded, she asked another question, “Lewis really tried to strangle Mr Wild?”
“He didn’t just try, he nearly succeeded,” Melissa said. “I was so shocked by it, on top of everything else that happened tonight, I didn’t know what to do, I just stood there like an idiot. It’s just as well one of the nurses came in, and then a couple of others, with one of the security guards; if they hadn’t shown up, I think I’d have had to arrest Mitchell for murder. As it is, if Mr Wild makes an official complaint, and I’m sure he will, I’m going to have to arrest him for assault, maybe even attempted murder.” She sighed more heavily than she had ever sighed in her life; it seemed as though Mitchell was determined to make an already terrible situation worse.
“At least you don’t have any doubts about what the right thing to do in that situation is,” Constance remarked. She was as shocked by what Mitchell had done as Melissa, and could only imagine how much more shocking it must have been to witness the incident. “Have you made up your mind about any of the things that were troubling you before?”
“Not entirely,” Melissa admitted. “Mr Wild is apparently the same blood-type as the killer, but he has an alibi for when Emily was attacked, most likely attacked,” she amended. “If his alibi is true, and it almost certainly is, I don’t see how he could be the killer.” She gave a quick shake of her head and then went on. “The only things I’m certain of right now are that Sergeant Mitchell can’t be allowed to stay in charge of the case; even if Mr Wild is the killer, the way Mitchell’s acted is going to put the case against him in jeopardy; and more attention should have been paid to the possibility that Kieran Wright is the killer. He might not be, but Mitchell hasn’t even considered the possibility that he might be, let alone looked into it.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Speak to the inspector first thing,” Melissa said, she couldn’t think of anything else she could do.
42
Melissa yawned mightily as she leaned on the doorbell at her superior’s house. Her mouth gaped like the entrance to a cave suitable for roosting bats but she closed it hastily when the door opened.
“Melissa, what are doing here so early?” Irene Stevens asked when she saw who was on the doorstep. “Constance.” If she was surprised to see Melissa, it was nothing to how she felt at seeing who was with her. “Has something happened? Something new?”
Melissa hesitated briefly and then nodded. “You could say that,” she said, wondering if Mitchell had told the inspector any of what had happened at the hospital the previous evening; she doubted it, it was past midnight when they made it back to the village, and she didn’t imagine Mitchell would have wanted to admit what he had done. “I know it’s early, but I really need to speak to the inspector, it’s important.”
Ordinarily, Irene would have told Melissa to com
e back later, but she knew the constable wasn’t the sort to come knocking without a very good reason. “Come in, I’ll get Robert.” She stepped back from the door so Melissa and her grandmother could enter.
Stevens found his guests on the sofa when he reached the living room. “So, Melissa, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked once they had exchanged pleasantries. “I take it you’re the one who wants to see me.” He glanced at Constance, but most of his attention was on his subordinate.
“It’s about Sergeant Mitchell, sir, and Mr Wild,” Melissa said. She was a little worried about how Stevens was going to take what she had to say, he had always been a fair and reasonable boss, but she couldn’t help remembering that he was good friends with Mitchell, and had been since she was a baby. “And about the murders.” She fell silent for a moment, waiting for Stevens to say something, when he didn’t, she continued, “I think Sergeant Mitchell needs to be taken off the case, I think we need a detective to take over.”
“Why’s that?” Stevens asked. “Lewis has already caught the killer. I know he hasn’t arrested Mr Wild yet, but he has assured me that Mr Wild’s blood-type matches that of the killer, and he will arrest him once he has proved his alibi is false.”
“The blood-type match means very little, sir; the killer’s blood-type is the same as that of a third of the male population. That aside, Mr Wild’s alibi is solid, so the only way he could be the one who attacked Emily is if we’re wrong about when she was attacked, and given all the information we have, and the phone call we got at the station, that seems pretty unlikely. If he can’t be responsible for the attack on Emily, he can’t be responsible for the murders of Georgina and Lucy either.”
Written In Blood Page 24
