One Left Alive: A heart-stopping and gripping crime thriller (Detective Morgan Brookes Book 1)

by Helen Phifer

  ‘Well in that case we’ll leave cause of death to the experts, shall we? Her post-mortem is scheduled first thing in the morning. Hopefully by then we’ll have located her family and broken the sad news to them. I think Saul has taken the girls away. Whether it’s to visit family or friends that’s anybody’s guess. If not, you have my permission to go back and search the house again to see if you can find anything that might pertain to where they are. Is that okay with you?’

  Morgan wanted to die, right now. She didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or genuinely nice. She got the impression it was the former. Nodding, she stood up. ‘Thank you.’

  She left and went to the report writing room, where she logged on to the computer and began to update the log and fill out the forms she needed to, taking her time so she’d have to spend less time at the pub.

  Four

  The Black Dog was almost full; it was standing room only there were that many off-duty coppers milling around waiting to toast Mitch. Dan was at the bar ordering his fourth pint of lager. He carried it back to the table he was sitting at and squeezed into the tight space. It was loud and everyone was well on their way to being drunk. The door opened and in walked Morgan. He grinned and waved at her. She looked like a fish out of water, but she also looked cute. He hadn’t seen her out of uniform before. She was dressed from head to toe in black; the little shorts she was wearing over a pair of fishnet tights showed off the tattoos on her thighs and not for the first time he wished he could take a closer look at them. Her copper-coloured hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she had two perfect flicks of eyeliner. Not that he was an expert in make-up, but his last girlfriend used to spend more time trying to get her eyeliner right than anything else.

  When Morgan finally got a large glass of white wine she walked over to where they were sitting. He squeezed up and patted the tiny space beside him. He was ready to be nice to her, give her a bit of a break since she’d had a rough day, but he saw the look which flashed across her eyes and a glint of anger sparked inside him. It was a look that said ‘Christ, is that the best I can hope for’ and it really upset him.

  She squashed in next to him, their thighs touching. He didn’t speak to her. Instead he carried on telling some loud story about a job he’d gone to yesterday. Morgan sipped her wine, listening. He knew she was here because she felt she had to be; she wanted to fit in. She smiled and made polite conversation when directly asked a question. Half an hour later, when she hadn’t spoken a word to him, he brought the conversation around to this afternoon.

  ‘Hey, did you realise our little goth here, Morgan, was a super detective.’

  He felt her squirm next to him; still, he carried on, encouraged by the laughter that filled the room.

  ‘Yep, been on the job five minutes and she was only telling that miserable git Ben Matthews how to do his job. Next, she’ll be telling the DCI how to run a case. It was hilarious, you should have seen his face.’

  Morgan smiled at the jokes he was making about her and lifted the wine glass to her lips, downing the rest of it in one gulp. Neither she nor Dan noticed Ben walk into the bar. He was ordering a double JD and Coke for Mitch while listening to Dan’s little tale. The barman passed Ben the drink and he pushed it in Mitch’s direction, who saluted his thanks. Then Ben turned around. Dan was still loudly telling everyone about Morgan, who looked as if she was going to burst into tears. There was a bit of a scuffle as she pushed herself up and squeezed past the table full of men who were laughing loudly at her expense. She walked towards the door and Dan shouted after her.

  ‘Come back, Morgan, I’m only joking, you need to lighten up.’

  She didn’t look over her shoulder; instead, she kept her head high as she pushed her way through the doors and into the car park.

  Dan stood up, regretting being quite so mean to her in front of everyone. The grin which had filled his face turned into a thin line when he realised that Ben had heard the whole thing.

  Ben strode towards him and knocked the table with his knee, sending drinks toppling to a chorus of loud shouts.

  He pointed his finger at Dan’s chest. ‘Morgan was obviously too polite to say anything, but I’m not. You are a complete wanker.’ Ben, who towered over Dan, glared at him.

  ‘It’s just a bit of banter, nothing to get upset about.’

  ‘Banter my arse, you’re an idiot and you’d better apologise to her tomorrow or I’ll be filing a grievance on her behalf against you for bullying.’

  The barman came rushing over. ‘Now then, lads, calm it down.’

  Ben turned and left. Dan laughed, trying not to show how shaken he was. Ben was a much bigger guy than him; this could have ended up a lot worse.

  Jonny, who was sitting next to him, ruffled his hair with his hand.

  ‘You could have lost your shiny, white front teeth then, Danny lad. Ben is a bit of an animal when he lets loose. Better watch your step around him, either that or apologise to them both.’

  He shrugged. ‘No way, it was just a joke. If she’s so uptight she can’t take a bit of a laugh and he’s so quick to defend her, let them stew. I’m not apologising, pair of losers.’

  Jonny laughed. ‘Your funeral, mate, Ben has friends in high places. It was funny though.’ He raised his glass to Dan, then downed the rest of his pint and stood up. ‘I have to go; my wife is on nights. See you tomorrow.’

  Dan smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was wondering if he should also call it a night or whether to drown his sorrows, along with his stupidity. He had nothing and no one to go home to. He decided to order another pint and drink himself senseless.

  Five

  Morgan stood on the pavement, wondering whether to call a taxi or walk back to her flat. It was a good ten-minute walk and the boots she was wearing weren’t the comfiest. She set off walking along the main road. It was late but surprisingly quiet for a Friday night.

  ‘Morgan.’

  The deep voice bellowed her name and she turned around thinking that if it was Dan she’d tell him where to go. She saw Ben standing at the entrance to the small car park and thought, Oh the shame, he just saw me get well and truly humiliated in front of most of my colleagues, as if today hasn’t been bad enough. Lifting one hand, she waved then turned and carried on walking, trying to put as much distance between them as possible so she didn’t have to make polite conversation with him. Heavy footsteps pounded the pavement behind her and she hoped it wasn’t some mugger about to take her out and end her day with a bang.

  ‘Christ, I don’t do running. Can you slow down a minute?’

  She turned to see Ben, his face red and his breathing heavy.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted me to stop. What’s up?’

  He took a couple of breaths. ‘Nothing, I wanted to make sure you were okay. That Dan is such an arrogant little shit. I had to stop myself from ripping his head off.’

  She nodded. Her eyes glistened with tears. Don’t you dare cry in front of him. You don’t know him, sort yourself out. She looked down at the floor.

  ‘Look, I’m driving, can I give you a lift home, or wherever you’re going?’

  ‘Oh. Well yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘No trouble at all, I’ll go get my car.’

  ‘I’ll walk back with you, thanks.’

  They walked the short distance, neither of them speaking. She didn’t want to make him feel obliged to make polite conversation. He pressed the key fob and the lights on an old VW Golf flashed. They crossed to it and Ben climbed inside, sweeping empty sandwich and crisp packets off the passenger seat.

  ‘Sorry, it’s a bit of a state. I don’t usually give anyone a lift and I never have the time to clean it.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’m grateful for the ride. I take my car to the hand car wash at—’ She stopped talking, not wanting to sound like she was telling him what to do, especially after Dan’s comments about her.

  ‘Where do you live?’
/>   ‘Singleton Park Road. Do you know where that is?’

  He nodded. ‘Nice area.’

  ‘I like it.’

  They reached the turn-off and she directed him to the large house which was now split into three flats.

  ‘I’ll get out here, thank you.’ Relief she was home flooded over Morgan. She wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  She nodded. ‘Embarrassed, but I’ll live.’

  She got out of his car; about to shut the door, she paused, but couldn’t help herself. ‘I guess they haven’t located Olivia Potter’s family?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not before I left for the evening, but I’m sure section will trace them.’

  Closing the door, she walked across the gravel to the steps which led to the pale green front door of her building. Opening the heavy door, she turned and waved, but Ben was already driving out of the gates.

  Morgan went inside her ground-floor flat. The air was tinged with the smell of fresh paint and no hint of her ex-partner who’d left her when she told him about joining the police. She was happier on her own anyway; relationships were too complicated. Hers had been the first flat in the building to be refurbished. When the letting agent had shown her the brochure she’d fallen in love and knew she had to live here. The huge picture windows that overlooked the formal communal gardens were the perfect place for her to read on a rainy day. Inside everything was brand new; the white walls were pristine. It made the rooms look much bigger than they were. When she had some time off she was going to paint a feature wall in her bedroom: a splash of dramatic bottle green to match the gold accessories she loved to collect. The rest of the walls she’d leave white for the time being.

  She kicked off her uncomfortable boots and went straight into the bedroom to put her pyjamas on. It had been a long day. She was tired but unable to switch off.

  Her mind kept replaying Dan’s words. They hurt. She’d thought they were friends and didn’t understand why he would show her up in front of almost the whole of Rydal Falls police staff. It just reaffirmed what she already thought: that you were better off alone, no partner or friends to make you feel like crap. Tugging her hair from the bun, she let it fall over her shoulders and shook her head, rubbing her fingers through it where the bobble had been.

  Taking a bottle of white wine from the fridge, she poured herself a large glass; it would help her to sleep. For a few hours anyway. Carrying the glass, she took it to the only chair she had in the living room. It was an oversized, worn leather armchair which looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the gardens. Sinking into it, she curled her feet underneath her and sipped at the chilled wine and stared into the blackness outside. She liked the dark, always had since she was a child. There was something very comforting about seeing the moon against the inky sky. Her mum had nicknamed her Selene after the Greek goddess of the moon, and on her fifteenth birthday she’d given her a rose gold necklace with a crescent moon that had a tiny diamond set in the middle. It was Morgan’s most treasured possession and the only thing she had apart from one photograph to remind her of her mum now. Sipping the wine until she felt relaxed enough to switch off her busy mind, she placed the glass on the floor and closed her eyes, letting her mind drift and a dark fog settle over it.

  Hammering on the front door to the flats woke her with a start and Morgan blinked awake. It was still dark outside. Who could that be? As far as she knew the other two flats in the building were still being refurbished and hadn’t been rented out yet. She stood up, rubbing her eyes. Grabbing her phone from the kitchen side, she checked to see if she had any missed calls, but there weren’t any. It was almost one a.m. Keeping hold of her phone, Morgan opened the door to her flat and crossed the large entrance, barefoot, to the front door, where she peered through the spyhole and let out a gasp, dropping her phone. She wondered how he’d found her. The pounding on the door resumed again and echoed around the hallway.

  With a deep breath, she unbolted the door and pulled it open.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Hey, Moggy, is that the way to greet your old dad?’

  ‘How did you find me, Stan?’

  ‘It’s not rocket science, Moggy, a friend of a friend said you were living around here. It’s cold out, aren’t you going to invite me in?’

  ‘No.’

  She pushed the door, but he was too fast. His foot was already there, stopping it from shutting.

  ‘Seriously, go away.’

  ‘Aw, come on. I’ve got nowhere to go, just let me in until the morning. I haven’t got enough money to stay anywhere.’

  ‘Go back to Carol.’

  ‘I can’t, she threw me out.’

  She shook her head. ‘I wondered how long it would take her to see sense.’

  ‘Please, I fell over, I’ve hurt my head and feel dizzy. It’s dark along that road.’

  Waving her hands to activate the motion sensor hall light, Morgan looked at her father’s face. He did have a graze on the side of his head and some scratches on one hand, but they didn’t look fresh. They were a couple of hours old. His hair was fully grey and he looked more dishevelled than the last time she’d seen him. It had been at least a year. They’d rarely spoken in the five years since her mum’s death. She’d blamed him for everything.

  Against her better judgement, she opened the door and took a step back.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Moggy, you always were. Feisty, but kind.’

  ‘You can come in for tonight on one condition.’

  ‘What’s that, love?’

  ‘You don’t call me Moggy. I’m not a flipping cat. It’s Morgan.’

  He lifted his fingers to his lips and mimed zipping them shut. ‘Sorry, Morgan.’

  She pointed towards her open flat door and watched him stumble towards it, the smell of cheap whisky permeating the air around him. It was so strong she waved her hand in front of her nose to waft it away. A sinking feeling inside made her wonder if she was going to regret this dutiful act of kindness tomorrow.

  Six

  After dropping Morgan off, Ben had driven straight home to his empty four-bedroomed house. It was untidy, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d dusted. Maybe it was time to get his act together; Cindy had been gone over three years now. Her stuff was still all around the house; he hadn’t been able to touch it, although he had moved the awful faceless figurines she’d insisted on collecting. They were the only things he’d boxed up so he didn’t have to look at them. When she’d been alive the urge to draw faces on them whenever they argued had been strong and difficult to suppress. He’d managed to resist, though, and always imagined this small feat had earned him brownie points with whoever was watching over him. Not enough points to save Cindy though.

  He felt sad and in dire need of a treble shot of something strong. Suicides always left him this way. No matter how many he attended it was always the same; it was something he could never get used to. Didn’t want to get used to if he was honest. Accidents and murders, even terminal illness were all tragic and devasting, but these people didn’t die by their own hands. They didn’t willingly wake up and decide that today they’d swallow fifty paracetamol and put a plastic bag over their head because they could no longer take the pain inside that being alive caused them.

  In the kitchen, he opened the freezer and pulled out the bottle of vodka he kept in there. He took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice and neat vodka. Sitting at the kitchen table, he stared at Cindy’s fluffy dressing gown on the back of the chair opposite him. It no longer smelt like her; instead it smelt of bacon grease and dust. He knew he should eat something. He hadn’t had anything since a bacon buttie that morning. Downing the vodka, he got up and opened the fridge door. Two eggs, some crusty cheese that looked as if it was growing its own penicillin and half a tin of chopped tomatoes greeted him. He grabbed the tomatoes, looked inside the tin and gagged. They were green and furr
y. It would have to be eggs again, and he didn’t want eggs. Opening the cupboard, he found a packet of chocolate digestives that would have to do. Refilling his vodka glass, he took that and the biscuits upstairs with him to the bathroom. He would have a shower, finish his drink and eat as many biscuits as he could before sleep overtook him.

  As he stood under the spray of steaming hot water, he cast his mind to Olivia Potter, wondering if section had located her husband and what it meant if they hadn’t. Was Morgan right to raise concerns, or was she being overzealous because it was the first sudden death she’d attended on her own? When he’d towel dried himself and was dressed in clean boxers and a long-sleeved T-shirt he felt better. Walking past the master bedroom, he stared through the open door at the super king-size bed. He hadn’t slept in that either since Cindy had gone. It reminded him of how lonely he was. Instead, he’d taken to sleeping in one of the spare rooms which doubled up as a home office. The single bed was comfortable, a bit of a squeeze but he managed.

  Finishing his drink, he tossed the packet of biscuits on the small chest of drawers next to the bed and threw himself onto the mattress. Days like this wore him out; mentally, emotionally, physically, coming home to this empty house which was like a shrine to his dead wife exhausted him. Memories he didn’t want to surface always did after a suicide, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop them. He sat on the bed and opened the biscuits, slowly making his way through half a packet as he looked down at the paunch which protruded over the top of his boxers. He needed to sort his life out. Once upon a time he’d have cooked a healthy meal, been up for a run before work, maybe even gone for one at the end of his shift. He wouldn’t be living off crap and vodka. What would Cindy do if it had been him who had died? He smiled; she definitely wouldn’t be living like some weird hermit, that was for sure. His stuff would have been boxed up and donated to a charity shop the day after his funeral.