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

by Helen Phifer

  So, what are you holding on to, Ben? This stuff is just stuff; your memories are inside your mind and in your heart. He lay down and stared up at the ceiling; there was a large crack running from the light across to the wall above his head. If he didn’t get a builder in to look at it the whole ceiling could come down. He closed his eyes, and like he did every night, determined that tomorrow he would find a builder and tomorrow he would get some boxes to pack away Cindy’s stuff.

  Seven

  Morgan’s eyes opened wide; the room was dark, but she didn’t need to look at her phone to see the time was 04.25 because that was the exact time she woke every single morning. It didn’t matter how tired she was, how late she went to bed, if she’d been drinking, if she was ill. It never made any difference. For the last five years, since the worst day of her life, her brain had somehow convinced itself that she needed to be awake at this godforsaken hour and so she was. As she lay there, she heard a loud snore coming from the direction of the living room and groaned, pulling a pillow over her head to muffle the noise. She was hoping it had been a bad dream, that her useless father hadn’t really turned up late last night and was now drooling and snoring on her one and only chair. Forcing herself to get out of bed, she pulled her dressing gown around her, pushed her feet into the big, furry slippers she’d bought herself on her last shopping trip to Primark, then went into the living room to shake his shoulder. Bad enough he was here, in person, stinking out her lovely flat; she wasn’t going to listen to that awful noise which sounded like a cross between a chainsaw and a hoover. Grabbing his shoulder, she shook it. He didn’t flinch, so she used more pressure.

  ‘Stan,’ she hissed into his ear.

  He didn’t stir and she felt her blood begin to boil. Grabbing her headphones from the laptop, she pushed them into her ears and selected a playlist of nineties dance music to drown him out. Then she set about making herself a bacon sandwich. She didn’t really want to make him breakfast, didn’t want to give him anything, but she had been brought up better than that. Her mum had taught her to be a kind, selfless girl with good manners. So, she made him one, covering it with tin foil.

  She wrote ‘Stan’ on a Post-it note. Not ‘Dad’; it was never ‘dad’. Not since her mum’s death. Setting the coffeemaker going, she went into the bathroom, showered then came back in to eat her sandwich. Filling her travel mug with fresh coffee and screwing on the lid, she looked in disgust at the crumpled mess that was still snoring in her chair. She left her bedroom door open while she dried her hair, hoping the noise would wake him. Then she stamped around as she dressed in her uniform, tugging her black Magnum boots on so her footsteps echoed even louder. She was raging by this point; she didn’t want to leave him in her flat. She looked at the clock on the wall: it was now 5.45; she didn’t start work until 7.00. But she couldn’t stay here, she needed to see what was happening with Olivia Potter; she was desperate to know if the family had been found and told the news. Better to go into work early; at least she could sit in peace before the rest of her shift came in, and catch up on the logs. She set about writing him a note.

  Stan,

  Breakfast is on the kitchen worktop. Do not be here when I come home, there is nothing of value for you to steal. Don’t forget where I work. I’ll report you then hunt you down if you take so much as a hair slide that belongs to me. If you have nowhere to go, then you’d better get yourself to the homeless shelter on Ann Street and see if they can help. If not, go find one of your friends to stop with. This flat is not big enough for the both of us and I’m not risking my tenancy by letting you stay here another night. It’s not your new crash pad, I don’t want you here.

  Morgan.

  She pushed it into his hand, so he’d find it when he woke up and prayed he’d be long gone by the end of her shift. Just in case he did get any ideas, she grabbed her laptop and stuffed it into a tote bag along with her purse and headphones.

  Leaving the flat, she let the door slam but doubted it would have made him stir. She was seething at not being tougher with him. She should never have let him in and now she hadn’t been able to kick him out.

  The station was almost empty, aside from a couple of officers from the nightshift in the report writing room. Not wanting to give anyone the excuse to ask why she was in work so early, she headed upstairs to one of the offices she knew would be empty, at least until the start of her shift. She didn’t want to explain to anyone about the insomnia that had plagued the last five years of her life. That was too personal.

  There was one empty room next to the large CID office with the door open, so she took her coffee inside. Firing up the computer, she waited for it to let her log on, sipping her coffee while she waited. When her home screen filled the monitor, Morgan quickly brought up the logs to see the latest update on Olivia Potter. In the notes it stated that several visits throughout the night had been made to the address, but it was all in darkness. No contact had been made with her husband by the police. Her mother, Helen Taylor, had been informed late last night, but there was no mention of Olivia’s father. Enquiries were still ongoing to locate husband and daughters. That was it, nothing more. Morgan exhaled while reading the update. Something was definitely wrong, she was sure of it. None of this was normal. Last month a woman had died in a car accident and her daughter had been travelling in Australia. It had taken a few hours, but they’d managed to track her down and break the news to her. She was over the other side of the world; why couldn’t they find Saul Potter when he lived on their doorstep?

  ‘What are you doing here so early?’

  Startled, she looked up to see Ben standing there, holding a paper coffee cup.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She didn’t tell him it was an everyday occurrence.

  ‘Me neither. Put me out of my misery then, have they located her husband yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but it’s all wrong. Very wrong.’

  ‘I never said you were bossy, it was that arse, Dan. Anyway, I woke up early thinking about it and I think you’re right. Do you want to go back to the house and check it again? Take the keys from the sergeant’s office, see if there’s any sign the husband’s been back or if something got missed yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Thank you. Should I go now?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it can wait until after morning briefing. I don’t think another forty minutes will hurt; Olivia Potter isn’t going anywhere.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarge.’

  He turned and walked into the office. Morgan checked her emails, then logged off and headed down to speak to the sergeant and get the keys for the Potters’ house. This was her job; she didn’t want Dan coming in and taking over. He could sulk all day if he wanted; she wasn’t working with him and if they got paired up she’d be the first to say it wasn’t an option.

  By the time everyone arrived, had made mugs of tea or coffee and all filed into the briefing room, Morgan was itching to go. It would take her a good twenty minutes to get from Rydal Falls to Grasmere, traffic permitting. She could have told Sergeant Madden she needed to leave, but there was no way she was giving Dan any more fuel to add to his already low opinion of her. It still smarted that he’d turned on her like that. She’d wait patiently and offer to be the cover for Grasmere and surrounding areas.

  The briefing was over quickly. The main topic of conversation was for observations for the missing white Jag F-Pace. She wouldn’t know what an F-Pace was to look at but Mads, the nickname his team called Sergeant Madden, circulated the registration number, which was much easier to identify. An automated number plate recognition marker had been placed on it, meaning when it passed an ANPR camera it would ping and notify whoever was in the control room, so they could get the car stopped. Mads allocated areas and gave Morgan the same one as yesterday. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Dan frowned, but she ignored him. It would be some time before she bothered speaking to him, even if he apologised. Friends didn’t make y
ou look like an absolute idiot, especially in front of the people you worked with, and she was starting to realise that perhaps they had never been friends at all.

  She left first, eager to get to the house and give it a thorough search. Not that they hadn’t yesterday, but there was a nagging feeling that they had rushed, that they had missed something.

  Eight

  Ben read through the notes on the log again. It was odd they hadn’t found Saul Potter; Morgan had been right to be concerned. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but it didn’t make sense that the rest of Olivia’s family seemed to have disappeared. It would be interesting to see what the post-mortem results brought back. Yesterday he had been a hundred per cent sure it was a straightforward suicide. Today, he wouldn’t like to say. Part of him wondered if he should go back and search the house with Morgan.

  The office door opened.

  ‘Ben, can I have a word?’

  He looked up to see Detective Chief Inspector Tom Fell. He was smiling, so it wasn’t bad news. Ben stood up, following Tom out into the corridor and into his own office, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Morning, sir, everything okay?’

  ‘Yes, just a couple of things really. Have we really not located that poor woman’s family?’

  ‘No, we’re on it though. Husband’s car has a marker on it now and the officer who was first at scene has gone back to check the property and see if she can find anything that might have been missed yesterday.’

  He nodded. ‘Good, that’s what I’d do. Look, I’m sorry to say that we’re losing Ian. He’s going through to Barrow. So with him gone, Mitch’s retirement and Des still on long-term sick leave, we’re short-staffed. Can you put out a shout to see if anyone wants to come off section and do an attachment for three months? It would give us an extra set of hands.’

  ‘Actually, boss, I think I know someone. She’s pretty new, though, just out of company.’

  ‘You mean she might be a bit green? I was thinking someone more experienced. Who applied last time?’

  Ben thought back to the last set of emails he’d received and grimaced. Dan was always emailing him for a placement, but there was no way he was working with him. There was a clash of personalities between them; no matter how hard he tried not to let it, Dan’s lazy attitude towards the job annoyed Ben. There had been more than a couple of crimes that should have been solved with a bit of hard work and common sense. Dan had a knack of not following up on enquiries as efficiently as he should and Ben’s team had stepped in and got the result Dan should have in the first place. The other officer who had shown an interest was now on maternity leave.

  ‘Leave it with me. Would you have a problem if it was someone relatively new?’

  ‘Not at all, as long as they’re keen and can follow orders. We both know the key qualities are to listen to what they’re being told and be of some use.’

  Ben wasn’t sure if Morgan was going to fit the bill, but she was definitely keen and willing to work hard. He would speak to her about it later, see if she was interested.

  His phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He took it out, to see ‘Dr Death’ flashing across the screen, excused himself from Tom and darted out.

  ‘Morning, Declan.’

  ‘Morning, Ben. I’ve just done a preliminary examination of the body brought in last night and had to suspend it until I spoke to you. I found something of interest I thought you might like to know before I carry on.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘There are horizontal ligature marks as well as the mark of the noose. At this stage it’s impossible to say whether that means it took her a couple of attempts, or someone else strangled her and hanged her to make it look like suicide, but it makes both a possibility.’

  ‘I’m on my way, can you wait for me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thanks, Declan, I appreciate you phoning. I think Morgan is right, something has been off about this from the start.’

  He hung up, berating himself for not looking closer yesterday at the scene. Morgan had said there was no sign of a step, that the ladder was brought over from the shed. He’d been too eager to dismiss it as suicide; he’d been to a couple of hangings from trees in public areas where the deceased had climbed the tree to get high enough to do it. You didn’t normally carry a stepladder with you on these sorts of occasions. He went back into the office, which was still empty; everyone had gone straight out to follow up on their enquiries after the briefing. Christ, this place was like a ghost ship.

  Nine

  Morgan pulled into the driveway of Olivia Potter’s house; it was a different scene today from the chaos that had formed on the perfectly landscaped gardens yesterday. She had half expected when she arrived to see a car parked outside and find the missing family had returned from wherever they’d been. But there was no car; it was eerily quiet. She parked the van and got out, her gaze falling on the tree where Olivia had been found. It was so sad, and she didn’t think she could ever get used to it no matter how many suicides she attended. She took the key from her pocket and opened the door once more; it didn’t smell quite so pleasant as when she’d gone inside yesterday. She could still smell the plug-in air freshener, but there was another darker, heavier scent beneath it.

  She didn’t announce her arrival this time. The house looked exactly the same as it had yesterday when she’d checked. There were no trainers or school bags in the hall, which you’d expect if two teenagers were here. She ran upstairs, checked each room in turn and this time she opened wardrobe and cupboard doors. There were different-size suitcases in a cupboard. So, they hadn’t gone away.

  Downstairs she checked the kitchen; there was a door next to the American-style fridge-freezer. Dan must have assumed it was the adjoining garage door yesterday. To be sure, she slid the bolt across and tugged it open. Blackness enveloped her eyes and a strong, earthy smell filled her nostrils. How had they missed this? It definitely didn’t lead to the garage, rather to a basement of some sort. Tugging the torch from her body armour, she turned it on, shining it around to look for a light switch. A pull cord dangled to the left of her and she yanked it, causing a small bulb to flicker on and illuminate the steep, wooden steps.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She had never liked cellars. Bad things happened in them. She’d read a book once, The Ghost House, and had been scared for days over the goings-on in that cellar. The smell she detected when she’d first walked into the house was coming from down there. It was much stronger. Like rotting meat. She crossed her fingers that maybe a freezer had defrosted. She thought about calling for someone to come and back her up and realised that Dan was in the other van and probably her nearest patrol. She’d rather run into the depths of hell and face Satan than have to rely on Dan to be her backup today. She could do this on her own. If he turned up and there was nothing down here, that would be another round of ammunition for him to fire her way. Spurred on, she began to walk down the wooden steps. The smell was getting stronger the closer to the bottom she got and she wondered if there might be a dead animal in here. Maybe a cat had got trapped, or a squirrel.

  Still shining her torch around despite there being some light from the bulb, Morgan stepped onto the concrete floor and turned slowly to take in the large space. There were the usual things you’d expect to find in a cellar: stacks of boxes, shelves containing tools and tins of paint. Nothing out of the ordinary. As she moved around the beam from her torch illuminated a jumble of clothes in the far corner.

  The light hit two small circles and reflected back towards her.

  She screamed so loud it echoed around the cellar as she realised two eyes were staring at her.

  Jumping back, it took her mind a few moments to process what she was seeing and then she felt her legs begin to quiver. Her hands tried to grab the radio to press the talk button and missed. She tried a second time.

  ‘5129 to control, I need urgent assistance.’

  Her voice was ba
rely a whisper.

  ‘5129, you’re very faint, can you repeat the last?’

  ‘Urgent assistance. I’ve found the missing family from the suicide yesterday.’

  ‘Are they kicking off?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I think they’re dead.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Easdale Road, the same address as the suicide.’

  Morgan could hear the radio burst into life as patrols began to shout up they were on their way. She took a pair of blue nitrile gloves from her pocket and slipped them on, painfully aware of the need to preserve the scene, but also mindful that she needed to make sure there wasn’t anything that could be done for them. She remembered the DS’s harsh words yesterday about not being medically trained to call death.

  ‘Control, I’ll need ambulance travelling.’

  ‘How many casualties are there? Ambulance will need to know.’

  ‘Three, I think, one male and two females.’

  She crossed the floor and knelt down by the side of the man who she assumed was Saul Potter. His face was covered with a piece of white cotton that was heavily bloodstained. The adult male was only wearing a once white T-shirt and pair of shorts, no socks or shoes. He had a shaved head and stubble on his chin that she could see underneath the piece of fabric was stained with dark, red blood. There was a pool of blood around him and the left side of his head was a strange shape. It looked like a deflated football it was so caved in. She placed two fingers to his carotid artery to see if she could feel a pulse. Nothing; he was cold and hard to the touch.

  A slight moan behind him stopped her in her tracks though. The other two bodies looked as if they could be the girls from the photographs in the bedroom. Both of them looked so tiny lying there. Neither of them had socks or shoes on either. They were so close together they were almost touching. She tried to stay silent, to hear which had made the noise, or had she imagined it? Then it happened again, and she realised that one of them was breathing. It was very shallow; she had a similar head injury to who Morgan assumed was her dad. But there were signs of life.