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

by Helen Phifer

  ‘This all started yesterday with the report of a suicide out at a house called Lake View, on Easdale Road. PC Brookes was the first officer on scene. It all looked pretty straightforward. I attended and didn’t think anything was untoward. I should have looked closer, but I didn’t. I hold my hands up and the lesson has been learned; no matter how long you’ve been doing this job never take anything at face value.

  ‘The body was taken to the RLI, where the pathologist wasn’t happy that this was a straightforward suicide. Fast forward to today: unable to trace Olivia Potter’s husband or children despite ANPR markers being placed on his car and the reg being circulated countywide, there were no sightings. Morgan went back to the house this morning and found the grim discovery in the cellar.’

  Amy brought up the crime scene photos and slowly clicked through them. Claire sat forward and Abigail let out a small gasp. Morgan didn’t need to look at them: they were forever imprinted in her mind in all their bloody, technicolour glory. Not wanting anyone to think her squeamish, she stared at the screen. It didn’t look real in the photographs. The carnage and devastation didn’t hit home like it had in that cellar which smelt of damp and blood.

  ‘Saul Potter, and his youngest daughter Beatrix, were both dead on the scene, massive blunt-force injuries to their heads. Both faces were covered with white cloths. Bronte, the older sister, was found by Morgan barely alive and rushed to the RLI, where she is currently undergoing surgery to remove a clot from her brain. The safe word when speaking to staff for updates is “campervan”.’

  Everyone scribbled it down onto their notepads, and Morgan did the same.

  Ben continued talking and, listening to his soothing voice, her eyes began to feel heavy and she had to pinch her arm under the table to wake herself up. She’d never live it down if she fell asleep in her first murder investigation briefing. Ben would send her back down to response faster than she’d come up. But she was tired, beyond tired. Her dad’s late-night visit had disrupted her routine. The usual feeling of swallowing a lead ball settled in her stomach at the thought of him being in her apartment. She didn’t trust him; she was sure he wouldn’t have left like he’d promised and he’d have eaten what meagre food she had in her fridge.

  She felt a sharp dig in the side of her stomach and glanced around to see Amy staring at her. With a start she realised her attention had drifted off and she mouthed ‘sorry’. She brought her attention back to Ben, who was staring at her, and she realised he’d asked her a question. Only she had no idea what.

  ‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’

  ‘I said that you were going to be responsible for CCTV enquiries at surrounding properties to Lake View. Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Good, the houses along that stretch of Easdale Road are expensive. Which means they’re likely to have good security systems with a possibility of CCTV. At least that’s what I’m hoping for. It would be a bit of a miracle if they all worked or had cameras which covered the road.

  ‘Amy, you are in charge of background checks on the family. I’ve already asked Intel to do the more in-depth stuff. I want you to get me their Facebook accounts, friends list, et cetera.’

  Morgan raised her hand.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Teenagers don’t really do Facebook any more. They tend to go for Snapchat or Instagram; TikTok is very popular at the moment.’

  Ben repeated. ‘Tick tock, what the hell is that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Not too sure, I just know a lot of them use it.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘She’s right, studies show it’s more our age group that use Facebook.’

  ‘Well then, there’s a good chance Saul and Olivia are on Facebook. Just see what you can find. Wendy, can you give us an update on the evidence at the scene?’

  Wendy began to talk them through what she’d found.

  When she’d finished Claire asked, ‘What can you tell me about the cloths covering their faces?’

  ‘That’s a good question. When something of this calibre, using extreme violence, happens, it often leads to a family member or someone close to the family. Ashamed because of what they’ve done, they cover the faces. You said there are doubts surrounding Olivia Potter’s hanging; is there any chance this is a murder–suicide? Maybe she killed her family then killed herself. Or could the surviving daughter have done it then injured herself, but not severely enough to kill herself? What about Saul, is there any chance he could have done it?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘All very real possibilities, but no, Saul, isn’t the perpetrator. I agree we need to look into Olivia a little more closely, and Bronte; we need to see if either of them had motive. I do agree it’s either one of them or someone close to the family. There were no signs of forced entry, so whoever it was had a key and knew them all well enough to get into the house without arousing their suspicion.’

  Abigail asked, ‘Who found the first body?’

  Morgan answered. ‘Bronte’s boyfriend. He rang it in when he found Olivia hanging in the front garden when he arrived to see Bronte.’

  Claire and Abigail both said, ‘Bingo,’ in unison.

  Ben looked at Amy.

  ‘Let’s bring him in: what’s his name?’

  Morgan spoke before Amy had chance to look at the incident report on the laptop.

  ‘Harrison Wright. He’d been at work though; he had a bag of KFC with him when he arrived.’

  ‘How do you know he’d been at work?’

  ‘He had a red shirt with KFC embroidered on the left side of it and he told me he had.’

  Amy grinned at Ben. ‘Ah, well, it’s not him then, is it, if he clearly has an alibi like wearing a uniform.’

  Ben frowned at her. ‘Bring him in for a friendly chat. I want to speak to him myself. Let him stew for a bit in interview room A. Claire, Abigail, should we go and take a look at the scene? I’d appreciate your advice as to whether we can get the bodies moved to the mortuary.’

  Morgan realised Amy was being sarcastic and scolded herself for being so gullible. Ben ended the briefing; everyone had a set of tasks to complete. She was no longer sleepy: she was determined to show everyone how capable she was of carrying out the role she’d been given. She would scour the CCTV footage for any clues no matter how long it took her.

  Eighteen

  Ben pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket; it had been going on and off the whole time during the briefing. It was Declan. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m ready to continue with Olivia Potter’s post-mortem. I want to get hers out of the way before the rest of her family arrive. Are you free now?’

  ‘Can you give me an hour? I have two visitors from the Murder Investigation Team and was going to take them to the scene. I can show them then come to you.’

  A loud crash in the background almost deafened Ben.

  Declan shouted down his ear, ‘For the love of God, can you just be careful with that, it’s evidence. If you smash my samples to smithereens you can go in front of the judge and explain what happened to them.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘I swear to God I have the clumsiest assistant you could find. Lovely, hardworking, but a bloody liability. One of these days she’s going to end up dropping someone’s brain all over the tiled floor. I’ll hold on for you then, come straight down.’

  Another loud noise and more cursing from Declan filled the air then the line went dead.

  Ben looked at Morgan, who was tugging on a coat.

  ‘Hey, you can come with me if you want. While I’m showing the bosses the crime scene you can go check for CCTV at the nearest properties.’

  He didn’t tell her that once he was done, they were going to watch a post-mortem. She looked a bit overwhelmed and he didn’t want her running back down to Mads begging to go back on response after only being on his team for an hour. He did wonder if this was taking the whole throwing someone in at the deep end a touch too far. Then decided that if he was giving her a baptism of fi
re he may as well get the worst of it over within the first twenty-four hours. After everything she’d been through, she would relish the simplicity of tasks such as house to house or CCTV enquiries.

  She didn’t answer but nodded her head. That would do for him. He’d go easy on her tomorrow if she was struggling.

  He was heading out of the station with Claire, Abigail and Morgan when his phone vibrated again. It was a message from Amy this time.

  Who knew you’d have an entourage of women at your disposal, never thought I’d see the day :)

  Holding the door open, he waited for everyone to leave then turned and gave her the finger. As the door shut, he heard her loud laughter following them down the corridor and couldn’t help but smile.

  He drove to the house with Morgan. Abigail and Claire followed in the car behind.

  ‘Ben, do you think a woman could have done this? I just don’t see either Olivia or Bronte resorting to this level. I’ve read a lot about violent crime and it doesn’t sit right with me.’

  He glanced at her. ‘I agree, personally I think our suspect when we apprehend them will be male, but we can’t rule anything out. Harrison is looking viable at the moment. He knew where there was a key to the property, and he’s in and out all the time. A familiar face that they all seemed to trust.’

  ‘He’s so young though.’

  ‘Is there a minimum age for murder? We’ll see what happens when he’s interviewed. If he has a cast-iron alibi then we’re back to square one.’

  There was a PCSO guarding the entrance to the drive and a man in a flashy blue BMW was talking to him, blocking his entrance. He didn’t look as if he was about to move.

  ‘What’s this clown doing?’

  Ben beeped his horn, but the car still didn’t move. The PCSO looked towards him and shrugged. Ben got out of his car, striding over to the BMW, about to drag whoever was being an arsehole out of the driver’s door.

  ‘Is there a problem here?’

  Ben recognised Jamie Stone, the editor of the local paper, but wouldn’t give him the pleasure of acknowledging him.

  ‘Yes, there is. I want to go up to the house.’

  Ben crossed his arms. ‘Why? Are you family or a close friend?’

  ‘No, I’m the editor of—’

  ‘I know who you are. You say you’re not anything to do with the family who live here?’

  ‘No, I’m a reporter. The public have a right to know—’

  He cut him off again. ‘A right to know what exactly?’

  ‘About this?’ he finished lamely.

  ‘At this moment in time, neither the public nor you have the right to know anything. This is an ongoing case which has nothing to do with you. So, I suggest you move your car out of my way before I arrest you for police obstruction. As the editor of that piece of crap paper, you should know that all enquiries into serious incidents are run through the constabulary press office.’ He lowered his voice. ‘So, piss off out of my sight before I arrest you.’

  ‘Hey, you can’t talk to me like that.’ He radiated a sense of anger towards Ben.

  Ben turned and waved Morgan over. ‘Have you got your cuffs on you and pepper spray?’

  She jumped out of the car, a pair of cuffs dangling from her fingers and began to walk towards him.

  Ben leant in and grabbed the guy’s collar.

  ‘You can’t do this. It’s police brutality, I’ll have you reported.’

  A red mist fell over Ben’s eyes and if it hadn’t been for the voice of DCI Claire Williams behind him he’d have dragged the arrogant man out of his car and cuffed him. He let go of his collar and stepped back.

  ‘What is the problem here? You are indeed obstructing a police officer, so I’m going to ask you kindly to move your vehicle. I like to think I’m a reasonable person.’ She looked at the Apple Watch on her wrist. ‘So I’ll give you ten seconds and then I’ll be arresting you.’ She smiled the whole time she spoke, and the driver of the car shook his head.

  ‘You wait, you won’t hear the last of this. I’m good friends with the Crime Commissioner.’

  ‘Are you really, then you’ll already have his number. I won’t need to give it to you. Ten, nine, eight, seven.’

  The car engine roared into life and he drove away, the whole time shaking his head.

  Ben stared at Claire; his opinion of her had just gone from okay to awesome.

  ‘What a prick; I wouldn’t worry about the Crime Commissioner either.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m married to him.’ She winked at Ben, who laughed.

  They drove up to the house where another PCSO was standing outside the front door, holding the pale green crime scene booklet for them to sign in.

  Ben opened the boot of his car. A box containing every piece of protective clothing they needed was filled to the brim. Carrying a small box of blue nitrile gloves, Morgan got out of the car, a reluctant but determined expression on her face. But he decided she didn’t need to go back in: he wasn’t that mean.

  ‘Do you want to sign us in, Morgan? Then you can go and make a start on the CCTV enquiries at the houses nearest.’

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her release the breath she must have been holding in.

  She took the booklet from the PCSO and wrote their names, asking for Claire and Abigail’s surnames as they filed into the property one by one. Ben led the way.

  Reaching the closed door to the cellar, he turned and announced, ‘It’s bad.’

  Claire nodded. ‘They usually are, at least the ones we attend. They are much worse than a fight that’s gone horribly wrong.’

  He knew that, of course, but he felt it was his duty to warn them. He would have said it to a seasoned detective with thirty years’ experience. Opening the door, he began to make the descent into the now floodlit cellar, which smelt distinctly worse than it had a couple of hours ago.

  At the bottom of the steps, Ben stood to one side, letting Claire and Abigail take in the scene for themselves. They stared at the masses of dark red blood spatters covering the walls and ceiling.

  Claire stepped towards the bodies. She pointed to the ceiling.

  ‘Impact spatter is significant, along with the cast-off spatter. Every time the assailant swung the weapon back it flung blood onto the nearby surfaces. I think the victims were already lying down when they were attacked.’

  Wendy came down the cellar steps. ‘I think so, too; the bloodstains are circular, which suggests a ninety-degree angle of impact.’

  Standing behind Saul, she motioned swinging her arms backwards then forwards.

  Claire bent down to look at the bodies then turned to Ben.

  ‘Do we know where the cloths are from which covered the faces? Did they match any of the towels or bedding in the rest of the house, cleaning cloths, that kind of thing?’

  Wendy nodded. ‘I found some white rags in a bucket under the sink and think they may be a match. Forensics will tell us for definite.’

  Ben spoke. ‘Whoever did this had intimate knowledge of the house if they knew where to find the cloths without disturbing anything.’

  Abigail began to look around the shelving and boxes in the cellar. ‘The weapon hasn’t been located yet?’

  ‘No, once the bodies have been moved the search team are going to do a full sweep of the house and grounds.’

  Claire snapped photos on her phone of the bodies in situ, and then the surroundings. ‘Please can you show me where the body was found yesterday? I’m happy for these two to be moved if you’re finished processing them.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He led them back upstairs and out into the garden, where a late September sun was shining.

  Abigail sighed. ‘Such a beautiful house and gardens. On first impressions you’d think they had everything made. What a terrible ending for a lovely family.’

  Claire shook her head. ‘Yes, tragic. However we can’t assume they were a lovely family. You know that, Abi. For all we know they wer
e up to their necks in debt and beat their children. Until the financial checks and witness statements have been taken from friends and colleagues, we actually know nothing about them.’

  Abi turned to Ben and shrugged. ‘Sorry, I know. It seems on the surface they were.’

  Morgan was walking back up the drive.

  Ben waved her over. ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘The house nearest was empty. I caught the cleaner from the house a little further along just before she left. She said that they do have CCTV, but she has no access to the system. The owners will be home after seven. She also said that the Potters were a lovely family. Olivia wasn’t working. She told her employer that she’d sold her hair and beauty business in Manchester for a nice profit so they could move down here. Saul had sold his construction company as well, so they were financially stable. Saul was in the process of starting another company, but there had been a few complications.’

  Ben smiled. ‘Brilliant, I love it. You can always rely on hired help to have the low-down on everyone. I take it she didn’t see anything yesterday?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, but she said she did notice Saul’s car parked in a lay-by yesterday afternoon. It’s near another house she cleans on Fell Road.’

  ‘Brilliant, I’ll get a patrol to check it out.’

  He walked back to the car, asking for a control to check for Saul Potter’s car in the location they’d just been given. His head was pounding. He needed a drink, probably water, but he hated the stuff so it would be a large coffee with an extra shot and probably a large, gooey, sticky cake to go with it. Sitting inside, he watched as Morgan pointed to the tree where Olivia Potter had been found hanging and wondered if she really had killed her family before killing herself. They would find out soon enough; next stop after the nearest coffee shop was the mortuary.

  Nineteen

  Ben had left Claire and Abigail at the house. He parked on the double-yellow lines outside The Coffee Pot, a small café that brewed the best coffee this side of the Lake District. Morgan had gone in clutching the £10 note he’d passed to her. The hazards were flashing, and he didn’t care if a parking warden busted him; he was desperate and, judging by the look of exhaustion on Morgan’s face, so was she. She came out a few minutes later with two large, pale pink coffee cups and a paper bag. She got in and he had to stop himself from snatching the cake from her fingers, he was so jittery and desperate for something sweet. As she passed him the bag, he peered inside. ‘There’s only one sticky toffee muffin in here.’