by Helen Phifer
The girls had gone out to the car in the morning with backpacks on, Beatrix in her uniform, Bronte in jeans and a hoodie. The camera was very clear, and Morgan found herself leaning forward on her elbows, engrossed. Saul came rushing out of the house and got into the front seat of the car, and Olivia waved her family off from the front door. He forgot something, got back out of the car and walked back towards his wife, who he pulled close and kissed on the lips. There was no sound, but the girls were leaning out of the car windows pulling faces and shouting at their parents. Morgan’s heart felt as if it was about to tear in half. How sad. This was obviously a very happy family who loved each other deeply and now they were all lying dead. Except for Bronte, but she might very well wish she was if she ever woke up. Who knows what kind of brain damage she was going to have after such a violent, vicious assault?
As the car made its way along the drive it stopped at the bottom. A figure came into view, but it was difficult to make out who it could be until they began to walk along the drive. Morgan let out a small gasp as her hand lifted to her mouth. Surely not, why would he be there? It took forever, but the slightly hunched, shuffling figure finally became clear on the monitor in front of her. Morgan felt the blood begin to rush into her head as her heart started pounding and her hands began to shake. It was Stan, her father; there was no mistaking him.
Pushing her chair back, she stood up and rushed to the nearest toilet, dry heaving into the toilet bowl. When she was done, she went to the sink and splashed cold water against her cheeks and ran her wrists under the tap You’re completely overreacting; so what if he was there. It doesn’t mean he killed them. Does it?
When she felt composed enough to face Ben, she stood up and went straight to his office. It was empty. There was no one in CID either, and she realised they must be talking to Harrison Wright. The best thing to do, she decided, was to go home and speak to Stan, ask him what connection he had with the Potter family. For the first time ever, she hoped he hadn’t done what she’d asked and had stayed in her flat. Once she’d spoken to him, she’d approach Ben and tell him: that was the best thing to do. It made sense; there was no point dragging Stan into it unless she’d found out why he was there.
Morgan wasn’t sure what to do: did she book off with the control room or did she just go home when she was tired and exhausted? Going back into Ben’s office, she scribbled a note on a yellow Post-it.
Gone home. If you need me ring and I’ll come straight back. No CCTV of the day Olivia was found hanging. Camera malfunctioned. Morgan.
She peeled it from the pad and stuck it to the top-left-hand corner of his computer monitor.
Twenty-Two
By the time she arrived home her stomach was a mass of knots and she had a dry lump in the back of her throat. She’d been through every scenario possible and had managed to convince herself that Stan was involved in the whole sorry mess. She’d lose her job if this was true; the shame and embarrassment would be too much to bear. Dan would love it if she was thrown out after one day working in CID. When she’d seen him earlier, he’d stared right through her, ignoring her as if she was the one who’d upset him. It didn’t matter that he’d belittled her in front of most of the station at Mitch’s leaving do. She’d thought they were friends and now it felt as if they were arch enemies. It didn’t make any sense to her that he was being like this with her. He’d been fine when he arrived at the Potters’ house the day before.
The flat was in darkness, and she prayed Stan was still there in a drunken stupor because he’d finished off the bottle of vodka she kept in the small freezer compartment and the three bottles of wine in her rack. When she opened the door to her flat, she called out, ‘Stan.’ Her voice fell flat; it didn’t seem as if he was here. Reaching out, she flicked on the switch; the open-plan lounge and kitchen filled with light. He wasn’t slumped in her chair like she’d been expecting. She looked around and felt a ball of anger fill her chest.
‘The cheap, lying, stealing bastard.’
Her flat had been ransacked; every drawer and cupboard were open. Her papers and clothes were strewn everywhere. Morgan felt a surge of anger towards the man who had brought her up and done the shittiest job he could. She should have known not to trust him. She didn’t know what to do. The place was a mess.
She rushed into her bedroom. ‘Oh no, you didn’t.’
But he had.
Her bedside drawer was wide open and lying on the bed was the empty black velvet box which should have contained her most prized possession: the rose gold necklace her mum had given to her. It was too much and Morgan felt hot tears begin to fall down her cheeks. She didn’t care that he’d taken the emergency cash she kept in the tin in the kitchen drawer. Neither did the missing wine bottles bother her, but it hurt her that the thing she treasured most was now probably in some Cash for Gold shop, sold for twenty quid when it meant the world to her and was irreplaceable. Clutching the empty box, she felt herself begin to slide down the wall, tears of frustration and exhaustion flowing from her cheeks.
‘Morgan!’
Ben’s deep voice shouted from the entrance door to her flat and she wanted to curl up in a ball and die right where she was. Could this day get any worse?
‘Morgan?’ This time it was higher pitched, concerned. ‘I’m coming in, are you here?’
She heard his footsteps as he walked around the polished wooden floorboards, taking in the mess.
Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she stood up just as he came through the bedroom door.
‘Jesus, are you okay, what’s happened?’
Don’t cry, don’t you dare cry the voice screamed inside her head. She opened her mouth and managed to let out a sob so loud it filled the entire room. Before she could do anything, he was there, his warm arms around her holding her close and patting her back awkwardly as if he was petting a dog he was a little bit afraid of. She should have pulled away and dried the tears; instead she cried even harder.
‘It’s okay, let it all out, you’ll feel better.’
Eventually she did pull herself away from him, and he bent down to retrieve a fallen box of tissues, handing them to her. She took one and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose.
‘Better?’
She nodded.
‘What’s happened, have you been burgled?’
‘Sort of. Stan, my dad, turned up in the early hours this morning. He was drunk and said he had nowhere to stay, so I let him in. I’m so bloody stupid. I knew he’d do this, but I felt bad. Anyway, I came home and found this. He’s taken a necklace that my mum bought for me. It’s all I have to remember her by. He burnt nearly all the family photos after she died. I came home from school and there was a bonfire in the back garden; he was throwing all her stuff onto it.’
‘That’s terrible, Morgan. Let me ring it in. We’ll get CSI here.’
‘No, I don’t want to report it. What’s the point? I just want my necklace back.’
‘But you can’t let him get away with this. I know he’s your dad, but he’s clearly an arsehole, as well as a thief.’
‘I’m already a laughing stock with my shift, thanks to Dan, and if he gets wind of this it will make things even worse; the shame of being burgled by my own dad. Please, Ben, I don’t want it reporting.’ Her voice was higher pitched than usual and she’d spoken so fast she wondered if he’d listen to her plea or call rank.
He sighed. ‘It’s up to you, I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.’
She shook her head.
‘Can I help you clean up then? Although if you saw the state of my house it’s debatable just how skilled at cleaning I am.’
She laughed. ‘No, I don’t need any help. Thanks. Did you want me?’
‘I just wanted to let you know that we’ve let Harrison go; his alibi checks out and he seems like a good kid. A patrol found Saul Potter’s car in a lay-by along the road the cleaner you spoke to informed you about. It’s been forensically lifted and taken to be examined.
I also wanted to make sure I hadn’t pushed you too hard.’
‘Back to square one then with suspects? That’s good news about the car, maybe something will show up inside that links back to the killer. Oh and no, you definitely didn’t. I’m enjoying this, at least I think I am.’
He laughed. ‘Yes, for the time being. Harrison is still on my list. I’ll leave you to it then.’
She walked him to the door.
He turned to her. ‘If Stan comes back you have to ring the police or me; do not let him inside. You don’t deserve to be treated like this.’
He left and she closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock. He might be grumpy, but he seemed to care underneath that rough exterior and she liked him even more.
Morgan ran the bath she’d been promising herself all day. She put in some lavender oil, pink Himalayan and Epsom salts, then lit the scented pink candle she kept in the bathroom. A little self-love ritual that her mum used to swear by might make her feel a little better after the crappy two days she’d had. She was unable, though, to pour herself the wine to go with it because her idiot dad had taken everything that contained a drop of alcohol. Instead, she made herself a cup of lavender and lemon tea. The kids at school had taunted her, saying her mum was a witch; Morgan didn’t see it that way. Her mum had been a herbalist; she grew and collected an assortment of herbs which she would then use to make teas and bath oils to soothe worries, aches and pains. There was nothing remotely witchy about her, apart from her love of nature and natural healing.
As Morgan slipped into the steaming water, which smelt divine, she closed her eyes and lay back. Inhaling the lavender, she felt her entire body begin to relax. By the time she’d sipped her tea and let the water go lukewarm she was ready to get dressed in a pair of fresh cotton pyjamas and climb into bed. She’d picked the drawers up and tidied her bedroom so it didn’t look as if it had ever been violated.
Climbing under the soft duvet, she waited for sleep to come. She didn’t think about the long, horrific day she’d had; instead she lay breathing deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth, counting backwards from one hundred until she let out a gentle snore.
Twenty-Three
Morgan’s eyes opened wide. She didn’t need to look at the clock; she knew it was 04.25. The same time she had woken every morning without fail since her mum had died. She missed her more than she could put into words. They’d had a loving friendship that had soothed her soul. It wasn’t a typical mother/daughter relationship; Sylvia had treated her like an equal and not a child. She had never forced her to do homework, insisting that life skills were far more important and weekends were spent gardening, cooking, making batches of herbal teas. Looking back she realised she’d been lucky to have had Sylvia in her life, even though it had only been for the first eighteen years, and she wouldn’t change a second of it. Morgan wished her mum could have talked to her about what was happening in her life instead of deciding to end it.
Considering she’d climbed into her bed just before midnight, she felt refreshed for a change. Perhaps it was the tears she’d cried at the loss of her treasured necklace or the soothing bath she’d had before bed. Whatever it was, she felt better and ready to face the day. Getting up, she began cleaning up the rest of the mess Stan had left behind. It wasn’t as bad as it had first looked last night. It must have seemed worse because she’d been exhausted. Once everything was put back and tidy again, she set about making herself a pot of coffee and some toast. If yesterday was anything to go by, today would be just as long and busy, if not worse.
The smell of burning toast brought her rushing back to the kitchen. She’d forgotten to turn the dial down. Her dad always ate his toast burnt to a crisp. The thought of him made her fingers curl into tight fists. The shock of seeing the mess he’d left had totally thrown her, and she’d forgotten the reason she’d rushed home to see him, to ask him what he’d been doing at the Potters’ house the day before they were murdered. Crap. She needed to tell Ben, who would probably say it was a conflict of interest and she couldn’t work on the investigation because of it. If that happened, she would be furious, not to mention mortified. If she thought Dan’s teasing was bad now, it would only get worse once he found out what a disaster the last twenty-four hours as a detective had been.
Taking her coffee and toast, she sat at the small table where she took her laptop out of her bag. As she ate her toast she wondered how many murders there had been in the area. Probably not that many; it was a quiet town in the Lakes after all. She set about searching the internet, which brought up a couple of recent murders in Keswick and Kendal. Neither victims were killed by strangers: it had been partners or ex-partners. Perhaps Ben was right: the killer was someone who knew the family. But who would bear such a grudge against them to do this? It was too horrific to comprehend. Morgan stared at her laptop screen. There at the bottom of the page was a grainy black-and-white photograph of a house that looked familiar, with the heading ‘Family Slain’. She clicked on it and waited for the article to load. It was from the local paper, which had changed its name since this had been written, a whole forty-five years ago. As it loaded, she sucked in her breath and didn’t let go.
It was the Potters’ house, she was positive.
An entire family were murdered in their beds at a rural property on Easdale Road last night. The O’Brien family only moved in recently after renovating the property which had lain empty for years. Jason O’Brien and his wife, Jennifer, were found bludgeoned to death in their double bed. Their two daughters, Anna and Melissa, were found in their bedrooms. Police have cordoned off the entire area and are asking for anyone who may have seen anything to come forward.
Morgan let out a gasp; how could this happen twice in the same house? She began to scribble notes on a pad.
Did the O’Briens’ killer get caught?
Where are the case files?
Did the Potters know about the murders when they bought the house?
Is there any connection between both families?
Did Stan also know the O’Briens?
A sinking feeling in her stomach as she reread the last line made her feel like throwing up. Pushing away the remainder of her breakfast, she rushed and got dressed. She needed to get to work now, log on to the computer and try to find any information on this case.
As she drove into the car park, she had to look on the bright side; at least coming to work this early had its benefits. There was no need to worry about a parking space, she had her pick. By the time the early shift started in another hour they’d be fighting to get parked. It felt strange not getting her kit on and going into the downstairs report writing room, where the response staff worked before going out on patrol. Instead, she carried on upstairs to the CID office.
It was empty. She looked at the desks: some of them had photos on, mugs with sarcastic slogans on them containing days-old tea or coffee. While waiting for the computer to load she gathered all the mugs and took them out to the small kitchen, where she tipped their offending contents out and filled the sink with steaming hot water and a good dollop of washing-up liquid. Leaving them to soak, she went back and sat down at the desk in the corner of the room, nearest the back wall. There were no personal items on it so she didn’t feel as if she was encroaching on someone’s work space. She logged on to the computer and began searching. She tried everything, but nothing brought any results up. How on earth was she supposed to find anything out? It was ridiculous. All the systems were new and the records didn’t go back very long. Even the older systems, which ironically were much easier to navigate, only went back to the nineties.
Frustrated, she gave up and went to wash the cups. Her arms elbow deep in soapy water, she didn’t hear Ben, who came up the back stairs.
‘Do you ever sleep?’
She screeched. ‘Jesus, you scared me.’
‘I don’t look that bad, or do I?’
She laughed. ‘Not really, I never heard you. I found s
omething really interesting, but I’m stuck. I’ve tried everything to bring up the old case files.’
‘How far back are you trying to go?’
‘Forty-five years.’
‘Forty-five years, blimey. What’s that, 1974?’
‘Close, 1975.’
‘Then you’ll need to get Kenny, the caretaker, to let you into the attic. There are boxes and boxes of files up there from before everything was digitized. Even if it was on the computer, it’s so long ago there wouldn’t be any need for it to be on the system. What is it?’
‘The Potters aren’t the only family to die in that house. I was searching the internet before I came to work and found an article from the local paper about a family who’d recently moved in who were all killed.’
Ben stared at her. ‘You’re having me on, is this some kind of joke?’
She shook her head. ‘Why would I joke about something so horrible?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess I’ve been working with Amy too long; she would.’
They went back into the office and she pulled up the report she’d discovered earlier, sending it to the printer.
‘Where’s the printer?’
‘Down the corridor; we share one with admin.’
Morgan rushed to go and retrieve it. She came back in and handed it to Ben, who read it.
‘I didn’t know anything about this. Shit, as if this wasn’t complicated enough, now this. Did they catch anyone? Because it might give us a lead to go on. They’d possibly have been released to go back and kill the next family. Christ, it’s like a Michael Myers movie and we’re smack bang in the middle of it.’
He loosened the tie he’d not long put on. Taking the printout from her, he began to walk towards his office.
‘Sarge, there’s something else.’
He turned to look at her.
