by Helen Phifer
She smiled at Tony, who waved back, and crossed towards him, trying not to stare at the patients hooked up to life support machines and their visitors. He stood up, opening the door for her and she stepped inside.
Bronte still looked tiny in the huge bed. Harrison was sitting on a chair next to the bed holding her frail hand in his. He didn’t even look her way.
‘Hi, Harrison, how are you doing?’
‘How do you think I’m doing?’
Tony pointed to the door, and she followed him out of the room.
‘I know he’s upset, but he’s an arrogant little tosser. There’s not much point even trying to make conversation with him. I’ve given up.’
‘He’s had a bit of a shock. It can’t be good. How long has he been here?’
‘They only let him stop two hours and then they kick him out. Don’t think the nurses like him either. Anyway, look at you, why are you in your scruffs?’
‘On attachment with CID.’
‘No, you’re not.’
She nodded.
‘But, you’re only just out of company. I thought we had to have two years’ experience?’
She shrugged. ‘No idea, I think they’re short-staffed and I was probably in the right place at the right time to be honest.’
‘Well I never, what do you think, do you like it?’
Morgan stared at him. It was a simple enough question yet she couldn’t answer because she had no idea if she did. It was all a bit of a blur; she didn’t know where she fit in yet or if she ever would.
‘It’s early days and long hours. Has Bronte woken up at all?’
‘Nope, not even twitched.’
‘Thanks, I’ll go speak to the nurse.’
She turned around to walk the short distance to the desk.
‘Sorry to bother you, I’m PC Morgan Brookes. Could you give me an update on Bronte?’
The nurse looked up from her paperwork. She studied her for a couple of seconds. Morgan noticed the name on her ID card read ‘Kimberley’.
‘What’s the password?’
For a moment her mind went blank; she knew it, of course she did. ‘Caravan.’
The nurse laughed. ‘Close enough, but it’s “campervan”. The surgeon is happy with the surgery to remove the clot; the swelling has gone down significantly. He’s going to start reducing the anaesthetic later on and see how she reacts; hopefully she’ll wake up. But there’s no knowing how serious the brain damage is at the moment.’
‘So, you think she could wake up? That’s great news.’
The nurse smiled. ‘We’re hoping she’ll wake up, but we won’t know until we try and she might have complete amnesia.’
‘She won’t remember what happened?’
‘I’d say there’s a good chance she won’t, but you never know. She’s young and obviously very strong-willed or she wouldn’t have survived this long.’
‘Thank you. I’ll pass it on to my boss.’
She went back to the room where Harrison was still staring at Bronte.
Tony shrugged.
‘Harrison, I need to have a chat with you about some stuff. How about we go grab a coffee and you can have a breather?’
He shook his head, still not making eye contact with her.
‘Please, it’s important. It’s me, Morgan, I was first on scene when you called 999. You can either speak to me or I’ll have to take you back to the station and I think you’ve spent long enough in there already.’
He stared at her and a flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes. Grunting, he pushed his chair back and stood up. She took this as a good sign.
‘You lead the way, I have no idea where the café is.’
He walked out, head bent and hands tucked into his pockets. She followed him.
He led her to the stairs and down to the next floor, where he strode towards what she hoped was the dining room. Down here was much quieter than upstairs; it was darker as well. A cold shiver ran down her spine; they were pretty secluded down here. What if he was the killer? He could turn around, drag her into a side room and no one would know about it.
Then she spied the dome of the CCTV camera on the ceiling in front of them; well, hopefully someone would. The air filled with the sound of clanging cutlery and loud voices. Harrison turned left into the wide opening and she followed suit. Considering the corridor had been so deserted, the café wasn’t: it was almost full to capacity. They got in the queue and she picked up a slice of peppermint crunch cake.
‘Are you hungry, get what you want. I’ll pay.’
He shook his head. ‘Just a Coke, please.’
‘You go find us a table and I’ll get them.’
He began walking towards an empty table in the corner of the room and she picked up another cake, just in case he changed his mind. She remembered what it was like to be a teenager all too well; you never accepted anything an adult offered. God, was that what she was now: an adult? It was strange to think that she was probably only five or six years older than him, yet here she was trying to solve the murder of his girlfriend’s family. And what if it had been Stan? How would she explain that to the angry teenager sitting staring into space?
Using her phone, she paid for the drinks and cakes, and carried the tray over to where Harrison was chewing at the skin on the side of his thumb. She sat opposite him, passed him his can of pop and nudged the slice of millionaire’s shortbread his way. She sipped her latte and took a bite of her peppermint crunch,taking her time to eat, not wanting to rush him. His stomach growled so loud she heard it.
‘You might not have much of an appetite, but you need to keep your strength up for Bronte’s sake. She’s going to want to see you when she wakes up, and it’s no good if you’ve made yourself ill and can’t be here, is it?’
‘Suppose so.’ He picked up the cake and demolished it in three bites.
‘Can I get you something else, sandwich, hot meal?’
‘No, thanks. So, what do you want with me? I already told that arsy copper yesterday it wasn’t me. I was in that stuffy room for hours when I should have been here, by Bronte. I had nothing to do with any of this.’
That was two people who’d called Ben arsy; why did she not see it?
‘I guess I wanted a chat. I want to know more about the family. How long they’ve lived in the house, when they bought it, general stuff. I don’t want to try and blame you, I’m just trying to piece together what their lives were like. Can we talk about that?’
Sipping his drink, he stared at her for a few moments then nodded. ‘Yeah, we can.’
‘Good. Thank you, Harrison.’
She retrieved the large hardback notebook, which she’d taken from the stationery cupboard, out of her handbag and placed it on the table in front of her, so he could see what she was writing. There was so much at stake here and for the first time she got the feeling that she was way in over her depth. Was she able to do this? She gave herself a mental shake. Of course she was, and Ben must think so also or he wouldn’t have wanted her on the team. Either way she knew she had a huge responsibility and there was only one thing she could do: prove to everyone that she could do this on her own.
Twenty-Seven
Morgan gave it a few more minutes then picked up her pen.
‘Do you know when the Potters moved into the house?’
‘End of March, beginning of April.’
‘This year?’
‘Yes, it had been empty for ages before they bought it. Saul had builders in for weeks plastering the walls and fitting new bathrooms. They lived in a caravan while the work was done.’
‘On site?’
He nodded.
‘That must have been a squeeze. How did they all get on?’
Harrison let out a huge sigh. ‘Amazing, they got on really well. I mean Bronte and Bea argued a lot, but sisters do that. My sisters practically kill each other on a daily basis.’
She laughed. ‘I’m an only child. I used to long for a sibling
to argue with. Have you been going out with Bronte a long time?’
‘Almost a year, so yeah that’s a pretty long time for me. I really like her though, she’s fun and not afraid to take risks. Bea was a lot quieter. She read a lot, didn’t go out much. Every time I went around she had her nose in a book. Not like me, I hate reading. I’m more of an Xbox or Netflix fan.’
‘How did Saul and Olivia seem to you, were they happy?’
‘I think so, they were always hugging and kissing. A bit embarrassing really, but it was their house, you know.’
‘Did you get along with them?’
He nodded. ‘I liked them, they were pretty cool. Well apart from the kissing.’ His breath caught in the back of his throat and he lifted his hand to wipe his eyes. ‘It’s hard to imagine that I won’t see them again. I just can’t believe they’re gone, all of them.’
‘Not all of them, Bronte is still here and fighting to stay by the looks of things.’
He sniffed.
‘Did they have lots of friends come to the house? They seemed like a pretty popular couple.’
‘Some. I know Saul’s friend came around a lot. They were talking about starting a new business, but it fell through. I think he had a bit of a thing for Olivia; he was always wanting to hang around with her.’
‘Did Bronte know about this? Did she ever talk about him?’
‘She said she saw more of him than her own dad, but she was only messing.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Gary or Greg, not sure to be honest. His surname might have been Ryder or Barker;. I didn’t take much notice of him. He’s a bit of a creep if you ask me.’
‘That’s okay, I’ll find that out. Thanks, you’ve been very helpful. Oh, one last thing, did you know about the previous murders at the house, or did Bronte?’
He looked confused. ‘What previous murders?’
‘A family was murdered in that same house back in the seventies.’
His eyes almost popped out of his head they opened so wide, and his mouth fell open. ‘No way, you’re having me on.’
‘I’m being serious.’
‘No, I mean no. How did they die? Are you sure it’s the same house?’
‘I have very few details on it to be honest, but I’m serious.’
He sat back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. ‘That’s crazy, wait till Bronte finds out they moved into the Amityville Horror House. She’ll go insane.’ He stopped talking.
‘One last thing, do you know this man?’ She showed him a still from the home security footage of Stan.
He nodded. ‘He did some gardening for Saul, a couple of times a week in the summer.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
Harrison shrugged. ‘Couldn’t say.’
Morgan closed her notebook and slipped it back into her bag. She stood up. ‘Thanks, Harrison. I’ll leave you be now. Do you need a lift home?’
‘No, thank you, I have my car.’
She left him still sitting at the table digesting the shocking information she’d just shared with him.
Stan had a legitimate reason to be at the Potters’ house if he did odd jobs for them. He could have fallen and scratched his face. As much as she disliked him and his lousy parenting, she didn’t think he would stoop to murder, no matter how desperate he was. Gary or Greg was definitely another person that needed speaking to. What did it mean if he was there more than Saul? Was he sleeping with Olivia? Did that give him motive to kill her and her family?
She was keen to get back to pass this onto Ben and to get back to working on the cold case in her new office.
Twenty-Eight
Morgan parked in the only empty space outside the front of the station in the visitors’ car park and hoped no one noticed. There was an older woman sitting in the car beside her; her red-rimmed eyes were brimming with unshed tears. Her hair, which had started the day in a French pleat, was almost loose, more strands of hair dangling on her shoulders than were pinned up. Her knuckles were white she was gripping the steering wheel so hard. Unsure what to do, Morgan tried to catch her attention. The woman’s gaze never wavered or looked in her direction she was so fixed on the front of the police station.
Morgan let out a sigh. She couldn’t ignore her despite knowing full well she should continue inside and leave her to it. Dan would have dragged her away; his favourite saying was ‘Don’t make eye contact with anyone unless you have to.’ Morgan had never been able to get her head around his coldness at times. She’d joined the police to help people.
Getting out of her car, she slammed the door; the woman’s gaze never faltered. Morgan knocked on the glass and saw her shoulders jerk at the sudden noise.
Her head finally turned.
‘Are you okay?’
She just stared at her as if in a complete daze.
Morgan shouted again through the glass. ‘Are you okay, can I help you with anything?’ She tugged the lanyard from underneath her shirt, holding her warrant card up so she could see she was a police officer and not some random person.
The woman’s head moved from side to side. Then she turned back to continue staring at the front doors. Morgan shrugged; some people didn’t want help. Huge black clouds were rolling in from the top of the patchwork, bracken-covered slopes of Skiddaw which overlooked the valley Rydal Falls had been built in. Having no jacket, she hurried towards the entrance. Lake District weather was temperamental and it had its own unique system which often defied the Met Office. She almost made it inside when she heard a car door slam behind her. Pausing, she turned around. The dishevelled woman was rushing towards her.
‘Wait, are you a police officer?’
‘Yes. Can I help you?’
She shrugged. ‘Probably not, I just needed to talk to someone about what’s happening.’
‘With what?’
And then the tears began to flow, silent at first as she blinked furiously to hold them back, but it was as if the dam had been broken and a loud heart-wrenching sob erupted from the woman, startling Morgan. A huge rain drop landed on Morgan’s nose, followed by a succession of them, getting heavier by the second. She gently took hold of the woman’s arm, leading her inside the building, but not before both of them were damp. As they stepped inside, the heavens opened and the loud drumming of the rain as it rattled against the glass made her difficult to understand.
Brenda came out of the front office to see what was happening. She pointed towards one of the side rooms. Morgan led the woman across towards it. As the door swung inwards, Brenda mouthed ‘Are you okay?’ She nodded, for now they were, pointing to a seat. The woman sat down and buried her head in her hands; tears were still flowing.
‘Brenda, would you get…?’ She realised she had no idea who she was talking to. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Helen, Helen Taylor.’
‘Could you please get Helen a cup of tea?’
She disappeared and Morgan waited for Helen to compose herself. There was a box of tissues on the table, and she pulled a handful out, passing them to her.
‘Thank you, I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologise, but do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ She expected her to say her husband had been cheating on her and taken all her money or her partner had beaten her. She never expected what came out.
‘I don’t know where to begin. My family, they’re dead. I’ve lost them and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.’
‘Helen, who are your family?’ she asked, but already knew the answer. Entire families dying wasn’t a regular occurrence around here.
‘My daughter, Olivia, the children – oh God, my beautiful grandchildren – and Saul.’
Morgan reached out, clasping her hand in hers. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Helen. I know how upset you must be, but Bronte is still okay, isn’t she?’ She wondered if the girl had died and she hadn’t been notified.
‘How do you know Bronte? Yes, she’s on life support,
but she may as well be dead. Her poor head. When I spoke to the doctor on the phone he said she’d suffered possible life-changing injuries. She is such a pretty, clever thing. Her everything has been stolen from her and I don’t know what to do.’
Morgan wished with all her heart that Dan was here beside her. He was pretty good at dealing with distraught relatives, his lack of empathy making him give calm, sensible advice. All Morgan wanted to do was to bawl along with the poor woman whose entire life had been ripped to pieces. Ben would be even better; he’d had years of experience. The door opened and Brenda came in with two steaming mugs of tea and a couple of packets of sugar. She put them on the table.
‘Thank you, please could you ring Ben or Amy? Anyone from upstairs will do.’
She nodded and left them.
‘I know some things; I need to tell someone about them. Can I talk to you?’
‘Of course, I was the officer who found your family, Helen. I was first on scene for Olivia, then Saul and the girls. I found Bronte and called for the ambulance and I’m now investigating their murders.’
There was silence between them as Helen picked up the mug of tea and began to sip it. Morgan didn’t interrupt her, but waited for her to speak.
After dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose, Helen looked at her.
‘I’m sorry, I’m a mess. I’ve done nothing but cry since I found out.’
‘Have you been to visit Bronte? That might help. I’m sure she’d love a cuddle from her…’ she paused, not sure whether the well-spoken woman would be a grandma or nanna.
‘Nannie, that’s what the girls call me. I’m not old enough to be a grandma, horrible thought.’
Morgan smiled. She had no idea how old Helen Taylor was, but she imagined the day before she found out her family had been brutally murdered she’d looked a lot younger and less haggard than she did now.
Helen stared at Morgan, making her feel like squirming.
‘You found them? You’re so young, that must have been a terrible shock for you too.’
