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

by Helen Phifer

  ‘And can you?’

  ‘I can’t, but your CSI can. Just thought you should know she’s pretty good for a newbie, so don’t be too hard on her.’

  ‘Why do you think I’m hard on her?’

  ‘Because you’re a self-serving miserable git and sometimes you can’t see what’s in front of your face for looking. She’s not bad on the eyes, either, is she?’

  ‘Morgan?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘I didn’t really notice.’

  ‘Get away with you, even you must have noticed.’ He stopped himself. ‘Sorry, not very professional. She’s clever, smart and pretty – not a bad combination. Maybe you should smarten yourself up a little, have a shave, cut down on the takeaways, buy yourself some new threads.’

  ‘Cheers, are you saying I look like a slob?’

  ‘Your words, not mine. See you.’

  The line went dead and Ben tried to look at his reflection in the glass window. He had let himself go. Maybe it was time to make an effort, not because of Morgan but because he felt like life was beginning to be worth living again.

  Forty-One

  Morgan glanced down at her notebook to check Gregory Barker’s address. She knew the area where he lived, and it wasn’t too far from Easdale Road. As she drove along the quiet country roads, the late afternoon sun felt warm on her face, and with both front passenger windows open the breeze flowing through was lovely. She parked outside the huge double gates at the entrance to Gregory Barker’s home and realised he must have more money than she’d imagined.

  She got out of the car and pressed the intercom; it crackled to life.

  ‘Hi, I’m Morgan Brookes from the police, I’m here to speak with Mr Barker.’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Drive through.’

  She got in the car and watched as the gates slid seamlessly open. The drive up to the house was tree lined and long. When the house came into view she sighed. If she’d thought the Potters’ house was her dream house then this was her ultimate fantasy. It was the size of a small hotel, built in the grey slate of a lot of Lake District properties. A tall, grey-haired man was waiting for her on the front steps, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coral-coloured chinos. The smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. She parked the car and got out, crossing the gravel and admiring the huge stone lions which flanked either side of his front door.

  ‘Mr Barker?’

  He stretched out his hand. ‘Indeed. You’re Officer Brookes? If you don’t mind me saying you look awfully young. Or am I just getting old?’

  He laughed at his own joke, and Morgan found herself taking an instant dislike to him. She shook his hand, gripping it firmly.

  ‘I’m here to ask you a few questions relating to the murders on Easdale Road, if that’s all right?’

  He nodded. ‘Of course, come inside. It’s a terrible tragedy, such a lovely family.’

  He led her inside the grand entrance, down the hallway and into the biggest kitchen she’d ever seen. It was beautiful, everything was pristine; pale grey hand-painted cabinets filled the room with a huge island in the middle. The sparkling white granite worktops were clear of any kitchen appliances; it didn’t look as if anyone used them to prepare food. He pointed to a row of stools one side of the island.

  ‘Please, take a seat.’

  ‘Thanks, do you live here alone?’

  ‘For the time being I do, my ex left me some time ago. Can I offer you a drink?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  He didn’t sit down but stood across from her. ‘Those kids were so lovely, it’s just terrible what’s happened. So were Olivia and Saul. You couldn’t have met a nicer couple. It’s so hard to believe it.’

  ‘I believe they were and yes, it’s beyond tragic. Did you know the Potters well?’

  ‘Yes, quite. We met through the mayor’s charity fundraising ball; they were very supportive.’

  Morgan smiled. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk about the previous family that were murdered there.’

  He stared at her, his lips parting slightly.

  ‘Why the O’Briens? That was a very long time ago. I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’ve been tasked with looking into their cold case. No one was ever brought to justice for the slaughter of the O’Briens. You have to admit it’s very strange to have two families murdered in the same property. I think there may be some connection between the two murders.’

  She smiled at him, and noticed there was a faint flush of redness creeping up his neck. She could see it through the open buttons on his white Armani shirt.

  ‘I guess there could, I didn’t think about that.’

  ‘When I was looking through the notes from the first murders your name cropped up a few times. Could you tell me how you knew the O’Briens?’

  Morgan had no idea if she was overstepping her boundaries or not; she was totally winging it.

  ‘Am I being questioned here? Am I under suspicion?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not at all. I’m trying to get as much background information about the O’Briens as I can, to form a picture of them. What they were like, what kind of lifestyle they led. At the moment you’re the best link I have to them. It really is just helping me with enquiries.’

  His shoulders relaxed. Taking a glass from the cupboard, he pressed it under the ice dispenser of the American-style fridge. The clanking as the chips of ice hit the glass seemed to echo around the room. He then took a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and filled the glass half full. He walked back to look at Morgan and took a large gulp.

  ‘Cheers, don’t mind me. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about Jason and his family. It’s a bit of a jolt to the old system.’

  ‘Sorry to bring up bad memories.’

  He pulled up a stool and sat opposite her.

  ‘They were a nice family. We owned a construction company, Jason and I. He was a very good friend and I thought a lot of Jennifer and the girls. It was a hell of a shock when I heard the news that they were all dead. I mean who does something like that?’

  ‘Hard to imagine why or who could do that. Did Jason have any enemies, fall out with anyone?’

  ‘No, he was a good guy.’

  ‘I read in the notes that you both had a bit of a falling out?’

  His eyes narrowed and the redness on his neck began to spread to his cheeks. ‘We didn’t fall out exactly, it was more of a disagreement. Running a business is hard at the best of times. Things weren’t going too well. I wanted to sell up and cash in while we had the chance. Jason didn’t; he thought we should stick it out.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well he got killed, so it ended that discussion. I sold up, invested the money, and here I am.’

  ‘Yes, very impressive. When you found out about the Potters did it not cross your mind to speak to the police and tell them about the O’Briens?’

  ‘Look, Ms Brookes, I don’t like the way you keep making accusations yet saying they’re not. What are you trying to insinuate? Do you know who I am? I have friends in the police, high-ranking friends, and the police commissioner is an acquaintance. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. I’m not answering any further questions unless it’s with a solicitor present.’

  He began to stride towards the front door. Morgan stood up, taking one last look around. He had all of this because the O’Briens had died and he’d been able to sell the business that Jason had wanted to keep. Money and greed were as good a motive for murder as any. She followed him and stepped out into the fading sunlight. Determined not to let him think he had the upper hand, she stared him in the eyes.

  ‘It worked out pretty well for you, didn’t it, Jason O’Brien dying. It meant you got the business, the money. I mean look at this house. Yeah, it really did.’

  She got into the car, slamming the door shut before he could answer her. She knew she’d gone too far, but couldn’t help it. All she wanted was to disco
ver the truth and get justice for Bronte, her family and the O’Briens.

  Forty-Two

  Morgan took the police car back and swapped it for her own. She didn’t bother going upstairs. She had nothing to say to Ben. She’d emailed Wendy in the car and told her to speak to Ben about taking a sample of Bronte’s hair. Inside her flat, she kicked her shoes off. She was hot, tired and could still taste the overpowering scent of blood from this morning every time she closed her eyes. After a quick shower she curled up into a ball on her chair, her damp hair still wrapped in a towel, she closed her eyes. Just for ten minutes, she wanted to go back to last week where she was still on speaking terms with Dan. Still had him to rely upon when they went to jobs for advice; for all his being an idiot he was a very good copper.

  A loud crack on the window made her jump off the chair, the towel falling from her head as her wet hair hung down over her eyes. Brushing it back, her heart racing, she stepped towards the glass, pressing her face against it. She couldn’t see anyone or anything out in the dark. What the hell was that? Was someone trying to scare her? She turned off the lamp then looked outside once more. For a fleeting second she thought a dark figure slipped behind the huge oak tree in the garden and a cold shiver made her body shudder. Maybe it was Stan? But she knew that running away wasn’t his style; he hadn’t the last time. Drawing the curtains closed, she rushed to the front door to make sure it was locked, then she went into the bathroom and bedroom double-checking the windows were secured and closing the blinds. Her hands were shaking; it was different when she was at work. Until this week she wore a uniform, had equipment to protect herself with and backup. When you were home alone, in your pyjamas, half asleep, it was a whole different situation.

  Realising she couldn’t do anything, she dressed in her black leggings and roll-neck jumper, and tugged on her Nikes. She had to check out the garden and communal entrance to the flats. Anyone could be out there, and she wouldn’t settle for hiding inside. She looked around for a suitable weapon if the need to defend herself should arise. The only thing of any use was the wooden rolling pin in the drawer. Tucking her phone into her bra, she gripped the makeshift baton in her right hand. Pressing her ear against her front door, she listened to see if she could hear anyone out in the hallway. The only sound was her pounding heart which seemed to fill her mind. She peered through the spyhole; it looked okay. There wasn’t really anywhere to hide out there except for the cleaning cupboard, which was usually kept locked. She hoped it still was.

  Opening the door, she slipped into the hallway. Tiptoeing across to the cupboard, she gripped the handle and pushed it down. It didn’t budge. The stairs that led up to the first and second floors were all in darkness. That was good; they had motion-sensor lights which fired up the minute someone put a foot on the first step, so no one could be up there. She locked her door behind her and tucked the key into her left shoe. With trembling legs she waited for the sensor light to turn off in the hall then pulled open the front door just enough to squeeze through.

  Outside, she pressed her back against the wall, blending in to the shadows so she could sneak up on whoever might be hiding. The whole time she was scanning the gardens where she thought she saw the figure disappear. If they were still there, they were doing well keeping so still. Her fear was now turning to anger. What had she done to deserve this? Nothing! Whoever was trying to scare her would regret it. Gripping the rolling pin harder, she walked along the wall, thinking she’d go around the outside and sneak up from the front drive. The oak tree was a few metres away from her. She crept closer.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Morgan let out a screech so loud Ben jumped back and covered his ears. She raised the rolling pin and he lifted up his hands.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s me, Ben. What’s up?’

  Clutching her heart, she lowered her arm, but kept tight hold of the rolling pin.

  ‘Jesus you scared me. What are you doing here? Sneaking around in the dark; do you think you’re funny, is this some kind of joke to you? What is it, revenge for breaking your window?’

  Her tone was accusatory, and Ben looked puzzled.

  ‘Hang on, what are you talking about? I’ve only just got here. Amy dropped me off; my car wouldn’t start. I wanted to see if you were okay. What’s going on?’

  She stared at his face, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or bullshitting her.

  ‘Morgan, why are you dressed in black and sneaking around your garden holding a rolling pin?’

  Her shoulders dropped. ‘I heard someone outside, saw someone run behind this tree. Then you turn up, it’s a bit of a coincidence.’

  ‘Can we go inside? You’re shivering.’

  Morgan was torn; what if it had been him hiding? She realised that she’d been watching the tree the entire time since she’d come outside, and he hadn’t come from that direction. She nodded and turned, walking back to her flat. Ben followed, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

  ‘Look Morgan, I don’t know what’s going on here. But you’re shaking and your face is white. Sit down, I’ll get you a drink and you can tell me what happened.’

  She sat down, the rolling pin still in her hand. He began to open her cupboards and found two glasses. ‘Do you have any alcohol?’

  ‘Vodka in the freezer.’

  He opened the fridge and smiled. ‘I see you’re as interested in cooking as I am.’

  She shrugged. ‘I actually like cooking, I haven’t had time to shop.’

  Pulling the vodka out of the freezer compartment, he said, ‘You’re a girl after my own heart. I always keep my vodka in the freezer.’

  Pouring out two measures, he carried one over and passed it to her. She threw her head back and downed it.

  ‘Nice.’

  He did the same; it went down the wrong way and he ended up coughing into his sleeve. For the first time since he’d arrived, she smiled at him.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Good, what happened?’

  She filled him in on the last fifteen minutes and he stood up. ‘I’ll go and check outside.’

  ‘No point, whoever it is has gone.’

  ‘Who do you think it was?’

  ‘Stan, maybe? Although he’s usually too drunk at this time of night to stand straight, never mind hide behind a tree and stay perfectly still. You?’

  ‘Morgan, it’s not me. I have no reason to try and scare the life out of you. Why would I want to do that?’

  She knew he was telling the truth. ‘Sorry, it was just a bit weird you turning up at the same time.’

  He looked down at the empty glass in his hands. ‘I was worried about you. I felt bad. I’ve totally pushed you in to the deep end for your first week. Then when you didn’t come back, I couldn’t settle, and thought I’d better check in on you. I might be an arsehole, but I’m a caring one.’

  A laugh escaped her lips and she felt better. She pushed the rolling pin down the side of her chair.

  ‘I also had a phone call from Declan. He said you’d been to see him and made some excellent observations. He thinks you’re okay and believe me he doesn’t like many people. Wendy has been to the hospital and took samples of Bronte’s hair. They’re on the way to the forensic lab in Chorley as we speak.’

  ‘That’s great.’ She stood up; her legs didn’t feel as wobbly. ‘Would you like another drink?’

  He passed her his glass and she refilled both of them.

  ‘I’d better call a cab.’

  ‘You can sleep here if you want, the chair is really comfy. I don’t have a spare bed, but I do have spare bedding. I’ll drop you off at yours in the morning so you can shower then we can both go to work. Save you messing around with taxis.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s really kind of you but I’m a bit old to be sleeping on chairs. My back will be breaking by the morning. I’ll ring for a taxi.’

  Morgan had to stop herself from blurting out that he could sleep i
n her bed. He’d think she was too forward.

  ‘No worries, I can still pick you up in the morning. Do you want some food before you leave?’

  ‘No offence, I’m starving but your fridge contents leave a lot to be desired.’

  ‘Ah, but you haven’t seen my store cupboard. I can rustle up a tuna pasta bake and there’s a garlic bread in the freezer.’

  Ben laughed and nodded. ‘All right, sounds perfect.’

  She didn’t tell him she had an ulterior motive and was trying her best to keep him here as long as possible. She didn’t want him to go; she liked his company and there was no way she was telling him she was scared to be alone.

  Forty-Three

  Greg Barker was pacing up and down the front office of the police station. He’d been waiting fifteen minutes and his blood pressure was rising by the second. The sliding doors opened and in walked that cheeky bitch who’d come into his house yesterday and all but accused him of murder. If that got out, he’d be finished; it didn’t matter if it wasn’t true. He stared at her and the much older man next to her. She smiled at him and he couldn’t stop himself.

  ‘I want to make a formal complaint about you.’ He stepped too close to her. He knew he was out of order, but the tight ball of anger inside his chest didn’t care.

  The woman stepped away from him, still smiling. In a polite but firm voice she answered him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Barker; if you take a seat I’ll speak to you.’

  ‘Take a seat? Are you having a laugh? I’ve been here fifteen minutes already, waiting for someone. I’m a very busy man.’

  The older man stepped in front of him. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Ben Matthews, I’ll take your complaint. Just let me get in and you can come into that interview room over there.’

  Greg nodded. ‘Don’t be long, I’m not waiting.’

  He watched as they buzzed themselves through the double doors leading into the station. Christ, he was furious. He’d lain awake all night thinking about her accusations, then got up with the worst indigestion he’d ever had.