No Safe Home

by Tara Lyons

  The woman hesitated and glanced upstairs before meeting Fraser’s stare. “Okay, but quickly while they’re quiet.”

  “We haven’t been able to locate Katy Royal, your neighbour from number six. Do you know where she is?”

  Alexina shrugged. “I’ve been away for a few days, so I really wouldn’t know.”

  “Do you know if Katy had any friends in the area that she might be staying with?”

  “No, she was really quiet. I don’t know much about her if I’m honest. Sorry I can’t help you more.”

  Fraser handed the woman a business card and asked her to call if anyone returned to the apartment. Alexina snatched it and ran the last few stairs up to the next landing, but then stopped abruptly and turned.

  “Is everything okay? With Katy and her son, I mean…” the woman mumbled.

  Fraser smiled, in an attempt to reassure the neighbour. But, then when she thought of Katy and Frankie’s faces being shown on the evening news, it didn’t feel right to lie.

  “We hope so. They’re currently missing and it’s imperative we find Mrs Royal. Please do call me if you think of anything.”

  Rocky and PC Lakhani’s deep voices drew nearer and it broke the connection between Fraser and Alexina. When she looked back up the stairwell, the woman had gone. She rejoined the men and Rocky confirmed the lack of evidence in the apartment. They were still awaiting forensic reports from the night of the alleged attack, but he’d secured the main items Hamilton had been interested in.

  “Had another thought,” he continued. “Katy Royal worked in The Tavern pub. It’s where her husband was left for dead and the manager found him. So, I was thinking…”

  “Worth us paying him a visit, while we’re here,” Fraser finished Rocky’s sentence.

  “Great minds.”

  Happy to make his own way back to the station, PC Lakhani gave Fraser directions to the pub and noted down Hamilton’s email address. She was beginning to enjoy working with these Hertfordshire officers; they couldn’t do enough to help with the investigation.

  Inside The Tavern, Fraser was surprised by its emptiness. She had never walked into a pub in London and been greeted by only one member of bar staff and one patron. Rocky had mentioned the pub aimed itself more at serving the locals and so, the pair found themselves stood at the bar for a few minutes ignored by the tall, slim barman. He had his back to them, tapping aggressively on the screen of his iPhone.

  “Service!” Rocky roared.

  The man spun around, his face flushed red and he wiped the sweat from his brow. He dithered, mumbling and eyeing his phone.

  “PC O’Connor and DS Fraser. We’d like to speak to the manager.”

  “Yes, that’s me. Craig Gillan. What’s this about?”

  “We believe Katy Royal works for you?”

  “Oh, her, yeah. She ain’t here.”

  The man lowered his phone and casually leaned his elbow on an ale tap lever. Rocky and Fraser exchanged glances. She raised her eyebrows, hoping her new partner would understand; he did, and continued the conversation with the bar manager.

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “Not a bloody clue.”

  “And you’re not worried that she hasn’t shown up for work?”

  Craig grunted. “She wouldn’t be the first barmaid to fly off with no warning. This is hardly the Ibiza club scene,” he said, outstretching his arm across the quiet room.

  “So, it doesn’t seem out of character? Was she due into work?” Rocky questioned.

  “Well… she had a few days off. But I’ve been trying to call her, as I need her in for this evening’s shift… I’ve got things to do,” Craig replied and glanced down at his phone.

  “When’s the last time you saw Katy?”

  “I think it was Thursday, just before she finished her shift. She called the next day asking for the weekend off. She’s worked hard, so I agreed.”

  “Is there anyone she was particularly friendly with in the bar? Or maybe someone she didn’t get along with?”

  Craig turned down his lips and shrugged, pressing the button on his phone and watching the screen come to life. After a couple of seconds, he looked up.

  “Waiting for a call?” Fraser interrupted.

  “Can’t get hold of my son is all.”

  “And your son is?”

  “Neil. Neil Smith… he took his mother’s surname. I need some help behind the bar, as I’ve said, I’ve got a prior engagement I can’t get out of. Thought I’d see if the boy wanted some extra cash,” he said and rubbed his hand over the greying stubble on his cheek.

  The only other person in the bar finally made himself known by rattling his empty glass on the wooden bar top. Craig took his prompt and began pouring the man a fresh pint.

  “I hear you’re asking about Katy’s friends,” the patron called out.

  “And you are?” Rocky stepped forward, bridging the gap between them.

  “Ah, I’m John Lynch… no one of any interest, lad. But, I’m always propping up this bar, the perks of retirement you see. Anyway, I’m not sure I’d call him a friend, but there was a new guy in here Thursday night and he’s the first person I’ve noticed our Katy take any interest in. In the past, if anyone new came in, and trust me that doesn’t happen often, one of us would send him packing… Katy isn’t the type of barmaid to flirt.”

  “But she was Thursday night?” Rocky asked.

  “Do you know who the man is?” Fraser added.

  John laughed and took a few gulps from his pint of Guinness before answering. Fraser noticed Craig’s phone was gripped firmly in his hand again.

  “Right, to answer your questions… Firstly, I’ve never seen the woman talk to one man the entire night, so I’m going to hedge my bets and say yes, she was interested. And secondly, no, I’m not sure who he is. I definitely heard the name Matthew, but I can’t remember if I’ve seen him in here before… Hmmm, just not sure. Sorry.”

  “Could you describe what he looked like?” Rocky asked, and grabbed a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket.

  “A bit like you, lad. Tall, white, dark hair. His face was clean shaven though,” John replied, nodding his head toward Rocky. “Oh, I did notice a tattoo… the word mum, and a date, on his wrist. Left wrist. Yeah. I’m pretty sure.” He took another swig of his pint.

  Fraser turned to Craig. “Do you know anyone called Matthew who drinks in here?”

  “Sorry, love, I don’t.”

  “Do you have CCTV? In or outside of the pub?”

  Craig shook his head slowly. “’Fraid not. It’s an unneeded expense for a small local like this. We all know each other.”

  “Except Matthew,” Fraser countered.

  “Well, yes,” Craig shrugged. “Must be new in town if I haven’t met him yet. Anyway, is there anything else I can help you with? I am kinda busy.”

  She raised her eyebrows and slowly glanced at all the empty chairs. The manager huffed.

  “You found a man beaten pretty badly outside your pub last week –”

  “And I’ve given a full statement to the police! I didn’t hear or see anything. I found him when I was locking up. You should have all this information.”

  “Were you alone?”

  Craig shuffled, the phone screen flashing in his hand. “Yes, I was. Look, there’s really nothing more I can add to what I’ve already told the officers. So, if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, thank you for your time,” Fraser said and reached into her pocket.

  She slid two business cards across the bar and asked the men to call her, or the Welwyn police station if they came into contact with Katy. The pair needed to get back to London without any further delay. Hamilton would want to know about the mysterious man, Matthew, and The Tavern’s fidgety manager before the press conference.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The smell of blood grabbed Katy’s attention first. Then the thick tape masking her painful groans, and the restrictive rope bound t
ightly around her wrists and ankles. The braided material scorched her skin with the slightest movement. She repeatedly fluttered her eyelids, forcing them to open, regardless of their protest. A shooting pain from her neck travelled up into her head, making it difficult to focus.

  Katy lay on the carpeted floor in a foetal position, her right side taking all her weight. Her arms, awkwardly tied behind her back, made it impossible to move. She squinted and gazed around. Instantly knowing where she was, Katy tried to scream. Her muffled noise did nothing but elevate the pain radiating throughout her entire body.

  Her mind scrambled back to images of the street, of being grabbed from behind and then Brad’s bloodstained face came crashing to the forefront of her mind. Katy’s chest tightened, adding further pressure to the already difficult task of breathing. She barked her son’s name through the tape again, and again, until her throat itched and she coughed into the shield covering her mouth. Laughter echoed from behind.

  Katy’s heart raced as fast as her brain and she cursed herself. Why can’t I remember what happened?

  Clouding her thoughts were Brad’s menacing eyes staring back at her. She blinked his face away, trying to concentrate on the dark room, dimly lit by a lone lamp in the corner. The murmur of the television in the background, the familiar opening credits of the evening news. The snigger came again.

  She wiggled, but her body was almost unresponsive to her instruction. A numbing sensation trickled down her arm and leg. While listening to every single noise, her eyes finally widened and she examined every shape she could within the dark room. The dark living room. Her heart sank. Katy pulled in as much air as she could through her nose and yanked her body, using her feet to scrape around the floor a few inches. The effort left Katy exhausted, her own panting thundered in her ears. Her right arm pained under the slow movement of her full weight and she stopped, dropping her head uncomfortably to the floor and cried.

  Tears fell from her lashes, wetting the crusted blood which had gushed from her nose hours earlier. Fear bubbled in her stomach, spreading out to every part of her body until the nausea took over. She gagged, sucking the tape into her mouth, no choice but to swallow back the vomit.

  “Where is my son? Where is Frankie?” she babbled into the masking tape.

  A low groan came from just beyond her head. Mocking her, she thought, and she clamped her eyes shut. Katy only needed to pull herself around a few more shuffles, and she’d be face to face with the owner of the laugh. She exhaled, drained and petrified of who stood behind her, unable to conquer her confusion, and lacking the strength to confront it.

  “Mum,” a small voice called in the distance.

  Katy’s head snapped up and she grumbled a reply. It was Frankie. An overwhelming urge to find her son jump-started her body into action. She kicked her feet, wrestling with the floor as quickly as she could. A loud sound of jeans chafing together as footsteps pounded past her. Doors banged. Ignoring the pain, Katy finally spun full circle. She froze, craving to hear Frankie’s voices again. A door further down the hallway slammed again. Silence.

  Unexpectedly, the overhead light switched to life and Katy recoiled; the brightness violated her sensitive eyes. She angled her body, pulling her head up as high as possible and opened her eyes. A deep wail escaped through the masking tape and she collapsed back to the floor. There, in the armchair ahead of her, with dried bloodstains to his temple and hairline, sat Matthew.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Five years ago

  Matthew knelt beside his mother and gently squeezed her frail hand. He knew that approaching his mid-thirties and still having the love of a mother, was a joy not to be taken for granted. So many of his friends hadn’t had the same privilege, but right there in that moment, it did nothing to comfort him. The thought of the impending goodbye caused his heart rate to race; his chest already felt too heavy to move. He lowered his head to their entwined fingers, his mind a blank canvas, unable to concentrate on a single memory.

  He could barely breathe, and pulled up his head to inhale a lungful of air. He wanted to run as fast as possible, let his legs guide him to any other place but this room he was rooted to. But, his body was like deadwood, and he was helpless against the suffocation of his mother’s dying sighs.

  He gazed over at the glass dresser, adorned with her favourite perfumes and creams. The flowery, towelling dressing gown, hanging from its home on the back of the door, and the flowery wallpaper, tinged yellow from decades of smoking. His mother had never touched a cigarette in her life, but they were both passive smokers to his father’s disgusting habit. Matthew looked down and rubbed his thumb over the faded scar on his mother’s hand. One of the many wounds she’d suffered in a bid to save Matthew. The only visible one he could remember since he’d been a teenager.

  She had saved his life on more occasions than he cared to think about, or wanted to think about for that matter. Silently tormented at the hand of her husband, until the day Matthew realised he had grown larger and stronger and could overpower the old man. It had been a Saturday night and the theme tune to Blind Date echoed through their living room as he pinned his father to the wall. Both of Matthew’s hands had wrapped forcefully around the man’s neck. That night, his mother’s screams had dragged him back to his senses and he’d released his father. She had saved both the men in her life. Matthew’s father hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since, that Matthew knew of, but he’d never forgiven the man for how he’d treated his mother.

  Matthew exhaled slowly. Sorrow, rather than the suppressed anger, weighed heavily on him now. He could hear his father whistling the tune of some television programme downstairs, while his mother waited for death to greet her, and he wondered if his father could ever return to the violent monster he once was. Matthew’s hands shook when he thought of his own life choices.

  “What’s the matter, my son? You’re trembling.”

  He flinched, his mother’s gentle voice catching him off guard. With his finger, he seized the lone tear before it fell from his eye. It felt unfair to make his mother watch him cry.

  “I’m fine, Mum.”

  The smile didn’t reach her eyes, her grey skin almost featureless. She groaned as she turned her head to face his. His eyes glazed over with involuntary tears and he clenched his teeth, pushing the emotions back down.

  “What have I told you… mothers know everything… there’s no point even trying to lie…”

  Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. Matthew held his breath, waiting to hear if her next one would come.

  “I remember when you were just five years old,” she whispered, her eyes remaining shut. “The two of us had a day out… just me and you, no one else. I took you to London Zoo… you loved all the animals. We had ice cream, big mounds of the stuff until our bellies turned into creamy volcanoes.” She paused, unable to hear Matthew’s sobs over her giggles. “You didn’t want to come home. Your father had just lost his job and… that’s when the drinking started. You knew what it meant, even at that young age, and you didn’t… you just didn’t want to come home, said you’d rather we lived in the zoo. The animals were kinder than people, you said… You wanted it to be just mummy and Matthew…”

  He opened his mouth and let the moans escape; he couldn’t hide the sadness from her any longer. Using the back of his hand, Matthew wiped the wet stains from his cheeks and told his mother he would take her to London Zoo again. He wanted to thank her for saving him from some of the darkest moments in his life. He needed her to know he was a good person, and how monumentally she had saved him from making some of the most awful decisions throughout his life. But it was too late.

  Matthew gazed down at his mother’s withering face, He didn’t need to listen for her next breath. He watched the last, shallow gasp slip from her lips. Her chest stopped rising and falling, and her fingers slowly fell away from his. It was soothing to know his mother was no longer in pain, but his heart broke regardless.

  The
walls closed in around him, the air evaporated. Matthew stood up and ran from his mother’s bedroom, from the house he’d called home his entire life. It was no longer safe there with his father, without her. A part of Matthew died with his mother, and he knew he’d never be the same again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Hamilton stood at the back of the crowded room and observed the scene before him. The artificial lighting cast a stark glow onto the faces of those sitting at the long, narrow table. The various camera shutters sounded like gunfire as photographers fought for the best shot, even though their subjects were barely moving. The mix of voices contended with one another for attention, and when information was given, it only led to question after relentless question.

  In the two hours since their last conversation, Hamilton had gathered the required details and travelled to Scotland Yard, just in time to update DCI Allen. Audrey had visited the incident room while half his team were in Welwyn. Sitting in his office, she confirmed that both women suffered sexual assaults before they were murdered, and the DNA from the pubic hair and the sample found on the wool were a match. It proved the husbands they had interviewed were no longer suspects, but Hamilton’s frustration mounted when Audrey continued to explain the owner of the DNA was not on the system. The statements from Brad Royal and Linda Hill had escalated the missing person’s warning to high alert, and now Hamilton’s concern intensified. He also distributed the image of mother and son to the relevant contacts before the press conference began.

  With details leaked prior to the meeting, Hamilton wasn’t at all surprised to find the questions being fired at the chief related to the bedroom killer. Unsure where the holes in his department or station were, he wondered if those involved felt guilty when journalists sometimes misinterpreted an investigation. His mind briefly drifted to his daughter, and how Maggie’s beautiful face had made front page news. If a detective inspector couldn’t save his own daughter, was the community really safe at all? Hamilton blew out a large puff of air and rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to return his attention to the conference.