by Nic Roberts
“How do we know these weren’t caused by the fall?” Lawrence chimed in.
“These wounds are quite close to the surface of the skin; in order to sustain that kind of injury, he’d have to interact with something raking across his back.” Dr James explained. “Perhaps glass or the corner of a heavy object. Regardless, the pathway of his fall suggests he went over the balcony, not through any glass while on his way down. And from the angle he splatted, there’s no way that hitting the ground would have generated injuries on his back.”
He spoke with ease, readjusting Mr. Fisher’s robe as he did. Looking to the detectives, he covered the man’s body after they gave him a resolute nod, rising after the sheet fell over their victim.
“So, we’re nearly positive that foul play was a part of this.” Lawrence sighed with a nod. “Makes sense. Is there anything else we should know at this point, Doc?”
Dr. James smiled.
“You two are free to call me Elliot, you know,” he replied with that same small twinkle in his eye. Olivia let herself really take in his features as he spoke. She hadn’t ever seen him outside of the harsh fluorescents of his office. Even though it was a cloudy, windy day, his lightly tanned skin seemed to glow with life in the outdoors. His dark hair clearly was well-groomed and his eyes… Olivia kept coming back to those dark brown eyes.
“That’s all I’ve got for you as of yet,” Elliot replied. “I’ll be sure to give you a ring if there’s anything that comes up on the autopsy.”
“Thank you, Dr. James,” Olivia replied with a warm smile, once more pulling a strand of her hair out of the clutches of the wind and away from her face.
“Elliot,” he gently reminded her, warmth infused in his voice. “The pleasure is all mine, Detectives. We’ll be in touch.”
“Agreed,” Olivia offered up with a smile. “Elliot.” That got her a nod before Dr. James turned on his heel and walked towards his team to start directing the transport of Mr. Fisher’s corpse.
“Let’s talk with the wife then,” Lawrence sighed, giving Simon Fisher’s covered body one last look before glancing to Olivia.
“What makes someone want to beat a guy up and then shove him off a balcony?” she mused with the gentle shake of a head.
“Hopefully, we find out soon,” Lawrence replied, beginning to lead the charge towards the entrance to the apartment building. He pulled up the cordon to let Olivia duck under before following suit.
“Agreed,” she sighed. What did you do, Simon Fisher?
4
Lydia Fisher had been pulled into the lobby by Lawrence’s lady friend by the time they ventured over to speak with her. She had light brown slightly greying hair and a rather pinched face. A gentle dusting of freckles painted her nose, and her grey eyes stayed glued to the ground, all but defeated. Her petite frame leaned against the hallway.
“Mrs. Fisher?” Olivia asked gently as they approached, giving a nod to the officer. After a moment, her eyes drifted up to briefly meet Olivia’s. There was barely a register of acknowledgement before they returned to the floor.
“Oh, please, call me Lydia. That won’t be my last name for long,” she sighed.
The detectives exchanged a look.
“We’re sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Lawrence offered up.
“Don’t be.” Her voice was biting, aggressive, while also holding a note of defeat.
Olivia furrowed her brow.
“Did you have a strained relationship with your husband?” she asked, maintaining a steady watch of Lydia’s face.
“That’s one way of putting it,” the woman scoffed.
Olivia glanced nervously over to Lawrence, who looked equally as puzzled.
“Would you care to elaborate?” She spoke the words carefully, making sure not seem as though she was pressing too hard.
The woman rubbed at her arms.
“Could we, I mean, is there any way we can do this somewhere more private?” Lydia inquired, glancing about. She crossed her hands into her chest. “I know that the flat is a crime scene, but I’d also like to grab some of my things.”
They were momentarily distracted by a group of gawking teenagers poised by the police cordon outside just to accentuate her request for privacy even more.
Olivia understood it, though. What happened here was an overly sensitive incident.
“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “We can’t take anything from the flat until it’s been thoroughly examined by our team, and in regard to speaking privately, we could take you down to the station if you’d like, or we could go for a walk behind the building. You might know of somewhere quiet?”
Lydia slowly nodded, her eyes still on the floor. She’s in shock, Olivia noted.
“There’s a bench in the gardens,” The woman replied, her voice lofty.
Lawrence glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. He most probably didn’t think it was appropriate, but she wanted all the information while it was fresh on her mind and in a setting she felt most comfortable in.
“That’s great,” Olivia urged. “Sounds ideal. Then we can speak, just the three of us,”
Lydia nodded, peeling her body away from the wall and letting herself meet the detectives’ gazes once again.
“This way,” she muttered before leading the woman towards the building’s entrance. Olivia let Lawrence step forward first to follow, holding herself back to speak with PC Reece.
“Did she see the body?” Olivia whispered.
“Yup,” The young officer sighed. “And she didn’t just see it. When we arrived on scene, she was just… standing over it.” She was clearly uncomfortable at the recollection.
“But she wasn’t the one who reported it?” Olivia asked.
“No, that was someone entirely different.”
“Interesting,” Olivia mused. “Listen, you’ve been a great help…Reece.”
The name, even though most probably spelt differently, ached hearing it attached to someone else who had no idea how utterly fascinating her own Rhys was.
“Beth,” the officer offered. “Just call me Beth.” She reached her hand out instinctively.
“Well,” Olivia replied, a smile breaking across her face. “Nice to formally meet you, Beth.”
PC Reece shook Olivia’s hand with an intense vigour. Clasping it tightly as though they were the closest friends already. With another, weaker smile, Olivia excused herself to follow after her partner and the deceased man’s wife.
“You’re going to have to call Beth,” Olivia teased as she met up with Lawrence, who walked wordlessly behind Lydia by about five paces.
“You’re on first name terms already?” Lawrence asked, alarm spreading across his features. Olivia stifled a laugh.
“Yes, and my hand may be bruised from our handshake,” she replied. “But my advice? Either ask her out for a coffee or find a non-work time to gently let her down.”
Lawrence shook his head.
“One other thing.” Olivia lowered her voice; Lawrence instinctively drew closer. “Lydia was standing over the body when officers arrived on scene. Just…standing.”
“She’s definitely in some sort of shock,” Lawrence observed, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Agreed. The only question is...” Olivia pondered, “...is that because she’s seen her husband splayed across the ground like roadkill—”
“Or because she just killed someone for the first time in her life.” Lawrence finished.
The thought settled on them both.
“She’s awfully small to shove a man of Simon’s height and weight off of a balcony, don’t you think?” Olivia asked, sizing up the newly widowed woman.
“I’ve seen crazier things,” Lawrence replied, causing Olivia to shrug. It was hard to disagree with that.
“We’ll keep a close eye on her while we question her,” she decided. “See if anything triggers her anger again or shocks her out of her current state.”
Even though Lydia had said she knew wher
e she was going, her body language read more like someone wandering through the hills than a woman with a specific destination. A chill that was not entirely due to the cold day rustled its way through Olivia’s body.
“Agreed,” Lawrence sighed. “You’ll take the lead?”
Olivia nodded. They followed Mrs Fisher silently the rest of the way to the lone bench that sat facing the bleak apartment block, ready to make sense of it all.
5
“Here we are,” Lydia called out, her voice again seeming to float into the air. She reminded Olivia of a vengeful ghost, untethered from the world except for her anger and sorrow.
The bench was a humble thing, cosied up under a tall ash tree. There was enough space for Lydia and one other person to sit; Olivia chose to rest on the opposite end of the bench, Lawrence standing a bit back in order to face the two women.
“Lydia, you seem to be in quite a bit of shock,” Olivia observed as she settled on the bench beside her. “The officer told me that you saw your husband’s body after he fell. That’s a lot to process.”
Lydia stared off into the distance, a warped laugh escaping her lips.
“It’s okay to have complicated feelings about seeing him on the ground like that,” Olivia offered, trying to break the ice a bit more. She let her head tilt as she spoke, her eyes intent on the woman in front of her who simply scoffed.
“Why were you so upset with him, Lydia?” She let her voice quiet as she asked, attempting to meet Lydia’s unearthly tone.
“He’s a high school teacher, you know?” she answered. “Was a high school teacher, I suppose. Taught English at the school down the road.” Again, her voice seemed disembodied, just like her answer. “I work in A+E so I’d be home four nights a week then off for two. Rinse, recycle, repeat. We had a good life, all things considered.” She seemed to catch herself at that last statement, as if she was bleeding her cards in a poker game.
“Until…” Olivia led on. Let it out, Lydia, she wanted to urge.
“He had an affair.” Lydia spit out the words. Liv glanced up to Lawrence, who was hiding his rapt attention behind his notepad. He gave her a quick look before returning his eyes to Lydia.
“Having a partner cheat on you… That can be unforgiveable,” he replied.
Olivia studied her partner’s face. She knew he had a difficult past, but she was too prudent to ask the specifics, and every once in a while, he let something new slip. Olivia just couldn’t tell if this was one of those times or something fabricated to coax more information out of their witness.
“That’s not the worst of it, though,” Lydia replied.
Lawrence perked up an eyebrow.
“Well, can you tell us the worst of it?” Olivia coaxed.
The woman took a deep breath, almost as though she was trying to inhale the words about to break free.
“He…” she paused, composing herself. “I mean, it was a student he slept with. A bloody fifteen-year-old.” Lydia’s voice broke with that statement, tears springing forth as if out of nowhere. She buried her head in her hands, sobs wracking her back.
“I’m so sorry,” Olivia replied, moving her hand to their witness's shoulder. She gave it a tentative squeeze. “I can’t even begin to imagine…”
“Can’t imagine, what?” Lydia shot back. “That you find out your husband of twelve years is a paedophile? No, I think not.” Rage filled her voice this time. She was still in the midst of her grief over that pain—how could she possibly be ready to process the fact that her predator husband was now dead? Pieces were starting to click into place.
“Lydia, I can’t imagine how difficult today is for you, you’re right,” Olivia agreed, keeping her tone low and steady to calm their witness down. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with us. We really appreciate it. I’m going to keep asking questions, but just let us know if you need a break.” She paused, and when Lydia didn’t seem to interrupt, she pressed forward. “When did you discover that Simon was…unfaithful?”
A man walking his dog crossed over behind them. He gave Olivia a polite nod.
Lydia didn’t speak until he was well out of earshot.
“Just over a month ago,” she replied, voice once more sinking into despair. “I knew something was going on for a while beforehand. You know when you just know? But I’d assumed it was another teacher, or maybe someone he met at a pub. Not—” Sobs overcame her ability to speak once again.
“That must have been a real shock to discover,” Lawrence interjected. “Did anyone else know? Friends of yours, family?”
Lydia shrugged.
“I threatened to go public with it,” she answered. “But I knew that wouldn’t be fair to the child. I’m not even sure which kid it is. I tried to get him to tell me which one of his students it was, but he wouldn’t budge on that.”
Lawrence nodded as he made notes.
“And how’d you find out?” Olivia asked, again giving Lydia’s arm an assuring squeeze. “How did you know it was with a student?”
“He told me,” she cried. “He had had too much to drink one night, and I thought I could wrestle information of an affair out of him. I had no clue it would work. But then he broke down and told me he’d been dating one of his students.” Lydia wailed at that statement.
Hastily, Lawrence procured a tissue.
“But he wouldn’t say who it was?” Olivia searched Lydia’s face.
The woman shook her head as she accepted Dean's tissue.
“Only that she was fifteen and that he knew it was wrong.” She closed her eyes momentarily as though she was trying to conjure up the image of that conversation. “He said he was going to break it off with her, but I couldn’t go back to sleeping in the same bed with him—sharing the same space with him—after that night. So, I packed a bag and went to stay with my sister across town.”
Olivia nodded.
“No, I completely understand,” she replied. “That would be hard for most people to come to terms with. And your sister, does she know why you moved out of your place?”
Lydia shook her head.
“Only that Simon and I were having a fight and that I didn’t think we were going to be able to fix our marriage,” she answered. “Margaret’s a divorce lawyer, so she even offered to help me find good representation, but I knew that meant I’d have to talk about why I left him, and I just wasn’t ready to tell other people yet.”
Despite Lydia’s disconnected stare and strangely disembodied voice, she seemed considerably more aware of her emotions than most people who’d just seen a mangled body. Olivia made a mental note of it. Was it because she had a lot of emotional maturity—or because she’d known that Simon would be vulture fodder that morning?
“Did you tell anyone else about it—a therapist? Maybe the school’s Head?” Olivia asked.
“I should have but no. I spiralled after that night.” Their witness locked eyes with Olivia. “I sunk into one of the worst depressions I’ve ever had. Called in sick at work, spent most days sleeping and most nights wishing I could stay asleep. I told myself that I’d come forward to the authorities, but to be honest I spent most of the time trying to drown out the knowledge that Simon had done something like that... Could do something like that.” Lydia’s eyes held an overwhelming sadness in them. Again, Olivia was reminded of a ghost.
“Did he try and contact you after you left?” she asked.
“Once or twice,” Lydia sighed. “He left a couple of voicemails before I blocked his number. I couldn’t face him again—” Her face crumpled at that statement, once again mourning.
“And last night, where were you?” Olivia asked.
The woman’s eyebrows furrowed as she connected the dots and realised why they were asking.
“Goodness, I was at home with Margaret, like usual,” she answered, displeasure still etched across her features. “I go to bed around nine these days, usually aided by a sleeping pill. Margaret woke me up this morning after she’d heard on the radio
that there was a body found at the apartment building. I drove over—it was the first time I’d returned to the flat since I packed my bag. And when I saw Simon…” Her voice quieted, her eyes scanning the horizon rapidly. What was she searching for? Answers? Redemption?
“Margaret’s your sister’s name?” Lawrence asked, breaking his quiet observation. “Can we get her number from you? Nothing bad,” he added when her eyes darted to him. “We’d just like to verify that you were indeed home.”
She nodded easily.
“Of course.”
Her words sent a chill through Olivia’s spine. Clearly, she hadn’t been concerned about Lawrence having the number. In fact, she almost appeared nonchalant.
Usually when they were so upfront about verifying alibis, people got defensive. Asked how they could possibly suspect them of having anything to do with someone’s demise. Either that or they were overly generous about providing witnesses to their timeline. It was natural; people wanted to look good, and Lydia couldn’t seem to care less that the detectives wanted to verify her whereabouts.
Olivia glanced at Lawrence to see if he’d noticed.
“Lydia… This may seem bold, so forgive me for asking it so bluntly. But did you kill your husband?” she startled herself with her upfront question. But maybe it would break through the veil of disillusionment that seemed to divorce Lydia from the rest of the world.
She turned, her grey eyes wide and yet somehow still far off, even as she met Olivia’s gaze.
“No,” she murmured gently. “I don’t think so.” Silent tears streamed down her face, two mirroring rivers.
“Thank you for your time, Lydia,” Olivia sighed, giving her hand a squeeze. The new widow continued to look far off. “We’ll get your contact information, as well as your sister Margaret’s, and then we can have an officer drive you back to her place. Let us know if you need anything.”
They wrapped up their meeting quickly with Lawrence stepping off to give Beth a call and describe where to meet the trio. Lydia continued to stare off, her gaze distant. Olivia couldn’t shake it. She knew that shock manifested in many different ways, but she had a gut feeling that Lydia’s wide grey eyes would haunt her at night until they found Simon’s killer.
