by Nic Roberts
She winced.
“Yes, it’s awful,” Olivia admitted. “But we think it’s important that we figure out the identity of the girl he was preying upon. That might be the break that this case needs.”
More fingers on a keyboard.
“Yes, that makes sense. I’ll see what I can dig up. Although I have to warn you, Liv. Usually when a predator is abusing a child, they do their best to hide their tracks. I have some tricks up my sleeve, but it really depends on how sloppy he was,” Clara admitted. “Still, I think the crime scene team recovered his phone, so that’ll help with some initial digging.”
Olivia smiled.
“You’re incredible, Clara, honestly,” she reminded her. “Thank you so much for sending that file over.”
“What else are my Sundays for?” The tech analyst laughed.
Olivia couldn’t quite tell whether Clara was joking or actually quite okay with doing some extra work on her day off. She seemed like the kind of woman who was married to her job. But then again, maybe that was more out of necessity than want.
“Oh, also,” Liv winced as she said it, knowing that she'd already asked a lot. “If you could do some digging on his wife, Lydia Fisher, that would be absolutely great. You could always make someone else do that one for you though.”
“Already done and sent over with Simon’s files,” Clara declared. “And I sent two copies, one for both you and Lawrence.”
“Wow! I owe you a drink when this case is over. Thank you.”
Clara laughed.
“You better be serious about that,” she insisted.
“Wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” Olivia replied with a smile.
“Brilliant. I’ll look forward to it, then,” the tech analyst admitted, more sincerity in her voice than Olivia had been expecting. It caught her off guard. She registered that perhaps she wasn’t the only one in the Devon and Cornwall Police Constabulary who may be in desperate need of a friend—outside of her partner and family of course. But she was stuck with Lawrence whether or not she wanted to be. Same with Mills and her mum. But Clara? She quite liked the idea of developing a true friendship with the woman, upon further reflection.
“Likewise.” She smiled, warmth spreading over her features. “Okay, I’d like to get out of this car and get home in time to make myself dinner. I’ll speak with you soon, Clara. Thanks again.”
The bubbly analyst hummed in agreement before ending the call.
Olivia smiled to herself before starting the engine and embarking on her journey back to Newquay police station.
“Bloody brilliant,” Liv found herself whispering as she approached the printer on her return. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Clara had found an abundance of information on Simon Fisher, but she still balked a bit at the stack that awaited her. “Guess we get to pore over these late into the night,” she sighed, glancing over to Lawrence, who had just put the phone down.
He shook his head at the pile.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he sighed. “I feel extremely good about calling this a night if you do.”
Olivia put some of the papers down on Dean’s desk.
“I don’t know how much more we can get done here,” she agreed, trying not to show her eagerness to get home to her cottage and put the fire on. Earnest was probably riled out of his mind by now, although her mum had sent her a text that she’d headed over and found him disgruntled but overall okay.
“Great. I can pick you up at eight tomorrow morning,” Lawrence offered, stuffing his portion of the intense packet from Clara into his bag. “Then we can discuss how we want to handle notification to the school on our way over.”
“That sounds brilliant,” Olivia replied, grabbing her own set of information to bring home. She switched off her computer. “Right then, I’ll see you tomorrow!”
She was almost out of their office when she heard her partners voice.
“I guess you need a lift home, too,” he observed with a smirk.
“Shit, I completely forgot.” Olivia’s eyes widened as she processed that not only had she not driven to work of her own accord, but she also still had the pair of increasingly painful heels on. It’d been a long day; there was no doubt about that.
“No worries,” Lawrence laughed. “I’m happy to drive you,” he confessed, putting his coat on with one swift movement.
“Thank you.” Olivia waited by the door looking at the sea of empty desks in the main office. Even DC Epson had disappeared, though she could see Collins’ light was still on. “It’s been a bloody long day.”
“Agreed,” Lawrence sighed. “Let’s go home.”
9
“Code red! Officer down!”
She was back inside the dream. It was different this time, though. Something felt... off.
She knelt down beside Rhys, his fingers pressed against young PC Jacobson’s neck. He didn’t look good. Blood was everywhere. And even though it was clearly a dream, Olivia already knew she couldn’t do anything to stop the series of events that would come next.
“Fuck, we need that back up, like yesterday!” Rhys growled. His eyebrows were furrowed as he urgently tried to stem the spurting. “They've left us here like sitting ducks!”
Again, that sense of realisation dawned on her.
“It has to be us,” she hissed, feeling rehearsed as the words tumbled out of her mouth. “We can't wait! The public need us. They need someone on scene!”
The words felt unreal even as she continued to speak them. What was she even saying?
The echo of ricocheting bullets pierced her eardrums, adding to the chaos of the scene. Make it stop, she willed herself. But a dark part of her needed to see the events play out. She needed to see it again. She needed to see that last look he gave her.
She met his eyes. Rhys, she wanted to call out. Let’s just leave. Get out while we still have a chance.
If she’d said that, would he still be here now? She didn’t care about all the honour and praise he’d received posthumously. Having him physically beside her meant more than that. It meant more than medals and certificates in a keepsake box.
If they’d stayed back, stayed out, they wouldn’t have been heroes. But they would have had each other.
“No!” Rhys protested. Ever her protector. “You have to stay until they get here. They're on their way.”
She pulled herself to standing. Screams orchestrated the dream, just as real as they had been on the actual day. Not just screams of fear and terror. Blood curdling screams. The type that’s expelled from you when a bullet or two is plunged into your body. The dying kind.
“I'm going,” she answered, feeling hollow but defiant. “I have to. I can't sit here and do nothing. Stay with Jacobson...” Those last three words. The worst ones she’d ever spoken. The three words that haunted her night after night. Stay with Jacobson.
Rhys grabbed hold of her arm tightly before she could run off. Even in the urgency of it all, she still relished in his touch. It still made her feel safe and secure despite their surrounding chaos.
“You stay here!” he ordered. “Keep pressure on his neck until the ambulance arrives and I’ll go. I’m not losing you today!” The whole thing felt like a twisted play. Who was the audience?
The bomb exploded, forcing Olivia to turn. This is it, she told herself. The point of no return. The screams got worse. The begging, the pleading. They needed the authorities on scene. Why had the backup taken so long to arrive?
“When the ambulance gets here, find me. I’m going along Poland Street!” Tell him you love him. That you always will.
But she was powerless against the force of the dream.
As she ran to meet the officers who descended on scene, she was met with a commotion unlike she had in dreams past.
“What?” she started to mumble out, breaking the cadence of the perfectly choreographed nightmare.
Out of nowhere, a shroud was pulled over her eyes, obscuring her vision in white tulle.
“Stop!” Olivia shrieked, clawing at the air, desperately trying to pull off the strange veil. But nothing would take it away.
She couldn’t see him.
“Rhys!” she screamed, panic rising in her voice.
Rhys!
* * *
Waking up from the nightmare was like trying to break to the ocean’s surface while being chained to an anchor. Olivia pushed up and up, seeking escape. Slowly, she dragged herself into consciousness.
A gasp erupted from her lips, breaking through as her eyes burst open.
“Fuck,” she groaned. Her heart was still pounding, her breathing laboured.
She sighed as she rolled over to her side, checking her clock for the time. 6:12 a.m. Could have been worse.
She lay in bed a minute longer, focusing on taking in deep breaths like her therapist had taught her. Her body slowly relaxed, releasing its tight grip on its fight or flight instinct.
Once she felt calm enough, Olivia swung her legs over the side of her bed to hop down and tread over to the bathroom sink. A splash of cold water to the face helped bring her further into reality.
She glanced up to see Earnest’s eyes peeking at her from the mirror. She gave him a smile and turned to face him. He’d certainly given her a bit of the cold shoulder for abandoning him the night before, but after a fair amount of affection and praise, he had begrudgingly calmed down.
“I’m okay,” she promised him, bending down to scratch him behind the ears. His tail swished. “Just a bad dream.”
* * *
Olivia finished her breakfast and coffee just in time to meet Lawrence outside her cottage at 8:03 a.m. Despite getting an early start to the day, everything felt like it had a slight haze to it, as though the shroud that encased her in her dream still lingered during the daytime. She shivered as she thought about it, quickly walking down the path to Lawrence’s car, hands shoved deep in her pockets. It was a bitter morning, that she was certain of.
“Sleep well?” Lawrence asked as she opened the door and squeezed herself into the seat.
She looked at him.
“You’re joking, aren’t you?” she scoffed, snapping Lawrence out of his lackadaisical reverie.
“Oh!” he responded, eyes widening. “Sorry, I assumed—”
“Yeah—assumed being the key word,” Olivia interrupted, closing the door with a decisive thud. She hid the rush of blood to her cheeks, well aware that he had nothing to do with her bad start. It was most probably hormonal. She was almost certain the vivid dream was due to it being that time of the month.
“My apologies.” Lawrence sighed, starting the engine with the turn of his keys. He paused for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Olivia felt rather than saw his eyes on her.
“Not particularly,” she replied, resigned by the fact that no matter how bad she felt, telling her partner that only a couple of hours ago she’d been revisiting the tragic death of Rhys for the umpteenth time was a no-go. Would he have sent her back home? Told her to take the rest of the day off? “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just focus on the case.”
Lawrence cleared his throat, reading the room.
“Of course,” he answered, voice almost defeated. “Right, were you able to read everything Clara sent our way last night?”
Olivia nodded, pleased for the subject change.
“I definitely gave everything a skim.” She looked out the window, her eyes following the curve of the landscape as they drove. “I read the most important bits thoroughly, though. Simon Fisher seemed like a relatively average guy. Nothing but a couple of parking tickets on his police record, fairly mediocre university reviews, and a couple of begrudging students who gave him poor reviews online, although most seemed ambivalent on him.”
Lawrence took one hand off the wheel to run it through his dark hair.
“It tracks with what Principal Hargraves said about him,” he agreed, scanning the road. “Which makes me think that whoever he was abusing, it could have been his first time—maybe even the first time he decided to step outside of his marriage.”
“That would make sense,” Olivia concurred. “Lydia mentioned having a sense about it. My guess is she’d have noticed earlier if he’d been making a common practice out of it.”
Lawrence nodded.
“Nothing was particularly striking about Lydia’s information, either,” he observed.
She saw him turn to glance at her before facing the road again.
“Agreed,” she mused. “By all outside accounts, they seemed like a perfectly normal couple,” she mused. “It’s weird how easily something so insidious can hide behind normality.”
“Oh, are you a poet now, Austin?” Lawrence’s voice was playful, the corner of his lips perked the slightest bit.
Olivia felt the ice that had coated her since she’d woken up from the nightmare slowly start to thaw. It was impossible to stay in such a downcast mood when her partner clearly hadn’t given up on her.
“He was an English teacher, correct?” she continued, and Lawrence didn’t appear wounded by her non-acknowledgement of his little jab at her.
“Correct,” he answered. “Specialised in Medieval English while at uni.”
Olivia could hear a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Maybe he used his work in English to attempt to seduce his victim.” Olivia sighed. “These kids… They’re so impressionable at that age. Teachers like Fisher should be protecting them, not preying upon them.”
Lawrence’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. Olivia could feel something building up in her partner. She fell silent, letting him decide when to let it out into the open.
“Is it terrible that I don’t feel that bad that he’s gone?” he asked.
The question punctuated the air, changing the whole moment. Olivia looked over to her partner. Despite his thirty years of age, he was newer to the career of a Detective than she was. He harboured passion and depth in every case that had Collins singing his praises to anyone that would listen, but as she looked at him, she saw the struggle he kept inside. The part that fought to separate his morals from his job. Everyone whether in uniform or not had a bout of that.
“So long as it doesn’t interfere with your ability to find his killer and execute the law?” she answered. “No. Not at all.”
Olivia didn’t look to Lawrence as she spoke, but she hoped that he understood the gravity of her words.
“I’ve never…” Lawrence trailed off.
“I know,” Olivia replied, finally looking at her partner again. “It’s okay to be confused about it. My advice?” She settled her head into her hand to lean back further and really look at Lawrence. Conflict was strewn across his face. The desire to do good—and the confusion at what that truly meant. “If you’re really conflicted, see Collins once the case is over. He’ll help you sort out what you’re feeling.”
Silence came over the car, and after a brief moment, Dean spoke.
“Does it help?” he asked, his voice apprehensive. “Does talking about things really help?”
Did it? That was a good question. She’d done it a lot over the past year and a half. She’d opened up every corner of her mind to someone who started out as a stranger, but by the end of her sessions, her therapist had become her lifeline. It helped to turn on the tap of her thoughts and not stop until it was all out. That in itself meant the entire world to her. But this deep a conversation was for another time. She didn’t want to go there. Not now.
Instead, she simply just nodded. Her response hung in the air.
“Okay,” Lawrence sighed. He understood the timing wasn’t right and proceeded to change the subject. “Well. How do we want to handle notifying the whole school that Fisher has passed?”
“Great question,” Olivia replied, hoping that her partner felt okay with the change in depth. They'd go over it again later. “I’ve actually got a couple of ideas.”
The hum of the
car’s engine, quiet and steady, stayed with the duo the rest of the drive, filling in those quiet moments where they just needed to sit and listen.
10
The crowd of unruly high school students teemed with life, almost its own living organism with its own set of rules and patterns. Olivia had observed the hallway as Mr Hargraves made an announcement over the PA system that the school was going to have an assembly in the main hall. Kids had flocked from every crevice of the school into a wave of navy and black uniforms, whispers and the click of shoes accompanying their movement towards the aforementioned meeting place.
Olivia had quickly ducked into the main office before the assembly began, checking in with the woman at the front desk.
“This is my email address. Could you send me a list of every student who doesn’t end up coming to school today?” Olivia asked, sliding her card across to the matronly woman, who wordlessly nodded before resuming her task for the day.
“I’ll also need a list of every student who was born in 2004 or 2005,” Olivia explained, trying to make eye contact with the woman. “And every student enrolled in Mr. Fisher’s classes the past two years.”
“Got it,” the receptionist responded, finally looking up at Olivia rather impatiently.
“Thank you,” Olivia replied, knocking on the desk before exiting the office.
Olivia felt good about the way she and Lawrence had arranged for the assembly to go. A couple of uniformed police officers had discreetly set up at the school’s main exits in case anyone left before Olivia and Lawrence could identify them. The two had a solid plan as to how to proceed forward.
Now, Olivia stood towards the back of the stage in the hall, Lawrence by her side. The sea of teenagers settled only after Hargraves rather aggressively tapped the microphone connected to the podium he stood at.
“Good morning, students and staff alike. I hope you all have had a good weekend. I have some guests here with me this morning who would like to speak with you on an…important matter,” Hargraves soliloquised to the crowd, seemingly a bit unsure with how to introduce the detectives despite clearly having notecards in front of him.
