by Matt Brolly
Louise rarely saw her father angry but there was no hiding it now. ‘How was he?’ she asked.
Her father stopped pacing. He’d been totally oblivious to her arrival and looked at her, momentarily confused. ‘I couldn’t get a word of sense out of him. He stank of alcohol. He mumbled something about a Tuesday morning club at the local pub, and there was a half-empty bottle of whisky on the table. I dragged him into a cold bath but he hardly stirred. I know he’s had it hard, Louise, but he’s a selfish little bastard. How the hell can he do that to Emily?’
‘I know, Dad. I know.’
‘What can I do? I don’t know what I can do to help.’ Her dad collapsed on to the sofa, engaged in a fierce battle to contain his emotions.
‘Granddad,’ said Emily, running into the room.
Louise’s father wiped his eyes as Emily ran towards him. ‘Sweetie,’ he said, holding his hands out to embrace his granddaughter.
Louise returned to the kitchen and put on the kettle.
‘I suppose it would be bad form if I had something stronger?’ said her mum, raising her eyebrows.
‘Mum,’ said Louise, shaking her head. Her mother had always had a dark sense of humour and was usually the first to defuse any difficult situation.
They drank tea together, smiling at the sound of Emily playing with her grandfather, each avoiding discussing the situation. ‘How’s the seaside?’ asked her mother.
‘Better now the warm weather has arrived.’
‘Any juicy cases?’
She only asked out of politeness. She’d always been supportive of Louise’s role in the police, and was proud of her, but she didn’t really want to hear any details; didn’t want to face the reality of Louise’s work.
‘I need to get back soon but we need to discuss what happened today. You know the school are within their rights to call in social services? Imagine if they visit Paul now? Emily could go into care, Mum.’ Louise felt her emotions getting the better of her, and marvelled at the way her brother could cause so much distress in his absence.
Her mother smiled. Outwardly, nothing ever appeared to affect her but Louise knew she carried the burden of everything that happened to her family. She’d been the strong one during the last weeks of Dianne’s life, and the traumatic aftermath. She’d kept the family together for years as Paul descended into alcoholism. Louise rarely acknowledged it, but she was lucky to have two such great role models for parents. ‘Your father and I have been discussing the matter and we’ve decided that we’re going to look after Emily for the next few months over the summer holiday period.’ Her words were defiant, suggesting Louise shouldn’t argue.
‘Have you discussed this with Paul?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I don’t think he’s going to agree, Mum.’
‘He won’t have a choice. Like you said, sooner or later social services are going to get involved and even your brother isn’t stupid enough to risk losing Emily.’ Her mother moved towards her, reached for her hand. ‘Look, I don’t mean that. Your brother’s not stupid, far from it, but he’s not in a position to help himself at the moment. I’ll speak to him and explain it’s for the best. Hopefully, it will be the kick up the bum he needs. We’ve told him we’ll get him help and we’ll tell him again tomorrow.’ She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nostrils. ‘He’s killing himself, Lou. Your big brother is killing himself and we need to help him.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ said Louise, grabbing her mother, disturbed by the lightness of her body as she caught the familiar scent of lavender on her neck.
Her mother pushed her away gently, embarrassed. ‘Will you—’
‘I’ll do everything I can, Mum. I’ll try and get here every weekend, and can help out at evenings.’
‘What do you think we get up to?’ said her mother, smiling. ‘You think your dad and I are out partying every night?’
‘You’re not?’ said Louise, feigning mock surprise.
‘Thank you for your offer and we’ll take you up on it when needed, but I was going to ask if you would speak to Paul. Not tonight, but sometime in the next few days. Tell him you stand by our decision, and try to get him to get some help.’
Louise doubted her brother would listen to what she had to say but agreed anyway.
‘Right,’ said her mother, clasping her hands together as if everything was now all right with the world. ‘You better get going. You probably have lots of work to do and I have a little lady I need to get to bed.’
Chapter Two
Louise thought about little else other than Paul and Emily as she drove back to Weston. She recalled the day Paul and Dianne announced that Dianne had cancer. The subtle change that immediately became evident in her sister-in-law’s posture, the aged way she moved. Even so, Dianne’s rapid deterioration over the following weeks came as a shock to everyone. The next time Louise saw her she’d been in her hospital bed, her body wasting away before her eyes. They spoke about Emily, Dianne thanking Louise for being a presence in her daughter’s life, Louise making unnecessary promises about looking after the child. That had been the day Louise first saw the change in Paul – the hardening in his eyes, a defiance and desperation he’d never recovered from.
Though the change in him was unwelcome, it hadn’t come as a surprise. Louise had experienced this kind of thing with him before. As a child, Paul had been a kind and caring older brother, and although there had been the usual sibling falling outs, they’d always got on well. At times, and she hated admitting it, Paul had been her best friend. A wave of melancholy always hit her as she thought about how that friendship was gradually eroded. It was a natural part of growing up, but it still stung her to remember Paul hitting his teenage years and eventually leaving her behind.
In retrospect, it had all started then. He must have been fifteen or sixteen when he’d started drinking. Initially, Louise’s parents hadn’t been that concerned – he wasn’t the only teenager drinking cheap white cider in the local park – but Louise had hated the change in him. He became sullen and withdrawn, hanging out with new people at school. When he did talk to her he was short and impatient and the young Louise had felt somehow to blame, as if she was responsible for the change in him.
It was only when Paul started developing more sophisticated habits that her parents began to share her concerns. One infamous holiday – Paul’s last with them – was never mentioned at family gatherings. They’d been in Cornwall when Louise’s father had found some speed in Paul’s pockets. She’d never seen her father lose his temper in such a way. Paul had just received some disappointing results in his A-levels and the atmosphere following the discovery had been so bad that they’d all travelled home that day.
A few weeks later, Paul left for polytechnic. He’d hugged Louise goodbye before he’d left but their relationship had already been changed irrevocably. The poly did little more than provide three years of partying for her brother; a way of life he continued after leaving and starting a dead-end job in telesales.
He would probably still be living that same life if it hadn’t been for Dianne. The change had been immediate, his drinking eased and the drugs ceased. Louise began to see the return of the kind and caring boy Paul had once been. It had been wonderful to see, and by the time Emily was born Louise had long since stopped worrying about him.
Louise had hoped that Emily would have kept Paul grounded when Dianne passed, but maybe they’d underestimated the influence Dianne had had on him. He’d tried, Louise knew that, but without Dianne there was nothing to stop him returning to his old ways.
Louise left the motorway, driving past a tide of cars leaving the seaside town, the tourists and day trippers for once having enjoyed a day baked in sun. The police station’s office manager, Simone, had taken the call from the school and was no doubt offering her opinion as to why Louise had to leave in such a hurry, and Louise had no desire to face the questioning glances and sly asides.
Although she’d lived in Weston for
over two years now, Louise had managed to keep her private life – what existed of it – separate from her colleagues at work. It was an open secret that she’d been forced to move to the seaside town. Prior to that she’d been working in MIT, the major investigation team based out of headquarters in Portishead. Following an investigation where she’d shot an unarmed man – albeit a vindictive serial killer by the name of Max Walton – she’d been offered a take-it-or-leave-it move. She’d been unable to hide her resentment at the time and this, in part, had hampered her integration. Things had improved over the last seven months following a successful murder investigation, but Louise was still an outsider to the small group of officers in Weston.
Back in her small bungalow in Worle, on the outskirts of Weston, Louise ate her dinner for one in front of the television. As she chewed brown, indefinable meat, she glanced at the shadow covering half of the living-room wall. Eight months ago, photographs had littered every inch of the cream-coloured wall. Although they’d not made for pleasant viewing – they were mainly photos of victims of a brutal killer dubbed by the press as the Pensioner Killer – they’d given Louise a grim purpose. Since that time, her role as detective inspector of Weston’s small CID department had been as uneventful as the town itself. Her most recent success had been the arrest of a small group of marijuana dealers working in the Bournville estate, an investigation she wouldn’t have even touched when she’d been part of MIT.
She placed her plate in a dishwasher she activated once a week at most and went to bed. Out of habit she checked her phone before sleeping, half expecting an unwelcome text from her old colleague in Bristol. She tried to sleep, her thoughts returning again and again to her brother and niece.
Paul’s drinking hadn’t resumed immediately after Dianne’s death. For a period, he’d carried on as normal. Louise had admired him at that point, the way he’d been a solid presence for Emily who’d only half understood what had been happening. Then one Sunday lunchtime he’d failed to turn up for a family get-together. Louise had driven to his flat and found him asleep on the sofa, an empty vodka bottle by his side while Emily sat on an armchair watching television. They should have done something about it then, got him help immediately, but they’d let the problem fester. Now, Louise worried they would never be able to help him.
She awoke at 5.30 a.m. with a jolt. There was no point trying to return to sleep. She put on a pot of coffee before showering, changing afterwards in a semi-trance. When she managed to take the first welcome slurp of caffeine, her phone pinged. ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ she mumbled to herself, as she read the message.
Twenty minutes later, Louise parked up at the Uphill Marina though ‘marina’ was a stretch. Although the area technically linked to the sea, it only did so at times of high tide via the meandering tributaries of the River Axe. Most of the time the place was a dumping ground for old boats. Derelict and abandoned vessels fought for space in the mud plains above sea level, Louise doubting that any of them would feel water against their hulls again.
Louise followed the line of officers to the cordoned-off area at the foot of a sheer cliff drop where a white scene-of-crime tent had been erected. Above them, the ruined church of Saint Nicholas glistened in the sun like a perfect image from a picture postcard.
The body of a young woman had been discovered earlier that morning by the owner of the marina café who’d gone for a short walk before opening up. At first, Giles Lawson had thought the shape at the foot of the cliff was a bag of discarded rubbish. Only as he approached the bundle did he realise it was the twisted body of the deceased.
Lawson explained as much to Louise outside the SOCO tent where the scene-of-crime officers and the county pathologist, Stephen Dempsey, were examining the corpse. Tears welled in the café-owner’s eyes as he recalled finding the body. ‘I’ve never seen a dead person before,’ he said.
Louise had some sympathy for the man, recalling the first dead body she’d found on the job. She’d vomited on that occasion and would have shared the story with the man if she’d thought it would help him. Instead, she handed the man over to one of the uniformed officers and donned the white SOCO uniform before heading into the tent.
Stepping into the confined space, Louise fought the nag of claustrophobia as she moved towards the twisted body. The woman had landed face down. She’d been photographed and the scene recorded by video and she had now been moved on to her back so the remains of her face were showing. Louise’s breath was hot against her protective mask as she fought the rising nausea. A SOCO was busy photographing the pulpy mess of the woman’s face, the flash of her camera illuminating the inside of the tent as if stopping time.
‘Ma’am, we found this,’ said one of the other SOCOs, handing Louise a purse protected by a small plastic bag. ‘We have a name from an NI card but no photo ID.’ The SOCO glanced at the mangled face of the woman as if suggesting that the photo ID wouldn’t have made much difference.
‘What’s her name?’ asked Louise.
The SOCO’s eyes were glued on the woman, as if he was trying to make sense of the misshapen form. ‘Claire Smedley, ma’am.’
‘Thank you,’ said Louise.
At that second, whatever her protestations about the humdrum nature of her current job, Louise wanted nothing more than to escape the tent, to be far away from the unfortunate soul inches from her feet. The smell and cloying atmosphere brought back so many bad memories that it would be easy to turn and run. Instead, she knelt down next to the pathologist.
Dempsey was wearing a mask but she saw his smile in the breakout of laughter lines around his eyes. In her first weeks in Weston, Louise had spent the night with Dempsey. She’d made worse mistakes but what she regretted most was the impact it had on their professional relationship, however hard Dempsey pretended to shrug it off.
‘I think we may have ourselves another jumper,’ said Dempsey, by way of greeting.
Louise wasn’t sure if this revelation was a source of relief or frustration. Six weeks ago a twenty-eight-old, Victoria Warrington, had fallen from a cliff in Brean Down. Victoria had lived alone in a grungy shared flat in a tower block in Oldmixon. They’d yet to have a coroner verdict but everything pointed to a verdict of death by suicide. Although suicides were far from uncommon in the small seaside town, the method and the similarities between the two women were possibly a concern. ‘No sign of a struggle?’ said Louise.
‘Not that I can see at present. As she fell, she did place her right arm in front of her face. I can’t see any defence wounds aside from that but of course we will know more later.’
‘We’ll need a tox report as soon as possible,’ said Louise.
‘Okay,’ said Dempsey, hesitating for a second as if he wanted to say something to her, before returning to the corpse.
Outside the tent, Louise was stopped by DS Thomas Ireland. ‘What kept you?’ she said, the hot air of the morning giving little respite from the heat of the tent.
Thomas grinned and Louise looked away, chiding herself for her emotional response to seeing him. Thomas was the closest thing to a friend she had at the office and in her weaker moments she would admit to thoughts of their relationship developing beyond the professional. In the past, such thoughts were mere idle fantasy but after a turbulent year, Thomas and his wife had decided to apply for a divorce. The separation shouldn’t have changed anything between Thomas and Louise, and she imagined it was mainly in her mind, but occasionally she noticed the odd glance from him. Nothing could come of it. For one, Thomas reported to her and she wasn’t about to embark on an affair with a soon-to-be divorced man. Furthermore, Weston station – and the town itself for that matter – was not a place for secrets. Louise had enough problems fitting in as it was without being known as the chief who slept with her staff.
‘We have a name,’ she said, hiding her embarrassment while Thomas gazed at her nonplussed.
‘Do you want me to run it?’
Louise had wanted to check on
the young woman herself, but handed Thomas the plastic covering with Claire’s ID within. ‘Let me know when you find a family member. I’d like to be there.’
As Thomas turned to leave, Louise told herself to get a grip. She gave him five minutes before leaving the car park on foot. It wasn’t even 9 a.m. but the sun was already high in the cloudless sky. She loved Weston on days like these, however few and far between they were. The light changed the town. Instead of highlighting its blemishes it somehow hid them, its rays distorting the scenery into a perfect vision. Even the air tasted different, the smell of the distant sea enticing rather than repelling.
Louise walked around the corner and began the steep climb up the hill to the ruined church, surprised to see a small herd of cows in the field next to the entrance. The ascent made her breathless, her legs like lead by the time she reached the summit. When did I get so out of shape? she thought, promising herself she would start running again when she next had a spare moment.
From her position, the seafront of Weston-super-Mare curved to her right, both the piers – the Grand and the old derelict Birnbeck Pier – protruding into the mud bed where the sea would be later in the day. Further out, the mound of rock known as Steep Holm jutted out from the murky sea. Louise would never be able to view the small island again without recalling the events that unfolded there late the previous year when she’d searched for the Pensioner Killer. Absently, she touched the small scar on her arm that would forever link her to that place.
Instead of a tent, the SOCOs had cordoned off an area close to the cliff edge, by the wall of the church’s graveyard facing Brean Down and the muddy mouth of the River Axe. The area was still being worked but one of the SOCOs left the barrier tape to speak to her. As she pulled the mask from her mouth, Louise recognised her as Janice Sutton whom she’d worked with numerous times in Bristol.
