The Descent (Detective Louise Blackwell)

by Matt Brolly

  Back at her desk, Louise tried to call Paul again. After the fallout with Robertson, the very act made her feel guilty, but the thought of Emily was a constant nagging ache in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t ignore. Her instinct told her she was fine with her father – whatever his current mental state – but she was desperate to hear news of her niece. She swore under her breath as the call went straight to answerphone. In her peripheral vision she noticed Simone had stopped dead in her tracks and was trying to eavesdrop.

  ‘Help you, Simone?’ she said, slamming the phone down and turning to face the office manager.

  Simone shrugged her shoulders, as if she had no idea what Louise was talking about, and walked away without speaking.

  Was Simone relaying her actions to Robertson? She dismissed the notion as quickly as it had arrived, dismayed by the creeping paranoia of her thoughts.

  Her afternoon was spent trawling through video images of Sally and the mystery man. It was important not to get ahead of herself, and there was a danger of reading too much into the situation, but the scene by the shop wasn’t the only sign of the man’s duplicity. Maybe it was simply a character trait, but she noticed the blankness of his face as they walked along the pier, and in a second video they’d recovered of the pair playing the machines; it made the changes in his demeanour when Sally looked at him all the more fake.

  She was growing frustrated with the lack of progress in the case and at that moment wanted to be anywhere but in the sterile office environment. She envied Tracey her day off and would have loved to have been spending time with her friend rather than going over and over the same thing. Experience told her she must. It was clear to her that something was amiss and the only way to discover the anomaly was to keep working.

  Try as she might, she found it impossible to ignore her mistake regarding the unauthorised overtime.

  Every time her thoughts drifted to Paul and Emily, she tried to force them back on to the case. The conflict only served to make her feel that she wasn’t giving either situation the attention it deserved.

  ‘Call for you, Louise,’ said Simone, distracting her.

  ‘Hi, DI Blackwell, this is Dr Alice Everson from FIU in London.’ The Forensic Investigation Unit was a specialised division of the Met. At Louise’s insistence, Portishead had sent forensic samples from the Claire Smedley and Victoria Warrington scenes for testing. ‘We’ve had an interesting match on the samples you sent us. Nothing in the blood, but we found something in both hair samples. We’ve been running a new programme on psychedelics and we discovered traces of DMT in both women.’

  DMT wasn’t something Louise had come across that often before. ‘I have a rudimentary grasp of how DMT works, Dr Everson. We’re talking along the lines of LSD, mushrooms?’

  ‘Yes and no. Recreational DMT users usually smoke it. Depending on the dose, it can give a very strong hallucinogenic response.’

  ‘Could it affect their mental state in any way?’

  ‘Aside from hallucinating?’

  Louise explained what had happened to Claire and Victoria. She wanted to know if the drug could have made them take their own lives.

  ‘Well, depending on the dose, and it is hard to ascertain that from these samples, their mental state would be greatly affected. However, we’re not talking about someone taking an acid trip and believing they can fly. DMT can kick in almost immediately, depending on how it is taken, and is very intense. It’s unlikely they would be able to do that much under its influence. The trip may not last long but during that time the recipient would usually be pretty much incapacitated.’

  ‘Could it promote suicidal tendencies?’

  ‘It’s possible. It may depend on what it’s mixed with. However, there were no traces of drugs or alcohol in Ms Smedley’s blood sample. I believe there has been another death?’

  News spreads fast, thought Louise. ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘I think it is unlikely then. Maybe in an isolated incident but the chances of it causing three people to commit suicide are slim. Of course, you would have to analyse outside factors such as the person’s mental health. I can send through details on the drug. It’s quite an interesting proposition. Lots of anecdotal evidence about shared visions. Not sure it will help your investigation. A very important factor to consider is the setting where these women took the drug. The effect of psychedelics is greatly influenced by where the user takes it and who they take it with.’

  ‘So they could have a bad trip if they’re in a bad setting.’

  ‘Very much so. If they’re taking it under duress, or in extreme circumstances, or with people they don’t know or trust then it can make a dramatic difference.’

  ‘How quick could you analyse the blood and hair from the third woman?’

  ‘Send it for my attention and I’ll make it a priority.’

  Louise thanked the doctor and hung up. She was about to start searching online for more on the drug when she noticed Simone loitering near her desk again.

  ‘Sorry, I was waiting for you to finish your call,’ said Simone.

  ‘What is it, Simone?’

  ‘You have a visitor.’

  There was a hint of a smile on the office manager’s face and Louise’s first thought was Finch. Unwilling to hide her impatience she asked, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘That journalist. Tania Elliot. Said you would want to speak to her. I’ve put her in interview room two. Shall I tell her to go?’

  Although it was bad practice for the journalist to visit the station uninvited, after her last meeting with Tania it felt prudent to hear what the journalist had to say. ‘I’ll be there in five minutes,’ she told Simone, turning her attention back to her screen.

  Ten minutes later, Louise entered interview room two. Tania was sitting behind the desk drinking tea and didn’t stand as Louise came into the room. Louise didn’t bother with any pleasantries. It was an unwritten rule that journalists didn’t approach officers at their workplace and Louise wasn’t about to apologise for keeping Tania waiting. ‘What can I do for you, Tania?’ she said, her voice laden with disinterest as she sat down opposite her.

  ‘Courtesy visit,’ said Tania. ‘We’re running a story in the Post tomorrow evening. I thought you may like to comment.’

  Tania eased two sheets of paper face down over to Louise. ‘What’s the article about?’ said Louise.

  ‘I think you know. I’ll need your comment by tomorrow morning at the latest unless you want to speak to me now?’ Tania tilted her head in question and Louise considered kicking her out of the office. She turned the sheets over, the title of the article screaming out at her:

  Suicide Epidemic Sweeps the Seaside

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Louise lowered her eyes, fighting her rising pulse. ‘You are fucking kidding me, Tania?’

  The journalist remained neutral and Louise was thankful for her response – even a hint of a smirk could have provoked Louise into responding in a way she would later regret.

  ‘Please read the article.’

  Louise caught her breath. She wanted to throw Tania out of the station but curiosity got the better of her. ‘This is pure sensationalism,’ she said, once she’d finished. Tania had correctly linked the three suicides, but the knowing tone of the piece aggravated Louise.

  ‘Three suicides in just over six weeks. Do you agree they’re linked, Inspector Blackwell?’

  ‘I’m not on record with you, Tania.’

  ‘I’ve seen the first two suicide notes. Was there a note for Sally?’ said Tania, ignoring her.

  ‘I thought we agreed this could do more harm than good?’

  ‘I think that was your conclusion. Maybe this article will alert people. Make them keep a closer eye on their loved ones.’

  Louise wasn’t sure any of the three women had had loved ones but wasn’t about to tell Tania that. ‘I can’t stop you publishing this, Tania, but if there are any copycat suicides then you’ll have something to think
about.’

  ‘Do you think the three suicides are linked, Inspector, and if so how?’

  ‘You can go through the normal procedures if you want anything from me. I’m not sure why you’re here.’

  ‘I told you, professional courtesy. I don’t want to make an enemy of you, Louise. I have a job to do as well as you do. I appreciated the time you gave me during the Pensioner Killer case and I wanted to repay the favour.’

  Louise had experienced both sides of the press. Sometimes, they could be an asset but during the Walton case – which had ultimately seen her leave the MIT – she’d suffered at their hands. She felt as if she’d been tried by the papers without a trial. Naturally this had left her with a distinct lack of trust for all journalists, and reading Tania’s article wasn’t changing her mind. ‘Well, thanks for the heads up. I’ll speak to the PR department and they’ll be in contact if necessary,’ she said, leaving the interview room.

  ‘Don’t let that happen again,’ she said to Simone, emailing the article to the internal PR department before shutting down her computer for the day. Had she made another mistake? She could have kept a closer eye on Tania following their meeting, could have enlisted Dominic Garrett’s help to stop this from happening. But second-guessing herself wasn’t helping anything. She grabbed her phone and checked for any news from Paul before leaving the station.

  It was a relief to be outside, despite the cloying heat. Reluctantly, she called Tracey and cancelled their get-together. She couldn’t face a night of socialising, even with someone as easy-going as her friend. But she didn’t want to be alone either, so she joined the snake-like line of cars leaving Worle and headed towards the M5 and her parents’ house.

  She arrived an hour later, much of her journey spent stationary by Cribbs Causeway. The dark mood of her parents appeared to have manifested itself in the house. They sat in the living room, shrouded in a cloak of shadow, her mother drinking wine again. The irony wasn’t lost on Louise, but she didn’t try to take the drink from her. ‘Tracey is working on it. I’ve just spoken to her and she’ll let us know if there is any sighting. No one matching Paul or Emily’s description has been admitted to hospital in the last seventy-two hours. I’m sure he’s taken her away somewhere and it’s just his selfish way of punishing us.’

  Her mother shuddered at the mention of the hospital and took a swig from her wine glass. Louise exchanged a look with her father but neither made a comment.

  Louise made the three of them pasta and together they pretended to watch the evening television. When her mother went to open a new bottle of wine, her father stopped her and made them tea. As the kettle boiled, her mother’s phone rang. ‘It’s him,’ she said, her skin losing all of its colour.

  Her father grabbed the phone before Louise could get to it. ‘Paul,’ he said, his voice more hopeful than angry.

  Louise studied her father for his response and fought back tears as his body relaxed. ‘What the hell are you playing at, son? Is Emily okay?’

  ‘Put it on speaker, Dad,’ said Louise.

  ‘Fine,’ said Paul, as her father placed him on speakerphone.

  Her mother crying, Louise took the phone from her father. ‘Where the hell are you, Paul?’ she said, her anger taking over now the shock of relief had dissipated.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you that.’

  ‘Where is Emily?’

  ‘Sleeping.’

  ‘You need to get back here tomorrow, Paul. Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through?’

  ‘Don’t give me your sanctimonious shit,’ said Paul, his words running together.

  ‘You’ve been drinking?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been drinking. So what?’

  ‘You need to bring her back tomorrow, Paul, I’m warning you.’

  ‘Or what? I’m Emily’s dad. That’s something you all seem to forget.’ He was screaming now and Louise feared he would hang up.

  Understanding, her father took the phone back from her. ‘Listen, son, we just want the best for you and Emily. Please come back. We can sort this out. We all love you.’

  Louise heard the sound of her brother fighting back tears as she moved over to hold her mother. You selfish bastard, she thought, at the same time overcome with sisterly empathy. It was hard to stay angry with him. Dianne’s death had slowly destroyed Paul and no one knew how to help him.

  She heard him sobbing as he said, ‘I’ll be back before the end of the week.’

  ‘Paul, Paul?’ screamed her father. But the line had gone dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Amy couldn’t concentrate at work. She moved through the day in a void, serving faceless customers on autopilot. The café had always been a dreadful place to work but it was worse than ever today. The grease lingered in the air. It coated her skin and hair, invaded her lungs and body. She wanted to scrub herself clean, inside and out. She was tired of the mindless drudgery of her day, of Keith in his grime-soaked vest, barking orders and not even trying to hide his lusting over Nicole.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Nicole. They were wiping the outside tables, a hint of rain in the air.

  ‘Just a bit knackered.’

  Megan had stayed the night. They’d shared a bed to begin with but Megan had been so restless and over-excited about her meeting with Jay, that Amy had moved to the sofa. Even so, she hadn’t been able to sleep.

  At first, Megan’s excitement had been contagious. Amy was genuinely happy for her friend, still was, but the actuality of what her meeting with Jay meant soon began to trouble her. It wasn’t just jealousy. Yes, her stomach fluttered at the thought of Megan seeing Jay without her, but she’d learnt long ago that Jay was not hers alone.

  The lesson had been a hard one to learn. She’d known from the beginning that there had been others – Jay’s work was too important to be limited – but she still recalled the night she’d been introduced to the rest of the group with a sense of horror. They’d been lovely of course but that hadn’t stopped the feeling of panic as Jay introduced her. Part of her had thought – at least hoped – that it wasn’t true, that Jay was all hers, and seeing everyone else had been a shock.

  She’d seen the same look on Claire’s face when she’d been introduced – the last of Jay’s disciples, his group now complete – some months later: the confusion and panic, the dawning realisation that things would now forever be different. Yet, although the twang of jealousy at sharing Jay had never fully dissipated, it had faded. It was special and important being part of Jay’s work. Amy was part of something much bigger than herself and it was selfish and irresponsible to question it. So why then had Megan’s news affected her so?

  She should be feeling good for her friend and had pretended to be so last night. Megan had suffered more than most in her group and she deserved to be with Jay, deserved the opportunity to move on to that special place Jay had shown them. And truly, Amy didn’t begrudge her that.

  It finally dawned on her that it wasn’t Megan’s imminent death that was worrying her; it was that with Megan gone, she would once again be left alone.

  On her walk home she considered calling Megan but refrained. Jay had been picking her up at lunchtime so Megan would have switched her phone off. Not that she would have answered. Megan wouldn’t risk Jay finding out they were in contact with each other outside the group.

  Amy bought the early edition of the Post and took it to their spot in Ashcombe Park. The threat of rain had subsided and for once she enjoyed the noise of the children rampaging through the playground. She took a seat and found a small article about Sally buried within the paper. The article hadn’t even stated how Sally had died. She still wasn’t named and again Amy considered calling the police, finding the thought of Sally fading from the world with no one knowing unbearable.

  As Amy shut the paper, it occurred to her that at some point soon she would be reading a similar article about Megan. Some of the parents glanced over at her uncomfortably as she burst into tears.
r />   Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When Louise’s phone pinged just as she was going to sleep, she’d been surprised to see DCI Robertson’s name flash on the screen, her intrigue soon turning to dismay when she read the message summoning her into work for a 7 a.m. meeting.

  She had stayed overnight at her parents’ house again, creeping out in the early morning while they were still asleep. They’d all stayed up late, opening another bottle of wine. Louise had drunk with them – more to stop her mum from drinking than anything else – and regretted it now, a dry mouth and a faint throbbing in her head her reward for overindulgence.

  She was in and out of her bungalow to shower and change within minutes and reached the station just as Robertson arrived. He was carrying two cups of coffee and handed her one before buzzing them in. She thanked him but he didn’t respond as she followed him silently to his office, wondering if another reprimand was coming her way.

  One thing Robertson couldn’t be accused of was holding grudges. He wasn’t one for games and he got straight to the point. ‘I had a lovely chat with the assistant chief last night.’

  Louise sucked in a breath. The unauthorised overtime had been a simple mistake and she was surprised it had got as far as the assistant chief constable.

  ‘He asked me if I knew anything about this,’ said Robertson, pushing a printout of Tania Elliot’s proposed newspaper report towards her.

  At first it was a relief that the overtime was no longer an issue, but when Louise looked down that relief turned to dismay. She’d sent the report to the PR team but hadn’t cc’d in Robertson. ‘I didn’t think I needed to run this by you, Iain.’

  ‘Oh no?’

  ‘It was late and I presumed PR would deal with it.’ It was normal procedure but in retrospect it would have made sense to include Robertson, especially after the debacle with the overtime.