by Helen Phifer
Bent over double, Morgan was blasting her hair with the hairdryer when she caught the ringing of her phone. Picking it up, she saw she had two missed calls. The deep, gravelly voice of her sergeant, Ben Matthews, on the other end sounded rough, as if he’d been roused from a deep sleep.
‘Morning.’
‘Thought you’d have been awake. Were you asleep?’ There was a hint of surprise in his voice; he knew about her insomnia.
‘No, I was drying my hair. Why?’
‘We’re needed; there’s been a sudden death on Park Avenue. Do you need picking up or can you meet me there?’
‘I’ll meet you there.’
He hung up, and she realised the sirens must have been going to Park Avenue. Despite being relatively new in her role as a detective, Morgan knew that this must be more serious than a run-of-the-mill sudden death. Ben had been called out to drug overdoses and suicides without the need to call her and request she joined him. She couldn’t stop feeling overwhelmed. You can do this; you know you can, she whispered to her reflection in the mirror as she tied her shoulder-length, copper-coloured hair up and straightened the edges of her ponytail. With steady hands she applied two tiny black wings of eyeliner to her eyelids; her green eyes stared back at her. Already feeling better now she looked like a conservative version of her off-duty self – her freckles disguised under the Lock-It foundation she favoured; her tattoos covered – she dressed quickly in black trousers and a black shirt and felt ready to face whatever the day threw at her.
Turning into Park Avenue, Morgan was stopped by a response officer in the process of stringing blue-and-white tape across the width of the street. Ben’s car was at the opposite end, behind the cordon. Parking, she got out and showed her ID card to the officer, with a greeting, before ducking under the tape. The officer smiled back. She walked briskly down the middle of the road towards where Ben was talking to one of the dog handlers. He waved at her and they watched as the officer unlatched the cage at the back of the police van and let out a gorgeous Fox Red Labrador. It jumped down, tail wagging, waiting for its instructions.
Ben turned to Morgan.
‘The victim is twenty-three-year-old Gabrielle Stevens. Her parents arrived home approx sixty minutes ago from holiday. They found the front door locked and all the lights off. When they went inside, the whole house was in disarray. Upstairs they found their daughter dead. Then phoned the police and here we are. As soon as the dog has searched the area, we’ll go in and take a look at the scene.’
‘I thought this was a sudden death?’
‘It’s a suspected murder. The first officer on the scene said it was pretty hard to get the full story from the victim’s parents. He went upstairs and saw her tied to the bed with a rope around her neck. They are understandably hysterical at finding their daughter like this.’
Morgan let out a gasp, the horror bringing back her own situation: only a few short weeks ago, a killer broke into her apartment and attacked her. Ben’s gaze softened and he reached out his hand to pat her arm.
‘Is this okay, are you okay? I didn’t think.’
‘I’m fine, sorry. The poor woman.’
‘Whoever the sick bastard was spent some time in the room with her whilst they rifled through her drawers and personal belongings.’
‘That’s awful. Were they looking for something?’
‘The parents were focused on their daughter, so we won’t know until they are able to come back home and go through her things after we’ve finished processing the scene.’
Morgan and Ben watched in silence as the dog and its handler came back out of the garden. It was straining at its long leash as it ran towards the parkland on the opposite side of the road. Whilst they waited for the all clear, they began to dress in the protective clothing that Ben kept in supply in the boot of his car. By the time they were suited and booted, the dog handler came back into view and gave them the thumbs up. The house was on the corner of a dead-end street; it had a front garden which was overlooked by the parkland opposite.
She knew Ben was concentrating so she didn’t speak again, letting him lead the way through the garden gate and along the path towards the open front door. The heady smell of late-blooming roses filled the air. Morgan paused for a moment to admire the array of brightly coloured flowers which filled the front garden. It was compact, but every space was filled with containers of overflowing flowers and it was beautiful. There was even a trellis framework around the front door with a climbing rose growing around it. She paused, gently taking hold of a pale pink bud and whispered: ‘It’s like a cottage out of a fairy tale, it’s so pretty.’
Ben nodded. ‘Not much of a fairy tale once you step inside though.’
She followed him inside the house which was cooler than outside. The air was tinged with invisible particles of decomposition, and Morgan looked around in dismay at the mess. The house was homely and decorated with lots of flowery Cath Kidston wallpapers and fabrics. This made the overturned coffee table and ransacked drawers look even more out of place.
‘What was he looking for, Ben? What makes someone break into a house, tie the occupant up, terrify the life out of them and then kill them? It doesn’t look as if anything of value has been taken.’
She was pointing to the iPad on the floor, next to the sixty-inch television with a cinema surround sound system. There was a MacBook on the sofa, a set of car keys on the mantle and a stack of twenty pound notes tucked under an ornament next to the keys. She followed him upstairs, where the same mess greeted them. Bedroom doors were thrown wide open, and the master bedroom was an explosion of clothes; bedding was strewn all over the floor. It was chaotic; there didn’t seem to be any reason for it. If Morgan had to describe this room, she would say it looked as if a teenager had thrown a hissy fit and trashed the place because they’d been grounded.
Ben carried on walking towards another door further along with a wooden name plaque which read ‘Gabrielle’s Penthouse’. She followed and they stood staring at the carnage inside. Morgan’s stomach muscles were clenched tight and she hoped she wasn’t about to throw up the bowl of porridge she’d eaten for breakfast. From where Morgan was standing, the young woman looked as if she could be sleeping. Her head was turned away from her. It faced the window, and Morgan wondered if she had known she was going to die when she’d realised there was a stranger in her house. What had gone through her mind in those moments when she realised what was about to happen? The cold chill which had settled over her as she’d entered the house, had intensified so much she felt as if she was frozen to the floor. The only sound was that of Ben’s slightly wheezing breath as he struggled with the face mask he was wearing. The woman’s slender, partially naked body was bound at the hands and feet. Her once tanned skin was now pale and tinged greenish; a bloated jigsaw of blue and purple lines ran across her abdomen and chest. She was still wearing pyjama shorts which didn’t look as if they had been disturbed. Morgan had never seen anything like it; she could feel her own breathing begin to labour. The putrid smell of decomposing flesh filled her nostrils, and she struggled to keep calm. She’d seen enough; she didn’t want to look at the woman’s face, but Ben gently pushed her into the room and she had no choice but to enter. A firm voice inside her head told her to pull herself together; she needed to see this woman. She owed it to her to look at her, study the horrible way she’d died and etch her face into her mind so she could recall her whenever she needed a reminder of why she was doing this job. When she was exhausted and working late into the night, she wanted to be able to see the image in front of her in full technicolour to keep her motivated. She needed to keep herself together. Whoever had done this hadn’t cared about the victim’s life one little bit. Morgan wanted justice for her and made it her priority to care. She would find the bastard who had done this and see him in court.
Keeping to one side, she slowly walked around the bed until she was staring at the woman’s face. It had lost all of its colour and her skin loo
ked waxy, reminding Morgan of those exhibits in Madame Tussauds she’d once been fascinated with on a school trip, convinced they were real people who had been covered in wax. Her glazed eyes had a milky film covering the irises; thick black lashes framed them and Morgan realised she had lash extensions. She felt her knees beginning to wobble. If she had to guess, she’d say she was in her early twenties. A large picture frame lay on the floor on a bed of broken glass. Without thinking she bent down and picked it up. Turning it over she saw a beautiful blonde woman, her arms around a much older woman, and felt her already broken heart tear in two. She assumed the other woman was her mum, because she had the same beautiful eyes and lashes with a few deep laughter lines around them.
Ben’s voice broke her trance.
‘Leave that, Morgan, there could be prints on it.’
She placed it back where she’d found it and stood up. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay, it’s difficult. Don’t touch anything else though, until CSI have been in, okay?’
Morgan spied a folded-up piece of paper sticking out from underneath the bed and pointed to it. ‘Can I grab that?’
‘Quick and don’t touch anything else.’
She bent down, took hold of it and tugged it out then stepped back over the threshold. Unfolding it between her gloved fingers, she read it and held it towards Ben.
You look much better naked
‘He’s been watching her, waiting for this moment.’
Ben looked at Morgan. ‘Why this, why all the mess, wasn’t killing her enough?’
Morgan realised that this was where her years of being fascinated with serial killers and deviant criminals was about to pay off, and despite the fact that she didn’t talk about it much she thought it was time to mention it. She felt more relaxed and confident around her colleagues. Amy, who was supposed to be her mentor, had told her last week she didn’t need to be watching her every move and only to bother her if she really didn’t have a clue. She didn’t mind proving to Ben that she was more than capable of dealing with the serious stuff without anyone holding her hand.
‘It could be a sexually motivated assault, but he’s clever. I bet he didn’t want to leave any forensics behind which could be used against him. He probably got off on the psychological terror of the attack without having to actually rape her; the note is a power thing he would have used to scare her.’
Ben’s face was a mask of confusion. ‘Who would want to do something like that?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not that good, at least not yet. I guess that’s where we come in.’
Ben nodded. ‘Come on, we need to speak to the parents and let CSI take over here. I’ll get some PCSOs to canvas the street and knock on doors to speak to neighbours. See if they noticed anyone hanging around watching the place.’ He turned and headed back towards the stairs.
She nodded and hoped the police community support officers would turn up some good information. Looking out the window, she noticed she could see the trees and bushes that bordered the park opposite the house.
‘How did the killer know she was alone? She lives with her parents. Unless he knew about them being on holiday?’ She pointed towards the park. ‘I bet there are plenty of places to hide over there and watch the house. It’s the perfect cover.’
Ben nodded. ‘Yes, that’s a possibility. Or he might know her. Stranger murders are very rare, especially here. As a rule, the killer is generally someone the victim knows. There is no obvious point of entry at the moment, so she may have let him in. It could be a boyfriend or friend.’
She didn’t disagree with him because that was true, stranger killings were rare, but her instinct told her she was on the right track. Ben looked around the room, taking it all in then gave her the thumbs up. He turned and began to retrace his footsteps. Relieved to be leaving this scene of total devastation, she followed him. As she reached the door, Morgan took one last look at the crime scene and Gabby’s body. Why did he choose you, Gabrielle? What made him want to do this to you? She didn’t know the answers to any of it yet but knew that she would find them. She would work tirelessly to find out what had happened here and who had changed an innocent woman’s life for ever.
They went outside, into the sunlight and the fresh air. The smell of decomposition clung to the pair of them. Despite the face masks she could still smell the putrid gas that had adhered itself to the white paper protective suit she was wearing. She couldn’t wait to rip it off and have a hot shower, but she counted to ten. Ben beat her to it, ripping the face mask off and taking in huge gulps of fresh air. She removed hers a little more slowly, without the drama, and inhaled the scent of freshly cut grass. She looked around. Who was cutting their grass? She spied one of the council contract gardeners navigating a ride-on mower in the park opposite and began running as best as she could in the cumbersome paper suit. She ran out of the garden across the road, waving her hands at him and yelling ‘stop’. Ben stared after her, a look of confusion on his face and then he followed suit. She had already caught the guy’s attention before he even made it out of the gate.
‘What’s up?’
Morgan wondered if he was purposely ignoring the police activity opposite the park or was simply dim.
‘I need you to stop right now. There’s a major crime scene over there. You could be tampering with evidence.’
‘What, how? I’m cutting the grass in the park; I’m nowhere near your crime scene.’
She opened her mouth to speak but heard Ben’s voice.
‘Detective Brookes is right. We need to search the park and playground. I need you to leave everything as it is and go wait in your van.’
‘The boss isn’t going to be happy.’
Morgan grimaced. ‘Well the boss hasn’t got a choice. I’m sure he has other jobs you can be getting on with. What time did you get here?’
‘Just now, my van’s parked by the other entrance. I unloaded the mower and drove it over here. Why?’
‘Okay, well I need you to wait by your van, please. You can leave the mower.’
He rolled his eyes but climbed off and began walking away.
Ben grinned at her. ‘Good shout, the entire park needs sealing off. I want a full search conducted.’
Morgan didn’t say anything. She knew it did and was glad she’d realised before any potential evidence had been chopped into tiny pieces by the blades on the mower.
FOUR
Morgan walked along the well-worn grassy path that had been trampled along the perimeter of the park over the years. She stood directly opposite the house where the body had been found and stared up at the window. She could see the bright flash from Wendy’s camera as the Crime Scene Investigator snapped photos of the shocking scene inside the house. She caught a glimpse of Wendy as she passed the window and looked around, and realised it was a pretty exposed place to stand and watch the house. There must be somewhere the killer was able to hide discreetly yet in plain sight of the house. The note said she looked much better naked. Until they had a suspect, she was working off the basis that the killer had been watching, possibly stalking her, and here was as good a place as any.
There was a cluster of bushes a bit further back, and Morgan crossed the long grass towards them. A narrow opening was just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Waving her hands in front of her face to brush away any spider webs, she pushed herself through the gap, not quite believing what she was seeing. It was obviously used as a den by kids; there was a lingering odour of cannabis. Someone had dragged an old leather wingback chair in there at some point. The leather was almost worn out on some parts, and a couple of springs were protruding through the seat. She perched on the arm of the chair and could just about see the house opposite; but Morgan wasn’t very tall. She was only five feet five on a good day: that was why she favoured platform Dr Martens boots on the rare occasion she went on a night out. They afforded her a bit of extra height. If someone taller than her sat or stood on the chair, though, they would have a p
erfect view of Gabrielle’s bedroom, especially if they used binoculars or zoomed in on their phone. She looked around; the ground was littered with empty bottles and crisp packets. It would all need bagging up. Who wasn’t to say the killer had left them behind? Even though she doubted he was so stupid, it would have to be ruled out.
‘Morgan,’ Ben yelled.
She pushed herself back out of the gap and saw him standing where she’d been moments ago, rubbing his head. She waved and walked towards him.
‘How do you do that?’
‘What?’
‘Disappear. You have a habit of vanishing.’
She smiled. ‘I found something interesting; you should come take a look.’
She led him to the bushes and pointed to the narrow opening.
‘There’s a den in there; if you are tall enough you can see the bedroom window from there. I think we need to send CSI in to do a search. There’re lots of empty cans and crisp packets.’
He groaned. ‘I won’t fit through that.’
‘Yes, you will. Breathe in.’
He took a step closer and she pushed him forwards. He lost his footing and almost crashed through the bushes, making a much wider opening.
‘Sorry.’
He was muttering under his breath, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. A few moments later he squeezed back out.
‘Good find, definitely needs a forensic search. However, I’m not too sure Wendy will be thrilled when she sees the amount of rubbish strewn over the floor. It’s going to take her hours to process the scene, then this.’ He paused. ‘Actually, she can’t touch this. I need another set of hands.’
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and headed back towards the house. Morgan spotted a PCSO getting out of a car and waved him over.
