by Helen Phifer
‘Do what you can, thanks.’
He turned and walked back to the scene. He needed to forget this was Stan and push it to the back of his mind. He turned off the part of his mind that dealt with emotion because they were on limited time to discover as much evidence about this as possible. He didn’t want Morgan hearing him talk about her dad as a body or a crime scene. There was no way he could focus if he was trying to make sure he didn’t say anything to upset her. As harsh as it was that was the reality.
He watched as Dan got into the plain car and began to do a three-point turn. The car drove past and Morgan didn’t give him a second glance. Her eyes were fixed on the road in front. As they left the street, the car which belonged to CID that Amy and Des were in took its place. Amy got out and waved him over as she went to the boot. He nodded in appreciation of the fully stocked box of supplies she’d brought with her. They needed to get dressed properly before going back into the crime scene. Amy ripped open the packet the paper suit was in and whispered: ‘Poor Morgan, did you see her face?’
‘I know, this whole thing is awful. But we need to focus. Morgan went inside but she didn’t touch anything, so we’re going to start fresh. CSI are on their way. We’ll let them do their thing whilst we try and work out what the hell is going on and why Stan is dead. I don’t understand why someone would want to kill him. It’s not as if he had anything to steal. Morgan said he told her the bottom floor flat is lived in by a drug dealer. Des can you start knocking on doors? Find out who lives in there. Check if there’s any CCTV in the area. Get all the enquiries underway.’
Des who had joined them nodded. ‘Yes, boss.’ He walked away, leaving them waiting. The CSI van pulled into the street and Wendy got out.
‘Bit crowded here, what have we got?’
Ben explained to her. ‘The pathologist is on the way; control have already requested they attend.’
‘I’ll get on then. Is it true that it’s Morgan’s dad?’
‘How did you know?’
‘News travels fast in that place, Ben, you should know that. The patrol sergeant was asking if Stan Brookes was related to her before I left.’
‘She’s on her way back with Dan. I’ve told him to take her home.’
‘Poor kid, she’s not having the best time since she joined up, is she? I’m surprised she’s still here.’
He shook his head. Wendy disappeared through the front door and he looked at Amy.
‘You can’t protect her from everything.’
‘No, I can’t and what do you mean?’
She shrugged. ‘People talk; at least if they know, they won’t say something stupid when she’s around. You know what they’re like with their dark humour and inappropriate jokes.’
He sighed. He was itching to get into Stan’s flat and take a proper look at the scene. He couldn’t do much else for him or Morgan now, except to find out who had done this.
THIRTY-TWO
At Stan’s apartment building, Wendy came outside and waved Ben towards her. He followed her up the stairs.
‘You can take a look now: everything has been photographed and filmed.’
Ben bent down to take a close look at Stan. His skin had taken on the waxy appearance of the dead and had a yellow tinge to it. Even though he had seen death in many different stages over the span of his career in the police, he reached out his index finger and gently prodded his shoulder. It was hard to the touch, rigid, and he knew the basics, that rigor mortis typically set in around two to six hours after death depending upon the conditions. Stan’s eyes were the worst; his eyelids were only partly closed as if he was looking down his nose. The rope around his neck had caused a red groove just below his Adam’s apple and there were several scratch marks on the skin.
‘Boss, are you okay?’
He glanced up at Amy. It was a simple enough question. He nodded, unable to speak his response.
Wendy came out of the small kitchen. ‘Looks like he tried to loosen the rope as it was choking him. Poor bugger, you just can’t imagine. I’ve bagged his hands. Hopefully, there’s enough trace evidence underneath his nails to catch the bastard who did this. I mean who does this to a guy his age? It’s just wrong.’
Ben stood up. ‘Anything obvious in the rest of the flat?’
‘No, this is the only way in or out. There’s a window over there and a small one in the kitchen, but we’re three floors up. There’s no way whoever did this climbed in through one of them. They came to the front door.’
‘And he opened it. He must have known them. I wouldn’t have thought he’d do that unless he recognised them. This is a bit of a rough area and I just don’t think given what happened not that long ago with Morgan, or the quality of his neighbours, that he’d open the door if he didn’t know the person on the other side. We need a list of his family, friends, and acquaintances.’
‘We need to speak to Morgan.’
‘We do. I’m not so sure she’s going to be able to help out on the friends’ part, and I think there’s just the two of them, no other family from what I gather.’
‘Knock, knock.’
Declan’s voice called through the gap in the door.
‘Come in. Is it me or do you get here faster every time you’re called out?’
‘Ah, it’s probably because it’s you who’s requesting my services. I wouldn’t turn out this fast for any other DS. So what have we got here?’ He squeezed through and looked down at the body.
‘Oh, dear me. That’s an awful thing to happen at his age. Who on earth would do this? Not a nice way to die at all.’
He placed the heavy case on the floor next to his feet.
Ben shrugged.
‘You should know that this is Morgan Brookes’s father.’
‘Our Morgan Brookes?’
‘Yes.’
Declan let out a whistle. ‘Christ, what a shame. Does she know?’
‘She ran in, but she didn’t touch him.’
‘Oh dear, bless her. What a terrible shock. Where is she now?’
‘Hopefully, being driven home. I sent her away.’
‘Wise decision, Ben. Well, there’s nothing you can do for the poor guy now. You’re going to have to pass him over to me, and I’ll take good care of him. I’ll do everything I can for him. What’s his name?’
‘Stan Brookes.’
Declan crouched down and opened his case. He took his thermometer out.
‘Well, Stan, I’m afraid you have me now; at least I’m better looking than Ben. I’ll take good care of you, my friend.’
Ben stepped away from the body further back into the living area and loosened his tie. It was too hot in this small flat. Amy walked out onto the landing area, giving Declan room to work.
He spoke to Ben.
‘You can wait outside too if you want. Wendy can help me.’
Wendy, who had been dusting the door frame for prints, nodded. ‘Yes, no worries.’
Ben wanted to, he wanted to leave and go find Morgan, but couldn’t. He had nothing to tell her as of yet and he owed it to her and Stan. ‘I’m good, I’ll watch. Wendy can still help you.’
Declan nodded and began to examine Stan’s body. He was studying the rope around his neck when he said: ‘Well, that’s a nice little piece of evidence we have here.’
Ben stepped forward. ‘What is it?’
Declan plucked something from the collar of Stan’s T-shirt with a pair of tweezers. ‘Ooh you little beauty. It’s a lovely looking eyelash and it’s not Stan’s.’
‘How do you know?’
Dropping the sample into a small evidence bag, he sealed it and wrote on it.
‘Stan’s eyelashes are grey; this one is black.’
‘Bloody brilliant. Is it any good though?’
‘Yes, of course it is. The lab can extract DNA from the follicle. Granted it’s more difficult than head or pubic hair, but it can be done if there’s little other evidence to go on.’ Taking another sterile pair of tweezers, h
e whispered: ‘Excuse me, Stan,’ as he leant over and plucked one of his eyelashes out.
Ben grimaced as Declan carefully dropped it into an evidence bag.
‘It’s a control sample.’
‘I know, it’s just I don’t like eyes much.’
Declan looked at him. ‘You say the weirdest stuff at times.’
This made Ben smile for the first time since he’d arrived on scene.
When Declan had finished his initial examination he stood up.
‘This rope around the neck, it’s very similar to Gabrielle Stevens’s as is the way he’s been strangled with it. There are obvious differences to the scenes, but I don’t think I’d be discounting the same killer. Rigor is in full swing. At a guess, he’s been dead a minimum of eight hours, quite possibly longer. Which puts time of death early hours of this morning, sometime between four and six. Cause of death is asphyxiation due to ligature strangulation by another individual, and the manner of death is homicide. You can clearly see the marks in the skin made by the rope and the petechial haemorrhages in the inner eyelid. By the position of his body, it looks as if Stan opened the door and turned his back on his killer as he walked into the flat. He trusted this person to follow him in.’
Ben nodded. ‘He definitely knew his killer then, but what connection could he have to Gabby Stevens?’
‘I’d say so to the first part, but I can’t help you with the second.’
‘Who would he let into his flat in the early hours of the morning?’ Ben felt the hairs on his neck prickle and his skin begin to tingle at the thought that entered his head and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind, burying it. He was being ridiculous, completely stupid and he wasn’t even going to give it another second of headspace.
‘Not my job, Ben, that’s for you to figure out and I’m pretty sure you will. I’m done here. Happy for Stan to be brought to the mortuary when you’ve finished.’
‘Thanks, Declan.’
‘Give my condolences to Morgan. Tell her I’ll take good care of him.’
‘I will.’
Declan left Ben staring at Stan’s body, his head a swirling mess of jumbled thoughts all fighting to surface.
Amy popped her head around the door.
‘What now?’
‘Station, I need to see the DI. Where is he anyway? He should be here?’
‘He’s outside talking to the police and crime commissioner who is with him. They left some meeting to come here.’
Ben groaned. ‘No way. Amy go tell him I need him and only him up here. This isn’t a circus show, it’s a crime scene.’
She left him there, alone with Stan and his thoughts.
THIRTY-THREE
Morgan let Dan drive her to Ben’s house. She only spoke to give him the address and that had felt as if it was a huge effort. The words had sounded strange. Her voice was much quieter than usual. He stopped outside and opened the driver’s door.
‘No, it’s okay. I’m okay. I don’t need you to come in.’
‘Let me make you a hot drink; at least let me get you inside and wait until they assign you a FLO.’
She shook her head. ‘I need a bit of space, and you can tell Ben or whoever I don’t need a family liaison officer, thank you.’
She slammed the door harder than she meant to but she didn’t apologise. Instead, she tucked her shaking hands in her pockets to find the spare key Ben had given her. She didn’t want to be here either. She wanted to be in her own apartment. Opening the door, she turned to wave at Dan who was staring at her as if she’d gone insane. Before she could change her mind and ask him to come in, she shut the front door; besides, she didn’t think Ben would want Dan in his house. Bad enough he was having to babysit her, he’d be so angry if he came home to find Dan sitting in the kitchen drinking his tea.
She kicked off her shoes. Going upstairs, she changed out of her suit into a pair of black leggings and a black T-shirt, pulling her ponytail into a messy bun. She went into the bathroom and scrubbed her hands under the hot water tap, then rinsed her face under the cold. Her green eyes were filled with unshed tears waiting to fall. Today had to have been the most surreal day of her life. From listening to Ben interview the Riverside Rapist in a category A prison in Manchester to coming back home to discover… She closed her eyes and sucked in a huge, gulping breath as an image of Stan’s dead body filled her mind. He was dead; she never got to say goodbye to him. Just like she never got to say goodbye to her mum. The past five years she’d had to live with the grief of losing her mum and then Stan as they’d drifted apart. He’d taken to the bottle and all but abandoned her and she’d blamed him for everything, hating him but not as much as he’d hated himself. She knew that now; they’d spoken about it and had just repaired their fractured relationship and now he was gone. She hadn’t got to tell him she was proud of him for trying to sort out his life; she hadn’t told him that she loved him flaws and all or that she forgave him, because she had.
Stan would be the first to admit to her that he’d messed up, but he’d tried. Since the night he saved her life, he’d done nothing but try, and where was she when he’d needed her? She hadn’t been there to save him, too selfish hiding out here at Ben’s house because she hadn’t wanted to be alone. If she’d gone to stop with Stan instead this wouldn’t have happened. The room began to spin and go fuzzy. She barely made it to the room that was her temporary bedroom before collapsing onto the bed.
Curling up into a ball, she hugged a pillow to her chest. All she’d ever wanted was a normal family life. It wasn’t much to ask. Whilst her friends were dressing up trying to get into night clubs and pubs or get served at the corner shop for bottles of anything that would get them drunk, she had been mourning the loss of her mum. She did eventually try the cheap vodka and peach schnapps that seemed to be the drink of choice amongst her friends, if only to blot out the horror, but the hangovers weren’t worth it. All she did was get ridiculously drunk and cry on a park bench about how shit her life was whilst everyone else was snogging. Then Stan would come home drunker than her and she couldn’t stand it. Instead, she’d withdrawn from her friends and even more so from Stan.
That was when her teenage obsession with Mean Girls and Lindsay Lohan ended, and she’d come across a book called The Silence of the Lambs which had then sent her on an Internet search to find documentaries about serial killers on YouTube and been hooked. Fascinated yet horrified that people could actually do this to other people, she’d then begun to watch and read about the various killers that had been caught and made the headlines. One in particular caught her attention: Israel Keyes had been caught and charged with the abduction and murder of Samantha Koenig. It had struck a chord on a deep level with Morgan; eighteen-year-old Samantha had been abducted from the coffee kiosk where she worked. Morgan worked every weekend at a small coffee shop; sometimes she’d be left alone if it was quiet. The huge difference was she lived in the quiet Lakeland town of Rydal Falls; Samantha lived in Alaska and everyone knew the US was full of serial killers. The pictures of Samantha and their similar lives had been what propelled her to want to become a detective.
Now here she was, twenty-three and living the dream she’d spent so long thinking about. Only this dream was more like a nightmare. One she couldn’t escape from. What did she do now and where did she go from here? Was the job worth the heartache it had brought to her so far? Lying on her back she thought about the Potter family and the O’Briens, murdered in the same house forty-five years apart. She had worked hard and helped to bring both families justice, and she realised that although the fire inside her chest had been dampened there was still a tiny spark there. She did want to carry on; she just wished she knew how to process the grief and guilt that was threatening to take her down into an abyss that she might never come back from.
THIRTY-FOUR
Ben didn’t leave the scene until Stan’s body had been removed. He owed it to both Stan and Morgan to be here. As the private ambulance was driv
en away by the duty undertakers to take Stan to the mortuary, he sighed. There was a lot to do. He now had two investigations running and he needed someone to take over from Morgan. He was going to have to ask Dan. There was no way he could sideline him again; it would cause more trouble than it was worth. Maybe now he seemed to have reconciled his friendship with Morgan, he would be easier to work with, especially as he would need him to work Stan’s investigation. Amy, Des and he would be helping, but he still had Gabby Stevens’s killer to find and, if Declan was right, the link that connected both victims to their killer.
Back at the station, he was sitting at his desk when he heard a voice.
‘You look like you need a stiff drink.’
‘A bottle of whisky wouldn’t be enough to drown my sorrows and blot out this mess, Amy.’
‘I think I need one too. Where’s Morgan?’
Before he could answer, Dan walked into the office.
Ben stood up.
‘Dan, can I have a word?’
Amy grabbed the empty coffee mug off Ben’s desk and left them to it.
‘How is she?’
‘Pretty shit. She wouldn’t let me go in your house with her and said she does not need an FLO.’
‘I didn’t think she would. We can do that. Listen, I know things haven’t been easy between us but I’m going to need someone to fill Morgan’s place. I can’t run two major murder investigations without her and I don’t expect her to come to work. Is there any chance you can come up here and help out?’
Dan smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s pretty rubbish the circumstances but yes, I’d love to. I want to help.’
‘Good, I’ll clear it with your sergeant.’
An hour later, Ben had cleared Dan’s relocation to his department and had requested everyone attend a briefing in the blue room. He watched them file in and take a seat. It felt strange not seeing Morgan rush in last like she usually did. He had photos of the crime scene up on the large screen.
