by Helen Phifer
‘Peace offering. Sorry I was late. I slept in.’
Lucy took the mug from him and sniffed to make sure the milk wasn’t out of date. ‘Thanks. I guess that’s partly my fault – although I’m not taking all the blame.’
‘So, boss, what are we doing first?’
‘The DCI has agreed to send the CSIs in to search Lauren’s house. He thinks her disappearance could be connected to our case, and would rather rule it out than ignore it. Browning is going to visit Florence Wilkes to see if she knew about any scandals involving her husband and Stone. And we, my friend, are going back to visit the Clements to see if they’ll come back to the station with us to get some comparison DNA samples. So drink up. I don’t want to waste a single minute; I need to finish by seven tonight.’
‘Any particular reason?’ Mattie asked.
She smiled. ‘Erm… Whatever I’m doing when I finish work has nothing to do with you, so keep your nose out.’
She walked back to the office, where she finished her coffee and locked her computer before going in search of whoever was working in CSI this morning. She needed to know that if she and Mattie brought the Clements in, someone would be available to take the swabs.
The door to the CSI office was open. Lucy knocked and walked in. Jack was busy checking his heavy kitbag.
‘Is there just you in?’ she asked.
‘Until twelve, why?’
‘I know you’re on your way out to visit fourteen, Cottage Lane at my request, but I also have a theory that our possible suspect who is supposed to be dead is actually still alive. I was going to bring her parents here for swabs, so that you could send them off on fast-track to cross-reference them with the hair sample you got from the baseball cap and see if it’s a match.’
Jack turned to look at her, pushing his glasses onto the top of his head. ‘Well I’m busy, but you know I’ll try my best for you, Lucy.’
‘Good, thanks. After you’ve finished at Lauren Coates’s house, can you try not to get called out then?’
‘I’ll do my best, but you know what a shithole this town can be. I can’t guarantee I’ll be here. If you arrange it for twelve then Amanda will be here, though.’
‘Right, I’ll see what I can do. Thank you.’
Lucy turned and left. If she could only find Mattie, who was no doubt faffing around in the locker room, things would be hunky-dory.
He wasn’t in the locker room, but one of the officers in there told her he’d just gone to the toilet. She shoved the men’s toilet door open and heard Mattie let out a groan when her voice began to echo around the room: ‘Stop pissing around, we need to go. We have work to do. I want to get Mr and Mrs Clements back here for twelve. I’ve already cleared it with Tom, and he’s agreed that we can fast-track the samples. Come on, I’m driving today. I haven’t got the energy to keep climbing in and out of your monster truck. I’ve got us a brand new plain car – and guess what?’
‘What, boss?’
‘I’m bloody spoiling you because it actually has a working radio. We can listen to The Bay whilst we work. How civilised is that?’
‘Fucking amazeballs.’
She glared at him and he shrugged.
‘I mean: yeah, that’s great.’
They got into the car and Lucy tried not to grin as she thought about her date later. It was so long since she’d been on one she wasn’t sure what to expect. She didn’t know what dating etiquette was like these days. Good job she’d shaved her legs a couple of days ago – not that she was expecting him to see her legs on a first date. She didn’t get her legs out for many people; he’d have to be incredibly special for that.
As they reached the street where the Clements lived, the hairs on the back of Lucy’s neck prickled and she felt her stomach flip. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what yet, but in her experience, when her gut feeling kicked in, there was normally a very good reason for it.
Mattie looked across at her. She was sitting forward in the driver’s seat, with both hands gripping the steering wheel as if she were holding on to it for dear life.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Something is, though. Can you not feel it?’
‘Lucy, I can’t feel anything except the need for caffeine running through my veins.’
She parked the car outside number eleven and got out. ‘Have you got anything with you?’
‘Like what? Could you be a bit more specific? I have my phone, wallet and half a packet of chewing gum.’
‘You know what I mean. Handcuffs; CS gas.’
‘No, I haven’t got anything except for my radio. Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I just don’t feel right.’ She stared at the Clements’ garden gate. It was blowing open with the wind. Yesterday it had been shut tight.
38
From the impression she’d got of Ian Clements yesterday, Lucy didn’t think that he would be the sort of man who would leave his gate wide open. As they walked up the short path, Lucy caught sight of vivid red splatters of blood on the white plastic double-glazed front door.
‘Oh shit. What have we done?’
Mattie pushed past her and ran to the door, which was ajar. Putting on a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, he pushed the door further open, calling out: ‘Police!’
There was no reply. The house was silent.
Lucy tugged her radio from her pocket and called for uniformed patrols to attend, urgent assistance needed. Then she too slipped on a pair of gloves, her heart racing. She already knew what they were going to find inside.
As they walked into the hallway, the tangy, coppery smell of blood hit their nostrils. In the doorway to the living room, where they’d been less than twenty-four hours ago, two feet were protruding into the hallway. One tartan slipper was still on; the other was lying next to the hairy white foot.
Mattie went first. As they got nearer, Lucy couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. The man they’d been talking to only yesterday was lying on the floor with his head partially severed. There was blood everywhere.
Lucy looked around. There was no sign of Sandra Clements. Lucy hoped the woman was OK – she was so deaf there was a chance she wouldn’t have heard any of the disturbance downstairs.
She left Mattie and ran upstairs. All three doors were closed. She pushed open the first door to see a pristine white bathroom. She moved onto the next. This one was empty – she guessed it had once been Lizzy’s room. The pastel pink paint had faded and now had a yellow tinge to it. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched for a very long time. For a moment, Lucy felt her heart tug for the child who the room had once belonged to.
That left one door. Lucy pushed it open and her nostrils flared once more at the strong metallic smell. She could make out a dark lifeless shape on the bed. She switched on the light. There were blood splatters everywhere: the ceiling, walls and a huge puddle of it on the bed, surrounding Sandra Clements.
Lucy heard the sirens of an approaching ambulance. At least the paramedics would be able to pronounce death – because both of the Clements’ injuries were incompatible with life. Sandra’s head was also almost completely severed. Lucy noticed the hearing aids on the small bedside table, covered in specks of blood. She hoped that without the hearing aids in, Sandra wouldn’t have known about Ian, or heard her killer coming to get her. It would have been terrible if she’d listened to him being attacked and dying whilst she was waiting up here, too scared to move.
Damn it, Lizzy. Why now? After all this time, all these years? Did you wait until they were too old and frail to fight back?
Pounding footsteps echoed throughout the silent house and Lucy stepped aside to let the paramedic into the room.
He whistled. ‘What a mess. Who would do such a terrible thing?’ He stepped towards the bed, careful not to stand in anything, and turned to Lucy. ‘She’s a confirmed DOA, but you didn’t need me to tell you that, did you?’
Lucy shook her h
ead. No, she didn’t; it was just all part of the protocol.
The paramedic backed out of the room. ‘I’ll go and start the paperwork. Your mate downstairs said to come up and see if you were OK. Are you OK?’
She nodded. ‘I’m fine, thanks. I take it Mr Clements is the same?’
‘Laura is with him, but yes.’
He turned and went back downstairs to where Mattie and the other paramedic were having a conversation, their voices filtering up and filling the silence. Lucy was so angry that she wanted to punch something. Had their visit yesterday sealed the Clements’ fate? Or was it pure coincidence, and their killer had already planned this? She wouldn’t know until the killer was caught. At the moment, all fingers were pointing to the ghost of bloody Lizzy Clements. Whoever had cut the throats of this couple must have been very angry with them – and Lizzy had forty years of pent-up anger bubbling away inside her.
Lucy was no stranger to violent murders, and she knew that with this much mess and evidence it was likely that the killer would have left some trace of themselves behind. She hoped they had. They needed to figure out who the hell Lizzy Clements was pretending to be, and soon. She was out of control, and god knows who was next on her list.
The DCI was going to have a heart attack, Lucy realised: four murders in four days, and a missing person. Catherine Maxwell wasn’t going to be much happier either.
She felt a warm hand on her elbow. Mattie.
‘Come on, boss, there’s nothing else we can do in here now. We need to let Forensics take over.’
She turned to face Mattie and saw him flinch at the look on her face. She knew he’d be wondering if this was all far too much for her. She nodded, and turned to follow him down the stairs and straight out of the front door, where a PCSO was standing in front of some crime scene tape with the scene log. A uniformed officer was further down the street, taping it off.
Lucy signed herself out of the scene, then walked towards the car on legs that felt as if they couldn’t hold her weight. She got inside and leant her head back against the cool leather seat, closing her eyes. From a distance, she heard Mattie begin to give out orders to the arriving officers until the DCI got here to take over.
DCI Tom Crowe was currently in Sara Cross’s office, almost naked, having just had sex with her on the huge leather couch. She’d sent him a text message, and he’d come straight over, switching his phone to silent on his way in through her door.
He pulled his trousers back on now, and as he did so his phone fell out of his pocket. He picked it up to see that he had six missed calls from an unknown number, two more from Lucy and one from Mattie. Something was wrong.
‘I’ve got to go,’ he said, kissing Sara on the cheek. She pulled him close and raked her long nails along the back of his neck, drawing blood.
‘Ouch! What the fuck are you doing? I can’t go home covered in scratches. Alison will know there’s something going on.’
‘Sorry,’ Sara said. ‘I couldn’t help myself. I like it rough; you know that. Why don’t you come around to mine later and I can show you exactly how rough I like it?’
‘I can’t tonight,’ Tom said. ‘I waited for you last night and you never turned up. You didn’t even ring. I sat outside your house in my car like a prick for ages before I went home. There’s no way I’ll be able to escape again tonight; the boys have football practice and Alison has yoga.’
Sara shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m your lover. You should be making me your priority. And besides, I don’t have to answer to you, do I? If you don’t come over, it’s your loss.’
Tom shrugged his shirt on and fastened it up. He dialled Lucy’s number and put the phone to his ear as he turned to leave. As he reached the door, he blew Sara a kiss, and she waved her hand in the air, dismissing him.
He knew this was wrong. So bloody wrong. But his wife would rather spend her time getting sweaty in the gym than getting sweaty with him – and a man has his needs. Sara wasn’t the easiest of women to be having an affair with, though: she had a wicked temper. The one time he’d had to stand her up because of work, she’d gone mental and had refused to speak to him for almost a week. That had nearly killed him off. He knew that he should sort himself out. If Alison found out, this was all going to end in tears, and he doubted Sara was the sort of woman who would take him in should he get kicked out of the family home. She wanted wild sex and a good time, not responsibilities.
‘Lucy,’ he said as she picked up. ‘It’s Tom. What’s wrong?’ He got into his shiny new Audi and shut the door, his tanned facing losing all of its colour as Lucy relayed the mess they’d found inside the Clements’ house. ‘I’m on my way.’
He put his foot down. Of all the bloody days to decide a quick leg-over was more important than his family and his job.
39
She sat at her desk, chewing her pen and staring into space. She wasn’t sure how she felt now that she’d actually done it. All the years she’d spent plotting and planning her revenge against her parents – and now it was done. She’d expected to feel better, had expected the black, empty void inside her chest to feel full. Only it didn’t.
She wouldn’t say that she regretted what she’d done – no, it wasn’t that. It would have been nice if, when her father had opened the door and she’d introduced herself, he’d broken down and hugged her. Begged for her forgiveness, perhaps. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d looked at her resigned, as if he’d been waiting all his life for this moment.
Had they actually grieved for her when they’d thought she was dead, or had they wiped all memories of her from their minds, as if she’d never existed in the first place? Perhaps they had been glad: it must have eased their pain and guilt so much. If she’d thought about that more at the time, she wouldn’t have done it. They deserved to feel guilty. They’d abandoned her without a second thought, left her in that hellhole full of mad, crazy kids and scary staff. He’d been hesitant to open the door when she’d knocked. It had been late at night. When he asked who it was, she answered, ‘Police.’ He actually asked for her warrant card then, and she laughed. Had he spent his entire life in fear of his crazy kid coming back for revenge?
She told him she’d left her ID in the car and would go and get it, and then she swung the huge butcher’s knife, kicking the door out of his frail hand. When he saw the blade glinting in the moonlight, he turned to run. But of course he had nowhere to run to, and he wouldn’t have been able to outrun her even if he tried.
She caught up with him as he entered the living room. He didn’t even shout for help. Pulling him around, she slit his throat in one swift swoop. It was much easier than she’d anticipated. As he fell to the floor, the horror in his eyes made her smile.
She looked around the room. It didn’t seem any different from the last time she’d been in there, just before she’d been carted off to The Moore as a child. The sofa was new and the walls were a different colour, but very little else had changed.
She was covered in blood, and was relieved she’d had the hindsight to put on a protective paper suit. She wondered where her mother was. She hoped she was cowering in the corner of the bedroom, praying for her life.
She took her time climbing the stairs. She hadn’t expected the memories she’d repressed to come flooding back so freely. This had been her home, her safe place. She’d loved it until the day they’d brought that horrible baby home. Then he’d become the centre of attention, and she’d been pushed to one side like a discarded sweet wrapper.
Lizzy walked into her parents’ bedroom and saw her mum fast asleep in bed. She lifted her bloodied hand and turned on the light, leaving a bright red smear along the wall. She waited until the woman began to stir, then crossed the room and stood over her until she opened her eyes.
The look of fear on her mum’s face was even greater than the look that had been on her dad’s. She recognised the blood-soaked woman standing in front of her straight away. Her mouth opened, and for a moment, Lizzy thought her m
um was going to say how sorry she was for leaving her. If she apologised, then perhaps…
But what came out was one word: ‘You.’
Lizzy lost it then. She attacked the frail woman until there was blood everywhere and her anger had been satiated. She didn’t care any longer if they found evidence that belonged to her. She knew it was only a matter of time before that copper figured out who she really was. It didn’t matter anyway; there were only a couple of loose ends to tie up now. Then she’d be out of here. Out of this ghost town. She would drive to the other end of the country and find a cheap bed and breakfast to stay in until she could sort out something more permanent.
Lucy Harwin might be good at her job, but she was no match for Lizzy Clements. And if she proved that she was, then Lizzy would take care of her. Permanently.
40
Mattie watched as DCI Tom Crowe and Dr Catherine Maxwell arrived at the scene at the same time. Mattie was standing at the gate of the semi-detached house, which was cordoned off.
‘Morning, boss,’ Mattie said. ‘It’s a bit of a bloodbath in there. I hope you haven’t had much breakfast – although Lucy said no one was to go in except for Catherine and the CSI.’
‘I haven’t had anything actually,’ Tom said. ‘And where is DI Harwin?’
Mattie straightened himself up. If the DCI was using titles, he was in a very bad mood. He pointed to the car. ‘She’s just having a breather. I think it was a bit of a shock for her. She doesn’t look well. You know, four murders in as many days is tough on anyone – and I think that her daughter has been playing up. So, you know, she’s doing really well. All things considered.’
Even as the words came out of his mouth, Mattie was furious with himself. Although he was genuinely worried about her, Lucy would go mental if she thought he was giving the DCI any hint of an idea that she might not be able to cope.
