by Emmy Ellis
“Emma was supposed to be going round to Suzie’s this morning, only she never turned up.”
Fuck. This could either be nothing or…something. “All right. Leave it with me. I’ll nip to Suzie’s now. Thanks.”
She put the phone down and thought about Andy chewing her arse if she didn’t take him with her. He was right—she had to stop going places on her own and shutting him out. If he was willing to change, so was she.
Using her mobile, she gave him a ring.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Stuck in a long-arsed queue holding a pair of skin-tight workout bottoms, shorts, and a few tops.”
She shrieked with laughter. “Skin-tight bottoms? What are you thinking of doing, going on bike rides? It’s not Lycra by any chance, is it? Don’t let Louise catch sight of you in it.”
“Have I picked up the wrong thing?”
“Um, yes. Listen, all joking aside, I’m coming to pick you up. Suzie Walker’s worried about Emma. Her sister,” she added, in case he really had been away with the fairies yesterday and had forgotten her name.
“Oh dear.”
“Exactly my thought. Let’s hope no one has a grudge on the entire family, eh?”
“Okay. I’ll quickly put the tighties back and get something else.”
“You do that. Just regular trakkie bottoms will do. Ask the assistant for them, otherwise God knows what you’ll buy.”
“Righty ho. See you in a bit.”
“Yep.”
She slid her phone in her pocket, picked up the last bite of her sandwich, and stuffed it into her mouth. Leaving her office, she had a think on what Suzie’s call could mean then swiftly shoved it out of her mind. She didn’t need to think along those lines until she had to.
In the incident room, she said, “Ol, Phil, I’m going to grab Andy and visit Suzie Walker. She’s rung in with a worry about Emma. Ol, can you do me a favour and widen the net in your searches? We need to know if any of the family had problems in the past. Go way back—for all we know, this could be aimed at their parents and someone’s taking it out on the children. Far-fetched, perhaps, but you never know. Life is full of weirdness, isn’t it. Phil, keep at it with the CCTV and house-to-house info. I know you’ve been over it already, but look again. Thanks.”
She left the room and nipped down the stairs then out the back to her car. She drove the short way to town and headed to the retail park on the outskirts. Andy waited outside Sports Direct holding a massive bag. There was a damn sight more than what he’d said in there.
He got in the car and tossed the bag into the back.
“What the hell have you bought?” she asked. “The whole bleeding shop?”
“Very funny. I spoke to the assistant like you said. Need I say more?”
She headed towards Suzie Walker’s place. “Ah, you were conned into buying…hmm, let me see. Trainers, Dri Fits, special socks…”
“How did you know?”
She blushed a bit.
“Oh, been caught like that yourself, have you?” he asked, chuckling.
“Maybe. Still, you’ll look the part in the morning, so it’s worth it.”
“I’m going to feel a dick.”
“Blimey, I hope you don’t. Whoever the dick belongs to might not be happy about that.”
“Smart arse.”
“Better than being mardy.”
“True.” He sniffed. “We really are starting again, aren’t we?”
“We are. We’ll both give this partnership a good go, then if it doesn’t work, we move on, no hard feelings.” She swerved into a space outside Suzie’s. “Right, let’s get in there and see what the problem is.”
Andy knocked on the door, and it opened almost immediately, as though Suzie had been at the window, watching for them to arrive.
“Come in,” Suzie said.
They followed her to the kitchen, and thankfully, this time Andy hadn’t poured a bottle of cologne all over himself, so the back door remained shut. They all sat at the table, and Andy got out his notebook, withdrawing a pencil from the spirals.
“What’s the problem?” Helena asked.
Suzie sighed out a shaky breath. “Emma was meant to be here today. I assumed she’d have come this morning. We needed to talk about Callie’s funeral amongst other things, and it’d be best done when my kids aren’t here. They’re a bit…noisy. Anyway, I rang her mobile and her landline, and she’s not answering. I also rang The Villager’s Inn, just in case she’d picked up a day shift to keep her mind off things, and she’s not there either.”
“Does she behave like this usually?” Helena asked. “You know, is she late at all as a rule?”
“No, she’s very punctual.” Suzie linked her hands and rested them on the table. “I’ve been trying to think if we agreed on a solid time, but I’m sure we didn’t.”
“Right, shall we go over to her house then?” Helena canted her head at Suzie and studied the woman’s face.
Relief bled into her features, and her shoulders slumped. “Yes. I was going to go, but she lives too far for me to walk.”
“You have a key?”
“Yes.”
“Then come with us. I can understand why you’d be worried, given what happened to Callie, but unless you know of a family grudge, it’s highly unlikely to be anything sinister. Maybe she’s asleep—unwell, say, and needed to stay in bed. Or she’s grieving and just doesn’t want to face the world today.”
“Maybe.”
“Okay.” Helena checked the clock on the wall. “It’s coming up to two now, so it’s a bit close to picking up time at the school. Is there anyone you can ring to collect them for you again? Jacob? Oh heck… I was meant to be speaking to him this afternoon.” She looked at Andy. “Will you give him a ring for me and apologise? Say we’ll nip round his house later.”
Andy got up to make the call in the living room, and Suzie pulled her mobile across the table and rang someone called Betty. Helena got up and walked to the kitchen sink. She stared out into the back garden. A pair of silver bikes stood propped against a shed at the bottom, and a swing set sat in the centre of the grass, the red paint faded to a lilac-pink from years under the summer sun. Washing flapped on a rotary line, mainly sheets and kids’ clothes.
“My mother-in-law will get the boys,” Suzie said. “Robbie can pick them up from hers later when he gets home from work.”
“Where’s that?” Helena turned from the window to face Suzie. She knew already but wanted to get Suzie chatting about him. Perhaps they could fit an interview in with Robbie after they’d seen Jacob.
“He’s a forklift driver for the delivery warehouse.”
“Does he like it?” Helena asked.
“It’s a job.” Suzie shrugged. “One we need. We’re in a bit of debt. Well, behind on the bills.”
Helena smiled. “Would anyone benefit financially from Callie’s death?”
“I have no idea,” Suzie said. Then realisation dawned. “If you think I did it for money, you’re sorely mistaken. I doubt Callie had anything to leave. She worked in Waitrose, same as me, and rents that house. She used her portion of the money Mum left us to pay her rent way in advance and buy herself a car.”
“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” Helena said. “It just occurred to me, that’s all. It helps narrow down the suspects.”
“I see.” Suzie un-bristled and offered an apologetic tilt of her lips. “Sorry. I’m on edge.”
“What did you spend your portion on?” Helena queried.
“Fixing the roof on this shithole. Look, can we go? I’m so worried about Emma.”
“Come on then.”
Suzie picked up a bunch of keys and her phone, and they walked past Andy in the hallway. Outside on the step, Helena took a deep breath of the cold air while Suzie shrugged on a coat.
The journey to Emma’s didn’t take long, and they all stood on the path outside her house, the wind coming i
n off the sea sneaking between the two houses opposite and buffeting them a bit. Suzie’s hair swept all over the place, and she reached up to push it off her face and hold it back, fingers flat against her head.
“I’ll go in first,” Helena said, popping on gloves and booties then holding her hand out for the keys.
Suzie placed them in her palm, frowning. Then, once again, she got the gist. “You have those gloves on in case…”
Helena didn’t elaborate. The woman had enough on her plate as it was. “Stay out here with DS Mald.”
She unlocked the door, and a waft of spoilt meat smacked into her. Not good. She stepped inside, then closed the door behind her quickly, surprised Andy hadn’t spouted protocol at her—them both needing to go inside together—but he’d remained silent, for once. His know-it-all persona seemed to have vanished since they’d been to the pub last night, and she’d mellowed as well.
She checked the living room. It was exactly as it was the last time they’d been here—tidy. And so black.
In the kitchen, she filed away the presence of a broken cup on the floor, the spilt drink long since dried up. The heating was on, so it had obviously helped soak up the moisture, although some parts were slightly tacky-looking. Had Emma been startled and dropped it? Or was it just an accident and she couldn’t be bothered to clean it up, too infused with the lethargy of grief?
Helena took the stairs and got her bearings at the top. A door stood ajar, the covers on the bed neat and tidy, so either Emma had slept in it and made it earlier this morning, or she hadn’t slept in it at all. A spiral of unease unwound in Helena’s belly, and she went into the room to open the wardrobe doors and lift the bed skirt to look beneath. Nothing but clothes in the former and dust bunnies on the carpet under the latter.
She checked two of the other closed doors—an airing cupboard stacked with sheets and towels and a small bedroom used as an office, a treadmill to the right. Outside the other door, she steadied her nerves. The swirl of dread in her gut intensified, and she had a horrible feeling she wouldn’t like what was on the other side. A tangy aroma she’d smelled before gave her a massive clue, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, butterflies prancing about in her chest.
She twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
Emma was in the bath.
Helena would have liked the woman to shriek at being disturbed and caught naked, but Emma remained silent.
“Oh, fucking hell,” Helena whispered and checked behind the door. There was only a toilet. She returned her attention to Emma.
The poor thing appeared to be asleep, having a nice relax, except there wasn’t any water, only blood. She was covered in it, her belly gaping open, her innards on show. There was some kind of tattoo on her arm, but Helena couldn’t make it out because of all the red stuff. A pink tulip stood in the centre of the foot-long hole in her gut, as though it grew out of her wrecked body, the soil the stabbed remnants of her liver.
The smell and sight, overpowering, had Helena gagging, and she breathed through her mouth and tasted the damn stench instead. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, still seeing Emma in her head. Gathering courage to look at her again, she cracked her eyes open a little.
Emma’s mouth had been sewn up, this time with multi-coloured thread, so many shades it was mad to try to count them all. Her blood-streaked arms were by her sides, and her nails had been ripped off, the finger ends drying out, the blood brown and crusty there.
She’d been dead for a while then.
Helena dared to peer down there, and Emma had been closed up with the same thread, her hairs completely shaved off. A yellow rubber duck perched on her thighs where they met. This was a message Helena didn’t understand. The mouth, yes—that was to say ‘be quiet’, but the vagina, the duck? She shook her head, not getting how someone had it in them to do this to another human being, and turned away to walk out and regain her equability on the landing.
“Helena?” Andy yelled.
She jumped and peered down the stairs. The letterbox was open, and the tips of Andy’s fingers poked through.
“The house is clear, but I haven’t checked the loft,” she called and made her way downstairs to crouch at the door. “Andy?”
He hunkered down and peered at her, her visual just his eyes surrounded by his specs.
“Take Suzie to the car, all right?” she whispered.
He must have winced—his eyes scrunched up.
“I’ll ring for SOCO and Zach,” she said.
Andy blinked several times, then his face disappeared, as did his fingers, and the letterbox snapped shut, the clatter loud and so final, as though it wanted to mourn its owner’s passing by slamming.
Helena stood and stared down the hallway to the broken cup on the kitchen floor.
What the fucking hell were they dealing with here?
Chapter Ten
The camping event in the garden was a practise run for when they did the real thing in St Ives on the annual family summer holiday. Callie couldn’t wait to go all the way to the seaside—one that had sandy beaches instead of the pebbles in Smaltern—and it was ‘dahn sarf’ as Dad had said, instead of being ‘oop norf’ where they lived. The weather would be grand down there, the lady travel agent had informed them, especially in August, and Callie looked forward to digging her toes in the hot sand and making castles, maybe even getting buried so only her head showed.
It was late-April, the weather spring-like, a lovely, warm sun but with a bit of a nip to the air when a breeze soughed through. Still, it beat the harsh winter they’d just had any day, with its stinging winds smacking into the cliffs, sailing upwards then over to chill everyone in town to the tips of their toes. There had been quite a frost, too, which had rimed the grass and gathered at the edges of windows, and it looked perpetually Christmas each time Callie had stared outside through the glass.
They had a massive tent, family-sized. Dad had borrowed it from a work colleague, and they were going to camp in it tonight in the back garden. Inside the tent was a central area where Dad said they’d set up a table and chairs for eating at when on their actual holiday, and three bedrooms were offshoots at the back.
Some friends were going to St Ives at the same time—well, friends of Mum and Dad anyway. They had kids, too—three boys who were loud and annoying, and Callie was glad Jacob would be off dealing with them. She’d hang out with her sisters. It was going to be great.
Come bedtime on the test camp night, everyone snuggled inside sleeping bags on blow-up beds that creaked and wheezed with every movement. Sleep didn’t come easily—they were all too excited—but in the end, after Suzie told fairy tales about dragons and castles, they all drifted off.
A strange sound woke Callie, though, a low hum, metallic. She sat up in the pitch-black and looked around, disorientated for a moment, forgetting where she was. A gap appeared in the zippered doorway to their bedroom section, and someone, a shadow, stepped through. Callie’s breath caught in her throat, and she opened her mouth to scream, but the shadow’s hand slapped over it, silencing her. It felt like whoever it was had a glove on, rough like those ones Mum used when pruning the rose bushes out the front.
The shadow whispered in Callie’s ear, telling her things she never thought she’d hear, and her first session began.
Chapter Eleven
Helena met Zach on the pavement outside Emma’s house. She took off her gloves and dropped them in an empty cardboard box for that purpose beside the gate, then rubbed her temples. A headache was coming on, nagging at the top of her neck and threatening to navigate to her crown.
Zach stood beside her in silence, concern stamping lines into his forehead. She smiled to let him know she was all right and dropped her hands to her sides, taking in the street to gauge how easily the killer could have been seen arriving then leaving. That gap between the two houses opposite—he could have run down there and walked along the cliff, and unless someone had been looking out and had spotted him,
he’d have got away scot-free.
A few neighbours were nosing in what they probably thought was a surreptitious manner from their windows, or blatantly in their front gardens, some standing on tiptoes, leaning against garden gates and craning their necks to try to get a good gander inside the house. Emma’s door was ajar, and Helena gestured to the black-haired policewoman on the step to close it a bit more.
“So it’s Callie Walker’s sister, you said?” Zach opened the passenger-side door of his car for Helena to get in.
“Yes.”
“We may as well chat in here again while SOCO get the first bits done.”
“All right.” She got comfortable and waited for him to join her.
He climbed in and rubbed his hands together. “So cold out today.”
“Hmm. We’re meant to be getting the tail end of a bloody hurricane in the next few days.”
“Marvellous. As if we don’t get battered by the coastal winds enough as it is. The side of my house’ll be buggered soon from the sea salt and weather.” He paused. “Did you get hold of him, by the way?”
Zach didn’t have to say the name for her to know exactly who he referred to. Bloody Marshall. Helena glanced across at him. “Yes. He basically denied following me, of course—I’d expected that sort of bollocks. I warned him a restraining order would be on the way, but I suspect he thinks I’m joking. I’m expecting dog shit to be posted through my letterbox or something equally as unimaginative in retaliation, but who knows, maybe I’ll be proved wrong.”
“He’d better not try anything. Bit stupid if he does.” Zach scratched his head. A tic beat in his jaw.
“Like I said to him, I’m a copper. I can deal with it.” I hope. It’s a bit different when it’s personal. “He’ll find some other poor cow to put up with him before long, I’m sure. He’s a good-looking bastard, so someone will take him on, then regret it like I did. He’s got all the charm, says all the right things at first, then a couple of months in, he changes. I’ve never met such a manipulative, childish, narcissistic person in my life.” Barring Uthway. Mustn’t forget him.
