by Tara Lyons
“Stick with me, kid. I’ll show you the ropes,” Clarke joked, but the perplexed expression on Fraser’s face showed her anxiety.
“Ask the parents if Emily had any boyfriends and who she was out with last night. It might help us with a lead. Because if we thought the last attack was personal, this one just upped the stakes.” Hamilton continued to explain the differences in the latest murder and informed Morris and Wedlock that their next duty was to attend the post-mortem. “I can’t stress enough how much we need a break in this case. DCI Allen won’t let me reschedule this meeting because he wants a full update, and I’m furious that I have to tell him we’ve found another body.” He punched the desk he was sitting on.
“Hey, boss. Look at this,” Clarke called from the information board. “Michelle, our first victim, was a stage actress in Central London, and Emily worked as a runner in a theatre. Albeit two different theatres, they’re both in close proximity.”
Hamilton stood next to his partner, crossed his arms, and glared at the board with him, searching for more clues.
“Sir, The Lady in Red was the name of a theatre show in London,” Fraser added.
Hamilton snapped round to face her.
“I only know because my mum had tickets and said the opening had been postponed after the newspaper articles. Gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t connect the dots before.”
“Okay, Kerry, don’t beat yourself up about it. The main thing is we have a connection now. Let’s find out what we can about these theatres, and the one that postponed their show.”
“It was The London, sir. Where Emily worked.” Fraser hung her head.
“What?” Hamilton exclaimed. “Hold your head up, and less of the dramatics. Sometimes it just takes one of us to look at the information and pull the clues from it, so well done, to all of you. Remember, we’re a team, and we wouldn’t have had these added bits of information so quickly without you, Kerry.”
He was buzzing inside, feeling excited for the first time since the case opened at the beginning of December. Finally, they had a possible connection between two of their victims. His heart raced. “This could be what we’ve been looking for, guys. I’m eager to get on with investigating this clue, but I’m all too aware that we have meetings to adhere to. Let’s get those tasks done and dusted and meet back here in an hour, if that’s possible.” He addressed Morris and Wedlock with the last point, unsure how long their task might take.
“I want the first team back in the office to start digging into these theatres. See if there’s any overlap in employees; concentrate on men that may have been dismissed in the last six months, anything that stands out. Also check out our second victim, Kate, again. She worked in a doctor’s surgery, but let’s not discount that she may have worked in one of these theatres at some point.”
“Boss, it was yet another anonymous tip alerting us to this victim,” Wedlock said as he put on his coat.
“Yes, let’s not forget that,” Clarke replied. “But every time we’ve delved into those calls, they’ve been dead ends. They were made from local phone boxes with no street cameras observing them.”
Hamilton interrupted. “Let’s not disregard it, add it to the board. From now on, I don’t want us to overlook any piece of information. The slightest thing we think of, uncover, or are troubled by, I want you speak up immediately. Right, meet you all back here.”
He watched proudly as his team left the incident room. Because of their enthusiastic chatter, he knew they felt the same spark of excitement about the case. He climbed the stairs to DCI Allen’s office, clinging to that sentiment as he prepared himself for the interrogation coming his way.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Once home from the cemetery, Grace ate, showered, and began to feel human again as the hangover finally wore off. Valerie had ignored her all evening, highlighting her furious mood. Her mother always forgave friends’ and family’s transgressions easily, too easily, she believed, so this behaviour towards Grace forced her to make the first move in an effort to restore their relationship.
While her mother sat comfortably in the living room reading a book, Grace slipped into the kitchen and made them both a cup of tea. She hoped the awkward atmosphere would vanish once she explained how awful she felt. Pausing at the doorway for a moment, she watched Valerie; her legs curled up on the brown, faux leather two-seater sofa, sandy-coloured hair twisted in a clip, as always to keep it off her face. Her blue eyes shone in comparison to her dull, tired-looking face. Guilt struck hard in Grace’s stomach when she thought of how she had spoken to her mother, a selfless woman who always gave to people and never took.
She inhaled a deep breath and walked in. “Here, Mum. I thought you might like a cup of tea.”
Valerie remained quiet as she closed her book, placed it on the coffee table, and accepted the warm drink from her daughter.
Grace hated the unnatural tension between them; it was suffocating her. But she was well aware she had created it herself. “I’m really sorry for how I spoke to you earlier,” she said quietly.
Valerie just sipped her tea and barely looked in her direction.
“I know I haven’t been my usual self since Granddad died, and I’m sorry. I feel okay at work; I mean I can at least get through the day without becoming an emotional tornado. But then, sometimes, I just feel a bit lost. Plus, I’m not sleeping very well,” she blurted out, trying to find an excuse for her constant mood swings.
Valerie placed her cup on the table and gently held her daughter’s free hand. Grace felt instantly comforted by her mother’s touch. “I know it’s hard for you, Grace. I lost him too. But I do feel like I’m walking on eggshells around you most of the time, worried that if I say the wrong thing, we’ll be thrown into yet another argument. Or worse, you’ll storm out of the house and I have no idea where you are for hours.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not looking for an apology, my darling. I only want to help you.”
“It’s just something I have to get through, Mum. Everyone grieves in their own way, right?”
Still holding Grace’s hand, Valerie moved closer to her. “It’s okay to accept help, love. Or at least to talk about how you’re feeling. Yes, everyone grieves differently, but I don’t think bottling it up inside is going to help you. Oh, darling! I’m just so worried about you. I don’t know what to do for the best. Your constant lack of respect for me, the mood swings, and binge drinking.”
Grace could see it pained her mother to be so honest with her. She wanted to weep herself when a single teardrop fell from Valerie’s eye. She placed her own cup on the table, let go of her mother’s hand, and embraced her tightly. She knew it was time to be honest with her mother and herself.
“Mum. I’m having these really awful dreams.”
The pair pulled apart, and they both wiped away their tears.
“What, you mean like nightmares?” Valerie asked.
“Well, yes. They are scary and dark, but I can’t always remember them,” she explained.
“Hang on, I don’t understand. How can they be so awful if you can’t remember them?”
“That’s the thing, Mum. Sometimes I can only remember how they made me feel. Then there are other times when I first wake up and I see flashes of images, but mostly they just make me panic. It’s like I’m being haunted in my sleep.”
“And what are these images you’re seeing?”
“A dead body.” Grace covered her eyes. “What do you think that means? Why am I dreaming of things like that?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But you have to remember you are dealing with a lot of death at the moment. Seeing Granddad laid out at the funeral parlour may not have been the best thing for you. Perhaps it’s affecting you now.”
“Really? You think so?”
Valerie sighed. “This is what I meant about dealing with everything alone. Your emotions are eating away at you and seeping into your unconscious. A factor, I would say, that’s influen
cing your sleeping patterns and moods.”
She began to feel calmer as she listened to her mother’s logical explanation.
Valerie reached for her handbag by the side of the sofa and rooted through it, pulling out a business card and handing it to Grace. “Now I know I made the right decision getting this for you. I’m so glad you’ve opened up to me, sweetheart, but I really think you would benefit from bereavement counselling. Please, I’m begging you to consider it.”
Grace cautiously took the card from her mother’s hand, already guessing what was printed on it. She peered down at the plain white card with its simple black lettering: Maria Lee, Psychiatrist & Clinical Hypnotherapist.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The incident room was a hive of activity when Morris and Wedlock returned from the post-mortem. Hamilton rushed from his office to greet them, and the rest of the team stopped what they were doing to listen to the update.
“Finally!” Hamilton said as he reached for his coat. “We’re on our way to interview Emily Donovan’s colleagues, but I wanted to see you first. What took so long?”
“Sorry, gov. There was a hold-up at the mortuary. Nothing we could do,” Wedlock explained. “Laura should have sent the full report while we were driving back here. It pains me to say this, but there’s still no damn DNA.”
Hamilton could relate to his sergeant’s exasperated expression while delivering the news. He wracked his brain: could the killer really be so meticulous that he never leaves a shred of evidence?
“Sir?” Morris jolted him from his thoughts. “In short, the head injuries knocked our victim unconscious, and their brutality may have led to her death if she was left there. But it was the intensive stab wounds directly through the heart that killed her.”
“Thanks, you two,” Hamilton said after a long sigh. “Come on, Lewis! Let’s get to this theatre and see what we can uncover there.”
“Sir, did the family add anything of significance?” Wedlock called out as the two detectives headed out of the room.
“Catch up with Kerry. She’ll fill you in,” he shouted back as the door closed behind him.
Once they were downstairs, Hamilton jumped into the driver’s seat of his silver Vauxhall Corsa, and Clarke took the passenger’s seat to enter their location into the sat nav—automatic actions of partners who understood their roles. Chit-chat was kept to a minimum during the journey as they both contemplated the case and where it was headed.
Hamilton stood tall on the stage of The London theatre, staring out at the empty rows of seats. He’d never understood the need for fame and fortune. Personally, he looked forward to a hot cup of coffee while curled up with his wife, watching a series on Netflix.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing to have all those seats filled, all their attention on you?” Clarke interrupted Hamilton’s peaceful thoughts. “Not unless a murderer was out there watching you, of course.”
A man in his late forties, with a comb-over of thinning dark hair and dressed in a burgundy suit with gold buttons fastening it, approached the stage. Hamilton couldn’t help but notice, and dislike, the eccentric swirls and colourful patterns of the man’s tie.
“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Michael Sparks, director of the theatre.” Michael outstretched his hand.
“I’m Detective Inspector Denis Hamilton, and this is Detective Sergeant Lewis Clarke,” he said, as he let go of Michael’s hand and pulled his warrant card from his inside pocket. “Is there somewhere more private we can talk?”
“Of course. Follow me, please.”
As Michael led them through the narrow corridor, a young brunette lady appeared out of a side office. She was petite and slim. Her small features highlighted her natural beauty, flawless porcelain skin, and warm brown eyes.
“This is Assistant Director Grace Murphy. Will you need to talk with her too, or was it just me you wanted?” Michael asked.
“Please join us, Ms. Murphy. Your input could be helpful.” Hamilton waited until the two turned their backs on him and continued walking, then he quickly peeped at Clarke, who acknowledged him with a slight nod.
They squeezed into Michael’s office, which was more like a small box bedroom than a director’s office. Hamilton observed Michael and Grace’s interaction with interest; they never spoke, and the man took his seat behind the desk, motioning for his deputy to stand next to him. Michael then gestured for Hamilton to take the seat opposite him, but he ignored the offer.
“I must say, I find it strange no one has thought to ask why we’re here.” Hamilton frowned. “So I’ll just get straight to the point. We’re investigating the murder of Emily Donovan, and we believe she worked here.”
“What?” Grace screeched. “When? How?”
“Yes, I thought that was why you were here,” Michael said.
Grace’s attention snapped back to her boss. “What? How do you already know?”
“Sorry, I’ve not been long off the phone with her sister, Hayley. I was coming to tell you when I received a message that the detectives were waiting for me out front.”
“What happened to her, Detective?” Grace asked, turning pale.
“I hope you can appreciate I can’t share all the information with you at this point in the investigation,” Hamilton said. “But it happened on Friday night, Ms. Murphy. Now, Emily worked here as the theatre’s runner. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Michael replied, standing to offer the woman his seat.
“Did she have any relationships with anyone at work? Was there anyone you can think of that she didn’t get along with?” Hamilton asked.
Though frustrated that no one asked him, he waited for Michael to pour Grace a glass of water from the jug on his table. He could see the young lady was in shock. Her eyes were wide, and she was struggling for air.
“Ms. Murphy, are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Well, no. Obviously, I can’t believe it… how can she have been murdered?”
“I’m afraid we have to ask these questions.”
“Of course, Inspector,” Michael said. “And yes, Emily was having a fling with Eric. Caught them a couple of times at it in my theatre!”
Grace’s head shot up, and she stared at Michael again, but he continued to talk without looking at her.
“Of course, we can’t condone that kind of unprofessional behaviour, and I explained to Emily that she was on her last warning.”
“And Eric would be…?” Hamilton asked, while Clarke jotted notes in his pad.
“Our lead actor, Eric Dexter,” Grace whispered.
“Could we speak with Mr. Dexter?”
“Not here, you can’t. He called in sick this morning. Annoying really, as now I’ll have to check the understudy is up to scratch.”
“He called in sick?” Grace asked.
Michael continued to address Hamilton. “Yes. He called in just before you two arrived, immediately after I ended the call with Hayley.”
“Right. Well, we’ll need his address then please, Mr. Sparks,” Hamilton explained.
Michael crossed the small room and searched through a row of folders on the shelf. He opened one, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to Clarke, who copied the address and handed it back.
Hamilton had one more question he needed to ask before leaving. “Do you know if Emily left work with anyone last Friday night?”
“We were the last ones out of the theatre on Friday,” Grace answered.
“Yes. Emily, Eric, and I left at the same time, a few minutes after Grace. Emily said she was meeting some friends for a drink and walked off towards Leicester Square. Eric and I parted at the Underground,” Michael informed them.
“Okay, well, it seems we should have a chat with Mr. Dexter,” Hamilton said. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Sparks, Ms. Murphy. If we have any other questions, we’ll be in touch. And if you think of anything that might be of interest to the case, please call me.” He slid his business card onto the table.
&
nbsp; As they turned to leave the office, Clarke peered over his shoulder. “Didn’t you have a play called The Lady in Red that was due to start last month?”
Michael curled his lips. A menacing look spread over his face, but only for a few seconds. He quickly regained his poise. “Yes, we did. But after the press gave one of the murder victims that very same name, we didn’t think it was great publicity. We’ve rejigged a few things, and thankfully, we’ll be ready to throw the curtains up in February. Tickets are still available if you fancy it, gentlemen.”
****
After the detectives had closed the door behind them, Grace rested her head on the table and sobbed. She felt Michael’s arm slide around her shoulders. Though the kind gesture was meant to console her, something about his embrace made her feel uneasy. She stood up and walked round the desk to put some space between herself and her boss. She wiped her eyes, a headache brewing. It was descending on her fast, as though she’d been knocked with a sledgehammer.
“I just cannot believe this has happened, Michael. Someone we worked with has been murdered. This is terrible.” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she wiped those away too and tried to control her emotions.
“I know, my dear, one of ours being murdered like that. It doesn’t bear thinking about.” He moved forward as if to touch Grace’s arm, but she walked farther away and stood by the door.
“We’ll have to call a meeting, Michael. The rest of the crew should hear the news from us. My God, do you think they already know? Found out while we were in here with the police? If Hayley is ringing people to inform them, it’s probably all over Facebook too. You know how this kind of news spreads. The team will be emotional wrecks.” The tears finally escaped from her eyes once again.
