Standing in the bedroom doorway, she had watched her new mother sleeping. She had barely remembered picking up the scissors, and they twitched in her gloved hand. The urge to crawl in beside her and wrap her arms around the sleeping woman was strong. But she had appeared too peaceful to disturb so she slipped out the back door; the reassuring curve of the scissor handle still nestled in her palm. An effective weapon, should anyone try to disturb her.
She smiled. Soon they would be together. Lucy would have her fairy-tale ending after all.
CHAPTER TEN
Ruby undid the top button of her shirt, sticky from the heat that showed no signs of abating. If it was this hot in the car, she couldn’t imagine what the crime scene was like, and she wondered how long the body had been left to ferment. She had a reasonably strong stomach for such things, which was just as well given she mostly ate on the go. But, at night, the faces of the dead came back to haunt her, and a stiff drink was the only thing capable of quieting their pleas for justice. Ruby didn’t believe in the supernatural, but she did believe in torment: each brutal act locked in time until answers were found. Who needed ghosts when the family of the dead begged for answers, unable to move on from their loss?
Downes had marched on ahead, leaving her to speak to the force press office who had called to speak to him with some enquiries about the case. The king of delegation, he was always passing on his little jobs, knowing she respected him too much to refuse. She turned the corner, impressed to see so many uniformed officers knocking on doors. The five-bedroom semi in Canonbury was situated on a nice leafy suburb unaccustomed to police officers and CSI. Ducking underneath the police tape, Ruby flashed her badge and joined her colleagues, gowning up under the watchful eye of Bones. She recognised Detective Chief Inspector Worrow underneath the suit: rigid, stiff, and stick thin. Her black bob was cut with precision, too severe for her youthful face. She was chatting to Chris Douglas, a trim, effeminate-looking man, with sandy blonde hair. She liked Chris, he had a dry sense of humour that took the darkness from his role. Forensic pathologists often attended murder scenes to gather evidence and examine the body in situ before it was transferred to the mortuary.
‘Morning, Ma’am, Chris,’ Ruby nodded, realising they were both leaving the scene rather than going in. ‘I heard the owners called it in?’ Traffic was good and the drive had been short, depriving her of a full briefing of events.
‘They got back from holiday today,’ Chris said. ‘Bit of a shock to find Emily Edmonds helping herself to cucumber sandwiches, draped on their chaise longue.’
Ruby frowned, wondering if she had heard right. Chris touched her arm to rescue her from her confusion. ‘You’ll see when you go in there. Lovely property; although I think it’ll be a while before they get the smell out of their chintz furnishings. Will we see you at the post-mortem later?’
Ruby caught the wicked gleam in his eye. He knew how much she hated PMs, and took great delight in her discomfort. It wasn’t the smell that bothered her, although that was bad enough. It was the bone saw; the high-pitched drilling sound that reverberated through her brain. Her last attendance had given her a phobia of the dentist and now she brushed her teeth three times a day rather than face the sound of a drill again. She turned her eyes on Worrow who was daintily stepping out of her oversized suit.
‘I was going to ask Jack, but he’s got a lot on.’ She nodded her head in agreement with herself. ‘Yes. It would be good to have you present.’
‘See you at the mortuary around six,’ Chris said, looking amused.
Ruby forced a smile before turning to leave. She approached the house, her temperature rising as she re-evaluated her fondness for the pathologist.
It was an impressive semi; another building the likes of which Ruby could only aspire to own. Dream on, she thought, her eyes creeping over the length of black ribbon tied to the door knocker. The hall was wide and airy, but not airy enough to dispel the stench that greeted her as she passed through the front door. Her footsteps echoed on the gloss timber floor. She took in the family photographs, peering at the private school uniforms. She imagined their names as Rufus and Hermione. Ruby liked her own name. It was down to earth. Stoic.
She did not need the stepping plates or the sound of Downes’s voice to guide her to the body. All she had to do was follow the smell. She fixed the mask over her nose: an instinctive measure which did little to block the stench assaulting her nostrils. Downes was standing in the living room, hands on hips as he spoke to Katie, an attractive young crime scene investigator who was new to the role.
‘Ah, Ruby,’ he said, tearing his eyes away. ‘What took you so long?’
‘I got cornered by Ma’am Worrow. She wants me to attend the PM this evening. Looks like you’re off the hook.’
Downes clapped her on the back. ‘Well, that’s super so it is, just super. Sure you’ll have a grand old time cosying up to the boss.’
‘Thanks,’ Ruby said flatly, trying to make sense of the scene before her.
The corpse of Emily Edmonds was seized by rigor; her knees drawn up to her chest in a foetal position on a very expensive-looking chaise longue. Her head lolled to one side, and her skin had taken on a mottled grey hue. Her long brown hair was tied in a ponytail, eyes open, an expression of terror relaying her final moments. The pretty floral dress she was wearing was too big for her body, and Ruby frowned, wondering at what point she had been changed. On the coffee table lay a teapot, sugar cubes, a jug of milk, a teacup and saucer, and an uneaten cucumber sandwich on one side.
‘I take it that’s Emily then,’ Ruby said, feeling a surge of pity for the remains of the woman before her. But she did not feel surprise. Emily’s death was something her gut had forecast from the first day she saw Harry Edmonds’s body; although she was yet to ascertain why.
‘Afraid so,’ Jack said, his suit rustling as he folded his arms.
She took in the room, which was the same size as her whole flat. She doubted they would ever get rid of the smell. Even when the cleaners had removed all traces of the body, its presence would still be felt, and nobody would want to sit in the room alone. ‘Who found her?’ she asked, taking another step towards the body. Even without the facial bruising and cuts to her lips, Ruby could tell by the tortured expression that death had not come peacefully.
‘The man of the house. Him and his missus came back from their holidays with the kids to find some black ribbon tied to the front door. There was no sign of forced entry, but he told them to wait in the hall while he checked the house.’
‘I saw the ribbon on the way in. The children. What’s their names?’
‘Why?’
‘No reason.’
‘Felicity and Jasper.’
‘Oh. He looked more like a Rufus,’ Ruby said, stepping back to allow the CSIs to continue their work. She could see why the pathologist had come to the conclusion the body had been moved. Apart from the lack of evidence at the scene, the position of the body suggested it had been stored in a cramped space. The boot of a car, a large kitchen cupboard, or even a suitcase would produce that boxed-off shape. ‘Very mumsy,’ she said, pointing to the old-fashioned floral tunic dress. ‘You know what I think?’ she continued, not bothering to wait for a response. ‘Lucy’s turned up at Emily’s door to confront her. There’s been a set-to because Harry’s a controlling sod and didn’t want to know. Either Emily or Lucy decides to answer back. Harry ends up dead. Both women do a Thelma and Louise and run for the hills. But the reunion doesn’t go as planned, and Emily is murdered. Charlotte sticks her beak in, and she gets killed too. Lucy regrets her actions. She dresses her, does her hair, and lays her to rest in the nicest place she can find.’
‘So we’re dealing with a hot-headed individual who will stop at nothing to get what she wants,’ Downes said, stepping back to allow the crime scene investigators to finish their work. ‘It looks like whoever dumped the body closed the curtains and stopped all the clocks.’
‘Mournin
g traditions,’ Ruby said, remembering her mother doing the same thing after her father died.
‘Indeed, although they’re dying out now… no pun intended.’ He nodded to Ruby. ‘Seen enough?’
‘More than,’ she said, wondering how long she would smell the dead body on her skin, in her hair, her clothes. The fresh air was a gift as she stepped out of the house. Funny how she had never valued it until she was forced to inhale that rotting corpse smell.
* * *
Ruby rested her blazer on her chair, giving it a final sniff. It was no use. It would have to be dry-cleaned before she could wear it again. An expense she could barely afford. The home was due to put its prices up soon, and it was hard enough getting her brother to contribute at all. She thought of her mum and wondered what the chances were of getting in to see her for a visit. Minimal, given briefing was due in five and she had just been passed some vital information. Information that changed everything she knew about the case. The lunchtime special wafted through her window from The Eagle pub next door. Today it was curry. Ruby’s stomach rumbled.
‘I got you a sandwich, Sarge: chicken mayo,’ Luddy said, dropping a Tesco bag between the piles of paperwork on her desk.
‘Cheers, mate, and call me Ruby, for God’s sake? Everyone else does,’ she said, taking a peek inside the bag. ‘Ooh, and Coke too; how much do I owe you?’
‘My treat,’ Luddy flashed a smile, his hand resting on the back of her chair. He had nice teeth, Luddy. Clean, even and minty fresh. Bit of a mummy’s boy. He had a habit of lingering a bit too long, but Ruby was too indebted by his sandwich to ask him to leave.
She cracked open the can of Coke and took a swig. Then taking the sandwich in her left hand, she bit off a chunk of wholemeal bread. ‘We’ve just located Emily’s daughter,’ she said, quickly chewing half her sandwich.
‘Seriously?’ Luddy said, his eyes widening at the prospect. ‘Are we bringing her in then?’
‘All will be revealed in briefing. But first, there’s somewhere I’ve got to be.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ruby shrugged on her shoulder harness. Her handcuffs and baton lay nestled next to her ribs on one side and a small can of incapacitant spray snapped into a pouch on the other. The weight was unevenly distributed because she preferred to keep a radio clipped onto the waistband of her belt. But she was willing to sacrifice a lopsided harness for the reassurance it provided. It would be even better if she was allowed to carry a firearm, but her ability to handle a gun was not widely known. She palmed the keys she had booked out from Ash, the designated exhibits officer. The four leaf clover keyring hadn’t brought Harry Edmonds much luck, Ruby thought, as she strode to her car. The keys were due to be returned to his relatives this afternoon, and she had promised Ash that she would be back within the hour. Given that the house had been thoroughly searched, she did not intend on staying very long.
* * *
Ruby pushed the police card onto the dashboard of her car, hoping it would save her yet another ticket. Advertising her vocation was an invitation to having her tyres slashed, but she was tight on time and had enough confidence in Tresham Walk to take the chance.
Slowly turning the key in the front door, she silently slipped into the hall. It would not be the first time she had returned to a scene to find a perpetrator present, and such an experience kept her nerves tightly bound. She glanced around. The air was rich with the scent of death, and the lilies that once bloomed brightly were now drooping gracefully in their vase. Cast in gloom, the living room took on a menacing hue as the tightly drawn curtains absorbed all natural light. Ruby flicked on the light switch, her eyes falling on the blood-encrusted carpet, now stained in a deep burgundy red. The aftermath of the police investigation was plain to see. Cupboard doors yawned open and upturned furniture lay next to piles of paperwork and books stacked on the floor. Violent red blood splatters patterned the wall, having being analysed, photographed and recorded in detail. Ruby followed a pitter-patter of red-stained paw prints from the living room, tracing them to the cat flap embedded in the back door. Searching in the cupboards, she drew back the lid on a tin of cat food, emptying its contents into a plastic bowl. Hopefully someone was looking after the cat who had come in search of food. The kitchen drawers were grimy with fingerprint dust, but the answers she sought did not lie here. It was far too busy a room to keep secrets. The answers lay somewhere more private, somewhere hidden.
Tap… tap… tap… a knocking noise from upstairs reignited the feeling of foreboding that had shadowed her entry. She stiffened, casting her eyes to the ceiling. Sliding her hand under her blazer, she popped the clasp holding her baton in place, gripping it tightly in her palm. There was no need to extend it. Not yet. Most officers would have plodded into the house and slammed the door behind them, but past experience had left Ruby wary.
And now she found herself creeping up the stairs towards the source of the noise. Shadows danced on the landing, but she did not want to alert any possible intruder by turning on the light. Tap… tap… tap. The noise grew louder, and Ruby cocked her head to one side. It was coming from inside the walls rather than footsteps on the floorboards above. Pressing her hand to the radiator, she heaved a sigh of relief. It was just the heating on a timer, although why they needed it during an Indian summer was beyond her. But she wanted to leave just the same and clipped her baton back in place before finishing what she came here to do. Intuition drove her into the bedroom, and she searched every inch of floor space for a weakness. The thin bedroom carpet revealed sturdy wooden flooring with well-driven nails to negate any hiding places underneath. Regular hiding places had been well searched. She needed to delve deeper. Emily was a victim of domestic abuse, and such contact with her daughter would have been unwelcome by her jealous abuser. After half an hour of searching the bedroom, Ruby pushed her hair back from her face and got to her feet.
The bathroom still held a fresh lemony smell, and she examined the air freshener before placing it back on the shelf. The small sterile space was the one place Emily would have been granted some privacy, at least for a little while. She ran a hand along the paintwork on the outside of the door until she found the curve of an indentation. It was foot height, and a double layer of paint had been applied to the cracks in the wood. Someone had tried to kick it in. Gliding her hands over the lock on the door, she could see it had recently been fixed. Each clue painted a chilling picture of Emily Edmonds’s life. Unlike Ruby’s bathroom the grout in between the floor tiles was a perfect shade of white. She pressed down on each one, searching for a weakness, but there was none. After checking the cistern, she opened the cabinet. Shaving foam, mouthwash, a razor and some paracetamol. Emily would not hide anything here: not when it was filled with her Harry’s things. It was just a regular family home. And yet Ruby could not shake off the feeling that somewhere in this house lay clues. Putting herself in Emily’s shoes, she imagined she had received news from her daughter, but was reluctant to share it with the world. Her head tilted to the right, and she narrowed her eyes at the bath. Police should have removed the panel and checked inside.
Couldn’t do any harm to check again. She cupped her fingers under the lips of the cheap plastic panel, driven by her intuition. Like a game of hot and cold, she knew all at once that this was Emily Edmonds’s hiding place. With the slightest pressure the corner popped free. Activating her phone torch she peered inside. Nothing but cobwebs and a layer of dust. Tilting her iPhone she illuminated the panel. ‘Gotcha,’ she whispered, reaching in her gloved hand. Taped to the inside was a small plastic bag. At last. Now she could leave. She would return the keys and update the search officers in case they wanted to return. Fixing the bath panel, she got to her feet. She had found what she was looking for, and it was time to share it with her team.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The incident room was an airless, soulless place. The steel framed window had been sealed shut for the last three years since a listening device was implanted from
outside. Three floors up, they had expected privacy, and now they were paying the price as they filed into what Ruby lovingly referred to as hell. She prayed for rain. It was not that she hated the sun; Ibiza, Malaga, such places brought memories of glorious clubbing and sun-soaked days. Shoreditch briefing room in a heatwave did not invoke the same blissful feelings. With the door shut, and sweaty bodies lined up against the walls, it was a special kind of hell indeed.
Downes led the briefing, swapping intelligence and bringing everyone up to speed. He was leaving the best until last as always, and Ruby stood when prompted, ready to deliver the news.
‘I’ve got two important updates which have just come in. Firstly, I want to read you some letters,’ Ruby said, holding up two sheets of paper. ‘These are copies of exhibits which I seized from Emily Edmonds’s address this afternoon. They were discovered taped inside a bath panel in her home.’ She handed Luddy copies to distribute. Clearing her throat, she prepared to read the first page.
‘Dearest Mother.
Yes, you read right. I’m your daughter. I’ve come to find you. I know that this will come as a shock to you, or perhaps you’ve always known that this day would come – that the daughter you gave away would come looking for answers. But there’s no need to worry. I don’t care about the past. I just want us to be a family. Writing this letter has not been easy, but I want us to be together. I hope this advance warning will make things easier when we meet. I’m so looking forward to being a part of your family again.
Love You to Death: An Absolutely Gripping Thriller with a Killer Twist Page 5
