Once Claud had left the room, Mack hesitated in the doorway and regarded Jack. His brown eyes were small and mean, and for a horrifying moment, Jack thought he’d made a terrible mistake. Why did he think he could intimidate these security officers?
But Mack wasn’t about to attack him. Instead, he smiled a sad smile and when he spoke, he spoke quietly so his colleague couldn’t hear. “You held him for as long as you could. It wasn’t your fault.” And then he turned and hurried after his comrade.
Jack stared at the empty doorway, his heart frozen.
4:23 AM
His head pounded. Dennis realised with dismay that he’d once again fallen asleep on the couch with no memory of why he hadn’t made it to his bed. Music was thumping from Alex’s bedroom; he imagined he could see the ceiling vibrate with the noise. But, the pounding wasn’t just his head. Somebody was at the door. He checked his watch. Four twenty-three a.m.
Oh, that would explain why the neighbours are pissed off.
He walked into the hallway and shouted up the stairs for Alex to turn the music down. Nothing. If he’d shown any sign of hearing him, he ignored him completely.
I’m chucking him out. Today is the last day I’m putting up with this crap.
He checked the spyhole in his front door and was unsurprised to see his neighbour Sam in her dressing gown with an expression that could melt granite.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s just woke me up too.”
“I’m giving you five minutes to get that stopped or I’m calling the police. Jesus, I’ve got to get up for work soon. Pete’s trying to get the baby back to sleep.” She spoke rapidly, the words firing from her mouth in staccato fashion. She said more, her mouth opening and closing like a human goldfish but Dennis just stood there, wishing the floor would open and swallow him. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not enough. Fix it. Five minutes.” She stormed off before Dennis could say anything back to her.
Dennis closed the door and took a deep breath. The music had jumped onto another techno track and was piercingly loud.
He took the stairs two at a time and stood outside Alex’s room, heart hammering in his chest. The metal cage of fear began to constrict around his ribs again and he wondered whether the police would be the best people to sort it out. Get the lodger arrested, and he’d have time to pack up his things and change the locks. That sounded good. This anti-social behaviour was against the terms of the letting, well, it would be if he’d bothered to write any of this down. But he doubted it would be that simple. The police would arrive and most likely have to come upstairs to speak to Alex. They’d want to go in his room. If they found anything, Dennis might be held accountable.
Dennis raised his hand to bang on the door again, but then the music stopped.
The sudden quiet in the house was deafening and Dennis held onto the bannister for support, fearing he might stumble.
And with the music gone, he could hear the baby from next door crying. He wanted to shout sorry through the walls but worried that such a blatant act might aggravate the husband. He looked mean.
Rather than confront Alex, Dennis stepped into the bathroom for a piss. Whatever he’d been drinking last night had done something terrible to his head and his bladder. His body was already aching like he’d started his hangover early. The shower curtain was closed. As he lifted the toilet seat and attended to his bladder, he couldn’t help but glance over to the bathtub. He rarely kept the shower curtain closed. Too obvious a place for someone to hide behind. He tried not to look as he finished up and washed his hands.
There was something dark in the bathtub. An image flashed in his head of a body lying in the tub. A woman probably—it would always be a woman. He closed his eyes and grabbed the edge of the curtain, counting to three in his head. With a clattering of shower rings, he pulled the curtain aside and opened his eyes.
No body. Just clothes.
His heart lifted, but that moment of relief was quickly displaced by irritation that Alex had left his dirty clothes in the bath rather than his own room. What did Alex think he’d do when he needed a shower in the morning? Determined to make a point of this, Dennis reached in to take the clothes out. He’d leave them outside Alex’s room and speak to him in the morning. And even if he didn’t speak to him, by leaving them there, he was making a stand that this behaviour had to stop. Well, that’s what he told himself.
The clothes were damp, though. Repulsed, Dennis pulled his hand back and let go of the black jumper. It fell back in a clump on top of the trousers and socks. He stood up to wipe his hands on the towel when he realised that his hands were smeared in blood.
10:15 AM
Ella Joyner had been awake four hours and was already on her fourth cup of substitute coffee. She’d taken her usual walk to the corner shop to buy milk, then her HALO reminded her she hadn’t met her ten thousand steps a day target for the last three weeks. She walked the long way home.
Back inside, she instinctively checked her datapad, projecting the screen onto a blank wall in the kitchen as she lifted dirty plates from the sink, determined to get the place tidy. The feeds were busy again that morning. Her message stack was precariously full, but this was her first day off in three weeks, and she’d promised herself she would take a break. But, taking a break from work, gave her mind a chance to wander, no longer distracted by the hundreds of news items she’d regularly glance over each day.
Today, her mind was telling her she shouldn’t have got out of bed and her outlook would be much brighter if she found a bottle of something cold in the fridge and went back under the covers. She ignored it. Ignoring things was the skill she was proudest of.
She’d woken up alone. But, this was normal. There hadn’t been another person in her bed for over a year. Something else she’d come to ignore. With all the money she made at Fuse Media, it should be a simple job to grab someone to share it with, but to meet people, you needed a social life and that just wasn’t happening right now. Funny that, socialising made her think of Keeley. And it wasn’t as if she’d spent much time recently with her friend outside of work. Years ago, when Keeley had first started, the pair of them formed a bond she didn’t think could be broken by anything. Despite the workload, she’d found time to get drunk with Keeley and chill in front of an ancient movie. Things changed, though.
The first had been Jack. Ever since Keeley’s death she’d caught herself thinking of him several times a day. Her first serious love, almost kindred spirits. How could she not be thinking of him this week? She told herself it was purely compassion, but last night her dreams suggested otherwise. Waking from sepia fantasies, she hated herself for what she thought of as betraying her friend’s trust. But, even now, she couldn’t help but remember the first time she’d been with Jack. He’d always been so attentive, when they were together she felt complete. So, finding out he was breaking up with her was the hardest thing she’d had to deal with—the second hardest—the first was seeing him move in with her best friend.
Perhaps there was always something slightly off about him. A hole in his life she could never quite find. She’d suspected his family. He rarely spoke about them. After what had happened at Smettles, she guessed he had every right to keep his past life to himself. Every man had the right to some secrets.
Jack had promised that he hadn’t been seeing Keeley behind Ella’s back, but there was that time at the party when she’d caught them alone in the kitchen laughing and gossiping.
Ella stopped hosting parties after that.
She picked up the picture frame of Jack that Keeley had kept on her desk. On that morning, the one when Keeley died, Keeley had talked about getting a pregnancy licence with Jack. Only she hadn’t asked him and he’d reacted badly. She’d made out she’d been ambivalent about the prospect of having kids with Jack, going so far as to suggest that Jack wouldn’t have wanted it. This, in an attempt to make Keeley feel better. The truth, however, was that she’d never discussed having kids w
ith Jack at all. Whilst she’d have killed to have a pair of kids, she’d never built up the courage to ask him. It seemed that Keeley couldn’t build up the courage either.
Setting the picture aside, she shuffled through the rest of Keeley’s things. none of it meant much to her, but she hoped that Jack would appreciate the gesture. What must Jack be going through? If losing her friend was tearing her up, she couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him. Bad enough to lose someone through illness, but to have them murdered. To see their dead bodies lying on the floor. She knew the details of Keeley’s death. The police had made a simple statement, but she had access to her own people in the police force and they’d been forthcoming for the appropriate fee. Fuse Media had reported on murders plenty of times and had never shied away from the details. That had never affected Ella. This was different. Stupid. When did she get so cold?
She pushed the box away from her on the table and stood by the window, looking out at the Southport skyline. From her flat, she could see OsMiTech’s headquarters, and the building complex beyond with the Fuse Media tower.
Her stomach growled but the thought of eating anything today was enough to make her feel sick. Instead, she went to the bathroom and popped a couple of appetite suppressors. This should be enough to keep her stomach quiet until that evening.
Jack answered within a minute of her calling.
“Hi, it’s me,” she said, hating the cheery breeze she heard in her voice. Why couldn't she just sound natural?
What is wrong with me?
She wanted to tell him she was there for him should he ever want to talk, but she pictured Keeley staring at her with sightless eyes and bit her tongue.
“Hey.” Jack sounded tired.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I know.”
It’s still Jack, but the coolness there made her hesitate. She’d got in touch with him too early. She should have waited. Given him more time. What had she been thinking? Strange how just that subtle shift in his tone could take her back to the days when they’d first started going out.
“I’ve got some of Keeley’s things. I brought them home from the office. I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do with them.”
“Oh, right. Thank you.”
“Shall I drop them off? Are you at home?”
“Yeah, but that’s not a good idea.”
“Courier?”
She wanted him to say no. To offer to come round and pick them up. She wanted to show him how sorry she was and to do that she needed time. Who else did he have in his life that could comfort him now that Keeley was gone?
“Yes. That’s fine.”
Oh.
“Right, I’ll get one sorted.”
“Listen,” he began, then paused like he was going to say more, but caught himself.
Ella’s heart was racing. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to thank you for going easy on the reporting. I appreciate it.”
Appreciate. A funny word. So formal and polite.
"Jack, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, you know that right?"
"But, even so... thanks."
Ella had worked hard to keep the Fuse Media crews away from the story, but it still didn’t feel like she’d done enough.
"Have you a date for the funeral yet?"
"No, they haven't told me when they're releasing the body. I suppose it will be next week."
"Do you need help?"
"Her family will want to sort it out. Best leave it to them."
Ella sat down and sighed.
"How are you?" he said.
And that's when the tears started. She cursed herself for being so pathetic. This wasn't meant to be about her, this was about showing Jack that she was still his friend and could be supportive. If Keeley had shown her one thing, it was that friends stood by each other. She quickly brushed the tears away on her sleeve. "It's just a cold. I'm fine—I miss her."
"Yeah."
Damn him. Why did he have to be so stoic? But, then he surprised her by asking something unexpected. “You're an expert on the feeds aren't you? You work through the dark net, like Keeley?"
"Sometimes, it's part of the territory."
"What do you know about Frazier Growden?"
"Growden? ATL man?"
"Is that all he's known for?"
She sniffed up and pinched the end of her nose as she considered the request. The ATL groups were definitely becoming more of an issue for the police. They were routinely hijacking feeds to spread their message.
"I don't understand, Jack. What's Growden to you?"
"He's... developed an interest in me."
"If you're in trouble with him, you should go to the police. Let them take care of it. He's influential. And popular. There are a lot of people who'd do anything for him."
"Does he ever get his hands dirty?"
"You're scaring me a little. What kind of trouble are you in... wait, you're not suggesting he's involved with Keeley's death." Ella felt sick. If Growden was involved in her friend’s death where would it end?
“I’m not saying that he is. I just want to know a little more about him. I thought you might have an opinion about him. It would save me a lot of hassle searching.”
“He owns a few small businesses in Liverpool. Besides that and the ATL, there’s not that much to say, other than the rumours that he’s a cold-hearted son of a bitch. His name is synonymous with all that’s bad about our district, and I think he likes the reputation. Keep away from him, Jack. Promise me.”
“OK. I promise.”
The bell on her front door rang. “Listen, someone’s here. I’ll call later OK. Sort out this box.”
“Take care,” he said and hung up.
What the hell was that all about?
Jack had always been slightly oddball in his behaviour. It was one of the quirky things about him she loved so much. But, digging for information on Growden was not going to end well.
The doorbell rang again.
Dammit.
“Jesus, I’m coming, rest your finger,” she said, not quite loud enough for anyone else to hear, then got up to answer it. A strange-looking man was on the other side when she opened it. Instinctively, she kept the door only slightly open, enough to peer her head around, and her foot behind. All this talk of Growden had made her nervous.
“I’m sorry, now’s not a good time,” she heard herself say, her mind racing back over her conversation with Jack. She was prepared to close the door when the man placed his boot carefully in the gap between door and frame.
Her attention snapped to what was before her. Beneath her chest, her drumming heart pounded.
“Get your foot—” she began, but the man wasn’t taking no for an answer. With an indelicate push, he shoved the door wide open and stepped into the hallway, pressing her back.
“I want to talk about Keeley Winston.”
When she saw the knife in his hand, Ella screamed.
12:19 PM
The houses were recent builds. Expensive but still terraced together in a long chain down the street. One thing raced around Edward’s mind as the car pulled up to the curb.
Not another dead body.
Flagged as his case due to the mutilation, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head that this was another case connected with Jack Winston. What was wrong with the guy? Did everything lead back to him? He should never have let the man out of the police station.
A few curious onlookers gathered beyond the police tape; he made a note to have them moved on quickly. Chloe had arrived in the first car and was already talking to a lady in the doorway of the house next door. She acknowledged Edward’s approach with a nod of the head and a hand holding three fingers. She was almost done there.
He strode into the house, flashed his ID at the policeman on the door for no reason other than habit, and held his head high like he was the one with the answers. Everyone at the station knew who he was. The crazy detective in the teep department. He
wondered how much they talked about his cases now that there was another body. If things didn’t turn around soon, he would expect another call from the DRT. Where once he might have held sway over that department, based on his last call to their office, he was sure the happy times were over. This investigation was turning into a joke.
The same tightness in his chest that always accompanied him when entering a murder scene materialised and he took a deep breath and willed it away. That little trick didn’t work today, and he tried to deal with the uncomfortable sensation as he walked into the apartment’s lounge and saw the dead woman slumped on the sofa. Forensic drones were still flitting over the scene, recording everything. One came and scanned him as he stepped into the room. All of this would be needed for the investigation. It would help them build up a simulacrum matrix and allow the coroner to take the body away quickly.
“Her name’s Ella Joyner,” Chloe said. Edward had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her approach.
Dark hollows were all that remained of the dead woman’s eyes. Sockets, bloodied and torn, stared accusingly at the detective. “He removed them, rather than burning them out. I wonder why?” he asked.
His subordinate glanced at the dead woman. “I couldn’t say. Do you think it’s our guy?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He took out his datapad and accessed the forensic profiles from the scene. Whilst processing was taking place, not everything was available, but the DNA profiles had already come back. “There’s a match on DNA. The same man from Winston’s house and Honey’s apartment was here.”
“Damn,” Chloe whispered. “No ID yet?”
Edward swiped through the menus, but there was still no match against that DNA. “Whoever this guy is, he’s not in our system. What did the neighbour see?”
“She heard the screams first. She banged on the door, asking if everything was all right, but there was no answer. She went inside to call the police but then saw a man leave in a hurry.”
The Remnant Keeper (Tombs Rising Book 1) Page 17
