by Tara Lyons
‘Well, Warren Speed was engaged to a journalist. They announced it about six months ago. They were very much in love and had known each other since …’ Fraser stopped rambling when Hamilton closed his eyes and began snoring. ‘I take it you don’t follow celebrity news?’
‘Really, he’s a celebrity?’
‘You don’t watch reality TV then, boss?’
‘No, I flaming well don’t. It’s a load of old crap. You seriously expect me to sit at home watching a programme about people in their homes, eating take-aways, and watching their televisions. What the hell is that about?’
‘Actually, Warren Speed won Big Brother.’
Hamilton raised his hand to stop Fraser’s speech about a group of people who had given up their human rights by choosing to live in a house in Borehamwood with complete strangers.
‘Warren Speed can wait for now; he’s in the hands of the Cumbria Constabulary. Did you find anything out about the mysterious name that came with him?’
‘That I did,’ she said and sieved through a few papers on her desk. ‘Okay … Donna Moran, who would now be twenty-three, went missing when she was twenty-one, after spending a weekend at the Lake District with her university friends. An only child, her single mother, Joan Moran, reported her missing when her pals returned to London without her. They lived in Maida Vale at the time, and that’s the current contact information for the mother on the MisPer database.’
‘Right, okay. I want a list of the friends who accompanied her on the getaway, maybe they can shed some more light on this. We’ll also need to visit her mother as a matter of urgency. This isn’t something she should hear second-hand.’
‘Of course, boss, but here’s one more little nugget …’ she hesitated, and it drove Hamilton nuts. ‘Donna Moran graduated from Brunel University in the summer before her weekend away, which would have made her Class of 2015. Guess who else graduated that year?’
Hamilton slowly shook his head. ‘Warren Speed?’
‘Yup! I think it’s safe to say we’ve found a link between the dead victim and the missing girl. I’ve also already got the list of names you want. They all made statements after Donna initially went missing.’
‘The statements were made here, not in Ambleside?’ he asked.
Fraser nodded, and Hamilton’s mind went into overdrive. He wondered if the aloof Cumbrian Inspector would hand the case over to him, or at least share it, as there was a clear and direct connection with London. Despite wanting to jump on the phone and make demands of the coffee-drinking snob, Hamilton knew he would have to go through the proper channels. He glanced at the clock, and knowing his boss, Detective Chief Inspector Allen, wouldn’t be in the building yet, he tried to control his haste.
‘Let’s be clever with this,’ he said, rubbing his index finger over his lip. ‘Before another major case load attacks us, let’s simmer with this and see what else we can establish before I talk to the Chief.’
‘Sure thing,’ she said and scooped her long locks into a messy bun. ‘How was your impromptu escape … before the arrival of a dead body, of course.’
‘It was great, thanks. Lovely to see my mum. The countryside really suits her. Hey, what about your cat?’ he asked, remembering a conversation they’d shared when he invited the team to a BBQ at his house the previous weekend.
Fraser’s pink lips turned down. ‘He still hasn’t been home. I’m actually beginning to think someone stole him.’
‘What makes you say that?’
She hesitated, and the quietness was quickly replaced with the laughter of Clarke and Rocky as they entered the office. ‘Could we talk about this another time, boss?’ Fraser said. ‘There is actually something I’d like to discuss with you anyway.’
‘Sure, whenever you want, I’m here. You know that,’ Hamilton replied and turned to greet his colleagues.
‘Alright, gov, good weekend?’ his partner, Detective Sergeant Lewis Clarke, asked.
‘In a word … interesting, that’s for sure. Fraser tells me you’ve had a pretty nasty case to deal with?’
‘Well, the show does go on, even when you’re not here.’
For nearly five years, they’d worked together in the murder investigations team, and Hamilton had become accustomed to Clarke’s sarcastic tone. A bachelor, who prided himself on his appearance, Hamilton had never seen Clarke without a clean-shaven face and a considerable amount of gel styling his black hair. He was an extrovert, and many times, Hamilton had watched his partner’s blue eyes come alive when conversing with a pretty woman – even when swarmed by a medical team, after having been stabbed in the stomach by the last offender they’d arrested. But he was a good detective, and that was all that mattered to Hamilton.
‘Where’s Dixon?’ he asked, glancing around the room.
‘She’ll be about an hour late this morning,’ Rocky informed him in his diluted Irish accent. ‘Something to do with the kids, but she didn’t really go into specifics, sir.’
Hamilton liked Rocky, professionally known as Detective Constable Robbie O’Connor, and admired the lad’s laid-back approach to life. Given the nickname Rocky because of his initials and sparring hobby, he’d left Ireland as a teenager to pursue a career in the force, and Hamilton sensed a spark from deep within the new recruit. He’d transferred to their team as a rookie almost two weeks before, and had hit the ground running. Embracing his promotion, Rocky dealt with the upheaval of moving to London from Hertfordshire and adjusted to the capital’s rent increase in one week. Coupled with finalising a divorce in his early thirties, it couldn’t be easy, Hamilton imagined, and many people might have lost their fiery sprit. But Rocky’s cheeky grin, and the sparkle in his hazel eyes, had never faltered.
Although he had only scraped the surface of Rocky’s story, he knew the lad was a hard worker – a non-negotiable trait for Hamilton. However, it was DS Yasmine Dixon he’d yet to grasp professionally, joining the team just days before his last-minute holiday to Ambleside. Creating a dedicated murder investigations team was his top priority, and the need to understand each colleague was of the utmost importance. He frowned, while drumming his fingers on the desk, then shook away the feeling of uncertainty from his mind.
‘Okay, no worries. I’ll catch up with her whenever she gets in,’ Hamilton finally replied. ‘Fraser, can you bring these two up-to-date with what we’ve been working on? I want us to get out there and interview people connected to Donna Moran as soon as possible.’
‘You’ve been back for about half an hour, and already you’re updating us, gov,’ Clarke teased.
‘Like you said, partner, the show doesn’t stop because I have a weekend off. I just make sure I’m never the last one off the starting block,’ he replied, and clapped a hand on Clarke’s back. ‘Right, make yourselves familiar with this investigation. Hopefully, the Chief has some time to see me this morning … I want to steal a case from the Cumbria Constabulary.’
5
Felicity Ireland exited the train and pulled at the pink, hummingbird patterned scarf strangling her. She took a moment to suck in the cool air, but was mindful to keep up the pace with the surrounding shoppers and students. The sunlight beamed in from the street, as she tapped her Oyster Card on the machine. The barriers automatically swung open, offering release from the darkness of the station.
Despite the groans of annoyance behind her, Felicity stopped and examined herself in the window of a closed-down shop, just feet before the exit. Although she had applied more foundation than ever before, it had done nothing to mask the ring of redness surrounding her swollen green eyes. She had pulled half of her blonde hair back with a clip, the irritation of it falling into her face beginning to grow by the day, but the waves still danced effortlessly around her shoulders. Her plain black shirt glided down her long, slender body and tucked neatly into her dark denim jeans, tan-coloured Chelsea boots matched the shade of her Michael Kors tote bag perfectly. The woman staring back from the blacked-out window looked like
Felicity Ireland, but she certainly didn’t feel herself.
She tugged at the pink material again, allowing the scarf to hang loosely around her neck, and watched her fingers mindlessly rubbing the edges between her thumb and fingers. It was a gift from Warren. They had celebrated their one-year anniversary in Mexico, a surprise, week-long trip he’d organised for her. Warren had called Felicity his hummingbird, because she was full of energy and colour … and her insane ability to hear anything he said, even if he whispered it from the next room. It had been the happiest time of her life, until Warren had proposed, and filled her with joy once again. A small smile spread across her sad face, and she hated herself for allowing a moment of happiness to slip through. Emotions from the past and present mixed inside her like lava waiting to erupt. The confusion of everything that had happened in the last few months stung, and she wondered if she’d made the right decision coming here today.
An elbow jabbed into the small of her back and yanked Felicity from the shadows of her past. She was back in Uxbridge. The ear-deafening train announcements boomed from unseen speakers, the muffled chatter of strangers passing-by, and the sound of feet smacking the ground as people ran to make the next departure popped the bubble she’d been lost in. She inhaled deeply, grabbed the wide-rimmed sunglasses from her bag, and turned to brave the light. And her friends.
As usual, the street was crowded with people, despite it being a weekday. Cars waited impatiently as students strolled along the cobbled paving with no sense of urgency. Felicity smiled again, thinking back to the days she would have ambled along those very streets, probably missing a lecture, and deciding which venue to drink at that night. The men on the stalls yelled for attention, boasting about their seasonal goods; today’s offerings were strawberries. Felicity could see the entrances to both shopping centres – Into Uxbridge on her left and The Pavillions across the road to her right. But it was the coffee shop a few yards away from the station she was interested in. She spotted her friends straight away, sitting outside around a rickety, metal table. She frowned when counting four chairs were occupied, rather than the three she’d been expecting.
During their three years at university, Todd, Calvin, and Holly were Felicity and Warren’s closest friends. Within days of meeting each other during fresher’s week, they had formed an unbreakable bond which had lasted through every high and low of their degrees; failing grades, or failing relationships, new opportunities and new jobs, they supported each other.
Felicity swallowed back the tears and lifted her head high as she walked towards them. Butterflies danced in her stomach as she approached what felt like four strangers.
Holly was the first out of her seat, repeating the word “sorry,” while wrapping her arms tightly around Felicity’s neck. Her cropped, red hair came as a shock, and Felicity couldn’t decide if the sharp style suited her friend’s round face and curvaceous frame. But it wasn’t the time to make comments like that.
‘I’m so glad you contacted us,’ Holly mumbled into her ear. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’
Calvin stood and hovered awkwardly. Felicity gently rubbed his arm, giving him permission to sit back down. He’d never been comfortable with public displays of affection. Todd merely sat, playing with the empty sugar packet next to his coffee cup, and Felicity waited for eye contact When he eventually raised his sea blue eyes, she lightly grinned, and he mirrored her expression. The real stranger at the table coughed, jolting Felicity from her trance, and forcing her to look at the woman.
‘Sorry, this is Mel,’ Todd said, his cockney accent always carried a smoothness with it. It wasn’t harsh and abrupt; it was warm and hypnotic. ‘We’re kinda … seeing each other. A few months now. But she was dying to meet you all. Shit! Sorry, I shouldn’t have said dy–’
‘It’s fine,’ Felicity interrupted sharply and held out her hand to Mel. ‘It’s lovely to meet a new friend of Todd’s. I’m glad you could join us.’
Her statement couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Her stomach clenched as she took her seat, glancing at the beautiful blonde across the table. Everything was perfect. From the woman’s sun-kissed skin and pearly white teeth, to her muscular arms and perky breasts – which Felicity was sure wouldn’t drop an inch even after the padded bra was removed. The woman reminded her of Jennifer Aniston. However, that wasn’t the reason she was unwelcome, and any other day she would have been more interested in this yoga-toned goddess. Today’s out-of-the-blue meeting was about confronting her friends. She needed to see their reactions. She needed to know their thoughts.
Despite not being the first time they’d met since graduating two years ago, Felicity’s stomach somersaulted, as if she were dauntingly making new friends in the school playground. On occasion, they had gravitated back together and sat at the very same table, but it’d been all fake smiles and small talk. Warren could never understand why she bothered, and he was always too busy to attend, but the others all had their reasons: guilt, boredom, curiosity. For Felicity, she missed the bond they’d shared at one point in their lives. The hysterical laughter, collective hopes and dreams, and a genuine passion for life. She wondered, if they continued to meet, could they someday bury their secrets, and return to how they’d been before?
‘How are you holding up?’ Holly finally broke the silence. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw your WhatsApp pop up on the group message.’
‘I couldn’t just sit around, doing nothing and waiting for answers. It’s not what Warren would have wanted. It’s not the type of person I am.’
‘He would have wanted you to be safe.’
Felicity frowned and glanced around the table at her friends, skimming over new-girl Mel, whose incessant chewing on a chocolate twist made her want to scream. She remained silent for a few moments and thought, could they all be thinking exactly the same thing as she was?
‘I’m not stupid …’ she replied. ‘Warren was murdered on the anniversary of Donna’s disappearance. At the same spot, we –’
‘Shut up!’ Calvin roared, attracting the attention from customers at a few other tables. ‘For fuck’s sake, we don’t know her,’ he said, pointing at Mel.
Felicity watched his brow furrow deeper into his dark skin. He lowered his finger and roughly rubbed his hand back and forth over his neat cornrows. Calvin wasn’t much of a talker, though it was hard to be when Warren had usually held everyone’s attention. But Calvin could be quick-witted, and Felicity always enjoyed his dry sense of humour. It was rare to see him worked up, like now; his large chest rose and fell at a rate of knots, and a twitch in his jaw became evident.
‘Chill out, mate,’ Todd replied and placed his hand on Mel’s crossed thighs. ‘She’s cool. I’ve told her everything. You don’t need to be secretive around her.’
‘Well, she shouldn’t know everything,’ Calvin retorted through gritted teeth.
As much as Felicity didn’t welcome the company of the newcomer, she had to support Todd. It was actually comforting to see him in a relationship after years of living the bachelor life. She didn’t want Mel scared off, which could, in turn, take their friend away from them too.
‘Come on, Calvin,’ she said light-heartedly. ‘Anyone can do a Google search and find a wealth of information about whomever they choose to these days. If Todd trusts her, then we should.’
The tension in Calvin’s shoulders eased as he relaxed back into the plastic chair, but she couldn’t help noticing the juddering of his right leg under the table. She exchanged glances with Mel, and the woman smiled sweetly. It made her feel good about herself for a few seconds, until Holly dragged her back to the dark reality of their meeting.
‘Flick, do you want to talk about Warren? It’s as clear as mud in the news article,’ her friend said, shaking the long side of her fringe from her eyes – an annoying trait she’d always had, Felicity thought.
The use of her nickname pulled at her heart and flooded her mind with memories of better times. The six of them, th
ick as thieves, patrolling the grounds of Brunel University like they owned every building and had private shares in the student union. Their nights out at the campus bar or nightclub, dancing the night away, and stopping for chicken and chips before heading back to their halls of residence. Her five friends were the only ones who’d ever called her Flick, and she had always wondered why no-one at primary school, or college, or even at home had. It seemed so natural. She couldn’t remember which member of their group had started the nickname, but it stuck. Warren, however, stopped using it two years ago, when all their lives had changed. He wanted to get away from the past more than anyone, and that meant only ever calling her “Felicity.”
‘Warren had been a bit … strange lately,’ she confessed.
‘Stranger than normal?’ Todd mocked.
Felicity tutted and told him to keep quiet. ‘Anyway … I think he was hiding something from me. A letter came in the post, and he put his defences up, not long after we announced our engagement.’
‘Do you know who it was from?’ Holly asked.
She hesitated for a few moments, debating whether or not to tell her friends the truth. As much as Warren loved to be in the limelight, for the cameras to be following his every move, she knew there were some things she shouldn’t be sharing right now.
‘No,’ she finally answered.
‘Maybe his personal assistant would know more?’
Felicity’s head snapped up, her eyes glaring wide at Holly. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Erm … didn’t she arrange everything like that for him? She was with him every day.’
‘So was I! I’m his fiancée. I mean … was …’
Holly reached over the table and took Felicity’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just meant … I’m sure he made her sort all his letters and documents and … I’m sorry.’
Felicity shook her head, dismissing Holly’s apology, and wiped the tears away, feeling idiotic as she did. Perhaps it was too soon to be faced with people and their opinions.
