by Tara Lyons
He reached down and lifted the kitchen towel from the floor. ‘Long enough to see you’ve got some new moves, Mrs Hamilton.’ He laughed when she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the dinner. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I live here.’ She lowered the gas on the cooker and closed the distance between them. ‘When you tell me to stay at my mother’s house, I know something’s up.’
‘So, you lied in your text message and just ignored my request?’
Elizabeth winked. ‘Pretty much. Denis, if there’s a problem, I want to know about it. Don’t push me away.’
‘I’m not. But a few things bugged me, and I just wanted to make sure you were safe.’ He paused and frowned. ‘Actually, how are the security lights working again?’
‘I checked the internal power switch, and it had been turned off. Must have been me when I reached inside the cupboards to get the cleaning stuff out the other day.’
Hamilton flung his head back and laughed out loud. ‘I’m a bloody idiot.’
‘Old age that is, Denis, if you’re spooked by the lights not working.’
Elizabeth turned away, and Hamilton slapped her across the arse. ‘Less of the old. I’m not even forty.’
‘Only a few more months, old-timer. Listen, I’ve run a bath for myself, so I’m off for a long soak. If you eat up quick, I may even wait for you in there.’ She kissed him on the cheek, left the kitchen and climbed the stairs.
‘Now there’s an offer an old man can’t refuse,’ he shouted.
Remembering the car was still unlocked, Hamilton stepped outside the house. He swooped inside and placed his hand on the case file left on the passenger’s seat. Crunching gravel from behind forced him to turn around and come face to face with a tall, white man. He grabbed the stranger by the neck and swung him onto the car.
The man threw his hands in the air. ‘Hey, calm down! Don’t shoot, it’s me. It’s Billy.’
Hamilton relaxed his hold, but didn’t entirely release his grip. He stared into the man’s face, and his brow knit together. He then recognised Billy’s light green eyes and cropped black hair, but the man had aged in the four years since they’d seen each other last. There were whispers of grey hairs in Billy’s short, shaven beard. The deep wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes creased his white skin. But Hamilton had to admit, his friend also looked tons better than he did before.
‘You’re not going to shoot me, right?’ Billy repeated.
‘I don’t have a gun, you idiot,’ Hamilton spat back, and finally let go. ‘Why are you saying that? Have you done something so bad you deserved to be shot at?’
Billy straightened his clothes. ‘No. But you look pretty pissed.’
‘As would you, if strangers crept up behind you.’
He might as well have punched Billy in the stomach. The man’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the ground, his left foot dancing along the gravel as he tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. Hamilton sighed, recalling the insecure pose his old friend would adopt whenever he felt attacked by someone.
‘Jesus, what are you doing here, Billy? You were here the other night too, weren’t you? I chased you down the road. Have you been watching me?’
Billy’s head shot up. ‘Yes, okay … I guess I’ve been “watching you,”’ he said, his fingers making quotation signs in the air. ‘But only because I need to talk to you, Den. I wanted to make sure you still lived here and …’
‘And what, Billy? I haven’t heard from you in years, now you’re skulking around my house looking for my help. Where were you when I needed your help? When I needed my best mate.’
Billy glanced away. ‘I know … I’ve made some decisions I’m not proud of, Den. Yes, I’ve been AWOL for a while, but I can explain all that. My life is completely different now, and I want you to be a part of it again. Give me a chance to explain everything, mate.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the piercing ringtone of Hamilton’s mobile. He shook his head, pulled the phone from his inner jacket pocket, and turned away from Billy.
‘DI Hamilton,’ he answered, and listened to the instructions from the station sergeant.
The body of a young female had been found in the River Thames, next to the Embankment Pier. The sergeant continued to explain, with DI Delaney busy attending another scene, his presence was requested.
‘I’m just about to call DS Clarke, sir, and inform him of the situation. Shall I phone the rest of your team?’ the sergeant asked.
‘No, not at this time, thank you. Are SOCO at the scene already?’
‘They’re en route, sir. The area was cordoned off twenty minutes ago, by the attending officers.’
‘Thanks, I’m on my way.’
He disconnected the call and turned around. Despite his meek manner, Hamilton glanced over Billy’s large physique for the first time, surprised at how much the man had bulked out over the years. Billy’s slender frame had been replaced with hefty arms and an enormous chest. He wasn’t the man Hamilton had remembered.
‘Sounds like you’re needed,’ Billy said, his sad eyes met Hamilton’s.
‘Yeah … duty calls and all that.’
Hamilton jingled the keys in his hand, waiting for Billy to move from his resting position against the car. Plagued by the past, and unsure what to say to this stranger – his friend since the age of eleven – he thought of the boy who had needed saving from the bullies. The teenager who had helped Hamilton with his homework. The man who had been godfather to his daughter.
‘Come on, move out the way, Billy. I have to go.’
His friend nodded and stepped away from the door. ‘I know. I get what you do is important, but please say you’ll meet me for a drink, Den. I really want to have a chat with you.’
Hamilton hesitated, but knew his own curiosity would always get the better of him. ‘Fine. I’ll meet you, Billy. Tomorrow night?’
‘Yeah, lovely. What about at The Duck in the Pond? Our old haunt … though I don’t think we know anyone in there anymore. I’ll be there from eight.’
Billy beamed while they arranged their next meet-up, but Hamilton couldn’t reciprocate the man’s delight. When a person from your past crawled out of the shadows, after all those years, there was more to it than just wanting a chat, he thought. Nevertheless, he had to push those thoughts to be back of his mind; a woman had been murdered on the streets of London, and that was where his concentration needed to be right now.
Hamilton slammed the car door shut, started the ignition, and switched the siren on. Although he felt guilty not explaining his departure to Elizabeth, he knew she’d understand; it wasn’t the first time he’d had to race off to work at a moment’s notice. As he reversed from his driveway at breakneck speed, he spied Billy in the rear-view mirror watching him race away from his home.
19
The blue whirlwind of the police cars sirens lit up the Embankment like a neon party. It attracted London’s late-night revellers and tourists, who stood behind the crime scene tape with their phones primed for photographs and Facebook live streaming. Hamilton barged through the insensitive crowd. The fury bubbled so close to the surface, his skin ablaze with anger. He quickly flashed his ID badge and was permitted entrance to the crime scene.
Uniformed police, stationed at the bridge entrance of the pier, ensured Hamilton stopped to sign the log book held by a portly constable. Once over the bridge, he found the forensic team already in full motion. He slipped on the compulsory shoe covers and walked further along the boat. The victim’s body had been transported to the inside enclosure of the Pier, away from the prying eyes of passers-by, and head pathologist, Laura Joseph, was in the process of recording her findings.
‘Hello, Inspector,’ Laura said and clicked the stop button on her digital voice recorder. ‘No identification at the moment, but the body was found forty-minutes ago by one of the river cruise workers. Your partner is having a chat with him at the other end of the Pier.
The witness was walking across the bridge and saw our victim floating in the river between the Pier and the wall. We’ve not long removed her from the water.’
Hamilton peered along the pier. Formed like a glass tunnel, with stunning views of the Thames and Hungerford Bridge, it was one of the city’s most popular hubs for river boats; with hop-on, hop-off cruises and river bus services to attractions such as Tower Bridge and The O2. He located Clarke, towering above a pockmarked faced young man wearing a Crown River Cruises cap.
‘So, she was dumped in the Thames?’
Laura stood from her crouching position and mockingly rolled her eyes. ‘One day, Inspector Hamilton, you’ll let me do my job before the interrogation begins. You know anything I tell you here at the scene is unfounded until the post-mortem.’
‘I know, I know. But, Jesus, I can’t sit on my heels for days waiting for your reports. Anything you tell me here is only used to send me off in, hopefully, the right direction. I’m a hound looking for a scent,’ he said, with a sly smile. ‘Plus, I’ve got another hard-hitting investigation I’m dealing with at the moment. So, come on …’
She folded her arms across her chest, its athletic frame hidden by the white forensic suit swamping her body. ‘From my brief observations, I can’t calculate Jane Doe’s exact cause of death, due to the obvious signs of torture. A large head laceration, various puncture marks dotted over her arms, ligature wounds around her neck, wrists and ankles, plus three fingers on her right hand were severed, I think ante-mortem.’
Hamilton exhaled noisily at the pathologist’s description of the young woman’s death. ‘Could have been a clean-up tactic. If the victim fought back, she may have had his DNA under her fingernails.’
He could never fathom the evilness surging through the veins of some of the world’s population. Those same people who sat next to you in a coffee shop, or on the bus to work, the delivery drivers who knocked on your door daily, or the waiter who served your dinner in a restaurant. Occasionally, the only way to catch a murderer was to empty your mind of everything and truly climb inside the mind of a killer, he thought. But at times like this, when Hamilton heard of the depraved and vile ways criminals hurt other human beings, he found it difficult to do anything but feel repulsed.
‘How long are we talking, Laura?’
‘Recent. Possibly within the last few hours. I can’t be sure if the victim was discarded here, or further along and floated along the Pier, but I’d be willing to guess she’s only been in the water for an hour, maybe a little more.’
‘I’d say her killer would be pretty stupid to have discarded her at this location, what with all the surrounding bar and restaurant boats also moored along here,’ Hamilton pondered, scanning the length of the Pier again and examining everything around him in detail.
Laura squatted back down and grabbed the white sheet covering the woman’s body. ‘Well, let’s hope stupid is exactly what your killer is, if you want to get back to your other case.’
She yanked back the shroud from the victim’s head, and Hamilton’s shoulders slumped. ‘Looks like the two could be connected, Laura. This woman’s name is Felicity Ireland, and she is part of my other investigation.’
He gazed down at Felicity’s slick face. The water hadn’t attacked her features beyond recognition yet, nor did the purple swollenness of her left eye hinder Hamilton’s ability to identify the victim. But a grimy coating from the Thames shadowed her face. Her blonde hair, wet and matted, with dark blood mixed into the strands. The pink softness of her full lips had drained away, replaced with the grey cracks of death. Hamilton caught a glimpse of a colourful hummingbird on a piece of silk material peeking out from under the white forensic blanket.
‘Have you checked inside her mouth?’ he asked, with a sigh.
The pathologist frowned. ‘No.’
‘Could you please?’
With gloved hands, Laura carefully pulled down Felicity’s chin and revealed the tip of a foreign item inside the victim’s mouth. She motioned for a member of the SOCO team to join her, and the young man raced around the body, taking photographs. The camera clicks and flashes of light bellowed like an air raid warning in Hamilton’s ears. Laura used a similar tool to the one he’d seen in Ambleside, placed it into Felicity’s mouth, and cautiously pulled out a piece of crumpled paper.
Hamilton clenched his jaw. ‘Is the name Donna Moran written on it?’
Laura glanced up and nodded, and he quickly updated the woman on the Speed and Moran investigations. As he finished, Clarke approached and explained the teenage witness, Liam Osborne, had found the body after he’d finished his shift on the Pier. Unfortunately, Liam hadn’t heard, or seen, anything else out of the ordinary, but would give them the surveillance CDs from the river bus’s cameras.
‘Good, we’ll definitely need those, Clarke … that’s Felicity Ireland they’ve just extracted from the Thames,’ he said and balled his fists.
If Dixon was right, and these friends were the victims as opposed to the suspects, he’d let this woman suffer by not protecting her. He’d allowed his gut instinct, that they were somehow involved in the murder and disappearance of their friends, lead his decision to not warn them all of a potential threat.
‘Right, call the team in,’ Hamilton commanded. ‘I want those CDs and the surrounding CCTV footage examined as a top priority. Felicity Ireland wasn’t placed in the river long ago; there’s still a chance we can catch where this guy went. I’ve got the case file in my car, we’ll head straight over to her next of kin.’
In the large family room, where Hamilton explained the evening’s events to Dorinda Ireland, he watched the woman fall to her knees and scream until her throat dried of all saliva. He slipped a hand under her arm and helped her up onto the plump, grey corduroy sofa. He remembered the moment his world shattered, the heaviness in his chest when he tried to breathe, so he allowed Dorinda to rest her head on his shoulder.
‘Is there anyone we can call for you, Miss Ireland?’ Clarke asked from where he stood opposite them. His eyes glazed for just a moment.
Dorinda snivelled and shook her head. ‘My partner should be home soon; he went out for a few drinks with a friend after work.’
‘Is there anyone else in the house with you?’
The woman jumped up and stood in the doorway, her ear cocked in the direction of the stairs. ‘My daughter, Amelia. She’s only two. I hope I didn’t disturb her … oh god!’ She clutched her hands together and stumbled against the bookshelf. ‘What am I going to tell Amelia? Aunty City … that’s what she calls Felicity … was her best friend. She adored my sister. She always had time for my little baby, her little niece, and I … I just …’
Silent sobs broke through Dorinda’s ramblings and Hamilton, once again, guided her to the sofa. He nodded at Clarke, an unspoken suggestion to make the grieving woman a strong cup of coffee. It wasn’t exactly something he’d want at this time, but the gestures of strangers went a long way when you were at your lowest.
‘Dorinda, we’ve arranged a Family Liaison Officer for you. They will be here shortly. In the meantime, and I hate to do this right now, but did Felicity confide in you? Was there anything she was worried about? Had anyone been following her, or in contact with her lately?’
‘Erm … no,’ she said and repeatedly shook her head. ‘I mean, Warren, of course. That’s the only thing on her mind at the moment … was the only thing. That’s all we spoke about this past week … you can image. Why? Why Felicity … how could this happen? Jesus Christ, is this related to Warren’s murder. Of course, it is. I mean, it is, isn’t it?’
‘We believe there is a strong connection, yes. It’s definitely the route we’re taking the investigation at the moment.’
Hamilton followed the woman’s gaze to a photograph on the mantelpiece of Felicity’s graduation day. There, in full cap and gown, the young woman was surrounded by her five friends, Calvin the only person not in the ceremonial robes.
‘I
was so proud of her that day,’ Dorinda whispered. ‘Our mum was in a residential home by then, God bless her, but Felicity had graduated with honours and was set on her career in journalism. I’d given birth to Amelia a few weeks before … William and I were at our happiest … we all were. Isn’t it cruel, how in just one moment everything can change forever? Your whole life …’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Gone.’
Clarke reappeared and placed the cup in front of Dorinda. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, the redness around them growing as the silent tears continued to run down her cheeks.
‘This is a very difficult time, I understand that,’ Hamilton said. ‘But if there’s anything you can think of that might help us catch Felicity’s killer, we’d really appreciate it.’
Dorinda shrugged and then howled, letting her head fall into her hands. For her, it wasn’t the time for this discussion; Hamilton recognised that only too well. He also knew his time would be better spent with his team tracking down the violent bastard. So, he explained to Dorinda they had to leave.
‘As I said, the FLO will be here shortly –’
‘It’s fine, you can go,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m okay … William will be home soon. And the family person … Fine.’
Hamilton squeezed Dorinda’s shoulder as he and Clarke left the room. Outside, the pair jumped in their separate cars with the intention of heading back to the station. As he turned the key in the ignition, a man in a black suit turned onto the road and made his way along Dorinda Ireland’s driveway. Hamilton glanced in Clarke’s direction, who gave him the thumbs up before pulling away from the kerb. Certain his partner assumed the stranger was the FLO, Hamilton puffed his cheeks as the reality of the situation dawned on him. The man in the suit was not an employee of the Met Police.
20
‘An engaged couple, both brutally tortured and murdered. The fact they were both found in the water, iconic bodies of water for that matter, can’t be discounted. But why, what’s the motive?’ Hamilton questioned his team once they were all back together in the incident room. ‘We haven’t found any fingerprints, or other DNA, so our suspect list is slimmer than a string bean. To be perfectly honest, I’m pissed off.’
