by Tara Lyons
It’s time for Donna to join Becky. The two women who helped shape me, loved me like I needed to be – like I deserved to be – but who ultimately betrayed me in the end. They’ll be together in death.
Now, you understand why no one is safe.
I will find Donna, dead or alive, and God help anyone who gets in my way.
25
After a few hours rest, and a toasted cheese sandwich, Hamilton drove back to Charing Cross Station just as the sun began to rise over the iconic buildings of London. He hoped the rest of the team had managed to indulge in more sleep than he had. After restlessly tossing and turning in bed for over half an hour, he took solace on the sofa, so as not to wake his wife.
He felt the answers of this case were in his grasp, but the truth continued to evade him. After a quick phone call to Clarke, he ascertained they were still no closer to finding Claire Newcomb, as her flat remained in darkness. While Mel King had clocked off from her late shift at the hospital, his partner and Rocky were unable to locate the woman at home. As he filled his stomach with the warm delights, knowing it was probably the only chance he’d get to eat all day, he conducted a plan of action for the team.
Frustrated by the amount of elusive characters, unclear background information, and unanswered questions, he began the day with a new determination. A surge of energy soared through his body, as his internal self demanded a clear motive and suspect for these crimes.
‘Today, we focus on Claire and Jason Newcomb,’ he explained to the team, once they had all assembled in the incident room.
‘Boss, toxicology report on Jason came back this morning,’ Fraser called out. ‘It shows high levels of alcohol and cocaine present in his system. Even if the coast guard had arrived sooner and dragged him out of the water, it’s unlikely he would have survived the fall from the bridge.’
Hamilton folded his arms and frowned. ‘Felicity Ireland’s body was disposed of in an inconspicuous manner. It was planned, precise, and careful. These are not the words I’d use to describe Jason Newcomb, from what I’ve heard of him so far.’
‘The drugs and alcohol could have been used purely out of fear, boss. They may not have been substances he used on a regular basis.’
‘Well, this is the information I expect you to supply me with, Fraser,’ Hamilton bellowed, just as the office phone shrilled over him. ‘We should already bloody know if narcotics are a habit for Jason Newcomb.’
‘Gov, we’ve got some more information about the last call Jason Newcomb made to his sister, Claire,’ Clarke announced, and hung up the telephone. ‘He left a voicemail apologising for everything he’d done and urged her to remain safe.’
Hamilton thought over the message and contemplated the idea that they had been accomplices in the Speed and Ireland murders. Infatuation, love, or lust could have been triggers to end the relationship between Warren and Felicity, allowing the pair to swoop in and rescue them. Yet, he thought, the remorse and guilt shown by Jason’s suicide could point to the tragic deaths not being part of the plan; rage and passion infused at some stage in the timeline. Warning his sister to stay safe urged Hamilton on; the need to find the woman more imperative than ever before. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger along the days-old chin stubble.
‘Dixon, you’re with me,’ he said, snapping to attention. ‘While we’re out, I want the rest of you to find any and every link the Newcomb’s had with Warren Speed, Felicity Ireland, and Donna Moran.’
Hamilton marched from the office, Dixon trailing behind as she grabbed her handbag and jacket. He let his thoughts simmer, hoping his assumptions were correct, while making his way to the car parked on Agar Street outside the station.
‘Where are we going, boss?’ Dixon enquired, as he manoeuvred out into the bustling town.
‘Claire Newcomb’s home address.’
‘Again? Are we going to search the property?’
‘We might not need to, Dixon.’ He puckered his lips and waited a few minutes before speaking again. ‘We’re bound to hit some traffic this early in the morning. Why don’t you tell me a little bit more about you and your family? Sometimes, I feel like the car is the only place I can get to know new members of my team.’ Hamilton glanced over and noticed the pink flush tingeing her sun-kissed cheeks. ‘If you don’t mind. Of course, we could just listen to the radio?’
She smiled at his light-hearted tone. ‘Erm … okay. What about me? As you know, I’ve been married to Warren for ten years, and we have two children. Sabrina is nine, and Ali is seven. We live in Amersham now, which is lovely, but I’ve lived all over the UK since I was two.’
‘You were born in Morocco, right?’ he said, remembering the brief conversation Dixon had had with his wife when they first met at his home.
‘Yes, Marrakesh.’
‘Do you visit often?’
Dixon groaned. ‘My mother’s family frowned on her relationship with my father, he’s only five years older than her, but they met when she was a teenager. The city became a trendy place in the seventies, and with the tourism came western musicians, artists, fashion, and models. Huge investments were made in Marrakesh, and it began to flourish and develop. Sadly, my maternal grandparents did not, and when they discovered their only daughter was pregnant, out of wed-lock, to a British singer in a band, they were infuriated.’
‘Anyone I might know … your father, I mean?’
She smiled. ‘No, a small-time band really, but he left them when my mother fell pregnant, wanted to do right by her. They tried to live in Marrakesh, but my grandparents never accepted him. So, we moved to his home town of London, and he became a tour manager. He succeeded in living out his musical dream, in some form or another.’
‘It can be hard when families fall apart, but we shouldn’t take for granted the time we have with them. After all, you can’t choose your family, Dixon.’
‘No, but sometimes blood isn’t thicker than water,’ she said, with a shrug.
Hamilton drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he contemplated her words and briefly thought of his own father, and the abandonment he’d faced as a young teenager. Hell-bent on never succumbing to emotional outbursts where his father was concerned, he pushed away the image of the man and focused on the case. He wondered now, if they could locate Claire Newcomb, would she show loyalty to her brother? Or was there a glimmer of hope she’d be the key to unlocking some of their unanswered questions?
Outside the woman’s home, Hamilton surveyed the building and instructed Dixon to prepare for a chase, signalling to the side entrance of the semi-detached house with two fingers. She nodded in acknowledgment and stood a few feet from the door. He lingered over the two doorbells for a few moments, before pressing 1A. The echo of the buzzer rang out while he refused to budge his finger.
‘Alright, alright!’ a voice came from behind the communal front door. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Mr Nelson, you may remember me.’
‘Yes, of course I do. I told you everything I know about Claire. Why are you harassing me?’ the man grumbled.
‘It’s hardly harassment, sir. But it is extremely important we speak with Miss Newcomb. About her brother.’
Mr Nelson’s large frame blocked the view behind the doorway, his hand tightly gripping onto the door, and he lowered his head.
‘I know you’re hiding Claire,’ Hamilton said.
The man shook his head and looked up. Sighing heavily, he peered over his shoulder and shouted, ‘She’s not here, Detective.’
Hamilton gestured with his fingers again, and Dixon ran around the side of the house. He stepped forward, preparing to knock against the door to gain entry. But Mr Nelson simply stood back, holding the door open for him. The man’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, as Hamilton stormed through the unsuccessful bouncer.
He glanced up the stairs, in the direction of Claire’s apartment, but was distracted by a thump behind the open front door to his right. He ran into Mr Nelson’s apartment. Caught of
f guard, Hamilton gasped at the sound of a door slamming shut and glass smashing onto the floor. Running along the hallway to the back of the flat, Hamilton’s shoes crunched the broken shards of glass as he pulled open the backdoor. Greeted by high-pitched screams, he watched Dixon tackle Claire Newcomb off the fence and drag her onto the lawn.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, everything certainly looks like it’s under control here.’
‘It sure is, boss,’ Dixon shouted, as she straddled the suspect and pinned her down in place.
The woman was wearing the classic, white Converse he’d seen her in at Lake Windermere, though the recent wall climbing and grass wrestling had subdued their white glow. Claire’s attire was more casual; faded jeans and a black T-shirt, but her poker-straight blonde hair flew in the wind as she thrashed her head and body under the petite, but powerful, Sergeant. From first impressions, Hamilton thought Dixon had captured a wild animal, a woman who obviously had something to hide. But as he walked closer, and Claire began to calm down, he saw the look of sheer panic in her eyes.
‘You have to help me,’ she yelled, her face flattened to the leafy ground. ‘I’m in danger. My life is in danger.’
Dixon handcuffed Claire’s wrists behind her back, and as she stood from her kneeling position, dragged the captured woman up with her.
‘Miss Newcomb, you’re in a lot of trouble,’ Hamilton said, and they walked back towards the broken door. Mr Nelson stood in the kitchen, one hand over his pale forehead. A tad dramatic, Hamilton thought. ‘So are you, considering I believe Miss Newcomb’s been hiding out here the entire time.’
Mr Nelson dropped his hand and sighed. ‘How? How did you know?’
‘We haven’t been able to find your car anywhere, Miss Newcomb,’ Hamilton said and turned back to face the male neighbour. ‘After my officers visited again last night, I asked if your blue Ford was still outside. I found it strange you chose to park a decent looking car on the main street, in not the best of neighbourhoods, let’s be frank, when you have what looks like a perfectly good garage attached to your apartment. Why would anyone do that, Mr Nelson?
The man stumbled over his own words. ‘I … Erm … use it for garden equipment.’
‘So, if we were to open it now, we wouldn’t find Miss Newcomb’s Mini Cooper inside?’
‘You can’t do that without a warrant.’
Hamilton shrugged. ‘No? Well, in all fairness, I couldn’t care less right now. After Claire’s brother warned her to stay hidden, I had an inkling she was closer to home than we’d imagined. You obstructed my investigation, and you’re not off the hook for that, but we’ve got the woman we came for, and that takes priority. I’ll be back for a chat about your involvement in all this, Mr Nelson.’
‘Please, stop!’ Claire yelled, shaking the fallen strands of hair from her face. ‘It’s not Roger’s fault. He was trying to help me. He wanted me to come and talk to you.’
‘That may be so, Miss Newcomb, but we’ve been trying to locate you for some time now, and Mr Nelson hindered that. It’s a criminal offence.’
Tears fell silently down Claire’s face. ‘I know about my brother. I know about the murders, and I can explain everything. But, please, don’t punish Roger for my mistakes. I’ll tell you everything you need to know. You just have to keep me safe.’
Hamilton’s gaze flickered between Mr Nelson and Claire. Pain and apprehension were etched in the lines on their faces and in the tautness of their mouths. A secret had been shared between them and, despite the obvious reluctance to divulge it, its desire to break free was as strong as a caged bird. The need to finally sing her song of turmoil was evident in the woman’s pleading eyes.
‘You’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Newcomb.’
Refusing to wait any longer for a confession, Hamilton insisted on conducting the interview with Claire right there and then in Mr Nelson’s living room. Of course, he knew more work would be needed in the aftermath to ensure the statement met official procedures, but the eagerness running through his body made him tremble. However, the quivering blonde managed to pull back some fight, and point blank rejected Hamilton’s immediate interview. The woman would tell all, but only in the safety of a police station. With clenched fists, but perhaps also a glimpse of understanding, he led Claire Newcomb from her hideout.
Half an hour later, in an interviewing room at Charing Cross, Hamilton’s left foot danced instinctively on the tiles, and he crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits; anything to stop further impatient jittering. While Dixon prepared the recording equipment, Claire sat opposite him, wringing her hands together.
‘Firstly, you have to understand, I didn’t know what my brother was doing,’ Claire said, after she’d been invited to speak by Dixon. ‘If I did, I would have stopped him, or called the police myself.’
‘When did you find out?’ Hamilton asked, his tense body never relaxing.
‘When I called him from Lake Windermere … after I’d spoken to you by the old boat house, he already knew Warren was dead. I was overwhelmed with panic. And fear. I didn’t know what to do. I left … came home to meet Jason. He confessed everything to me, and even made me feel like my own life was in danger. You see, it wasn’t the plan for me to travel to Ambleside with Warren; he was supposed to be on his own. So, by that point, I knew too much. I had to hide. Roger found me having a full-on panic attack in the communal hallway.’
‘So, why did your brother kill Warren? And was he also involved with Felicity Ireland’s murder?’
Claire frowned. ‘Jason didn’t kill anyone. Well, not exactly. But the person he’s been seeing … that’s who’s responsible for both Warren and Felicity’s murder. That’s why he took his own life. The guilt, it got too much for him. When he realised he was being used … for his car, for the vials he could steal from work … for everything … The guilt must have eaten away at him. I never thought it was something he’d do, but … He knew he’d be arrested for all those crimes too.’
Dixon slid a box of tissues across the table, and the woman accepted a handful to wipe her tearful eyes. Hamilton sat forward; a spark ignited in his stomach.
‘Claire, who was your brother involved with?’
She looked away, a red flush radiated on her cheeks. ‘Am I safe? I need assurance that my life is safe. But also, I can’t be arrested for anything to do with this. I only found out last week, and I … I’ve been …’
‘Confused and scared,’ Hamilton said softly, and held eye contact with the shaken woman. ‘We completely understand. Tell us who was manipulating Jason, and we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe.’
Claire looked him straight in the eyes and whispered, ‘Holly … Holly Walker.’
26
Six months ago
Felicity stood on the corner of the street, the cold February wind clawing at her skin until every inch of her face became numb. Her body begged her to move on, uncertain why she was allowing the tips of her toes to freeze, despite the initial warmth from the fleece-lined Ugg boots. But she’d been compelled to come. On autopilot, she made the journey on public transport, in the opposite direction of her home, to stand outside The Winner’s Gym. She couldn’t even be sure the person she wanted to see would be in there.
After half an hour of waiting, and just as Felicity’s shaking body was about to leave, she saw her friend step out of the gym. Holly’s long, dark hair was pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head, odd strands framing her flushed face. The glimmer of sweat surfaced around her make-up free features. Despite Holly looking at home in the cropped leggings and sports footwear, Felicity couldn’t see any sign of a trimmer figure on her friend.
‘Well, well, well,’ Holly said, clocking her straight away. ‘What are you doing hanging around on street corners after six o’clock? You’ll get a name for yourself like that.’
Felicity smiled at her old friend’s instant sarcasm. ‘Freezing my tits off. If I waited any longer for you, my nipples cou
ld cut glass.’
‘Interesting image.’ Holly raised her eyebrows and glanced along the street.
‘I’m alone. I just thought …’ She sighed and rubbed her hands together. ‘Do you think we could get a cup of coffee, before I really do become an ice sculpture for the tourists to photograph?’
The nearest café, one the two friends had visited regularly before Donna’s disappearance, was situated on the next street. Felicity and Donna would often meet Holly after one of the many classes or work-out routines she took part in since joining the gym at the beginning of term. Finally, when the heat of the small, but busy, café began to warm Felicity, she slipped off her coat, but wrapped her fingers around the hot mug.
‘You’re looking well. Can’t believe you’re still going to that gym.’
Holly grunted. ‘Why, because I’m still as heavy as ever, so it’s hardly doing me any favours?’
‘No. I didn’t mean that … you’re not fat. Or heavy. I just meant …’
‘It’s fine. You know me, I am what I am. And in the words of Kenny from South Park, I’m not fat, I’m big boned.’ The two women laughed together. ‘I figure I might as well turn what I do have into muscle, or try at least. It was a kick-boxing class this evening.’
Felicity nodded, slouching in the chair slightly and bringing the cup closer to her face. ‘Well, it’s paying off. Like I said, you look great.’
Holly rolled her eyes and stared out the window at the crowd of people rushing by after a hard day’s work. Felicity watched her friend, now suddenly wishing she was at home, snuggled-up on the sofa with Warren.
‘So, come on, Flick. What’s this all about? I haven’t seen you for nearly a year, and now you’re hanging about the gym waiting for me, like old times.’
