Problems with Girls (DI Sloane Book 2)

by Kelly Creighton

  ‘We can’t have him in the interview room,’ said Hewitt. ‘There are wires and coffees. It’s purely health and safety, man.’

  ‘It will have to be tomorrow, then,’ said Craig.

  ‘Maybe we can talk now,’ I said, trying to be a bit more accommodating than Fleur. ‘We just want to find out a little bit more about Molly.’

  ‘We’ve had the police out already. They’ve already done all this.’

  ‘Glasgow man,’ said Hewitt.

  ‘Aye,’ he said.

  ‘Best place in the world.’

  ‘Really?’ he asked. ‘Funny how we both ended up here, then.’

  ‘What brought you here?’ she asked him.

  ‘I’m a PhD candidate, out of Jordanstown, University of Ulster. It’s a funded research place.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not bad,’ said Hewitt. ‘Do you work as well?’

  ‘That is work, and the child. But yes, additionally – some evenings I work as a pizza delivery driver.’

  ‘What about Molly? What did she do for work?’

  ‘She worked from home, she was a market researcher. That way we used no childcare and revolved our work around home, around the wee guy.’

  ‘Can you tell me about the morning leading up to the incident?’ I asked Craig.

  ‘Alright,’ he said, either on autopilot from telling it so many times or he was emotionally disconnected. ‘That morning she was out, so I was the childcare. I was at home, trying to study a little as Gregor played in the garden and I watched.’

  ‘Gregor?’ said Hewitt. ‘Cute name. Does he ever get Greg for short?’

  You’ll bookmark that, Fleur, I thought, and bring it up to me later.

  ‘No,’ Craig said. ‘The full moniker only. We called him after my dad, who died suddenly when Molly was expecting.’

  ‘This is Molly?’ I asked Craig. From the photos on the mantel I garnered that Molly had been bigger.

  ‘Yeah. She’d recently got into fitness for her health,’ he said, instinctively knowing what I was thinking, where was the double chin and the rounder face? ‘To begin it was to get her out of the house. Working from home it’s hard to motivate yourself, too. I had this idea she should get herself a personal trainer. I was happy she was exercising and feeling better, I never asked who the trainer was. I thought she’d stopped seeing one, she was gaining again.’

  Asshole, I thought. Bereaved asshole, but still …

  Chapter 38

  I watched the video again of the attempted robbery in Mayhew’s Pharmacy. How had I not seen that it was Brooks? He had the height, the gait. But my brother was soft, he would never have harmed Jennifer Crothers, the assistant, and she knew it. Jennifer had been able to take the machete from him so easily. He had let go as soon as she reached for it.

  Maybe prison was the best place for him, to get clean. If only prison was clean, but I knew better.

  I phoned the hospital for news on Justin when the doctor told me he had ‘taken a turn for the worse’.

  And when Hewitt and I got to the Ulster Hospital the doctor elaborated that he had been left almost brain dead.

  We stood in the room with Justin and looked at his face as he lay in bed. So young it was sad to see; such a waste of a young life. I couldn’t see past that. Then I snapped back to reality when Hewitt whispered, ‘We should flick a switch and put him out of his misery.’

  I remembered then everything he had put Lizzie and his victim in Liverpool through, these serial killer tendencies, and I felt a rage surge inside me. And justice. He got what he deserved.

  *

  Half an hour later we were outside his bungalow. Lizzie was at home. She was watching TV and muted it when we came in. Love Island, or one of those dating shows, was on. People in their twenties sat about wearing very little and making everything overdramatic.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, still looking at the TV.

  ‘We’ve just had a call from the hospital,’ said Hewitt.

  ‘And I’m glad to see you aren’t there and are here, resting,’ I added.

  Lizzie snapped a glance at me. ‘I’ll go and see him later.’

  She didn’t mention the slip up made by the media, calling Molly and Justin a couple. I didn’t want to ask about it either, in case I upset Lizzie.

  ‘That might be an idea, but it’s up to you. The doctor told us that the prognosis isn’t good.’

  ‘I expected that,’ she said.

  ‘He said that Justin has extremely limited brain activity.’

  ‘That’s nothing new,’ Lizzie said, standing up to get her phone. She rested her other hand on a book that sat on the sideboard.

  ‘We know he was hurting you, Lizzie, and you have a lot to process.’

  ‘I keep getting texts,’ Lizzie said, ‘colleagues of mine from the residential sending their condolences.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘Get a good network around you now, this is when you need it.’

  ‘Chloe would have been right here with me. My rock. I don’t have a big circle of friends like when I was younger.’

  ‘That’s the way it goes, hen,’ said Hewitt, ‘but you have family, don’t you? Some close friends? It would be nice to not be alone at this time, for you. I would feel better about it.’

  Lizzie didn’t reply, she looked at the muted TV screen.

  ‘I saw that you left Chloe’s funeral with Drew Taylor,’ I said.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘He just gave me a lift, I already said. He didn’t say anything, you know, that strong silent type.’

  ‘I thought he said stuff about Justin?’

  ‘That’s all he said, something rude about Justin. I hardly want to dwell on that right now when my man might die.’

  ‘I was just surprised,’ I said, ‘one minute you said you were scared of him, Lizzie, wouldn’t like to be alone with him, next you’re hopping into his car.’

  ‘Not minutes apart.’ She frowned at me. ‘And I needed out of there, Jackie was upsetting me.’

  ‘It was upsetting, but his daughter was being buried,’ I said.

  ‘Cremated!’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  In the past, she had accused Jackie of not caring enough.

  ‘Why are you speaking to me like this, Harriet? Hopping into his car! Plus, I didn’t have my bike and Drew was half-crippled.’

  I stared at her. Was I being too pushy?

  ‘But I know what you’re getting at,’ Lizzie said. ‘He can’t be trusted and I was desperate.’

  ‘Alright,’ said Hewitt.

  ‘You don’t think it was Drew Taylor,’ said Lizzie, breaking the awkward silence.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Hewitt asked.

  ‘He’d be lifted and charged by now if you did.’

  ‘Lizzie, who do you think has done this to Justin and Molly Heaney, and young Ince Ross?’ I asked.

  ‘I thought it was Drew too, but now I think it seems random. Just three people travelling on the same road.’

  But they weren’t travelling, I thought, Molly Heaney’s car was stationary by the side of the road, by a patch of overgrown land. But Lizzie wasn’t to know these details.

  ‘I don’t know what kind of world we’re living in where people think it is okay to just take another person’s life,’ she said. ‘To take that choice, that right away from them.’

  ‘I can see why you and Chloe would have been such good friends,’ I told her. ‘You have the same values.’

  Lizzie smiled sadly.

  ‘How did you meet again?’ I meant, tell us again; but it occurred to me that I had not already asked her.

  ‘In a centre,’ Lizzie replied.

  ‘What kind of centre?’ asked Hewitt pointedly.

  ‘I met her in outpatients at the hospital.’

  ‘Did you work there?’ I asked.

  ‘I was an outpatient.’

  ‘When was this?’ asked Hewitt.

  ‘June 2016.’

  ‘What was happe
ning with you? I suppose Justin was one thing,’ I said. I knew that victims of domestic violence often went on to suffer with mental health issues.

  Lizzie nodded. ‘I was having problems with anxiety, like women from here have … from The Troubles. Men and their depression; women and their anxiety. That’s why I liked Justin, in the beginning. He seemed lighter than our men. I was attracted to that. He wasn’t from here. And I’d been through more than most: I’d lost my kids, and then life with Justin got hard, because I read him wrong. I read people wrong all the time.’

  I remembered Lizzie saying she taught psychology. But hadn’t she also said she hated the job?

  ‘Don’t put yourself down, hen,’ said Hewitt.

  ‘Men,’ said Lizzie. ‘They’re all as bad, really, they don’t need an excuse. They always find one.’

  ‘And Chloe?’ I asked her.

  ‘When I met Chloe she was really depressed, and anxious, because someone had been sending her messages online. It got to her. Besides, her mum has mental health problems.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Glynis has bipolar disorder,’ I told Hewitt.

  ‘Who said?’ asked Lizzie.

  ‘Chloe’s mother herself.’

  ‘You spoke to her?’ Lizzie looked irritated. I’d seen her possessiveness toward Chloe.

  ‘Yes, of course I did,’ I said.

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘I believe that kind of thing is hereditary and we have no control over it. I come from a similar background that way, so we gelled. Did you ever talk to Dr. Walsh like I recommended?’

  ‘I can’t really say.’

  ‘No, it’s okay, you can tell me. You know, it was through him Chloe and I met.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Didn’t you mention me to him?’ she asked.

  ‘Lizzie,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry, but again I can’t talk to you about the specifics of any case.’

  ‘Harriet! I even showed you the photo,’ she said it exactly how my twin sister speaks to me.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ I said.

  ‘So …’

  ‘Nothing was going on,’ I told Lizzie. ‘It was innocent and like I said, I can’t talk anymore about it.’

  ‘Didn’t you look at the comments on Facebook?’

  I looked at her, that self-satisfied face I’d seen a few times, no concern or further mention of Justin, her ‘babe’. ‘Go on, tell me what I missed,’ I said.

  ‘I commented on it, ‘‘What a great looking pair you two make’’. So that’s why I wondered if Martin mentioned me.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t mention you at all,’ said Hewitt, detecting a tone too.

  ‘Okay,’ I interjected. ‘Do you feel okay about Justin? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now.’

  ‘Nor you. Nor anyone,’ Lizzie replied earnestly. ‘There is someone – some paramilitary – running around shooting at men, women and children. None of us are safe.’

  ‘We’ll keep a patrol car in the area so you feel safer, okay.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s not necessary. And I’m sorry. I’m just not myself today. I’ve been really rude to you.’

  ‘You don’t need to apologise,’ said Hewitt, ‘you’ve been through a lot in the last week and a half.’

  ‘And the rest,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘I have been meaning to ask you,’ I said. ‘Did you hear from Chloe when she went away for a few months?’

  ‘Her gap half-year?’

  ‘Yes, August ’16 – March ’17.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know where she went?’

  ‘I’ve been sworn to secrecy, sorry.’

  ‘We know she went to Pakistan,’ said Hewitt.

  ‘Oh right. There you have it.’

  ‘Did you not think that her family deserved to know the truth and that Chloe may be in danger out there?’

  ‘I wasn’t in touch with her then,’ said Lizzie, ‘she came back and we bumped into each other one day in the street and I thought she’d been in hospital. I’d ask Martin and he would say nothing, say he couldn’t. He was annoying like that. He’s a bit like you lot, in that respect. I mean, can’t always tell you things. I’m not calling you annoying.’

  ‘Oh, we can certainly be annoying, can’t we, DI Sloane?’ said Hewitt.

  ‘Chloe told me where she’d been,’ said Lizzie, ignoring Hewitt. ‘We went for a drink and she told me everything. She was a wreck, that’s why I took her under my wing.’

  ‘What an interesting experience she must have had.’

  ‘You should go and read about it.’ Lizzie laughed.

  ‘Where might I do that?’

  ‘On her blog.’

  ‘It’s online?’

  ‘That’s generally where blogs are.’

  ‘What is it called?’

  ‘A Modest Traveller.’

  ‘Thanks, Lizzie. You’ve been very instructive, as usual.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ She smiled. ‘Sorry again, for being rude earlier, Harriet.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ I said with a smile.

  Chapter 39

  Late in the afternoon there was a missed call from Father. I ignored it. See how he liked it.

  ‘Shit,’ said Hewitt, ‘Did I tell you, she would have a diary, or what! And here it is, the most public kind of diary you could have. It’s fascinating, Harriet, you should really have a wee read.’

  I looked over her shoulder. There was a post all about her experiences that day finding a girl who was in danger of FGM and taking her to a safe location. Below it the comments section was full, people telling her she was amazing, a shero doing a great job. A whole online community of admirers.

  ‘The trolls didn’t find her there,’ I said happily.

  *

  Later that afternoon, Craig Heaney asked us to call out with him.

  ‘I found this, just now,’ said Craig Heaney, he was feeding Gregor spaghetti hoops at the table. ‘I was going through Molly’s things and at the bottom of her drawer there was this: a basic pay-as-you-go phone.’

  ‘Who does it belong to?’

  ‘Molly. You can look at it. It’s proof.’

  ‘Of what?’ I asked.

  ‘That I didn’t know she was having an affair, until now,’ he said.

  ‘How is it proof?’

  ‘Because, earlier, and yesterday, everyone seemed to know, to insinuate that they were sleeping together.’

  ‘I never insinuated that,’ said Hewitt.

  ‘No, you did. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you did.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘So did the officer who called yesterday,’ said Craig. ‘The media got that Molly and Justin were a couple from you.’

  ‘I assure you they didn’t,’ I said.

  ‘But now you know differently?’ asked Hewitt.

  ‘Molly has had this whole hidden life. Email account, private messages, calls, all so she could talk to him.’

  Craig showed a photo, a selfie of them. Molly and Justin, him behind with his arms around her. ‘The rest are … pornographic.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘I didn’t buy that this was a random act, the local police kept saying revenge. But I didn’t swallow that, you know … revenge for what? Who is this cunt my wife let herself get mixed up with?’

  ‘I’d like to take the phone, please.’

  ‘You’re welcome to it. I certainly don’t want to be able to see it.’

  *

  That evening we looked through the phone. Chief Dunne said, ‘Still on the Chloe Taylor case?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Hewitt said, ‘one of our possible suspects is critically ill. They’re going to pull the plug very soon.’

  ‘But what you’re investigating is not in our district,’ Dunne said. He stood with his hands behind his back, bent his knees as if to ease pain. ‘Pass the parcel back to Dundonald and get back to what you are supposed to be doing.’

  ‘Yes, Chief,’ I said.

  F
leur Hewitt waited until he left and she opened the phone again.

  ‘He’s … a lovely fucken guy, isn’t he?’ she said and apart from her colourful language I would have thought she meant it. Regardless, I felt the need to give a careful reply.

  ‘He’s alright,’ I said. ‘You get on with him well, I see.’

  ‘Do I?’ She laughed.

  ‘He likes you.’

  ‘He’s in a tough position,’ she said, ‘with me and him.’ She shrugged.

  ‘What?’ I asked. This was it, I thought, she’ll confide that they’re fucking.

  ‘He can’t show favouritism, or look like he’s singling me out by being harder on me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s my uncle, isn’t he? My mum is Jocelyn’s sister. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No, I did not,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sure when I first got the post, they were all calling it nepotism.’

  ‘No one told me.’

  ‘Maybe you should get friendlier to your colleagues, hen. You get all the goss that way.’

  Now it made sense. They looked alike, her and Jocelyn. I’d picked up on it the moment I saw Hewitt. Then came the relief that they could not be fucking, that here was an attractive woman, mid-thirties. What Greg Dunne had always gone for, according to my ex-partner Diane Linskey. And yet he hadn’t. Or couldn’t. In this case.

  I expected that Greg would move on to the next one, but maybe he hadn’t, maybe he was alone. Or as alone as you can be when you are in a long-lived marriage.

  Why had the Dunnes sold the villa in Portugal? Did it mean they were splitting up? It bugged me that I still cared. But I had two reminders of Greg in the nursery across the road. It was impossible to forget what I’d had with Greg completely.

  Scrolling through the phone we saw that Molly Heaney and Justin were seeing each other since January. We saw their texts, the photos, the erotic ones, the sweet ones. This was one complicated affair.

  Lonely, attention-starved woman, suddenly feeling good about herself, takes up with good-looking sexually-incontinent personal trainer, I thought.

  Seems it began when they were out running. And there was this empty house, a bungalow, and they would go around the back and have sex. From the photos you could see it was covered with weeds. It became a thing. Cheaper than a hotel. Free.