by Jay Gill
I went to Faith’s bedroom to say goodnight and, finding the room empty, I made my way to Alice’s bedroom. Faith was snuggled up next to her. She usually climbed into bed with her big sister when she had something on her mind that was worrying her. I needed to talk to her in the morning to find out what was going on.
I knelt down beside the bed and gave my two girls a kiss good night. “Good night, Faith, my little birthday girl. Good night, Astonishing Alice.”
I sat and watched them sleep. They looked so peaceful and angelic.
“Is that you, Daddy?” asked Alice sleepily.
“Yes, it is, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s okay. I wanted to see you.” She looked at her sister. “Faith wanted to get into my bed. She said she was scared you wouldn’t come back. She said she had a bad dream and that a bad person wouldn’t let you go.”
I felt choked inside. “I’m sorry I’m doing this. I know I told you I wouldn’t do any more investigations. I really wanted that sort of work to be over.”
“It’s okay. We both know that you’ve got to do it. Nana told us that what you were doing is important and that only you can do it. Monica said you wouldn’t do it unless you really had to. She told us you don’t want to do it, but you have no choice. She also said it will be over soon and we shouldn’t worry. I’m worried you might get hurt again. I don’t want you or Emma to go to hospital.”
“Things are different now. I won’t get hurt. I’ll make sure Emma doesn’t get hurt.” I tucked Alice’s hair behind her ear.
“Can Emma come here again soon? She looked nice.”
“We’ll see.”
“That means no,” said Alice.
“It means we’ll see.”
I straightened Alice’s blankets and put Faith’s teddy bear sitting up next to her.
I said, “I need to work with Emma to make sure this person we’re investigating stops doing the bad things they’re doing. You’re such a clever, brave little girl. You are both brave. We’re so proud of you. You’ve both been through so much. I love you.”
I leaned over and gave Alice another kiss and a hug.
“Do you have enough room? Would you like me to take Faith back to her bed?”
Alice wriggled and smiled. “No, she’s okay. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but I like having her here with me.”
I said, “You’d better get some more sleep. It’s really late.”
I left the girls to sleep and closed Alice’s bedroom door, leaving just the slightest gap, the way she likes it. I went back to my bedroom and found Monica climbing back into bed.
“Were you spying on me?” I leaned over and gave her a kiss.
“Not so much spying as checking out who the dishy stranger was in my house.” She pulled me down onto the bed, rolled me over and climbed on top of me. She gave me a long, deep kiss.
“I’m not sure who that was, but this dishy stranger is still fully dressed and in need of a shower.”
Monica started unbuttoning my shirt. “You’d better go and take a shower, then. If you’re quick, perhaps we can do a little catching up.” For fun, she flicked her hair and slipped a strap of her nightdress off her shoulder. “But you’d better be quick.”
I rolled off the bed and ran for the door. “I can shower and be back here in under a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”
I could hear her laughing as I grabbed a towel from the airing cupboard and ran for the shower.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emma threw her car keys down onto the coffee table. They landed with a loud clatter, a sharp reminder she was returning home to an empty house.
There was an unsettling stillness about the house. Everywhere she looked were memories of Dave. Although he was gone, his presence lingered.
She flicked through her music collection and put on some ABBA. “Mama Mia” never failed to put a smile on her face. With a wiggle and clapping hands, she went to the cupboard, took out a bottle of red wine, poured herself a large glass and took a small sip. She considered phoning her mother or a girlfriend but decided against it. She cranked up the music then took her glass of wine upstairs and ran a hot bath.
Later that evening, she sat surrounded by case files. On the coffee table in front of her was a near-empty bottle of red wine and the remnants of an M&S microwave-ready meal.
The doorbell rang.
She looked at the time on the wall clock, but the hands wouldn’t stay still. She frowned at the bottle of red wine. Damn it. Red wine always went straight to her head when she was tired. She made a mental note to stop drinking alone.
She squinted at the clock again. It read 11.45 p.m. She shoved herself to her feet and went into the front hall. Leaning against the door, she peered through the spyhole. It was Dave.
Her heart skipped with excitement. Had he changed his mind? Did he want her back?
In an instant she remembered all he’d said and the pain he’d caused. What the hell did he want at this time?
She partially opened the door, which was still on the chain. Through the gap she said, “Hello? Yep?” Damn it, she sounded drunk.
Dave looked uneasy and was shifting from one foot to the other.
“Hi, Emma. I’m so sorry to come around so late, but I really had nowhere else to go.”
She spoke slowly and tried not to slur her words. “What do you mean you had nowhere else to go? You can’t just waltz back into my house and my life after what you said.”
“I know what I said, and I’m sorry, Em. I’ve made a mistake, been an idiot. I know that now.”
“It was you who left. Your choice to go.”
“I was wrong. I can’t stop thinking about you, and about us. I just need somewhere to crash for the night. Perhaps we can talk? Come on, Em. Please – just for one night.”
Emma shut the door and hesitated, wondering what to do. Keeping the door on the chain, she opened it again and said, “Just for one night? On the sofa?”
“Yes, I promise, it’s just the one night. If you still want me to leave in the morning, I’ll go. I can sleep on the floor or on the sofa. I just need somewhere. I’m really sorry to be doing this to you.”
She sighed deeply.
Don’t let him in. You’ll regret it.
“Stay there. Give me a few minutes to think.” She closed the door again. Her eyes scanned the room – what a mess. She ran about tidying, dropping the remnants of her meal-for-one in the bin, putting away the case files and the remaining red wine. Cushions plumped and kitchen worktop wiped. She took one last look.
Satisfied, she ran upstairs to her bedroom.
Quick, quick, quick… Roll-on deodorant, change of top, brush teeth, brush hair, a light lipstick. Mascara? No, too much. One last mirror check. Not great, but good enough.
Only slightly out of breath, she opened the front door once more.
“Come in. One night only. You can sleep on the sofa. I want you gone by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“It’s really good of you, Em. I know I’ve been a total idiot. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d told me where to go.”
He looks good, Emma thought. His brown eyes are concerned. He’s had his hair cut. He smells nice. New shirt?
Don’t be stupid. Make coffee, find a blanket for the sofa. Don’t get sucked in, not tonight.
Dave went on. “I realise now, Em, I made a terrible mistake. I’m not expecting anything from you. I just want to say how sorry I am.”
“You hurt me. I’m not going to lie. What you did was unforgivable.”
The pair of them stood in silence for a moment.
Emma said, “Put your bag down. I was about to make coffee. Want one?”
“I can make it,” said Dave.
She said, a little too quickly, “No. No, I’ll do it.”
Dave looked away sheepishly.
Emma opened the fridge. “The milk is old. Is black coffee okay?”
“Yes, perfect. Thank you.”
She fil
led the kettle in silence and put coffee in two mugs. In her mind, she’d underlined with a big fat marker pen that Dave couldn’t just walk back into her life, that they could not just pick up where they’d left off.
Was she dealing with this correctly? She’d been only months away from marrying this man, hoping to have babies together. She’d really wanted Dave’s babies. They’d been just months away from spending the rest of the lives together, and now he felt like a stranger. She knew she should feel angrier, but, secretly, relief was all she felt.
They sat down together, an awkward silence between them. Two hot coffees steamed on the glass coffee table.
The obvious question was “How have you been?” But neither of them wanted to ask it.
“You still have my bottle of whisky under the stairs?” asked Dave.
Emma went to the cupboard under the stairs, opened the door and pulled out a bottle of single malt. “This one?” She set the bottle down on the coffee table and fetched them each a Royal Doulton cut-crystal whisky glass.
“You got me this bottle for my birthday,” said Dave.
“Christmas. I got it for you for Christmas. The glasses too.” She watched as Dave poured them both a double.
He raised his glass “To you, Emma Cotton. The world’s hottest cop. By day she’ll arrest you with her badge and powers of deduction. By night she’ll seduce you with soft curves and Victoria’s Secret.”
He hadn’t used that line in a while. In the early days, when they couldn’t get enough of each other, they’d rented a beautiful stone cottage in the country. Somewhere, she didn’t remember where. At the time it didn’t matter; it could have been on the moon, as long as they were alone together. They never saw any of the countryside; instead, they’d spent the weekend fooling around, drinking, getting Chinese food and pizza delivered and fooling around some more.
Emma couldn’t help but smile now and let out a little laugh. She raised her glass and said, “Cheers. But you can’t get back in my good books that easily. So don’t even try.”
Dave drank down his whisky and Emma matched him. He poured them both another.
It felt good to laugh. To hear Dave’s laugh.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emma woke to the sound of movement in the kitchen. She looked at the clock. It was 2:30 p.m.
Her head pounded. Her mind raced back to the previous evening. “Dave,” she said to herself. “You didn’t.” Her eyes widened. “Damn. You did.”
Emma climbed out of bed and looked around for her underwear. Unable to find her clothes, she put on her dressing gown.
Feeling more than a little hungover, she opened the bedroom door. Dave was flicking through her collection of vinyl records. “Good morning. Afternoon, I mean. Why’d you let me sleep so late? My mouth… Urgh… I need water.”
Dave looked up, surprise and happiness on his face. “You made me jump.”
He stopped what he was doing and sidled over. He put his arms around her and gave her a few quick kisses, then slipped his hands inside her dressing gown and held her.
“Why don’t you go and take a relaxing shower?” he said. “I’ll make us both a late lunch and a gallon of tea.”
“Dave, about last night…”
“It was amazing. You’re amazing.”
Emma pushed away his wandering hands. “David, it was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“What do you mean, it shouldn’t have happened?” He looked hurt.
“I had too much to drink. We both did. I wasn’t thinking straight. If there is going to be an us, then we need to take it slow. Okay? Slow. Everything changed when you left.”
“You are joking, aren’t you? Last night was like the old days. You and me, Em. Why overcomplicate everything? Let’s just pick up where we left off.”
Emma closed her dressing gown and tightened the belt. “Really? You think it’s that easy? You think you can walk out on me and just as easily walk back in?”
Dave put his hands out to hold her. “It only needs to be as difficult as we choose to make it.”
She took a step back.
“I think it’s best if you just leave, David. Maybe we can talk later? I just don’t know right now. I have a lot on my plate, and I feel like shit. My bloody head. Look, I’ll send you a text tomorrow. We can get a bite to eat and talk.”
Emma was looking Dave straight in the eye. Something didn’t feel right. He looked uneasy.
She tried to look around him and over his shoulder. He playfully tried to stop her. She pushed past, brushing him off as she moved. She walked through the lounge, looking around and looking at Dave. She peered into the hallway, went into the kitchen, turned around and came back out again.
His body language made it plain to her he was up to something. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was. At the same time, she had to know. Emma looked left and right, then at Dave. His eyes flicked towards the front door.
Emma opened the frosted-glass interior door. Her heart sank. His bag and a box full of his things were sitting in the porch.
“I can explain,” he said. “I just needed to get a few things. You said yourself I could only stay one night. I wasn’t planning on just walking out. It looks more than it is.”
“Leave. Just get your stuff and go.”
“Look, Em, it isn’t what you think. You’re overreacting.”
“Just get the fuck out. I never want to see your lying face again. Go back to whoever it is you’re screwing. I really couldn’t care less. The poor bitch can have you.”
“Fine. Screw you. Oh, I did. Last night. And you know what, Emma? You really are a piece of work. You really are one uptight, boring bitch. And that’s the truth. Ever heard of fun?”
“Really? So that’s what you really think of me. The truth is out.”
“You want to know another truth? It’s Rebecca. Yes, I’ve been screwing Rebecca Wild behind your back for months. She might be a mistake – I don’t know yet – but at least she knows how to have a good time, in and out of the sack. You wouldn’t know how to have a good time if it hit you in the face and screamed ‘Good time!’”
In the background, Emma’s phone started ringing.
“Just wait there one second, Dave,” she hissed.
“Got to get your phone, have you? Christ almighty, we can’t even have an argument without being interrupted by your work.”
“Forget the phone,” said Emma, rounding on him. “You were telling me that while you and I were planning our wedding, you were sleeping with another woman.”
He swallowed hard, took a step back and looked for the front door.
“Do you remember, David, that your golf clubs are under the stairs? Just wait there one second while I go get one. An eight iron can do a lot of damage to the human body.” Emma had no intention of using a golf club on him, but the words had the impact she was hoping for.
Dave scrambled for the door. He jammed bags and boxes under his arms and ran for his car. He opened the boot, threw in the bags and boxes and jumped into the front seat.
Emma came marching out with a golf club over her shoulder.
“Goodbye, Emma,” he panted. “I’ll let you get back to playing cops and robbers. I know it’s all you’re interested in.”
He rammed the car into gear and peeled away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Unable to sleep, I left the house before anyone was up. Lyle was keeping me awake at night. She had forced me to get involved in her game, yet I had no idea why. Was it just for kicks? Was it a challenge? Or was there a motive at play I didn’t see yet?
I wasn’t surprised to see Cotton’s car already in the carpark when I arrived. I’d heard from Etheridge that she had a reputation for being first in and last out.
I got buzzed in and made my way along the beige corridors. The sights, smell and sounds took me back to Scotland Yard.
I leaned in through Cotton’s open door. “Knock, knock,” I said. I held up two cups of Cost
a coffee and a bag of pastries. “Supplies?”
“Great to see you, come in. Anyone bearing pastries is welcome in my office.” Cotton looked tired, but she managed a smile.
I passed her a coffee and the whole bag of pastries. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
She leaned back in her creaky chair and looked around as though for the first time in a long time. I noticed a photo frame face down on Cotton’s desk. When she thought I wasn’t looking, she slid it into a drawer.
“I think I got put in here to keep me out of the way. It’s nothing special, but it’s my home away from home. I put in for some chintz curtains but I’m still waiting, and as for the crystal chandelier, it turns out there’s a waiting list.”
“Shame,” I said. “Chintz and a crystal chandelier always add an air of romance to any investigation.”
Cotton laughed, and her mood lightened. She had a pretty smile. Etheridge had told me she was a bit of a loner in the office. She was well liked, but she kept herself to herself and focused on her work. I’d seen it before, and my guess was Cotton felt she had a lot to prove. In time, I hoped that would change for her.
“They’re working on getting us a bigger office,” she said, “one we can both work in.”
I looked around the cramped workspace. “Good idea.”
“Where would you like to start?” she asked.
I took a sip of coffee. “I read through all the files you left me over the past few months. I’ll need access to everything else. I couldn’t identify a pattern with the victims,” I said.
She got to her feet. “The only thing that connects these victims is Lyle and a Scrabble piece. They’re different ages, ethnicity, backgrounds, sexual orientation and genders. Ages range from nineteen to fifty-eight. All either had an accompanying Scrabble piece left at the scene or inserted into them. Six victims. Six letters.”
