by Sally Rigby
‘Bu—’ Shock washed over his face, like he honestly expected she wouldn’t be giving him his marching orders.
He walked over to where she was sitting and placed his hand on her arm. Her skin crawled and she brushed him away, swallowing back the nausea from his touch. She stood up and faced him.
‘No buts. Go upstairs and pack.’ She stepped to the side, giving him a path to the dining-room door.
‘I have nowhere to go,’ he pleaded.
‘I don’t care. Ask your new girlfriend.’
‘I can’t. She’s married.’
George stared at him, full of disgust. And now she knew why he’d tried to apologise earlier. He didn’t want to be out on his ear.
‘You really are a piece of work. Not only do you ruin our relationship, you’re trying to ruin someone else’s too. You make me sick.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll give you an hour to pack. Anything you leave I’ll put in the garage for you to collect.’
‘What will we tell people?’
‘I couldn’t care less what you say. It’s not important enough for me to worry about. Now, if you’d please leave me alone, I have some boring and predictable work to get on with.’
Chapter Thirty-One
George stared into space, unable to concentrate. Stephen had taken a car full of things and left in a huff twenty minutes ago after throwing his keys on the table. His words haunted her. She thought she knew him. Really knew him. And yet he’d been so mean, it was quite obvious she didn’t know him at all. Was she really all those things he’d said?
She liked her routine. What was wrong with that? Not everyone could be spontaneous. But he knew what she was like before he’d moved in. What had hurt most, was being called cold and emotionless.
The doorbell went. Should she ignore it? It was probably Stephen because he’d forgotten something. He could wait and come back for it another time. She had no desire to see him again. Ever.
The bell went again, accompanied by three loud knocks. Giving an exasperated sigh, she went to the front door and opened it, surprised to see Whitney standing there.
‘Hello. I didn’t expect to see you,’ she said.
Whitney rushed past her into the house and promptly burst into tears.
She quickly closed the door. Should she hug her? No. It didn’t feel right.
‘Come into the kitchen. I’ll make some coffee.’
Whitney nodded as she sniffed and pulled out a tissue from her pocket, which she used to wipe her eyes and nose.
She put on the kettle and took out two mugs from the cupboard. Whitney stood beside the table, moving from foot to foot and sniffing loudly.
‘Sorry,’ Whitney said between sniffs. ‘I’d held it together until you answered the door, then it all came pouring out.’
‘Don’t worry, no need to apologise.’ What on earth had happened to cause such a reaction? ‘Tell me what’s upset you.’
‘There’s been another murder. Lydia Parker, the twins’ flatmate.’
What? But how? It made no sense. There couldn’t be another dead girl. They’d got the murderer. Hadn’t they?
‘What about Kevin Vaughan?’
‘It wasn’t him. He was in custody. No way could he have broken out of his cell, committed the crime, and then got back in again.’
‘It’s my fault,’ she said.
‘Don’t be stupid. Of course it’s not,’ Whitney replied.
‘I was the one who told you Vaughan was hiding something. If I hadn’t screwed up, Lydia might still be alive. She—’
‘Stop. It’s not you. I’m the lead detective on the case. I made the call to arrest Vaughan. It’s down to me.’
‘Competing with each other for the blame isn’t going to help.’
She still couldn’t grasp she’d got it all wrong. Her assessment of Vaughan had been accurate. He was definitely hiding something.
‘You’re right,’ Whitney said.
‘Even if Vaughan isn’t the murderer, there was something there. Maybe it was all the images you found on his computer. They would’ve been enough for him to be dismissed from his job.’
‘Yes. It’s probably that.’
They would need to check over all the evidence again. They now had four bodies. The more they had, the easier it would be to find something.
‘We still have a lot to go on. My profile still stands. We’ll catch him.’
‘Not going to happen.’ Whitney pulled out a chair from under the table and sat down.
‘Okay. I understand if you no longer want my help. But I’m here if you change your mind.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘I don’t understand.’ She paused. ‘By the way, how did you know I was at home?’
‘I went to your office first. They said you were working from home today. That wasn’t why I came. I wanted to let you know about the murder and also to tell you I’ve been kicked off the case.’
‘What? That’s crazy. Why? And by whom?’ she asked.
‘Jamieson decided I’m not competent, and he’s ordered me off the case. He’d been on my back since the drug bust went wrong. Looking for a reason to dump me, and now he has it.’ Whitney hung her head.
‘Who’s running the case now? Because whoever it is, they won’t have your in-depth knowledge.’
‘According to Jamieson it doesn’t matter. He’s given me forty-eight hours to get everything in order to hand over to one of his cronies. DCI Masters, who’s on holiday at the moment.’
‘Do you want me to help?’ she offered.
‘With what?’
‘You have forty-eight hours to turn the investigation around and solve it. Then there’ll be no need for this Masters guy.’
‘There’s no point. If we haven’t been able to do it by now, how will another two days make any difference? Anyway, I’ve been ordered to do nothing other than advise, write a report, and pull what we have so far together.’
George stared at her. Whitney was on a real downer. She’d never seen her like that before. It was unsettling.
‘You should listen to yourself.’ She let out a sigh.
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘Since I’ve known you, which I accept hasn’t been for very long, you’ve never shied away from anything. You always face things head on. Doing what you want to do, on your terms. You’ve never been afraid to say what you think. And I should know, you haven’t been exactly nice and friendly with me. Not counting the other night when we were out drinking.’ She hoped she hadn’t come across as too strong. She liked to be measured in her dealings with people.
Did that make her boring and predictable?
Shut up.
One thing she wouldn’t do was give Stephen and his arsewipe comments headspace.
‘This is different. I can’t do anything about being pushed off the case,’ Whitney said.
‘Yes, you can. Your boss gave you two days. You don’t have to tell him you’re following up leads and still working it. Let him think you’re doing as he ordered He needn’t know anything.’ She heard her words but couldn’t believe they’d come out of her mouth. Since when had she advocated breaking the rules? Answer: never.
Whitney stared at her, clearly mulling over her words. ‘I suppose we could. But we can’t operate out of the incident room because Jamieson would find out.’
‘We can work from here, then,’ she offered. ‘I’ll help you.’
‘What about your job?’ Whitney asked.
‘Fuck my job.’
Did she just say that? What the hell was going on in her head? She’d broken more of her tacit rules in the last half an hour than she had in her entire life.
‘Bloody hell. What’s got into you? I thought your work was the holy grail.’
So did she.
But this was different. She couldn’t sit back and watch.
‘I’ll take two days leave and tell my Head of Department something personal has come up. The next couple of
days aren’t too heavy, anyway. And it’s not like I regularly take time off.’
‘Okay. Thanks. But I can’t ask the whole team to put their jobs on the line. We’ll take a select few with us, those I know won’t blab to Jamieson. Unless they don’t want to be part of it, of course. What about your boyfriend? Won’t he mind us being here, taking over your house?’
‘Don’t worry about him. We’ve broken up.’ It sounded like she didn’t care. And actually, it dawned on her she wasn’t too bothered. She’d never been one to dwell on things, and this was clearly one of those times. It told her a lot. Mainly, she hadn’t cared about him as much as she’d thought. So, he could take his belittling comments and shove them where the sun don’t shine.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s for the best.’
‘When did it happen?’ Whitney asked.
‘Just before you arrived. But it’s okay. I’m okay. And helping you on the case is just what I need to take my mind off it.’ Just saying it lightened her mood.
‘Then we’re in business. We need to start straight away. Where shall we set up the operation?’
‘See what you think of the dining room.’ It was the largest room in the cottage, and there was plenty of space to use the mobile board she had.
As they walked through, she remembered at the end of the large oak table was the jigsaw. She hoped they could work around it, as she didn’t want to put it away, seeing as she’d already done over half of it.
‘This room’s great.’ Whitney wandered over to the table and stared at her jigsaw. ‘I don’t know how you have the patience. It’s hard for me to sit still for longer than ten minutes.’
‘It’s therapeutic. Especially when I’m writing up my research. If I get stuck on finding the right words, I’ll take a break and do some of the puzzle. It helps clear my mind.’
‘Oh look. I’ve found a piece that fits,’ Whitney said excitedly, as she placed it into the body of the puzzle.
George stared at her. Why wasn’t she annoyed?
‘Come on. We don’t have time to waste. What shall we do first?’ she asked.
‘I’ll contact Matt and ask him to meet us here in a couple of hours and to bring Frank and Ellie. In the meantime, we’ll go to Lydia Parker’s house to speak to her flatmates. The twins. Hopefully, they’ll have information which will help us.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
There wasn’t much traffic as they drove to Lydia’s house. Next to her, George was staring out of the car window. She had said she wasn’t bothered by her relationship ending, but Whitney wasn’t so sure. George was hard to read because she always seemed so calm and in control. But surely, even if there had been problems, she’d have felt some emotion over the break-up.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Why?’ George replied, frowning.
‘Just asking. You seemed distant, and I wondered if you were thinking about what happened earlier with your boyfriend.’
‘I’m fine,’ George said quickly. ‘I was just going through what we know about the killer to see if there’s anything I’ve missed.’
She took that to mean she should mind her own business. She got it. Why would George want to confide in someone like her? She was hardly an expert on relationships. The last date she went on was months ago, and it hadn’t exactly been a great success. As in, he didn’t ask to see her again.
Anyway, George clearly wasn’t going to let the break-up impact on the job they had to do, which was all Whitney could ask for.
‘And have you thought of anything?’
‘Nothing stands out yet. Once we’re back at my house, we’ll put everything up on the board and look together. Scrutinise each murder with fresh eyes.’
‘Good idea.’
She’d told Matt in confidence about being removed from the case, and asked him not to tell Ellie and Frank, but just to say they were meeting at George’s house. She trusted him not to betray her confidence. She’d helped him through his sergeant’s exams and wanted him to consider applying for inspector next year. He was certainly ready for it. She instructed him on the tasks to give the rest of the team, so they wouldn’t be suspicious of her absence.
She pulled up alongside the house and turned to George. ‘Leave the talking to me.’
‘I always do.’ George gave one of her trademark condescending looks, but rather than wanting to sling a retort in her direction, she ignored it. Accepting it as being one of George’s infuriating mannerisms. It didn’t actually mean anything, and possibly George wasn’t even aware she did it. Actually, she didn’t even find it as infuriating as she used to.
After knocking on the door several times, Henry Spencer answered, his left arm in plaster.
‘Hello, Henry. What have you done?’ she nodded at his arm.
‘Playing football during the week. I got tackled and fell awkwardly. It’s fractured.’
‘May we come in? We’d like to speak to you,’ she asked.
‘Sure. We’re all in the sitting room.’
They followed Henry, and as they entered the room Whitney’s heart sank. Seated on the sofa next to Harriet was Tiffany. How the hell was she going to cope once she found out what had happened?
‘Mum, what are you doing here?’ Tiffany jumped up.
‘DCI Walker is your mum?’ Henry asked, looking from Whitney to Tiffany, his brow furrowed.
‘Yes.’ Tiffany bit down on her bottom lip, looking at him from under her eyelashes.
Why had she kept secret her mum was in the police? They’d discuss it later; it wasn’t important at the moment. She debated asking her daughter to leave the room, but it wouldn’t achieve anything. She’d find out about Lydia soon enough. It was better they were told together.
‘I’ve come to see Henry and Harriet. Please, sit down, all of you.’
She waited until everyone was seated before sitting herself. George remained standing by the door.
‘What is it?’ Harriet asked, her voice shaky.
‘We have some bad news about Lydia. I’m sorry to have to tell you we found her body this morning.’
Tiffany and Harriet burst into tears, and Henry stood up and went over to the window. Whitney had to fight the urge not to scoop Tiffany up in a big hug, but it wasn’t appropriate. It killed her to watch her daughter so upset. After a few minutes, when the crying began to subside, Henry turned to them.
‘What happened?’ he asked, his voice strained.
‘We believe it’s the work of the person who killed the other students.’
‘But you said the Campus Killer had been caught. You had him in custody,’ Tiffany blurted out, her face tearstained.
‘We’d got the wrong person,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘I’d like to ask you all some questions. I’m sorry if it seems insensitive, but we need to get as much information as we can to help us catch him.’
‘Of course,’ Harriet said, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table and wiping her eyes.
‘When was the last time you saw Lydia?’ she asked.
Henry walked back to the chair he’d just left and sat down. He traded glances with Harriet. ‘Was Lydia here at the weekend?’ he asked.
‘I saw her on Saturday afternoon. She popped in to collect some clothes. She said she was staying with Sean, her boyfriend.’
‘Do you have contact details for Sean?’ Whitney took out her notepad and pen from her bag.
‘No. Sorry. It will be on Lydia’s phone, if you have that.’ Harriet said.
‘Do you have them, Henry?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘It’s no use asking him,’ Harriet said. ‘He uses my phone most of the time. You’ll find no one in his contacts apart from me. And Tiffany.’
She thought that was strange. She’d never met anyone of their age who wasn’t on their phone all the time. Though he could still use his phone constantly, even if he didn’t collect contacts.
‘How did Lydia see
m when you last saw her?’ she asked.
‘Same as usual,’ Harriet said. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone. We’ve been friends ever since we started our course over four years ago. She was a year above us.’
Whitney stole a glance at Tiffany, who was sitting back in the sofa looking totally shell shocked. At least she was with Henry and Harriet, so they could comfort each other.
‘How long had Lydia been seeing Sean?’ she asked.
‘Maybe two years,’ Henry said. ‘I’m not sure exactly. They were definitely seeing each other when we moved into this house, because he helped shift our furniture. This is our second year here.’
‘What about boyfriends before Sean?’ she asked.
‘Sean was Lydia’s first boyfriend at uni,’ Harriet replied.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against Lydia?’
‘I thought her killer was the same as the other students. So why would he have a grudge against Lydia?’ Henry asked.
‘We investigate all angles. We’re still waiting confirmation it was the same killer and not a copycat.’
‘Oh. I see,’ Henry replied.
‘We’d like to take a look at Lydia’s bedroom, please,’ she said.
‘It’s upstairs, the second door on the left. Would you like me to take you?’ Harriet said.
‘No, you stay here. We’ll find our own way.’
They left the twins and Tiffany in the sitting room and went upstairs to Lydia’s bedroom. George pushed open the door and scanned the large square room, her eyes drawn to the exquisite ceiling rose and coving which ran along the walls.
Several pairs of jeans and some jumpers were strewn over the bed as if Lydia had only just popped out. Her wardrobe door was open, and Whitney slipped on some disposable gloves and started flicking through the clothes.
‘Do you have another pair?’ George asked as she stared at the bedside drawers.
Whitney pulled a pair from her bag and threw them over. ‘Here.’
After catching the gloves, she pulled them on and opened the top drawer. Under a pile of receipts and other pieces of paper, she found a diary. It was nice to see a youngster still using a more old-fashioned method of writing a journal. She read some of the entries. Lydia mainly recorded class times, assignment deadlines, and other appointments. On some days she’d written a little more. One entry caught George’s eye: I caught him staring at me again. He creeps me out.
